"Xim! Xim!
We turn to you for strength,
We plead to you for mercy.
We trust in you our souls,
Which you have already taken.
Xim! Xim!
Remember us in your dreams."
Battle Cry of the Duinarbulon Lancers

Year 18 of Xim's reign

Year 526 LE

The command deck of the Ascendant was located deep within the body of the warship, shielded from cold vacuum by its glittering kiirium plates, an outer shell of duranium alloy, layers of reinforced bulkheads and a dozen tight airlocks. There was no glimpse of the stars from the heart of the Ascendant, nor was there any sight of the world spread out beneath it, nor the fifty other vessels taking formation. They ranged in size from the swift and wide-winged Cronese harpices to long-bodied Thanium polyremes bristling with gunports. On the command deck these ships, every one of them deadly, were rendered as a wreathe of beautiful lights on the main tactical screen which lay flat at table-height in the center of the room. And in the middle of that blaze was the Ascendant itself, a Cadinthian dreadnought five hundred meters from bow to stern, flagship of a battle group ready to depart for its next conquest.

Once, before he'd met Xim in a battle-scarred factory on Corlax, First Viceroy Marco IV Jaminere had thought that war was temporary thing, like a summer storm or a winter fever. It was hard to believe that had been over half a life ago.

He knew better now. He'd learned about many things since meeting Xim, but most of all he knew that war was inevitable and constant. As long as there existed sentient beings there would be competing values and clashing ambitions, and the conflict between them would inevitably manifest in the universal language of violence.

And it was his purpose to continue that war, in the name of Xim.

Today the fleet had gathered over Janodral Mizar, unlovely but industrious, all the more because it had capitulated to Xim rather than fight. Instead it had allowed its ports, located so centrally on a major hyperspace pathway, to serve as a staging area for the Imperial navy. Mizar sat on the Rimward edge of the Ilhala Spiral, just past the boundaries of what had once been the Livien League and not far from the Yutusk Federation, which still set itself against the expanding empire.

Xim's eyes were ultimately set on the Federation, but such a campaign would be more massive than anything since their conquest of the Livien League. The fifty-one ships over Mizar were priming themselves for a more humble target. Estaria was stubbornly independent, but (so Jaminere's spies informed him) receiving weapons and supplies from the Federation. Taking that world would weaken the Federation just a little more in preparation for that day when the great campaign was launched and the Federation's worlds were compelled to Imperial authority.

All for the glory of Xim, the greatest conquerer the human race had ever known.

Sometimes Jaminere was staggered by all they'd accomplished. He thought back to his first meeting with Xim, thought back to himself: a blood-stained, battle-stunned youth with no intimation of what his future held. Had Xim known how far they'd come, even then? After all they'd been through, Jaminere still couldn't wholly understand him.

But those doubts only came when looking backward. Most days Jaminere concerned himself with challenges waiting to be conquered, and there were plenty of those.

"All ships have checked in, sir," reported the Ascendant's captain as Jaminere stood before the display table. "They report no technical problems and stand ready to advance on your order."

Jaminere glanced from the screen to Captain Sovane. The under-lighting only showed off the smoothness of his young face. Sovane, like Jaminere and most of the Ascendant's crew, hailed from worlds of what had once been the Three Allied Kingdoms. Unlike Jaminere, Sovane was no prince. He'd been born to a humble family on Sorasca and, like most such sons, found his greatest chance for advancement in Xim's burgeoning armies. He was a talented young man, the kind who'd have never had a chance in the moribund military of Jaminere's father.

"Are our navigational systems linked?" he asked Sovane.

"Yes, sir. All are synced to Ascendant and will jump on our mark."

"And the beacon at Estaria?"

"We've locked onto the signal."

So there it was then, the last piece in place. Passage through hyperspace could be dangerous and unpredictable. Even the most ingenious engineers could only partially grasp what they'd inherited from the long-gone Tyrants who'd enslaved humanity for thousands of years, only to scatter like smoke on wind during the so-called Liberation. Some, like artificial gravity generators, had been back-engineered and reproduced so that ships of sufficient size, with sufficiently powerful reactor cores, could keep boots on the deck without resorting to centrifugal spin (Naturally a dreadnought like the Ascendant was among that favored breed). But hyperdrives were a special enigma.

Independent spacers and government-contracted explorers were constantly trying to expand the map of the known galaxy and secure paths to new worlds. Sometimes they succeeded; more often they were never heard from again. Men could use hyperdrives, but navigation through the treacherous other-dimension was nearly impossible. The only safe way to traverse the light-years was by following the signals of the hyperspace beacons placed in orbit around each civilized world.

So it was that today they would be led to their target by the target itself. Estaria was, like Janodral Mizar, a crossroads. Outside traffic was its lifeblood. It could shut down its beacon and effectively isolate itself from the rest of civilization, as some frantic Livien worlds had tried to do to escape Xim's conquest, but in doing so they would only strangle themselves.

