It was midday local standard time when the imperial courier ship Telstrike made final approach to Lionheart. Due to the approach vector of the ship and the period of the legendary station's orbit, Lionheart itself had been entirely hidden from view, always on the far side of the planet S'uun-tavis, a reddish-brown sphere that dominated the port side of the approaching man-o-war. The system's primary, a purplish-blue fireworld, glittered brightly from far below the ship.
Now, as it came into view at last, climbing over the planet's horizon like a shining jewel, the young lieutenant captain who stood at the ship's prow stared in awe. The light from the fireworld played along the crystalline surface of its living walls, sparkling and making the whole structure seem to glow with a magical inner light. Delicate towers rose over the rim of the walls, stretching outward like breathtakingly beautiful fingers. The station's current position made it appear to lay on its side relative to the ship the young lieutenant captain was aboard, though he knew that if he were aboard Lionheart gazing outwards, the man-o-war would appear to be coming in on its side. The elf gave it little thought; the captain of the man-o-war would no doubt bring the ship level relative to the station before closing to dock, it was standard operating procedure, and necessary in any case.
Instead the young elf marveled at the wonder of Lionheart itself; the majesty of it, the power, the beauty, the... delicate grace.
"Faerie palace straight out of children's tales," he murmured, unaware that he had spoken aloud. And yet, even as he wondered at its beauty, the military tactician in him could not help but eye it for any critical weaknesses. Here was the headquarters and intelligence center for the greatest military force in the known spheres, a secret base from which the Imperial Elven Navy was directed and operated. It was a military base, and a strong one, but if the enemies of the Fleet ever learned its whereabouts it would be a target.
At the moment the `upper' side of the station was `down' in relation to the planet it orbited, so that the graceful towers and domes of the military center within pointed straight at the world while the base's lower side—the great domed garden—was pointed towards the distant fireworld. It made some sense; the garden would require sunlight. Still, it made the lieutenant captain uncomfortable to see it in such an orbit. The topside would be the better defended, of course, yet it was the lower side that was exposed to open void, the direction from which enemy fighters would likely come.
But then, what did he really know of the defenses of Lionheart? Rumors and legends only. And, of course, if even half the stories were true, the station could swiftly turn about so that its most shielded and defensible areas were presented to enemies.
"Quite a sight, isn't she?" The young elf nearly started; the captain of the Telstrike had come quietly up beside him and was looking out in the direction of the near- mythical station. "I've been making this run for the past three years, ferrying officials and admirals and ambassadors and laborers and common soldiers back and forth. Yet it always sends a chill through me when I first see her."
The young elf nodded. "Impressive," he said after a moment of silence, not quite certain what to say.
"Looks like a glorified version of a standard outpost design, doesn't it? Seven armada class warships pulled into a circle, the wings allowed to grow together."
"Except that there are towers and buildings in the middle," the younger elf pointed out.
The captain shrugged. "Well, we're distant yet. It's larger than a standard station, you know. Much larger. Those aren't armada warships, either. It's a visual illusion. The base is all one piece, grown from a single starfly plant. Each one of those docking bays—that's the part of that has the same general shape as an armada—is nearly as large as a standard outpost all by itself."
The young lieutenant captain looked again. If the station was that large... yes, he realized it could be so. But it was farther away than he had assumed.
"Impressive," he repeated.
The captain smiled. "Don't be fooled. It's beautiful out here, all right—beautiful up close too. But it's a deadly kind of beauty," he said, turning away. "If you're wise, you won't forget that."
The crew of the Telstrike was efficient and well- trained. It was only a matter of minutes before the man-o-war was brought level with the station's gravity plane and came to a halt just outside the massive air envelope.
There were other ships near the station—some patrolling on regular elliptical orbits, others on fardock with smaller vessels ferrying back and forth between them and the station, and still others that were hovering close to the station wall, perhaps on repair or inspection details.
As the ship pulled to a halt, a battle dolphin and a pair of dragonfly class fighters approached them and challenged.
The signalman aboard the Telstrike returned with a flurry of code flags and shortly thereafter the battle dolphin peeled off. The dragonflies swooped into parallel positions on either side of the man-o-war and slowly guided it into the air envelope and towards one of the station's gigantic docking bays.
