Waterstrider

5th District, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

Kalthen sighed as he stood before the entrance hatch of the safe house. Though it had been a full day since he had been released from the hospital, he had pushed off reporting to his new assignment for as long as possible. A part of him felt he deserved the demotion, that it was not punishment enough for his sins. He had led his entire squad to their deaths.

Kalthen had been in battle plenty of times over the years since he reached adulthood. He felt little remorse for any of those he had slain, as they were all gangsters, addicts, or the members of rival organizations of the Tseludian underworld. He had even at times felt proud of these kills, representations of his dedication to the organization his entire family had dedicated themselves to.

But Kande and the rest were different. They were Celan, his own people, and he had been responsible for them. His hands felt stained by their blood as if they had died by his own hand.

Another competing part of him, however, felt that the Leader had done this out of personal spite, a check on the power of his family. Though he did not hold this against Triezal, Kalthen was still jealous of how the other man had been promoted despite sharing command of the squad. All of the blame had been placed onto him, it seemed. It rankled, and he sighed in resignation at his inability to do anything about it.

While he was angry about the turn of events, and in all honesty wished to fight someone, he knew there was nothing he could do but submit. To question the Leader’s command would be seen as childish, even if he believed it unjust. Given the current state of his reputation, proving his pride could accept a hit might help rebuild trust.

In the end, he was here. Another small safe house in the alley, this one on the floor right underneath a warehouse that ostensibly stored traditional Celan warding charms for a company that sold them to shops across the station. In reality, of course, a good portion of what the company did was metallurgy for construction of enforcers and other mechanical armors.

He drew the code glyph onto the hatch’s entry pad, looking up into a small security camera hidden under an eave nearby. As he was not in command of this unit, he would need to be granted entry permission every time he wanted to enter the safe house. It was a massive pain.

After a moment of silent waiting, the hatch slid open, revealing a Jobu woman with a dour expression.

“You the silk pants that got his whole squad killed?” she asked.

Kalthen balled up his hands into fists, restraining any and all violent urges.

“I am.”

She continued glaring at him.

“You’re late.”

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

In response she turned back, walking down the short entry hallway and into the building’s main room. Awkwardly, Kalthen followed, letting the hatch close and lock itself behind him.

Like the previous safe house he had been using in Otan, this one had a short unlit hallway that expanded into a large living and dining room that was being used as a planning room. The dinner table was covered in a forest of glyph slates.

Standing on a stool beside the table was a Korlove woman. Her skin was darker than usual for her race, and had rather thick hair. This was Akekha, his new superior. Kalthen had met her only once before, and the experience had not gone well. In all honesty, he was concerned that the Leader might have known about this and assigned him to her on purpose.

She turned as he approached and he gave a quick bow, trying to be respectful. Knowing her personality, this would not be the most pleasant experience. She addressed the woman who had let Kalthen in.

“Zalere, who is this?”

Kalthen decided it would be best not to speak out of turn, given Akekha’s reputation. Given that they had met before, he ascertained that she was putting on a bit of a show, for some reason.

The woman, whose name he now knew to be Zalere, gave Kalthen another scathing look before responding with a sneer.

“The wastrel, ma’am.”

“Astna’s spawn,” sneered Akekha. “Even more pathetic than ever. You need your dear mother and uncle to drag you out of yet another failure?”

Rage boiled in Kalthen’s veins. His fists clenched so tightly they drew blood, but he still managed to barely restrain himself. Attacking him was something he could accept, something he felt was almost warranted due to his sins and mistakes. But bringing up his mother in such a way nearly broke Kalthen’s restraint.

His mother was a great, powerful woman, even more integral to the organization than his uncle, Vice-Leader Deuvar. Hers was not a name that should emerge from the lips of a mere squad leader in such a crude tone.

Seeing that she failed to provoke a response from Kalthen, Akekha sighed in annoyance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be certain not to trust you in any role you can fuck up. Now, then. I don’t expect we’ll get much use from you in planning, so why don’t you clean up the safe house?”

She gave the order flippantly, as if it weren’t busywork intended to humiliate Kalthen and waste his time. The Heirs’ safe houses had dedicated personnel who kept them in perfect condition, and it was already quite clean. Without a word, Kalthen turned to look for the utility room. Acting meek was the better choice, no matter how much it rankled him to do so.

Somehow, he felt as if might not have been able to withstand it just a few weeks before.

