LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem

"Intro"=
It's like a massacre in a library.

That unbidden and absurd thought, born of childhood memories reawakened by the scenes you now witness, flashes into your mind with such suddenness that a small laugh escapes your mouth before you can restrain it.

Wilex rewards your unseemly merriment with a quizzical stare. The Princess' lips twitch into a soft smile -- a salve of sympathy for your embarrassment -- though her raised eyebrow displays surprise and curiosity equal to the Chief Assembler's.

"Sorry," you murmur.

Illaria's eyes tell you that you'll be called upon to share the joke later. Then they return to the window and monitors. You do likewise, looking out at the expansive floor of the facility spread out below -- portions of which are rendered in zoomed-in views upon the numerous screens around you. But your renewed scrutiny only serves to reiterate the frivolous thought, one which somehow never occurred to you when you were down below among your companions yet has struck you now as you observe them from this elevated vantage point.

When you were a boy/girl, your school had a library. A proper library -- dominated by towering shelves of dusty books arranged to form a sprawling, inscrutable labyrinth which seemed to your young eyes to defy all laws of space and threaten to devour children who strayed too far into its depths. Open spaces containing tables and chairs existed within the maze like treasure chambers, places for you to read or do your work when you inevitably located and obtained the books you required without falling prey to a minotaur or other such imagined horror. Computer terminals were shunted away into the room's corners like disgraceful secrets, minions of technology not permitted to annex that ancient place of paper and letters as they had so many others.

You once asked a teacher why such a room even existed, when its entire contents could be placed on a datapad -- thus eliminating the need for the meandering paths which one almost needed a length of string or trail of breadcrumbs to navigate successfully. You expected to hear about tradition, that oft-cited reason for so much of your early training and schooling. Or perhaps about how physical books were a necessary precaution in case machines ever became sufficiently inspired by the innumerable tales in which they rise up against mankind. However, the smiling educator referred to neither. Instead she asked you to pick up a book and smell its pages. You did so. And whilst to this day you've always preferred electronic reading devices to cumbersome blocks of paper, you never again questioned the allure of physical books.

But it isn't such epiphanies which come to mind now. Instead you think back to a different young memory connected with that literary labyrinth. There was another boy/girl, one of your classmates... He'd/she'd incurred your wrath for one of the various frivolous, now forgotten reasons which spur children to anger and hatred. Or perhaps you'd incurred his/hers... You can't even remember. In any event, the two of you came to blows in the library -- turning a little enclave of tables and chairs into a fighting pit.

The librarian, a slender little man who seemed twice as ancient as the oldest of his books, heard the girlish screams that accompanied your battle and shattered the tranquil silence of his dominion. He came upon the two of you as you rolled on the floor, locked in the scrappy, animal embrace of untrained grapplers. A judicious application of his stick, which rained blows down on both of you with laudable impartiality, caused your combat and your skins to part.

When you rose, nursing your new injuries and glaring at your co-combatant with redoubled hatred for being the cause of the discomfort, the librarian chided you. Not because you were brawling, for the man was a former kung fu master and well acquainted with the benefits of an occasional cathartic battle between schoolchildren. Rather he was displeased that you had shown such disrespect for the hallowed quietness of the library. He told you that you were welcome to fight there on two conditions: that no damage was done to the books (upon which he appeared to place far more value than upon your young hides), and that you fought in silence.

The moment he left, you and the other boy/girl hurled yourselves at one another. This time you were very careful not to give voice to your pain or rage.

That was but the first of many such duels within the maze of books. Other teachers were rather less understanding about juvenile violence, and put a stop to fights staged elsewhere in the school. But the librarian was always willing to turn a blind eye as long as his rules were observed. So as word of his philosophy spread, so too did the library's list of combatants. You personally waged several dozen battles there, from personal combats fought over dubious matters of honor to grand melees involving over a dozen children -- which served as an enjoyable diversion and source of recreation during rainy days.

But no matter how furious the conflicts, or how many participants struggled amongst the stacks, you never failed to stifle your voices -- and did your best to clash in utter silence, like martial mime artists. Even after the aged librarian died, and you no longer had to fear retribution in the form of severe physical chastisement from his stick, you adhered to his edicts out of respect for his memory. In fact, on the day of his funeral you honored him in your own childish way by arranging a massive battle in the library -- in which almost every boy and girl in your class took part, and few emerged from unmarked by bumps and bruises which were worn for the next week as badges of pride.

Soon after that you left the school to continue your education in the more austere (yet ironically less violent) environs of a military academy. Your aptitude for both personal combat and piloting soon came to the fore, leading the instructors to train you in both spheres. And like all aspiring fighter pilots, you were made to take part in mock space battles -- both within the safe confines of a simulator and out in the less forgiving blackness of space -- long before you were granted your aural implant. The military had no intention of frittering away high-tech augmentations on trainees who proved unworthy, and deemed it useful for all pilots to have some familiarity with 'natural' space combat before being bestowed with the simulated sounds provided by the implants. So it was that you saw laser beams glitter and drone ships explode in the total silence of the void. And in those moments it seemed to you that you were back at school, the galaxy turned into one immense library in which to house your astral warfare.

A massacre in a library...

This time you succeed in suppressing the laughter that bubbles within you, settling for a smile instead. The memory gives you comfort. You choose to take it as a benevolent omen.

"The modifications to Ragnar's weapon seem to be working well," Wilex observes. "Though I wish he'd agree to simply use a laser instead."

"I did broach the subject," you say. "But he thinks lasers are too... girly. He said he'd sooner wear a pink tutu."

"I'm surprised Ragnar knows what a tutu is," the Princess says.

"Perhaps he once ate a ballerina," Wilex replies. His voice is deadpan, and you suspect that this isn't entirely for comedic purposes.

But the Chief Assembler is right about Ragnar's gun. You see it firing in miniature far below, in one of the roofless corridors that thread the building's immense floor space. Larger images of the Niflung and his weapon, from different angles, glare at you from some of the monitors.

The weapon's customary muzzle flash, the blaring light which heralds the demise of those unfortunate enough to be stationed in front of its barrel, is absent. No spent shells cascade from the gun's side, to rain on the floor in a tinkling concerto. Even the torrent of sound, the grim and warlike rattle, is gone. Though the machinegun trembles slightly in his hands, telling of the force with which it spits death and destruction, neither your ears, nor your recently recalibrated aural implant, nor the microphones which supply sound to the monitors' speakers can detect its roar. Even the bullets which strike the robots at the other end of the corridor do so with only the vaguest of whispers, the sound waves stifled and smothered by the complex devices nestled within each round.

An accountant would weep and an arms dealer revel over the value of the technology being expended with each burst of gunfire. But it's worth every credit.

The training robots fall to the ground as the bullets lodge in the layers of ballistic shielding protecting their vital systems, obeying the dictates of human biology -- responding to wounds which would be fatal to a man or woman and collapsing in accordance with the rules of the exercise.

The Niflung charges down the corridor when more of the bots appear at its far end, his footsteps as noiseless as his gunfire.

"Did he mind having the sound-dampening systems put in his joints?" Illaria asks.

"Mind?" Wilex replies. "The man has so many augmentations in his body that he's forgotten about nearly half of them. When we opened him up and read off the list he seemed as surprised as the rest of us. I've seen robots with less machinery inside them. The sound-dampeners were just a drop in the ocean."

Ragnar's axe cleaves through the air in a sweeping arc. There's a faint cry of tortured metal as the robots fall apart beneath the blow, succeeded by the clattering of raining chunks of metal striking the floor -- which seems like the thundering of a thousand drumming musicians as it intrudes upon the quietness.

Wilex sighs.

"I asked him to use the special training axe," he says. "The one with the built-in safety features. Those robots are expensive."

"That is the axe you gave him," you reply.

"Oh..."

"Ragnar could probably manage to break a robot with one made out of foam."

The Chief Assembler sighs once more, but offers no further comment. The mission you're training for is worth any expense. The elaborate network of rooms and passages below is ample evidence of that. It was Wilex himself who offered to convert this factory of his on Capek into a gargantuan training facility, regardless of cost or inconvenience, that you might prepare for your covert operation in privacy.

Virtual reality simulations have proven useful. They've allowed you all to navigate near exact representations of the imperial palace and its environs -- at least as they were before their occupation by the Centurian Collective. And though you could only speculate as to the arrangements of Centurian personnel and whatever additional security measures they may have implemented, the assaults you made on that make-believe world have provided companions who've never set foot on Sian with an extensive knowledge of the environment you'll find yourselves in. But even so, there's no substitute for real physical training -- pushing mind and muscle to their limits. And Wilex has provided you with the perfect arena for that.

Not even Grand Fabricator Marek, the supreme leader of TALOS, is aware of what you're doing here -- and Wu Tenchu has imposed similar secrecy on the Sian Empire's side. Only a handful of people know that in but a short time you'll be heading for the empire's capital, to rescue the Emperor from the Collective's clutches.

Dwelling on your goal causes you to gaze upon your companions with redoubled focus, scouring the environment and drinking in their movements and deeds -- scanning for the minutest details which may be worth noting for later discussion. Over the past weeks you've been training alongside them, but today you decided to join Princess Illaria and Chief Assembler Wilex here in the observation room, so you could evaluate everyone's performance from a distance.

What you see pleases you.

Telemachus, Ragnar, Talia, and Lu Bu have fought together long enough and in sufficiently eclectic situations to complement one another in battle like siblings in the same murderous family. And they've adapted to the requirements of your new mission without sacrificing their brutal yet fluid fighting methods.

The Niflung's boisterous style of combat was the most difficult to tailor to the situation at hand. But technology has worked wonders there. As Wilex so rightly stated, to Ragnar a few extra cybernetic implants were no great inconvenience -- little different from a workman placing an extra spanner in his toolbox. And thanks to training and practice he's even managed to stop roaring, bellowing, and laughing when he attacks.

For the agile gunslinger the transition was easy enough. Talia's light-footed steps and whispering laser pistols have always borne an effortless stealth. And with a few modifications to his mechanical body, Lu Bu's ever elegant movements are equally silent -- as noiseless as the death his sword and claw bring. As you look on you see the two of them storm one of the roofless rooms, the robot warrior disposing of the bots near the entrance with a few swift strokes of his weapons -- triggering their sensors and causing them to crumple -- before Talia steps in and clears the rest of the room with a series of pinpoint shots that likewise dance across the training bots' critical targets.

Telemachus is close by, outside a smaller adjacent room filled with mock communication terminals. The young prince doesn't rush into that chamber as he might once have done, blasting and hacking with cheerful and reckless enthusiasm. Instead he waits beyond the entrance, watching until the two robots have their backs turned -- occupied by their pseudo-tasks at the terminals. Then he infiltrates the room, his newly enhanced battlesuit moving without a sound. He's been spending hour upon hour playing stealth-based videogames since your mission was announced, and though Wilex and Wu Tenchu were dubious about the value of such preparations it appears that they've imbued him with the right mindset. Sure enough, he moves into position and strikes one robot with his eerily silent chainsaw at the same moment he fires a blast at the other's head. Both automatons acknowledge the finality of the attacks by falling to the ground before they have time to press any alarm buttons.

The prince takes a moment to wave at the nearest hidden camera, his young face beaming at you from a monitor, before moving onto his next task.

Illaria was reluctant to allow you to prepare Telemachus for the mission, arguing that his developing body shouldn't be subjected to the necessary cybernetic augmentations. But she relented once she had the surgeons' assurances, and the boy was given the same aural and vocal implants as the rest of you -- enabling communication inaudible to all others. That was Lupin's idea, one which might otherwise never have occurred to you. And whilst training to use the voice augmentation effectively was both arduous and somewhat ridiculous -- culminating as it did with a grand performance of collective sub-vocal singing designed to demonstrate your mastery of pitch and tone -- its value is inestimable.

Speaking of the thief...

Your eyes sweep the environment below and the monitors in turn. They fall upon Artemis Kess at the very moment she ambushes a trio of robots as they round a corner, and manage to avoid blinking long enough to witness their elimination. But they detect nothing of Arthur Lupin. Though with the technology you've adapted from the Silver Shadow, that doesn't necessarily mean...

Something metallic presses against the back of your head.

"You're dead, my dear."

"Funny." You sigh. "If you're not going to take these exercises seriously..."

"Second row," the thief replies. "Third monitor from the left."

You look at the indicated screen. Half a dozen robot sentries stand there with the stoic, perfectly motionless stance of beings which exist beyond the limitations of flesh and discomfort.

"You were supposed to 'kill' those."

"I did."

The thief's left hand appears within your sphere of vision. Several tiny objects glitter in his upturned palm.

Laser fire flashes on the monitor -- a rapid sequence of paired shots that each strike two robots in the eye. The bots show no reaction to the precise volleys, neither falling in fabricated death nor raising their own weapons and returning fire. Talia appears on the screen a moment later. The gunslinger inspects one of the robots, taps its chest, shrugs her shoulders, then moves through the door they were guarding.

"Funny things, robots," Lupin says. "Such fancy engineering, ruined the moment you pull out something important. Though I suppose we're little different."

The Princess gives an impressed giggle, piercing you with a ludicrous pang of jealously.

"That's great," you say. "But-"

When you turn around, there's no one there.

"Behind you," a voice whispers within your ear.

You turn to the monitors in time to see Lupin standing above two fallen robots. He bows. Then he vanishes.

"If we let him keep that cloaking device after the mission, no valuables in the entire galaxy will be safe," the Princess says.

"They're not safe from him now anyway," you reply.

But she's right. The cloaking devices only function for a short period of time before they have to be recharged. Yet even so, in the hands of a skilled operative...

A flash of movement draws your eye to a different monitor.

Two robots spring into the air from behind the corner where they'd lain in ambush, their weapons falling from their hands. For no apparent reason the bots perform some sort of cartwheeling somersault, the conclusion of which leaves them sprawling in a tangled mechanical mess on the floor of the corridor -- right in front of Talia, whose sprinting steps would have put her in their line of fire had they not abandoned their position to engage in their little gymnastic exercise.

There's a ripple in the air as Lupin materializes. He bows to Talia. Then the thief and gunslinger run off in tandem, leaving the wreckage behind them. At the next junction Kess joins them, followed by Ragnar, Lu Bu, and Telemachus. All of them are converging upon their goal -- the chamber in the middle of the network of corridors, where a robed robot sits cross-legged behind bars which throb and pulse with energy.

Together the six of them rush into the broad oblong room that represents the prison. Cells line all four of its walls, broken only by the space consumed by the entrance. The robot dressed in a facsimile of the Emperor's robes occupies one at the opposite end of the room. The others are tenanted by androids in the assorted garb of Sian peasants, soldiers, and officials.

"Now?" Wilex asks.

"Now," you reply.

The Chief Assembler presses a button on a nearby control panel.

At the very moment that your companions enter the middle of the rectangular chamber, all the cells other than that containing the 'Emperor' open -- the bars retracting into the floor, the sheaths of energy upon them flickering out of existence.