No, Estaria could not afford to do that, even if it knew of the approaching fleet. The hyperspace beacons were the knots that bound the fabric of civilization together. It had taken hundreds of years since the Liberation to build that skein. Once it got big enough and complex enough, once enough worlds were drawn into that web, Jaminere supposed it was inevitable that someone would pull them under one banner, as the Tyrants had in the murky past.

Human civilization was becoming bigger, stronger, more connected. It was the inexorable tide of history, and the next wave was going to wash over Estaria whether its people wanted it or not.

Jaminere told Sovane, "Send the signal. Have all ships warm hyperdrives. Begin the countdown in three minutes."

"Yes, sir," the captain said, and quickly relayed orders.

Standing like a pillar at the center of the bridge, Jaminere watched the Ascendant's crew with satisfaction. They were like pieces of a perfectly-maintained machine. The comm officer relayed the warm-up order to all the other ships. Weapons crew went on standby and strapped themselves into their seats, eyes straight on console screens. The navigation team initiated the hyperdrive engines, whose power generators hummed a low growl through the bulkheads.

After three minutes, the one-minute countdown began. An overhead clock ticked away, second by second. Jaminere went to his personal crash seat, right beside the captain's. Sovane had already sat down and locked the straps against his chest, and Jaminere did the same. His heart beat a little faster; he'd taken more jumps through hyperspace than he could count, but he'd never gotten quite comfortable with crossing into that other dimension. The lurch of acceleration as they passed the spectral gate was always the worst.

But he'd dealt with it before, just as he'd dealt with so many other obstacles to get where he was today. As the timer entered its final ten seconds, Sovane counted down aloud. The last crew standing hurried to their seats and strapped in. Jaminere's eyes locked on the ticking clock; his hands dug, ever so slightly, into the arms of his chair.

When the count hit zero, the hyperdrive engines roared and the deck lurched. The Ascendant and fifty other warships shuddered into hyperspace and the march of history.

-{}-

Ajek Kroller had been plying the star-lanes for almost forty years now, and he'd gathered a list of favorites and un-favorites. He'd always treasure the majestic peaks of Desargorr and the idyllic garden-cities of Raxus Prime, and if he wanted cosmopolitan frenzy Desevro would never get old. At the same time he wished never to return to the black-sand wastes of Cadinth or the depressing squalor of Lorrad, where industrial ash and smoke blotted out the skies for days out a time.

Estaria was, all things considered, a very middling planet. Chill weather, drab skies, continents of endless steppe interrupted only by cities made from clustered, mass-fabricated concrete blocks. It was homely but functional and reminded him more than a little of Arramanx, the world where he'd been born and hadn't returned to in thirty years.

Estaria's redeeming factor was that you could make good money here, and that was what mattered most. Its space station was ever-busy with cargo vessels, many of which were using the massive orbiting wheel as a neutral waystation connecting the worlds of Xim's empire with those of the Yutusk Federation. Most of the ships were ungainly and utilitarian, with box-shaped hulls two- or three-hundred meters long, sporting blazing thrusters on one end and command cabins on the other. Some were barely sturdy enough to get through hyperspace and certainly couldn't have endured a hard entry to Estaria's less-used groundside ports.

The Gravity Scorned, however, was not one of those ships. While the larger haulers locked tight with the wheel above, Kroller's freighter dropped out of orbit and (ironically, for its name) allowed itself to be captured by the planet's pull. Once gravity took hold, Gravity Scorned plunged toward the surface, main thrusters aimed at the ground, bow and cockpit faced to dimming stars. At a mere ninety meters long, with an eight-sided hull of reinforced heat-resistant duranium alloy, the ship trembled and blazed like a comet across the upper atmosphere but broke through entry without suffering damage. Using directional thrusters along its flanks, Gravity Scorned nudged its fall toward Estaria's main surface spaceport, which sprawled for square kilometers over green-grass plain. Finally, the cargo vessel flared main rockets to full, slowing the fall so that a potentially calamitous crash ended up a set-down shudder, engine nacelles against scorched-black landing-pad and cockpit pointed skyward in anticipation for eventual take-off. To complete the procedure, massive mechanical arms from the port's docking tower enveloped Gravity Scorned in a steel embrace. A pipeline extended and began to pump new deuterium into depleted fuel tanks. From the cockpit's reinforced-glass window, Kroller could see a gantry walkway extending for the ship's airlock.

As he undid the crash webbing on his pilot's seat, he looked to the navigator's station. "Everything look good?"

"We didn't break anything that I can see," said the young woman still strapped to her chair, back angled toward him and eyes on her console.

"Check with your brother," Kroller said. "Make sure."

"Of course, Dad," Reina said with a suffering sigh. She plucked the headset off the rack on the wall, slipped the earphones over her messy brown hair, and said into the chin-mic, "How does it look, Vaatus?"

Kroller didn't hear the reply, but his daughter reported, "He said engines are good. Reactors are shut down and cooling vanes are working."

