Aetheral Space

"This place will soon become a battlefield," said Atoy Muzazi wistfully, looking out over Charge District in the early morning light.

The preparations for the niain were all but complete - massive tents had been set up all across the three levels that would be hosting the festival, and so many effigies of the deceased had been prepared that they'd likely outnumber the attendants. Once night fell, those effigies would be beaten, burnt, torn to shreds; they'd suffer every kind of death that the masses wished upon them. To tell the truth, Muzazi thought the whole custom was highly disrespectful, but he supposed he could expect no better from the UAP.

Still … did he have the right to cut through a celebration like this, simply to achieve his own goals? What made his desires more important than those who wanted to give this dead man one final insult?

"Well, when you think about it," said Marie, walking up behind him. "Nearly everywhere is a battlefield, sooner or later."

Her mouth was caked with sugar - she'd been eating a donut she'd purchased from a stall that had set up early, eager to get the morning business. Still, even with that mess, there was the cold sharp glint of strength in her eyes.

"How so?" said Muzazi, his grasping hand finding reassurance in Luminescence's hilt. At Marie's insistence, he'd concealed the sword beneath his dirty coat - he disliked hiding his weapon, but he would not be the cause of a failed mission.

"The galaxy is a big place," Marie replied, leaning over the railing next to him. "There's probably been a murder in every inch of it. At least once, you know? Bathrooms especially. There's no better place to kill someone than a bathroom - they're usually unprepared, and clean-up is right there, too."

"You speak like you know a great deal about this."

Marie held her hand up, looking at her nails as she spoke disinterestedly. "Oh, I've killed plenty of people in bathrooms. You haven't?"

Muzazi shook his head. "I have not. It would be difficult to duel in such a place - mobility is limited."

"Duel?" Marie raised an eyebrow, and a strange smile played across her lips. "I'm not talking about dueling someone, Atoy. I'm talking about killing someone when they're not expecting it. Assassination, you know?"

Muzazi frowned. "That's murder."

"Yeah," Marie shrugged. "A duel's a murder, too. If the other person ends up dead, does it really matter how it happened?"

"It does!" said Muzazi seriously, looking at her. "An assassination is cowardly - dispatching someone without being willing to risk your own life. A duel is a fair contest between two equals, with both having a chance of winning. It's the ultimate method to determine who is superior."

Reaching a bench, Marie took the opportunity to lounge, draping her arms over the back of it as if it were a sofa. "So if the other person doesn't have a fighting chance, that's what makes it murder?"

Muzazi nodded. He was glad she was such an understanding person.

"In that case," Marie said, raising a finger. "When you killed Johnston Rikhail and Minister Goley, wasn't that murder? They were politicians, hardly fighting men."

"If they had the power to stop me from finishing them, they could have done so, and I would have accepted that outcome gladly."

"How's that?" Marie cocked her head. "Wouldn't you still be pissed off at them?"

Muzazi put a hand on the railing. "Yes, I would. But them beating me would have proved that I was mistaken in those feelings, and that their philosophy was the correct one. Alas, they attained their positions through deception rather than strength of will, and so they were unable to overcome me."

"That's a pretty, uh, hard-line philosophy there," Marie winced. "You're not one of those Tree of Might idiots, are you?"

He considered the question, putting a hand to his chin. In the past, Muzazi had found himself agreeing with the Tree of Might on a few issues - that it had become far too easy for weak individuals to rise up in the Supremacy - but he disagreed with the organisation on their narrow view of strength. Physical power was splendid, to be sure, but Muzazi believed that intelligence and willpower were just as important. If Goley had been able to talk Muzazi down with a well-reasoned argument, that would have proven the other man's superiority just as surely as an Aether-infused fist would have.

"Gee, you're really thinking about that, huh?" Marie cut in, putting a stop to his grain of thought.

"You asked me a question. It's only polite to answer that to the best of my abilities."

"Hm," said Marie, before nodding towards the festival grounds before them. "So, what do you think? Think it'll be easy to grab him here?"

Muzazi turned his head to look at his battlefield again, lips pursed. "It's difficult to say. It's fairly quiet now, but once the niain begins these streets will be packed with people. That could make our mission easier, or more difficult. It depends on Dragan Hadrien's actions."

"I got a call back from the contact I told you about," Marie said, hopping out of her seat. "He's managed to get me the gun I need - so I can give you covering fire whichever way you want to go about this thing."

Muzazi nodded. "I appreciate that."

"You better - it wasn't cheap. Anyway, isn't having me as a sniper kind of, uh, dishonourable too?"

"Not at all. We've already agreed that you'll only fire upon the man called Skipper and his associates. I will take Dragan Hadrien by myself. In that respect, all you're doing is ensuring a fair contest between me and him."

