Aetheral Space

"Do you like ice cream?" asked Niain.

He and his friend were sitting in a lovely dessert parlour on the Geremanjiu Promenade, called one of the jewels of Serendipity by some. It was a strip of glass and white stone, stretching like a bridge between the Geremanjiu Transit Centre and the great stairway that led to Monadere Memorial Park. As far as recreation districts went on Serendipity, you couldn't get much better.

You'd think you'd be happy to spend time in such a place, right? Niain thought so too, but his friend didn't seem particularly enthused at all. He looked down at the Promenade over the railing, his gaze distasteful, like he was inspecting a petri dish that had gotten out of hand.

Niain cocked his head as his question got no response. "You don't like ice cream?" he asked politely.

His friend's eyes flicked down to the bowl of vanilla resting on the glass table before him. "Ice and fat and sugar," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I doubt the ratio between them is anything special here, either. If you gave me a few minutes in even the most basic kitchen, I could prepare something that would make this substance look like dog feces."

"You haven't tried it yet, though?"

"It's a compound," his friend said simply. "I know compounds. Everything, about all of them."

Wow, how impressive. Niain truly was fortunate to be spending personal time with such an accomplished scientist. What with the classy establishment and their choice of refreshments, it was almost like they were on a date.

But no. They were here to discuss business of the clandestine and inhuman variety. That was why Zephyr Pandershi had not come to this meeting 'personally'.

The person sitting across from Niain had the distinctive white hair -- tipped with orange -- and piercing amber eyes of Zephyr Pandershi, but anyone who looked at his face would surely see no resemblance there.

Even with that, though, don't you think it would have been wise for Pandershi to dye that hair before coming out here? Even Niain had left his spooky cloak behind, wearing a black polo shirt for the occasion instead. Perhaps the mind of a genius just worked differently.

"Well, I do like ice cream, haha," Niain said happily, pouring a generous waterfall of strawberry sauce onto his sundae. "You need to enjoy the little things in life."

Pandershi raised a white eyebrow. "Did you call me here just to talk nonsense, Niain? I need you to understand something. I'm vital to what happens today -- and I consider you my underling in this matter. Please do your best to remember that."

"You seem nervous," Niain smiled. "Are you nervous?"

"Of course. It's warranted, too. Today is perhaps -- no, without a doubt -- the most important day in human history. In order to make sure it all goes perfectly, I must understand it completely… and you introducing nonsense information into my brain like this isn't helping."

Niain steepled his fingers and rested his chin upon them. "You worry too much. Our Noel has already prepared the starting pistol. Once things are in full swing, I'll make my appearance at Ultraviolet Tower. We'll all be back with you by the end of things. Haha, maybe we'll even have time for a group photo."

"Hm." Pandershi's laugh was barely recognisable as such. "You speak as if it's so simple. Do you realize just how much of this plan is reliant on things outside of our control? Things we can't fully predict?"

Niain leaned back in his chair. He finally put the sauce jar down, now empty. His ice cream had been dyed a bloody crimson, and he took a much-appreciated spoonful.

"Have you ever been to Home?" Niain asked, licking the spoon clean.

Pandershi furrowed his brow. "What? This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're diverting my brain from the things that really --"

"Play along," Niain said pleasantly. "I promise you I'm making a point here."

Pandershi crossed his arms, leaning back in his own chair. "No, I haven't been to Home. A radioactive wasteland like that holds little interest for me."

"A radioactive wasteland," Niain echoed.

"Yes, I know what I said," Pandershi frowned. "And I know full well what Home looks like. Primitive tribes eking out whatever pathetic existence they can find in the bombed-out soil of mankind's crib. It's a planet that's already concluded. It bores me."

"That's only the wastes, though," Niain said, his eyes distant. "When you go deep inside… the old cities, the population centres… the real Home… well, that's a little different."

Pandershi's frown eased just a tad. "What do you mean?"

"I went on an expedition, a long time ago," Niain explained. "I was fifteen or so -- I took the first iteration of Darkstar there, although it wasn't called that back then, haha. We marched right into the heart of one of the megacities, far past where the locals dared tread."

"Was there anything interesting?" Pandershi asked.

Niain's smile faded, and he stared off into the distance with eyes that no longer saw the present. "Around half an hour in," he said quietly. "We walked for around half an hour, right through the skeleton of that place. There was this… a screaming shadow passed right over us. It took two thirds of our group in an instant."

"They were killed?"

"No," Niain slowly shook his head. "No, I doubt they're dead even now."