"Tell him to give the injector system a look-over. I don't trust that repair job we got on Umhul."

"He's already on it. He says he'll meet us outside when he's done."

Kroller decided not to nag anymore. He glanced out the window and saw more mechanical cranes swinging in Gravity Scorned's direction and muttered, "Somebody's eager to get the cargo unloaded."

"That makes two of us." Reina unbuckled herself. "I can't tell you how glad I'll be to get those off our ship."

"I'll be glad once we get paid," Kroller said, though he'd definitely breathe easier without one-hundred and sixty febrilium warheads sitting in his cargo bay. Estaria was welcome to them.

He allowed Reina to clamber out of the cockpit first. At just twenty-one, she moved with a long-limbed fluidity that reminded Kroller of her mother, though Serena had tied her hair into knots and braids. Reina's was cut shorter, but not so short it didn't become a wavering brown wreath in zero-g. As for Ajek Kroller himself, what hair he had left was short and getting too gray, and he'd lost youthful grace a long time back.

Nonetheless, he was only a little slower than Reina in clambering down the ladder from the cockpit, through the spine of the ship, until they reached the airlock access level midway to the aft cargo section. Since she got there first, Reina was the one to pull back the three manual clamps, turn the handle, and push open the layered metal door. As soon as she did the familiar cold, slightly damp air of Estaria rushed in on them.

The walkway that connected their ship to the launch tower was already extended. Standing on the meshed metal floor was a familiar man standing with arms crossed over bulging stomach. Nonetheless, he smiled through his black beard and called above the rush of wind, "Well, look at you. We were beginning to think you'd never get here."

The we must have included the woman man standing behind him. Kroller had never seen her before, but the emblem on her dark-blue business suit, which bore the red-star symbol of the Estarian defense forces, told him all he needed.

"Good to see you too, Dorin," Kroller said as he stepped past his daughter and extended a hand.

The bearded man snorted, then shook. "Captain Kroller, this is Colonel Ardani. She's looking to take those warheads off your hands."

"I'll be happy to let you, so long as I get paid," Kroller nodded at the dour military woman. "And I'm not late, just careful. I didn't want to risk running any run-ins at Janodral Mizar so I skirted around past Makem Te."

"We appreciate your discretion," Ardani said. "We can give you payment in aurodium ingots, or a deposit in any bank you specify."

"I'll take the ingots, thanks." Kroller trusted money (and most other things) only when he could hold it in his hand.

Ardani turned to the crane now poised beside the Gravity and made a hand signal to its unseen operator. The mighty mechanical arm pushed back the already-unsealed latch of the cargo bay's outer access panel.

"You can enjoy all the facilities of this port for until you're ready to depart." Ardani waved toward the far end of the walkway. "We can process your payment there also."

"Just a minute." Kroller nodded at the airlock. "My son'll be with us in a moment."

"Of course," the colonel said, folded gloved hands behind her back, and waited.

Kroller had never been good with military types, and this one looked stiffer than most. He didn't like dealing with her kind and he didn't like hauling weapons either, but thanks to Xim and his father before him, war was the biggest, best-paying business in the civilized galaxy. This current batch had come courtesy of the Yutusk Federation to its unofficial Estarian allies, delivered via third-party shipment.

Dorin sensed his discomfiture and tried to lighten the mood. He looked at Reina and asked, "How you doing, darling? You keeping your dad out of trouble, or is the other way around?"

Reina crossed arms over her chest, slyly mirroring his pose. "A little of both. This whole job was his idea."

"I got an offer too good to refuse," Kroller shrugged.

Dorin snorted, amused. "I knew you needed work sent your way, so I did. Was this your first time flying all the way out to Ranroon?"

"I've been out there once before, years back." Kroller glanced at the stone-faced colonel. "Things are different there now. You can tell. It's still a beautiful world, but the tensions are higher. People are thinking it's not a matter of if Xim comes after them, but when."

Ardani said, "If people aren't thinking that now, they're fools. It's why every free world left has to pool resources."

If that was true, then Kroller was glad not to be a man without a world. With Gravity Scorned he'd been able to weave and skirt around the battles that had been raging across the stars for the past twenty years. Not that there hadn't been battles before that, of course; he was old enough to remember the fights between Corlax and Sorasca, Galuch and Galidraan, the Yutusk Federation and the Livien League. He'd heard people claim Xim's conquests were actually making the known galaxy more stable and peaceful overall, and that might even be true, but it wasn't something he'd argue on Estaria or Ranroon. And, true or false, he didn't much care either way. All he needed was his ship and his children. And, of course, money to keep flying.

He heard the clatter of boots on metal in the ship behind him and said, "That'll be my boy now."

Ardani nodded, but her eyes got wide as Vaatus clambered out the airlock. He was dressed in a brown mechanic's jumpsuit similar to what Reina wore, but stood half a head taller than Kroller himself. That head was also green, with rough scaly skin, and topped by the small grey horns sported by all of his race.