Marie chuckled. "A fair contest. I almost feel sorry for the poor guy."

Muzazi's hand tightened around Luminescence's hilt. "I don't."

-

"There's no need for you to look so panicked, Chael," said the Sponsor of War, towering over his presidential thrall. "You've made preparations as I've instructed, haven't you?"

Chael paced across the conference room, one hand stuffed into his pocket as his other fidgeted in the air. "Yeah, yeah, of course I have - Dir says he's ready - but, you know, this is a delicate kinda, um, thing. You know? Things could go wrong - and that won't be my fault if it does! I - I only did as you told me!"

Zhao watched, face blank, as the leader of his planet made frantic excuses in advance of failure. Really, he felt like he should be accustomed to this kind of thing, but he felt the second-hand humiliation every time.

Today, only the Sponsor of War was in attendance. That wasn't anything unusual - when it came to things like this, War liked to handle matters as personally as possible.

"Stop whimpering," the flaming bull admonished. "The instructions I've given you are flawless. The resources I've provided are world-class. Before the night is dead, we will have Ambran Roz in custody - and through him, we'll have the Citizen. Perhaps we'll even have him tonight, if the man is stupid enough to go after Roz himself."

"Well," mumbled Chael. "Yes, I suppose … yes, yes, of course that would be good." He nodded quietly to himself.

"Zhao," intoned the Sponsor of War, with a voice like thunder.

Zhao jumped. Rare were the occasions where he found himself directly addressed during these meetings, but they never failed to put the fear of God in him. "Sir," he said clearly, inwardly ashamed of the obedience in his voice.

"Section Chief Dir will be keeping your office updated on the operation as it progresses. The moment it is concluded, I expect your report on the results."

Zhao nodded just as silently as Chael had. When you got right down to it, Zhao reflected bitterly, the only difference between himself and the President was that Zhao knew how to tie a tie.

"The Citizen's comrades are insignificant," the bull continued. "No matter their actual involvement in their leader's crimes, they are unknown to the public, and so they do not exist. I don't much care if they get away. But the Citizen must face justice. Do you understand, Zhao?"

Again, Zhao silently nodded. He didn't dare speak back; it felt very much as if he were being threatened.

If they didn't get the Citizen, it'd be his head on the chopping block.

The bull's attention returned to Chael, who straightened up from his slouch immediately. "Chael," it said. "You are to ensure the Citizen’s capture is kept under wraps until we are able to convene and settle on a strategy. The Citizen is unpopular even in the Pit, fortunately, but we can't risk changing that by turning him into a martyr. Do you understand?"

Chael nodded, pale. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

The bull flickered out of existence, and the moment it did Chael put his head in his hands. "It's so damn busy around here," he groaned, rubbing his palms against his temples. "Why can't it just be quiet?"

The doors to the conference room smoothly slid open, and Chael's personal bodyguard stepped in, clad in his white suit and helmet. Chael had sent him away before the meeting started - likely for the usual reasons. The bag of red powder Zhao could see poking out from underneath the bodyguard's suit suggested that, at least.

Chael looked up, his expression noticeably brightening when he saw the bodyguard. "Oh, uh, good," he grinned. "Did you, um, take care of that … that matter?"

The President wasn't nearly as subtle as he thought he was. Zhao knew, as did most of the Dawnhouse's security, that Chael's bodyguard was there less to guard his body and more to facilitate the President's vices. In this case, narcotics.

Chael's gaze slid over to Zhao, still standing there in the corner. "Leave us, man," he said, pulling on a half-assed semblance of authority. "We need to discuss important - important matters."

He was so full of shit. Still, it was Zhao's job to do as he was told. He nodded and strolled out of the room, doing his best not to shoot a dirty glance at Chael and his bodyguard as he passed them.

As the doors closed behind Zhao, he sighed long and hard. He could have been a lawyer, damnit. He could have been so many things other than this.

Security officers nodded in acknowledgement as Zhao passed them, hands clasped behind his back. If nothing else, then at least the Dawnhouse security had some concept of decorum. Still … thugs for hire didn't belong in the birthplace of Taldan.

The Dawnhouse was a cramped, dark place for a government to make its home - it had, of course, been chosen for sentimental reasons rather than pragmatic ones. The Dawnhouse had originally just been the Dawn, the mining ship that had first landed on Taldan and discovered the colossal deposits of nendon gas beneath the surface.

The city had sprung up around the ship - until, of course, it had grown to such a point where the Dawn had to park on the city's tallest building in order to still be visible. It was even written into law now: if a building was constructed that was at a greater height than the Dawnhouse, then the Dawnhouse had to be allowed to move onto that building. It was like the city's crown, in that way.

