“All habitable planets are the property of the Great Host. Your species is merely a caretaker, holding these planets until we get around to colonizing them. Any resources used will need to be repaid after we evict you, and any who remain after the eviction will be executed.”

Avisli Ambassador from the Great Host to the SFR

Dominus Valerius Artifex, Eternal Emperor

Antarasel Station, Antarasel System

Appearances are important. For someone with Artifex’ age and experience, he knew this better than most. From the nature and method of invitation given to Artifex from the Vice Chancellor, clearly Larzo Tutna understood this as well. From the extravagant, of not tasteless, gift and the high-level flunky who issues the ‘not optional’ invitation, to the high class restaurant, Chancellor Tutna fully understood how to send a message. Fortunately for Artifex, he knew how to send one right back.

Artifex’ stateroom on the Crown’s Vigor looked far different than it had upon landing. It had been essentially bare, all the rotted carpets and bedding tossed aside. Artifex and Titus had lived in the cockpit for the few weeks they were in space, the acceleration couches at the pilot station the only suitable place to sit or sleep. Now, however, it looked like a proper stateroom. A thick mattress was now on the metal frame, covered with thick blankets and lush pillows. An area rug covered the metal floor, and the washbasin in the corner was stocked with toiletries. A wardrobe was now filled with clothing, including numerous Imperium uniforms without insignia. As always, Artifex was impressed with Titus’ resourcefulness in finding a tailor to cut and stitch new clothes in such short order.

With a few motions, Artifex flipped through the clothes until he found an appropriate outfit. It was in a similar cut to the Imperium uniforms, evoking the same sense of style without being militaristic. Artifex liked it because it was designed to go overtop the thinsuit-style space suit. The thinsuit was sturdier than normal clothing, able to turn one or maybe two low-grade laser blasts as well as offer him safety in case of atmospheric breach. He’d experienced vacuum directly before, and it wasn’t something he liked the idea of doing again. After a swift shower and shave, Artifex dressed, leaving the top few buttons of his jacket undone. He checked his appearance in the mirror. He looked appropriately well-bred and wealthy, with the air of confidence that only real power could give. It didn’t matter if he had only the tiniest fraction of power he’d once had. Appearances are important.

Four Templars met Artifex at the door of his industrial bay. All four had the look of veterans, and wore body armor. Sidearms were prominently on display on their belts, and they had a dangerous air to them. One of the Templars held out a pistol to Artifex.

“For you, Deus,” he said reverently.

Artifex thanked him and slid the pistol into his jacket.

The trip up to the top of the station was far different than the one down to the Market. Corridors were clean and well repaired. There were no gaps from missing sections, and businesses had friendly and professionally lettered signs with cute slogans. There were small personal transport vehicles moving amidst the crowd, curtained sedan chairs atop wheeled conveyances. The vast corridors were large enough for two-way traffic of the huge cargo carriers that intermingled with the foot traffic that dominated.

The templars knew how to get to the restaurant Bon Chance, showing that the Mortalis Divinitas faith was spread further through the station than Artifex had expected, to know the upper, rich rings. It had struck him at first as a faith of the poor, a belief system that, like most religions, sold itself through false promises and misplaced hope. But as Artifex had read through the texts provided to him by Philon, he was learning that this was more of a culture than just a religion. It was a way of life, and it sold self-improvement as the fundamental doctrine, where hard work led to great rewards. If anything, it was more philisophical, with the mystic elements and rewards something that, given time and materials, Artifex could fulfill. For the price of his time and supporting the existing Mortalis Divinitas faith structure, Artifex could have fanatic followers. For someone who was willing to go to extremes for his own goals and beliefs, Artifex was utterly untroubled by the prospect.

The restaurant had no flashy advertisements, with the initials of the restaurant engraved into the door with simple stylized letters in a white-on-white color scheme. The templars opened the door for him, and escorted him to a concierge dressed in a white suit.

“Mr. Valerius, I presume?” said the concierge, his accent clipped and formal.

“That is correct,” replied Artifex.

“If you’ll follow me,” said the concierge, ignoring the templars altogether.

“Two of you stay by the door inside, the other two, with me,” said Artifex. The templars nodded, and followed his instructions as they entered the dining room proper. The white-on-white theme continued, with tables and chairs covered in white linen, the walls held blank canvases framed in white metal instead of artwork. The light fixtures were white as well, but gave off a soft, golden glow that somehow matched perfectly with the theme.

All of the tables were full, but at the back of the dining room was a single table set back from the others. It was easily large enough for six people, but had only two chairs, opposite each other on the long sides of the table instead of at the head and foot. A white haired gentleman in a dove gray suit was seated behind the table, with two massive bodyguards behind him. As the concierge led Artifex to the table, the man gestured for Artifex to seat himself. The two templars with him took up station at his back, standing behind him and mirroring the Vice Chancellor’s bodyguards.

“Captain Valerius,” said Vice Chancellor Larzo Tutna without preamble. “You are making waves.”

“So it would seem, to warrant an invitation,” said Artifex. He sat completely at ease, showing no concern to be meeting the de facto ruler of the station. “I have to say, I have not tried this restaurant yet. How is the chef?”

Tutna frowned, Artifex’ lack of reaction unexpected. “The chef is fantastic. He came up from Arsache, which is the so-called ‘culinary capital’ of Sunomy.”

Sunomy was the settled planet in the Antarasel system, which he had avoided in his search for a shipyard. Artifex had learned little about the planet beyond its name, mostly because of other priorities and a lack of time. It would receive his attention in due time. Tutna waved his hand at a waiter, who immediately came over with a bottle of white wine, pouring each wineglass half full.