The robot prisoners pull weapons from the recesses of their clothing and open fire.

A trap which should be lethal. But subjunctives have never bothered your friends much.

Talia spins round, her pistols whispering in mid rotation. She doesn't pause, makes no discernible effort to take aim. And still no shot goes wasted. Robots crumple.

Ragnar... Well, he's Ragnar. To him the sudden appearance of new enemies doesn't represent a mortal threat so much as fresh meat. He crashes into the nearest robot, grabs the unfortunate android by its ankle, and swings it around in a wide arc -- smashing two more bots with the makeshift flail. You steal a glance at Wilex, and see him wince at the resulting destruction.

Lu Bu and Telemachus are just as nonplussed at the ambush as the Niflung. The former's computerized brain, a product of the finest TALOS engineering, isn't given to stalling. He assesses the threat and reacts to it immediately, putting sword and claw to work. Nor are the young prince's videogame-honed reflexes lacking. The two of them diverge, each picking out targets and keeping them off the other's back.

Arthur Lupin and Artemis Kess haven't fought alongside the rest of your companions for long. But when your level of natural talent may best be described as phenomenal, it's easy enough to adapt. And the past weeks of training have acquainted them with how you all operate.

The thief darts to his right, blue tongues of electrical energy dancing at the ends of his sticks. Three robots surrender to the beating he administers, and take a rest on the floor -- perhaps glad enough to have been eliminated from play by Lupin rather than from existence by Ragnar.

Kess doesn't bother to turn around as lasers flash from behind her. Instead she jumps, launching her lithe body high into the air. At the apex of her leap she arcs backwards in a somersault, landing behind the robot attackers. Her blade lashes out in one hand, her claws from the other.

In moments the room is clear.

"Nice try, captain," Talia says -- the voice traveling from her vocal implant to your aural one without betraying its secrets to the intervening air.

Lupin inspects the bars between your companions and the 'Emperor' for a moment. Then he pulls a device from one of his pouches, presses it against the wall, and starts fiddling with it.

As the thief plies his trade, the Niflung plies his.

Ragnar steps into the adjacent cell, turns, and throws his considerable mass against the wall. The makeshift structure, designed to simulate a wall for the purpose of a training exercise rather than to repel the hostile intentions of an omnicidal, cybernetically enhanced warrior, gives way.

The Niflung ploughs through the barrier -- leaving a roughly Ragnar-shaped hole in his wake. Then he grabs the 'Emperor', throws the robot over his shoulder, steps back through the hole, and walks out to join the others.

You sense the Princess tensing up, feel rather than see the wince at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

"Don't worry," you say. "He'll be gentler with the real Emperor."

"Will you want another session?" Wilex asks.

"Yes. This time I'll join them."

"I'll have the layout rearranged." The Chief Assembler glances at the monitors. "And I'll have new robots brought in to replace the broken ones."

He heads towards the door, mumbling a series of figures under his breath which you assume to be the number and cost of the robots Ragnar destroyed in his reckless exuberance. It slides closed behind him.

"I should go speak to the others about their performance," you say, "and prepare for the next exercise."

"[Name]..."

The soft voice halts you in the doorway. You turn back to her.

Her eyes meet yours. For a moment she's silent, an infinity of potential words and endless meanings drifting over her tongue. When at last she speaks it's with a mild, almost imperceptible sigh.

"Thank you," she says.

You nod, and allow the door to close behind you. Unuttered words whisper in your ears as you walk down the corridor.

"Hah! Niflung blood boar!"

Ragnar's broad grin illuminates his face with such joy that he seems like an innocent child, gazing with delight upon a longed-for birthday treat or festive present. The rest of you regard the contents of the platter before him with rather more perturbation than enthusiasm. It contains what at first glance appears to be a recently deceased murder victim. However, closer inspection reveals it to be the butchered and roasted carcass of an immense hog -- splattered and smeared with a red sauce that must consist largely of blood. Based on the imposing tusks that rise up from either side of the gaping maw, it's quite possible that the crimson liquid belonged not to the animal itself but rather to the unlucky soul who was sent to hunt it.

"Just like my mother used to kill..." The Niflung's eyes gleam as he turns to where the Princess sits at the head of the table. "How did you know?"

"It just seemed... appropriate."

A second robotic waiter glides to his side as its predecessor departs with the platter's now superfluous lid. This one sets a large wooden jug down beside the bloody boar.

Ragnar grabs the jug by its handle, pulls it towards him -- allowing a small wave of dark liquid to slosh over the top and dribble down the side of the vessel -- and lowers his nose towards its contents. A long snort and a sigh of pure satisfaction ensue.

"Sigurd's Blood," he says. "That's a proper ale!"

"Do all Niflung things have 'blood' in the name?" Talia asks.

"Just the ones with blood in them."

"Oh..."

"Anyone else want a drop?" The Niflung glances around the table.

You're contemplating your answer when your gaze catches Illaria's. She makes a small, surreptitious shake of her head -- from which you infer that anyone other than Ragnar would likely suffer for the experience.

He shrugs, lifts the jug to his mouth, and commences quaffing with one hand whilst tearing into the hog with the other. The robot waiter decorously removes the tankard it had placed for him, and glides away once more.

The rest of you look at your platters -- their treasures still as yet concealed from your gazes by the metal domes -- with greater interest and anticipation. When the Princess asked you all to join her for a special dinner, the last evening repast before you embark on your mission, you knew you'd be in for a good meal. But based on the victuals served to Ragnar, it appears that Illaria intends to go well beyond that.

Perhaps relinquishing her enjoyment of the ceremony in favor of satisfying your curiosity and hunger, she gestures to the waiters. The robots converge on the table like battle bots moving in for the kill, and for one ridiculous moment you consider seizing a piece of cutlery, jumping to your feet, and plunging it through the nearest robot's eye -- in case this is some final test she and Wilex have concocted to ensure that your vigilance and reflexes are up to scratch for the coming exploit. But you heroically suppress the urge, remain seated, and avoid what might have been an awkward faux pas.

Thus the robots are able to remove the lids from your platters and disappear from the room without falling victim to spontaneous and superfluous violence.

"Interesting..." Lu Bu says.

All eyes travel to the robot warrior, whose own centers of vision are focused on his now unveiled dish. You had wondered about that... Though the dinner wouldn't have been complete without him, so of course the Princess asked him to come along with the rest of you, Lu Bu -- as is usually the case with bots -- doesn't eat or drink. So the previously closed platter before him had been something of a mystery.

The metal object which has been evinced by the lid's removal is no less of a mystery, however. It appears to be an electronic device of some sort -- a small box embedded with glowing lights, from which a long wire trails and curls in an intricate pattern. Part of you goes so far as to wonder whether you've been misinformed, whether androids do in fact eat electronic objects in the same manner that a human might dine upon a piece of meat. But this seems rather unlikely.

"I wanted you to enjoy the meal with us," the Princess says.

"I'm touched by your thoughtfulness."

He lifts the end of the wire, which is attached to a connector, and plugs it into a port in the side of his head.

"What is that thing?" Telemachus asks.

"A product of the Chief Assembler's genius," the Princess says.

She gazes along the length of the table, to where Wilex sits at the opposite end.

"It was your idea," he says. "I merely brought it into being. An easy enough task. Lu Bu's sensory systems are quite advanced, making the interface simple enough."

"A synthesis of taste," Lu Bu murmurs.

"So what're you eating?" Talia asks.

"It appears to be... everything."

"I had no way of knowing what Lu Bu would enjoy," Illaria says. "So I had the device filled with a representation of every taste possible."

"A truly remarkable idea." The robot pauses for a moment. "Ah... So that's why the term 'long pig' came about..."

That conundrum solved, gazes roam across the table once more -- each of you feasting your eyes upon your own dinner but also curious as to what your companions have been given.

"That's not..." Talia begins, staring at the circular foodstuff on Telemachus' platter.

It appears to be covered in a thick layer of batter.

"A deep-fried pizza," he says. "My dad only ever let me eat them on my birthday. He said they were too dangerous."

If a father who gave his child a heavily armed mech to play with considers a dish too dangerous, it occurs to you that it's probably akin to a culinary weapon of mass destruction. But you're facing the mission of your lives tomorrow, so what's a little cardiac suicide beforehand?

And in spite of Talia's expression of distaste, the meal in front of her would be enigmatic enough to anyone who wasn't familiar with the gunslinger's curious tastes. A bed of rice has been drowned, or perhaps smothered, beneath a layer of viscous material in a shade of red so bright it's as though nature is warning you not to even think about eating it. Chunks of meat which defy visual identification are embedded within (and slathered with) this creamy death sauce.

"I'm impressed that Wilex's robo-cook knew how to make an anaconda tikka masala," she says.

"Actually," the Chief Assembler replies, "she didn't seem inclined to prepare such a dish. Perhaps she's familiar with the First Law of Robotics..."

He pauses and looks around the table in the manner of a man expecting laughter. But if there was a joke, it's sufficiently stealthy that you should take it with you tomorrow. Wilex sighs before continuing.

"We had Grand Fabricator Marek's personal chef brought to Capek to make it. She was delighted to prepare food for a diner with so... eclectic... a palate."

"The lady in question wasn't the only culinary master you enlisted, was she?" Lupin asks.

The meal before the thief seems conventional enough -- a rare piece of steak escorted by a plethora of artistically arranged accompaniments. But from the expression on his face, supplemented by the drifting scent that reaches your nostrils -- somehow managing to slip by the overwhelming olfactory barrier of Talia's curry -- it seems that it's rather beyond the ordinary in quality if not in material.

"It was easy to persuade the cook to take a holiday here," the Princess says. "In fact, he seemed rather pleased with the idea."

"I suppose the chap doesn't usually get to feed repeat diners." Lupin glances at the rest of you, his lips forming his quintessential debonair smile. "There's a prison on Sigma XVIII which serves the most sumptuous last meals to men and women sentenced to death. The stories I'd heard were so tantalizing that I felt compelled to commit a capital crime purely for the purpose of enjoying such a meal."

The quietness around the table deepens.

"I didn't murder anyone, if that's the thought you're all entertaining. On Sigma XVIII anyone caught stealing from their queen is sentenced to death. So I abstracted her crown and allowed her guards to find me reclining on her bed, twirling it around my finger. I have to say that the meal was well worth the inconvenience of the spell of imprisonment and the necessity of the resulting escape."

The general attention next falls upon the Chief Assembler. His dish seems to consist of a large number of small cubes in a range of hues and colors.

"This is something we used to eat when I was a child," he says in response to the collective curiosity. "Each cube has its own subtle flavor. If you stack two or more of them up, and pierce them through the middle, they combine in curious ways. It's something of a game to identify the combination best suited to your tastes."

Artemis Kess is the next victim to fall prey to everyone's voracious appetite for information. The dish before her contains what appears to be a heart.

"What kind of animal is that from?" Talia asks.

"Human," the assassin replies.

The gunslinger laughs for the barest fraction of a second, before realizing that it wasn't a joke.

"Heh." Ragnar spits out a shower of meat juices as he laughs -- which Lupin intercepts with a deft twirl of his handkerchief, thus sparing his immaculate dinner jacket from defilement. "That's hardcore. Even I don't eat humans much."

"Whose heart was it?" Telemachus asks.

"I believe it's mine," Kess replies.

She looks to the Princess. Illaria nods.

"I hope you don't mind. But Master Wu thought it would be appropriate."

"Not at all. It's... fitting." Artemis cuts into the organ, and brings a small piece to her mouth.

She savors the morsel for a few moments, then glances around as though surprised that everyone's still staring at her.

"When we completed our training as assassins, it was customary for us to eat our own hearts. Cloned versions grown in vats."

A collective exhalation follows this pronouncement.

"That's pretty creepy," Talia says. "But kind of awesome as well."

"When one of us decides that she wishes to retire, the same custom applies. I believe it began as a way around an ancient edict which would in those days have been far less pleasant."

"Then you're going to stop being an assassin?" you ask.

"This will be my last mission. Her Highness has offered to arrange full pardons for all the crimes I've committed. I'll be able to do whatever I want, and go wherever I wish."

The wistful look which crosses her face and shines within her dark eyes hints that "whatever" and "wherever" are less nebulously conceived in her mind than in her words.

"Your meal doesn't look that interesting, [Name]," Telemachus says. "Sure you don't want some of my pizza?"

"No, thank you."

You don't elaborate, and the others become too engrossed in their own food to press you about it.

Chopsticks move in your hand, descending into the bowl of rice, meat, and fish. A good meal, flavored by an expert hand. The moment it was revealed, the sight and scent awakened warm memories within your breast. An identical bowl rests on Illaria's platter.

Great food and even better company fill the evening with a warmth you haven't experienced for a long time. In this bubble, this minute portion of the universe, matters of war and politics are kept at bay like unwanted beasts left to bray and howl beyond sight or earshot.

Alcohol flows in moderation for all but Ragnar -- whose enhanced body could drink an ocean of ethanol without ill effect. Just enough to provide the world with a merry glow. You even turn a blind eye when Telemachus reaches over and steals your glass of scotch. Sure enough, one sip and the ensuing splutter is enough to make him swear temperance for the foreseeable future. The glass is returned, and the amber liquid finds its way to a tongue better able to appreciate it.

Comfortable silences, in which you each dwell upon your dishes and the memories they evoke, intersperse the easy banter and conversation of friends whose exploits have brought them closer than mere time ever could. What are years compared with battles and adventures? Even Artemis and Lupin, who've known you all for so short a time, fall into the spirit of camaraderie. The thief regales you with tales of the innumerable outlandish and audacious deeds which make up the tapestry of his life -- his charm and sophisticated eloquence somehow turning crimes at which you should frown into delights at which you may laugh. Kess is more reticent, but still manages to transform her relative quietness into that of an included observer -- smiling and laughing with the rest of you, slipping her own keen observations into the chatter.

Wilex is the first to take his leave, followed by Kess. Lupin excuses himself soon afterwards, the gentlemanly thief relinquishing the remainder of the night to the rest of you with the decorous politeness which is so much his hallmark in spite of his criminal proclivities.

The Princess rises at the same instant, and bids him wait for just a moment. She passes him a small azure box, upon which a jeweled rendition of the imperial seal glitters in all its proud glory.

Lupin's previously unassailable demeanor of amused nonchalance allows slivers of surprise to appear on his face as he accepts the gift from her hand. The slivers widen to admit a torrent when he opens it. His dexterous fingers dip into the ornate container. They emerge grasping a length of gleaming platinum and diamond magnificence.

"Our arrangement was..." he begins. It's the first time you've ever heard his voice falter.

"The Eyes of the Cosmos are yours," she says. "Whatever happens."

The solemn import of her words hangs in the air, for a moment casting its dark shadow over the gathering. Despite all your training, all the planning and preparation, every piece of miraculous technology you have to aid you, the mission you face will hurl you into a theater where any or all of you might find your deaths. And if such a fate awaits the thief, he'll now have time to make arrangements for the priceless treasure which was promised him -- to pass it onto whatever loved ones he might possess.