Vaatus sealed the airlock behind him and said in perfect Tionese, "Ship's locked down. Is everything alright here?"

It was fairly satisfying to see the stuffy colonel do a double-take, but Ardana gathered herself and said, "Of course. Follow me, please."

As soon as she turned, Dorin caught Kroller's eye and smirked. Then the four humans and single Kadas'sa'Nikto walked down the catwalk to the waiting lift capsule, which carried them to the base of the docking tower and the sprawling spaceport facility beyond.

The colonel was too professional to comment, and aside from that initial second of surprise she didn't even stare. Vaatus had gotten more emphatic reactions on different occasions; humans were spread across hundreds of star systems, and since the Liberation every major interstellar polity had been human-run. Xim's empire, by far the largest of those kingdoms, gave non-humans nominal equal rights and allowed many alien worlds to govern themselves so long as they didn't get in Xim's way, but for the most part they kept to themselves and off the space-lanes. There were a few exceptions, like the Saheelindeeli and the Brigians, but even most of the well-traveled spacers Kroller worked with didn't know what species Vaatus belonged to. He was from another part of the galaxy entirely.

Sometimes people badgered Kroller and Vaatus for their story, but not Aldani. She was too professional for that. That was fine with Kroller; it was quite a long story, and he wasn't in the mood to tell.

When the colonel offered the port's restaurants and other amenities, Kroller told his children to go enjoy themselves while he finished business. Reina and Vaatus were perfectly happy to comply; they were still young enough that solid ground felt and standard gravity like an adventure. He sometimes wondered what they'd have grown up like if they'd been raised on a real world with breezy air and clouds in the sky. He'd had that on Arramanx, so very long ago, and it hadn't been pleasant. Once he'd gotten away he'd never looked back.

When three sober adults stepped into the colonel's front office, Aldani sealed the door tight behind them, removed her message pad from her desk, and held it out for Kroller to read.

As he took it she said, "This is the summary of our contract, updated to include method of payment." She removed a stylus from her pocket. "Please sign to confirm the end of our transaction."

Kroller took the stylus but didn't sign. "What about the aurodium?"

"It's on its way here. You'll receive a case with twenty-four ingots, fifteen percent purity."

He ran mental calculations. The numbers didn't quite add up. He looked over the contract again, then looked to Dorin and frowned. "I thought your middleman fee was twenty percent."

"Twenty-five percent," the bearded man said innocently. "Always has been."

Kroller frowned but didn't argue. He was still getting a better fee than his last three hauling jobs combined. War really was good for business, and he couldn't blame Dorin for wanting to get in on it.

But it wasn't just money. Kroller might have been a man without a world but Dorin was an Estarian native. He liked money but he was also a patriot with no love for the Empire. That probably explained why a man with his checkered legal past was working closely with the Estarian military. Xim made strange bedfellows indeed.

As they waited for the ingots to show up Kroller said, "I know this contract is for one shipment only, but are there changes for more? The people on Ranroon were pretty evasive."

Ardani was evasive too. "Shipments are delivered as needed, based on continuous negotiations with the Yutusk Federation."

"Well, if you do need more cargo shipped, you know how to contact me." Kroller jabbed a thumb at Dorin. "Through him."

"I'm aware," the colonel said drolly.

"I'm especially interested if, next time, you need somebody to transport thrusters or navigation systems for your missiles. They're a little less volatile than the warheads." Kroller tilted his head. "Though I'm guessing you already have those shipped, prepped, and ready."

"The state of our defense systems is not relevant to your contract," Ardani said. "Though as I noted, our needs are fluid."

"Well, I'm happy if they flow my way. You people pay well."

And as if on cue, the door opened and an officer walked in carrying, two-handed and a little awkwardly, a broad metal case. He placed it on the colonel's desk then stepped out of the room. Kroller opened the case and couldn't keep himself from grinning at the sight of so many gold-white plates. He preferred getting paid in hard currency, and not just because banks were even less stable than governments lately. At times like this it was a joy to pick up your payment, feel its weight in your hand and admire that gilded sheen.

He examined a few ingots just to assure himself they were real, then closed the case. "Colonel, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

"I'm sure." She didn't even offer a hand to shake. "The port and its facilities are at your disposal for the next standard day. After that, we will need your berth for another ship."

"I understand. Thanks for the hospitality." Kroller tugged the case by its handle and pulled it off the desk. He grunted (the damned thing was heavy) but recovered and sketched a salute with his free hand.

As a guard escorted them out of the port's military zone, Dorin asked him, "How's the Gravity doing nowadays? I didn't get a good look at her coming in."

"Been having problems with the deuterium injectors. Got a repair done on Umhul. Not sure how good it was—the mechanic was kind of a sleaze, honestly—but I needed to make sure we got here without blowing up."

"With all those warheads aboard, you'd have incinerated spectacularly."

"Which is why I'm glad to get 'em off my ship."

"Sure. But how's the rest of the Gravity?"

