Never in all his years had Voy laid on so exquisite a bed as he did now. Perhaps his perspective had been warped by the scratchy, splintery thing that had approximated the concept previously, but laying on top of the crisp sheets he contended with the temptation to nap.

  Duke Emeron had tried to run interference the moment he discovered Voy’s intent to leave Treffel behind. Evidently the shamed kartorim wasn’t such a blight when his presence wasn’t taken for granted. Hembrandt told Voy to get settled in and learn the ship’s in’s and out’s while he dealt with the duke.

  “I was playing nice before, couldn’t risk offending him before I knew how much you liked him,” the admiral said with an eager grin. “Now that you’re here I can throw my weight around a little more. It’ll be fun.” Voy had no objections to that, though he did admit to himself that being a witness to the duke being knocked down a few pegs would be immensely cathartic. Alas, he had other matters to attend.

  The Auric’s quartermaster had come for him soon thereafter to show him around the ship and to his room. He was a strangely youthful man for such a role, and though he did seem plenty competent in his knowledge of the ship he had a nervous air about him at odds with Voy’s typical expectation of someone running a bladeship’s logistics. He maintained the awkwardness for the duration of the tour as well, to the extent that Voy began to question if he was doing something off-putting.

  “Apologies for the accommodations my lord, much of the ship has been repurposed as additional storage ahead of our voyage,” the quartermaster atoned preemptively as he keyed in a pass code on a wall mounted terminal. A marble-crusted door slid aside and opened to a bedroom twice the size of Voy’s abode in the city.

  “Are you kidding? This is great! Don’t apologize,” Voy was positively tickled at the extra space. He didn’t even have to lower his head to walk through the door. And the bed, oh the bed. A king size cloud with pressed sheets, crisp corners, and more pillows than one man could make use of. Redeemer as his witness Voy had not realized how much he’d missed a proper bed.

  “O-Oh, I am glad you’re satisfied m’lord,” the quartermaster stammered.

  “I’m no one’s lord either,” Voy chuckled warmly, still giddy at the prospect of having so much space to himself. “Voy is fine.” The quartermaster shifted uncomfortably. “And you are?” The quartermaster’s eyes went wide.

  “Stancier second class Dalisse my lor- sir. I’m the Auric Wind’s quartermaster,” Dalisse said, relaxing a bit.

  “Pleased to meet you Stancier Dalisse.” Voy offered his hand out for Dalisse to shake, but the nervous crewman looked at it like a pedestrian facing oncoming traffic.

  “Of course sir. I have other duties to attend, your possessions from Treffel were gathered up and left in the bin by the bed. If you need anything the terminal on the wall here,” he gestured to a wall mounted screen and keyboard inside of the room, “can reach anyone here on the ship.” He paused and lifted a screenslab from under his arm, scrolling it’s screen with his hand and muttering to himself. “Admiral Hembrandt just gave word we’re taking off in thirty minutes. He’d like for you to join him on the viewing deck once we’re in orbit.”

  “Sounds good,” Voy replied, dropping his hand back down. Dalisse ducked out without another word, the door slid closed behind him. Alone at last, Voy turned to the bed and fell back onto it.

  Everything still hurt, but laying on an actual bed with a proper mattress that adequately cushioned him almost made him believe he couldn’t sleep it off. If only it were so easy. Nevertheless, he had thirty minutes before anyone expected him to be some where. Might as well give it a shot. Without getting under the covers or moving any pillows, Voy let his mind wander into the most restful sleep he’d had since Ascension day.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Hembrandt stood in the center of the Auric Wind’s command center, a dark room that shed the marble and gilding prominent throughout the rest of the ship for the cool blue of vacsteel and control screens. Dozens of operators sat before cyan-lit console workstations partially recessed into the floor, tapping and clacking away various commands and orders to get the ship off the ground. Behind him, the vessel’s star-shackle reactor rumbled as it awoke, spinning up from the idle state it enjoyed during the shore leave on Treffel.

  Elara was elsewhere in the ship, probably scurrying through maintenance tunnels or hanging around the engineering section in the lowest part of the ship. For not the first time, he appreciated how fond the chief engineer seemed to be of her. Hembrandt’s retinue of guards had also left him while he was in the command bunker, meaning he had the closest thing one of his station could have to a moment alone. That is, he had a moment where none of those around him were close enough to him to be unprofessional. On memory and reflex he called out orders and status requests, letting his unconscious mind run through the launch procedures while his conscious thought had freedom to wander.