It had been years since the Dawnhouse last flew, though, and thank goodness - the fumes were awful.

Still, the old dingy thing had seemed so beautiful when young Zhao had seen it soar through the skies, like a moving mountain.

Zhao came to a brief stop in the hallway and put his hand against the wall, feeling the vibrations of the ship through it. It was like the heartbeat of Taldan itself. Weak, laboured, groaning.

And yet not quite dead.

-

Skipper whistled as they stepped out of the elevator station, taking in the sights of Charge District. "Wowie," he said, hands on his hips. "A lotta people must have hated this Augusto guy."

The district was absolutely packed with people, crowds moving like an ocean through the busy streets. The shouting of vendors looking to sell their goods, celebrants hurling delirious insults at the effigies and security officers trying to keep order mingled into one chaotic chorus. Drones flitted through the sky like birds - some belonging to security, others bearing the logos of various news organizations. One blue drone with mandibles like a beetle swooped over the crowd, snapping a series of pictures.

They'd been there for approximately seven seconds, but Dragan wanted to go home already.

Bruno stalked out of the station to stand next to Skipper, cloak pulled tight around him. "Apparently this Augusto was some kind of factory owner," he said, watching as a floating balloon representation of the deceased was speared by half-a-dozen javelins. "Not a huge fan of workplace safety, either, from what I managed to gather."

"The world's a darker place without him," said Skipper, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "See anything suspicious, Mr. Hadrien?"

Dragan shook his head, eyes still scanning the crowd. Nobody had been looking at their group for an unusual length of time, and none of the people who walked particularly close by were concealing weapons. Still, that didn't mean he would let his guard down.

"Nice, nice," said Skipper quietly, his own eyes still cautious. "Apparently, this Roz guy is supposed to be getting picked up by security near the bonfire - if anything goes down, that's where it's going to happen." He looked towards Ruth. "Ruth, cover the back. I'll keep watch from the front. Bruno, Serena, Mr. Hadrien, you guys stay in the middle."

Ruth nodded quietly, and Dragan gave her an inquisitive look. That was strange. He'd thought she'd felt better when he'd left her last night, but now she looked more uncomfortable than ever. Had something happened?

The group walked in the formation Skipper had described, trying to look as casual as possible even as they were ready at any moment to be attacked. Dragan tightened his grip on the stun pistols in his pockets, hoping they wouldn't get caught on anything if he quickly tried to pull them free.

Skipper had said they'd find Roz by 'the bonfire', but Dragan didn't see how that narrowed things down much. Half-a-dozen effigies had already become acquainted with flames - some lay in heaps of ash and burnt fabric, while others were still burning like giant torches, their warm glow a stark contrast to the rest of the city's artificial lighting.

They passed a group of drunkards being cuffed by security officers, turned a corner, and Dragan immediately understood just why Skipper had called this thing the bonfire.

It was like a mountain of discarded furniture and effigies, burning with such heat that Dragan could feel it on his face even from several meters away. Celebrants danced and drank around the bonfire, shouting and laughing loudly, taking pictures with charred dummies, throwing their litter into the flames with angry yells. Skipper whistled at the sight.

"Say what you want about Taldan," he said. "But they know how to party!"

Party? It looked to Dragan more like the rehearsal for a mass execution. Still, he supposed that could be fun too if you were some kind of freak.

Dragan felt an elbow sharply poke him in the side, and as he turned to glare at Bruno the other boy nodded towards a food stall off to the side. "There's our guy," he said, voice low.

Ambran Roz looked different from his photo - his hair was red and tied back in a ponytail now - but his facial features were unchanged. He was sitting at the food stall nervously, nursing a bowl of soup, his eyes flicking around the crowd as he ate. He wasn't inspecting the crowd very well, of course - Dragan and Bruno were pretty much staring at him, and he hadn't noticed.

"What do we do?" muttered Dragan, as the group came to an inconspicuous stop around a still-standing effigy, as if they too were here to take their frustrations out on it.

Skipper flicked the effigy between its painted-on eyes, and its head bobbed back and forth. "We sit and watch," he said calmly, not looking towards Roz as he spoke. "The security contact will come by and bring him in in the next couple of minutes. We just have to make sure that goes down fine."

"So we just watch?" whispered Ruth.

"So we just watch. Don't make it sound so bad, anyway, it's not like we want -"

Skipper suddenly shuddered violently, his eyes widening - and at the same time, a few involuntary sparks of green Aether flickered across his skin. A second later, the same thing happened to the rest of them, their Aether bursting out of their bodies and quickly dying down again.

