Noel rubbed her hands over her face, trying to ignore the urge to just keep her eyes closed and go to sleep.

The street she'd finally sat down in wasn't really anything in terms of comfort -- the benches had been made deliberately uncomfortable to discourage the homeless from sleeping there -- but after the week she'd had, she was pretty sure a bed of nails would seem fairly appealing. Still, she wasn't in such friendly company that she could just doze off.

Not one, but two Special Officers -- and the person who probably would have been on her side, Reyansh, was firmly unconscious, sprawled out on the bench beside her. Marie Hazzard and Atoy Muzazi were standing a short distance away on the street corner, talking quietly.

"I can't believe I only caught up to you after everything was over," Marie sighed, waving a vague hand towards the inferno on the skyline. "And after you went and had so much fun, too."

Muzazi raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I would describe that debacle as fun. It was actually quite horrifying and terrible."

"You've got me there," Marie chuckled, as if the whole thing was really just one big joke. "By the by, I can't help but notice you don't have Dragan Hadrien with you. I was, uh, I was under the impression that getting him was the whole point of this vacation."

The swordsman's face darkened, and he looked down towards the ground. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, voice low.

He didn't want to talk about it? Well, Noel had been quiet for quite long enough. "Dragan Hadrien walked away when he wasn't looking," she snapped, voice dripping with bitter humour.

Atoy Muzazi cast an annoyed glance back at her -- clearly he'd only just remembered she was there, which probably explained how he'd let Dragan Hadrien get away, too. Marie simply put an amused hand to her mouth, suppressing a giggle.

"Oh?" she said, clearly amused. "Is that really what happened, Atoy?"

With a click of the tongue, Muzazi turned his head away. "That's… something of an oversimplification."

Marie wasn't going to let him off that easily. She circled around him, leaning forward with her arms clasped behind her back. The smuggest smile on Taldan was aimed full-blast at Atoy Muzazi. "Oh?" she said. "An oversimplification? So she's not totally wrong?"

The crossing of Muzazi's arms grew tighter. "She's not totally wrong," he muttered.

For a second, it looked like Marie would embark on an absolute voyage of mockery against her fellow Special Officer. Noel could clearly see it -- countless minutes of teasing and dreaded 'banter', with her as a captive audience. She was half-tempted just to climb back into the Dawnhouse, if that was the future before her.

Luckily, however, Marie seemed to have mercy -- breaking away from Muzazi and taking a step towards Noel instead.

"I warned you, didn't I?" she said brightly. "That you weren't cut out for this type of thing. Look how things ended up."

Noel hurriedly wiped away any remaining leakage from her eyes. "Nobody asked you," she snapped. "Besides -- if I hadn't been there, who knows how things could've turned out?"

The whole idea still seemed absurd to her -- a planet was just way too big for one person to have that much impact, wasn't it? Even a city seemed too huge for one person to decide it's fate. And yet, if Hadrien had told the truth, that was exactly what Noel had done. She'd stopped the whole thing from going up.

"True, true," Marie said, an inquisitive finger on her chin. "If you hadn't made your little contribution, we could've had a really depressing ending here. I'm sure I could've escaped in time, but you and Muzazi would have been a different story, and I would've been sad about that for a while."

Noel didn't even have the energy to put contempt on her face. "Your concern is touching," she said.

"Thank you kindly!" said Marie, before snapping her fingers in Muzazi's direction. "Hey hey, Atoy, do you have that thing I asked you about?"

Muzazi broke away from brooding mode, and handed Marie a tiny black disk, small enough to fit between two of his fingers. Marie accepted it -- and then extended it down towards Noel.

"What's this?" Noel said, accepting the delivery.

"Instructions on how to join up with the Special Officer's Commission," Marie replied, giving Noel an unwelcome pat on the head. "Where to join up, what you'll need, what'll be required of you… the Supremacy's always looking for capable people, so we're meant to hand these out when we see potential. I don't usually get the chance, so I'm pretty excited!"

Noel raised an eyebrow. "I thought I wasn't cut out for this type of thing."

"That was then, this is now."

"You said it minutes ago, though."