Gracefully it pulled alongside one of the bustling docks, the crewmen tossing lines to the waiting dockworkers so that the ship could temporarily be tied off and a gangplank extended.
There was a crisply uniformed corporal waiting at the end of the gangplank as the young lieutenant captain stepped off. He had dark hair that was cut short and a lightly greenish pallor to his skin color; probably of wood elven stock.
The young captain halted at the end of the gangplank. "Lieutenant Captain Reanyn Al'Nuoth, lately of the ship Vengeance, reporting as commanded. Permission to come aboard."
The corporal gave a quick salute. "Permission granted, sir."
Reanyn nodded and stepped down onto the docks. He tried to appear calm, but couldn't help staring at the sea of activity all around him. And there were butterflies in his stomach.
Recalled to Lionheart, he thought, by urgent missive and with no explanation. And so soon after the Nidonspace disaster, and having to take command. Saving a fleet doesn't justify a second officer taking a position where an admiral should command. Perhaps it is a court martial. Or even worse, if they know...
"My name is Corporal Siltanis, sir," said the wood elf, "acting liaison for... uh, well for you, sir. I'm to serve as your aide and guide during your stay on the station. Welcome to B Dock."
Reanyn nodded, glancing around. The place was crowded with transports and warships, some pulled alongside to float in the gravity field of the station, others landed on the surface of the dock itself. Crews of men attended to each ship, some unloading or loading cargo, others repairing damages. And everywhere there were uniformed soldiers. Some were boarding transports, others warships, and still others were assisting in crew and dockworker duties. "How soon until I can meet with Admiral Lylanna?"
The corporal was startled by the question. "Well, uh, actually sir you've only just arrived. Perhaps you'd rather see something of the station first, or the place where you'll be quartered during your stay."
"The missive I received was coded `urgent'," said Reanyn. "We're in the middle of a war, corporal. I don't have time to sightsee. My men need me. My orders were to report to Admiral Lylanna `soonest'. That means right now, corporal."
"Yes, sir," the wood elf stammered. "If you'll just follow me, sir, I'll lead you to her. Though she's a very busy officer, sir, and I can't guarantee you'll get an immediate appointment."
"Lead," said Reanyn.
"We call this the Passage of the Defenders," the wood elf cheerfully volunteered, leading him down a broad but crowded thoroughfare. "More than three fourths of the troops that pass through Lionheart en route to their official postings pass down this way. It isn't a street, really. Lionheart hasn't any real roads or streetsigns, just broad avenues that wind between the towers and buildings. It's a military outpost, of course, not a city. But there are similarities. For example there are several merchant companies with contracts to resupply the station with... well, just about anything that can be had in the civilian world. The soldiers here may find everything from cloth to jewelry to literature in the military stores here, and may purchase luxuries with the pay they accrue here. We even have taverns near the main barracks areas of A Dock and B Dock." The corporal gave him a wry grin. "And there are temples. I imagine not many warships have five different temples on them."
"Not many." Reanyn was noncommittal in his reply; his gaze was fastened on the slender white tower which rose from the street far ahead of them. The tallest structure on Lionheart, it was breathtakingly beautiful and the walls of the upper light sparkled as reflected sunlight shimmered over its surface.
The corporal followed his gaze. "That's the Tower of the High Admiral," he said. "All paths on Lionheart lead there. It's in the middle of the station, or nearly, so of course they have to. Lionheart is basically a circle of seven docks... though of course you'd be familiar with her design already. It's the same as Falconheart."
Reanyn shot him a quizzical look. "I've never laid eyes on Falconheart."
The corporal looked surprised. "Never? I... but the file said you studied there. Graduated from officer's school. I don't understand..."
Reanyn's lips twisted into a thin smile. "Falconheart was still under construction when I went through officer's school, corporal. I studied at the academy on Nullis IV. The school was code-named Falconheart, yes, but the Fleet has always had a Falconheart. When the station was completed most of the instructors were moved there, and the school on Nullis IV was decommissioned. I graduated in the year of the Hawk. Falconheart wasn't completed until the year of the Starflower."
"I see," said the corporal, smiling. "Simple logic. Sorry sir, I wasn't thinking."
