Moreau had settled in on the bridge, wearing the same blue-silver uniform, only freshly cleaned, over two hours before arrival; there was always a chance someone had some means of removing a ship from hyperspace prematurely, and he wanted to be up and ready, just in case. Even so, he called for re-entry to 'real' space well outside the usual Imperial 'security perimeter'... about seven light-hours. According to their files, entry outside 8 light-hours was considered safe, normal, and if you were coming in unannounced, expected; closer-in voyages were only taken by established, well-known ships in designated target points.
From outside the system Trappist looked... impressive. Dozens of starships were in the system, each of the eight planets had multiple orbiting stations, and two of the worlds appeared to be vibrant and green; while a third looked like a beautiful blue marble of endless ocean. While there might be dozens of starships; most of them seeming to be of civilian or Imperial design, though a single Jotun vessel was present; far more numerous were the tens of thousands of smaller local craft.
As Renee typed on her console with seemingly impossible speed, the screen showed thousands of icons at first; and they started to sort out.
Over nine thousand 'Small craft'; shuttle or fighter-sized vehicles, likely transporting personnel or cargo. Hundreds of larger civilian craft... and a system defense force. Not FTL-capable, but made up of hundreds of craft ranging from swarms of numerous shuttle-sized craft broadcasting a 'Avris Defense' IFF, to a handful of carriers multiple kilometers long; and, of course, various sizes of warship; unlike the Imperial vessels, varying heavily in technology. Only a few of the AD ships read as having hyperdrives; though many of them were substantial, well-armed craft.
If the Jotun had arrived here with the fleet they attacked earth with, they would have won; not easily, but they could have crushed this place.
Captain Moreau looked over the categories as the counts formed. "Threat assessment, RC?"
She studied her screen; and her implants synced up with the ship's computer. She nodded. "Minimal, sir. Our information indicates that only Imperial ships of what we would call a 'Dreadnaught' scale or bigger pose a serious threat to us, or the Emperor himself. It would take time, but the Jeanne could clean this system out using her point defense weapons since none of these are likely to harm us."
"Good. Take us in, slowly. Comms, broadcast our own transponder. What's our most likely candidate?"
Around the bridge, crewmen were carefully adjusting their controls. Most of the ship could be automated; but with AI-rending disrupters a known quantity, everything had manual controls, with varying levels of AI assistance available; and for this entry, everyone was doing it in the most basic fashion.
The transitions were a bit rough, with adjustments in tenths of a G instead of the millionths that RC could attain; but worked well enough. "Looks like... this one here, sir. This station is a major hub. Seventeen docked starships, hundreds of docked light craft; Loki's intel indicates its where outsiders come to trade. It shares an orbit with an enormous asteroid field; likely the remains of what was once a ninth planet; and seems to be a central point where at least seventeen other mining stations deliver goods. At a guess, a refinery. Likely food source as well."
"Any of them Imperial?"
"Two cruiser-class ships." An image appeared on the screen of a roughly cylindrical pale white vessel; with a pair of spirals surrounding it, attached by dozens of spokes. The scale to the side showed that it was over eight hundred meters long.
"..What are those...things.. around it? It looks almost like... a DNA strand."
"Shield generators. You're going to see a variety of designs, but any ship with some sort of shield will have these pylons sticking out. Imperial ships favor this sort of spiral shape with them all connected." She taps a few keys. Another, dull red image appeared; a roughly spherical ship, with dozens of porcupine-like spikes projecting out. "Others prefer to keep each projector isolated.. while others..." A long, sleek, vivid green ship appeared, with four flat outrigger-style projections. "Mount them in straight lines. Each has its advantages and disadvantages. All of these vessels are Imperial subjects, and, in theory, allies."
The path of the Jeanne was steadily drawing closer to the security limit of the star; soon enough, they'd be drawing a response from the locals.
***
Brshjet was a model Imperial officer. Her gleaming, golden carapace, freshly shined and studded with jewelry, served as a beacon in the center of the chamber; most of the other, silver-carapaced crew, or even worse, the diamond-tinted ones, dutifully avoided staring directly at her as she rested on her couch at the center of the command deck, as all around her dozens of the smaller, more dull, crew rushed to perform duties.
The Avris system was a dull place, fitting the people who ran it. Solidly Imperial in loyalties for tens of thousands of years, the only significance of the place was the terraforming operation; several local empires financed the corporation that ran this place, continuously terraforming and re-building these worlds to provide tribute to the Emperor. Trade ships of various races came through, carrying rare, interesting goods; but most of the time, the locals just traded boring masses of metal and ore; one of the system's worlds had been carefully cracked open long before, to provide raw materials for whatever projects would go on here.