"So?" Marie replied. "Like I said -- that was then, this is now. My appraisal changes by the second, sweetie."

"It sounds like you're just arbitrary to me."

"Of course I am," Marie smiled sweetly. "When you're as strong as me, you can be whatever you want."

"Speaking of which," Muzazi cut in. "I believe that what we should be right now is leaving. I have no desire to spend any more time on this uncivilised planet -- or in UAP space, for that matter."

Marie seemed surprised. "Really?" she said, taking a step back to lean against the wall. "You don't want to keep going after Hadrien? I'm sure he's still somewhere around here."

Atoy Muzazi looked pensively down at the sword sheathed at his hip. He was silent for a moment before answering: "I need to think about what I need to do next -- but not here. Not so close to the source of my fury."

"I'm surprised you can be so clear-headed about it."

"Believe me," Muzazi's voice was flat with barely restrained anger. "It is taking considerable effort."

Marie patted him on the back -- which seemed just as unwelcome as the pat to the head -- before swinging around to shrug at Noel. "And there you have it, I guess -- Atoy's homesick, so we're going home. Check out the data on the disk if you're interested, or don't if you're not. I'm honestly not that invested."

Noel sighed. "Thanks for being so honest, I guess."

"Savour it," waved Marie -- she'd already turned and started walking away. "It's a once-in-a-decade thing. You're so lucky!"

Muzazi followed after her, having returned to his moody silence -- and after a few moments, they'd vanished into the darkness.

Noel sighed, stuffing the disk into her pocket and dragging Reyansh out from the bench. It was difficult to move him -- he was damn heavy -- but eventually she managed to maneuver herself into a configuration where she could lodge herself under his arm and move him along.

There was no shortage of shady doctors on Taldan -- all she really needed was to get him a place to recuperate for a little while, then she could decide what to do.

She walked through a nearby alleyway, carrying Reyansh along, as she thought things through. Strangely enough, the near darkness of the alley lended itself better for introspection than the street had. Less visual data to distract her, she supposed.

Becoming a Special Officer of the Supremacy? It was an interesting idea, if nothing else. She had nothing in terms of loyalty to the UAP, so that wasn't a concern -- and the prestige and rank that would surely come with the position weren't bad, either. If she could manage it, she'd be set for life.

But could she see herself as a Special Officer? Was the position itself appealing, not just the perks? It was easy to see now, that she'd simply swapped her father for the Citizen -- would she now be swapping the Citizen for that totalitarian government?

It was a hell of a thing to think about.

Noel let yet another sigh escape her throat. At least she could complain to the unconscious Reyansh, if nobody else.

She opened her mouth to speak: "Why can't these things just be--"

"Why can't these things just be simple, you ask?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

Noel whirled around to face the darkness at the alley's entrance, letting Reyansh fall to the floor. Her mind ran at lightning speed, analyzing the voice that had interrupted her: elderly, in their eighties or older, and male. The kind of completely benevolent voice you'd imagine coming from a kindly grandparent.

"Who's there?" she said, voice cautious, letting her cyan Aether spark around herself to show she was ready to fight.

"Oh dear," the voice said from the shadows, sounding completely genuine. "Please forgive me! It wasn't my intention at all to startle you. I'm so very sorry."

Noel narrowed her eyes. "Answer the question."

"Of course, of course, yes yes yes," the voice replied. "It's only natural when meeting a new person to exchange introductions, isn't it? And as the one approaching you, it's my job to introduce myself first, isn't it? That's only natural, isn't it? That's the way these sorts of matters are supposed to go, no matter which way you look at it. Very well, here we go!"

A head emerged from the darkness -- as if the shadows at the end of the alley were just a vertical pool. The balding, pale head of an elderly man, wrinkles compressing his face so much that he seemed to be perpetually squinting. He smiled gently.

"My name is Smith."

"And what do you want from me?" Noel did her best to keep her voice firm -- she had no drones left, and she wasn't sure how much her Aether could really defend against physically.

"Want from you? Oh, no no no," the man called Smith shook his head. "My desire in this case is to enhance, not extract. You are a bright young star who shines wonderfully even now. That is something Darkstar can't help but notice."

