Vivian rushed down the wood paneled corridor in her best 'run-without-running' walk on the way to the strategium of the Righteous Flame. Emperor damn that captain and her 'meeting in five' habits, Vivian thought while trying to control her breathing. 'Her ship is the size of a small mountain!' she thought. Vivian rounded a corner and the doors to the strategium came into view. She slowed but walked on with purpose on the red mat leading to the doors. She straightened and fixed with her new uniform while ignoring the guards on the sides of the corridor. Creamy white with gold buttons, gold sash, gold details. Far too many gold details. Who designed these? Her father himself? It would be typical him.
She came to a stop in front of the double doors. With a gesture she paused the guards while she with the other hand tried finding stray hairs that had escaped. She sighted internally, she forgot the matching uniform cap. She turned to look at her shadow, the large form of Tartor, always by her side. Her grizzled bodyguard towered over her, and the guards, his calm gaze scanning everything.
"Are you ready?" Vivian asked him. He looked down at her without answering. "Am I ready?" she almost whispered. Without hesitation he gave her a nod and there was even a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth, if you know where to look. Always her life constant, the cliff to gather strength from. She nodded back and turned to the doors and gave the guards the sign to open.
Inside the strategium a couple dozen of the most important people on the ship was gathered around the main holographic display. The large 3D projector lit everyone's face blue in the dark room while the captain's seneschal walked around it, pointing at the details.
"… the only signs left of the colony except the inhabitants, are the constructions here, here and over there." the sure voice of Krishan pointed out. "They have completely regressed from all form civilized technology and aren't numerous enough to even inhabit their claimed lands to any relevant extent…"
Discretely Vivian moved around the room and took a place near the captain's throne.
"…according to the Mechanichum analysis of our sensor sweep, this continent has the most stable tectonics for a first hive and base of operations." Krishan continued. "There are large rivers and a good climate for a starting settlement. The elevations and forestation of this western part here are particularly interesting…"
Vivian listened with one ear while she looked around the room, recognizing some faces. Was she the last one here? She saw the frail form of the ships Void-Master, a man more replacement parts than original man if the rumours were to be believed. Behind him stood the Arch-Militant, radiating professionalism and attention. Then she met the gaze of her cousin between some unknowns. She was half sitting on a divan to the side and looked back with her usual, self-assured smile. Like she knew stuff you did not. Of course her uniform were a tasteful black and silver and of course she had her cap on.
"Vivian darling" an old voice from the throne interrupted Vivian's staring and she felt cold. The room looked over to her.
"Yes, aunt Jacqueline?" she answered as she took some steps forward and turned to the wrinkled lady on the throne.
"Your fathered said you were most perceptive when he asked me to let you join this expedition" the captain slowly spoke, as if she tasted every word before dropping it on Vivian. "What would you start with on this new world?" she said and raised a hand, lazily indicating the projector. "And remember the formal setting, dearest."
"Of course, Captain" Vivian said and straightened. Her mind raced. "I would begin with a collection of information as a basis for…" she began before the captain interjected.
"We've already collected. I'm sure you noticed my seneschal's lovely presentation." She slowly said without letting go of Vivian's gaze. "What would be your next step."
Vivian could not breathe. She slowly turned to the projector, the people in front of her parted as she went to the large projection. Everyone looked on in silence. Some with pity, some with indifference, most with interest. She felt Krishan's irritation at her side as she looked on his map presentation. It was focused on one of the continents with markers for points of interest, hazards and settlements. Settlements.
"I would talk with the people living here" she said, almost to herself.
Krishan coughed and there was a murmur in the crowd.
"…what…?" the captain said menacingly over the din. Vivian turned to meet her and spoke up.
"I would speak with these descendants of the original colonists." She said, and it felt right. "I would ask them for legends of the fall of the colony, to not walk in their footsteps. Maybe even get an understanding and a friendship to build on that can benefit in the days ahead."