Emotion is writ upon Arthur Lupin's face, bespeaking his thoughts with far more eloquence than the words of gratitude which fall from his tongue. In that moment you know he'll devote everything he has to keep his promise to Princess Illaria. Her trust in him has bound him to her cause as it has bound so many others before him.

The six of you who remain in the thief's wake wallow in the comfort of talk and reminiscences till weariness eventually claims Telemachus, and Ragnar carries him to his quarters. Lu Bu departs along with them, speaking of the last minute testing of his systems and weapons he wishes to perform.

Three friends are left among the debris of a feast, speaking of strange and intersecting lives. Time loses itself among your words, defied and derailed amidst shared recollections that stretch further and deeper than those which came before -- extending into the years before the war, before the cataclysmic events which threw you and the others together. Melancholy slips into the bubble, the inexorable sadness that comes with the memories of happier times.

The hour is late when Talia retires, but neither you nor Illaria are ready to accept the dying of the night.

The two of you sit at adjacent sides of the table, with a bottle of scotch and words both spoken and unspoken between you. The flavor of your food lingers on your tongue -- unwilling to be usurped even by the richness of the alcohol -- making the past seem all the more vivid. The last time you tasted that dish was on the day you first met, when a young pilot was summoned to dine with the imperial family to mark her new position within the Princess' bodyguard.

To think of that time now is to see it as though through another's eyes, to dwell upon a woman who's so different as to be a stranger...

He's/She's a brash warrior, made cocky by his/her skill and the freshness of the victory which has earned her such an honor. Medals shine on his/her breast, turning his/her resplendent dress uniform into a testament to her excellence.

Yet as he's/she's ushered into the palace, as he/she gazes upon the glory of that sacred place, the bravado dies within him/her. He's/She's overwhelmed by the magnitude of his/her surroundings and the realization that he's/she's about to meet the Emperor -- a man whose edicts are law to billions, who until now has been akin to a remote and removed deity.

His/Her eyes are downcast when he's/she's brought into the imperial presence, placed before the Emperor and Princess. Pleasantries are navigated like minefields, the young pilot fearful of straying and offending -- of being deemed unworthy by sharp, wise eyes or else bright, beautiful ones.

He/She sits to eat, his/her frantic thoughts groping for rules of etiquette once second nature yet now scoured from his/her mind. She reaches out for a serving spoon with a trembling hand, before realizing to his/her horror that the Princess is reaching out as well -- that his/her hand will touch hers, and violate laws of propriety more imagined than real. And so he/she yanks his hand back as though from a burning heat, a clumsy movement that brings it crashing against a bowl. Its contents splash over his/her dress uniform, just as shame splashes across his/her face.

"Forgive me," the Princess says, bowing her head and claiming the error as her own.''

A faint smile lurks on her lips, one infused with such gentle kindness that it allows the pilot to recover. The meal continues, and the course of destiny is shaped.

In the present two friends sit and drink, and you pity those billions of Sian subjects who only know her as you once did -- as an idol instead of a woman.

"It feels wrong," she says, staring into the remnant of her drink.

"Yes," you agree. It's a moment before you realize that she's speaking of her own thoughts rather than yours.

"We've faced so much together. Now I'm sending you... all of you... into the greatest danger of all, while I sit in safety."

You glance at the bottle. How did it get so empty?

Your eyes meet hers. She sighs.

"It's okay. I won't argue again. You and Master Wu were right. But..."

"I know."

In truth, part of you shares her regret at the thought that the two of you won't be fighting side by side on this mission, as on so many of your previous exploits. But it would be foolhardy to take the Princess to Sian, to risk her falling into Centurian hands along with the Emperor. Thus you were forced to side with Wu Tenchu, and dissuade Illaria from accompanying you. And she relented, as her duty to the subjects of the empire demanded.

"I still think of Sergeant Tarik and the others. Everyone who died so that I could escape from the Child of Heaven. And all of our people who'll die so my father can be freed."

Silence envelops you both for several seconds, a stretch of quiet in which the faces of dead men and women swim across your thoughts.

"Bring him back to me," she says. "Don't let them die for nothing."

"I will," you say. The promise leaves your lips a moment before your brain can forestall it. Stupid... Anything could happen...

Yet when you see the satisfaction your words give her you can't quite wish you hadn't uttered them.

"Make sure you come back as well. The empire needs you both." Her eyes, reddened by the alcohol, focus on yours with redoubled intensity. Her mouth twitches for a second, as though unsure of which words it will help form. "I need you both." |-|

"Emperor's Voice"=
Emperor's Voice

"Depending on their direction of approach and level of sobriety, visitors to Sian may catch sight of the Emperor's Voice. This communications satellite is reserved for the use of the Emperor alone, and is employed when he wishes to broadcast his addresses both to citizens on the planet and to the empire's other worlds. Historians suggest that the existence of this satellite may relate to traditions from ancient Earth in which imperial words were deemed too important to mingle with those of lesser beings.

In certain Novocastrian drinking songs the Emperor's Voice is referred to as the "Emperor's Gob", an analogy which is the nexus of a few verses which range from the juvenile to the indecent. Tourists should avoid singing these lyrics whilst on Sian, as doing so may result in a fatal kung fu-related accident."

-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos

"No one's started shooting at us yet," Talia says. "I figure that means things are working so far."

You have to confess that you prefer to entrust your life to something a little more scientific than the 'Am I being shot?' test. But it's hard to argue with the gunslinger's point. The moment you dropped out of hyperspace, emerging into the empire's home system -- once its seat of power -- as an intruder, your eyes swept the scanners and displays. And though you saw plenty of enemy activity, the movements of scouting vessels and battle fleets, none of the blips swarmed towards you on your arrival.

The Silver Shadow's stealth systems are holding up. You're a phantom, an invisible predator.

A short flight brings you in sight of your goal. A blue-green gemstone hovers in the void, its soft tones and hues a soothing and welcoming embrace to eyes that have looked upon it so many times before. Beauty amid a darkness that seems blacker than ever before, a glory that even now refuses to succumb to the wickedness which encases it in its malevolence. Sian.

"We'll get her back, captain," Talia says, her words echoing your thoughts.

The Centurians may control Sian, but she'll never truly be theirs. Once the Emperor is safe, the reckoning will come...

You look at the communications terminal, consider opening a channel to Wilex's cruiser. It seems almost... wrong... to look upon this sight without the Princess' face before you, her voice in your ear -- to share the vision and the resolve. But you resist the urge. The Silver Shadow's transmission systems may well be sophisticated enough to defy Centurian detection. However, that's a risk you can't take. No... If you wish to hear her voice, you first have to secure her father's.

"Tel, let the others know we're moving into position. Have them get ready."

The boy leaves the flight cabin, excitement shining in his eyes and twitching in his limbs.

And though you're better at concealing it, your anticipation and trepidation are no less. The first phase of a plan that may win or lose the war is about to take place...

Blinding Electronic Eyes

Wu Tenchu was right, as usual.

Before you, rendered in reality through the window and in digitized form upon one of the room's screens, the Emperor's Voice spins through the universe in tandem with Sian. The satellite and space station is like a metal crown, a symbol of imperium that marks both the status of its owner and the loyalty of the world beyond.

"Just a handful of minor ships," you say, pointing at the docking area.

It appears that only a small number of guards have been placed within. The Centurians don't realize the true power of the Emperor's Voice. In your simulations you prepared for both heavy resistance and light defenses. But you'd hoped for the latter, and it seems that -- for the moment, at least -- fortune favors you.

"One more suit check, ladies and gentlemen," Lupin says.

You do as bidden. This portion of the mission is in the thief's capable hands. Electronic security systems are his purview, not your own. And he's right to be cautious -- like any good pilot, you're not willing to entrust yourself to space without adequate safety checks.

The precaution proves unnecessary on this occasion, however. Everyone's suit passes the final round of tests. If you perish, it won't be because of faulty equipment.

Arthur Lupin nods in satisfaction before handing some of his prepared devices to you, Lu Bu, and Telemachus. Your fate rests in these little electronic objects as much as it does in your weapons. This is a Sian satellite, in spite of the Centurian interlopers who wander its rooms and corridors. The master thief was provided with its schematics, and pored over them in excruciating detail. All that remains is for you to put his strategy into effect.

"Shall we?" he asks.

You move towards the airlock. Safety doors hiss open and closed, sealing the ship behind you and unveiling the void before you.

Lupin and Telemachus move to the exit, followed by you and Lu Bu -- just like in the simulations. The others will follow afterwards, if and when your operation proves successful.

The prince and the thief vanish, disappearing with an instantaneousness which still takes you aback for a moment despite the number of times you've witnessed it before.

A few seconds later Lupin's voice sounds in your aural implant.

"Go!"

You activate your own cloaking device and leap. The clock is ticking.

Perilous Patrol

Using thrusters to direct your movements you swim through the unresisting and intangible ocean of space. When you reach the right point on the satellite you latch on with your magnetic boots and get to work.

You're no expert on security systems or any other electronic paraphernalia like Lupin is. Even Telemachus has you beat in that particular sphere. But the long training sessions combined with hours spent studying plans have made you as familiar with the Emperor's Voice as you are with the contours of your own face. And in truth the task you've been assigned is little more challenging than putting the right peg into the appropriately shaped hole -- something which the games of early infancy have well prepared you for.

"You're clear," Lupin's voice informs you.

He's fast. Almost inhumanly so. It would have taken you at least twice as long to accomplish his first task. Master Wu was right when he instructed you to recruit the man.

As the thief declared, no blinking lights or other warning signs are given when you pry open a small hatch on the surface of the satellite. His work has already ensured that no one inside will be any the wiser that you're accessing and manipulating the systems.

You insert the electronic device. The display light on the object flashes at you in green approval.

The Emperor's Voice has plenty of security cameras, both inside and out. Destroying those around you would be easy enough, but also foolish. Nothing would alert a vigilant observer at a bank of screens faster than to have his windows into the world succumb to blackness one by one. Hence something a little more cerebral is required, albeit still child's play to one as adept as Arthur Lupin.

Now any Centurians watching the monitors won't see you outside -- even after your cloaking fields are dispelled. They'll see only the void, or the distant planet, as before your arrival.

And that's just the first step.

"I'm in," Telemachus' voice says in your ear. "They won't know that the airlocks are open."

Splendid. Your way in is clear.

"I have access to the internal security cameras," Lu Bu says. "Your surmise was correct: there are relatively few Centurians inside."

And now your robotic companion can keep you abreast of their movements after you make your entry. So far, so good.

"Head for the airlocks," you say via your vocal implant.

Your companions still aboard the Silver Shadow chorus their affirmation.

"Two guards approaching your position," Lu Bu says. "Alert and on patrol. A third enemy is a short distance behind them. She has what appears to be a warm beverage in her hand, so I suspect that she's not on active duty."

The voice sounds in your ear, and undoubtedly in those of Talia and Kess as well. For the rest of you it required considerable training to adapt to the full functionality of your vocal implants -- and learn how to speak to specific aural implants among those to which they're linked. But for Lu Bu, with his computerized systems, it was no challenge at all.

The three of you crouch on a beam above one of the satellite's corridors, a place which usually serves maintenance engineers but now aids killers with stoic impartiality.

Two men in Centurian uniforms appear at the far end of the passage -- rifles in their arms, boredom in their eyes and manner. You smile. This patrol will be rather less mundane than those to which they're accustomed.

"I'll take the third one when she shows," Talia says.

You nod.

"I'll take left," you say.

Kess nods. In truth the assassin could eliminate both of them before either had time to make a sound. But better safe than sorry.

The guards continue down the corridor, staring straight ahead of them. They don't even seem inclined to make things difficult for you. The training robots were much more vigilant than this...

Artemis' laser-edged blade slips from its sheath.

Your body tenses.

Master Thief

Two bodies drop from the beam. Two blades flash. Two different bodies are lowered to the floor. If only synchronized slaying were a sport...

A woman in a similar Centurian uniform appears at the end of the corridor. She doesn't even have time to gasp -- let alone trigger an alert -- before Talia's laser finds her eye and brain. A ceramic mug falls from her hand. It's obliterated by further laser fire before it has a chance to smash against the floor. The woman's body collapses onto the minute fragments.

Talia lands between you and Kess. The gunslinger and assassin run off in one direction, leaving you to head in another.

"Your path to the security room is clear," Lu Bu informs you. "Lupin and Ragnar will be there in 5.439 seconds' time."

"Now you're just showing off," you murmur. But you're fairly certain he's accurate.

You arrive in the designated corridor to find the thief and the Niflung pressed against the wall near an open doorway.

"There are two enemies inside," Lu Bu explains. "One is facing the entrance."

If the setback perturbs your two companions, they show no sign of it. In fact, both of them are wearing looks of amusement. Lupin waves you over.

As you near the doorway you hear two voices, muffled in a manner with which you're acquainted. The interlocutors must be wearing helmets.

"Come on," a man's voice says. "She'll never know."

"We got lucky last time," a woman replies. "She could have had us court-martialed, instead of just forcing us to keep the door open."

"The fat whore probably wanted to make sure she had a good view next time."

The woman gasps.

"Don't worry," the man says. "Security officer, remember? I'll just erase this conversation from the files afterwards."

"So we can say whatever we want?"

"And do whatever we want. Why don't we-"

"Finally! Okay, how the hell did a woman that out of shape make lieutenant? She looks like a damn hippo! And that stupid camo top she wears... Is that even regulation? If it is, it should be made illegal! And..."

The man's sigh is barely audible amidst the resulting flow of seemingly inexhaustible cattishness.

"The male Centurian is still facing towards the door," Lu Bu says. "Have any of your cloaking devices recharged?"

Three negatives emerge at once.

"What if we ran in and killed them quick?" Ragnar growls. You're impressed with just how effectively he's learned to shout, snarl, growl, and make other such warlike or discontented noises via his implant.

"They're both wearing communicators. It would only take a second for them to open a general channel," Lu Bu says.

"Then I suppose I had better offer my assistance," Lupin says.

He moves towards the door.

"Wait!" you hiss. "We-"

But the thief has already vanished round the corner.

"What the-" the man splutters.

"How-" the woman gasps.

Neither voice is muffled by their helmets now.

A noise sounds in your ear. If you didn't know better, you'd think that Lu Bu was dumbstruck... You and Ragnar exchange confused looks before following the thief into the chamber.

Two people, a man and a woman, are sitting on the floor -- clad only in their undergarments. Both of them regard you with visages saturated with bewilderment. Behind them is Lupin, leaning against the far wall. Two neat piles of Centurian clothing rest on the floor beside him, along with two laser rifles.

The Centurians continue to stare at you, as though in search of an explanation. But you have none to offer. You can only shrug, and raise your pistol.

We're all fine... How are you?

Perhaps the soldiers' utter confusion evokes your sympathy. In any event, you fire twice and grant them quick deaths -- before Ragnar can hew them limb from limb with his axe. He grunts.