As Smith's head moved, Noel got an idea of the body that head was attached to. A huge, lumpy thing; for a moment Noel thought he had a hunchback, but the body configuration wasn't right for that. It was more like a pillar of misshapen flesh with a thin black cloth draped over it -- with the head sticking out from the middle of the torso.

"Answer the question," Noel demanded. "What is it you want?"

Smith sighed. "People these days have lost their great love of conversation. It saddens me sometimes, it really does, but you're absolutely right, of course. In a situation like this, one should make their intentions clear, shouldn't they? As quickly as possible. I've failed in that regard, sadly. Allow me to correct that: I couldn't help but overhear those Special Officers offering you stagnation in their ranks."

"What of it?"

Smith widened his gaze just slightly, staring at Noel with jet-black eyes like those of a shark.

"Would you be interested," he asked. "In seeing what a true revolution looks like?"

----------------------------------------

Aldan Petrio read through Brighteye Taldan through one eye, while tracking the message he was writing with the other. He was sat in a rented room on the Taldan lightpoint, his scripts spread out on the desk before him. Outside the windows, the obsidian blanket of space could be seen, with just the occasional pinprick of light to remind one that the stars existed.

This was concerning. A disaster that was supposed to have happened had not happened. He'd based himself on the Taldan system's lightpoint, ready to plan his next move once the precise nature of the calamity had become clear, but now he was finding that the news was being very insistent on contradicting that.

The death of a President and the crash of the Dawnhouse were distressing to the public, to be sure, but nothing on the level of what he'd been told to prepare for. Something had definitely gone wrong, and his client hadn't been in contact.

More likely than not he'd been cut loose, then. Concerning. If that was the case, did that mean the authorities were aware of his involvement? Would they be coming for him now? If so, the best thing to do would be to make himself scarce -- book passage on a ship going far away from here, and do his utmost to forget than anything had transpired.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

He pressed his fingers together. He'd set things up, of course, so that his operation could be dismantled with but a few phone calls. Those employees who could be trusted to keep quiet would be given generous retirement funds, and those who couldn't would be retired permanently. It wasn't the sort of decision he could go back on. He needed time to consider it.

A few seconds passed. He considered it.

Yes -- it was the best course of action. If he was overreacting, then there would be nothing stopping him setting up a new operation somewhere else. He had good relations with the Supremacy -- and there was no shortage of places just as corrupt as Taldan within their borders. He could adjust quite nicely.

There was no time to waste. Aldan stood up from his desk, scooped up his scripts, and carefully deposited them into the pockets of his coat. He'd need to find a reliable pilot to get him away from Taldan -- that would take a great deal of money in itself -- and before he did that he had to work out where exactly he wanted to go. He'd likely reach that conclusion during the conversation, but it was still another matter on his personal to-do list.

He walked to the door, half his mind already dedicated to the task of calculating likely costs of transport, opened it --

-- and came face to face with Marie Hazzard. She smiled at him.

Aldan didn't even have time to open his mouth before she swung her hand forward and -- with a burst of pain like nothing he'd ever experienced -- plunged it into his abdomen. He tried to cry out in pain, but the only things that escaped his throat were a strangled wheeze and the bitter taste of metal.

"You shouldn't have double-crossed me, Petrio," Marie said sweetly, her hand still inside him. "I know I should be used to it, but I really do take those sorts of things personally. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I didn't teach you a lesson."

Marie didn't move, but Petrio felt the pain in his stomach intensify, spreading to cover more and more of his body -- and as he looked down, he saw why.

Inside him, inside his guts, the fingers of Marie Hazzard were growing. He could see the impressions of them, bulging out of his skin, growing longer and stretching out like the branches of a tree and -- and splitting in places, one finger becoming two becoming three as they wound their way throughout his body, puncturing whatever crossed their path. Like a net spreading through him, they squeezed on his insides, popping them like balloons with sheer inhuman strength.

This wasn't Aether -- he'd seen Aether, and he knew it couldn't do this to a person. This was…

He looked up, at the crimson eyes of the woman who was doing this to him. A deep, ancestral terror welled up inside him -- and with the last effort of his life, words came to his lips.

