Chapter 15: Starchild

  [Location; Planet: Sekaia/ Continent: Xelryia/ Country/Nation: InHa

  Province/District/State: Ranova / City(ies): Tachnen Spaceport, Date; 199YAFA (Years After the First Arem Accord)]

  “Is your VISE-R on?” The voice sounded metallic, more machine than animal.

  “Agent Thauntaum reporting. VISE-R recording and reporting.”

  The sound reverberated through agent Sampson's helmet. It was bubbly, almost childlike to his centuries-old ears. Sampson was wearing 3rd generation Skulker armor, a previous D'varoan standard issue combat kit made famous during Almia's reign. Now, it was one of the most competitive systems being sold within Xelryia’s commercial market. It wasn't the Mark 5 Warden Powered exoskeleton or the Mark 3 Arrav armor exclusive to D'varoh’s military. But it was enough for an Usher agent.

  “Artimer, Report,” Sampson spoke through his communications array. It was customized to agency specifications: a dual channel that allowed connection to the signal buoys floating up in the upper atmosphere.

  “The net has been unfolded sir,” his subordinate’s voice crackled. It was raspy, something you'd expect for an irsu who had spent a considerable amount of life in the lower underground levels of a Well-city.

  “And what is it telling us about the Everessent weather?” The sergeant replied. A short pause that stretched for miles followed.

  “It's called the Astrologos for one,” Artimer replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. It was a bit of a tone shift with an audible sniff. “And the 12 leagues are not weather. They're an abstraction on the Everessence’s tides.”

  “What's the weather?” Sampson insisted. He was sprinting now, running through the underground maintenance hall that cut straight from the agency barracks and straight toward the sky tower at the center of Tachnen tower.

  The Jathka would be there. They'd have to intercept before he got to that lift. If they couldn’t reach him now, it’d be another year before their case could warm up again. It’d be at least another year before they could find answers. Answers behind the disappearance of Governor Yrena Idris.

  Location: Tachnen Plaza Area: Central grid/ Shuttle

  Earth Calendar Date: January 20th, 2025

  Things were calmer here…

  “Artimer I'm at the Central grid. I'm feeling into the net.” A cloaked figure, similar in dress to a musketeer stood below the reconnected cable leading from the sky tower to the shuttle substation that the ground level monorail system connected to. The station was closed.

  “What do you see Keymasters Hatabe?” was the response echoing within the irsu 's skull. Acarus took a deep breath and concentrated deeply on his Artul, unwinding the strands he visualized wound throughout his spine. A small smirk cut across his mustached face as he indulged in his enclave 's secret. Pulling out a scroll, he unfurled it revealing what eerily resembled an astrological chart. 12 sectors around a wheel each dotted with points and lines noted by symbols. A cold, almost alien sensation - like being absorbed in a warm viscous liquid permeating throughout his entire body consumed him as he focused on the placements or arbitrary planetary objects mapped to the Sorcer Enclaves’ mythology. It was as real as the eyes observing him from beyond. Concentrations of Eilonhir and Vashtnal. Each arrangement formed tides of influence that were non-negotiable. To the untrained eye, they were webs of red, blue, and green. But to this Harazite, it was a map. A map highlighting the invisible tensions silently influencing everything around him.

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  “Curious, it looks like Ieridan and Addrubahk are wrestling for dominance within the League of warfare. We have a connection between that sector of the chart and the League of despair. Both domains are concentrated. This cable was sabotaged.”

  Acarus was answered by a few quickened huffs and a snarl from Artimer. “Sabotage? By who?”

  “I'll have my network investigate it. How's the chase?” Acarus replied, pulling up a holographic tab up from his slate.

  Artimer coughed. He was sitting in the mobile command shuttle overlooking readouts from his D-ocul. It was a fascinating device, straight from Insia and the isles of New Yghastia. A technology forged from the cooperation from two continents and their tech labs.

  It allowed for more privacy than the D'varoan dataslates popular throughout the Imperium's trade network. He watched the feed coming in through Thauntaum’s scope and VISE-R stream. Her calm was his…

  …The Talon mark 9 womphawk rifle felt heavy in Thauntaum's hands as she looked through the Vascular scope, an ocular and nasal sight, utilizing her sense of smell to assist with aiming. Her compact frame felt stiff for lying on the tri-scraper 250 falcas away, an approximate 440 meters. The long barrel almost threatened to sag under the planet’s already intense gravity, pointed at the Tachnen Sky tri-tower directly in front.