Melting ice cream dripped from the rim of Pandershi's bowl, pooling on the table beneath. Drip. Drip. Drip. Niain blinked…

…and the smile returned to his face.

"My point is," he said cheerfully. "You can't get all stressed out just because there are things you don't understand. This whole world is filled with mysteries. If you let all of them get to you like that, you'll be in a bad mood forever, haha."

Pandershi narrowed his eyes. "Do you 'understand' who you're talking to? I am a scientist. The scientist."

For the first time since he'd arrived, Zephyr grinned. A wide grin that showed off all his teeth yet didn't reach his eyes. The smile of a hungry predator.

"It's my job to murder mysteries."

Niain's smile widened too, revealing just a hint of his own gleaming teeth.

"Ah," he said. "Now that's probably a fun way of looking at things, too."

Niain turned his head upwards, smiling gently. The sun was bright. The sky was blue. The birds were singing such a pretty song. He closed his eyes, taking in the warmth like a cat in repose.

"The last day of the UAP," he mused. "Well… it's nice weather for it."

AETHERAL SPACE

ARC 16

ACT I

"Morning Stars"

Postor Ram laid a hand on the arm of his chair to steady himself as the shuttle shook, coming in for its final descent. Not the smoothest ride he'd ever been on, but then again this shuttle was hardly modern-style. These Rakebone folks weren't as bad about it as the Humilists, but they still thought there was a certain nobility in poverty -- or mediocrity, depending on how you looked at it.

As the turbulence calmed down a bit, Postor let go of the chair, running his hand through his hair as he let out a breath.

In a word, Postor Ram was scruffy. A messy mop of brown hair, a pair of overgrown curling horns, and a scattering of unkempt stubble made him perpetually look like he'd just come back from an all-night drinking session. His ragged overcoat and slouching posture didn't do much to help that impression, but that was fine. Postor liked the sort of person he was: messy-style.

He glanced down towards the back of the shuttle, where his employer was sitting. Well, it'd probably be more accurate to call him his coworker. No way was this kid calling the shots.

Misery Locke, Voice of Rakebone, was thirteen years old -- a scrawny little thing with a bob of straight black hair and an expression that looked like he was perpetually about to burst into tears. Postor couldn't blame him, though. As the Voice, Misery was the chosen youth who would pass on the words of the Elder Assembly to the galaxy at large -- facilitated by the bulky earpiece clinging to the side of his head.

Postor couldn't imagine that kind of pressure. Back when he'd been Misery's age, his sole concerns had been games and girls. Well, maybe that hadn't changed much.

And, of course… there was the other reason for Misery to be nervous.

Nebula Ten sat silently right at the very back of the shuttle, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead.

Well… Postor assumed he was staring. It was actually kinda hard to tell. Nebula Ten wore nothing save a kilt and a piece of black cloth draped over his head, but if you looked closely -- as closely as you dared -- you could just barely see two white pinpricks beneath the dark fabric.

He had the physique of a strongman, with a hefty belly and broad shoulders, nearly seven feet tall. As the shuttle shook a little more, Postor caught a glimpse of the twin handles behind the giant's head -- his great pair of scissors, Valentinus, using the skin of his own back as a grotesque sheath. Even without the scissors, though, a glance would tell you that he could rip most people apart with his bare hands -- and hell, he had practice.

This guy was infamous, after all.

NEBULA TEN

Forgiveness Irons

"Human Garbage"

Nebula of Rakebone

Mass murderer… spree killer… serial killer… Postor wasn't sure which of those titles fit Forgiveness Irons best, but the mayhem-style maniac had surely earned them all. He'd carved a bloody swathe through Rakebone's territories, driven on a mad crusade for some gore-hungry god of his, before finally being brought down by Rakebone's most elite Watchmen and Nebula One. By all logic, Postor would have thought they'd have executed him then and there.

Apparently not.

Rakebone had a particularly prideful-style way of dealing with these things: they liked to bring powerful Aether-users like Irons to heel, showing that the Aetherless Elders were ultimately superior. A neural implant prevented Irons from unleashing his violence against unapproved targets, and a squad of Watchmen kept constant watch over him as he worked. They stood guard by the walls of the shuttle, clad funny-style in their doublets and capotains.

Seemed like more trouble than it was worth to Postor, but what did he know?

Whatever the case, Forgiveness Irons was the personal bodyguard of Misery Locke, both of them bearing virtue names. The kid didn't look thrilled.

"Mercenary," barked one of the four Watchmen in the shuttle -- a severe-looking woman with twintails so tight they seemed to imprison her hair more than anything else. "Keep your focus. Master Locke isn't your concern."

