Waterstrider

Tseludia Station Exterior, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Janottka inspected the packets of information flowing from the station like water through a sieve. To someone like her, a space station was like a lighthouse floating in the void, casting beams of information across space.

Of course, she could only see the surface level information from afar, just that which was broadcast wirelessly in no particular direction. To see the inside, the interesting details that were what she was truly interested in, she needed to be close.

Moments before her ship docked with the station, she was finally close enough to the network to access it, reading all sorts of private, poorly encrypted information. She hummed to herself as she learned all of the happenings in recent years, most importantly those of the past month, when something had been stolen from the Heirs of Ottrien and they started acting odd. As if they were desperate.

Janottka’s lips curled up, her interest piqued. Had the alien Shade escaped from their containment? She had not believed she would need to visit the station personally, and had been told the trip would be a waste of decades. There were no regrets left in her now. This would be fun, a nice departure from the monotony of life in the Janaste system, where her fellow council members prevented her from acting as she wished. Here she could do whatever she wanted, completely unhindered. Unless, of course, she managed to be discovered by the Justice Office or agents of the Sheneth-Ari.

To her, that simply made the scenario more interesting. A manhunt between two Shades on a station whose authorities would destroy them both on sight… It was the sort of story she had been designed to create. Even after all this time, and the changes that had occurred to her, Janottka was nothing if not loyal to her core programming.

While she was still looking through the easily accessible records of the station, her physical body shook violently as a large explosion blasted the ship, tearing it away from the station. Based on the radiation readings detected by the ship, it had been some form of small scale nuclear armament.

After a moment of shock, Janottka further examined the traces, and was soon filled with even more interest. That chemical composition… It was from a weapon of Celan make. It even had traces of flickering miasma from one of their industrial metalworking machines. Though it was a nuclear warhead, it was extremely small, and had only damaged a small portion of the ship. Not that she expected that would be of any use to those unfortunate enough to have been standing nearby.

It seemed someone in the local vassal organization feared reprisal for their failure. The poor fool who had been assigned to the task of courier was likely already dead, destroyed in the blast, as well as several members of the ship’s crew. A self-created subroutine activated, causing her face to shift to a wide smile, as if to reflect a deep internal excitement and anticipation.

At the moment, her largest issue would be sneaking onto the station. The Justice Office would be paying more attention to the ship now that it had been attacked, and they would easily be able to detect her inorganic body if they scanned the ship. They had already paid the ‘additional port fee’ that the Office accepted as a bribe to bypass scanning, but given what had happened, the office would inevitably begin to search for the perpetrator, or at least a scapegoat. A Shade such as herself would make the ideal scapegoat.

…Oh well, she thought. Perhaps the story would be more interesting if one of the Shades broke into the station by force, or perhaps another bribe could handle the matter. Before she bothered with that, though, she had time on her hands. A perfect opportunity to set the stage.

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Deuvar’s blood was ice cold as he activated the slate. Somehow, he had only heard about events at the docks from Astna and her network, with no report from Triezal or his nephew. After verifying it just to be certain, he had immediately decided to contact the Leader, as was his duty. Usually he delivered reports and requests in person, as the man preferred him to, but the pressing nature of the current situation demanded expediency.

The Leader picked up his terminal quickly, knowing he was only contacted in this manner when there was an emergency. As the holographic model of him appeared above the slate, his grizzled eyes met with Deuvar’s.

“What happened now?” he snapped. “You were to bring the representative to me to discuss the situation with the relic. Did they make an odd request?”

Deuvar shook his head, expression still frozen in a stony mask that betrayed none of the intense shock and betrayal running through him at the moment.

“As you know,” he said, “We sent Triezal to meet with them, hoping a fellow magister might cool down their anger.”

The Leader nodded, quietly waiting for Deuvar to finish his explanation.

“It seems that he had other plans. There was an explosion in the docks, one which killed the magister, a port official, some civilians, and several members of the ship’s crew.”

The Leader hissed, a sound that was quite unlike his standard demeanor.

“And we’re certain they're dead?” he asked.

Deuvar nodded in response. There was a lengthy pause as the Leader considered the bad news, knowing that his slim chance of staving off the anger of the Epon had likely been dashed entirely.

“Bring Triezal to me,” said the Leader. “I wish to speak with him.”

“By your will.”

The Leader nodded.

“That will be all.”

Deuvar gave a small bow, and the call ended. He immediately stood, sliding the slate into a trouser pocket.

He walked out of the office after asking an aide to find out and tell him where Triezal and Kalthen had gone. He wished to have answers, and he knew he would be able to get them for certain if he met with them, Kalthen in particular.

