A sudden hitch in the elevator’s thrum snapped Tani back to reality. Encapsulated by golden walls, each with wonderfully abstract patterns etched into the polished alloy. Her reflection stared back, razor-sharp despite her angelic features.

  Her periphery was occupied by the motionless bulk of Sentinels' Drahn and Lesh. Heads obscured by round helmets that came to a point. Cold. Unreadable. Yet somehow more expressive than the stern faces underneath.

  Their gilded armor caught the light, mirroring the elegance of her robes—fine alabaster silk that softly brushed her rich ebony skin.

  It was a beautiful scene all together. A little shard of paradise held prisoner in a pristine cage. Even so, Tani would rather be anywhere else. Like stranded on a barren moon, abandoned on a world plagued by ash and ghostly palimpsests. Or the atomizing winds of a Type-4 cosmic storm that would—

  “My Lady Magistrate?” came a muffled, vaguely annoyed voice.

  Tani blinked, and a slow smile crept across her face when she turned.

  Maia was wedged between Drahn and the left corner, her own arm mashed against her sun-kissed cheek—as if pressed against an invisible pane of glass. The Sentinels, true to form, remained completely oblivious. Or more aptly unconcerned by her friend's predicament.

  Tani giggled as tension melted down her spine like wax. The distraction was not only very welcome, but very much needed. With a wave, she swept her guards aside by unseen strings, then opened her arms in invitation.

  “You poor thing. Sorry, I was a bit distracted.”

  “Mor’eth abit, miladyal. Als afra’id al su’ffocat.”

  “In Véthari, please.” Tani flashed a faux frown, hands still held out. “You know how I feel about that crude tongue. We’re civilized people now. Remember?”

  Maia grinned and ran a hand through her hair. Short. Tawny. Her nankeen robes made of the same silk, a buttery fabric that rustled when they at last embraced.

  “And must I also remind you that you’re my Prime Aide now? These men’ll follow your every order.” Tani kept her tone light, but edged. “Speak, and it will be done. They might save your life one day.”

  “I know. But after almost ending it on the ship they make me a little skittish.” Her chin pressed deeper into Tani’s shoulder. “Okay. More than a little.”

  “Even perfect twins have differences," Tani purred with a warm lilt. "It was a secure area, and Lesh’s codices simply...misidentified which you were. He’s been fixed, I did so personally.”

  Maia pulled away, nerves eased if not fully soothed. She fussed gently with Tani’s long ivory braids, a familiar gesture few would dare attempt, if they at all valued the use of their fingers.

  “As you say, milady,” she winked and smoothly faced forward, slipping into a servile mask as they neared The Citadel’s top.

  The smile faded from Tani’s expression like a dying sun. In private they were friends—sisters even, but in the company of the others familiarity equaled vulnerability. A fact that Maia thankfully didn’t need to be reminded of.

  It would be a foolish error.

  And I don’t make errors, foolish or otherwise.

  The doors parted with a chime, gliding open as if greased with fine oils to reveal the Grand Chamber. A cone of auric light greeted them, cascading down from the mirrored ceiling to cloak the opulent deck-plating in glittering glamour.

  Tani exited with regal purpose, twin bracelets jewel bright as she aligned them. Drahn and Lesh moved in precise, silent tandem, guardian angels armed with capacitor rifles. And enough vapogel to flatten a small mountain into a plateu.

  She led them down the winding central path. No urgency. No concern. Not even a flicker of hurry in her powerful stride.

  The chamber stretched high like a sanctum built for gods. Dressed in a gallery of excess from nadir to zenith. Paintings. Sculptures. Furniture. Each more obscenely lavish than the last, less of a curated gallery, but more the byproduct of impulse and ego.

  Towering windows showcased the endless sprawl of Primas’ capital of Bórasha. The city shimmered with golden cloudbreakers, and the azure sun poured through its glossy veins.

  Aeroriders streaked through the pulsing skylanes in tight, fluid formations with precision. They were the breath of the city, its inhale and exhale, a living organism unerringly calculated and majestic.

  They descended the grand staircase to reveal the other Magistrates. Each perched on a throne around a circular table—a concave nanite mapping basin at the center.

  Their garments proclaimed wealth. Their brows betrayed hubris. Some wore ceremonial grandeur while others garish designer clothes. Physically dry, but dripping with vanity. To the untrained eye they were royalty spun from myth. Ashine and poised.

  But to Tani, they were pigs in pearls, soft-bellied and sodden in shit beneath the polish. Even their seating spoke volumes: gaps between them, guards tactically positioned with mutual murder in mind.