Right, right.

As a matter of fact, Postor had only been hired as additional security for Irons -- his job was to help put Nebula Ten down if he somehow broke free. Ordinarily they'd use just these Watchmen, but with the Governing Council of the UAP gathering, they'd insisted additional Aether-users be present as insurance. Really, the whole thing was more trouble than it was worth, but it seemed more a matter of principle for Rakebone at this point. Postor was just happy for the double paycheck.

Still, what a wild-style situation.

"Mercenary!" the Watchman barked again.

"Sorry, ma'am," Postor tapped his horn in a relaxed salute. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," she glared, narrowing her eyes further. "It's a humiliation upon Y that we're even hiring sellsword scum like you."

Sellsword scum, huh? As Postor turned his attention back to the Nebula, hand brushing against his holstered revolver, he let a wry smirk curl across his face. Sellsword scum…

You're not wrong, Postor agreed. But aren't you just as bad for hiring me?

The two of them walked down the hallway in utter silence.

Yulia of the House If-Void of the Sixth Hour, honored representative of Abra-Facade in all matters relating to its integrated activities with the UAP, clasped her clawed hands together demurely as she walked. She wore a long purple dress that trailed across the floor behind her, and her face was concealed behind a mask of two parts -- a nylon mesh covered by a thin cloth veil. A ruby necklace rested around her neck, the depths of the jewel dancing with barely visible images.

Next to her, Luna walked, barely coming up to her waist.

NEBULA NINE

Luna

"The All-Seeing"

Nebula of Abra-Facade

Her arms were at her sides as she marched down the hallway in perfect sync with her superior, her spherical helmet so huge it would surely have snapped a real child's neck. Pale lights like eyes flitted across its surface, taking in every aspect of her environment. She'd decorated her white dress slightly for this occasion -- a red ribbon providing a stark contrast to her usually colourless garb.

The two of them truly were silent… for everything they needed to say had already been said in a now unnecessary eventuality. A hypothetical conversation born from implication alone. Dialogue reserved for those whose eyes could see the future.

Today is a bad day, Yulia If-Void could have said.

Yes, Luna would have perhaps replied.

At what point do we leave? Yulia could have asked.

Too early, we risk being associated with it, Luna's response might have been. Too late, we will be unable to escape.

And the timing within that window? If Yulia had said that, she may have looked down at Luna as she did so.

Delicate. In futures where I encounter Pierrot directly, I often find myself under his control, Luna's tone would have possibly possessed a trace of bitterness at that. I would prefer to avoid that, if possible.

I would agree, Yulia could have nodded. I'd prefer Abra-Facade not lose another guiding light. The timing I'm about to propose -- do you concur?

Luna would consider it for a moment… and then nod.

Yes, she would have said. That will work.

Of course, neither of them actually said or did any of that.

And so the two of them walked down the hallway in utter silence.

Max Gainhill, President of the Maraze State, looked out of the window of the starship as he shovelled another handful of micro-burgers into his mouth. He was an eccentric-looking figure, wearing a bright white suit with red shoulder pads like a sports uniform, his considerable beard sculpted into sharp and solid geometry, with a single blue star dyed over his chin.

"So, May," he said mid-chew. "How many times have you been on Serendipity now? Three, four?"

"Six," May replied, leaning back in her luxury seat across from him. The Maraze State's Presidential starship, Bull Zero, was pretty swanky -- a top-class hotel room with wings. The flight was so smooth you could barely even tell you were moving.

She appreciated the quiet. Her brown cowboy hat rested on her lap, and her silver revolver slept peacefully in its holster. For all the world, she looked more like someone heading on vacation than a bodyguard on the job.

NEBULA EIGHT

May Miracle

"The Nowhere Woman"

Nebula of the Maraze State

Max frowned deeply. "Six? With us? Well, that don't sound right."

"Two of those were by myself," May replied, holding up two digits on one hand -- and then four on the other. "The other four with y'all. It's always nice to see how the rich folk live, though."

Max snorted. "Ha! Don't act like you're penniless, missy. We both know we're drowning you in credits to be here."

May smirked, shrugging lightly. "Well, I'd never say no to a raise."

As Max guffawed, a member of the Maraze Secret Service stepped in out of the aisle, taking a knee to speak directly to the President. Their garb couldn't be more different than the man they were tasked with serving and protecting: they all wore jet-black business suits and sleek dark masks -- rebreathers, modulators and omni-goggles built right in. If you looked at one from a distance, you might mistake them for an automatic.