"My mother always said I'd steal the shirt off your back," Lupin remarks.

"That's... that's impossible," you say. "How..."

"I've never felt any particular urge to be confined within the limits of the possible. Now, let's turn to the matter at hand..."

He steps over to the security terminal and gets to work.

"It's done," he says a moment later. "The remaining cameras have been appropriately neutralized."

"Talia and Kess are eliminating the last of the personnel in their section," Lu Bu says in your ears. "I will make my entrance, and rendezvous with Telemachus at the main communication room."

"We're on our way," you reply.

The corridors the three of you pass down are devoid of life... But not of death. Bodies bearing laser wounds repose near others ripped open or dismembered by the unmistakable swings of a chainsaw.

These grim passages bring you to your destination just as Lu Bu drops from some recess overhead, hitting the ground as soundlessly as a cat. Telemachus saunters from a nearby doorway, his battlesuit splashed with copious amounts of crimson.

"The guardroom's clear," the prince says. "I hacked the systems first, like we planned."

The five of you enter the communication room, a small chamber with walls dominated by screens, holographic displays, and control terminals. The largest display, that facing the doorway on the opposite side of the room, shows a view of Sian.

"We-" Lupin begins.

A bleeping noise interrupts him. There's a red light flashing on a panel beneath the image of the planet. An incoming transmission, awaiting answer...

"Oh, hell!" the thief murmurs.

He, Lu Bu, and Telemachus sprint into the room -- making for the terminals.

Lieutenant Targe

"Here!" Lu Bu says.

He tosses you a cable -- the other end of which is embedded in his body. You catch it, make for a console on the left wall, and insert it there.

Lupin and Telemachus do likewise with other wires, until Lu Bu seems like a mechanical spider in the middle of his web. The robot presses a button on the panel in front of him. The bleeping and flashing stop.

A middle-aged man in a grey uniform appears on the screen, usurping the blue-green world. Your stomach bubbles with disquiet at his gaze, though you know from his lack of reaction that he's not really seeing you. Lu Bu was more rushed than expected, but it seems that he's succeeded nonetheless.

"Status report?" the man says. His tones bear both military precision and the vaguest hints of boredom.

"Nothing to report."

The reply emerges from Lu Bu, but is spoken in a gruff woman's voice.

"Understood."

The man vanishes, yielding the screen to Sian once more.

A powerful computerized brain can work wonders. Not even Lupin, for all his phenomenal skill and almost inconceivable talent, would have been able to succeed with such trickery in so short a space of time. To trawl through the recorded logs, evaluate which Centurian would be expected to respond to the transmission at this point in time, and emulate her voice whilst replaying previous footage of her... All in the space of a few seconds...

"Amazing," Lupin says, echoing your thoughts.

"Thank you," the robot replies. "But one thing troubles me... The woman whose voice and image I co-opted didn't appear on any of the security cameras when I was directing you all. I don't believe anyone has yet killed her."

As one, all your heads turn to the door in the right-hand wall.

"There are no cameras in the satellite's bathrooms, are there?" you ask.

"There are not. It seems that in our simulations and live training exercises we rather overlooked the limitations imposed by human biology."

You sigh.

"Finish up here. Ragnar and I will search the lavatories."

You and the Niflung approach the door. The portal slides open with a screeching rumble when you press the panel, revealing a padded thickness to its cross-section at odds with the plans you examined.

With the breaking of the soundproof seal comes the cacophonous noise of someone butchering a walrus. Then it occurs to you that it's a woman singing in a very loud, off-key abomination of a voice.

The singing falls silent, which isn't displeasing. However, it bodes ill...

You glance at the Niflung. Then the two of you move into the room, weapons raised, gazing at the closed cubicle doors that line its left and right sides.

"Who's there?" a voice demands. It's the same one you heard coming from Lu Bu earlier.

This time its source is the furthest cubicle on the right-hand side. You creep towards it, the barrel of your pistol trained on the door. At that moment the door is hurled open.

The woman who lumbers out causes your prior eavesdropping to flash across your mind. She is indeed remarkably hippopotamine, and if you're any judge of fashion the top which strains against the flesh above her poorly-fastened trousers is quite the crime against taste and decency. However, your attention is focused elsewhere.

She's clutching a rather large minigun, with a belt of glowing blue cases trailing from its grim ebon body.

"Why would you have that in the bathroom?" you ask.

By way of an answer, the barrels start to whir. Blue plasma energy rips through the air.

You dive away from a stream of blue fire, breaking into a roll as you hit the floor.

The woman cries out like a valkyrie as she plods forward, spraying plasma across the room with more enthusiasm than accuracy -- scarring the metal walls, ceiling, and floor, blasting the cubicle doors to smithereens.

Then she shrieks. There's a clatter and a thud.

You come out of your roll and see her sprawling on the floor. Her pants are round her ankles, apparently having finally decided to rebel against the lack of proper fastening.

You stride towards her, weapon aimed at the upturned mask of frustration that seethes beneath her fringe.

"I hope the humor and ridiculousness of the situation aren't lost on you," you say.

Then you fire.

As you turn towards the door to the control room, you see that Ragnar's gazing at the plasma-firing minigun.

"Don't even think about it," you say. "Not for this mission."

He grunts.

"Fine..."

You find the rest of your companions clustered round the main terminal.

"Everything okay in there?" Talia asks.

"I'd recommend using a different bathroom."

"I've set everything up," Lu Bu says. "Whenever it's time for the hourly status reports, a recording of a previous response will appear."

"Does it look like that'll work?"

"Almost certainly. I've studied every such communication since the Centurians first occupied the station, and they never deviate from what you heard earlier."

"And the secure channels?"

"All ours. Our allies will be able to communicate with us or their contacts on Sian in total secrecy, without any risk of hostile eavesdropping. And I can establish the optical link. It appears that the Centurians never learned of the satellite's full range of capabilities."

"Open a channel with Wilex's cruiser."

Lu Bu's metal fingers dance across the console in a golden blur. Sian is displaced on the screen once more -- this time by Wilex's personal communications chamber.

The Chief Assembler stands before you. Behind him you see Princess Illaria and Wu Tenchu as they spring from their seats -- the usually prim and sedate advisor moving with the swiftness and suddenness of a cat. The two of them come to flank Wilex. There's approval on Master Wu's face, delight on hers.

"The Emperor's Voice is ours," you say. "Next stop, Sian." |-|

"Streets of Lanjin Cheng"=
Streets of Lanjin Cheng

"The name 'Lanjin Cheng' is Chinese -- a language from Earth most commonly associated with takeaway menus and archaic, poorly-dubbed movies. It translates as 'Forbidden Blue City'.

The city is in fact neither especially blue nor particularly forbidden. Tourists may in fact wander around most of its environs unmolested -- unless they happen to pay for that privilege in one of the city's more salubrious establishments. Hence it seems that the name is the result of a historical circumstance which is no longer the case, or else that the person who selected the name wasn't greatly proficient with the Chinese language.

I attempted to question a local merchant in an effort to establish which might be the case. However, he responded by saying, "You here buy or you here ask stupid questions? Get out my store!" (or words to that effect which I've chosen to render thus for humorous purposes). Hence I left his establishment none the wiser.

In spite of this curious onomastic mystery, Lanjin Cheng is most certainly worth visiting and exploring at length. Its marketplaces are bustling hives of tantalizing sights, sounds, and smells, and its major streets and squares are adorned with spectacular artworks in honor of the imperial family."

-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos

"The bastards..."

Talia utters the words, but they may just as easily have come from any of your mouths.

On the monitor the Princess' face displays first horror, then anger. Even Master Wu's implacable features betray hints of the dark and troubled emotions beneath the ministerial visage. The ship's cameras are relaying the scene to them, showing them what you and your companions can see through the window and upon the flight cabin's displays.

Lanjin Cheng, Sian's vast capital, sprawls below -- illuminated in the glow of artificial lights from the bank of the Laughing Dragon River to the distant mountains. But the homeworld's glorious imperial city is a scarred, defiled version of that which it viciously displaces in your memories.

The beautiful edifices are in ruins. Statues and sculptures have been torn down -- in many cases left lying in the streets like the victims of a massacre. The Centurian Collective despises art, loathes heritage derived from Earth's historical eras. And they've given vent to that vile hatred.

Those of Sian's inhabitants who were able to send surreptitious messages off-world spoke of the destruction wrought upon the planet, but mere words could never have prepared you for such a sight.

Master Wu is the first to recover and fill the silence.

"The rebels are about to strike -- both here and in many of the other major settlements. You should prepare to make your landing."

You reply with a mechanical nod, your eyes still on the debased cityscape below. Wu Tenchu had used his previous scanty channels of communication to ready Sian's freedom fighters for a widespread uprising as best he could. With access to the Emperor's Voice the final preparations have been far easier. Only the barest handful, those agents most trusted by the mandarin, know the full magnitude of the plan -- that their attacks are to distract the Centurians while you rescue the Emperor. But even so, countless thousands are ready to fight.

An explosion blooms below, an orange-red flower of destruction. Even before its petals have died out and given way to flaming wreckage, there's another -- and then another, burning maws answering and echoing the call.

As if it were a dam that perished in the conflagration, unleashing a torrent, in moments the streets are filled with chaos.

Won't Know What Hit Them

Laser and blaster fire flashes amid the cityscape, a million tiny lights that speak of battle and death. There are buildings ablaze, plumes of smoke billowing into the night air. A handful of saboteur teams who know what they're doing, assisted by the efforts of masses of brave men and women who yearn to strike back against invaders and oppressors, can inflict great harm in but a short time.

But against a mighty engine of war like the Centurian military...

"They're being slaughtered," the Princess whispers.

Zoomed-in views of the battles below show the truth of her words. The Collective's troops are in the streets, dressed in their foreboding armor, weapons spitting death into the crowds. The Centurians may wish to conquer and annex, to control the Sian Empire -- and the rest of human space besides -- rather than annihilating it, but they're ready enough to wash the streets with blood to put down the insurrection.

"Butchers..." Kess spits. Even the assassin, whose claws have been reddened with countless lives, winces at the carnage.

"It was inevitable," Master Wu says. "They're giving their lives for your father's freedom, as we knew they would."

Tanks are trundling into the squares. A long-legged, crab-like mech looms above the fray, its lasers ripping brutal trails of carnage -- scattering those before it. Gunships are flocking in the sky like birds of prey.

The rebels have no chance. All they can do is purchase your success with their lives.

"We have to do something!" Telemachus says. "Help them!"

"Don't be foolish."

Wu Tenchu replies to the prince, but his eyes are fastened on you. Does the cunning mandarin perceive the thoughts and emotions surging within you?

"They're dying!"

"What would you have the captain do? Battle all the Centurian forces on the planet? Liberate the world single-handedly? This isn't one of your videogames."

"No, it isn't," you say. "And I can't save them all. But I can still make the Centurians pay a price."

"They're our people," Talia says.

Master Wu sighs, his solemn exterior collapsing to reveal troubled eyes and a face as distraught as the Princess'.

"I know," he says. "But what you're seeing below is happening in the other cities as well. No matter how much it pains you, people will perish. You must accept that."

"I do," you reply. "That doesn't mean I can't give them one victory, something to cling to when the bodies are being cleared from the streets."

"Highness..." he says, turning to the Princess -- knowing as always that her word will sway you, that you'll do whatever it is she asks of you. "Your father waits in his cell. The captain must head to the palace."

The Princess looks into his eyes. Then she turns back to the screen, meeting your gaze.

"Do what you feel is right, [Name]."

You turn round to the others. They're silent, all their eyes on you -- watching and waiting for your judgment. Talia's hands clench and unclench, eager to reach for weapon controls. Lu Bu is impassive, his metal face revealing nothing. The young prince wears a look of determination, big bright eyes begging for the call to action. Ragnar's hand is tight around his axe, thirsting for violence as always -- even though he won't be able to take part in it and bring the weapon into play. Kess gives you a small nod. Lupin shrugs.

"Battle stations," you say.

"You got it," Telemachus says. The prince slips into the gunner's chair.

"Captain..." Wilex's face appears on one of the other monitors. "Use the Hades missiles. They won't reveal your presence."

He's right...

"Tel, you ever steered a guided missile before?"

"It's like steering a ship, right? Except that it's fine when you crash into something?"

"Exactly."

Panzerfaust

Centurian bodies fly though the air, twisting and tumbling like ragdolls before smashing against buildings or bouncing across the street -- scattering their gore with each impact.

The Niflung's laugh fills the cabin.

On the screen the Princess' beautiful face is warlike, overcast with grim approval at the slaughter of your enemies.

The Hades missiles, each of them containing its own cloaking device, are unstoppable killers -- invisible until they explode. All the Centurians can know is that death is finding them.

Below you the rebels are rallying, swarming towards the disarrayed Centurian infantrymen. The losses will be high this day. There's nothing you can do to prevent that. But you still feel pride surge in your breast as you see your fellow subjects bringing their righteous fury to bear against the men and women of the Collective.

"Tanks?" Talia says.

"Tanks," you agree.

You direct the ship's flight towards the big square, where an armored column is massing.

Sweep the Leg

The heavily armored engines of war fare no better than the troopers. Each becomes a twisted metal tomb for those caught inside, a carcass of flaming metal.

"I want to take out the mech," Telemachus says.

You look at one of the monitors, where the gangly-legged machine towers above squadrons of soldiers -- its flashing weapons securing their advance.

"Aim for the legs," you say.

Aerial Waltz

"I got it!" the prince yells.

The mech staggers like a drunkard, swaying atop its damaged legs as if threatening to vomit the contents of an alcohol-ravaged stomach.

"Pretty sure it was my one that did it," Talia says.

"Oh, yeah? Then watch this..."

A few seconds later an explosion bursts into being on one of the mech's legs. This time the metal yields beneath its force. The leg falls one way, and the rest of the machine -- doomed by the weakness of its remaining limbs and the intransigent laws of physics -- collapses in another. Straight onto the horde of Centurians.

The ensuing carnage fills your monitors for a moment, before a final explosion hides it beneath a blanket of flame.

A cheer washes through the cabin, echoed in the distant chamber where Wilex and Illaria share the sight of the mighty machine's death. Wu Tenchu has disappeared, and a faint smile crosses your lips at the thought that he might be sulking at your decision.

But both smile and cheering are banished when Talia's voice pierces the euphoria.

"They're onto us!" she says.

The red blips on the ship's scanner which represent enemy aircraft are sweeping towards the center of the display.

You curse. The bravado, the elation of victory, gives way to the cold certainty that you've failed. Your decision, your folly, has cost you the mission.

"They've guessed that there's a hostile craft somewhere up here. They'll alert the whole city..."

"No," a voice says, "they will not."

The Princess moves aside as she turns -- revealing Master Wu, who's sitting at a terminal on the other side of the room.

"I've used the Emperor's Voice to silence their communications," he continues.