The murmur had died down and the gathered looked at her with incomprehension, with mire or even hostility. They killed her sliver of confidence and looked to the Captain who still studied her, appraisingly.
"Thank you for your excellent presentation, seneschal" The Captain said from her throne, without letting go of Vivian. "I think we have enough information for our first steps." She looked over to the large red robed form of the Magos Explorator who stood by himself, hidden is his rust red robes without even the face visible. "Magos, I would appreciate if you started with a detailed analysis of the proposed foundation site." The Magos acknowledged this with an inclination of his head in her direction. The captain then looked to her Arch-Militant. "Yltor, organize a sortie to the identified weapon test site and see if there is anything active there still. Assess the potential danger to our operations."
"It will be done, my Captain" the Arch-Militant answered and saluted doing the sign of the Aquila in front of his breastplate.
Then the captain directed her piercing gaze back down towards Vivian again. "And lastly you, my dearest niece, will be my representant, my ambassador to these… locals" she declared. "You have my authority in the dealings with them…" ending her declaration with even slower, and lower voice, "…and will be judged thereafter."
"…it will be my honour, Captain!" Vivian said after a stunned second, her mind racing. After another second she slung her hands up in the sign of the Aquila as the Arch-Militant had done but the Captain had already forgotten about her. She was instead talking silently with the fellow captain to her side, the owner of the transport ship filled with colonists, if Vivian's guess was correct. The rest of the crew were milling about Vivian on their way to their different duties while she was left in the middle, still dazed.
"I wholeheartedly support the Captain's decision… of course" Krishan said quietly to Vivian with barely concealed condescension, suddenly standing a bit too close. He forcefully unplugged his data-slate and the projection died, leaving the room barely lit. "But I would recommend a bit more experience in your team, it will not do to agitate the locals. I'll be joining you as your advisor in your mission." He held up his hand to silence her answer. "I insist, vox me an hour before take-off." He finished and left her in the dim room.
§ § §
The guards saluted Faramir and he nodded back as he walked past them up the long stairs of the Narak Azūlada, the highest still standing watchtower of Osgiliath. The steps in white stone, worn down by hundreds of years of watchmen continued up and up in a steep circle inside the tower's thick walls. The long night's reconnaissance made the many steps seem an inkling higher than usual but Faramir took them two at the time.
At the top Boromir stood with his hands behind his back, watching the sun. It had risen above the Ephel Dúath mountains but could barely be seen above the gathering storm clouds. Faramir stopped at the top of the stairs gathering his breath. His brother, in his shining Gondorian armour, stood in stark contrast to his own travel worn ranger clothes.
"Brother, I was worried" Boromir said and then turned with a caring smile. "You took your rangers out searching again?"
"We have lost to many scouts without a trace, without knowing to what." Faramir answered and walked up to his brother. "The nights are getting too dangerous."
"But not for you?" Boromir retorted. "It was not the dream keeping you restless again?"
"I'm a captain of Gondor" Faramir answered, standing up to his brother, a bit irritated by his concern. "and I won't send our scouts to their deaths without going myself."
"I too had your dream tonight" Boromir said seriously and turned to the mountains again. "Exactly as you described it, the darkness covering all the land, the broken sword and this place called Imladris." He looked at the speechless Faramir again. "And about Isildur's Bane."
"What does this mean?" Faramir asked when he found his words.
"That the darkness is rising in the world and our Númenórean blood has given us dreams about the path to tread." Boromir looked uncharacteristically grim. "If Isildur's Bane has been found, we will not be the only ones knowing. Sauron will be forced to show his hand and Osgiliath is the gateway to the west. He IS coming, I can feel it."
Faramir noticed that Boromir was not looking at the morning sun, he was trying to pierce the mountains protecting Mordor with his will and gaze alone.
"We must send a messenger to father warning him about this. If these dreams are to be believed, it is worse than we feared" Faramir at last said. His earlier tiredness forgotten.
