> Had we known then who it was that had arrived among us, we might have acted differently. Chosen differently. I cannot say for certain if the decisions we made were truly what was in the best interest of Hellas or humanity as a whole, but I am glad we made them. I am glad we chose faith over hostility. I shudder to think what the consequences might have been, had we chosen wrong. We had received the living embodiment of Pandora’s box, and I thank all the gods that we handled it with proper care.

Arthur strode along docking umbilical with a silent assessment of the area he could see beyond. The immediate station was seemingly abandoned, with the occasional holographic infomercial decorating the plain white walls, and filling the area with the subdued sounds of consumer advertising. From perfumes and sprays to weapons, armor, and even the occasional marketing campaign for a new type of commercial starship dominated the various appeals to new arrivals.

The interior was quite conservative, and seemed entirely built purely to house passengers, crew, or other such personnel for a single ship or transport. The small white seats, cramped area, and tell-tale domes of hidden automated turrets set into the ceiling told Arthur all he needed to know.

His booted feet transitioned from plastisteel to true metal and he stepped out into the receiving area. The moment he did and his vision was no longer obscured by the narrow docking umbilical’s walls, he found a lone young woman in attendance.

She was attired in the abiding red of the ARN, had short blonde hair, brown eyes, and based on her single upward-facing chevron and lack of medals or pins, was one of the Navy’s enlisted. His eyes met hers at the same time as hers met his, and Arthur smiled while she blinked at him in momentary surprise, and then recovered.

“Welcome to Port Asfalís, sir! I am Naftis Kiara Larsen. Do you require any guidance?”

Naftis. An equivalent to an Aurelian ‘Spacer First Class’. Bottom of the ladder.

“Nice to meet you, Kiara.” Arthur said with a casual confidence that he knew instinctively would make her more comfortable. He wasn’t entirely sure what manner of knowledge fed him that awareness, but neither would he question its veracity. It felt right.

“My name’s Arthur. Arthur Magellan.” he continued with a warm smile. “It’s my first time in Graecia, and I’m trying to figure out what happens next.”

“Oh!” Kiara said while staring at him with what Arthur classified as a deer-in-headlights look. “A newcomer? That’s—that’s awesome! I mean, that’s wonderful! Ah…” she patted down her pockets, paused, and then seemed to realize what she was doing. A moment of blatant embarrassment followed, and she instead took a moment to center herself with a quick breath in and out.

“Everything okay, Kiara?” Arthur probed gently.

“I—uh—yes. Sorry, sir. I wasn’t actually paying attention to the fact anyone docked, and… I…” she trailed off at the exact moment that Arthur saw her eyes widen with realization of her admission of not paying attention, and her face turned red. “Um. I don’t know why I said that. Sorry? Wait. I—I mean—”

“Naftis.” Arthur said with confidence and an injection of authority he knew she’d respond to positively. “I just need to know what my next steps are. Perhaps you could tell me where I should go from here to find passage down to Hellas?”

The very young enlisted, which Arthur decided was the most plausible explanation for her flustered state, looked mortified when she nodded, and answered with only a mild stammer. “Y—yes sir! Um. Out? Out! Yes. That way. Uh. Customs. Customsisthatway!” she finally blurted out, while pointing to the only real door within the small boarding and disembarkation area. It lay directly opposite the one he’d stepped through from the umbilical behind him.

“Thank you, Kiara.” Arthur said with a suppressed twinge of annoyance. He didn’t blame her, necessarily, for her lack of togetherness—but there was definitely a degree of impatience for her lack of decorum that bothered him.

He had expected better from the ARN after what he’d seen in space.

Kiara, despite all convention, saluted at his thanks.

She looked frozen with shock after she did, and her eyes focused determinedly on a spot somewhere over his shoulder.

“E—enjoy your stay in Graecia, sir!”

“Thank you, Naftis.” he said with a bemused smile. “And take care of yourself.”

Arthur left before he could be engaged in further awkward discourse, and moved quickly across the boarding area to pass through the pair of blue-marked double doors, and into the Port-proper beyond.

Immediately when he did, he noticed that security in the area—which was still mostly devoid of passengers or traffic—was far more extensive.

The first indication of that was the pair of power-armored guards standing with professional vigil outside of the doors leading to the embarkation lounge of the Enterprising Fortune’s docking bay, their hands devoid of any obvious weapons.

Even a quick glance told him that they likely wouldn’t need weapons to handle him.