"Mr. President," the officer said quietly, tapping a button on the side of his jaw so that his words were understandable. "Bull Zero will be landing in fifteen minutes. We'd recommend you wait until afterwards to eat."

Max waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it! A man does what he has to when he has to do it. Once I start worrying about dumb shit like that, you just go ahead and slap me in handcuffs, because I won't be Maximum Gainhill anymore!"

The officer just nodded, his dignity unbroken by the outburst. "Of course, Mr. President."

May watched as the officer returned to his comrades in the aisle, spinning his rifle-staff as he moved. Apparently, the Secret Service were recruited from Maraze subordinate planets with strong martial cultures -- they would gladly lay down their lives for the honour of defending the President. Compared to that, May was just here for the paycheck.

"Vf rirelguvat ernql sbe cnffntr gb gur Frng bs Zna, zl oebgure?" one officer asked another, their words encrypted by their mask.

"Lrf, zl fvfgre," the other replied. "Bhe fvoyvatf unir pbasvezrq gur ebhgr vf frpher."

"Tenpvbhf fcnpr."

"Tenpvbhf fcnpr."

In all honesty, these fellas were the ones who would actually defend the President if anything went down. For the Maraze State, their Nebula was more a status symbol than anything else -- an impressive-looking mercenary kept on a generous retainer. A mascot more than anything else.

Before May Miracle, it had been Lucy-Lou Muldaver, and before her it had been Disaster Alice. Going off the glances Gainhill kept sneaking her way, May had no illusions her fighting skill had been the deciding factor in him hiring her, anyway. She sighed.

Well, whatever. A paycheck was a paycheck. She preferred the background, anyway.

Albert Raise, Prime Minister of the Lesser Chain and Right Honourable Mayor of Tinnington, dabbed at his damp forehead with a handkerchief as he walked. His cane tapped against the ground as he went, and the pinstriped suit he wore seemed a tad too big for his thin and elderly frame. As far as public figures went, he wasn't the most impressive to look at.

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The Lesser Chain hadn't been doing exceptionally in recent years. Their previous Nebula had suddenly fallen ill -- very ill, to such a degree that he could never return to his post -- and they'd had a devil of a time finding someone to fill the spot and regain the prestige that came with the position. As if that wasn't bad enough, the expansion of corporations like Halcyon and Pesterion had been eating into the Chain's share of the market. It was terrible for the economy.

The Great Chain had once been considered one of the great powers of the galaxy, spoken of in the same breath as the Supremacy and the UAP as a whole. The Lesser Chain, though? That was but a fragment of a shadow of their former self. The few families that had been able to escape from Damon's war, stitching themselves together into a vague facsimile of what had been lost.

Although…

Albert looked anxiously at the man he was following.

…perhaps that will change today.

NEBULA SEVEN

Sir Ethel Faust

Banneret of the Lesser Chain

Nebula of the Lesser Chain

The new Nebula was short and slight, clad from head to toe in dull metal armour, his face concealed behind a knightly visor. A mail skirt swished in the air as he walked, a sheathed sword strapped to its side. The weapon's sibling, a triangular shield, was strapped to the young man's back, a long silver braid draped across it from the back of his helmet.

Nebula Seven said nothing, of course. If not for the rattling of his breath behind the helmet, it would be hard to tell if he was alive.

Vaguely, Albert wondered where this young man would truly rank among the Nebula. Annual examinations produced the ranking between them -- save for those who could not compete for safety reasons. This new Nebula had simply inherited the rank of his predecessor.

Nebula 'Seven' was no doubt inaccurate.

The endless and fruitless duels and contests that had been carried out throughout the Chain had been put to a swift end by Albert's announcement -- he had personally selected the new Nebula himself. When it came to these things, you had to be decisive. When it came to these things, you had to take the opportunities presented to you.

Albert nodded stiffly to himself.

Anyone else would have done the same.

The grey-skinned man leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on the great doors before him, waiting for the ship to finish docking and deliver the asshole he was supposed to be guarding.

He flicked his wrist idly as he waited -- and each time he did, a spike of bone would lunge out of the joint before quickly retreating back inside. It hurt, of course. Each use of this man's abilities brought excruciating pain…

…but whatever. It was no big deal.

NEBULA SIX

Beckett del Brainen

Underframe

Nebula of Brainen

He stopped, golden eyes narrowing as the doors before him slid open, a curtain of sunlight infiltrating the building alongside it. Beckett winced: his Scurrant half wasn't the sort that agreed too well with the sun. If it was up to him, he'd be enjoying the gloom of Brainen himself, not hanging around scorching Serendipity as this bastard's proxy.