Kroller frowned. "You getting at something?"

"I'm just wondering. You talked a while back about installing some kinda new weapons system, maybe missiles tubes to go with that turret gun."

"Oh, that. Nah, it's not worth the money."

"Hmmm, that's your choice." Dorin stuffed hands in his pockets. His big stomach wobbled slightly in front of him as they walked. "Thing is, the stars are getting more dangerous every day."

"They've been saying that for decades." Kroller didn't know if they were right.

"Granted, it depends on whose stars, and whose planets."

Dorin's voice was grave. After they stepped passed the checkpoint into the port's civilian zone, Kroller stopped and looked at the bigger man head-on. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Wasn't sure if you'd heard, but military command thinks an attack by Xim might be imminent."

"How imminent is 'imminent'?"

"They're not sure, but they're getting prepared, and I'm not just talking about missiles. Last week the government made an announcement. Any armed vessels can sign up to help defend Estaria and get paid for it. Rates vary depending on ship size, armaments, all that, but the money's pretty good."

"Don't tell me you signed up. You, really?"

"Is that a surprise?" Dorin sounded indignant. "This is my planet. We're a free world, always have been, ever since the Liberation."

He'd never heard such conviction from Dorin before. The man had always been so level-headed, so practical. Once they'd even fled, together, from a wave of warships during the conquest of Livien space all those years ago.

"Damn it, you know how Xim fights," Kroller said. "If you throw down and surrender, like Mizar did, you'll get off easy. But if you fight you're just asking for hurt. You know what he did on Pasmin, or Nuswatta?"

"Everybody knows that. We're not kidding ourselves, Ajek, and we're not fools. But this is our world, not his."

Kroller felt sick to his stomach. Somehow his friend had been turned into a radical when he wasn't looking. "This world's not worthy dying for," he said. "No planet is."

"What about Reina or Vaatus? You'd die for your kids?"

He felt sicker still. "If it was them or me, you know I would. But standing up to Xim won't get Estaria anything but dead."

"At least we'd die in our feet instead of our knees."

"Great hells, you really believe that." Kroller shook his head. He tried to match this Dorin with the who'd helped Serena con those Stalimuri pirates, who'd sneaked past a Cronese blockade during a smuggling run to Panna (even the one who'd skimmed off five percent of his pay a minute ago) and he simply couldn't.

He'd thought that, with his small family and one little ship, he'd made himself immune to the violent weft of history, but he'd been kidding himself. When he'd taken this job he should have seen this coming.

Voice soft now, almost pleading, Dorin said, "Even with one little gun, the Gravity could be a help. In act—"

"No." Kroller held up a hand. "One gun's not worth much and you know it. The Gravity doesn't have anything but light armor. No kiirium, nothing. I don't care how much they pay me, I'm not mercenary and I'm not patriot either. It's not my fight and it's definitely not my kids'."

"All right. You want to protect Reina and Vaatus. I get that." Dorin lowered his head. "I'm sorry, I know you got your own priorities. They're just as valid as mine."

Yes, Kroller thought, and they're a hell of a lot smarter too.

Dorin asked, "Where you going to after this, anyway? Gonna spend your money at some resort on Raxus Prime?"

"I was going to swing by Santossa and meet Malanthazaar. See if he has leads on new work. This pay's good, but I'd like to get a little more before I splurge. Thats why I was asking about more runs to Ranroon."

"Well, if you're worried about safety, Malanthazaar's your better bet. He won't drag you into anything crazy." He lifted his head, met Kroller's eyes. "But give me something, okay? Tell Malanthazaar and anyone else you run into that Estaria's paying good money for armed ships. Hell, they don't even have to fly 'em. The government's willing to buy ships, if they're good in a fight."

It was, Kroller thought, the sign of a truly desperate people. But he said, "Sure, I'll pass it along. It's the least I could do."

"Good. I'm glad."

The two men looked at each other awkwardly. Finally Dorin extended a hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, Ajek. As always."

Kroller thought about jibing him over that five percent but decided against it. He might not see Dorin again after today, and he didn't want to risk last words on a joke that might not land, so he reached out and shook. Dorin had the tight grip of someone desperate for any helping hand, and Kroller felt a pang of shame.

But it was only a small one. After one shake their hands parted, and that was that.

-{}-

Reina Kroller knew she'd been born in a medical facility on Arcan IV but that meant nothing. Her home had always been Gravity Scorned and the space-lanes it plied. She knew planets by their spaceports and the way they looked from high orbit. Her memory was a map of names and images from all the worlds she and her father had visited, and by now they numbered in the dozens.

Estaria had, all things considered, a pretty middling spaceport, but that was fine by her. She enjoyed nearly every trip groundside, and not just for the solace of gravity. Each planet had a slightly different sky, a different tug and scent in the air. Estaria's was cool and damp and came on strong winds. All of it was such a break from the Gravity Scorned.