  “Sampson, target is at Y coordinate 5 above your 10:30.” Translated roughly, the person they were tracking was right in front and right above. “I can’t smell him, his suit’s sealed - but I have a visual,” Thauntaum continued. “Is interrupting a D’varoh’s scheduled departure really worth the bonus?” She asked nervously. She had heard the rumors about the Imperium’s crown prince. The darkness that surrounded him. The long list of names erased from existence on his many operations. His hold on the continent and his reach across systems. They were rumors, yes, but she had seen the camera feed from just half an hour ago. The skill he had displayed, being able to manipulate a cable that large while still being able to stop an entire mag-lev monorail train was more than impressive. That was willbending and tempermancy at a prodigy level.

  The access hatch to the Tachnen Sky tri-tower was just below the basement. The basement was where the lift’s gas-powered elevator was powered. Wires and pipes led to the hydraulics that pushed the lift along a tunnel of condensed helium that would launch the balloon-like lifts before they ascended to above the clouds. Sampson launched himself onto the ladder in front of him, pushing himself to the top rung before untwisting the valve. Metal creaked against stone as the hatch gave way.

  The heavy slab slid across the rockcrete floor of the main tower. 8 lifts sat above him, built more like cages than your standard elevator, meant for transporting vehicles and equipment along with a dozen personnel. Heavy counterweights assisted their climb and descent through the pressurized chambers. The irsu they’d need to intercept was inside one of them.

  High up in another tower across the globe…

  Chatter was dying down as each delegate sipped their drinks, the mellow yet tangy shrugs preparing their palates for the next course: soups. As per Yghastian tradition, this course was started with a shared main entry, delivered in a large cast iron bowl carried along by the wait staff. Inside the bowl was some sort of crustacean, shreds of crab meat among ears of barley mixed with beet stems and chiles. Aedlaanian and Harazite culinary fusion met in the second course's main dish. Jenniah 's nostrils flared as she took in the sharp and pungent spices pervading deep into the turbulent bone broth.

  “Now, onto global affairs before we address our main matter of business,” Yghastia’s Great Khan began, as ladles poured the Spiced Julanque into each guests’ bowl. “What’s this about interstellar separatists and terror attacks?” Aizehir stood upright, his eyes locked on the wizened general across from him. The table appeared to mirror the pressure Itharaak felt from all the eyes tuned in from the 2nd Great Khan’s direction. Jenniah had just taken her second sip of the spicy Aedlaanian and Harazite culinary combo when her ears picked up in response to the news. She struggled to hold her meal down as the deep heat and umami of bone, crab, cayannes, peppers fought their way up her nose and out of her mouth. Her hand pushing up against her face was the only clue of the hidden smile advancing across her face’s two fronts. Itharaak’s glance of disapproval flashed in Jenniah’s vision as sudden as a spark of lightning erupting from the clouds.

  With his spoon to his lips, he sipped at the soup broth. The savory aroma intensified the deep succulent heat of the shredded crab flesh. It mirrored his current feelings toward the question.

  “The Tachnen plaza incident is as much recent news to me, as it is to everyone here at the table. As far as anyone else is concerned, it's strictly a matter to be handled on Xelryia, by the nations invested in Ranova.” Itharaak’s spoon clinked softly on the porcelain of his bowl. His thoughts spiraled in a storm of possibilities held buoyant by the tension gathering around the table. Aizehir thumbed his pencil-thin mustache. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

  “This is not an isolated issue. Intelligence reports throughout the union have noted sabotage efforts around our own spaceport cities. Tajuk, on Neo Yghastia has been experiencing unrest leading up to your special deployment. A deployment involving one of our own citizens.”

  Zalmar Zalmoon. The irsu in question was the Insian immigrant. ‘I didn't expect this meeting to spiral downward so quickly,’ Jenniah thought to Itharaak.

  ‘Neither did I. I'm going to have to apologize to Akitc

  h when I get back. This is quite the pressure-cooked meal.’