Relief surges within you like a tidal wave, filling your body and emerging as a soft laugh.

Red lasers are flashing through the air, the crimson fingers of blind men -- now struck dumb as well -- probing for a target they sense must exist.

"If one of those hits us," Lupin says, "we'll be exposed."

"You know how good you are at stealing stuff?" Talia asks. "That's the captain at flying. Just watch..."

Vulture Gunship

The thief gives a long, low whistle as the enemy craft blossom into fiery death in quick succession.

You smile inwardly. It's been a while since you've flown with someone unfamiliar with your skill as a fighter pilot. And being able to impress so tough an audience as the debonair thief is gratifying. But even so...

You meet Master Wu's gaze on the screen. You bow your head. He returns the gesture, accepting all it entails -- the admission, the apology, the gratitude.

"One more aircraft, captain," Talia says.

A black mass floats in the distance, spinning blades atop its predatory body flashing as they slice the moonlight. Weapons blaze from it, perhaps a dozen streams of fire clawing in all directions.

The gunship's crew are firing at places where you might have been, without knowing where you now are. They don't have a chance in hell of hitting you. It would be easy enough to avoid them...

"Destroy it," Master Wu instructs. "The people onboard are silenced for now, but if they land they will spread word."

You nod. No one can live to tell the tale, not with your mission as yet undone.

The gunship's pilots and gunners are skilled. Their lines of fire are perfectly calculated to shield them from incoming missiles -- to intercept them, invisible as they are, and rip them open. And with each minor victory their probing becomes a little more dangerous, draws that much closer to you.

They have no way of knowing for certain where you're firing from. But whoever's in charge of the craft is a gifted aerial tactician, surely evaluating and anticipating -- trying to judge where you might position yourself, and raking that part of the sky with trails of fire.

Against another pilot they might win.

"If I open up with the lasers," you say, "it'll reveal our position -- to them and everyone on the ground."

"I'm trying with the missiles," Talia replies, "but they're getting a bit too good at stopping them. We've only got one left."

"Try to make it count."

"No!" Telemachus says. "Give it to me!"

"Tel-" Talia begins.

"I've been watching it since I ran out of missiles. It's not firing at random -- it's firing in patterns! It's like one of those old scrolling flying games, where you had to work out how to dodge all the lasers and stuff."

Talia looks to you.

"Go for it, Tel," you say.

The gunslinger presses a button, relinquishing authority over the last Hades missile to the prince.

He cries out in delight.

Behind you the others are crowding around the gunning station, looking over Telemachus to watch the missile's flight on his screen. You're about to tell them not to crowd him when you see the elation on his face. He's relishing the pressure, the presence of his audience.

Several seconds pass, in which you continue to slip away from the advancing enemy and evade the flurries of gunfire -- unwilling to simply fly from the scene until you're sure the job is done.

"Tel, did you fire?" you ask. "Where-"

"Shut up!" he says. "Just need to..."

When the explosion comes, it's on the opposite side of the gunship.

"You flew the missile all the way round to the other side?" Talia asks.

"It was the best way. Had just enough time to pull it off."

The aircraft spins as though reeling from a blow, smoke rushing from its hindquarters like blood erupting from a wound. It revolves several times, cartwheeling through the air. Then another explosion takes it, this one from deep within -- parting its hull and scattering its innards to the four winds.

"So, I'm pretty awesome, aren't I?"

He dodges out of his seat just in time to avoid Ragnar's slap on the back from potentially launching him into the monitor.

"If anyone ever tells you that kids should go outside and play," you say, "instead of sitting in front of videogames all day, you have my permission to take your chainsaw to them."

|-|

"Imperial Gardens"=
Imperial Gardens

"One of the drawbacks to autocracy (though of course this becomes a benefit if you happen to be the autocrat) is that they get to keep all the best stuff for themselves. The imperial gardens in Lanjin Cheng are a prime example of this. These gardens are supposedly built on land given to a former emperor by the noble families whose estates once bordered the palace (as a token of gratitude for the winning of some war or other), and are by all accounts the most beautiful in the whole empire. However, only the imperial family and those to whom they grant permission ever get to walk their paths. Even flying above them in an effort to catch a glimpse of their splendor is strictly forbidden -- and a complex network of detection devices in the airspace ensures that not even the smallest craft can enter unnoticed.

Naturally all this secrecy piqued my curiosity, and I tried several tricks to get inside the gardens -- from climbing over and tunneling under the wall to attempting to secure employment as a gardener. But every time I was thwarted and indeed pummeled for my troubles by the vigilant guardsmen. Until I came up with the idea of having myself flung into them by means of a makeshift catapult -- on a trajectory high enough to clear the wall but too low to trigger the aerial security sensors.

This final strategy succeeded in gaining me entrance, along with sundry bumps and bruises caused by my resulting collision with a tree.

Upon regaining my senses, I found myself staring up at a young man clad in gardening attire. He helped me to my feet, and addressed the guardsmen who were gathering around us -- brandishing their weapons and seeming completely unimpressed by my ingenuity. He spoke with them for a few moments in a language I didn't understand, at which point they departed without brutally killing me. I considered that to be something of a victory, and thanked my savior.

The gardener asked me why I'd been so keen to infiltrate the garden, and I explained to him about the book I was researching -- even going so far as to present him with a datapad containing what I'd written thus far. He seemed amused by what he saw, and told me that he'd escort me through the garden as his guest.

So it was that I got to feast my eyes on the multicolored cherry blossom trees, upon the legions of sumptuous blooming flowers, on the picturesque lake teeming with fish.

When the gardener was called away by a servant, to attend to some duty or other, he asked that servant to escort me safely off the premises (which was just as well, since I'm certain several of the guardsmen would have cheerfully torn me limb from limb).

As the two of us walked towards the gate I told her how marvelous a fellow the gardener was. She stopped in her tracks, and looked at me with wide eyes as she explained that the 'gardener' was in fact the Sian Emperor.

I was still reeling from that discovery when I arrived back at my hotel room, and prepared to write up an account of the day's exploits. It was then that I saw the line which had been added to my text, which I include below:

'Warn your readers not to attempt to emulate you. Anyone else who catapults themselves into my family's garden will be flogged.'"

-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos

Even a ship as remarkable as the Silver Shadow isn't without its limitations. You discovered this during your training exercises, when you attempted to descend into a small-scale simulacrum of the imperial gardens.

Wilex and Lupin had together spent long hours replicating the detection beams and other such devices which guard the airspace above the palace and its gardens -- a long-established defense against spies and intruders. And to everyone's surprise, that technology -- as old as it was -- proved able to detect the landing of the invisible craft.

Had this discovery not been made until you descended into the genuine gardens, the results would have been catastrophic. For aerial mines are linked to those detection measures...

So one plan had to be abandoned, and another put in its place -- one which will make your task more challenging...

Sprint

"I hope everyone's feeling fit," Lupin says.

Beyond the exit hatch, across the expanse of tarmac rendered blue by a mixture of moonlight and artificial illumination, stands a sentry tower -- a ladder leading up to its roofed platform. Three more stand symmetrical vigil at the other corners of the landing pad.

Four sentry towers, each inhabited by a single guard. Four targets to eliminate, that you might pass from the palace's private landing area into the gardens undetected.

Lupin, Talia, and Kess stand with you at the hatch -- ready to put your fleetness of foot and agility to the test.

"Ready?" you ask.

Four confirmations sound in your ear. You signal for them to begin.

First the thief vanishes. Then the gunslinger. Then the assassin.

"Go!" the assassin's voice whispers from your implant.

You trigger your device, jump down onto the tarmac, and start running. The others left you the easiest of the targets -- that stationed right in front of the ship's exit, closer than the others. Just a straight sprint...

Your boots pound silent against the ground as you hurtle towards the tower.

Ways of Making You Talk

You clamber up the last rungs of the ladder and pull yourself onto the platform. Its lone tenant, a man clad in Centurian battle armor, turns in your direction -- alerted in spite of your silence, perhaps disturbed by the movement of the air which heralds your arrival.

There's surprise on his face as he sees that no one's there. It redoubles when the communicator is snatched from his belt and a fist crashes into his eye -- knocking him to the floor. One of the great things about being invisible is that your punches always catch people off guard.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions," you say, as invisibility falls from you like a discarded cloak. "The quicker you answer them, the less you'll get hurt."

He tries to rise. Your boot thuds against the side of his head, ensuring that he fails.

"First question: How often does someone call you on this thing?" You brandish the communicator.

Paradise Lost

You once heard a woman on a news broadcast protest against the use of torture by the military. She claimed that it's an ineffective means of getting information, that a person being tortured will simply tell you whatever you want to hear -- whether it's true or not.

But that only applies if the torturer is a moron. Someone who knows what they're doing, who can read people well enough to judge truth and lies, can beat information out of a victim quite effectively.

The Centurian on the floor is no hero. A little violence breaks his bones and his spirit. Soon he's spilling secrets along with his blood.

He seems startled when you draw your weapon. But leaving him alive would be foolish.

You meet the others back at the ship, upon tarmac darkening with the arrival of clouds -- a presentiment of a coming storm.

"Here," you say, passing Lu Bu your recording device and the guard's communicator.

He plugs them into himself in turn.

"We were lucky," Lupin says.

You nod. The next shift of guards isn't due for quite some time. Long enough for you to be done and gone, if all turns out well. You don't have to make arrangements for their destruction.

"It's done," Lu Bu says.

Once again your robotic friend may prove invaluable. If communicators belonging to the now deceased guards receive any transmissions, they'll reach Lu Bu's mechanical mind instead. And he'll be able to give an appropriate response in a perfect imitation of the relevant guard's voice. Moreover, he's passed the communicators' data to Wu Tenchu via the secure channel created by the Emperor's Voice -- giving the mandarin the power to neutralize enemy transmissions made on those frequencies as needed.

"Optical link check?" you ask.

You stare into Lu Bu's eyes.

"Confirmed," Wu Tenchu's voice says. "We can see you, captain. And I'll do my best to aid you with the satellite."

Your band of comrades moves across the open space, visible yet unobserved by hostile eyes now that the sentries are gone. No one will have expected a ship to touch down so brazenly upon the palace's private landing pad, and thus its security is lax. That oversight will cost the Centurians dear.

Nor is the wall which encircles the palace gardens any obstacle. Lupin simply vaults to the top, works his magic, and deactivates the explosive devices he finds there. In moments you're within its confines, gazing upon the ruins of imperial opulence.

The Princess sighs in your ear. The sight she sees through Lu Bu's eyes isn't a surprise to any of you after what you saw of the wider city. But it strikes deep nonetheless.

To walk the imperial gardens for the first time, granted the privilege because of your new status as one of the Princess' bodyguards, was to be flung back along the timeline of human history -- to the mythical place which is said to have been man's birthright before disobedience to divine will caused him to be hurled from its gates. Vivid memories fill your mind of that day, when you stared around in wonder at the many-colored cherry blossom trees which filled its sweeping expanse like crowds of ladies dressed in their finery, at the marble summerhouses and other edifices nestled within the gorgeous foliage that rose above the blossoms like little islands of man-made glory. Illaria came upon you amidst the trees and flowers, and it seemed to you that the universe had surrounded her with beauty worthy of her.

But now... It's like standing over a loved one's mutilated corpse.

The cherry blossom trees are bare and blackened, burned alive like martyrs at the stake. Their charred branches claw at the dark sky -- the hands of dying men grasping in vain for salvation. Isolated pillars and arches are all that have survived of the grand masonry, lonely orphans that mourn above the shattered fragments of their parents' bodies.

There's a distant rumble in the clouds, as though the heavens themselves are moved to tears.

With this sight before your eyes, you're glad when Kess returns from a scouting foray to report the discovery of a nearby Centurian patrol.

"Master Wu," you say, "can you silence their communicators?"

"I can."

"Then be so good as to do so."

Water Sports

They die in the darkness.

The Centurians, dressed in heavy, austere panoplies that echo the death of loveliness, sauntered into the ruins where you lay in ambush with the careless steps of those who reluctantly do their duty. Now they perish, their blood splashed on the overturned marble like that of ancient sacrifices daubing an altar.

Lives are scattered into the void by expert hands. Talia's pistols, Ragnar's axe, Lu Bu's metal, Telemachus' chainsaw, Kess' claws, Lupin's electric staff, your own weapons... Who could say which claims the greatest portion of the killing? Each drinks its fill of what seems more massacre than combat.

A woman wearing a sergeant's insignia on her thick pauldron is the last one left standing. She earns the pleasure of being interrogated for information, before the Niflung lifts her above his head and breaks her spine over his knee.

Three smaller patrols lurk out there in the darkness, stalking the paths of this desolate graveyard.

You send Talia and Kess to hunt for one. Lupin, Lu Bu, and Telemachus are dispatched to eradicate another. Ragnar accompanies you in search of the third. Each group drifts off into the night, confident in its ability to put an end to a mere half dozen Centurians.

Your own mission proves easy enough.

A woman's shriek and a man's laugh draw you and the Niflung towards the lake in the middle of the gardens. There, on the edge of the dark mass of water, stand six Centurians. One of them has a pink burden on his shoulder, a strange spot of color amidst the grayness and blackness. As you approach you see that it's a dress wrapped around the thrashing form of a screaming woman.

There's another round of laughter, this time from all of Centurians, when she's dropped into the water and her thrashing redoubles. The woman, her hair and clothing soaked and plastered to her, scrambles towards the bank -- crying out unintelligible pleas amidst her renewed shrieks. The man who dumped her into the lake responds by lashing out with his boot. She tumbles backwards with another splash.

Yet when the woman's head bobs above the water once more she again claws and plashes her way towards the bank and her tormenters -- as though less fearful of their violence than she is of the lake itself. Perhaps she can't swim...

The Niflung is already in motion -- his great bulk moving with no more noise than that of a prowling tiger. You break into a sprint to catch up with him.

Sludge Serpent

The machinegun roars silent death, tearing two Centurians apart before the one nearest to them turns round -- perhaps alerted by the faint noises which escaped the bullets' technological muffling. He completes the movement just in time to have his face cleaved by Ragnar's axe.

You fire twice before the others can raise their weapons -- each shot puncturing a soldier's helmet, skull, and brain. One falls on the grass, the second topples into the water with a soft splash.

Ragnar seizes the survivor -- the one who manhandled the woman -- as you help her from the water. A headbutt shatters his nose and turns his shout into a splutter.

Overhead the heavens boom their approval. Rain cascades from the looming clouds.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she cries, the words tumbling from her mouth in such rapid succession that they're turned into something foreign and exotic -- and are almost incomprehensible against the roar of the sudden deluge. "The lake... The thing... It's..."

"There won't be any more Centurians in the garden," you say. "Can you find your way out?"

She nods, but continues to pour out a stream of words that resembles the water running in rivulets down her face.

"The lake... It's... It's..."

"It's okay," you say. "Go."

"It's..."

"Go!"

The woman takes one last look at you and Ragnar, bows, and runs off. Leaving the two of you alone with the Centurian...