Even as the initial sensation passed, Dragan couldn't help but keep shuddering. It had felt as if a giant was running their hand over him, or a sledgehammer was being raised over his head. A split-second feeling of utter helplessness.

The moment the shudder had stopped, Ruth's body had become taut - ready to move in any direction in a second. "Aether ping," she hissed.

Skipper nodded, most of the humour gone from his face. "Yup," he said, finally turning to look towards Roz. "It's time."

-

Atoy Muzazi opened his eyes as the Aether ping hit him, a slight frown spreading over his face. He hadn't expected Dragan Hadrien or the man called Skipper to be on the lookout for him. Perhaps the ping had been meant for someone else, and he had been caught in the crossfire?

No matter. Whatever the circumstances, it didn't change what he had to do.

Muzazi began walking, finally moving from the spot he'd been standing for the last couple of hours. In one fluid movement he flung away the dusty coat he'd been wearing, revealing the thin black shirt beneath - along with the radiant Luminescence strapped to his side.

Ignoring the shouts of alarm from the civilians spotting his weapon, Muzazi intensified his walk into a run as he headed in the direction of the Aether ping's source.

"Officer Hazzard?" he said as he ran, putting one finger to his earpiece. "Are you in position? It's time."

-

The girl in the winter coat smirked as she felt the pleasant tingle of Aether run over her. Whoever had let that ping loose was very powerful - probably Ruth Blaine's boss.

Like the attendants of a queen, her drones surrounded her, kept under control by her Digital Complex. Most of them scuttled around the ground like spiders, repurposed repair and maintenance drones, but others hovered in the air around her, their blue colouration and metallic mandibles making them look almost like giant beetles.

Her companions stirred in the alley behind her as they too felt the Aether ping run over them. The two young men - older than her, but still children compared to her mentally, of course - looked at her.

"Is that them?" said the younger man, pastel-pink hair flowing around him like a cloak. "Shall I get into position, Noel?"

The girl nodded. "The Citizen wants Roz alive," she lied. "Whatever you do, make sure you don't kill him."

"But of course." There was a playful cruelty in Simeon del Dranell's voice - and with that, the pink-haired man began climbing up the wall like some kind of monkey, ascending the building as pink Aether flowed around his body. Even as he climbed, part of that Aether coalesced into an ornate bow strapped to his back. A second later, he was gone, making his way across the rooftops to find a suitable vantage point.

Noel’s remaining companion grunted.

"You don't approve, Reyansh?" Noel called back to the alley's other remaining occupant.

Reyansh clicked his tongue. The man's grey hair was tied back into an obscenely long braid that flowed in the wind behind him, and his red combat suit accentuated his considerable musculature. A satchel hung from each of his hips, containing his ‘ammunition’.

"Sneak attacks from far away?" he said, his deep and smooth voice clear even through the black medical mask that covered the bottom half of his face. "That's not how a warrior should fight."

Noel shrugged, gave a lopsided smile. "Well, yeah, but you know … orders are orders."

"Mm," Reyansh grumbled.

As Noel turned and began walking out of the alley, followed shortly after by Reyansh, her drones dispersed - the ground-based ones slipping into the shadows and the airborne models zooming off into the sky. There were around twenty of them, but Noel had nearly a hundred others positioned in various locations around the niain. She was nothing if not thorough.

Her smirk spread into a grin as she let out an Aether ping of her own, looking for the large clump of Aether-users that she knew had to be Ruth Blaine's group. Noel had given the idiot a scare, and now Blaine had led her right to her quarry.

Noel really was a genius.

It's time.

-

As the orange after-effects of the Aether ping he'd sent out skittered over his body, the man on the roof did not move. He barely even breathed. He simply overlooked the niain down below, his expression impassive.

He was an unusual looking man. His head was shaved so close it almost looked like hair had never grown at all. His face was lined with deep creases, as though he'd wandered through the desert for years. The simple brown cloak he wore covered a set of body armour, easily enough to absorb a plasma shot or two. From a distance, though, you could mistake the man for some kind of monk - especially with the quarterstaff he held as if to support himself.

The man's most unusual feature, though, was his forehead. Right between his cold eyes was a symbol like a dark red V, visible from under the skin. It wasn't a tattoo - it was more like the blood in his skull had coincidentally pooled into that shape.

He gently closed his eyes, counting the enemies his Aether ping had revealed. Eight Aether-users of variable strength.

His frown deepened a tad: inconvenient, but not impossible. So long as he didn't take on more than three of them at once - and so long as he took out the emerald man last - he should be able to kill them with ease, and obtain his prize.

The Umbrant who he knew could lead him to the Citizen.

As the niain entered the height of its celebration, the one they called the Fifth Dead stepped off the building and descended into the night.