Interlude:
Lord Rahan Doksu
It was called the Blood Eye.
Not officially, of course. No one would be so pretentious or stupid as to name the planet such in any official capacity. But spacers had their own shorthand for planets and well-known travel lanes.
It’s true name was Dramah. A world of dry deserts, dark red sand, and oceans that, because of that sand, were tinted red as well.
Nothing grew on the surface of Dramah beyond its bio-domes. It shifted between heat that burnt plant life during the day and froze it at night.
Water, while plentiful in the oceans, could never breach inland long enough to seed life. Water evaporated in the eighteen-hour days and fell to the earth again as shards of silver glass in the twelve-hour nights, only to melt away and begin the cycle again the following day.
One did not come to Dramah to enjoy the surface.
Minerals on this rock were its true value. Its four domed cities began as mining stations, growing more and more as greater riches were found on the planet. As the mines were exhausted, an underground network honeycombed beneath the domes.
Widening the tunnels and moving in became easy after that.
Underground, protected from the constant extremes of the surface above, plant life had begun to grow. Imported from other worlds, with nothing to stop it, subterranean greenhouses exploded, providing food and other raw resources the population could use to sustain itself without needing to rely solely on imports from off world and the charity of its neighbors.
The crystal rains were collected as they fell, processed into drinkable water.
Even animals had been brought in, insects, subterranean xeno-species.
After a hundred or so years, the deep cities were mostly self-sustaining. The only evidence of them on the surface were the domed entrances that had once been the only thing here. A squalor for miners to rest between their tours of duty before returning home to their families.
Now they were the spaceports.
The cities themselves were ever expanding. Even now, in this age, where the Shroud had cut them off from the galaxy and the demand for the planet’s riches had ebbed from a wider galaxy to a mere subsector, they still mined, still processed their minerals and jewels and riches.
Perhaps to bargain with in an eventuality they might need them. More likely because they needed the living space. Populations grew, always.
Perhaps, when they’d chewed through every last square inch of rock and planetary crust available to them and had no more room to grow and no more mines to plunder in several millennia, this place would be left destitute. Perhaps its people would migrate elsewhere.
These thoughts came to him as he waited in low orbit, peering down at the planet below.
The light of the local star reflected off the sand and waters, glimmering like a bloody ruby in the void of space, giving it its unofficial name.
Right now, they waited, hovering just above the atmosphere. It was necessary. Careful timing was needed for their descent to make certain the ship wasn’t flash frozen or its occupants boiled alive inside of its star-steel shell. Arrivals and departures had an approximate two-hour safety window. They needed to be timed precisely.
“Sir.”
He didn’t start at the voice, merely raising his eyes from the window. “Captain?”
“We’re ready to begin our descent, sir. Requesting final approval.”
“Granted. Thank you, Captain.”
“Of course, sir.”
With that, the intercom crackled off, and he both felt and saw the vessel lurching to movement.
Descending through the atmosphere, the orange heat glow of reentry became visible through the tiny window beside him, the Blood Eye growing in his sights, seemingly swallowing up the void around it until its red dust sands and its copper mountains were all that could be seen.
Once, a long time ago, he’d seen the bio-domes that now served as starports.
He’d been a child then, and the dome was a stark thing. Jutting out of the sands like the head of a nail. Metal plates and mirrors to absorb solar energy, it gleamed blinding white in the sun. A marble orb on sheets of red.
Before long, the transport was swooping downward, that lurching motion in his stomach telling him that they were now on final approach vectors.
The shift in lighting was as abrupt as it was extreme. The gloom between night and day of the world outside vanished as bright, artificial lights burned his eyes in the transition from outside the dome to its inside.
With a jerk, made softer by the kinetic dampeners, the ship was brought to a near instant stop. The limited “runway space” within the dome made itself known.
“We’re here, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain,” He answered, beginning to undo the harness and straightening his uniform. It would not do to be seen as unkept.
Standing from his seat, he marched towards the back of the vessel, away from the cockpit and descending the small set of stairs there.
As his boots clomped and rattled the metal stairs, his guard sergeant snapped to attention at the foot of the stairs and barked the command to the rest of the squad.
“Attention!”
With a crack of boots, six men, sergeant included, snapped their heels together, with a sharp snap and precise salute.
Their armor was more ceremonial than functional; their weapons, however, were not.
“Are you and your men prepared, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Rahan said as the warning lights for the opening of the off ramp began to flash. “For now, this is a diplomatic mission. Safeties on, if you please.”
The man nodded once. “Of course, sir.”
And with that, the off ramp was opened.
The ramp opened at the mouth of the ship, beneath the cockpit. It was an old design, likely made by an engineer who knew how to conserve space but not the realities of combat. Placing both the cockpit and the ship's single-entry point so close together was foolish.
But the crux of their current problems was their substandard military capabilities. So this… was a blatant, infuriating microcosm of their greater crisis put on full display.