"You were telling me about the Tower of the High Admiral," said Reanyn, gazing back to the impressive structure.
"Ah... yes. Well, that's where the High Admiral presides over the Fleet. It houses his offices and quarters, as well as his staff. If you think it's pretty on the outside, you should see the inside. The Hall of Justice is awe-inspiring. Of course, that's not where we're going."
"It isn't?" Reanyn was surprised.
The corporal shook his head. "Admiral Lylanna's offices are in the Council of Admirals," he said, nodding to a smaller tower off to their right. In contrast to the Tower of the High Admiral, it was a magnificent green color instead of white. From the way the light gleamed on the polished walls, Reanyn guessed that it was carved from jade. It was shorter than the white tower, but much broader, and in fact was a larger building. "That's where the other seven admirals offices are housed."
Reanyn was quiet for a moment. He looked back towards the slender white tower. "Do you mean that that entire structure is for one man alone?" he asked.
The corporal shrugged. "One man and an army of aides, yes. Why?"
There was a set of wide steps leading up to the entrance of the Council of Admirals. They were of the same brilliant green stone as the tower, and when Reanyn looked closer he saw that it was, in fact, jade.
Two elven knights were stationed on either side of the massive open portal which led into the tower. Each was suited in full elven plate armor, white and polished to a shine, and each was armed with pikes. They stood still as statues, unblinking, their eyes forward and their pikes at a smart angle.
Reanyn and his guide marched past them without being challenged, and through the open doors into the jade tower.
They were challenged by a second pair of knights which stepped from the shadows almost immediately and courteously demanded their ranks and purpose in entering the tower.
Reanyn identified himself and presented them with the summons he had received. The two conferred and let them pass.
They emerged in a grand circular hall ringed with delicately carved and fluted marble pillars which stretched upwards to meet the ceiling high above, and which were painted to resemble living trees. The ceiling here was high and domed, and—along with the walls—was worked with an intricate painting of a peaceful woodland scene. In some areas the art was highlighted with etchings, lending it a three-dimensional aspect, so that the leaves on the high branches actually seemed to tremble slightly in some imaginary breeze.
Dominating the center of the vast chamber was a roughly oval-shaped pool, made to look like a natural spring in the forest. The water was dark and there were lilies and other flowering plants scattered along the `banks' of the little pool, but here and there Reanyn saw a flash of brilliant orange or yellow just beneath the surface. Goldfish, perhaps? And in the middle of the pool was a fountain carved to resemble a tumble of rocks with a wood sprite on top. The steady sound of water trickling down was amplified by the cavernous chamber, creating echoes of splashes which rebounded from the walls.
Reanyn started forward, then halted suddenly. "Which... which way?" he asked, looking around him. Though the place was not empty—uniformed elves marched briskly in every direction, each hurrying about his business—there was nothing in sight which looked remotely like an office. He did not see any doors on the walls. For that matter, he saw no stairways to connect this lower hall with the upper levels of the tower.
"Admiral Lylanna's offices are on the third level, sir," volunteered the corporal. He gestured towards the nearest pillar. "If you'll just follow me, sir, we'll take the lift."
Curious, Reanyn followed the corporal to the base of the pillar. There was a man-sized opening larger than a door there, and it appeared the pillar was hollow on the inside.
Without hesitating the corporal ducked his head (though the opening was tall enough that the gesture was not necessary) and entered. He then turned and looked back at Reanyn.
Reanyn paused only a moment, then followed. Once inside he looked about. Despite the decorative `tree' design of the pillar's outside surface, the interior was smooth and featureless. The tube extended upwards into darkness.
"Level three," said the corporal crisply.
There was a lurch from underfoot and suddenly the circular floor was rising. Surprised, Reanyn nevertheless kept his footing for the movement was smooth and even.
The opening they had entered the tube by slipped down below the floor as they continued to rise, and they were left in a featureless tube, slowly ascending. The moment they had begun to rise, the floor itself had began lightly glowing, casting an incandescent blue over the two elves so that they were not left in darkness.
"First time on a lift, sir?" asked the corporal. Since the blue light came from their feet, it cast strange shadows on the man's face.
"Yes," said Reanyn. "Not many of them on warships."