The Landgrave of Brainen, Karl Kurlax, stepped out of the light.

He at least had come prepared for Serendipity -- he was wearing a heavy grey cloak that protected his body from the sun, a crown of wrought iron wrapped around his temple to provide at least some measure of nobility. A procession of red-robed attendants kept pace with him as he marched into the emptied docks -- two hurrying ahead to sweep any traces of dirt or dust out of the Landgrave's path. Guards in bulky armour of tombstone flanked him on either side, holding iron maces that dwarfed even their considerable figures.

Only when he reached Beckett did the Landgrave look down, his golden eyes dull beneath his cloak. Beckett glared back up at his superior's face, lined with ring-shaped scars like he'd been mauled by an octopus.

"Nebula Six," the Landgrave intoned, with a voice suited for an epitaph.

"Pops," Beckett sneered back.

With the greetings out of the way, Karl stepped past his son and resumed his journey to the royal lodgings on this planet. Beckett sauntered after him, hands in his pockets, doing his best to ignore the fussing attendants as they did their best to make him even one-percent more presentable. There wasn't much that could be done, anyway.

"You brought the whole gang, huh?" Beckett growled, glancing over his shoulder.

His siblings -- younger brother and sister -- were following further back in the procession, clad in noble silks. Beckett glared at them, plunging his hands into the pockets of his ragged leather jacket. Karl didn't so much as turn his head.

"It's a rare occasion," the Landgrave replied tersely, facing straight ahead as he walked. "This is the heart of the UAP. When the time comes, my son will have to make this same journey. He must understand it. The walk and feeling."

Beckett rolled his eyes, resting his hands behind his head as he sauntered on. "Assuming a lot there, huh? I bet the guys at Monadere thought the same thing -- and now we've got Pandershi instead. Funny how things work out, huh?"

For the first time since they'd started talking, Karl deigned to grant his bastard an annoyed glare.

"Brainen is not Monadere," he said forcefully. "Brainen, Maraze, Inganci. These are the three spikes of the UAP's military strength. We are not so easily dismissed. Even if we were to suffer the same disaster as the Colourful World, we would not fall but instead persist. We would thrive in the ashes. Such is Brainen. Understood?"

"Yeah, yeah," Beckett scowled at the sermon.

He paused though, mid-step, as he caught a glimpse of a videograph still playing behind one of the off-duty bars. Silently, letting the rest of the procession pass him by in the empty stardock, he walked over. He pulled up a stool, rested his chin on the bar top, and watched.

It was a news broadcast -- usually nothing that would hold Beckett's interest, but today… it looked like they were erecting a memorial for that moron. A metal statue of Rufus von Frostburn, fallen Nebula, right outside of the Adrust embassy. The Tsarina was present for the unveiling of the memorial, along with the new Nebula Five.

Beckett watched as the sheet was pulled away from the statue, revealing it to the world. The Supernova holding his shield up towards the sky, with a blade of sculpted flame in his other hand. His face was filled with the kind of resolve reserved only for the dead.

Without a word, Beckett reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey -- and poured it onto the floor.

Being a Nebula wasn't nearly as exciting as Ruth had imagined.

NEBULA FIVE

Ruth Blaine

The Supernova

Nebula of Adrust

It had only been a couple of weeks now, and she'd spent most of that time ferrying Agnes von Frostburn from one appointment to another. When Agnes was meeting with other important UAP figures, Ruth just waited outside. When Agnes was dealing with the public like this, Ruth just waited in the back.

In short, the gig involved a whole lot of waiting.

Right now, Agnes was speaking with members of the press outside the Adrust embassy. Ruth glanced up at the statue that had just been unveiled next to her. Rufus, now forever posed heroically, facing away from her.

Ruth vaguely wondered how the Tsarina could do it. She knew that the loss of Agnes' brother had hit her deeply -- she'd seen that when they'd spoken. But at the same time, she clearly had no trouble using his death for political gain. She garnered sympathy from the people for her loss, and used the fallen Nebula as a beacon of virtue.

Was that just how it worked at the top of the world? Did you just grab hold of whatever opportunity you were given, no matter how thorned?

Ruth's earpiece rang for a moment -- she put a finger against it and clicked, connecting the call.

"It's Ruth," she said quietly. A lot of the hubbub about the new Nebula Five had faded, but she still didn't want the press seeing her calling her friends while on the job.