As they walked the maze of open-air shops and restaurants that lay between the port's three landing complexes, Reina and Vaatus drew more than a few looks. Spaceports like these were where one was most likely to see non-humans and humans mixing together, so it was mostly Vaatus's unrecognized species that got attention. Every now and then she could see eyes narrowed as veteran spacers tried to figure out where the green-skinned, horn-faced alien had come from.

Thankfully nobody bothered them as they sat down outside a Spinaxian restaurant with plates full of steamed seafood. As they ate and drank Vaatus observed, "People are tense here."

"Tense around you or tense in general?"

"In general. They're walking fast. Everybody has eyes ahead of them, like they can't think of anything else except where they want to be."

Reina looked off the restaurant's veranda at people walking through the streets. They did indeed look a little harried. "Guess they're getting afraid of Xim."

"Which explains to good price we got for those missiles," Vaatus said dryly.

Her brother could easily lapse into dour moods, and Reina did her best to cheer him up. "What do you want to do with the money from this job? I don't think the Gravity needs any huge repairs for once, so I was thinking we could splurge."

"Ah," he said, "that explains why you picked the most expensive dish on the menu."

"Not the most expensive. There were at least two things that cost more," she waved a hand. "Come on, Vaatus. Pick a vacation spot. We're really close to Raxus Prime. Everyone likes Raxus Prime."

"What's not to like?" he agreed. "Beautiful garden cities, gleaming beaches, tropical mountain ranges… and way too many tourists."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad."

"This time of the year it is. Check the database on the Gravity when we get back. They're holding their annual 'Spirit Week' festival right now, which means tens of thousands of offworld visitors."

"'Spirit Week'? I've never heard of that one," she said, though admittedly known space was full of local holidays, histories, and customs she'd never heard of. It was what made star-crossing endlessly interesting.

Vaatus shrugged and sipped his drink. "I'm pretty sure they made it up a decade ago to draw more tourists. And it worked."

She rolled her eyes and swallowed a mouthful of fish. "Well, if we were to splurge someplace, where would you want to go? Don't squeeze out of it, I want an honest answer."

"Fine, no squeezing." He sipped a little more and thought. "I'd say… Soruus."

Reina stared in disbelief. "Soruus? Really? What do you want to do, watch the gladiator games?" Vaatus was the last person to go for blood sports.

"No, not those," he waved a hand emphatically. "But the last time we were there we had a day to burn at the spaceport, so I rented short-range flyer and went off on my own."

"I think I remember that."

"Only about an hour from the spaceport, there's this rift valley. It's warm and lush and covered in jungle. I remember the plants there, the flowering trees, had this absolutely beautiful fragrance, like nothing I'd ever smelled before." His green lips canted wistfully. "And at the bottom of the canyon there were these ruins all overgrown by vines and creepers. I don't know who built them. I don't think they were human, they were all scaled too big. But even as old as they were, as overrun, there was something majestic about them. The fact that they'd been neglected for so long made them even more so."

When it seemed like he was done she summarized, "So you want to spend your vacation getting dirty in a jungle."

He picked at the remains of the spineray on his plate. "You're the one who claims to like exploring."

"Yes, but I also like sunny beaches with nice drinks. And waiters who are paid to bring me those drinks."

Reina wondered if Vaatus's longing for a mucky jungle was fueled by nostalgia for his distant homeworld. He probably would never admit it, even to himself, and she was trying to find words to breach it tactfully when she was interrupted by the wail of an alarm.

She looked around for the source and realized it was coming from multiple directions. Loudspeakers dotting the spaceport complex echoed the same noise, and within seconds everyone was roused in alarm and reaching for their comlink.

Reina took out hers before Vaatus did and immediately hailed their father. She waited but heard no reply. Elsewhere, people were getting up from their tables and hurrying into a street that had become packed with pushing, shoving bodies.

"I don't like this," Vaatus said gruffly. "We should get back to the ship immediately."

"We need to find Dad first," Reina insisted, but he still wasn't picking up.

Her worry was starting to edge toward panic when she saw him pushing his way through the crowd. He waved at them from a distance but could get no closer. Wordlessly, Reina and Vaatus agreed to join him instead. They left their half-eaten meals behind and joined the clashing streams of bodies. Vaatus's size and fearsome appearance came in handy; even panicked pedestrians made way for him and Reina clung to his wake until they'd both reached Kroller, who held on to a briefcase full of payment with both hands.

"What's going on?" Reina had to shout to be heard over the din.

"Warships just exited hyperspace," her father yelled back. "It's Xim!"

The name was like a drum-beat in Reina's head. All her life it had been a syllable of menace, and all her life they'd steered clear of wherever the warlord's latest campaigns were being waged. They'd known that running weapons for Estaria carried risk, which was why they'd steered well clear of Imperial territory on the way here. She'd told herself it had been for a good cause (not to mention good money) and that they'd only be on this planet for a day. What were the odds that Xim's navy would come sweeping down on them in that small window of time?