… Irritating.
As the ramp opened, his men filed out first, and he right after them.
He didn’t find what he was expecting.
Rather than a formal procession, he was instead seen to by what must have been an assistant, or perhaps even a messenger.
Rahan Doksu did not think of himself as a vain man. But he’d been given enough… insults throughout his life to recognize one.
Especially one so blatant.
The lords’ lip curled, marching forward towards the lowly messenger. Even with his mask hiding his features the fury must’ve shown through because the smaller man dressed in soft, unfamiliar fabrics nearly quailed as the towering lord closed the distance.
The serf swallowed, opening his mouth to speak before Rahan interrupted him.
“Where is Lord Daté?”
Rahan’s pitch was low, using his abnormal height to his advantage as he glowered down at the man.
The serf was near trembling; uncomfortable and likely regretting the circumstances and life choices that had placed him here today.
“M-my lord Daté is c-currently indisposed, Minister Doks—”
“Where. Is. He?” Rahan’s voice was a glacial snarl. Emphasizing each word with a dangerous undertone that the serf did not risk pushing.
The man swallowed, his neck bobbing. “M-my lord took the flight out on a sortie. Standard maintenance flights and—”
“And they could not wait until I had arrived?” The lord interrupted with a hiss. “Take me to him if you please.”
“I w-was given st-strict commands that I was to escort you to your rooms an—”
“Forgive my misspeaking,” Rahan interrupted the quivering man again. “I said please when I meant to say; Now.”
The sergeant of Rahan’s personal guard moved somewhere his back emphasizing the implicit threat with a gauntleted hand clacking loudly over his weapon as he grasped it
The messenger paled.
It did not take very long for them to find their way towards the flight sortie’s launch bay.
By the time they had arrived, Rahan’s anger had cooled. It still smoldered, but his thoughts were pulled away from the insult; discerning instead what exactly Lord Daté was “flying.”
It was his “message.”
Because Lord Daté, of the four lords of the four planets within Isa’s immediate sphere of influence in the solar system, was the only one to have highly coveted V.A.L.I.A.N.T. combat suits.
The last remnant of Federation technology was a jealously guarded thing, hoarded by those who still had access to them.
Lord Daté was blessed with a squadron of eight.
Popular rumors suggested they were not his. That they’d been stolen; that is to say when the Shroud emerged, cutting off the greater galaxy, Hiram Daté, the head of House Daté at the time, was not so foolish as to let a full squadron of the most valuable military assets the Federation could produce slip free of his fingers the day before he might need them, before the Shroud was even fully understood.
Now Virem Daté, his son, jealousy maintained his little treasure.
V.A.L.I.A.N.T.S. was the acronym for the original prototype built centuries ago by the Federation. Variant Armor Light Assault Neuro Tech Systems.
Historically, they were made for, of all things, exploration purposes. A heavy mechanical suit that could survey and survive in all manner of atmospheres and environments encountered by prospective colony fleets.
Then someone desperate enough to use them in a boarding action in a ship-to-ship battle changed the face of void combat for good.
Almost overnight, classical warfare ideas such as battleships, fighters, bombardment vessels were considered… obsolete.
From there, surveys were the last thing Valiants were tasked with doing.
When one has a mechanical power suit that can be outfitted with various loadouts for every combat scenario imaginable—enabling a single soldier to travel between ships in the void, conduct boarding actions, dogfight against fighters, bombers, carry out precision strikes, be proven in land-based shock assaults and even amphibious raids when kitted for water, that could seamlessly transition from void to atmosphere bound combat in near all environments known within the greater galaxy—of course everything else would seem obsolete.
It wasn’t the first time military designs had “happy accidents” where things were far more effective than the original designers ever realized, Rahan knew. Ancient records and manuscripts stated the “carrier” ships, created while their ancestors were still bound to the homeworld, were just such a thing, meant to work alongside the “battleships” that the carriers would end up turning obsolete.
Valiant suits were in a similar field. Designed, upgraded, redesigned, amplified, and refitted until the original creation would be unrecognizable standing side by side with its modern progeny.
They were, by far and away, the greatest piece of military engineering the Federation had left to their now-cut-off children.
Waiting in the landing bay with his men, Rahan allowed himself time to look around.
Lord Daté wished to remind him why he was here. But the boy was foolish. Arrogant. Too prideful of his toys. Carrying that assured certainty of his own invincibility that came with youth.
He allowed this place to be open so Rahan could see just how much firepower his suits were capable of fielding. Even now, across the landing bay on cranes and specialized racks, he could see the weaponry laid out for the suits to take. Machine guns the size of forklifts, a particle cannon that could likely tear a hole through a starship, various kits for either void or atmosphere environments.
Yes, Rahan could see how much “power” was stored here.
He could also see how limited these reserves were.
The young Daté had never been in war. He’d seen battle, certainly, pirates, raiders, even a formal dispute with House Repanse years ago that ended in a minor skirmish. But war was a different beast.