"Hey!" Serena's voice came back. "I can see you on the videograph! Wave! Wave now and I'll see you!"

Ruth suppressed a smirk, hands clasped professionally. "I can't. I'm at work right now."

"How is it?"

"Well, you can see, right? It's a whole load of nothing."

"I don't even really get why you took the job," Serena said. "You've never even been to Adjust."

"Adrust," Ruth corrected her before shrugging lightly. "I've got things I still need to take care of, and I need the position."

"So mysterious," Serena cooed. "Are you coming over later?"

"We'll see," Ruth said. "We should be able to grab some drinks."

Ruth tapped the earpiece again, cutting off Serena's cheer of victory, as she saw Agnes Von Frostburn turn away from the press and begin ascending the steps to the embassy.

"We done here?" Ruth asked, as she went to follow the Tsarina inside.

"Yes," Agnes replied, her voice as steady and even as ever. "I'll need to get changed before we head to the Seat of Man."

Right -- they were having that big gathering at the UAP's central government building. All of the members of the UAP's Central Governing Council -- and all of the Nebula that accompanied them -- would be coming together to discuss the recent changes in galactic politics. It sure sounded like a big deal.

Still… Ruth glanced down at Agnes' white dress.

"What's wrong with what you've got now?" she asked, cocking her head. "You look good -- like, fine, I mean."

Agnes looked away. "For something like this? Yes, it's… fine. But the Seat of Man is another arena entirely."

She turned back, and her face was set.

"It demands particular armour."

"The thing you must understand about Zephyr Pandershi," said Zephyr Pandershi. "Is that he is the one and only 'true human' in this world."

He crossed his legs as he leaned back into the luxurious leather seating of his star-yacht, the Exterminating Angel. It was a craft of his own design, an ingenious blend of organic inspiration and technological efficiency, flexile wings of metal feathers adjusting themselves each nanosecond to ensure the smoothest possible flight. For anyone else, to bring it into the world would surely have been the achievement of a lifetime.

For Zephyr Pandershi, Founder and Director of the Pandershi Foundation, though? It was just another drop in the bucket.

"'True human'," echoed the young man sitting cross-legged on the floor before him, clad in armour of seamless eggshell-white metal. "What an intriguing turn of phrase. What do you mean by that?"

NEBULA FOUR

Titan White

The Fairy Prince

Nebula of the Pandershi Foundation

There was of course a certain resemblance between the Director and his Nebula. They both had the distinctive Pandershi white-and-orange hair -- luscious and soft -- but the differences became apparent in the face. Zephyr had a noble brow and defined cheekbones, while Titan's features were soft and androgynous. Still, they were both of superior physical appearance.

"I'm glad you asked," Zephyr said, sweeping a hand through the air. "First, one must ask: what separates a human from an animal?"

"The capacity to create something new?"

"A well-considered guess," Zephyr smiled benevolently. "But no. Even beavers build dams. What separates humans from animals is the advancement of the self. The ability to live not for one's species, or even one's descendants, but for oneself and oneself alone."

"Profound," Titan nodded. "I never thought about it that way."

"Few do," Zephyr smirked. "And even those that comprehend this principle struggle to embody it. I believe that I'm the only one to truly achieve it -- hence, the only true human in this world. All I do… I do for the sake of my own elevation. Turning Nehr Müt into a superpower, developing technology for the UAP, working with that moron Niain and his band of lunatics… all of it. I hold no delusions of altruism or idealism like the old thinkers. That is my virtue."

"And the Foundation?" Titan asked.

"There is no distinction between the Pandershi Foundation and myself," Zephyr explained. "It was born with me, it lives as an extension of my will… and as such, it will never die. The achievements and accolades of the Foundation are my own, singular. That is where Monadere doomed themselves. When the planet was struck by the Colourless Light, they turned their resources inwards to rebuild, cannibalizing their resources until they fell into obscurity."

"What fools."

"Indeed. Their strength was in their shipyards -- all of which were off-world. Why bother trying to fix their doomed planet? When an arm rots away, do you waste time trying to reverse nature's selection? Of course not. You just cut the thing away and get it replaced."

"Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me," Titan said, his eyes sparkling.

Zephyr looked down at him, lips curled into a thin smile.

"Nebula Four," he mused. "It's good to reclaim the station. Lusifer Westmore… well, it's rare that I judge someone else on a moral level, but he was truly the vilest piece of shit to walk the galaxy. I much prefer having m… having you in the position."

He reached out, caressing the cheek of his Nebula, eyes narrowing contentedly as he inspected his servant. His thumb stroked up and down Titan's temple. When he spoke next, he did so through both mouths.