The pathetic, orange-carapaced creatures that dwelled here were model citizens; hard-working, fast-reproducing, fast-dying. She called them the rust-shells, or the rusties, for the way their carapace vaguely resembled rusty iron; and didn't care what they called themselves. She'd been running this system for so long that none of the surviving members of the species had been alive when she arrived; and likely would still be here, on this command deck, when the current newborns died of age.
If she ran this place well until the next time the Emperor came here to feed, she could leave among his escorts, and take a 1000-year retirement back home; before, of course, taking another 1000-year shift making sure some backwater didn't collapse.
A red light suddenly blossomed on her display. One of the pale, diamond-carapaced idiots had just sent her an emergency alert. She grumbled, tapping her controls.
A form appeared immediately; three of the outer defense perimeter drones had detected an incoming ship. It had appeared well outside the security zone, then activated a transponder, before advancing. Standard procedure for any ship that wasn't pre-scheduled, but unusual. Even as she reviewed it, the diamond-level was slowly altering the alert with information.
She nodded approvingly. Competent, capable. He was looking at the data and picking out what she would most likely care about, highlighting it on top; and quickly, as well. She tacked a commendation to his file, noting that he was likely suitable for fast-paced, time-sensitive duties; as she reviewed what was known about it. Unfortunately, such duties were also far more dangerous; he would likely end up dead before he reached his first millenia.
The transponder was mostly gibberish; a string of words that actually, surprisingly, included the Imperial translation; deity is gracious female of place called Arc. The ship was small, perhaps a frigate or heavy corvette sized... but the mass readings were more appropriate for a cruiser... and the energy readings were actually greater than any single ship should possess, appearing to come from the entire ship.
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The image was... vaguely wedge-shaped, with no apparent shields; the assessment indicated that either the vessel's shield pylons were so small as to be invisible, or, more likely, it followed the fashion of the Jotun, and simply used ridiculously heavy, expensive, armor plating. After a moment, the word 'Jotun' disappeared from her display; replaced by 'Shaqtun'. She blinked, all six eyes cycling one by one; and tapped the word 'Shaqtun'.
A sub-article appeared. A notice had been sent out by a Jotun vessel that the king was dead, and his daughter, Shaqtun, had been appointed queen in his place. As such, the species now referred to itself as the Shaqtun, aside from any old-guard units that would continue on with whatever orders the old king had given; considering the size of the Jotun kingdom, it was likely that they didn't even know it yet; even possible this Queen might still consider herself a princess.
Ugh. What lunacy would drive a species to name itself after the ruler, and swap names whenever he died?
She filed the article away for later and reviewed the ship once again. It was traveling in-system, directly towards Avris station, at a fair pace; over 10% of light; estimated arrival in sixty hours; more likely eight, if they began to deccelerate.
The transponder didn't indicate a nation or even star of origin; just a corporation, name, captain name, and owner; nonsense, of course, but with a translation. The procedure here was fairly standard; but it had been over a year since the last such event. In the heart of the Empire, this happened all the time. Out here... the only neighbors were the Jotun. Well, Shaqtun. Who always announced themselves far in advance.
She tapped a few keys. "Servants. Begin acceleration. As soon as we are far enough from the station, jump to a proper hailing range of the interloper. Keep shields powered, put the others on alert, but make no hostile moves. Whoever this is is dangerous." She felt the subtle shift as the ship began to accelerate; smoothly disengaging from the station and sending hundreds of the tiny local craft scrambling to avoid being crushed.
She tapped another button. "Comm-servant. Prepare all information we have on the vessel, and send it on. This is an emergency-priority signal."
The pale diamond-hued imperial raised its claws, exposing its unadorned torso in submission. "Of course, Brshjet. May I ask why? We have not initiated conflict, they seem to be open enough."
"This is one of the borders with the forbidden zone. All activity by unknown vessels here has to be relayed up the chain immediately."
The youngling gave a bow, and returned to his console to transmit the message. She gave a low burbling sigh, water flowing down her golden form, as she placed an order with security to reprimand the youngling for questioning orders. Perhaps spending a decade or two with a missing limb would teach the child not to question his elders.
***
One moment, space was empty. The next, the ivory-toned form of a cylindrical Imperial cruiser, surrounded by its elegant spiral of shield emitters, appeared seemingly from nowhere; transmitting on a hailing frequency, broadcasting a complicated signal that, if interpreted by the right equipment, would produce a blend of camera, audio, 3-D sonar imagery, and even scent.
The holographic display on the bridge could reproduce most of that; the Jotun vessels actually had the scent component integrated as well, but as humans didn't use scent to communicate, they'd left that part out; though they could still see a chemical readout, if they wanted. On the Jeanne's end, the captain had an emitter setup on his bridge, which would show himself, the chair, and nothing else; and at a low enough resolution to be any sort of humanoid species.