"Gene...T-Tyrant…"

Marie's smile spread just the slightest bit. "So nice to be recognised."

She pulled her hand out of him, her fingers ripping strips of his flesh and skin free as they spooled out of the wound like spaghetti. A grotesque splash of blood coated the floor, and as Marie pushed him backwards, Aldan slipped on it, falling to the ground, staring up at his killer in muted horror.

Marie's smile spread just the slightest bit more, canines glinting in the light. In the minutes that followed, Aldan Petrio would come to learn that what he had to fear was not the authorities, not the wrath of his client, not the loss of his business. No.

What he had to fear was teeth.

----------------------------------------

All things considered, Rick Silva was having a pretty good day.

The clouds outside the Reverie were a lovely shade of red that evening, and the heat of the sun overhead was being filtered by the resort's shields to a comfortable level. The crashing of the waves, the tweeting of the imported birds… he'd been here for a month now, and the level of detail the designers had gone into still amazed him. Worth every credit.

He was lounging on a sunbed right on the edge of the Reverie's artificial beach, the tide coming in and out at regular intervals. Unlike the messy unpredictability of a real ocean, the Reverie's water feature could be relied on to behave appropriately at all times.

A bottle of wine lay unopened on the table beside Silva -- it was Adrustan Mint, imported directly from the iceball itself. Right now it was colourless and unappealing, but that would change in a few seconds time. Silva checked the altitude on his wrist-bound script, noting with satisfaction that they were about to ascend just enough to make his purchase worth it.

The Reverie was a fairly new experimental resort, created to suit the demands of top-class clientele. An artificial landscape atop a disk-shaped vessel, moving through the gorgeous clouds of the gas giant of Ulos. Like a colossal petri dish flying through the sky.

They passed the altitude mark -- and immediately, the wine in the bottle began bubbling, shifting from its original colourless appearance to a vivid shade of crimson. On its native Adrust, you'd have to climb snowy mountains to achieve that shade of red. Here in the Reverie, though, it was just a matter of sitting and waiting.

Silva poured himself a glass and took a sip. Delicious. Like the first gasp of breath after swimming underwater.

"Excuse me, uh, sir?" He wasn't alone.

Silva looked up -- a young woman had approached his sunchair, smiling sheepishly. She was wearing a swimsuit, and long blonde hair billowed around her like a curtain. Silva gave her an appreciative look-over from behind his sunglasses before replying. "Yeah?"

"You're Rick Silva, right?" she said, shuffling as she kept smiling. "From Verger Reconstruction?"

Ah. That was what this was about. "That I am," Rick grinned, lifting up his glass. "What can I do for ya?"

"I'm actually…" the woman began, before taking a deep breath and trying again. "I'm from Ursula Minor -- where the bombings were? Your company helped rebuild after the war ended. I just wanted to thank you."

Rick took a sip of his wine. "No problem at all. It's not something you have to thank me for, though -- peace is a responsibility. Something you have to work for."

The woman cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Rick put his glass down for a moment. "It's easy enough for some politician to say 'oh, the war is over, we have peace now'. All you need for something like that is a mouth and an ego, you know? Actually, actually making that fact -- rebuilding what's been lost, repairing the damage done -- that takes substance. It's the difference between lip service and being in it for the long haul."

The woman blinked, clearly surprised at the length of his reply. "Um. Yeah, of course," she said, clearly not having understood. "I'm surprised you're so young, though, to be honest."

"Young?" Rick raised an eyebrow. "Well, I have good doctors." He nodded to his hand, still curled around the wine glass.

The finest surgery money could buy had ensured Rick Silva had the face and features of a twenty-year old, but his hands were still as wrinkled and thin as his eighty years would imply. The woman tried to suppress it, but her brow clearly wrinkled in disgust at the discrepancy.

She left soon after -- the gratitude of the shallow only lasted long enough for a few thankful words and a photograph -- and as the Reverie switched over into its night-time settings, Rick got to his feet and began walking back to his cabin.