Arthur’s loose study on Graecia and the Ascendancy which ruled it allowed him to identify both men as members of the Vasilikós Kidemónes. In English, it quite literally meant ‘Royal Guardians’. They were identifiable not merely by the rich blue cloaks that covered their shoulders and necks and fell to trail a few inches across the ground, but by the immaculate silver paint that covered their armor.

Their kit was clearly modeled off of Ancient Greek Hoplites, though the metal was painted silver where historically it had been distinctive bronze, and where their armor might have once had necessary gaps; tightly woven nano-threaded mesh strong enough to withstand limited direct fire from most ballistic and energy-based weapons covered what might have otherwise been exposed skin.

Their helmets were made in the Corinthian style of their Hoplite forebears, with a metal ‘plume’ in place of the horsehair one they may have had in a more classical time. Where the helmets would normally have T or Y shaped gaps for the eyes, nose, and mouth; black glass occupied the space between the metal instead.

Despite the occasional mesh-covered joints foregoing armor over their elbows and knees for the sake of mobility, Arthur knew from his limited research that the mesh itself was rated for vacuum and could protect the Kidemónes from gaseous or liquid attacks as well.

Despite his fascination with the blatant throwback to Ancient Greek culture, however, Arthur also recognised something else.

They were soldiers, and he was an unknown.

As if in confirmation of that thought, both men turned to face him when he drew closer, and their hands rested on the all-too-functional sword hilts that their shift in position made visible upon their left hips.

“Welcome to Port Asfalís,” the Kidemónas on the right said in polite standard, his voice vaguely distorted by the speakers built into his hermetically-sealed helmet. “I am Endymion Chloros of the Vasilikós Kidemónes, and this is Perseus Andino of the same.” Endymion’s voice was a deep bass, and even with the distortion he managed to sound both gruff and professional all at once. That was a neat trick. “Welcome to Hellas, mister…?”

“Arthur Magellan.” Arthur said with a polite smile and nod, while extending his arm and shaking both mens’ hands companionably. “I’ve heard good things about Graecia.”

“Well met, Arthur.” Endymion rumbled cordially.

“Well met.” Perseus responded as well, his voice notably calmer in tone.

“What brings you to Port Asfalís?” Endymion continued.

“I’m looking for transport to Hellas, and couldn’t find a direct flight to the Iris.” Arthur explained with a nod back toward the umbilical. “The Naftis manning the lounge said this was the only way in.”

“That’s correct.” Endymion grunted with a nod. “Travel to and from Hellas proper is restricted to citizens with class three security passes, Ascendancy-licensed merchants, and Graecian military. All out-System traffic and visitors have to go through customs here on the orbital station.”

“Ascendancy policy is to instruct new arrivals to stay aboard their vessels until we’re ready to receive them,” Perseus continued in Endymion’s place, “which isn’t usually more than an hour or two, but we had no reason to do so given the current lack of traffic.”

He gestured to the area around them when he finished, in order to illustrate his point.

Arthur nodded in understanding, and glanced around at the largely empty station section. Even with multiple other embarkation and disembarkation lounges, no one else was present in the area. He only saw a small smattering of other Kidemónes, some civilian staff, and the occasional member of the Navy.

“Can’t say I’m surprised, given what I’ve seen coming in from Korinth.”

“No trouble, I hope?” Perseus asked carefully.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Arthur had not expected the Kidemónes, who were by all rights elite warriors, to engage a random traveler in such direct and seemingly genuine discourse—but some buried instinct whispered to him that such an interaction would be to his advantage, and so he crushed his doubts and simply embraced the opportunity to learn what he could.

“No trouble.” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “But certainly an escalated naval presence. It’s not difficult to see that things with Parthia are getting worse, even for someone from out-Cluster like me.”

Perseus nodded at his words and sighed audibly.

“The usual traffic has slowed to a crawl, and most of the merchant and trade vessels that do still come have a stake in Graecia already.” unspoken was the implication that Arthur was no merchant, and that the guardian was very much keyed into that fact. “It’s only been couriers and civilian transports that make use of Asfalís lately.”

“My understanding when I left Aurelia was that the disagreement was over hyperlanes and mineral rights, or something to that effect.” Arthur said with a helpless shrug. “I’ve come to understand how woefully misinformed that was after visiting.”