"You must tell him, brother" Boromir said, turning wholly to Faramir, his grave voice that of a true leader of Gondor. "And then you must find this place 'Imladris' wherever it is. Search our library for any trace of this place."
"No. I will not." Faramir said after a pause in rare defiance towards his brother. "I would never forgive myself if I left the gates to our heartland just before the hour of need. Send the messenger, we'll hold this city together."
Boromir looked at him, long and hard. And then the leader of Gondor let a shadow of a brotherly smile return to his features and embraced Faramir.
"So be it, brother. Together we stand, against the darkness."
§ § §
"I should probably go down at evening time. Everyone no matter of technology and culture eat dinner, right?" Vivian asked while fussing with the uniform mantle in front of the mirror. Which tailor let a white mantle reach the boots? No one that had ever been outside of his hive spire, that is for sure. Tartor stood at a table in the corner of the large room and methodically checked and neatly packed equipment in a large duffle bag. As usual he just gave a supportive grunt when Vivian did not continue without acknowledgement.
"It seems like no one take me seriously" she continued training on her most flashing friendly smile, "but I actually took several courses in 'Isolated Gothic Dialects' and 'Reintegration Of The Heathen' when father told me about this trip so I'll show aunt. I'll show them all!" She looked defiantly at Tartor who gave her a supportive nod.
"Oh, Tartor, have you voxed the hangar and ordered my Little Bird unpacked by the way?" He nodded again while filling his many belt pockets with canisters.
"Are those frags?" She suddenly asked him. "Tartor, this is meant to be a diplomatic mission!"
He shook his head and showed one of the canisters to her. It was clearly painted with warning signs unknown to her, but they were very red and pointy. But clearly not the symbols for frag grenades. She let him be, shaking her head disapprovingly. 'You can't learn an old guard sit peacefully' as the saying went. He placed the cannister in its pocket and instead held out her training sword towards her, indicating her belt's empty sword sheath with the handle.
"It's just an ugly training sword, I can't have that with this uniform" she exclaimed, a bit whinier than she liked. Tartor stood with the sword outstretched, as unmoving as a parked Leman Russ tank. "Fine!" she said at last, walked up to him and took it. It would be even stranger not to have a sword in the sheath fastened to the belt. She did not have time to redo the uniform and the odds of finding a ceremonial sword laying around the ship were not in her favour. She put her training sword in the sheath and checked the mirror. It actually complemented the uniform quite nicely, the unembellished hilt could be taken as something intentional. She also checked her real weapons. Several of her mother's digi-weapons adorned her fingers in the form of different kinds of rings. They did not really match each other or the uniform in all their colours but a girl couldn't travel the galaxy completely unprotected.
She strode over to her grand, meter thick window. Looking out over the spires and canons of the Righteous Flame and to the blue and green world above. It was almost too much to play a leading role in such an adventure. To bring a world into the imperial fold after millennia of warp storm isolation. She looked over to the shapes of the fellow ships some kilometres away on either side. The Mechanicum's ship, one of their traditional, red-painted slabs with a designation she could not even pronounce. And on the other side, a boring bulk trader refitted for the transportation of the population of this new colony. She wondered how the people there lived, and how they have fared in the several weeks it had taken to reach this planet. Then she looked back to the lit statues, towers and crenelations of the Righteous Flame stretching out below her. This is how a rogue trader family travels she thought, how heroes travel. We Rogue Traders, the explorers and exploiters of the unknown outside the blurred borders of the Imperium.
Vivian checked her chrono and her earlier calculations on her wrist data-slate.
"We must be in space in just above an hour to not arrive too late to the locals mini-hive." She told Tartor. "Vox Krishan, we leave now for the hangars." Not even that overbearing little man could hurt her good mood.
The duo walked along the luxurious corridors of the command level. Servants and personnel bowed as they passed but her mind was already on the goal ahead. They took the large elevator down to the bow-stern-train station and awaited the next personnel transport. Vivian always forgot the industrial feeling when she had not been down here in the middle parts of the ship. No wooden details, no paintings, barely colour at all when she thought about it. Only industrial corridors and metal grill flooring. And the personnel here smelled. But she hid it all beneath her professional mask of proud indifference, the one every member of the Lerderian family mastered before the age of four.