An artificial, holographic moon floated high in the sky, casting false light upon the ground as Rick strolled up to his cabin, twirling his keys around his fingers. It took him a couple of tries to get the key into the lock -- he'd been drinking for a while, after all -- but eventually he managed to get the thing in there and give it a satisfying twist.

His business investments over the last couple of weeks hadn’t quite borne fruit, but still -- life could be worse. Silva opened the door.

"Yo," said Skipper, sprawled out in the armchair in the corner of the cabin. He pointed a lazy finger towards Silva.

Silva froze, eyes wide as they stared at the pointing digit. For a moment, he considered just slamming the door shut and running for it, but he doubted that this intruder would allow that.

Frozen at the door, his mouth dry, Silva spoke: "What is it I can do for you, sir?"

Skipper grinned. "Don't act like you don't know who I am."

"Why would I know who you are? What is it you want -- money?"

Skipper sighed, rubbing his forehead with his free metal hand. "You're looking at my finger like I'm pointing a loaded gun at you, pal. You'd have already run for it if you didn't know what I was capable of. Let's stop playing these games, yeah, Sponsor of War?"

Silva glared at Skipper -- and the look on his eyes was itself confirmation. "How did you find me?"

"Took some digging through what was left of the Dawnhouse, but I'm a resourceful guy. Managed to pull your communication signature from the hologram systems, and once I passed that over to a pretty mercenary Paradisas, they were able to point me in your direction. Come in and close the door, or I'll shoot."

Slowly, careful not to startle the Aether-user, Silva entered the cabin and closed the door behind him. "You've gone to a lot of trouble, then," he said, judging the distance between himself and the vanity. On the underside of it, he knew, was a hidden button that would alert the security automatics -- and they could be there in seconds.

"I told you I'd kill you," Skipper said, still grinning -- like the visage of a skull. "D'you remember that?"

Silva smiled calmly, putting the bag containing his wine down besides him. "I do. But I don't think you'll do that."

"You don't, huh?"

"No," Silva shook his head. "I don't. It's like you said, Skipper -- you're a resourceful man. You're not the sort to waste an opportunity for momentary satisfaction."

Skipper just kept on staring, relaxed but unblinking. "You're making some assumptions about me there, pal."

"Are they wrong?"

"You've got me impressed here, though," Skipper said, suddenly leaning back in the chair. "Rick Silva, huh? It's a pretty cushy operation you've got going. You start wars with one hand, clean up after them with the other. And you reap the rewards from both. It's impressive -- awful, sure, but impressive."

Silva couldn't allow Skipper to control the pace of the conversation. He took a subtle step forward as he spoke, bringing himself closer to the vanity. "You must understand that my resources can be useful to you too, don't you? I can see you're a man of ideals. That's a splendid thing, but you need material resources to make those ideals a reality. You realize that, don't you?"

"Sure."

"It's like on Taldan, you see," Silva went on, doing his best to keep his voice level. "That Zhao, he's in charge now, and he wants to clean the planet up. You know the first thing he did? Enact a purge of all the people who'd stand against that. That's brutal, yes, brutal -- but necessary to make his dream come true."

Skipper's free hand drummed against the arm of his chair. "You going somewhere with this, or…?"

Silva leaned forward. "Weapons, ships, automatics. Name it -- and I can give it to you. I can make sure your dream comes true."

Skipper's smile turned icier, a firmness settling in his gaze. Silva's heart began beating faster -- as if realizing it didn't have many beats left.

"You think I need your help?" Skipper said quietly. "A piece of shit like you?"

"That's--"

"Lemme tell you, my bovine buddy," Skipper sighed. "I want to change the shape of this world. That's my dream. When I'm done -- and that's a when, not an if, yeah? -- there won't be room for people like you at the top anymore. If I make that dream come true with your help, I won't be changing the shape of this world, will I? I'll just be throwing a fresh coat of paint over it. Not really what I'm looking for. Sorry."

Silva took the last step he dared to, as close to the vanity as he could get without arousing suspicion. "I advise you reconsider," he beseeched Skipper. "You'll regret it otherwise -- eventually -- I can promise you that right now."