Kalthen had previously met Akekha a few years back, during a social event to celebrate the Heirs acquiring a new revenue source. All squad leaders and higher ranking members of the organization had been invited. Kalthen had still been in training to become an enforcer pilot at the time, but his uncle had used his authority to let Kalthen attend for the purpose of helping him network. As Deuvar had explained, one’s connections were the most important source of one’s power.

This was something Kalthen understood quite well. After all, his mother was known for having one of the most expansive networks of friends and informants in the entire station. Her rivals tended to rudely call her ‘more of a spider than any Korlove.’ One of those rivals had been Akekha.

She and Kalthen’s mother had joined the Heirs at roughly the same time, but the rise of my mother and uncle through the ranks had been meteoric, owing in equal measure their high capability as well as the connections they had acquired from their father, who had been the previous Leader of the Heirs. From what he had heard, Akekha believed that Kalthen’s mother was responsible for her career stagnating at the level of squad leader, and claimed to hold a deep hatred for anyone she believed to have earned their place through nepotism rather than merit.

In practice, however, this meant she acted petty and vindictive towards anyone who was a descendant of a powerful family. Personally, Kalthen couldn’t believe she still retained her role as a squad leader despite her attitude. Though she was quite shrewd when it came to tactical matters, as it was she was unlikely to ever receive another promotion.

In all honesty he didn’t actually care what her reasons were. She hated him and his entire family, so he considered her an enemy as well. As he carefully re-cleaned the already clean room with a wet rag, Kalthen mentally swore that he would not only prove her assertions about his merit wrong, he would get her demoted to a mere squad member just as he himself had been.

He would find the Riverfiend before anyone else could, and he would do it in such a way that the merit could be given to no one else but himself.

2nd District, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

Nahalken relaxed as he enjoyed his daily meal, soaking himself in green fluid up to his neck.

Like all Staiven, he took in his nutrients by bathing in a pool of a thick, smelly liquid, slowly absorbing it through the pores in his skin like water through a root or a sponge. It was a rather enjoyable experience, although sometimes he envied the relatively small amount of preparation and clean-up that most other races needed when they ate.

His relaxation was interrupted by a buzz from his terminal, resting within arms reach on the side of the nutrient tub. Though annoyed, he dutifully reached over to grab it. He had set the device to a silent mode that would only notify him if whatever had happened required his immediate attention.

His hands kneaded the terminal, discerning that one of his aides was attempting to contact him. He accepted the connection, causing the sensation of the other Staiven’s presence to emanate within the terminal’s clay-like form.

“What is it?” he asked, not bothering to disguise his annoyance.

His aide shifted uneasily, as if trying to compose his words.

“Sir, you’ve received some messages.”

“And? Get to the gods damned point.” asked Nahalken. Normally he would have been enraged by how obtuse his subordinate was acting and perhaps even thrown his terminal, but if he did that now he would have to get out of the tub to retrieve it.

“The messages claimed they knew who stole the research from us and where they’re currently staying. The message included information we hadn’t released to the public about the event, so it might be legitimate.”

Nahalken frowned, calmed down by the rapid rate of his thoughts.

“Who was it from?” he asked.

“The origin was anonymized, but I figured you would want to know, so I asked the IT department to find them. We couldn’t manage to get their identity, but based on the type of device they used to send it, we believe the message came from a Celan.”

Nahalken smiled manically, excited by the development. He could sense his aide shivering through the connection but disregarded it.

“Send the file to me and call Redias," he said. "Let’s see just how much Estrivai has decided to bless us today.”

Estrivai: [The Pantheonic God of the Harvest, Estrivai slowly lost relevance as technology made farming a less impactful profession. His church ended up making a largely successful rebranding effort in the 1440s to shift the nature of his domain to focus on the harvest of all resources, not just agricultural products. His followers claim that this was not a change in his nature, nor a mere marketing scheme, but that they had simply come to better understand his true nature. Because of this, he became incredibly relevant in the age of exploration and rampant gold rush that followed the activation of the calculation engines and Staive becoming a true interstellar power. His tenets involve temperance, diligence, and patience, and his adherents claim that he blesses those who live properly with great harvests in all aspects of life, from wealth to love. His adherents often come into conflict with the followers of Fulstovis, as the mentalities conflict with one another on a fundamental level. Culturally, Estrivai is associated with the manifest miasma, though there is not believed to be a connection between the two in any scientifically observable sense.]