However, he expected that he likely already understood the reason why they had done it. They believed it was already too late to save themselves from the consequences of failure, and would prefer to delay those consequences.

He climbed a stairwell upwards, looking out between the stacks, to a wide view of the long line of the city. The view was blocked in places by bridges and passerby, but he still found it undeniably beautiful. He had lived here for the majority of his life, and Tseludia had long since become his home. A part of him could understand why Kalthen had made the choice he had. Still, he believed that it was the wrong decision.

On his way upwards, his slate shifted, and he pulled it out to see that his aide had sent the location. Skipping the line of waiting passengers, he entered an aero and quickly flew to one of their fronts near the spacedock, just a few stacks away, he recalled, from the place that was currently shut down due to lingering miasmic poison traces.

Like most in this part of the station, the front was a restaurant catering to Celan customers. It was a trendy style place, designed for modern aesthetic tastes among the station’s young adults. After entering, Deuvar immediately found his nephew and the magister sitting at a table off to the side and enjoying bowls containing some sort of dish containing noodles and broth. He swiped a chair from another table and sat beside them.

Triezal had likely noticed him the moment he entered the restaurant, but Kalthen turned in surprise as he sat down.

“Uncle! What are you doing here?” he asked.

“That’s some work the two of you did,” said Deuvar, ignoring the question.

Triezal gave him a wry smile.

“It was the only way.”

“I did it for the family, Uncle,” said Kalthen, speaking rapidly. “There is little doubt they would have killed us, or at least you and Mother.”

Deuvar shook his head, expression hardened, and met his nephew’s eyes. He really did take more after his father.

“A small chance is better than none, and both I and your mother would be willing to sacrifice ourselves for you. You have a long life left after you, Kalthen, and I do not doubt that they will wish to eliminate all of us, once they find out about this.” He sighed, rubbing his wrinkled brow. “This is perhaps the most foolish, shortsighted thing you have ever done.”

Kalthen opened his mouth as if to reply, but no words emerged, seemingly caught in his throat. Triezal shook his head, responded for his friend.

“There is more to the matter than you are aware of, I suspect. There is an… ongoing situation that influenced this decision.”

Deuvar raised an eyebrow, inviting the other man to continue. Triezal flushed slightly, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his brow.

“I’ll not go into the details for your own benefit. But Astna and I are covering something up to protect this organization, and if either the Justice Office or Epon found out, as would all bear an even more certain demise.”

Deuvar glanced at Kalthen, who nodded at his friend’s words.

“I’ll need to know, he said,” speaking firmly and confidently. There was an edge to his voice, one that he knew the two before him would be able to recognize. “If you tell me, I can consider advising the Leader not to have you executed and used as a scapegoat.”

They both knew that such a tactic would not appease the Epon, such firm believers in the importance of proper responsibility. The Epon did not think as the Justice Office did, and were not so easily placated. A man like the Leader might well consider attempting it regardless, just in case.

Triezal hesitated, but ultimately nodded.

“Fine. The rest of your family is also aware of the matter, anyway.”

He slid his bowl aside, leaving it unfinished.

“I’ll lead you there. It’s only a few stacks away.”

Deuvar nodded, and the three of them walked in silence to the Flavors of Celah Grill, unlocking the shut down doors, and entering into a room that had long been fully cleansed of poison.

It was the first time in many decades that Deuvar had seen a lesion with his own two eyes. He glowered at Triezal, the obvious culprit. Only a magister would walk around with such a weapon. Triezal met his gaze, but could not help but look away after a moment.

“I see,” said Deuvar, and the room fell into a period of silence. In the quiet, miasma slowly continued to drip in multicolored swirls onto the odd sculpture-like formation below it.

Celan Shades: [While Celan technology is among the most advanced of mortal races, the technology of the ancient, fallen Epon Celan civilization was greater still. Though they did not deign to expand past their homeworld, many fragments recovered from their ruins are still not capable of being replicated. One such example is their artificial intelligence technology, the remaining examples of which are now known as Shades. Epon Celah used this advanced artificial intelligence technology for nearly any utility it could have even the slightest use in, from childcare, to media development, to mathematics, science, gardening, and more. Some modern civilizations claim that they are an example of a world falling due to use of Shades, but ultimately it was destroyed by an outside force. Regardless, These Shades serve as the final remnant of Epon Celan culture, as the biological descendants of that great civilization have experienced wide cultural divergence in the intervening time. While it is unknown how many Celan Shades remain, those originating from this culture are unique in the diversity of their original purposes. A quirk of Epon Celan Shade technology is the use of the core purpose of the Shade as the foundation for its developed persona. As such, they are extremely resistant to change in this regard, with all of them forever working on the task they were created for.]