  A perfect example of their irrevocably fractured trust.

  Ilana Krosk came first. Hawk-faced. Steel-haired. With a smile sour enough to curdle fresh wamu milk.

  Beside her sat Mirael Thorne, once Tani’s beloved mentor, but now an overly muscular relic. His suspicious gaze appraised her with all the grace of a hammer, charcoal shirt a flex away from splitting down the middle.

  Then came Sirana and Korrak Jhanar—a handsy couple that inspired a potent disgust in Tani's soul, propagated by their not-so secret sibling-hood.

  The next two were newly appointed, and thus as forgettable as their names.

  But Vegas—Vegas Varris was a swollen toad in human form, one that incessantly fluffed his ridiculous green hair. Hand mirror ever glued to his own visage. A drunken, sneering, degenerate.

  Tani despised each and every one of them, but if any were to expire in the next breath...she prayed it would be him.

  “Ah, Tani. Took your sweet time,” Vegas slurred, perhaps sensing her contempt. “I assumed your meager little ship had broken down on the side of the road—so to speak.”

  Noncommittal laughter circled the table, just enough to inflate Vegas’ gluttonous ego. He tilted his mirror to better reflect his self-proclaimed best side, and preened at himself like a parrot in heat.

  Tani smiled, but said nothing. Taking her throne, she nudged aside the provided cup, prompting Maia to retrieve a goblet and slender bottle from her satchel. She then poured silver Vaerelune wine at a tilt, ensuring it remained bubbly without excess foam. A fruity nectar beyond description.

  And only once it finally settled, and Tani took a refreshing sip, did she at last bother to respond.

  “You’ve done the impossible, Vegas. Congratulations.”

  “Whatever do you mean, child?”

  Her smile sharpened into something a mile past predatory. “I'd never felt sorry for an inanimate object before today.”

  “Excuse me?” he spat in a hiss.

  “Your mirror. I can barely stomach a glance in your direction. Imagine the torture the poor thing's endured.”

  More genuine laughter erupted this time. Even Maia had to suppress her mirth in the corner of Tani's eye, hands folded neatly at the front of her robes.

  Tani enjoyed another sip, savoring it and the moment. “I say we take it out back and have it shot. For humanitarian reasons, if nothing else.”

  The others' jollity deepened, but as did Vegas' grumbling displeasure. His finger crept up toward his shoulder, just shy of ordering his guards to open fire. A bold move born of hidden cowardice.

  Tani didn’t flinch, simply sat still with calm expectation, fingers idly tapping at her bracelets. Waiting. Wanting.

  Please? For once, be as brave as your befuddled mouth.

  ...but even he wasn’t that drunk.

  The finger lowered, yet his gaze continued to burn with murder. A hatred spicy enough to singe the senses.

  “Now, now,” Thorne rumbled, voice like gravel mixed with smoke. “Let’s skip the preamble. We’ll be here all day if you two really get started.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Of course. I’m a team player above all else.” Tani basked in the tension radiating from Vegas, voice sweet as a dessert. “In fact, I think that we should—”

  “Excellent idea, sir,” Korrak Jhanar cut in, smile slick with practiced charm. “We must focus on collective strategy rather than stoking the flames of...personal rivalries."

  “Well said,” Thorne's eyes flicked over Tani, in the hope her silence would hold. "Very well said."

  She returned his focus blankly, but her ire slunk toward Korrak, tautened at his throat like a noose. Fear of treachery had made him a sycophant, ever-willing to hump the leg of whomever possessed the higher ground. Ill-perceived or otherwise.

  Thorne tapped the recessed controls in his armrest, beckoning the nanites at the table's center. A shifting spherical mound akin to white sand, that swarmed over itself like ants, forming a translucent map of the Felfield Galaxy. Bit by bit. Omni-directional and suspended mid-air.

  First it depicted the golden territory of Directorate space. A vast, luminous bloom. Within its borders sat pulsing yellow rings—each a Sphere of Power commanded by a single Magistrate. Tani’s own Sphere Tharkai hovered near the center.

  Then the rest of the galaxy unfurled.

  An amorphous blue mass marked the Union's influence. Red blotches represented Free Space, semi-independent confederacies scattered like lesions.

  A delicate ecosystem of tension and ambition. Color-coded lines did their best to estimate or track the sprawled military and trade routes in nearly real-time.

  At the galaxy’s heart, between the Upper and Nether Star-Ways, churned The Heartland. A storm-ridden hellscape fractured by constant conflict. The Union claimed its eastern border, the Directorate its west. The Star-Ways capped its apex and summit as twin demilitarized corridors.