“I am looking forward to it,” said Artifex.

“You are a resourceful man,” said Tutna, trying to take control of the conversation that Artifex had deftly derailed.

Artifex nodded, pretending to sip the white wine. He said nothing, letting Tutna’s statement go unanswered.

“The station’s monopoly on iridium exists for a reason,” said Tutna. “Iridium is rare and tremendously important, especially for a space station.”

“Of course,” came Artifex’ reply, a faint, engaged smile on his face.

“At the same time, I understand that the Market has buyers that will buy iridium at a much better price,” continued Tutna. His tone was conciliatory, but at this point his eyes hardened. “I can overlook sales such as this, but it comes at a cost.”

“And what is that cost?” asked Artifex.

“Thirty percent of the profit above the station price,” said Tutna, his tone brooking no argument.

Once again, Artifex’ response took Tutna by surprise, for he merely nodded in acceptance. “What does this percentage buy me?”

Tutna smiled wolfishly. “I can spare guards to help protect your investments. I can get you access to the business people of the station. And of course, you are protected from the station’s legal system, if trouble arises. After all, we both profit from your freedom.”

“Then it sounds like we have a deal,” said Artifex.

“You are an Elder Templar?” said Tutna.

“Not exactly, but close enough, why?”

“You have access to Imperium technology. Unless I missed my guess, you have a retrofitted Imperium corvette?”

“I’m afraid I do not follow what you are getting at,” said Artifex.

Tutna frowned and appeared deep in thought. He tapped his fingers on the table, then took a breath. “Yes, alright. I’ll get to the heart of the matter. Are you familiar enough with Imperium technology to repair it? All the restoration experts I’ve met were all Mortalis types, but none of the ones on station have the necessary expertise.”

“I have had pretty good luck with such repairs in the past,” allowed Artifex. “But my knowledge is not limitless.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but this station dates back to the Imperium days. Now it’s been worked on constantly for centuries, so most of the technology in the station has been replaced during repairs and retrofits. But not all. The core air exchange system for the station is true Imperium technology. It has few moving parts, and replacements are easily fabricated. However, the Imperium used phased crystal technology, and it runs a neural network that controls the system. This appears to be breaking down. Are you familiar?”

It was Artifex’ turn to think, thoughts racing through his brain as he weighed options and paths forward. If he could convert the station’s ruler into an ally, at least for now, he could concentrate on building out his organization and finishing the repairs on his ship. He nodded. He despised the blatant corruption of the Vice Chancellor, but he had worked with worse.

“I can repair your air exchange system,” said Artifex.

“If you succeed, I will cut my take from 30% to 20% for your next shipment,” said Tutna.

“Make it my next two shipments,” he replied.

“Fine. Two shipments,” said Tutna. He stared at Artifex right in the eyes. “Do not try and cheat me. I know all and see all. My men here are SFR TANCs, and you do not want to see the kind of punishment they can dish out. And my reach is far greater than just my job description.”

At that exact moment, every single diner in the restaurant stopped eating and talking, turning instead to stare at Artifex. In the eery calm, Tutna held his arms out, showing off his power. It was an effective demonstration, the theatrics not lost on Artifex.

Artifex frowned, for the first time giving Tutna the reaction he was looking for. But the frown was for a completely different reason. Tutna’s mention of TANCs had thrown him, not the room full of strangers that obviously worked for Tutna staring at him. TANCs were the elite commandos of the Coalition. It was the first direct indication that the Solarian Federation of Republics was the successor to the Coalition. His ancient enemy may have survived after all.

He turned his attention back to Tutna. “I understand your message, and have one of my own. I am not some random tramp freighter captain, and I am not to be trifled with. I will hold up my end of the bargain. If you fail to hold up yours, there will be repercussions.”

Now it was Artifex who gestured. He used his tiny 0.5% of banked manifold energy to wrap a push field around the powerful Vice Chancellor, and to squeeze. The pressure was not great, but it was enough to hold the chest tight and make it hard to breath in. He held it for a few seconds, just enough time for Tutna to gasp once for breath, before he released it. Even that tiny demonstration had drained him of power, but the Vice Chancellor didn’t know that.

“A true Supran,” said Tutna in surprise, waving his bodyguards back even as they stepped forward to attack Artifex. “What a rarity.”

For his part, Artifex waved back his own templars as they reached for their guns. They relaxed, probably not even realizing that their weapons wouldn’t do anything to a true TANC, if they were anything like what he remembered.

Artifex declined to stay for dinner, loathe to spend time with the corrupt official now that business was concluded. Instead, he and his templars took their leave, heading back down the station to the industrial ring and his own facilities. The hour was growing late, the ‘night’ side of the station cycle beginning as the corridor lights dimmed to make a pseudo-twilight. It was still bright enough to see, but dark enough to know that it was night time.

When they reached their ring, however, the streets were practically deserted. One lone person saw them, and immediately turned and ran. Artifex walked forward, his guards around him, confused.

“Something is wrong,” he said.

Ahead of them, in the corridor, a dozen men stepped out of doorways on both sides of the corridor. Behind them, another half dozen stepped out from a side hallway. All wore loud, colorful clothes except one. He stood in the middle of the larger group, dressed much like most station inhabitants did - a thinsuit with a jacket. He was also unarmed. The rest of the men carried knives and pistols, a few carrying bats.

“Captain Valerius,” the man said. “You attacked my son.”