"Lady Vivian de Lerderian?" a tentative girly voice asked behind them, too close. They both turned around, Tartar with his hand on the holster of his bolt pistol. The owner of the voice was a teenage girl with shaved head and simple, grey robes. The girl took a quick step back and lowered her gaze. "I'm s… s… sorry, my lady. It's just that I was ordered to find you, but I didn't know where, so I waited here below the elevator." She stammered apologetically.
"Who asked you to find me and why?" Vivian demanded.
"The head of the Choir ordered me join you on your journey" the girl said a bit too fast, "so that I could warn you about any corruption in the world or people below." She looked up towards Vivian with unseeing eyes.
"Wha…" Vivian started before she recognised the simple printed symbol on the girl's robes, that of an eye inside the letter I, The symbol of the Astra Telepathica. Vivian took an involuntary step back and Tartar placed himself between the two women.
"You are one of them!" Vivian exclaimed accusatory. "Why would I take you?"
The girl looked hurt and afraid. "I only go where I'm ordered, my lady, as do we all. As the Emperor and the Captain wills it." She explained.
"The captain…" Vivian whispered and felt her mood start to sink back down. "Well okay but if you even twitch funny, Tartar here will space you." She said threateningly to the teenage girl. Vivian almost felt bad, looking at the unseeing girl, but that feeling was quickly drowned in the feeling of revulsion for what the girl represented. "Let's move" she ordered as the passenger transport came up behind them. Keeping Tartor between her and the girl all the way.
The transport rail tracks led straight into the cavernous hangar space. Most of the hangar's openings still had their armoured gates locked but there was still sprawling activity everywhere. All kinds of different craft were systematically lowered from the roof storage cranes, thoroughly checked and blessed by their designated tech priest and crew and then again hoisted up to leave space for the next one in a preparation ballet that probably took days. The trio stopped outside the transport and just took it all in. Thousands of personnel and servitors milled around them, all with a purpose. Vivian lost the magic of the view when Krishan came into it in front of them.
"Lady Vivian" he said as he assessed them all with his analyzing glare, clearly finding them lacking. Vivian felt a little self-conscious over her uniform again. Where she stood alongside the man in simple black body armour and the girl in even simpler robes, she was like a circus artist in all her white and gold. But then she owned it. She was the hero of this mission and Krishan was a Administratum clerk far above his station.
"Krishan" she said with an obvious fake smile. "Always a pleasure, I think my Little Bird is over by gate 4." Krishan fell in alongside them when she started walking with purpose. On the side opposite to the teenage girl she noted.
"I understand if you haven't been informed," Krishan begun in his usual rasping, "but you'll find the atmospheric transports being over at 12. By the 5 stories high open gate."
"I'm aware" Vivian answered, never one to be outdone in the social game of the upper hives. "and I understand if you don't own your own ship and are used to hike with others. But we from the Family prefer our own crafts when going planetside." They came up towards her heavily modified Vendetta that stood apart from the hangar din, blessed and ready. She could still smell the special blend of incense burned with promethium fuel.
"Wait what, are you going down in that?" Krishan said and stopped. Suddenly a bit flustered.
"Yes" Vivian said simply, a bit taken aback of his reaction, has she missed anything obvious?
"But the escort?" Krishan said, confronting her. "You can't seriously mean that it's only we four and some pilots?"
"I don't like your tone, seneschal." Vivian said coldly and walked around him towards Little Bird. "Was your plan to drop down to a diplomatic mission with a great company of soldiers? You are free to stay if this is too exciting for you."
Krishan just gaped and looked at the trio when they started climbing into the open side door, beneath one of the wings. He looked around the hangar one last time for inspiration and then he followed, muttering.