The pair of Kidemónes fell silent for a moment and turned to each other at the same time, which was followed by the occasional sound of muted clicks filtering through to Arthur’s genetically enhanced ears.

With experience and discernment telling him that they were communicating on a private channel, Arthur chose to wait patiently rather than be obtuse and interrupt them. He was a guest in Graecia, after all, and the extent of the Kidemónes benevolence was an unknown factor for him still.

Captain Larriman had been right about things being calmer when closer to the Core, though, he reflected while he waited.

The Core of the Humanosphere was controlled by the Grand Imperium, and humanity’s only true hegemony did not tolerate excessive violence within its sphere of influence—even if that sphere extended far beyond the two hundred light years it officially controlled.

Out as far the Fringe and especially the Rim however, the Humanosphere was bereft of the Grand Imperium’s unilateral enforcement of peace and almost obsessive interventionism.

Its Star Marshals and the Peacekeeper Battle Groups, whose impressive flotillas roamed in and around the few hundred light years closest to Sol, didn’t range nearly as far as even the inner-Fringe.

As a result, the multitudinous star systems of humanity often found ways to indulge in their species’ natural drive toward violence thanks to the knowledge that they were mostly safe from the Imperator’s wrath. After all, distance was a kind of shield all its own, and while the Imperator could project his Grand Imperium’s power all the way to the furthest reaches of explored space, almost nobody had ever been foolish enough to act in a way that warranted such a heavy-handed response from Terra.

Though from Arthur’s conversation with Larriman, the fear of that Censure was definitely eroding across the Rim.

Arthur’s focus returned to the moment fully when the calmer of the two—Perseus—addressed him again.

“You’re from the Fringe?” Perseus asked with what Arthur thought was wary curiosity.

“I am.” Arthur confirmed with a nod. “I’m a Freelancer looking for work, and somewhere to stay for the length of whatever contract I find.”

“A Freelancer…” Endymion muttered grimly. “That makes more sense. I suppose it stands to reason you’d come out here if you wanted to earn some drachma, given how peaceful the Fringe is.”

Arthur didn’t miss the mild disdain tied to the word ‘peaceful’, but chose to ignore it.

“The Fringe has its share of conflicts, but I find that life there can be somewhat sedentary at times.” Arthur responded carefully, and without overtly lying. “I came to the mid-Rim because I felt like it was where I had to be, and I can’t say I’ve regretted the choice yet. My limited experience with Graecia has shown me how wrong people can be about Rim nations. Your homeland is incredible.”

Both Kidemónes glanced at each other again at his words, and then turned back to him.

Perseus was once again the first to speak.

“It’s refreshing to hear that coming from a Fringer.” the more junior Kidemónas said in a markedly warmer tone. “I can imagine what is said about us out in the Rim, and I appreciate your open mind, Magellan. Plus,” he added with a small chuckle, “I can’t deny it’s mollifying to see Freelancers choosing Hellas over Xerxes.”

“Says something that even Mercenaries recognize how slimy Parthians are.” Endymion growled approvingly.

“Charlemagne has a lot of Greek and Roman influences across the Cluster, if we’re speaking in terms of the Terran cultures that preceded us.” Arthur said honestly. “Graecia just felt like the more natural fit.”

The compulsion notwithstanding, it was true. Graecia was far closer to what he was used to in Aurelia. Admittedly, there was a lot more Franco-Roman influence to Aurelia than Grecian, but the overarching aesthetic remained similar and constant enough to breed a comfortable familiarity, if nothing else.

If Arthur still felt oddly out of place in both nations, well, that was just him.

Arthur had never truly felt like he fit in on Aurelia. Graecia was likely no different.

“Do you have a sponsor here, Magellan, or is this strictly a blind disembarkation?” Perseus asked while shifting to a more relaxed and companionable stance.

“Blind.” Arthur confirmed with a wry smile, and idle demonstrative hitch of his backpack. “Just the clothes on my back, and anything I could easily carry.”

“You’re a brave man.” The Kidemónas observed thoughtfully. “Not sure I could do that.”

“That’s because you’re yet to step into a true war, Andino, despite your skill with a blade.” Endymion growled with a hint of mirth, and then turned to Arthur. “Not like this one. He’s seen that kind of death before, and plenty of it. Am I right, Magellan?”

Arthur’s expression tightened a little at the senior Kidemónas’ words, but he saw no point in deception and nodded. “I’ve seen my share of battles. Freelancing can have a lot of non-lethal contracts, but sometimes even those turn bloody whether you want them to or not. All I can say is that I’ve survived this far, so I like to believe I can hold my own.”