The captain sighed, and a spark of green Aether ran up his arm. "I'll regret it eventually, probably, yeah. But right now? Right now I think I can handle this with a pretty clear conscience."

For a moment, there was silence, save for the steady clicking of the antique clock in the corner. Skipper stared into Silva's eyes. Silva stared into Skipper's. Birds tweeted outside.

Moving with all the speed his old bones could manage, Rick Silva lunged for the vanity.

"Heartbeat Shotgun."

----------------------------------------

"You're sure nobody's coming after us?" Dragan called out from the ship's lounge. It was the third time that hour.

"I'm sure," Skipper replied, leaning over the steering console. "I'm a thorough guy. They won't find out what happened for a couple days -- guaranteed."

"That's actually kinda terrifying," Dragan said, still shouting. "But, uh, okay, I guess?"

They were on their way out of the Ulos system -- after their brief stop at the Reverie, it was probably a good idea to get out of there as soon as possible. They'd got the ship back, good as new -- Bruno and Serena had turned in for a sleep, while Dragan was doing whatever it was Dragan did in the lounge. Skipper was watching the stars from the cockpit, Ruth in the passenger's seat next to him. She was staring off with a strange look on her face.

Skipper turned to her. "You okay?"

"Just thinking," she muttered.

"About anything in particular?

She turned to look at him, but in her eyes he could see that she was still deep in thought. "You said that Chael was working with an illusionist, right? An Aether user?"

Ah. He'd figured this uncomfortable conversation would be coming around before too long. "Yep. He had a guy helping him maintain his cover -- stopped me from hitting him when he first revealed himself."

Finally, Ruth properly looked at him. "An illusionist for hire, using Aether? Doesn't that sound like someone we know?"

Skipper sighed. "North."

Suddenly, an accusatory gleam was in Ruth's gaze. "I saw him die. I saw what was left of him."

All Skipper could offer was a weak shrug. "I dunno what to tell ya, Ruth… when a guy can make you see whatever he wants, that doesn't mean much."

"Did you know?" Ruth growled. Her fist tightened in her lap.

As quickly as he could, Skipper shook his head. "No," he said truthfully. "I thought he was dead, same as you. I'm just… not surprised that I might have been wrong, yeah? It sounds very possible to me."

"Yeah." Her anger abated, Ruth turned her gaze away, back out the cockpit."I can believe it too."

Suddenly, her expression seemed to freeze in a moment of alarm - eyes wide, lips tight, pushing herself back in her seat as if flinching away from something.

"Skipper," she said, voice cautious.

"I get that it's a lot to take in, Ruth, yeah," Skipper said, rubbing his metal hand over his face to indulge the exhaustion. "But there's not much we can do about it right now, so--"

"Skipper."

He moved his hand away, followed her gaze out the window -- and in that moment, he imagined that his face was a good match for hers. It certainly was a sight to behold.

A colossal starship, bigger than most of the skyscrapers of Taldan, had appeared just in front of them. It was bone-white in colouration, with the black pinpricks of portholes and viewing cameras dotting it's surface.

The shape of the thing was strange -- starting off as a straight rod, before curving upwards into some kind of saucer. Skipper couldn't help but think of a giant spoon, looking at it. He wasn't sure whether the absurdity of that made things more or less anxiety-inducing.

The communicator on the console in front of them burst into life. "Starship Slipstream," a firm, stern voice intoned from the other end -- using the new name Skipper had given the yacht. "This is Unite Regent of the Unified Alliance of Planet's UniteFleet. You are hereby ordered to surrender both yourself and your vessel immediately. Failure to comply in a timely manner will result in hostilities. You have five minutes to acquiesce to this demand. Any attempt at vacating your present position will be taken as a failure to comply."

And with that lengthy spiel -- spoken with all the enthusiasm of a salesman reading a script -- the crackling of the communicator died away again.

"Well," gulped Skipper. "I've always thought not being in trouble is kinda boring, honestly."

Ruth's glare could have melted through the hull.

"You're sure nobody's coming after us?" Dragan called out. The fourth time that hour.

END OF ARC 3