"And don't worry about the pilots" Vivian added when Tartor helped the seneschal up to the door. "No one flies my Little Bird except me." She finished as she climbed into the cockpit seat in the front, draping the mantle over the seat. Little bird was already warmed up and ready and she activated all the systems while Tartor closed the side doors and activated the hermetical seals. In the seat in front of Vivian the weapon servitor activated with a blurt of binary chant, sat upright and immediately started target locking and prioritizing everything in the hangar after threat level while muttering to itself. She allowed herself to laugh out loud when hearing its familiar mutterings and the feeling of the mighty Little bird completely under her control. She let the craft hover up above the others in the hangar and activated the vacuum propulsion system, saving the powerful twin jet engines for the atmosphere below.
"No worries mister seneschal" the blind girl said to Krishan from her harness. "I'm terrified to, but our lives are in the Emperors sacred hands now Even in our deaths he will keep us safe from the Great Enemy" Krishan did not seem especially assured by her truth, but his answer were drowned in the sounds of the craft accelerating.
§ § §
Denethor II, the ruling steward of Gondor and protector of all lands west of the Anduin, sat in his armchair in his private study at the top of the White Tower of Ecthelion, far above the peoples of Minas Tirith. He sat leaning forward with his fingertips together in front of him, staring at the cloth covered pedestal in the center of the chamber. Why could he not locate the flying creature that so loudly had circled high above the city the day before? He had bent his considerable will to making the dark stone show him the truth, something he had done many times before. The stone had shown him many secrets through the years, and had taken his health as payment. But this time the stone had only shown him the sky instead of anything useful. He had not even been able to get a look at the creature due to its terrible speed. Could it be a spirit sent by the Valar in this time of need? He chuckled bitterly at the thought of them actually caring. Where were they when the northern Kingdom fell, in the time of the great plague or when the east was lost to the Easterlings? No Gondor would have to survive this by its own as they always had.
He had almost dozed of in his thoughts when a sound made him sit straight up in his chair. That infernal swooshing of the creature was back over the city again, and much closer this time. He ran to the nearest window and opened it wide. Looking out he saw a flying contraption of gold and metal circle below his tower over the citadel. Was this the creature from yesterday? In that case it wasn't a creature at all, this thing was clearly constructed in some way. To magically fly was unheard of except in fairy tales. The loud whining of the contraption drowned out all other sounds and it looked like it had stopped circling and was lowering itself onto the cliff of the white tree, just outside his citadel.
He ran down the stairs of the tower. He had not run like this in decades. His age and weariness forgotten as he could not let lesser men mishandle this new, developing situation. What kind of dark deception or foul magic was this? Inside the citadel he heard the din of weapons, panic and running instead of the accursed whining of the contraption. It took him several minutes to descend all the way to the entrance of the citadel, it felt long, far to long. He did not even hear the whining when he got to the gates. From the top of the stairs, he saw the contraption resting beyond the White Tree further out on the cliff. The citadel guard had completely blocked it of with a shield wall. A hundred levelled speartips from a wall of gondorian steel was a good enough welcome for any stranger violating the sanctity of Minas Tirith, Denethor mused to himself as he made his way to the situation, his robes swaying in the wind.
The wide-eyed captain of the guard met Denethor when he rounded the tree.
"My lord, the… thing has not moved since taking its rest here, but its screaming has decreased continuously." The man was clearly in shock. Denethor shook his head disgusted of the captain's weakness, and a captain no less. Where was his Boromir when he needed him?
"Just let me through" Denethor said while waving his hand towards the backs of the soldiers. If it is a new bloody wizard I'm going to throw him from the cliff myself, he thought. The guards made a space for him and he walked through and stood between them. He could not even describe what the thing looked like. It seemed to have the form of a misshapen log with wings, wings that it could not move. And there was cylinders, plates and pointy things all over. And so many gold details. A two headed eagle, lots of writing in a language unknown to him and several symbols that could be for a noble house? The contraption looked quite complicated this close though, and large. He was comforted and thankful of the security of his guard around him.