  At first it did so unproductively. He envisioned his ship’s interior, The purple glow beneath it as the grav plates flared to push the ship higher, the crackling energy leaping from the great blade as it ionized the air around it, the glowing plasma contrail beginning to take shape as the star shackle breathed life into the engines at the ship’s rear.

  In time his mind tightened the reigns and began to work more productively again, mulling over what lay behind and before him. Filigree was a few days out if they took a straight path. They wouldn’t of course. Despite his best efforts early on, the Auric Wind had been trailed ever since he broke from the main fleet over Allodoa. They would need to be indirect, taking seemingly illogical detours and overshoots to avoid interception.

  Assuming, of course, that no one on his ship was compromised. A series of odd inefficiencies had cropped up in recent days that seemed to imply that wasn’t the case, but there just wasn’t enough time to stall out and figure out who it was. All he could do was hope whoever it was that acted against him was doing so for House Caldion and not the Vitari. Fellow allodoans wouldn’t do anything too devastating… the Vitari were a different matter.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Of course, the random jumps plan was only sound if his intended destination of Filigree remained a mystery. If it wasn’t, there was no reason to expect them not to beeline straight there and wait for him to arrive to spring their trap. Politically it was risky, Filigree was outside the blanket of Thurgian security and historically parking a military vessel in someone else’s backyard tended to draw hostility.

  “Vessel airborne admiral, awaiting launch order,” one of the crewman below pulled Hembrandt from his trance.

  “Proceed with launch,” Hembrandt iterated calmly.

  “Proceed with launch, aye. Engines fire off!” The same crewman ordered to the room.

  “Engines firing, aye! Mark three… two… one…” the crewman operating the engines console yelled back, and punctuating his words came the neutered lurch of the Auric Wind blasting up and away from Treffel to the cold embrace of vacspace. Forces that should have crushed everyone inside several times over were subdued to subtle rocking as the ship’s inertial harmonizers hummed to life.

  Procedures returned to reflex driven routine and Hembrandt returned to his wandering thought. The ruler of Filigree, this ‘raikon’, was a relatively recent development. His arrival coincided with the Apoctillon’s projected date was extremely suspect, but whether he was predicted in the projection or trying to fulfill it himself was anyone’s guess. Hembrandt would trust the Choir, the conclave of metal-minds had not led the Torchbearers astray any time in the past, it would not now.

  Hembrandt rocked on his feet along with the rest of the crew as the Auric Wind broke free of Treffel’s atmosphere and with it sailed free of air resistance. Inertial harmonizers compensated quickly to the sudden jerk.

  “Bring us to stable speed, begin blade charge.” Hembrandt ordered.

  “Stable speed aye, blade charge aye!” Hembrandt stepped aside as a high ranking crewman, the helmsman, stepped into his place and set his hands upon the control points. Two metal pedestals around shoulder distance apart with hand shaped indents at their top. When he did the indents glowed blue around his palms and the ship began to move leftward. Dozens of exterior view screens came online, those on the ship’s left showed the bleak grey world below and those on the right stared into the twinkling abyss of vacspace.

  “Helmsman has command, I will be on the viewing deck until we start our jump,” Hembrandt declared sternly as he turned to leave.

  “Orders heard, aye,” responded the helmsman as the sliding reinforced door slid shut behind Hembrandt.

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  Tremors from roaring engines truncated Voy’s naps just minutes after it began. It had been naive to expect more, but Voy found himself unbothered. He was far more appreciative of the brief respite than he was frustrated by its sudden end. Besides, with the extra time he could make sure that the footlocker Dalisse had placed in his room actually had his possessions. Voy knelt down in front of it and lifted the top back on its hinges, the metal lid fell back against the foot of his bed.

  Seeing everything here, he realized just how little his time on Treffel had really counted as living. There were a few books, some clothing for the rare moments he wasn’t expected to be on call, a broken screenslab… and his sword. The one thing he really had to have. He scolded himself as he saw it, that there had been a chance of him leaving it behind was an astounding display of foolishness.

  Voy pushed aside the clutters and reached for the sword’s grip, gently lifting it from the locker and raising it in front of him. It was just as brilliant as when he’d been given it, just days before his Ascension Day. A gift from Avaron to celebrate his graduation. Sorrow gnawed at him, empty dreams and hollow fantasy of what could have been clung to the weapon.