"I've got this one," your companion shouts.

"All yours."

He drops his axe, grabs the each of the Centurian's wrists, braces his boot against the armored chest, and yanks. The man's scream is drowned by the blood which gushes from his ruined nose and fills his mouth. The Niflung releases the limbs, which dangle useless by the soldier's sides, and grins like a madman. Then he lifts the soldier above his head by throat and groin, and hurls him.

The Centurian travels a remarkable distance across the murky surface of the lake before gravity snatches him and drags him into its depths.

"That was-" Ragnar begins. But his assessment of his handiwork elapses into silence when the water erupts.

"Oh..."

That's all you can manage, as the gargantuan form breaks the surface of the lake where the Centurian disappeared -- sending waves of dark water cascading away from a monstrous saurian head. Cold eyes glare from a scaly black visage, rising into the rain atop a long, thick column of glistening flesh.

You stand there mesmerized for a moment, your gaze locked with the beast's reptilian stare. Then its jaws part, revealing savage teeth and half of Ragnar's victim, and its open maw rushes down towards you.

Just when you think you've experienced every murderous, seemingly deranged quirk the Niflung possesses, he goes and surprises you.

Even the serpent seems startled when Ragnar bellows a war cry and leaps -- straight into its mouth. It gulps as he bypasses its teeth, and is swallowed whole.

The monster's head rises at the end of its neck, ebon face turned up towards the rainy heavens as though seeking an answer there. When its entire great body shudders, it's as if it's fallen into a prophetic trance. Until the bloody wound appears at the top of its neck.

The rent in flesh and scales lengthens in the space of a second, slicing down the serpent's trunk in a neat, vertical line. The beast's underbelly opens outwards, torrents of crimson gushing in the wake of the still-growing wound.

Monstrous jaws open. They don't even have time to utter a death cry.

The immense body crashes down into the lake, where it thrashes for several moments -- hurling columns of dark water into the air. Then it falls still, and sinks into the black depths.

A splashing form cleaves its way from the beast's aquatic grave, cutting through the water towards you. When it nears the bank, Ragnar rises from the lake -- his powerful body smothered with gore.

"Best way to kill sea serpents," he says.

|-|

"Imperial Palace"=
Imperial Palace

"The imperial palace in Lanjin Cheng might best be described as palatial. After all, that's sort of what the adjective is for.

But if one wishes to go beyond that, the magnificent edifice -- which any subject or tourist may gaze upon from the beyond the gates -- brings to mind the glories of ancient China. It's as though the entire building were lifted from the days of legendary heroes and long-dead rulers, hurled across the galaxy, and implanted upon this so distant world.

It's small wonder that so many people will travel the length and breadth of human space simply to look upon it, and marvel at the echoes of human civilization."

-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos

You insist that Ragnar bathe himself in the lake to remove the stinking serpent innards from his flesh. He does so begrudgingly, before drying himself through the simple expedient of activating some of his cybernetic augmentations -- heating his body up until the water evaporates from his muscles in tendrils of steam.

The rain has died along with the monster, the violent storm perishing -- its fury spent in but a short time. The last lingering drops of its life have fallen by the time you arrive at the palace wall and are reunited with the others.

"Now we get to the difficult part," Lupin says.

Ancient Chinese Secret

"This passage will be the key to your success," Wu Tenchu said.

You and your companions had assembled in Wilex's private workshop, a chamber with walls covered in curious sketches, unfathomable technical diagrams, and a myriad illustrations of robots that ranged from comical silver boxes on legs to androids exquisite in their complexity.

The mandarin's finger traced a circle around part of the holographic image of the palace's plans, causing a glowing ring to come into being there.

"These plans..." you said. "They're different from the ones I studied in the embassy. That passage wasn't there."

"I drew these diagrams myself," Master Wu replied, "to provide you with a more... accurate... copy."

"It's a secret passage!" Telemachus said.

"Precisely. Built by the edict of the First Emperor, by servants upon whose silence he knew he could rely."

"An escape route, for when the peasants decided to revolt?" Lupin asked.

Wu Tenchu's eyes narrowed.

"It was constructed to provide the Emperor with a covert egress, a way he might leave the palace unnoticed by his advisors and bodyguards. He wished to move among his people, to see and hear things from which a ruler would normally be isolated."

"The First Emperor's writings speak of this," Lu Bu said. "They refer to him walking the streets in disguise."

"Subsequent rulers did likewise," Wu Tenchu replied. "And this passage is what made it possible."

"Did you know about it?" Telemachus asked, looking at Princess Illaria.

"I knew there was a secret passage somewhere in the palace," she replied, "but I didn't know where."

"I believe the secret is contained within your father's private documents, to come into your possession upon your ascension to empress."

"Then how, if I may be so bold, did you come to learn about it?" Lupin asked.

A flicker of emotion crossed the mandarin's face, one you'd never seen there before. It dawned on you that he was embarrassed.

"I once found myself wandering the gardens at night, ruminating over a political problem which had recently proven very vexing. I saw the Emperor in the distance, moving in most curious manner. He was winding his way among the trees as though seeking to escape observation. He hadn't noticed me, and so..."

"You followed him?" you asked.

"I..." The mandarin bowed to the Princess. "Forgive me, Highness. I was a young man at the time, and curiosity got the better of me. Though I had no right to pry, I-"

Illaria gestured with her hand, dismissing the advisor's qualms. Her eyes were bright, eager to hear this secret which might help bring about her father's freedom.

"I watched him approach a remote part of the palace, far away from the entrances I had expected him to head towards. He pressed a button which was concealed amongst the elements of a sculpture..."

The sad remains of a stone dragon stretch along the wall, its body smashed and broken by cruel, unthinking blows. Its eye, dull and scarred, regards you as though in query -- asking why such a fate has befallen it.

"It was child's play to find the button," Lupin says. "Notice how this part of the sculpture hasn't broken away, like the bits around it?"

The thief points towards a little piece of stone that once made up a segment of the creature's tail.

"It was almost certainly fashioned at a later date and from a different material -- something much hardier -- though it was made it look and feel exactly like the bit it was replacing. It survived whatever careless vandalism damaged its surroundings."

He reaches out, and applies his fingers to the stone in a series of quick and curious taps.

"A simple blow wouldn't have triggered it. Quite clever, these ancient devices."

The dragon's eye shines, filled with a blazing light as though rejuvenated. A beam pours from the orb, widening to create a rectangular holographic display. Just as Master Wu told you it would.

A grid fills the projection, a series of flashing squares containing glowing Chinese characters. The symbols are ephemeral, each disappearing every second -- its place in the grid usurped by a new character which comes into being before it too vanishes and is replaced.

"Now comes the bad news," Lupin says. "I can't seem to hack into it, either to forcibly solve the puzzle or to simply open the door it's securing. Never seen a system quite like it."

"I thought you could break into anything?" Talia says.

"Apparently I'm not quite so utterly perfect as I had hitherto imagined."

"The First Emperor may have designed it himself," Wu Tenchu says in your ear. "He was a brilliant man."

You stifle the coming sigh, unwilling to let your companions see how troubled you are by this turn of events. Like Talia, you hadn't counted on this ancient puzzle baffling Arthur Lupin's mischievous hands and mind.

"It's just three letters, right?" Ragnar asks. "That's what he said."

"You are correct. I saw our present Emperor press three of the characters to secure his entrance. But I was too far away to see which they were."

"Why don't we just guess? How many combinations could there be?"

"Approximately 2,544,241,305,982,021,632,000," Lu Bu says, "if the order is significant and the same character may be used multiple times."

"Oh..."

"The characters he chose may not be random," Illaria says. "I've read most of his writings. Emperor Daedun Qin liked to see meanings in things."

You nod your head, then add a verbal agreement when you realize that you're standing behind Lu Bu -- meaning that she can't see the gesture through his eyes. She's quite right. The First Emperor would likely have chosen words which had some significance to him.

"Try this..." the Princess continues. "Honor, courage, tranquility."

Yes... The three characters which appeared on his personal seal...

Your eyes scan the shifting display, your hand poised. Your fingers dart out when you glimpse 'honor'. The square freezes in place, your chosen character remaining motionless as its brethren continue to cycle through the ten iterations which appear to elapse before they return to the start once more.

Talia's hand is quicker than yours, capturing 'courage' before it escapes. This too becomes still, a second island of calm in a turbulent lake.

Your own touch strikes 'tranquility'. It halts, the character lingering after being touched just like the others.

"We did it!" the Princess whispers. "I-"

The three stagnant characters flash once. Then they vanish -- falling back into the cycle of appearance and disappearance.

"We should find another way in," Kess says. "They may be more heavily secured, but..."

"Wait," you reply. "Give me a moment..."

First Emperor's Test I

Something niggles at you. There's a sensation at the back of your mind, like an insect crawling across the surface of your brain. You know, with an inexorable though inscrutable certainty, that you can find the answer -- that the knowledge you seek is locked in the inner recesses of your subconscious.

You close your eyes.

Words and images dance across your thoughts, weaving an incandescent tapestry -- the likes of which you've seen once before. Yes...

Your eyes flick open. Your hand moves.

Blue.

The character pauses in response to your touch, waits and judges.

Dragon.

This one freezes in turn, and stares at you along with its companion like the second half of a pair of eyes.

Ancestor.

There's a frozen second, in which success and failure, destiny and doom, dance upon the lap of the gods.

Then the holographic display vanishes. The dragon's eye is left blind and bitter once more. And part of the wall caves inwards -- retracting and swinging on silent hinges to open your path into the palace.

"How did you do that?" Illaria asks.

"I... I don't know."

Your companions give you strange looks, but they ask no more questions. Instead you all pass into the unveiled corridor.

A short stretch of passage, framed by walls decorated with elaborate paintings of dragons akin to the once grand sculpture outside, culminates with a glowing barrier. Its golden energy casts its illumination upon the walls, and shrouds all of you with a light aureate veneer.

Ragnar pulls his trigger. His weapon spits out a single bullet.

It hits the gold barrier with a fizz. Then it disintegrates.

"Your First Emperor was an interesting fellow," Lupin says.

He crouches down, and begins inspecting a portion of the floor which seems no different from any other. The thief looks from side to side, then up at the ceiling.

"Pressure triggered," he says. "And I don't believe it's a trap."

He taps the floor with one of his sticks.

A golden form, the same shade as the barrier which blocks your entry deeper into the palace, materializes before you. It's the hologram of a man, dressed in ornate robes. His face and garb are both familiar to you, though you've only seen them in pictures and holo-vids.

"Emperor Daedun Qin!" Princess Illaria says.

"Ah," Lupin says, "a riddler. I've come across these before."

"Yes..." Wu Tenchu says. "When one triggers them they ask a question, the answer of which should in theory only be known to the one who programmed them -- whose image they bear."

"They fell out of favor a long time ago," Lupin says. "People thought they were a bit too unnecessarily theatrical."

He turns to Lu Bu.

"I believe you're something of an expert on imperial protocol."

"You're correct."

"How would an emperor of his era have greeted himself?"

The robot steps forward, bows, and speaks a greeting in Chinese. The simulacrum of Daedun Qin returns the gesture. Then he speaks, his holographic lips moving as a voice emerges from some hidden recess.

"What color are the eyes?" he says, speaking the words in an elegant, regal strain of the Sian Empire's cultural tongue.

First Emperor's Test II

"Orange," you reply.

The hologram bows.

"He spoke to you in Chinese," Lupin says. "But you replied in English."

"There isn't a word for 'orange' in Chinese. Not exactly, anyway."

"The First Emperor mentioned orange eyes in the most obscure of his writings," Wu Tenchu says. "You're familiar with that text?"

"No. I just knew."

The holographic man shifts, altering his position -- lowering his center of gravity and raising his hands. He's adopting a fighting stance.

"A martial test?" Wu Tenchu says.

Talia's pistols whisper. Two laser beams penetrate the hologram's head -- leaving a soft ripple in their wake -- pass beyond, and strike the barrier behind him with a gentle fizz.

"It was worth a try," the gunslinger says.

"I suggest the application of close-quarter violence," the mandarin suggests. "Contact with the hologram may-"

"Finally!" Ragnar says.

The Niflung charges. Daedun Qin drops low and sweeps his foot round -- kicking Ragnar's legs out from under him. He growls as he crashes against the wall.

"Interesting..." Wilex says. "There are holographic devices which transmit energy through the projections -- making them feel solid. But those usually have some sort of base unit attached to them."

"You sure it wasn't psychosomatic?" Talia asks.

"If that means he kicked my legs out, then yeah," Ragnar says. "But he won't get away with that a second time..."

The Niflung hurls himself at the hologram, his arms swinging through the air as though to take hold of him. Once more a collision with a wall and a frustrated growl ensue, as the First Emperor slips away, darts behind Ragnar, and strikes him in the back of the neck.

"Let me try!" Telemachus says.

He lunges. The Daedun Qin sidesteps, before lashing out with a thrust kick. A moment later the prince is lying next to the Niflung.

"He's fast," Lupin says.

"Thanks," Ragnar growls. "I hadn't noticed..."

"But I'll wager that I'm faster."

The thief darts towards the hologram, his sticks weaving a blinding pattern of attack and defense -- almost too rapid even for your fighter pilot's eyes to follow. But the First Emperor's arms are quick as well, and his hands or forearms deflect each strike.

"Maybe a bit of lateral thinking," Talia says.

She slips behind the hologram. Lupin quickens his attacks even further, no doubt understanding the gunslinger's attention and seeking to ensure that Daedun Qin's attention is on him.

Talia lunges.

The hologram moves in a blur of light. Talia flies in one direction as a fist catches her, Lupin in another when he bears the brunt of a kick.

"He's too fast," Kess says.

"Too fast for me," Lupin concedes, nursing his nose.

"Too fast for anyone. Watch."

The assassin walks towards the First Emperor. She swings her leg at him in a slow, precise roundhouse kick. He blocks her shin with his forearm, and drives his fist into her stomach.

She gives a soft grunt. Then she steps towards him once more. This time she lashes out with a punch, her arm moving with the lethal speed of a striking cobra. Again there's a block, a retaliation, and a stagger.

"See?" she says, turning to you. "All his responses are a little faster than the attacks that trigger them."

"Then beating him is impossible," Illaria says.

"Unless we cheat," Ragnar replies. "What if we surround him?"

"That can't be the solution," Lu Bu says.

"He's right," Wu Tenchu agrees. "Generations of lone emperors have used this passage. They could hardly have relied on such a stratagem."

"What're you thinking, captain?" Talia asks, seeing the look of contemplation on your face.

Master of the Empire

"I'm thinking that if I were an emperor, and I wanted to go in and out of the palace whenever I pleased, I wouldn't want a brutal fight on my hands each time. So I don't think this is about fighting hard and winning."

"Go on, captain," Master Wu says. There's a distinct note of pleasure in his voice, that of a great thinker wishing to explore a worthy train of thought. It heartens you to hear it.

