The corridor stretching away from the Great Hall felt less like a hallway and more like a testament to how much the Concordance could waste on stone. It was vaulted and echoing and blessedly empty. The silence here was heavy.

  It stood in stark contrast to the roar of the ceremony they had just left behind where everyone was screaming their lungs out for the various High Born Dragons. Riven Holt walked with a stiffness that had nothing to do with the fit of standard issue grey flight suit. It had everything to do with the creature padding silently beside him.

  They were moving perpendicular and away from the main staging grounds. Per tradition they should have been heading there for a graduation parade to celebrate the chosen Lancers. Not many dragons were born every year, so every bond they formed was celebrated. Lancers being a special class of citizen that received a ceremonial lance to emphasis their status, like a knight upon a horse. These who became Lancers followed their dragon to wherever they went and got incredible treatment no matter where.

  The only problem the people had with Astrix before was her walking on the ground rather than drifting But even then, a single psychic pulse, or request and most of that crowd could be banished from Terra.

  Riven was also glad to join Astrix other than just having been promoted several castes because without her his job prospects even as valedictorian would have landed him solidly in a logistics class military cruiser where he would be doing management of some kind.

  The doors below opened up and the graduates began to walk out. Riven could see the five dragons walk out with their Lancers and the crowd of people follow along behind. They formed a long line, Dorian at the front. Probably at his request, and they walked out the gates.

  As they walked through cheers rose so loud he could hear them even this far. He had seen the parade the last three years as a cadet and is was one for the ages. They would be in ships, cars, streets, and building throwing confetti and cheering on the new graduates.

  But here he was now walking through a dusty side passage. It was a staff entrance only that led to the South Tower. He had never been up here, but it was dizzyingly high. He could see over the wall to the buildings covering every inch of land in every direction. The wall were high enough so while you were inside it felt medieval, but in reality the surrounding land was filled to the brim with buildings and corporations.

  It was a sight to see. And Riven could see it all in incredible detail. Since Astrix had bonded with him, injecting a portion of her mind into his linking them for life, reality around him had shifted. If was if Riven had spent his entire life looking through a dirty window and someone had just shattered the glass.

  The dust floating through the air was clearly caught in his gaze. The parade which should have been muffled and barely audible was clearly heard by him. He could even hear some of the antigrav in the vehicles whirring in the distant city. And everything moved slower around him. Or rather it was if he was moving faster than everything else. But he wasn’t, his mind was.

  And with that hyperfunctioning mind, he noted the fifth time Astrix attention shifted. The dragon had been turning her sleek black head to look at him. Here pupil less silver eyes scanned him up and down.

  Do I smell, Riven thought. His subtlety as possibly grabbed his suit and smelled it with this enhanced nose. He has just washed it yesterday, but maybe he had sweat through it.

  You smell fine. Astrix projected directly in his skull with a cool and amused tone.

  Have she been able to hear me this whole time. Riven winced. His mind was usually bouncing around normally, now that it was amplified it only got worse.

  Yes. Astrix sounded amused. For someone who is so quiet on the outside, you are surprisingly loud on the inside.

  “Sorry.” Riven said aloud, before trying to calm his racing thoughts to a sorry.

  I know. Astrix laughed. I can hear you trying to calm down and think straight. I am more surprised on how willing you are to come with me without asking any questions.

  I am happy to go wherever you want to go. Riven carefully thought. As long as he wasn’t going to a slaughterhouse than he was fine. And honestly? I don’t care. As long as I’m a Lancer life is good.

  That is a good attitude to have. We are going to join the Inquisition.

  Riven missed a step. His boot skidded on the polished stone and the squeak echoed loudly in the hall.

  The Inquisition.

  He had a class on military tactics. He recalled, and to his surprise easier than ever before with picture perfect quality what he knew. The inquisition was a special group comprised solely of Lancers. They were dropped into active war zones against impossible odds and came out victorious. No task was too big for them, no task was too small.

  Protect the last human colony on a Planet with toxic fumes? Came back with every last man, women, and child. Go deep into Ravager lines and kill the hive mind? Hive mind is now dead alongside several of their most elite soldiers. Investigate a admiral command vessel for the murder of a noble son? Uncover a new virus that infects and controls people and destroy the virus without killing any innocents.

  They were unquestionably the best of the best. Sure Riven had graduated top of the Terran Imperial Academy. Sure the Academy was celebrated as one of the best school in the Concordant. But he was nowhere near Inquisitor level.

  You are too unconfident in yourself. Astrix projected. I saw your combat simulations, your classes, and your flight simulations. You will be fine. Ravagers at the end of the day are just bugs. And it is not like we are going straight into the depths of enemy territory.