The corporal chuckled. "I imagine not, sir. We get a lot of delegates and officials on Lionheart, sir, ambassadors from distant colonies and worlds. The station was built to be a testament to elven superiority, and most buildings are constructed with the idea of impressing the viewer nearly to awe. It helps with negotiations and diplomacy. The lifts are just one facet of that."
"How do they work?" asked Reanyn. "Magic?"
The corporal shrugged. "The engineers claim it's nothing to do with sorcery at all. Strictly mechanical, operates on water pressure or something. I don't know any of the details, just that they work. Of course, there is magic aplenty on the station. This place couldn't even exist if it weren't for the workings of the high mages."
Abruptly they pulled to a stop and the floor dimmed. Another opening in the tube had appeared in the darkness above and had slid down the tube until the floor of the lift came to rest exactly even with the floor of the opening. Reanyn couldn't be certain, but it seemed to him that this new opening was on a different side of the than the one they had entered it by.
The corporal stepped out and Reanyn followed.
They were in a marble floored corridor which ran straight for twenty feet or so, then cornered off to the right. Lining either side of the corridor were polished oak doors, some bearing numbers and letters, others featureless.
The corporal led the way, glancing occasionally at the numbers on the doors to get his bearings. They proceeded down the corridor and to the right, then straight for another fifteen feet or so until the corporal halted before one of the doors.
"This is it, sir," he said, reaching for the handle. Apparently entering without knocking was not against protocol.
The door swung open, revealing a fair-sized waiting room with a hall branching off the far side. There were seats scattered about, lining the walls, and on the far side of the room, directly before the hall, was a heavy desk.
There was a silver elf behind the desk—by his uniform an underlieutenant—who glanced up from his writing as they entered. Behind him, just inside the hall, stood another elf, a young man wearing no uniform.
The corporal strode forward. "Lieutenant-Captain Reanyn Al'Nuoth, here to see Admiral Lylanna as ordered."
The underlieutenant sighed and consulted a scattering of his papers. "The admiral is in conference," he said. "If you have... wait, here it is. Yes, the admiral will see him as soon as possible. If you gentlemen will have a seat..."
Reanyn was only half listening. He was looking at the young elf in the hall. He felt a shock of recognition, and was trying to place the elf's face.
He was of high elf stock; it was apparent in the golden hue of his skin and the blonde hair that hung loose past his neck. He was unarmored and returned Reanyn's look with an unblinking stare—yes, the high elf recognized him as well. His eyes were a brilliant blue. He wore a longsword strapped to his back, the hilt protruding over his shoulder, bladesinger fashion, and he leaned against the wall calmly. He appeared relaxed, but every line of his body spoke of danger, of a lethalness. He was like a hunting cat, relaxed but wary. And deadly.
Where have I seen him before? He must be a bodyguard, that is plain, but...
With a shock Reanyn placed him.
Maivin!
If the corporal hadn't earlier mentioned Falconheart, it is possible Reanyn would not have been able to. But since the comment was still fresh in his mind...
Yes, it is him. One of the twins. And the other one, the sister, her name was... what? Raererl? Fellow students at the Academy. Not friends. Not enemies. Not even in the same class—I was in officer's school and they were training to become bladesingers—but we saw each other in the halls. And occasionally in combat training.
Reanyn gave the high elf a barely perceptible nod, an acknowledgement. The bladesinger returned it. It was neither greeting nor warning, but rather a mixture of both; two warriors, each acknowledging the skill of the other.
Maivin would know him to be a dangerous opponent; they had sparred a few times. The twins were all but unbeatable when they worked together... but where was the sister?
Reanyn and the corporal took a seat and waited. The underlieutenant at the desk returned to his paperwork, while the bladesinger, after holding his place in the hall for a moment, turned and melted into the darkness.
He returned a few minutes later, and his eyes locked with Reanyn. "The admiral will see you now," he said quietly. "The corporal will wait here."
Reanyn rose, a little startled at how quickly he had been able to get an audience with an admiral who, by all reports, was among the busiest officers in the Fleet. He was also a little startled to hear Maivin speak. In all his time at the academy, Reanyn did not think he had ever heard the bladesinger utter a word.