Endymion nodded sharply with what Arthur thought might have been approval. “That’s a veteran’s answer. No boasting, no bragging, just truth.” he reached out and clapped an armored gauntlet on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine here, Magellan.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you compliment a stranger.” Perseus said with genuine surprise. “Are you feeling well, brother?”

Endymion turned his helmet toward the younger Kidemónas and shook his head. “I’ll feel better when you aren’t pointing out idiotic details.” he growled.

Arthur did notice that the hand dropped away from his shoulder quickly, though.

The disdain and irritation for Perseus’ observation were evident—and familiarly hollow. It was the empty recrimination between friends, diametrically opposed in personality, but friends nonetheless.

Arthur couldn’t help but feel strangely envious of their clear camaraderie.

“He does enjoy trying to crush my spirit.” Perseus said while turning his helmeted head back toward Arthur. “But secretly I think he just likes me being socially functional enough for the both of us.”

“Shut up, Andino.” Endymion growled.

“No need to pretend, brother.” Perseus said mildly. “Magellan understands. Don’t you, Magellan?”

Arthur chuckled despite himself. “I get it.”

“If you’re done gossiping Andino, I think we should probably let Magellan be on his way.” Endymion grunted. “You’re after Customs, I take it?”

“I am.” Arthur confirmed with a nod to Endymion. “I assume I’ll find it eventually if I just follow the pathways here.”

“All roads lead to bureaucracy!” Perseus said with a laugh.

“Just follow the signs.” Endymion agreed. “You’ll find it easily enough.”

“Thanks.” Arthur said with a grateful smile. “I appreciate the guidance, and the chat. You two have a good, uh, day?” he glanced down at his left wrist the moment he realized he didn’t actually know what the time was.

“Day.” Endymion confirmed with a quiet snort before Arthur could open his holoscreen. “Definitely day. You sure you can find your way to customs, Magellan?”

Arthur’s smile turned wry. “I think so. I’ve just been a little distracted, I suppose.”

“Why don’t we just take you?” Perseus asked with what Arthur suspected was an impulsive thought.

“We aren’t tour guides, Andino.” Endymion grunted.

“We also aren’t doing anything here, brother.” Perseus pointed out with a sigh. “There are two Hexarons in this section alone, and we’re due to be relieved at the top of the hour anyway. Let’s just call Vicente and Morello and let them take the watch until the relief team arrives.”

“They aren’t even part of our Hexaron.” Endymion growled.

“Our Hexaron is split over three different duty stations across the entire system, brother. We aren’t exactly spoiling for options.”

Arthur remained silent as the pair conferred, and idly adjusted his backpack.

A Hexaron was the six-man squad Kidemónes operated in as standard, he recalled.

“Perhaps.” Endymion said after a moment of silence. “Check the schedule, first.”

“I did! There are no other disembarkations slated for the next few hours, and we’re superfluous here as it is.” Perseus said confidently. “Besides, Magellan’s not like the rest of the tourists that come through. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it, Tacticus! This whole meeting is like a—!”

“If you say a sign from the gods, Andino, I swear to Zeus I’ll hit you.”

The taller but more junior Kidemónas shrugged in an exaggerated manner.

“You said it, brother, not me. Besides, you’ve been more social with Magellan than you are with most of the Navy. That merits at least some investigation, right?”

Arthur felt a strange sense of deja vu at Perseus’ words, but dismissed it. He’d never even been to Graecia before that moment. Still, something about what Perseus said had felt… odd. It was as if he should understand or know what was going on, and why Endymion was more openly social with him.

A subtle wave of focus swept his concerns away, and he dismissed the thoughts immediately.

The ‘why’ of it didn’t matter.

Only answers mattered, and if the Kidemónes wanted to take a liking to him, that just helped his purpose for being there in the first place.

“The Navy are blowhards.” Endymion continued while oblivious to Arthur’s thoughts.

“And Magellan is a Freelancer.” Perseus pointed out with clear amusement. “Weren’t you ranting about mercenaries just last—”

“Fine, Andino.” Endymion cut in with a snarl. “We’ll take him to customs, but we only go as far as customs.” he continued firmly. “No further.”

“Sure.” the younger Kidemónas said with a laugh. “Whatever you say, brother.”