"Yes. This is much better."

"Tom Foolery," beamed Pollyanna Botfly, First Visitor of Paradoxia, as he helped her out of her shuttle. "It certainly has been a while! Schlorp!"

The First Visitor, like the majority of Paradoxia's population, was a Scurrant -- and quite a noticeable one at that. She was about four feet tall, with lime-green skin, jet-black eyes, and a pair of thin antenna protruding from the top of her bald head.

She shook Tom's hand vigorously as she stepped fully onto the docking platform.

"So good to see you, krinp," she beamed, the verbal tic written into her genes emerging like a sudden hiccup. "How have you been, grobo?"

Tom Foolery put a hand to his heart and bowed respectfully to his head of state. "As well as can be expected. Better now that you're here."

NEBULA THREE

Tom Foolery

Master of the Killing Arts

Nebula of Paradoxia

Paradoxia had by far the biggest range of territory and the largest population in the UAP -- not to mention the difficulties presented by Weird Space -- and that meant the majority of the First Visitor's time was spent on domestic affairs. It was exceedingly rare for her to visit Serendipity personally, and so Tom Foolery often found himself acting in his goddaughter's place. It was pleasant to serve as something other than a proxy for a change.

Pollyanna looked around the docking platform as she strolled forth, a pair of floating security automatics behind her.

The platform protruded from the star-dock. Tom had made sure that this entire section of the building would be vacated prior to the First Visitor's arrival, and the neighbouring buildings sweeped for threats. Even so, he was cautious. As the roof closed over them, his body was tense, ready to leap into action at the first sign of a threat.

"Is it safe to talk here, fenpil?" Pollyanna asked casually, hands behind her back.

"It is," Tom nodded. "The traffic deafeners have been adjusted. Just as we cannot hear the noises outside the sound bubble, nothing outside can hear what we speak about."

"Well, that's great, yuliyu," Pollyanna smiled, turning back to the shuttle. "You can come out now."

The shuttle shifted as a quadrupedal gentleman slowly worked his way out of it. His face was wizened, and a hardened shell covered his back. In short, there was a distinct resemblance to a tortoise. Tom recognised this man's face, of course, but he allowed him to introduce himself all the same.

"Ansem del Day Away," their guest nodded. "Coalition of Three. I've come representing Mr. Fable."

The Coalition of Three… a clandestine labour advocacy group that operated throughout UAP space, targeting corporations that overstepped their bounds. While they'd originated from Paradoxia -- the majority of their members were Scurrants -- this was the first time Tom knew they'd been dealing with the actual government. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"So, glorp," Pollyanna turned to Ansem. "I understand you have an offer for us, Mr. del Day Away, jappie." She glanced up at Tom. "An offer concerning Panacea."

That got Tom's attention. He looked keenly at the quadrupedal Scurrant, awaiting elaboration.

Ansem smiled. "Well… as I've already explained to the First Visitor here, our organisation was involved -- in an observational sense -- with the incident that occurred on the planet Panacea several years ago."

"A disaster wiped out the operations there," Tom nodded. "The backlash basically put ExoCorp out of business."

"Indeed," Ansem nodded. "Panacea production has since been taken over by other parties on both sides of the border… but the planet itself? It was put on auction and purchased by a group called Notus Vale."

"I'm not familiar," Tom said.

"I'd be surprised if you were," Ansem replied. "They appeared out of nowhere with enough capital to outbid titans like Halcyon. Needless to say, a front."

Tom narrowed his eyes further. "A front for whom?"

Ansem looked up at him, his face grave. "Zephyr Pandershi."

The three on the platform went silent. Even the muted sounds of the traffic outside, reduced to whispers of wind by the deafeners, were clearly audible. Slowly, Tom scratched his pale chin.

"It seems to me that's the headline," he said softly. "Yet you've given it away freely. What do you have left to bargain with?"

Ansem smiled, his face wrinkling past the point of recognition in the process.

"Do you think we left that planet without preparing for the future?" he chuckled mischievously. "We wired it up well. Our surveillance is top-notch. If I were to offer you the last two years of Pandershi's top-secret communications… how would you feel about that?"

Tom Foolery blinked.

Now that was interesting.

"Is it sealed?" asked the Oba of Inganci, Ekon Eze, resplendent in his golden armour, a Principality of supreme knowledge blazing behind his head. "Is it safe?"

The young man kneeled before him, the demon spear lying across his knees, his eyes shut and head bowed.

"It is, my Oba," he said dutifully.