Maivin pointed back into the hall without breaking his gaze on Reanyn. "Last door to the left. Knock and then enter."
Reanyn nodded and stepped past him.
The bladesinger fell into step behind him. He moved as gracefully as a cat and as soundlessly as a ghost, but Reanyn was aware.
Of course he would follow behind. It is the better position for combat should trouble erupt.
Reanyn halted at the large oak door at the end of the hall and knocked twice.
"Enter," called a voice from within, and he did so.
The admiral's office was spacious, cool, and dark. The walls were white marble, and rounded at the corners. Set into the right-hand wall was a gigantic circular window which appeared to bulge outward. Beyond the domed glass was a breathtaking panorama of twinkling stars. It was not a constellation Reanyn recognized, but he was fairly certain it was an illusion designed to impress visitors anyway. They were only on the third level of the tower, and though he wasn't certain how high that was, he doubted strongly that it was high enough to overlook Lionheart's walls.
There was a desk not far from the window. Behind it, in a plush swiveling chair, sat a uniformed woman. Another elf stood in front of the window, his back to Reanyn. He was balding and tall, with a fringe of wispy white hair ringing his head.
As Reanyn entered, the mystery of where Maivin's twin was was solved. Raererl stood beside the door, her spear in hand. She exchanged glances with her brother as he entered behind him, and the two of them took up positions behind Reanyn, alert and wary.
Reanyn noted all this in some part of his mind, but his thoughts were occupied with the possible reasons for his urgent recall. He had never met the admiral before, and he wasn't sure which one of the uniformed elves was him.
He looked from the woman at the desk to the man at the window, then decided to address the man. "Admiral Lylanna?"
"I am Lylanna, lieutenant captain," said the woman behind the desk. "The gentleman at the window is Fleet Admiral Nyntoch."
Reanyn tried to conceal his surprise. That the admiral was a woman was not unusual; many of the Fleet's officers were female. But she was young, probably not even a century older than Reanyn himself. If she had risen to such a rank at so young an age, it was indeed a testament to her ability.
The white-haired elf turned from his place at the window and gave Reanyn a sour look. "So you're that jumped up lieutenant captain who's gone and taken over the Third Fleet."
Reanyn stiffened. "I assumed command, sir, when my superior officer was struck down. I moved the fleet to safety and, when the opportunity afforded itself, sent word of what had happened and asked for instruction and a replacement for my superior. My actions were in strict accord with military protocol."
"Your actions or your orders?" asked the man. He held up a sheaf of file folders. "I've been reviewing the transcripts we received detailing your resultant command decisions. Do you have any idea what is recorded within?"
"I should, sir," said Reanyn. "I penned them."
The man ignored him. "A bloody disaster, that's what! Elven warships fleeing from battle, hiding in asteroid belts like... like common bloody brigands. Elven officers acting like routed goblins. Your captain would never have stood for it."
"Captain Laithe was an extremely able man, sir," said Reanyn coldly, "and a competent officer, but he was not a fool. He would not have sacrificed elven lives on the alter of Imperial pride. We were overmatched. I believe my orders and tactics were the proper response to the situation that was forced on us."
"Tactics!" The man spat the word as if it tasted bad. "Your men fled from battle!"
"I organized a retreat," corrected Reanyn, "and consequently was able to save seventeen warships and almost three thousand men."
"Imperial troops do not run from orcs!"
"An excellent maxim to lose a war by."
Reanyn was quiet for a moment. He had spoken without thinking, and he wondered if he had gone too far. Admiral Nyntoch had the power to court martial him, and already seemed in the mood to do so. At the moment the man looked like he had swallowed something the wrong way. "Your pardon, admiral, but these are not orcs. They are scro. They are disciplined, well-trained, well-equipped, and intelligent. They are more than capable of defeating us, and have done so on more than one occasion. The Fleet cannot afford to treat their threat lightly. Approximating them with the stereotypical `dirty ignorant goblinkin' is worse than foolhardy. It will get good soldiers killed."
There was a long silence, and the two men glared at each other. Inwardly Reanyn cursed himself. He should merely have apologized. Instead he had quite possibly made it worse by implying the admiral was a fool. But his anger had flared and gotten the better of him. He had seen too many good men slain for Imperial pride. Men who died for no reason.