Whatever those odds were, they weren't in her favor. Heart and head both pounded in fear as Vaatus forced his way through the crowd toward the docking zone where they'd berthed their ship.

"Is the Gravity going to be ready for takeoff?" she called as they moved through the frenzy.

"Should be," Kroller returned. He held up that heavy briefcase like a plow to shove his way through the herd. "Didn't need repairs, just fuel. Ground crews should have sealed the hatches after they took off the cargo."

"But if they didn't—"

"Then we can re-seal them," Vaatus said firmly.

She wanted to know if that would do any good, if they'd have to fight their way offworld, if their measly little ship with its one gun turret could fight through Xim's war fleet. But nobody could answer that, so she kept her mouth shut.

When they finally reached Gravity Scorned and ascended the docking tower, she scoured its hull with her eyes and was relieved to see that the cargo hatches were sealed. The tower's arms still held the ship in place, and if they didn't retract then Gravity would have to tear free of them on lift-off. That was one worry, but the worst was waiting for them in space. She looked up into Estaria's gray skies and saw nothing, no hint of the doom bearing down. Save for the mortal panic, it was just another day.

As soon as they were aboard they slammed the airlock tight, sealed it, and clambered up the ladder to the cockpit. Her father took the pilot's seat, Reina the navigator's spot next to him. Vaatus strapped into the seat in the back of the cabin, near the consoles for both engineering and weapons.

It would take time to warm engines. As they waited, Reina brought her computer online and turned her attention to space. Gravity's short-range sensors turned up nothing but she was able to run a data feed from the spaceport's public scanners, and it painted a much clearer picture. Fifty-one warships had appeared above Estaria's hyperspace beacon and were slowly spreading out into an encirclement formation. It was an impressive war fleet: she marked fast Cronese harpices, hard-hitting Thanium polyremes, even a Cadinthian dreadnought sitting imperious in the middle of the formation. She recalled that Xim's flagship was something else, an even-bigger design custom-built for the emperor at Eibon, which meant he'd sent one of his minions to subdue Estaria instead of coming himself.

Her sensors also showed starships, many from his very port, pushing through the sky and into space. Some set themselves on courses that would pass between or around the attacking formation, but others had chosen collision vectors. Gravity Scorned's engines grew louder and louder as they warmed; tension and volume rose together and the thrusters were nearly roaring as the first Estarian ships engaged Xim's war fleet.

"Prepare for launch!" Her father declared and began counting down.

Ten, nine, eight. Missiles streaked through space, pushing against or falling into Estaria's gravity well. Seven, six, five. Explosions burst, causing patches of the sensor-scope to dissolve in confused static. Were some of those warheads shipped aboard the Gravity Scorned? Had the missiles been assembled quickly enough? She'd never know. Four, three, two. A few lights on the screen winked out as impacts registered and ships were destroyed. To her unsteady count, every ship lost has come from Estaria.

"Liftoff!" Kroller called, and the Gravity Scorned surged against the earth on a powerful rocket-thrust. All three passengers were pinned to the backs of their seats as the ship lanced skyward on a trail of fire and smoke. The vibration jarred them all in their seats and knocked Reina's molars together. All the while she kept her eyes on the sensor screen and watched what she could of the battle playing out above, the battle they'd be joining any minute now.

Firelight flashed through the window as they pushed through the atmospheric envelope and rocked into space. Reina watched her sensor screen as clarity returned. There were dozens of Estarian ships now, all engaged with Xim's war fleet. The invaders had been forced to break their carefully-held formation, and she saw that the defenders were a ragtag collection of lights freighters, cargo haulers and scout ships, giving fight with whatever weapons they had strapped on. They were brave, mad, and possibly suicidal to take on the galaxy's most potent war fleet that way, but they were doing it nonetheless.

They were also opening wide enough holes in the invaders' grid to allow Gravity Scorned an escape route. Kroller angled the ship through one open patch and gunned engines to full.

"Reina!" he called, "I'm warming the hyperdrive! We'll jump as soon as we clear the gravity well."

"Where are we going?" she asked, voice trembling.

"Can you get Santossa?"

"I'll try." She immediately called up the ship's index of hyperspace of hyperspace beacons. Each planetary node broadcast on a different frequency and she tried to lock onto the one her father wanted. As she did so she watched her sensor screen as well and saw that the ranks of Estarian ships had already thinned. They were fighting their hardest to defend their homeworld against an implacable enemy, and they were losing.

And the Gravity Scorned wasn't going to help, only run. It made her stomach twist with guilt. She didn't want to die here, but she couldn't stand the shame of cowardice either.

Helplessly she cried out, "Dad, we have to help them somehow!"

He only snapped back: "Do you have Santossa?"

She focused on her nav screen. "I… I can't get the signal!"

Sometimes that simply happened. Stellar gas drifted in the wrong place and got in the way, or a navigation beacon went down for repairs. It had never happened at a time as awful as this.

"Get another planet!" Kroller ordered. "We're almost clear! We need to jump!"