  Yes. Riven couldn’t help but glance back at the celebration. Maybe that would be nicer. No. It wouldn’t. Without Astrix no matter his efforts he would have been behind the other newly chosen Lancers, forgotten. You are right. I’m sure they have a training regimen or something. How did you get the job?

  There was a moment of pause as they approached closer to the South Tower.

  My brother was once a part of the Inquisition. He would tell me stories of epic battles he was participated in and I wanted to join and be him as a kid. Astrix thought and Riven could feel the fondness like a tidal wave wash over him. When I applied, the Inquisition knew my name and looked at my file. They accepted me after I went through their training regimen.

  Wait you went to a training regimen? Riven projected, why didn’t he get sent to one. Maybe he would go to one on the ship. Never mind. It must be nice seeing your sibling once we join.

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  He’s dead.

  The awkwardness of the silence hung in the air, heavier than the gravity plating. Riven opened his mouth to apologize, then closed it, realizing that any words he offered would just sound like hollow platitudes. He settled for a grimace that he hoped conveyed ‘I am an idiot, please don’t eat me.’

  It is fine, Astrix projected, though her mental voice had gone quiet, retreating a bit like a turtle pulling into a shell. Let us just get on the ship.

  The massive blast doors of the South Tower groaned upward, revealing a cavernous logistical hub that smelled of metal and packing foam. It was a hive of activity, but not the human kind. Squadrons of loader-androids, their metal chassis scuffed and dented, marched in perfect unison carrying crates marked with high-explosive warnings.

  They ignored Riven and Astrix completely, their optic sensors fixed on a massive opening in the far wall.

  There was no floor beyond that opening, just the open sky and a durasteel walkway extending out over the dizzying drop of the city. Hovering at the end of the walkway, suspended by the hum of anti-grav thrusters, was the transport ship.

  It wasn't a civilian luxury liner. It was a utilitarian block of dark grey steel, scarred from atmospheric re-entry and looking like it could take a missile to the chin and keep flying.

  Standing at the base of the walkway, tapping a data pad with a rhythm that matched the humming engines, was a middle-aged gentlemen who looked entirely too cheerful for a military operation.

  He wasn't wearing the greasy jumpsuit of a ground crew tech. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored uniform of matte black and grey, the stitching a subtle, reflective gold that caught the hangar lights. A stylized eye inside a sunburst, the emblem of the Inquisition, was embroidered on his shoulder.

  He looked up as the four-ton dragon approached, and his grin widened.

  "There she is," the man called out, his voice booming over the sound of the androids' footsteps. "The heavy artillery. Astrix, you’re looking sharper than a razor wire fence. Did you buff those scales just for me?"

  Quartermaster Halloway, former Lancer Halloway and my Brother’s rider, Astrix projected, and Riven felt a ripple of genuine warmth return to the bond. I see you are still guarding the inventory like a dragon hoarding gold.

  "Someone has to keep the pilots from stealing the good whiskey," Halloway laughed, stepping forward. He glanced at Riven, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And this must be the meat shie—I mean, the Lancer."

  Riven stiffened, his hand instinctively going to a salute that felt clumsy. "Cadet Holt. Sir."

  "At ease, Cadet. You look like you’re about to snap a tendon," Halloway chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "I’m Quartermaster Halloway. I handle the stuff that goes boom and the stuff that keeps you fed. In that order of priority."

  He gestured for them to follow him onto the walkway. The wind whipped at Riven’s flight suit, the drop below terrifyingly real, but Halloway walked with the casual swagger of a man strolling through a park.

  "So," Halloway said, glancing back at Riven as they approached the shuttle’s open ramp. "Top of the class, huh? Astrix has high standards. Don't worry about the nerves, kid. The first time going anywhere ‘elite’ is always the worst. Then you realize everyone else is just making it up as they go along, too."

  "Does that include the pilots?" Riven asked, eyeing the shuttle’s thrusters warily.

  "Especially the pilots," Halloway winked. He stopped at the ramp, checking a crate an android was carrying past them. "Careful with that, you rust-bucket! That’s the good plasma coils. Drop that and I’ll turn you into a toaster."

  He turned back to Riven, his expression sobering just a fraction.

  "Listen, kid. A piece of advice before you head up to the Silent Verdict," Halloway said, leaning in slightly. "Your Squad Leader is Phillean. He’s... intense. He’s been fighting the bugs since before you were born. Don't take his attitude personally. Just do what he says, don't stare at the scar, and for the love of the Resonance, don't try to be funny. He had his sense of humor surgically removed a decade ago."

  "Understood," Riven swallowed. "Don't be funny. Don't stare."