  The Heartland was off-limits by treaty, and instead proxies represented their respective interests. Intercorps. Scrappers. Mercenary armies that preserved the appearance of peace despite the fact they were ever at war. Technically.

  Yet even as vivid as the map was, truth-be-told, it had always held little of Tani's true attention. At the moment, the nanites themselves were of greater interest.

  The tech was advanced, even by today's standards, yet hopelessly irrelevant. It's only merit being the inspiration for an invention of Tani's own design, a machine of similar, but higher purpose. Same genus, different species. A cousin that shared its strengths without the danger of rogue swarms. A magnum opus in the beautiful process of perfection.

  So close, yet so far.

  “We’re all aware of the Union fleet maneuvers near the Minas' Nebula.” Thorne settled back in his seat with a grunt. “Is it safe to assume my fellow border Magistrates are a tad jumpy?”

  Ilana Krosk barked a humorless laugh. “Jumpy? Little late in life to develop a sense of humor, Thorne. Vegas and I can handle any early strike just fine. We’ve done the math. We're only here to gauge how much you're willing to bleed when this turns to all-out war.”

  “Your great-predecessor spoke with the same arrogance,” Thorne replied, unfazed. “And he was right until he wasn’t. A lot of good people died from his miscalculations.”

  “The Star-Way Conflict cost all our Spheres dearly,” Vegas snapped, still slightly slurred. “If I recall, it took your great-predecessor a week to douse the flames of this very city.”

  Thorne said nothing, but the flicker of violence in his eyes warmed Tani's heart. Their thoughts rarely aligned anymore, but in hatred of Vegas they remained kindred spirits.

  “I think what she meant,” Vegas went on, wiping at his grin. "Is that she and I—along with you and the Jhanars at the Upper Star-Way—are our shields. What we need most are sharpened swords. If we stay defensive again, they’ll steamroll us through sheer numbers.”

  Tani rubbed her chin. Vegas wasn’t wrong, the Union’s numbers had grown, even if their tech lagged behind. The Directorate’s superiority only really mattered if wielded intelligently. Or aggressively.

  “Why are we sure this means an attack?” Sirana piped up, voice airy, brow knotted with undeserved self-confidence. “Last time, they didn’t give any warning or indication. And with the increase in our scanner beacon network, they know we can see them.”

  “Because their Mayoral Adjutant claims it’s an anti-Scrapper operation,” Thorne added. “But the fleet density? That’s not enforcement, that’s preparation. There aren't enough illiterate pirates in the galaxy to warrant that level of response.”

  “Let’s skip the obvious,” Tani swirled the wine in her goblet. “It's an excuse, plain and simple. The Union is overextending itself to chase manifest destiny. They’re too proud to slow down, or to consider changing their methodology. Which will inevitably force them to overreach. A flaw we can exploit.”

  “What exactly are you suggesting?” One of the newer Magistrate asked, tone cautious.

  “A feint at the Delta-Hades Asteroid Belt.” Tani's voice became thin with excitement. “They’ve been after its raw reserves for centuries—practically drooling for them now. We bait them. Make it look ripe for the taking, then crush whatever force they commit. Afterwards, we utilize the media to garner support, then use their point of entry as a beachhead into their territories.”

  “Pinning the start of the conflict on them? With a simple bait-and-bludgeon succeeded by a smear campaign?” Vegas chuckled, genuine for once. “How...elegant.”

  “If you want to dress it up, call it the Vaerelune Gambit,” Tani offered, sipping calmly. “Though I’m sure you'd prefer something with fewer syllables.”

  Vegas primed his lips with curses, but a dull chime intervened, emanating from Thorne’s gauntlet with a sharp and aggravating insistence.

  “The young mistress, Thorne?” Ilana asked, sweet enough to rot a tooth. "Where do you get the time and stamina?"

  “No, it's not her. Thank the stars,” Thorne said with a snort, though a hitch of hesitancy lingered in his throat. “She’s likely too busy shopping and drinking to call.”

  He silenced the disk and stood, face unreadable, muscles tensed. “This, however demands my immediate attention. We’ll reconvene in a short while.”

  Thorne didn’t wait for any objections. Just turned about, retinue falling in behind him with dutiful silence. Tani watched them go with clinical apathy, fingers tapping an old jingle from a snack advert against her goblet.

  Maia leaned over her shoulder, whispering without looking down. “Bad news?”

  Tani didn’t answer right away. Her gaze slunk back to study Thorne's empty throne, as the others broke into private gossips and other nonsense.