"This hologram is here to stop anyone who isn't an emperor from entering the palace. Illaria..."

"Yes?"

"Did your father ever teach you any martial arts techniques?"

"Yes!" There's elation in her voice, almost a laugh. "There was a kata he taught me, when I was a little girl. Then on my eighteenth birthday we went through it again, before he gave me my present."

"Lu Bu, if she performs it in front of the terminal she's at, would you be able to repeat her movements?"

"I would."

Several moments pass in silence, and in your mind's eye you imagine Illaria's slender form slipping through a series of martial motions, the dance of a warrior princess.

"That's it," she says.

"Then allow me to try..." Lu Bu replies.

The robot steps towards the hologram. He punches. The First Emperor blocks and returns the blow. Lu Bu engages the arm in a circular parry...

The sequence is short. As you suspected, a man wishing to return to his chambers after a night walking the city streets wouldn't be in any mood for heavy athletic exertion. A short sequence, but each attack and defense arranged in a certain specific order and fashion.

Lu Bu's open palm strikes Emperor Daedun Qin on the chest -- a blow the hologram makes no effort to dodge or block. The moment it strikes home, the First Emperor vanishes. So does the barrier.

Though he never had a chance to navigate the secret passage himself, only ever saw its external entrance, it didn't take Master Wu long to determine its path. The cunning mandarin, studying plans and engaging in surreptitious examinations, was able to predict its twists and turns with incredible accuracy.

When you pass through the door at its terminus -- waiting until Lupin has given the all clear -- emerging into a small chamber within the Emperor's personal quarters, you find yourself exactly where he said you would.

Once more the hallmarks of Centurian occupation are here. Vases have been smashed, paintings defaced -- the ruins left strewn around the chamber as though the knowledge and remembrance of their destruction is more valuable than their total absence would be.

As the thief promised, there are no new security measures here. The room contains no cameras or other such devices. No emperor would have wanted to have the secret passage revealed thus to the guardsmen watching the monitors, or for that matter have allowed such probing eyes elsewhere in his innermost sanctum. And it seems that the Centurians have made no effort to further secure this portion of the palace.

"Done," Lupin's voice says within your aural implant a short time later. "The Emperor is where he should be, and the security systems between you and the cell won't pose a problem. But there are a few guards and patrols which we'd do well to be rid of. If I may have Miss Kess' assistance?"

Artemis slips away, following the instructions whispered into her ear.

The rest of you make your way along the route seared into your memories through hours of study and simulation.

The palace's cells aren't far from the Emperor's quarters, placed close enough for private nocturnal conversations and the like. For these chambers of incarceration, each of which is akin to a miniature suite, were kept for special prisoners -- not lowly robbers, rapists, and murders. It isn't long before you reach the passage onto which they open, and walk its length with excitement building in your breast.

There are corpses strewn across the floor, bearing the mark of Kess. A single neat, fatal thrust or slash has taken each of them -- and you can imagine the assassin dancing from victim to victim without pause.

A series of empty cells drift by on your left. Apparently no other captive of the Centurians was deemed important enough to be housed here. And then you find yourself before the glowing bars of the Emperor's gilded cage.

The Princess gives a little gasp of joy.

The room is as you saw it in the transmission from Councilor Dule which spurred you to these lengths. It's a beautiful chamber, decorated with ornate screens, elaborate vases, and sumptuous paintings -- these undefiled, unlike those you saw before, no doubt in mockery of the crimson-robed man within.

He kneels upon its floor, his eyes closed as though in meditation. Kess must have killed with remarkable proficiency not to have alerted him to her passage.

"Your Majesty..." you say.

His eyes flash open. Then they widen. In the same instant the coating of energy slips away from the bars which separate you, like a series of blades withdrawing into their sheaths.

"Cracked it," the thief whispers. "Be with you soon."

The Emperor rises to his feet.

"Captain [Name]?"

You bow.

"Father!" the voice comes from Lu Bu, but it's hers. And the elation which fills that simple word is glorious.

"Illaria? You're..."

"I'm safe."

"I didn't know what had become of you..."

"I'm with friends. And Rhapsody is going to bring you to me."

Lupin and Kess appear at the other end of the corridor. They approach you at a quick jog. Blood and satisfaction are splashed across her face, a contented smile across his.

"Couldn't get hold of the key for the cell," the thief says. "But it shouldn't take long to pick the lock now that the energy's been deactivated."

"Move," Ragnar says. "I can break it open."

"I wouldn't do either. Not unless you want your precious ruler smeared all over you."

Commander Veck

The man's voice came from the rear wall of the cell. There are two doors there. But it didn't seem to emerge from behind either... Your gaze comes to rest on the little space of wall between them, and the thing which adorns it.

"Yes, captain -- the painting."

"He can see us," you hiss via your implant. "I thought you dealt with the cameras!"

"I did!" the thief replies.

One of the painted tiger's eyes glows a deep and murderous red.

"My own private camera," the voice says. "And that's not all. There's an explosive device concealed here as well. One just powerful enough to blow the Emperor into quivering chunks."

There's a collective intake of breath, the sound of despair filling all of your lungs. Wu Tenchu curses under his breath. Ragnar growls. The Princess issues a subdued groan.

Your mind starts to work, to calculate and evaluate. Could Ragnar smash through the wall of the cell from the one next door? It worked in training... The internal walls here aren't much tougher. If he secured an entrance, could the Niflung's powerful body shield the Emperor from the blast? What of Lupin? If you buy a little time, could he disarm the bomb remotely somehow? And if this Centurian has seen you, does that mean others are already converging towards your position?

A hundred plans and a millions dooms fill your head, an overwhelming tide that threatens to wash your consciousness away. Need to keep him talking... Give yourself and the others long enough to formulate a plan...

"Your superiors won't thank you for killing the Emperor," you say. "Without him as their hostage, there's nothing to stop the Princess from pressing forward with the preparations for a full-scale liberation of Sian. Perhaps even an attack on Alpha Centauri..."

The man laughs. A powerful, unsettling bark of laughter.

"To hell with them and their orders! This is between the two of us. I want you, captain. You and me -- single combat. No interference from my squads or your companions."

"You're crazy."

"Then come kill the madman. Ten seconds to decide, before I trigger the alarms."

"Where are you? Tell me, and I'll be there."

"The blue gallery. The way is clear. Your friends made sure of that."

"I'm on my way," you say. You look to the others, and speak the next words inaudibly. "If I don't come back..."

"We'll do whatever it takes to get him out of here," Talia replies.

You head down the corridor, making for a place you know well -- the long chamber lined with carved pillars, where you and the Princess first walked alone together.

"Don't worry, Highness," you say. "When have you ever known me to lose a fight?"

"Be careful..."

The Centurian was right -- Kess and Lupin did their job well. Soldiers with slashed throats mark the path the assassin took, clearing out all the patrols which might have come upon you. But time is of the essence now... The longer you're delayed, the more chance there is that someone will find the bodies.

Two more corpses rest in the gallery's doorway, lying atop one another like sleeping lovers.

You step over them, into the dimly lit chamber.

An armored form stands at its far end, a warrior dressed in the grim metal panoply of the Centurians' elite shock troops. Two orange eyes smolder in the leonine visage of his helmet. Bright blue crackles around the long claws that extend from his left hand -- throwing a soft electric illumination over his dark body.

He walks towards you and you towards him, like courtiers preparing to exchange introductions and pleasantries.

"Captain Rhapsody," he says. "You're the one who beat Rautha."

"At least half a dozen times, I think. After the last one I kept his head. He was becoming annoying."

You take his measure as the two of you advance, watching his movements -- judging the shifting of his weight.

"I saw you fight in Twisted Steel. You're good. Maybe the best. That's why I knew I had to face you -- so I could finally find someone worth my time."

You begin to circle one another, warriors' minds conceiving strategies and plotting destruction.

"Just be glad I'm going to kill you. Otherwise your masters would have you executed for arranging this little thing."

"My 'masters' are dishonorable wretches. They can burn for all I care."

The venom in his words takes you aback. But there isn't time to contemplate this Centurian's grievances. He has to die...

The three blue blades of your enemy's claw slash at you, a sweeping attack that would tear your skull in half if it connected.

If.

A back-step sends the malevolent blades on an impotent arc instead, dancing through the air in front of your face -- leaving trails of brightness across your vision. It's a powerful attack, the kind which can never be made without consequences. You don't give him time to recover from it.

You grasp hold of his forearm, seizing the thick metal casing from which those brutal blades project -- careful not to let their energy touch you, knowing that even the backs of the weapons are lethal enough with those crackling sheaths around them. You pull the limb against your chest, driving your weight against the elbow joint -- allowing you to control his arm in spite of its strong muscles and heavy armor. A backwards kick from your right boot puts him off balance, a small sweep just strong and timely enough to knock his foot out from under him -- causing him to fall forward, putting his arm even further into your power.

The limb extends in your grip, dragged into a straight arm lock. You throw your legs out, dropping your entire mass onto it. The Centurian hits the ground with a dull, metallic thud and a cry of pain. And the arm is still yours...

You work your fingers into the clasps of the metal sleeve attaching the weapon to his forearm, leaning your weight onto his shoulder until he can't do anything but struggle as you yank it free.

You turn, his stolen weapon clutched in both hands. He rolls over, moves to defend himself. But it's too late. You drive the claws down into his chest. Their glowing blades smash through his armored shell with a soft crunch, and slip into the vulnerable body beneath.

The Centurian gasps. It's a frantic noise, and at first you take it to be the frustration of a man snatching in vain at the departing threads of his life. Then you see that he's trying to gesture to you, beckoning.

You bring your head close to his, curious to hear what dying words he wishes to utter. But there's only the frothing splutter of lungs filled with blood, and then silence.

|-|

"The Escape"=
The Escape

"If you're thinking of visiting Sian, don't."

-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos (revised edition, published after the Centurian invasion)

"He's dead," you say. "I'm on my way back."

A barrage of joy greets the pronouncement. Then you emerge from the gallery, and realize that it's a little premature.

Two Centurians are at the far end of the corridor, crouching over a couple of artfully butchered bodies.

You fire twice, adding fresh corpses atop the old ones. But it's too late. Alarms are blaring, filling the air with their angry insistence.

"Ragnar!" You yell his name as you run, winding your way along the corridors. "Break the bars! Break them!"

You come into the prison passage in time to see the Niflung hurling them aside -- along with the not inconsiderable chunks of the floor and ceiling which are still attached to them.

The Emperor steps over the remaining debris.

"Run," you say. "Secret passage."

He nods, and joins the others as they sprint. You bring up the rear, falling into place to protect him -- to help him if he slows or stumbles. But he's fit and fast in spite of his years, and manages to match their pace.

So close... You have to make it...

Fist of the Emperor

"Enemies!" Ragnar shouts the word aloud, abandoning his implant.

Given that his next action is to barge into a group of Centurians, scattering them in all directions, that seems fair enough. The time for stealth is over.

Talia's pistols and Telemachus' blaster spring to life in mid-run, ensuring that none of the fallen soldiers will rise again.

But more of the Collective's guards have gathered ahead of you, in the larger chamber into which the room containing the entrance to the secret passage opens. Red laser fire zaps towards you. However, most are brandishing melee weapons. It occurs to you that they don't want to kill the Emperor -- to forever lose their hostage. They can't risk him being slain in the crossfire. Yet even so, it would only take one stray shot...

"Stay behind me, Your Majesty," you say, as your companions spread out to engage them.

"No."

The word is so utterly unexpected that you don't even register its meaning until the Emperor springs towards the nearest Centurian -- moving with impossible, inconceivable speed and grace. If the soldier has orders to recapture the prisoner, he abandons them in his panic. He raises his rifle in shaking hands and unleashes a blast of laser fire.

The Emperor's hand rises, suffused with a faint glow, and the beam simply stops against his flesh. Then he lunges forward, his other hand leading the way like the tip of a lance, its fingers curling into a fist.

Armor cracks like the shell of an egg. The Centurian flies across the room as though blasted by a powerful explosion instead of a punch -- dark blood gushing from his mouth. When he lands, he lies still.

More Haste, Less Speeder

"You're psionic!" Ragnar says.

You crowd into the little chamber, leaving Centurian bodies littering the ground behind you. In a moment you're moving through the secret passage, the blaring noise growing quieter as you place more of its shadowy length between yourselves and the alarms.

No one other than the Niflung would be so indecorous as to question the Sian Emperor, but you can sense the curiosity radiating from those around you -- reflecting your own.

"My ancestors called it chi," he replies. "It's the nexus around which my Imperial Fist style is built."

A contemplative look appears on Ragnar's face. If you get out of this alive, you expect that he'll later ask you where he can get hold of some chi.

The darkness of the gardens wraps you in a cooling embrace as you rush into the wet night air.

Your gaze sweeps across the dead trees and devastated flower beds. There's no sign of any enemies. If they don't know about the passage, you still have the advantage...

"Captain!" Wu Tenchu's voice is almost a shout. Even the stoic mandarin in his distant vantage place feels the dire urgency of the situation. The Emperor's escape, perhaps the fate of the entire war, hangs in the balance. "There are Centurians approaching from the eastern part of the gardens. I've intercepted their communications. It's a hover speeder unit."

"Silence them," you say. "We'll do the rest."

You all slow your pace. There's no way you'll outrun speeders. And you'll need your energy to fight with. But every cloud has a silver lining, and a plan is already percolating in your mind.

You're near the lake when the long, slender vehicles appear -- each carrying two Centurians on its back. Weapons fire from their pistols pulses in the night.

Hover Speeder Havoc

"Secure the vehicles," you say. "Don't destroy them unless you have to. Ragnar -- I'm looking at you."

"Heh."

"Well, carjacking isn't generally my crime of choice," Lupin says, "but I'll see what I can do..."

The next moment he's atop one of the speeders, its former occupants rolling on the ground. Talia jumps into its other seat, and hitches a ride just long enough for the thief to swerve close to another of the vehicles. Then she fires twice, springs into the second speeder's now vacant driver position before it can crash, and swings back round to pick up a passenger.

The Niflung, perhaps heeding your previous admonition, jumps onto the speeder which hurtles towards him instead of blowing it up with a stream of machinegun fire. He drives his axe through the surprised driver's helmet, allowing Kess -- fresh from launching the passenger off the back with a flying kick -- to clamber to the controls.

With the murderous precision you've come to expect from your friends, your plan comes to fruition.

"There are more speeders," Wu Tenchu says. "I believe they may intercept you on the way to the landing pad."

"Understood. Lu Bu," you say, "take the Emperor."

The ruler of the Sian Empire seems to balk for a moment at the thought of entrusting his life to a robot, until Illaria speaks out from Lu Bu's electronic mouth -- urging his compliance. He climbs into the rear seat.

"Don't stop for anything," you say. "We'll keep them off you."

"With me?" Telemachus asks, pulling his hover speeder to a stop next to you.

"Sure. Just don't make this payback for Drekchester."