The display abruptly formed in the middle of the deck; showing a golden-hued, crab-like creature, covered in gemstones and intricately carved bits of metal in a variety of forms; she had eight limbs, six of them resting on the deck, two others... ending in clusters of tentacles, rather than claws.. raised up.
"I am System Administrator Brush-Jet. You have entered the Avris system, and lack an Imperial transponder. Who are you, and what is your purpose?"
When Captain Moreau turned on his own transmitter, the crab was visibly taken aback, withdrawing a step from the screen; before leaning forward again. "This is Captain Moreau of the Jeanne D'Arc. I am here on a mission of exploration and trade. We wish to learn about the Empire, and see what we have of value to trade; and what the Empire has of value for us, as well."
The crab made an odd side-to-side gesture that the system notified was Imperial body-language equivalent of a nod. "We are always interested in expanding the Empire, and acquiring new partners. I can see that your vessel is enchanted; magic use is fairly uncommon within our borders. Are you here to sell magical devices?"
"Possibly in the future. We determined from examination of Jotun wreckage that the best trade currency would be neutronium, so we brought some."
Brshjet start at the hologram for a moment, checking her translator software; the version the unknown vessel had was old, but functional. Neutronium was the single most valuable raw material in the galaxy. An orb the size of one of her eyes would outmass a fleet, and be worth the price of a dozen fleets, a hundred. If these people had a way to reliably gather or manufacture it... "We would be glad to trade with you, Captain Moreau. We will escort you to the central trade hub. I am certain we have much that you would consider of value."
***
Almasi leaned back on his throne, stretching out and admiring the view through his windows. The Dreadnaught was still on her slow, steady patrol of the African coast, his armies were rebuilding, training, and with each passing day the Diamond Kingdom grew in prosperity. As much as he appreciated the help that the Iron Emperor had given to his people, it was nice to have reached a point in history where Africa was speaking to the rest of the world as an equal partner, rather than being exploited; though sometimes he needed to make a point of buzzing the newer, smaller, Chinese fleet with the Dreadnaught to make it clear who the real power was in the region now.
He looked around at the throne-room; two of his wives; both, thankfully, pregnant; were currently relaxing on the chairs beside his throne in elegant golden robes, adorned with a string of diamonds and emeralds; their own dark skin a strange contrast to the brilliant blue his own bore at present; simply thanks to the blue diamond he was using at present. If he wanted more wives, he would have then. If he wanted to conquer the world, he could. But.
The Iron Emperor had taught him an important lesson; the easiest way to conquer would be to leave existing structures in place as much as possible; and offer existing rulers a place of power in the new regime. Which... in large part, was the point behind this audience.
Two of his guards were watching from the door as the man entered; a sweaty, clearly troubled arabic man in a long, flowing white robe... rolling a cart which he seemed to be struggling with. Whatever the massive crate contained, it was supposed to be an offering, from some 'Aziz' character, supposedly something Almasi would find of great value. It was also insanely heavy; the arabic man pushing it was well over seven feet tall, obviously a metahuman of considerable strength; and struggled to move it up the ramp. If there had been stairs, likely he would have been stuck.
After the ridiculously long process drew to a close, and the exhausted metahuman dropped to his knees before the throne, he spoke. "King Almasi. My lord, Aziz, wishes to invite you to a conference regarding joining our forces together. Where the Emperor of Iron once threatened the world, and the Diamond King now rules Africa, he would like to propose himself as the King of Persia; and yourself as the Emperor of Neutronium."
Almasi blinked. He'd been seeking even the slightest sliver of the material for years; he could transform his body into any material he touched; he always kept diamond piercings in his body, he'd used depleted uranium before for its own properties, and kept a single slug of it on him so he could do so again in the future. But Neutronium... He rose to his feet, stomping towards the chest; and flipped it over.
Inside, a tiny, insignificant chunk of glowing black material was resting atop a heavily dented metal plate; with grooves carved into it from the piece sliding on it in transit. He looked at the metahuman. "Tell your master that he has his alliance. When the Neutronium Empire is born, he and his people will consider themselves under my protection."
He smiled; and reached down; gently touching the tiny black orb. The more dense the metal he touched, the stronger he became; he'd likely need to become neutronium himself to even lift it.
There was a sudden groan. The floor creaked. One moment, Almasi was standing there, reaching into the crate. The next; there was a hole in the ground; a crack in the stone, and a seemingly bottomless hole going straight downward; which was being closed up even as Almasi's wives, bodyguards, and even the metahuman in his white robe, all staring down the hole in horror.