"Well," said Admiral Lylanna at last, "you are obviously an outspoken and opinionated man, lieutenant- captain. A quality to be praised in a good officer, I think, but not to be overpraised."
Admiral Nyntoch merely shook his head and turned back to the window.
"But," Lylanna went on, "you have placed us in a rather difficult position. Your actions, though justified, have broken with custom. For a brief period of time, the command of the Third Fleet was forced on you. You were quite right to assume command, that is not in question. But you are only a lieutenant-captain. For a lieutenant-captain to assume command of a ship, even an armada, is acceptable. But no lieutenant-captain ever commanded a fleet. The lowest ranking officer to command a fleet is a high captain. Military protocol demands it."
Reanyn remained silent. He had done enough damage to his cause already.
"Which leaves us in a precarious position. We are faced with two alternatives. Promote you or court-martial you." She nodded to the other admiral. "Admiral Nyntoch is of the opinion that you should be court-martialed. I tend to agree with him. It would set a bad precedent to promote an officer for leading a `retreat' from goblinkin."
She waited for his response but Reanyn remained silent.
"Fortunately for you," she continued at last, "there have recently arisen certain... complications here on Lionheart. A situation has arisen for which you are the perfect man. And with your new ranking, you will be completely within your duties to attend to it."
"My new ranking?"
She nodded. "Yes. Congratulations, High Captain Al'Nuoth. You have been promoted. A new commission to serve as the captain of the Imperial Vessel Vengeance is being drawn up as we speak. A new admiral is en route to rejoin the Third Fleet and assume command. You will serve directly under him. Your commission will become active the moment you have concluded your investigation here."
"My investigation?"
She paused, giving him a considering look. "Seventeen days ago, Imperial standard time, Colonel Alyniam was murdered in the astrolabe. It is believed that this was the work of a single scro infiltrator. You will determine why he was murdered, exactly how, and how much sensitive information about this station and this Fleet may have fallen into the hands of the enemy."
Reanyn was thunderstruck. "You want me to investigate a murder? But why? I have no experience in such things. Surely you have men here, investigators trained for this."
She shook her head. "Colonel Alyniam was a very powerful and influential man in the Fleet hierarchy, high captain. He had many enemies and few friends. It is possible that his death was engineered by someone within Lionheart. This investigation must be done with speed and precision, and must not be tainted by any... bias that may arise from the politics involved. An outside investigator is what is needed."
"But I... I am hardly qualified."
Again she shook her head. "Officially you are eminently qualified. `Every officer holding the rank of high captain and above shall have discretion and authority to investigate accidental or purposeful deaths, or to investigate possible acts of mutiny or sabotage.' The Imperial Officer Code."
Reanyn straightened. "Ma'am, with due respect, I'm not a politician. I'm a soldier, with a war to fight. Every moment I spend aboard this station is another moment lost. This... investigation is not a thing I know how to do. You would be better served to allow me to return to my men."
Admiral Lylanna gave him a thin smile. "With due respect, high captain, I am your ranking officer. You will investigate Colonel Alyniam's death and give me a speedy and precise judgement on why he was killed. That is an order, not a request, and it is not subject to bartering."
Reanyn started to say something, then closed his mouth. "Right," he said at last. "Where do I begin?"
"That is up to you. You are officially empowered to investigate this crime. As pertains to your investigation, no superior officer may countermand your orders or deny you access to any place on the station. Not even the High Admiral himself. Do you have any questions?"
"You said the crime was committed seventeen days ago. Surely someone must have done something in that time. The body, for example, will have been moved. Is there anyone I should consult with who may have already begun this investigation?"
She nodded. "Corporal... er, I can't remember his name. The corporal who was assigned to you will be your aide. He may give you specifics, though there are several officers who examined the crime scene and interrogated the witness. Such physical evidence as there is will be in their care. Any other questions?"
He considered for a moment, then shook his head. There were questions alright, plenty of them, but now was not the time to ask.
"Then you are dismissed. And high captain—I expect a quick resolution to all of this. I cannot officially order you to conclude your investigation until you are satisfied the matter may rest. Unofficially I'll expect your full report on my desk in less than a week. Good day."