Her eyes flicked back to the sensor screen. One Estarian scout-turned-warship was battling with a block of Cronese battlebirds, and the fighting was straying perilously close to their position.

"Vaatus, warm up the cannon!" she called to her brother. "We've got incoming!"

"Guns ready," he replied.

"Hold guns!" Kroller was yelling now. "Reina, get us a signal! Try Mizar, Makem Te, Toola, anything!"

Janodral Mizar was Imperial territory, but did that matter? She tried Makem Te instead and waited, chest tight, barely breathing. Her father threw the ship into two tight twists to avoid stray bullet-sprays that battlebirds were spilling into space.

Suddenly the nav computer lit up, confirming a lock on Makem Te's hyperspace beacon. She called, "We've got a signal!"

"Aligning now," Kroller said. From his pilot's station he could immediately patch helm control to her nav computer. The ship spun on its axis, dramatically re-orienting itself for a hyperspace leap to Makem Te. As Gravity Scorned pivoted, she strained to look through the window and saw the Estarian scout streak past, giving her a second-long view as the brave ship shattered into flaming pieces. Good people defending their world, all dead, and she hadn't done a thing to help them.

She was still watching the window, and the retreating blaze of a battlebird's engines, when inertia slammed her hard into her seat and the blue-white river of hyperspace swept them away.

-{}-

The battle of Estaria went the same as so many others. First the Imperial fleet dropped out of hyperspace and spread out in precise formation over the target world. Then the planet launched its defenders: a mix of ships designed for combat and many more civilian ships with weapons cobbled together and perhaps kiirium shields or duranium armor plating for additional protection. And those defenders would battle bravely, throwing themselves at the numerically and technically superior force bearing down on them. And inevitably they would be destroyed.

After that came the second stage of conquest. Here tactics varied. Sometimes the planet was such a valuable target that the only way to seize it (if it proved stubborn and refused to surrender) was to launch drop ships that disgorged tanks, armored vehicles, and battalions of ground troops. Aerial assault teams would join in as the cities were surrounded and the ground forces deployed to seize primary targets such as spaceports, anti-air batteries, industrial facilities and government centers. Such campaigns could take days or even weeks, and cost thousands of lives on both sides.

The other tactic was much simpler. If a target was considered expendable, or simply not worth the losses required to seize, it could be eradicated.

Jaminere and Xim had discussed the Estarian conquest in detail, and after much debate they'd come to the conclusion that, in this case, the second tactic was permissible.

Therefore, once the first wave of defenders had been decimated, Jaminere ordered his fleet to close its noose around the planet. From deep within the Ascendant, he watched and commanded as two Cronese harpices dropped into low orbit and launched precision nuclear warheads at the planet's capital. Though he did not see it with his own eyes, he could nonetheless imagine the dual suns bursting from their steel shells over the cityscape, the groundquakes and burning wind, the collapse of buildings and the scalding light. He could imagine the mushroom clouds spreading out and rising high, high into Estaria's overcast sky.

Nine minutes later, the Ascendant received a surrender plea from the main spaceport, located twenty miles outside the capital and just outside the blast radius of the nuclear strike. Even in acts of atrocity, Xim precise.

So was Jaminere. As soon as the surrender came he barked orders to all ships, telling them to stop firing immediately and take preassigned positions in low orbit. A delegation would be dispatched to the spaceport to negotiate with whomever claimed to speak for Estaria, and they would take with them approximately one million samples of anti-radiation medication to be distributed to the citizens of the conquered planet. Because just as the Empire could be brutal, it could also be merciful, if it so chose.

The Ascendant dispatched so envoys itself, but the dreadnought remained in low geosynchronous orbit over the capital, a steadfast reminder of who now dominated Estaria. Only when it had locked position did Jaminere give the crew the order to stand down from high alert.

He watched as his crew, who'd acted with clockwork precision during the fight, deflated with released tension. He remained where he'd spent most of the battle: standing before the central table on which was painted the moving lights of the tactical display.

"Captain," he said, "Compose a message for Desevro. Tell them the planet is ours. A detailed battle summary will follow as soon as I have it written."

"Of course, sir." Sovane snapped a salute; the young man even clicked his heels as he did so. No relaxation for that one, even in the aftermath of victory.

As soon as he turned his back, Jaminere smiled tiredly. At no point had he felt himself in danger; indeed, it had been years since any force has been mustered a serious challenge to Xim's ever-growing empire. His memory ran through all those engagements, searching for one when his life had felt as threatened as it had at Corlax, when he'd tasted first blood and first seen Xim's dark bright eyes. Thanium, perhaps, had been the last place where he'd felt the thrill of mortality, and that was almost a decade gone.

But things would change. Estaria was just a prelude to a campaign months or even years away, but it would come, because war was inevitable and war was constant, and it was the purpose of Marco IV Jaminere, First Viceroy of the Empire, to continue that war in the name of Xim.

His architect, emperor, and friend.