  Then, she buried the rising smile in her voice, and very cautiously replied:

  “Undoubtedly. Even powerful predators know to run when they've been wounded.”

  The Magistrates and their retinues withdrew to separate guest wings within the Citadel, awaiting Thorne's request to reconvene.

  Tani had stripped bare and was easing into her waiting tub. The water was hot, properly hot, filled with pale blue bubbles that shimmered with a soapy sheen.

  She laid her long braids across the rim and sank until shoulders met porcelain, melting away every ounce of tension.

  Her bathing staff had been dismissed. Kitchen too. Maia, dutiful as always had chosen to prepare their meal herself. She took joy in kind acts, and Tani cherished her tenderness more than fissens or jewels. A pure, loving soul in a brush filled with vipers.

  Tani's stomach rumbled. The smell of fried wamu wafted into the room through a vent. Then came the tangy cheese, and blistering chaluen spice. A savory dream that damn near made her salivate. Terrible for digestion or dignity, but exquisite for the soul.

  “Here we are,” Maia sang as the door swished upward, steam rising from a covered platter. “Just the way you like them.”

  Tani scooped up some bubbles and lazily flicked them at her. “And how do I like them again?”

  Maia arched a brow, steadying the platter on three collapsible legs. “Do you really expect me to finish that ancient joke?

  "Expect? I would never. Demand? Well, yes. I do."

  "Power doth corrupt." Maia smiled, then slouched in defeat. “You like your fajitas like you like your men, hot and—

  A thunderous boom cut her short. The walls trembled with terrible fury, and the water rippled over Tani's legs like a turbulent ocean. A second came, then a third—sloshing more and more foam over the tub’s brim.

  Maia balanced the tray with one hand, then flipped through her intangidisk with the other. “What in the fuk’al is going on?”

  Tani tilted an ear with a buried smirk. “Well, it is Founder's Week. Perhaps they're fireworks.”

  "Are you serious? It's a day too early for that anyhow."

  "Oh, that's true. In that case we're under attack and our lives are in jeopardy." Tani mused. "But I’m sure Thorne’s security can handle the situation.”

  “You said—and I quote—‘He’d make your eggs scrambled if you asked for over-easy,’ and now you’d trust him with your life?”

  “In the interest of protecting his image? Yes. Besides that?”

  The door gaped open with a hiss, and a squad of Sentinels stormed in, led by her Sub-Chief of Security. Their heavy boots struck in synchronized thunderclaps. Rifles drawn. Each gait bleeding machine-like discipline and deadly urgency.

  “Milady!” Thir Véla barked, halting the squad with a clenched fist. On a dime. The only one of them without a helmet or extensive cranial augmentation.

  His eyes rested briefly on her breasts, very quick to realize the ceiling was the safer place to linger.

  “Forgive the interruption. Multiple intrusions detected. Coordinated. Moving fast. Can only assume the entire Magistration is the target!”

  Tani's lids shut while she sank back in the water. “Maybe they’re as famished as I am. Maybe they broke into the most secure facility in this Sphere for a hot meal. It is dinner time after all.”

  The ceiling shook, covering her in a faint dust as the azure lights flickered. Each subsequent explosion heavier and closer.

  Noting the lengthy silence, she peeked to see Maia and Thir's anxious expressions. No one could make her move. She could nap as the planet imploded if she damn-well wanted.

  But it would be cruel. And when it wasn't necessary, Tani steered from cruelty, especially with the people who cared for her. Professionally and personally.

  “Fine, you win. Just don't get used to it. Sequester my staff in the nearby auditorium. Arm anyone certified above Class-1, then notify the Omnira to maintain a close distance. I never say no to precise and overwhelming orbital firepower.”

  “Yes, milady. Should we coordinate with the other Magistrates?”

  “Give them a wide berth. They could be behind this.”

  Thir nodded, satisfied enough to turn back toward the corridor. “Understood! These men will escort you down to the auditorium, I'll—!”

  “No,” she said firmly, rising slow, soap trailing down her nude, muscular frame. A feminine chocolate physique carved with great care and attention.

  Thir nearly tripped whipping around, brow creased, the remnants of his maple coif ruffled by the turn.

  “Take all my security, account for every one of my people. But arm Maia with a tharrael first, and enough charges to sell out a graveyard.”

  Thir glanced at Maia then back at her, torn between duty and instinct. Finally, with a heavy nod and a reasonably insubordinate mumble, he swiftly commandeered Drahn's weapon.

  “As you say, Magistrate Undali.”