“The Coalition is a collection of short-sighted fools. Their minds never stray from their quarterly profits, their hands incapable of holding more than their wallets. I would sooner embrace the Formicans than try to convince the Coalition of the dangers inherent to the fabric of our galaxy. It would be easier to teach physics to a donkey.”

Dominus Valerius Artifex Primus

19 Novem, Annum 2870 EIA

Lady Elinor North, House Montclair

Rings of Nulma, Dotalian Sovereignty

Elinor was not a patient woman. She was a woman of action, a woman who got things done. It was Elinor who convinced her parents to hire elite commandos to train the family dragoons. It was Elinor who brought in customers to hire the North Dragoons out for profit and further experience. It was Elinor that convinced her father to invest in exploration to expand the family’s slowly failing mining operations.

But now all Elinor could do was wait. She paced the floor of the opulent room, in the equally opulent space station. This space station was the private domain of the House Montclair, of which the North family was a cadet branch. A very minor cadet branch. Elinor’s great-grandfather was the youngest son by the third wife of Archduke Edmund Montclair. His offspring remained loyal to the House, even when the politics of the House favored other branches of the family. The Norths paid their dues, generation after generation, dutifully accepting their minority status and chipping into the House as it grew wealthier, more influential, and more entitled, while the North cadet branch was pushed further and further away.

Elinor forced herself to sit down on one of the soft, white couches in the room. That lasted all of sixty seconds before she was on her feet again, staring at the paintings on the wall but not seeing them as she walked by. The space station she was in was massive, home to much of the Montclair family, their servitors, and their servitors’ families. The space station orbited the planet Nulma, in the planet’s rings. It had been built using ore from the North mining operations, factories owned by the Montclairs, and constructed using labor paid for by Lady Ursula Montclair herself. The House’s wealth furnished it and their personal armsmen and fleet protected it, for it was the hub for it was the hub of the Montclair’s interstellar trading.

The Dotalia System was lucky. It was far enough from the Solarian Federation of Republics to avoid corpist influence, close enough to Regnum Tertius space to benefit from trade, and had been developed enough to come out of the Long Fall without reverting to pre-space levels of technology. The Royal House of Newgate had pulled together after the disastrous Formic Wars and pulled both planets in the system together, and the other Noble Houses had helped expand until the Dotalian Sovereignty controlled two dozen star systems.

The door to the room burst open, and a tall, pale-skinned woman with bright blue hair walked in. Lady Dorcas Wynter, Elinor’s best friend, bustled over. Dorcas was bubbly and friendly on most days, and balanced out Elinor’s endless drive nicely. But today, that bubbly personality was noticeably subdued.

“The messenger arrived,” she said, holding out a flimsy plastic sheet of vellum.

Elinor strode over in long, swift strides. She held out her hands, the golden-bronze of her skin marking her as having supran ancestors and as high nobility, despite her low status in her own House. Her own blue hair, of course, was a reminder that she had human blood as well, like most Dotalians.

With shaky hands, Elinor read through the report that Dorcas had brought her. She sank slowly to the nearest couch, one hand going up to cover her mouth. Her eyes blurred. It took a moment for her to realize that she was crying. It was only the feel of Dorcas’ arm around her shoulder and the comforting words that she couldn’t comprehend that made her realize it.

“Oh, Universe be damned,” Elinor finally said.

Dorcas removed her arm and sat back, her arms in her lap, as she lapsed back into proper behavior. Casual physical contact was not proper noble behavior, no matter the reason.

“I’ll help arrange the memorial service,” said Dorcas finally.

“How could this happen? Their ship was inspected before they left. Oh, what will I tell Rafe and Miles? They will be crushed.”

“Tell them the truth. Tell them that your parents died when their cutter exploded,” said Dorcas. “We don’t know anything else.”

“Yet,” said Elinor firmly. “Please inform Mister Mason that a thorough investigation is his top priority.”

“You want Mason on this?” asked Dorcas doubtfully. “Surely he…”

“As head of the family fleets, this is his failure, if it such. He will want to have an answer as much as anyone.”

“How quickly do you want the memorial?” asked Dorcas.

“Tomorrow, if you please. I want to be off this station as soon as possible.”

“Heading to Emanyo?”

“You saw the survey results. We need to properly claim the system before a claim jumper can find it. The survey may be private, but destinations are logged with the Sovereignty Defenses. The manifold waypoint won’t remain a secret for long, especially once money starts changing hands,” said Elinor, pushing her sorrow into a tight ball. She could cry later. The North clan needed a win, or be pushed out of the House altogether. Too much was riding on her.

The memorial was a badly scripted joke. Rafe North had made it, but Miles was in training with the North Dragoons. It was impossible for him to make it up from the remote region of Nulma that was the North Estates in time. Elinor considered having the memorial there, where the family’s true friends and few allies could attend, but that would have been the weak move.

She needed to establish herself as the head of her branch of the family. Elinor needed to project strength and continuity, to head off any of the wolves in House clothing from trying to steal away assets as if the rest of the North family didn’t exist. She couldn’t do that if she hosted the memorial at the estates. Instead, she donned her most elaborate doublet and trousers with imported cavalier boots. She topped it off with an atifet in her hair, black to show her mourning. Appearances had to be maintained.

When the memorial started, Montclair cousins started trickling in. Elinor stood with her younger brother, Rafe, politely accepting the fake condolences of the spoiled scions as they arrived. Elinor had a shockingly low opinion of the competence of most of the House Montclair family members. Much of the power, wealth and influence the House enjoyed came from a very small number of people. None of those people showed up.