The thing hissed a little and a hatch open on the side of the log and out came what looked like a large man. Denethor looked him over carefully. Like the craft his equipment was quite hard to define. Lots of small, unknown, detailed things. But it looked like he had some kind of armour over his torso beneath it all, and he was clearly a soldier from his bearing. The soldier had swept his gaze over them and was now helping a smaller person out. Not a soldier then, a bodyguard, Denethor thought. An ambassador then, but from who? The ambassador was a human woman in a white and golden uniform, including pants for some reason. Looks human, Denethor corrected himself.
The woman looked at them for a second and then started walking towards him, leaving her bodyguard behind with the wave of her hand. She seemed confident but Denethor had already seen through her façade, his 70 years of politics already having her measure. Her gaze too straight, her breathing too deep and her choice to leave her bodyguard was clearly a symbolic gesture. She clothed herself in the calm indifference of a noble but was clearly inexperienced in the real thing. Denethor smiled grandfatherly and walked to meet her outside his protective wall. With a word from the captain the spears were raised and the shield-wall opened up.
"Welcome to Minas Tirith, ambassador" he said as they met, taking in the city with his open arms. The woman looked strangely at him, so he switched to Sindarin.
"Ai, mae l'ovannen edlon" he greeted carefully. She held up her hands and answered him slowly. Denethor carefully listened and could recognise some of the words from Westron, he motioned her to continue as he intently listened on every word. It almost sounded more like the Adûnaic they spoke in Umbar but that was not right either. Then the possibility hit him.
"Are you from old Númenor" he asked slowly in Adûnaic laden Westron.
"Maybe I am" she answered him equally slowly, trying to match his dialect. "But we call it something else." He was quite impressed with how quickly she picked it up, maybe there was a reason her overlords had sent her after all. The legends of old Númenor put their people above everything today but he could not remember anything about flying contraptions.
"Old Númenor sank in the sea thousands of years ago," Denethor pressed, "so how could you be here now?"
"From our viewpoint, you were the ones who sank into the storm." The woman answered, clearly intrigued. "We have waited for a chance to return and here it is." She bowed gracefully before him. "I've been chosen as the ambassador to the people of this land. To ease the return of the Imperium, as we call Númenor."
The polite smile slowly shrank from Denethor's face. The return of the Númenoreans. What could that even mean. For him and his? And for Gondor? It could not be? He gathered himself quickly and smiled to the ambassador again.
"Maybe we could discuss this more inside, bring your entourage. You came right in time for dinner." Denethor said as he swept his hand towards the citadel. The woman gave him a satisfied smile and nodded. Denethor then added, "I would really like to hear more about your mythical island in the west, so close to the legendary land of Valinor."
"There is no island, or other continent, in the sea to the west but I'm sure we can clear up the minutia over some food." The ambassador said with a wave of dismissal and a smile as she returned to her ship.
§ § §
The hobbit Muldam Burrows sat with his homemade pipe and smoked in the late afternoon sun. His home was high in the valley and he sat enjoying the view, as he often did after a good day's work. He had just gotten a new batch of Old Toby from the town, had come from Bree just this weekend the trader had said. And by the taste of the pipe and the well-formed smoke rings, it could just be true.
Muldam sighed satisfied and looked down from the evening sun onto the fields instead. The strange were still at it. They had come earlier that morning, dressed in red robes and with strange staves and sticks. Walking all over young Prattle's tato-fields, they did. They had been at it for hours, doing strange noises all the while. First he had thought they were up to no good, but they were almost neighbourly when talked to and didn't hurt no one or nothing. Then he had thought they were searching for something, but they didn't dig nor find anything except the odd rock and branch they stored in their satchels. Now he thought that they probably did not know themselves. Maybe they were just like him, enjoying the fields, the soft breeze and the afternoon sun in the valley. Yeah, that was probably it.
Muldam stopped his musing over the red men and instead looked at the beautiful last setting of the sun over the hills.