NEBULA TWO

Jamilu Aguta

Bearer of the Demon Spear

Nebula of Inganci

The Oba's quarters on Serendipity were resplendent -- the walls lined with twinkling twilinite, the windows covered with stained glass images of Inganci's glories. Even the Oba's other guards wore armour that was more like artwork, their helmets sculpted into the heads of honoured beasts. This was a place of dignity and measure.

For a good few seconds, the Oba just continued to stare down at Jamilu, his bearded face stern. Then, however -- like a switch had been flicked -- that face broke out into a wide grin. He laughed exuberantly as he bent over, pulling his Nebula up from the floor.

"So serious, so serious!" he chuckled, dusting off Jamilu's armour with a heavy hand. "You think I would doubt you, my boy? Of course it is secure! Of course it is safe! You said you would do it, didn't you?"

Victory spat venom…

"I'll show you who's safe, you worthless --"

…but with a squeeze from Jamilu's hand and Jamilu's mind, its speech was stopped. The Oba was the man who had plucked Jamilu from the gutter and given him a place in this world. This disrespect alone he would not allow.

"Yes, rise, rise!" the Oba laughed, slapping Jamilu on the back. "The old hero likes to show his teeth, eh? Pay it no mind. All it can do is spit and curse, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

The Oba's frown deepened. "Ah, one day!" he wagged a finger. "One day you will talk to me like a human, yes? I will hold you to this, my boy. But for now…"

He slung his arm around Jamilu's shoulder, and looked up at the stained glass image of the Wonder at Ọgba Pupa. With his next words, he threw away both his exuberance and his regality. These were the words of a man accustomed to shadows.

"...tell me what is happening at the heart of this world."

The Seat of Man, the central government building on Serendipity, was a massive dome -- towering over even the huge skyscrapers that surrounded it.

Three hundred and six levels, with only the bottom third of the building open to the public -- everything above that was home to the work that kept the UAP ticking over day to day. Offices and records and conferences… it was almost like a hive of insects, frantic with activity from second to second. The perpetual motion of bureaucracy.

And atop it, atop the spire at the dome's very tip, stood Fei Long.

NEBULA ONE

Fei Long

"Commander of the Scarlet Parade"

"The Supreme Without Supremacy"

"The Thousandfold Knight"

"The Last Dragon"

"The Hero"

"Angelslayer"

"The Strongest Man of the UAP"

Nebula of Jìnhuà

His arms were crossed, and his ceremonial cape billowed in the wind as he considered the Seat of Man.

This would be where the leaders of the UAP would soon gather to decide the next steps forward for this grand coalition of nations. Already, Fei Long could see some processions of shuttles arriving, landing on the platforms that had been prepared in advance. His nose wrinkled in distaste as he saw Pandershi's Exterminating Angel coming in to land. He didn't trust that man one bit.

His eyes flicked over to another shuttle coming in -- much older, antiquated. Rakebone, no doubt. Miserable Misery and his bloodsoaked Nebula were about to arrive.

He cracked his neck, activating his communicator in the process.

"Irons is here," he said tersely.

"You sound concerned," his husband's voice came back.

"Of course I'm concerned," Fei Long replied. "It wasn't easy to bring that monster down in the first place. If he was able to take part in the examinations, I can tell you right now there's no way he would be ranked tenth. He should be in the deepest, darkest pit they can find… not here."

"Rakebone assures us they have him under control," Shen said.

"They can assure us of whatever they want. It doesn't make it true."

"To be honest, he's a concern for me as well. I've got a man inside Locke's security team -- don't worry. We'll be alerted at the first sign of any danger, and you can act… appropriately."

Fei Long nodded with a soft grunt as the shuttle vanished from sight. His eyes flicked around what amounted to empty space in Serendipity, still teeming with humanity. Even he didn't know what he was looking for.

"Something feels off," he finally said. "Something feels wrong."

"I know," Shen replied. "But it's too late to stop this now. Just… make sure you're ready for anything."

Another grunt, another nod.

"I'll return in a second," Fei Long said. "I don't want you on your own when they start entering the building."

"Of course. Love you."

"What a coincidence," Fei Long smirked. "I love you too."

The communicator clicked off, and Fei Long sighed as he looked up at the sky. He always disliked these gatherings -- everyone made such an effort to seem like cordial allies, but the tension hung in the air like miasma all the same. It was just one day, though… one day of this, and then it was over.

Fei Long frowned as he looked up.

That's a shame.

It had looked like it was going to be such a nice day earlier… but now the clouds were rolling in.