  It was large, too large to be used like the one handed sword it was designed to be. At roughly five feet long, it was almost too large to be a practical two handed sword, but Voy would suffer the difficulty every time before setting it aside. It did not narrow to a point as most vibroswords did, but rather flared out toward its end into a semi circular wedge that curved off into two hook-like tips on either side. Avaron had commissioned it based on archaic, novel designs from ages past. Black metal made up its blade and grip, had Voy ascended properly parts of it would have been altered to the same red as Avaron’s carapace, the same red his should have been.

  Like a memorial to a dead future, the blade that was to symbolize his ascension now ever wore the funeral colors of a day that would never come. At least, that was how it used to feel. Looking at it now Voy began to feel something approaching optimism, the pit in his chest felt less like dread and more like excitement. Avaron had not given up on him, Voy was here now because of Avaron’s orders. One day the sword would have its red, Voy promised himself.

  He placed the sword on his back, extending a small portion of his carapace over his slip-suit to allow the magnetic grip to hold it there. The observation desk was close if he remembered the tour right, just an elevator ride. Head held high, Voy strode through the ship’s marble corridors with a smile and quickly found the elevator he was looking for. When he stepped inside, it appeared to be empty. It was empty.

  As the doors closed and the elevator began to rise, a hatch popped open in the ceiling. Voy turned and reached for his blade, his heart hammered in his chest and he extended his carapace quickly, painfully, over himself in preparation for whatever trap had just been sprung.

  “Glad I caught up with ya before you went to the bubble.” Voy’s adrenaline surge halted instantly, and he retracted his helm. Elara landed gracefully from the hatch leading out into the elevator shaft. As she stood, she reached up and closed it behind her. Her helm was retracted, but the rest of her was clad in her blue and bronze.

  “What were you doing in the elevator shaft?” Voy asked, returning his sword to his back.

  “Waiting for you?” She answered like it was an obvious conclusion for someone to make. She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head at him, her expression somewhere between confusion and amusement. Voy felt his smile returning unbidden, and found that he had no trouble accepting such as absurd answer.

  “Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier…” Elara’s demeanor shifted, her hands fell from her hips and she held one arm across her chest. “I didn’t mean for the handshake prank to be mean, I just…” She bit her lip and furrowed her brow, “Every other kartorim I’ve ever seen has either tried to kill me or catch me and… I just got really excited to have someone else like me around.”

  Voy’s eyes went wide, but he reigned in much of his reaction. Every bit of that sentence was heavy with the burden of accidental confession. Kartorim don’t kill each other, ever. The code of honor that bound all of them, the Iyallat, forbade it outright. Elara looked into his eyes, and whatever suspicions that had arisen melted away just as quickly.

  Voy could save questions for later, if he felt the need. There was no malice in her eyes, only emerald green irises for him to get lost in. What the hell is happening to me? Voy blinked and looked away, he was not supposed to feel what he was dangerously close to feeling. Not from some point of training, or some moral honor either. Kartorim were supposed to have certain… proclivities numbed to the point of nonexistence as a byproduct of ascension. It was to some degree a genuine health concern that, in defiance of his physiology, he was finding her attractive.

  “It’s okay if you’re mad, I can leave if you’d like…” deflated, Elara started to reach for the elevator hatch.

  “No!” Voy said louder than he’d intended, “I mean, no, I’m not mad. It’s fine. You’re fine. Fine in a ‘no hard feelings’ way, I mean. Yeah.” Voy cringed inside, why did her attention throw him so off balance? Surely she thought him a bumbling fool. Voy braced for some kind of insult, maybe a laugh at his expense. He should have braced for impact.

  “Really?” Sparkles danced in her eyes and she darted over and wrapped him in an exuberant hug, squeezing with all her strength. Voy grimaced but could not bring himself to ask for release, the gears of his mind seized in place. She smelled of pine needles.

  After a moment she let him go and darted backward, her cheeks red. Voy’s endocrine system screamed in protest as another wave of adrenaline surged through him, his heart hammered in his chest, and no enemy presented itself to justify it. A goofy smile plastered itself across his lips as the elevator opened out to the observation deck. Hembrandt was waiting there, arms crossed, looking into the elevator at the two blushing immortals.

  “Elara,” he began, “I was not expecting you here.” She ducked down a bit and waved, slowly backing herself up to be under the roof hatch. “It’s fine, I have something to discuss with Voy that you might as well be-” Blaring alarms cut him off, blast doors slammed down over the transparent panels in the observation deck. Hembrandt’s expression changed from mild amusement to an icy fury. Voy and Elara both deployed their helms.

  The admiral held a finger up to his earpiece, listened to a moment for something only he could hear, before he lowered his hand and spoke again.

  “Change of plans. They’ve found us.”