When the appropriate time came, Elinor sat with Rafe and Dorcas in the front row, while a Universalist Speaker went to the podium. Elinor was technically a Universalist, as was most of the House Montclair, but she wasn’t a big believer. She put faith in herself. She didn’t need the Universe acting on her behalf. But it wasn’t relevant anyway. Her parents were strong believers, and the Speaker’s presence was appropriate.

After the Speaker finished the eulogy, Elinor began her rounds. To her great surprise, she spotted Lady Ursula at the back of the room. She was rumored to be over a century old, tall and regal with bone-white hair perfectly done up in a curvy style that was cut off at the shoulders. As opposed to the modern style of doublets and boots, Lady Ursula wore perfectly cut dresses that were beautifully crafted and utterly inappropriate for space. If the gravity should fail, her clothing would hinder any attempt to move or maintain dignity. Wearing such a dress made much more of a statement than any new fashion could, in Elinor’s opinion.

As the head of House Montclair, Lady Ursula wielded incredible power and influence, both within the House and throughout the Sovereignty. Her political battles were done at the King’s Court and in deals spanning star systems. To make an appearance at such a minor event was surprising. But Elinor wasn’t about to let such an opportunity pass her by. Elinor moved straight over to her, having to excuse herself several times, and even pretend not to hear someone greet her once.

“Archduchess Montclair, it is a great honor to see you once again,” said Lady Elinor as she curtsied deeply before Lady Ursula. Ursula nodded graciously.

“I’m deeply saddened to hear of the loss of Baron and Baroness North,” said the lady. Her tone was sorrowful and her words almost lyrical. If Elinor hadn’t known better, she’d have thought that she did actually care. From the corner of her eye, Elinor could see that the entire room was waiting and listening to this conversation.

“Thank you for your kind words,” replied Elinor, her own tone revealing nothing but her sincere gratitude. “Your support in such a time has meant the world to me and my brothers.”

Elinor’s choice of words was bold, and potentially dangerous. They could be interpreted as either supporting the North family in a passive way, such as attending a memorial, or as a more substantive support. Her implication in the statement risked alienating the head of the House.

Lady Ursula, much to Elinor’s relief, seemed almost bemused. Her eyes twinkled slightly, but her face remained distantly concerned. “Of course, Lady Elinor. After all, who wouldn’t wish for support in times such as this?”

Elinor could have jumped for joy. It wasn’t a direct endorsement or statement of support. In fact, it was every bit as ambiguous as her own statement. But Lady Ursula hadn’t outright rejected or repudiated her. She could use the vague implications that everyone overheard to undermine any argument that the North family assets should be absorbed into the House proper.

After making the appropriate noises of gratitude and farewell to Lady Ursula, the quiet conversations in the room continued, and Elinor moved from person to person. She deftly avoided promises to cousins, confirmed her own place as head of the cadet branch, and worked her way around the room.

Someone she did not recognize, a young man wearing fine clothes that were ill-tailored, stopped her as she was moving to find her brother. Elinor realized his clothes fit fine, he was just so awkward in the finery that he looked about to squirm right out of them.

“Lady Elinor, many apologies for the loss of your parents,” said the young man. “I am Leonard Vinter, of Vinter Family Trading.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vinter. I must apologize, but I must say I do not know of your family or its business interests,” lied Elinor smoothly. The Vinter Family was a ruthless, grasping middle class family that had made no secret of its noble ambitions.

Leonard’s face flushed slightly, either in anger or embarrassment, Elinor couldn’t quite tell which. “We are interstellar shipping magnates, and carry all manner of goods.”

“Hmm, stevedores. I hope business goes well for you,” needled Elinor. She had little time for pushy social climbers who snuck into memorials for business. It was tactless and crude. She started to move away.

“I was hoping to make you an offer,” he said, jumping forward awkwardly to stay next to her as she walked. “For the manifold waypoint data.”

Elinor’s blood froze as she heard him, but her face revealed nothing. She did not even break stride. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do, I know you do. Your exploration team came back just a week ago. We’d like to buy their survey data and the manifold waypoint coordinates,” said Leonard. “We’re prepared to pay quite handsomely.”

Leonard stuck a scrap of vellum forward, and the number Elinor saw scribbled there was very large. She almost laughed out loud. If she had been one of her spoiled Montclair cousins, she would have snapped up that figure in a heartbeat. It would be easy money for no effort. But she knew for a fact that this was not even the barest sliver of the value of a star system.

“Mr. Vinter, I find your insistence on trying to do business at a memorial service to be ill-timed and of low character. Please leave me to mourn the passing of my parents in peace,” said Elinor, her words pitched just loud enough to elicit gasps from the so-called mourners around her, but not loud enough to be considered rude.

Leonard’s face flushed, this time definitely in anger. He hissed at her, “Be careful, Lady Elinor. It would be a terrible shame if an accident befell you, too.”

With an abrupt about face, Leonard Vinter stormed out of the memorial. Elinor turned and spotted Rafe. A subtle hand signal brought him over. She leaned in and whispered to him, “Find out everything you can about the Vinter Family, and see if there are ties to our parents. We have an enemy already, it seems.”

Rafe leaned back and lifted a glass of water to his lips, speaking into the cup to hide his lip movements. “I’ll start right away. Courier the information to you where?”

“You know where. I leave tonight,” she mumbled softly, her lips barely moving.

Elinor turned away and came almost face to face with Lady Ursula. She bowed and stepped to the side so that the matriarch could walk past. She wondered how much of that the old woman had heard, and for what inscrutable reason she would even be at this memorial.

It didn’t matter. As soon as this was over, she would have strengthened her position enough to leave for the Emanyo. She had a star system to claim.