One needed supplies for war. Spare gun parts, repair crews, replacement repair crews, for when the first teams needed downtime to avoid burnout; replacement motors, engine parts, ammunition, pilots for the machines.
And that was just for the suits.
Regular soldiers? Engineers? Steady finances? Food? Medicine? War Materiel?
Supports and logistics won wars; not fancy weapons.
There were too few here.
Far too few.
They were powerful weapons. And the boy thought himself invincible with them.
For a battle, or two, or perhaps even ten, he would be.
What about afterwards?
When the ammunition was spent, when the pilots were exhausted, the engineers didn’t have the repair parts needed, and the enemy was still advancing? When he found his launch bays were filled with wounded because the hospitals had no more room, or his logistical chain stretched thin, incapable of diverting all its planetary resources into maintaining these pretty toys.
What then?
Rahan allowed himself a snort.
A warning klaxon sounded, and soon the dome began to open, flashing lights shining brightly to guide the sortie team in.
The sun was nearly rising, the harsh red light filtering through the dusty sands, casting the dome’s interior in ruddy reds and oranges.
He squinted through the light, six black dots growing larger in the sky as they drew closer.
The suits were painted the colors of the Daté house. Black. The heads, shoulders, forearms, and shins were painted a deep forest green.
Valiants were humanoid in their appearance, neural uplink implants allowing pilots to directly interface with the machine; mostly. There were rudimentary controls in the cockpit, but parts of it were placed there as decoration beyond the necessary life support, eject functions, and other things not related to “piloting” the suit itself.
Humans needed to interact with the controls. Something about maintaining an awareness of their own body allowing them to more clearly differentiate when they wanted the suit to move rather than their own limbs. Psychological issues such as dysphoria became commonplace if distance was not maintained, mentally, between machine and pilot.
Daté’s suit was easy to spot, its head more finely decorated and a great “horn” atop its skull that was, truthfully, a glorified radio transmitter for more easy coordination with other squadrons if any were available.
The high-pitched whine of high-powered thruster engines set Rahan’s teeth on edge. The piercing wail of the Valiant as it halted its descent with a hollow howl of displaced air felt like it drove a spike through his skull.
The dome began to close, the other suits drifting on shrieking engines towards their respective berths.
Daté’s armor set down squarely on the landing strip, though, and even with Rahan’s prodigious height, he could barely reach the suit’s waistline. All five meters of thick, plated starship grade plate and cutting-edge technology towered over him like a black and green monolith.
The attempt at intimidation or grandstanding made him grind his teeth.
He did not come here to play, nor did he appreciate theatrics.
The chest of the suit parted. Like a flower petal peeling back, multiple layers of armor, redundancies, safeties, shielding, and void sealing tech gave way one by one, layer after layer, until the young Daté could pull himself out of the machine.
Rahan stared up at the boy as he did, standing at the edge of the embarking platform as Daté pulled free his helmet.
A young man, remarkable only in the sharpness of his features and the open disdain held there, looked down from his platform. Dark brown hair, finely cut to fit comfortably in his helmet, a clean shaven face that framed disdainful, dark eyes.
“Minister Doksu,” he said with a neutrality that bordered on thinly veiled coldness. “I instructed my servant to see you and your men to accommodations. You must be tired from your trip.”
“I did not come here for a sabbatical…” Boy was the word Rahan didn’t say.
Daté’s engineers were starting to arrive, marching forward with fresh fuel cells, pads, and notes to run their scans and diagnostic checks.
Daté stepped out of their way, fully disembarking the machine and descending on the reel line, his foot hooked onto the lower, rigid bar.
“No, you wouldn’t be, I suppose,” he finally answered, handing off his helmet to another servant, who bowed as he took it. “It seems our little corner of the four planets lies remarkably forgotten these days,” he said with a pointed bluntness. “At least until you need something.”
Rahan could not have stopped his frown even if he wanted to.
He was not a diplomat.
Lord Korhil knew this.
He did not send him here to be a diplomat. To soothe hurt feelings of a boy too prickly by half and too arrogant by even more. For a moment, he wondered if he should try. For Lord Korhil and the lady Carina.
Then he remembered that he was a poor liar as well.
“Let us talk, Lord Daté.”
The boy’s expression shifted. A smile. But one of distaste and thinly veiled hostility.
“Later, I think,” he answered. “Whereas you might be content to get down to… whatever it is you expected to find here, I wish to bathe.”
Rahan’s fingers tightened into a fist.
(X)(X)(X)
Sorry that I'm a bit late, I only just got back from a short business trip.
Either way, I hope you've all enjoyed this update any and all feedback is welcome, I'm particularly proud of the setting of this planet, it was a lot of fun dreaming it up.
Anywho, please leave a review either here of if you prefer on the discord here:
https://discord.gg/4MUTZeBEd
and I'll catch you all in the next one. :)