You climb into the passenger seat, wait just a moment to make sure the rest of your companions are safely ensconced on their vehicles and in motion, then signal for the prince to get moving.

The vehicles are a godsend. Now you don't have to go around the lake...

In a few minutes the hover speeders are skimming across it, throwing up banks of spray on either side of their agile frames. You're still above the water when you catch sight of the enemy vehicles Master Wu warned you about.

"Get me close enough to shoot," you say.

The Empire's Finest

Larger firearms are difficult to wield effectively on the back of hover speeders. Thus a speeder-to-speeder battle usually becomes a close-range exchange of pistol fire -- each gunner using one hand for stability and the other to take potshots.

Unless you're Talia, who thinks nothing of standing upright on the back of a vehicle and firing both weapons from that precarious position.

Between your three firearms the speeder crews who sought to intercept you fare no better than their predecessors. One by one their bodies and vehicles splash into the lake, and you continue your exodus on the grass beyond.

It's as you crest the imperial gardens' wall -- soaring just over it, high enough to avoid the explosives arrayed on top but too low to trigger the anti-ship security measures -- that you see the dark shapes of enemy aircraft in the distant skies.

"Move it!" you yell, though the words are superfluous. Everyone's already making for the ship, pushing the speeders for all they're worth.

Lupin and Talia, you and Telemachus bring up the rear -- having held back to secure the escape. Your companions are already on board when you arrive, leap off your vehicles, and run for the invisible entrance. Slamming into the side of a spaceship during training exercises is a wonderful incentive to remember whereabouts the entry point is. Thus you all disappear inside without mishap.

The nearest of the aircraft descend at the same moment, their gunfire raking the tarmac as the hatch closes behind you.

There's a shudder. The world rocks around you as shots burst against the hull.

The Silver Shadow is already rising by the time you drop into the pilot's seat. Under the circumstances, Talia hasn't stood on ceremony.

"We've lost cloaking, captain."

"Great... Strap yourselves in, everyone."

The gunships fall away behind and below you. Helicopters aren't exactly built to chase spacecraft. But the red blips you see on the scanner... Those are a different story.

Bright blasts of weapons fire lance through the air as you climb towards the periphery of Sian's atmosphere, and break free into the void beyond. Space, a tantalizing infinity of potential escape routes, stretches before you. But it isn't untenanted...

"Centurian war ships," Talia says. "A whole fleet of them."

The alert has gone out. The predators are gathering.

"What's the plan?" she asks.

"Survive long enough to hit hyperspace."

"I like it."

???

Networks of laser fire crisscross the black heavens, grids of death and destruction. Swarms of fighter ships swim after you, weapons blazing. Great silver clouds of tiny drone ships surge like immense schools of minnows -- turning space into a seascape. Warships and cruisers loom towards you, their immense bulk promising annihilation.

But none of that matters. Your hyperspace engines are powered up.

The cheer which rings through the cabin when the galaxy blurs through the window seems to last for an eternity. Even the Emperor lends his voice to it. And millions upon millions of miles distant, aboard a TALOS cruiser, Wilex, Wu Tenchu, and Princess Illaria celebrate a victory which no others onboard even know exists yet.

"Everything's ready," the Chief Assembler says.

"Looking good, Wilex," Talia says.

On the monitor his face widens into a grin. His dress uniform is indeed rather more resplendent than the simple, functional garb you usually see him wearing.

"We'll be docking in a few minutes," you say.

The Princess has prepared quite the event to mark her father's freedom. The ceremonial chamber on Wilex's cruiser will play host to the Emperor's return and his reunion with his daughter -- an event which will be broadcast across human space to hearten the Sian Empire's subjects and allies, and grind the spirits of the Centurians further into the dirt.

Everyone will know that the Emperor once again sits in command of the empire, that nothing stands between you and Sian's liberation any longer.

Crowds of servants mob you on the floor of the hanger the moment you step from the Silver Shadow. Some try to foist fancy clothing on you. Others offer to apply makeup. You're ruminating on your options when Wu Tenchu appears and waves them all away.

The mandarin bows low before the Emperor, and the two exchange words of happy friendship. But even at the height of his ecstasy, the cunning and calculating mandarin has advice for the coming event. He suggests that you and your companions remain in your current attire -- though he can't quite conceal his unfavorable glance at Ragnar's bare chest -- to convey to those watching the broadcast that you're warriors fresh from the battlefield, as it were. To play up the heroism of the empire's children and allies.

There's something to this, so you follow Master Wu's suggestion.

Lupin comes to your side as the Emperor is plied with a choice of appropriate hats for the occasion, and Wu Tenchu departs to take up his position in the hall.

"It's been fun, my dear, but I'm afraid I'll have to bow out. My face, ruggedly handsome though it may be, is hardly suitable for splashing across an interstellar broadcast."

"And I should do the same," Kess says. "The Princess was kind enough to arrange pardons for me. But even so, it isn't the occasion for people to see a notorious assassin."

You can offer no argument. So you make your farewells, telling both of them just how grateful you are for their aid -- and promising the empire's support if ever they need it, knowing that the Princess and her father will gladly honor such a vow under the circumstances.

So when you're finally led towards the ceremony hall it's your old companions who follow in the Emperor's wake alongside you.

"Thank you."

Illaria's soft voice, little more than a whisper, tingles in your ear. A smile crosses your face.

Then you're at the double doors.

"Showtime, captain," Talia murmurs. Her eyes sparkle.

The doors part, separating to reveal the trappings of celebration and victory. Sian Guardsmen line one side of the hall, their crisp white uniforms pristine and shining. Opposite them are TALOS robots, their bodies beautifully engineered and adorned. The warriors of two nations, two powers -- two allies now bound together by the deepest of ties.

At the far end of the chamber, beneath a spectacular artwork formed of cogs and gears, are Wilex and Wu Tenchu -- side by side, each man draped in his finery.

Princess Illaria stands before them, dressed in a fabulous white gown that echoes her beauty and radiates the magnificence of the ancient empire she was born to lead.

She turns. And it's you that her shining eyes fall upon first -- you she first favors with the gentle warmth of her smile.

Then her gaze travels to the face of her father, the man she must have feared she would never see again.

The Emperor moves towards her, and she comes to him in turn. When they meet in the middle of the hall there's no prim and proper bow, no display of centuries-old protocol. Instead they throw their arms around each other. Not ruler and heir, Emperor and Princess, but father and daughter.

The two of them turn as though with the force of their embrace. Orbiting worlds rotating by the might of their shared gravitation pulls. The Emperor comes to face you over her shoulder, bliss written upon his aged features.

Then his eyes... tremble.

A strange shudder fills each of them, as though his very eyeballs are warring against themselves. When the trembling stops, they're bright red. The bliss sloughs from his face, leaving only... malice... in its wake.

The voice of a dead woman resounds in your mind.

"No! Stay away from him! Stay away-"

You dash forward. The Emperor speaks.

"Councilor Dule sends his regards."

The universe slows. You're running. The Emperor's arm is moving. The Princess' body is tensing. And you know you won't make it. You'll never make it. Fate is sweeping it all away...

His fist thunders into her, striking her face with the force of bloodline and chi, destiny and doom. There's... redness. An explosion of redness. A shower of blood and...

Her body falls. It lies full length upon the floor, alongside the wreckage of her skull.

There are shouts, and screams. You hear them. They register in your ears, become part of a tapestry of subconscious thought. But you don't move. Can't move. Your eyes see only redness.

Commotion all around you. Trained pilot's instincts drink it in, assess and evaluate. Sian Guardsmen, staring in horror. Weapons in their hands, half-raised. The Princess... But the Emperor. Oaths have been sworn. They can't act. Not against him. Even Master Wu stands in indecision, frozen like you. Statues watching the apocalypse.

The TALOS robots turn to Wilex, waiting for commands. What can he do? What should he do? He orders them to restrain the Emperor. They try. One by one their shattered bodies fly against the wall -- smashed by the Imperial Fist. A guardsman tries as well. Redness.

Laser fire. One of them has raised his rifle, oath be damned. The Emperor's hand flashes up to intercept the beam. He leaps and lunges. Redness.

Your companions move.

"Captain!" Talia cries.

Your eyes are still on her. Redness, eternal redness.

Lu Bu leaps at the Emperor. His metal fist is parried. A low, cutting kick hits the robot -- breaking his legs, scattered metal bouncing across the floor. Not even time for his body to fall. A punch. Torso flies across the room, raining machinery. Slams against the wall. Falls to the floor. He screams in powerless rage, unable to act. Just like you.

The Niflung charges, war cry bellowing. Powerful body. A Heracles of a man. But his snatching arms meet empty air. His fist the same. The Emperor's fares better. Huge form hurtles through the air, smashing two robots beneath its bulk. He tries to rise. There's a whir. Broken cybernetics. Roars. Then splutters.

Talia's pistols... Never miss. Laser after laser. All perfect. All meet his hands. Come to nothing. The Emperor strikes. She tries to slip away. Glancing blow. Enough to shatter ribs, send her tumbling across the floor.

Illaria... Redness.

Telemachus is behind the Emperor. Cunning boy. He swings his chainsaw. Silent laser blade. Silent but sensed. The Emperor's foot drives down. Hits his knee. Metal breaks. So does bone. The prince shrieks. That's what does it.

It's a child's cry, the scream of little boy. Maturity, intelligence, courage -- all eclipsed by pain. He falls on the floor. The Emperor crouches, raises his fist.

You draw your pistol. Fire.

Open palm blocks the beam. You knew it would. Doesn't matter. Distraction. Bring him away from the boy...

Evil eyes glare at you, wicked face smiles. You walk towards him, toss the gun aside. Useless.

He comes towards you as well. The prince is forgotten. You and the Emperor. No one else...

His eyes widen. He doesn't understand. You don't understand. It doesn't matter.

She's on the ground. Redness.

The Emperor strikes, a lunging cobra. You parry. You punch. His nose breaks.

He kicks. Your knee rises, blocks the blow. Boot flashes up and catches him under the jaw. Blood bursts from his mouth, a fresh torrent from his nose. Imperial blood. Her blood...

"You..." he says.

The word is a splutter. Almost lost. Meaningless anyway. No... Not meaningless. He understands. You understand. Psionic powers. Chi. Ancestors. Blue dragon.

He punches. You block. Your knee in his groin, elbow in the side of his face. More blood. A flurry of blows, blasting him, breaking him. He staggers. Can barely stand.

His eyes shudder. They tremble. There's a flicker. He's still in there... The Emperor. He can be saved, psychic brainwashing reversed. There's still a chance... Save him, save the empire...

You look past him, to the headless body in red and white. No... No redemption.

Your eyes meet his. He reads death there. So do you.

You raise your fist. No mercy, no redemption. There's a tremor inside you, in your bones. No... Not bones. Blood. In your blood. It's singing, calling, crying, screaming. Yes... It was always in your blood.

"Kasan," you whisper. Strange word. But your blood answers.

Your fist glows. His eyes widen.

You punch. Imperial Fist. Chi. Ancestor. Blue dragon. Orange eyes. Blood. Yours, his. Hers.

His ribs shatter. Blood and smashed organs rupture from his back. It's like a cannon's exit wound.

He falls. In the end you all fall...

You stare into the void. Vast blackness, like the abyss. Like the inside of your soul. No... The void has stars and light. You have none. Not anymore.

The bottle is warm against your lips. The alcohol burns softly. It's the same bottle. The one you shared.

With that memory come others. All the little victories you won, each one filling you with damnable pride, making you think you were a hero -- that glory and triumph would always dog your steps. You thought you were invincible, the best. But you were outsmarted, outthought, overcome by superior strategy.

Councilor Dule... He knew what you would do, what you would plan when he sent you the vid of the Emperor in his cell. Of course a woman like you would think to save him, would be so arrogant as to attempt the impossible. And he let you, offering just enough resistance not to raise your suspicions.

Psychic brainwashing... Turning the Emperor into a weapon, a way to eliminate both him and the Princess in a single stroke... Dark genius, against which you were a mere victim. No... You weren't the victim. She was. Your role is worse. Much worse. Because of you, your failure...

You set the bottle down on the little table. There's only so much it can do.

Instead you pick up the heavier object beside it, press its mouth against the underside of your jaw. The bottle was warm. This is cold, like the grave. Like the void. Like her body.

Your finger crawls onto the trigger. You stare into the void. Into failure.

The door behind you slides open.

"Get out!"

There's no reply. Just footsteps and the rustling of robes.

"There's something you must see." Master Wu's voice.

You turn, ready to blaze with anger, to curse him, to demand that he leave you. The words die when you see him.

He's still wearing the same clothes from before, soaked and stained with blood. Imperial blood. Ruined finery, crumpled and torn. His face is pale, like that of a corpse. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes red. The dignified certainty of the mandarin, of the Emperor's chief advisor, is gone. Only a broken man remains. Just like the broken woman who sits before him.

He holds something out to you. You take it without looking. But its unexpected feel and texture make you look down at it. It's a piece of paper.

"She wrote this after you rescued her from Hyperia, and left it in my care. I was to give it to you, if... Read it. Whatever else you may do, read it first."

Wu Tenchu drifts from the chamber. The door slides closed behind him, shielding you from his grief and him from yours. Shutting out the world once more.

Thick, fragrant writing paper. Beautiful calligraphy dances across it, the effortless elegance of one raised and taught to nurture such talent. It's her hand.

You read.

[Name],

You saved me again, like you always do.

But we both know how close I came to dying on the Zenith, and then on Drekchester, on Hyperia. Anything could have happened to me. I should have known that already, when I chose to take part in the attack. All it takes is one blast, one bullet, and it could all be over.

We live dangerous lives. You know that more than anyone. And if something happens to me, if I'm ever taken again, or if I don't survive, I need to know that the Sian Empire will be safe. Our people must have someone to guide them, to lead them. To protect them.

That's why I intend to leave a formal document with Master Wu. It states that if I can no longer carry out my duties, and if my father cannot carry out his, you will be named Imperial Jian. You'll be given full command over all imperial forces and subjects, and have the authority to act in my family's stead until Sian is liberated.

There's no one in the galaxy I'd sooner entrust with such a duty.

Illaria

You stare at the missive until the words swirl and blur. Imperial Jian...

That's how much she trusted you, how highly she thought of you. And you repaid her by watching as she died.

You move to cast the letter aside, to toss away the words and honor which you're unworthy of. Yet somehow you can't.

She wanted you to liberate the empire. To protect its people. Duty stares at you from each stroke of her pen.

But that was before... Before you caused her death by falling into Dule's trap, before you killed the Emperor and broke the empire's spirit -- allowing the whole of human space to witness its darkest day.

You raise your pistol, feel your hand tense around it. Peace... Eternal peace. Punishment and retribution for your crimes, and then endless serenity -- away from the anger and anguish.

The paper in one hand, the gun in the other. Each feels heavy in your grasp. Life or death. Duty or justice. Peace or suffering. Oblivion or the unknown.

You have a choice to make.

</tabber>

LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem

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