  "You'll be fine," Halloway clapped him on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. "Astrix picked you. That means you’ve got something between your ears besides air."

  Halloway stepped back, shouting commands at a line of androids marching up the ramp with supplies. "Alright, load it up! We’re burning daylight and the orbit window is closing. Let's move, move, move!"

  Riven walked up the ramp, the metal clanging under his boots. Inside, the shuttle was stripped bare. There were no cushioned seats, just crash webbing and magnetic locking plates. He strapped himself into the bucket seat near the viewport while Astrix engaged the mag-locks on her claws, settling down like a massive, scaly cat.

  A moment later, the ramp hissed shut, sealing out the wind. The engines whined to a higher pitch with a sound Riven heard not just with his ears, but felt in his head thanks to the bond and the shuttle lurched.

  They were airborne.

  Riven pressed his face to the thick glass. Usually, seeing the capital from the air was a blur, but with the bond active, it was a tapestry of high-definition chaos. He watched the sprawling megacity shrink into a grid of circuitry. He saw the graduation parade turn into a ribbon of confetti. As they punched through the upper atmosphere and the sky turned from blue to the infinite black of the void, the traffic of the system came into view.

  It was busy. It was always busy. Massive logistical haulers, ugly and square, drifted in the orbital lanes like bloated whales. Smaller white noble ships darted around carelessly. Enormous yachts and party boats where one could disappear for the rest of their life if rich enough. Beyond them were large circular gates, near the size of the moon lay in orbit around Terra. A line of ships sat there waiting their turn to enter FTL travel.

  Instead of heading to the gates, their pilot banked hard, peeling away from the civilian lanes.

  "We aren't going to the jump gates?" Riven asked, watching the flashes of light in the distance where commercial liners were entering FTL travel.

  No, Astrix replied. She was looking out the viewport too, her silver eyes reflecting the starlight. The Inquisition does not travel through normal gates. We are rendezvousing with the Strike Cruiser Silent Verdict.

  Riven followed her gaze. At first, he didn't see it. The ship was painted in a stealth coating that drank in the starlight, making it look like a hole in the universe. But as they got closer, the bond sharpened the image, outlining the predator in the dark.

  It was a medium-sized cruiser, sleek and predatory, shaped like a dagger blade. It didn't have the bulk of a cargo hauler, but it bristled with weaponry. Riven counted four plasma batteries, a spinal railgun, and missile pods clustered like grapes along the hull. It sat alone with sphere of police ships separating it from the rest of the crowded sector. It was like a shark swimming in a pool of goldfish.

  "That," Riven swallowed, his throat dry, "is a serious amount of ordnance."

  See, the Inquisition knows what they are doing, Astrix agreed as they coasted past the police barricade. Are you looking forward to this.

  It’s a lot to take in. Riven thought looking out the window. But, I guess it is better to join the best military unit in the galaxy than waste away in obscurity.

  Astrix hummed and Riven felt a wave of happiness flood him for a second before she restrained the connection.

  The shuttle slammed into the cruiser’s hangar bay with a metallic clang that rattled Riven’s molars. The hiss of pressurization filled the cabin, and the ramp groaned open.

  Riven unbuckled, his hands shaking just a little, and stepped out into the cavernous hangar of the Silent Verdict.

  The air here smelled different. Not ozone and frankincense like the Academy. It smelled like gun oil, recycled coolant, and high-yield explosives. It smelled like war.

  Waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp was a welcoming committee that made Riven want to take back his words and check if the pilot would take a passenger of one back to Terra.

  A massive dragon sat on its haunches near a stack of munitions crates. Its scales were a deep, royal purple that seemed to shift in the hangar lights, and it was significantly larger than Astrix. It watched them with eyes that held a weary, dangerous intelligence.

  Standing next to the purple giant was a man who looked like he had been chiseled out of granite and bad memories.

  He wore matte black combat armor that looked lived-in, scuffed at the knees and elbows, with faint blue energy pulsing along the seams of the plating. A short, heavy lance was magnetized to his hip. There were no ceremonial jewels on this one, just scratched steel.

  But it was his face that froze Riven in place. Black scales crept up the man’s neck, clustering along his jawline and disappearing into his hairline. He was a Lesser Drakeon. A thick, jagged white scar bisected his face, running from his forehead, missing his right eye by a millimeter, and slashing down to his chin through his mouth.

  The man checked a holographic wrist display, then looked up. He didn't smile.

  "Sergeant First Class Phillean," the man barked, his voice sounding like gravel tumbling in a cement mixer. He took a step forward, the blue lights on his armor flaring slightly. "You’re late, Cadet. My schedule says you were supposed to be here five minutes ago."