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

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

  Still at the safe house deep underneath the spaceport elevator, Ronjah sat slouched against an armor terminal. Such devices existed to monitor and repair the armors stored for an operative’s use. He stood up, and typed a few commands, scrolling through armors he could replace his damaged mag-weave undersuit with.

  He was calm, despite the injuries he had sustained just recently. His chest still singed from the burn he’d sustained absorbing the high amount of voltage that had been unleashed through the collapse of the spaceport’s own wiring. A sudden pull toward his chest interrupted his rumination on the day’s events.

  Ronjah’s vocal link chirped, informing the prince that a call awaited him. He rummaged through his chest rig, digging for his data slate. Pulling it out, he checked the notification. Dorommer. ‘It had been too long,’ he thought to himself. Squeezing his upperback, Ronjah tried to relax the tension that had started collecting between his shoulder blades. He sighed as the dataslate continued to ring. He winced in slight annoyance.

  Ronjah accepted the call.

  “Ronjah, you picked a terrible time to visit Tachnen. Searches related to a power and railway failure are surging on the AlgTrac. Are you alright?”

  Ronjah quirked an eyebrow. Information was moving fast these days.

  “Dorommer, are you still on your way to the Khaihylo-Kli Water Summit happening today?”

  [Location; Planet: Sekaia/ Continent: Audenuitch/ Country/Nation: Yghastia / Province/District/State: Eigyst/ City(ies): Khaihylo-Kli, Date; 199YAFA (Years After the First Arem Accord)]

  First came the servers. Then came the singing. It was a guttural hum, from deep in the throat that seemed to reverberate through the ribbed tower. Large plates filled with meats and raw dishes ready to be cooked were held aloft ready for the signal. Ubloi walked, his pace matching a brisk jog, toward the servers. Snapping his fingers as he bowed, he shouted, “Obio Yuti! Oia Arara! (Good meal! Productive Forum!)”

  First course was meat: Stribex flank, Spearbeak legs, thighs, breasts, and eggs – and the eggs were massive! Strips of Sandboar bacon sizzled on the heated beam, the fats mixing together and distorting the waves of heat emitted by the hot pot. The smell was intoxicating, fangs were already bared before the plates were allotted.

  “Before we feast or discuss our politics among the sacred hotplate, let us pray,” Aizehir began, raising his palms above his chest in a byzantine gesture. The guttural throat chants seemed to deepen. “Oh Ora-Laho, Father of the eternal court from within the Eilohir all sing their eternal praises. Oh, lidless face of the everessence, whose omniscience overshadows our being in your knowing. How I thank you for your charitable vigil, living out the eternal sojourn through our nation’s guide, Etmos.”

  Heads were bowed to the flickering heat rising from the table. There was something about the Khan’s voice that was mesmerizing, Jenniah noticed.

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she turned them toward Itharaak.

  “May this feast properly represent the bounty of our lands and evidence of its renewal.” Hands were now waving over the table, following his gestures. The delegates bowed their heads before grunting a unified: “Hruah!”

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  [Location: Continent: Xelryia/ Country/Nation: InHa

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

  Province/District/State: Ranova / City(ies): Tachnen Spaceport, Date; 199YAFA (Years After the First Arem Accord/ Time: Stage 0 of departure| First course {1hr})]

  The chat with Dorommer had been tense. Ronjah had to cut it short; he was being tracked. 3 -7 minutes was their typical response time for threats within Xelryia. At least for potential terror attacks and complications to shared infrastructure for the global powers. From what he had been able to garner from his old friend, a grassroots resistance movement had sprung up to stop the sale of the island.

  And since Insia and Harazan had intelligence connections, both the Keymasters and Ushers were going to be investigating.

  Normally that meant disrobing from his armor, adopting his princely uniform, and spending days back at The Tashi Solyn . And Ronjah had no time for hotel room interrogations. ‘Reserving docks for a jet-powered transport was expensive. He wasn't going to waste three weeks just so his shuttle and escorts could sit at the MCR Yrnan.’ The massive airbase was one of many flying up in the less dense, second atmosphere.

  Instead of donning a new shell, Ronjah poured a chemical solution, branded as Correliumbacta, a blend of iron, carbon, smoke, and a few other chemical agents, onto the scorched magweave. It wasn't an immediate or even complete repair, just enough to make the material dense and polarized enough to take another hit. More importantly it resealed his suit and kept his scent in.

  Footsteps softly padded on the surprisingly quiet sheet metal flooring. In the room unfolding from the hallway, stood Ronjah's bodyguard, Aris looked up from her work-a powered cloak whose tendril servos were being tweaked.She wanted this specific tendril especially tactile. The causal corridor around Idris 7 was thick on account of traffic, meaning any scalar based leaps using causal field harmonics was limited. Resupply, even with a massive fleet would be slow and deliberate as even communications would have to be limited. At least on the quantum frequency array.

  “I know that face.” Ronjah's voice. The medic looked up, her face bleached by the harsh incandescent bulbs shining overhead. His grin was enough to rival the glow radiating onto her dermis.

  “That's the face you get when you're in that analysis mode,” he said with the same thin grin threatening to split his face in two. ‘The thing could cut like a scalpel.’ The irony was not lost on Aris about the tool currently held in her hand. “Jathka. Have your synapses started firing right? Are you ready to sit down and have me look at that burn you just sustained?”

  Ronjah was past her before she even realized how to register his lack of a response. He was to her right, past the armor rack she had her powered cloak’s power pack hooked to.

  “Get it ready or leave it, we are off to the Tachnen Sky tri-tower. Insian and Harazan intelligence are going to want answers. We can't afford a delay. Our window to quickly get in and out is closing.” He was gone before she could ask for further explanation.

  Aris sighed as she pocketed the scalpel. She’d have to finish her upgrade on board

  The thought felt like a plunge into an ice-filled pool. Hands effortlessly tucked parts and wires into pockets. Fingers dexterously folded the thick, armor plated garment. Arms tucked the bundle as legs rushed forward, footsteps exploding outward; their echoes unheeded by the congested streets above.

  “Below this tower sits a breakthrough. From what had previously threatened us with calamity we have built the source of our rejuvenation!” Aizehir waved his right arm, signalling the servers. Plates clattered, rattling the silverware. Images of industry danced along the hotplates’ heat borne distortions. The smell of sizzling fats teased with the guests scent glands as more than a few found themselves moistening their lips.

  “Jenniah, it's not polite to state,” remarked Itharaak as he started serving his plate. “I'm sure there's enough spearbeak egg for all of us and leftovers.”

  “You're not at all upset about what he's doing with his voice?” Jenniah barked, her whisper hushed and raspy.

  Itharaak shrugged. It looked more like a dip to his left, but it was likely a cultural thing. “It's part of ritual. He's performing the gated request to the court. It's all part of the myth.”

  The junior representative of Glacia scowled. A server ladled a spaghetti -like dish mixed with chunks of crisped sand boar bacon.

  “Custom order?” Itharaak asked.

  “Substitution. I don't eat worms. And they'll be serving some later for embreza.”

  One of the other representatives, Marioco from Inqui, snickered.

  “How ironic is it that the Glacian wormherder finds the bounty of her frozen spit of land unpalatable!” Representative Marioco guffawed.

  Before he had finished his sentence, a fist slammed onto the table. Its impact echoed through the entire steel beam table, something that was all but impossible for a rhasweaver.

  “I will not have my solemn Untquam interrupted by pettiness,” Aizher spoke up.

  Itharaak threw a singular arched eyebrow Jenniah’s way. It was his way of saying: See? No need to worry.