Striders. On average slightly over 14 kilometers tall, so they're basically moving stratoscrapers. Though they were originally something more akin to moving fortresses. There are a few ways we know this to be true. First, no two Striders have the same internal layout, but if you look closely enough, every single one has weapon mounts and autoloaders built into the walls. The neural core has defunct subroutines for rangefinding and target identification. Plus, as far as we can tell, the things are quite literally indestructible. Multiple feet of beta-polymer, in some cases, on top of heavy shielding and warding.

Regardless, they're demilitarized now. 29,224 Striders exist, to our knowledge, and not one has any vestige of their violent past. No guns, no automated internal security, nothing. The neural cores have been aggressively modified to be extreme pacifists and will immediately overload any weapons that we try to graft on.

Ironically, this has led to the majority of the Strider's volume no longer serving any real purpose. Most of the rooms were empty, actually, but we've put them to good use. Plenty of storage for years-long deployments, and every crewmember on a Strider gets the equivalent of a penthouse en suite. Most bring their families. One Strider was converted into a cruise ship-esque resort, complete with a 15-story diving pool and hiking trails built inside nine unique artificial ecosystems.

Shields stuck around, as did the armor. Too much of a hassle to get rid of, I guess. But it makes them perfect for peacekeeping... no offense, all defense. Except, of course, when you fill the cargo bays with Ministry Defense Forces and Sentinels.

<>-----<>-----<>-----<>-----<>

Kathaleen had never seen a Strider up close before.

Sure, they were around in her hometown. But always far off, like a skyscraper in a faraway cityscape. A relic, a titan of another age, looming over her and her people but never close enough to get a sense of the true scale. She had read stories of primitive humans worshipping them as gods, and seeing them up close now, she understood why.

It was ludicrously massive. Almost... almost too massive. Like Kathaleen didn't quite believe her eyes. It didn't even need to enter hover mode to dock with Pavillion - it just crawled up on a thousand legs like a 15-kilometer-tall millipede. A docking ramp flipped down and out sauntered her superior, Lieutenant-Magistrate Martin, grinning stupidly at her gaping jaw.

"First time?" he said flippantly.

Kathaleen gathered herself and clamped her mouth shut. "Don't be cheeky," she replied, beaming at the sight of her old friend. "I got to fly here."

"I got to teleport. Try again."

"Shut up. Not all of us get to be special."

The two embraced warmly. "I only have a few hours," Martin said. "Already breaking protocol by doing this."

"Sorry," Kathaleen said sheepishly. "I just wasn't sure what I was getting myself into here."

"Don't mention it. Besides, I might be able to do some good here."

"Who'd you leave behind?"

"Ah, a few dozen rangers. Plus, the Sentinels."

"Is that going to be enough?"

"Sure. Neither wants to piss me off and, by extension, the Ministry."

Rounding a corner out of the dockyards, Martin and Kathaleen passed beneath a grandiose arch into a shallow recessed courtyard bustling with tourists—a smattering of planters cut through the pastel white and with sharp blues and greens. 

"How's the situation?" Kathaleen asked. "With the bombing, I mean."

Martin grimaced. "Not great. Blasted Imperials sent a cruiser over, and now the Larian Navy is going nuts trying to get assets in the area. They've both got battleships in skip range, but it seems that would be an escalation neither of them wants."

"Laria didn't have ships prepositioned on the border?" 

"Well, no. Kathrynne - Alexandra's late mother - pulled a bunch of ships off the line late in her rule. Didn't want to seem too provocative. They'd been at peace a long while, you know."

"Yeah, 'cause the Ministry forced them to. Like two kids getting told off by their parents," Kathaleen remarked, to which Martin chuckled. "Surely they have something they could send over."

"They did send something. A small little thing. Missile boat, or a destroyer, maybe. Something like that."

"It's enough. Laria's navy is old, but they've always punched well over their weight."

"That's what worries me. The Empire knows that, too. So they might see it as an escalation." 

Kathaleen snorted derisively. "That would be absurd!" 

"Of course, it would be. But you can imagine it, can't you?"

The Empire had a long history of paranoia. One just had to take a glance at their social structure. "Yes," Kathaleen said, sighing. "I can."

The two reached the Voidspike, a series of large elevators that provided passage to the Upper Terraces. Martin paid the liftman before saying: "Did you know that the Empire has some of the highest tax brackets on Firewatch?"

"No, I didn't. Doesn't surprise me, though, with how much they spend on their military."

"The Larians spend a lot, too."

Kathaleen glanced over. "Unless something's changed."

"And their taxes are virtually non-existent."

Kathaleen looked over again. "Yeah. What's your point?"

"Never struck you as odd how they fund it? The navy, I mean."

After a moment's hesitation, Kathaleen said: "I just assumed they got it from other sectors. Industry and tourism. Laria is the hottest spot in the Ringreefs right now."

Now Martin paused. "You're probably right," he eventually said.

"Where else could it be coming from?"

"Well, they get a lot of money from the Ministry. For running the reality anchors,"

"You think-"

"Voidborne satellites,"

"You-"

"And other things."

"...you think they're skimming?" Kathaleen said, holding in laughter.

"I don't know."

"That would be a major offense. Enough to get their independent status revoked. You think they would take that risk?"

"As I said, I don't know. I don't put it past Queen Alexandra, though."

"Really?" Kathaleen said with a start. "I thought she was popular?"

"Yeah, with the commoners. And now her court. But the Minor Houses hate her, and she wants to win them over. So what better way than to stick it to the Ministry?"

Kathaleen pursed her lips. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. We don't want to piss off Laria. They're our biggest strategic partner in the Ringreefs Besides, it's not like I have any evidence."

<>-----<>-----<>-----<>-----<>

Doctor Wyatt cordially invited Kathaleen to attend a high-end dining experience in one of the Upper Terraces at the Sky-Scraper restaurant. It was a five-course supper with some of the most exotic dishes Kathaleen had ever seen, complete with edible gold leaf.

Even before she had reached the restaurant, the sheer grandeur of the Upper Terraces was jaw-dropping, if not a little sickening. They made the dockyards look like slums. Opulence was the norm, and there was not an iota of trash to be seen. A lavish yet oddly artificial garden and waterfall feature was the main attraction, crisscrossed with walking paths and dotted with a few small smart homes that could be rented for a decent approximation of camping. 

"Thoughts?"

Kathaleen glanced sidelong at Martin. "On what?"

"This whole... thing. Pavillion."

"I'm the last person you should be asking, Mars, and you know it."

"Why?" Martin asked, grinning. "Just because you grew up in the Median doesn't mean you shouldn't have an opinion."

Kathaleen stared at her friend briefly before chuckling and shaking her head. "Well, it seems a little much, I suppose. I don't know. I've never seen this much wealth before in my life."

"Overwhelming, is it?"

Kathaleen looked around before replying: "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Doctor Wyatt greeted them in the foyer. He kept up appearances despite his age. He was well dressed and extended a hand with a warm smile, but his wrinkly yellow skin betrayed his actual condition. A sickness that afflicted clones alone. Two bionic eyes, though well-made, were distinctly inhuman.

Yet despite his conspicuous condition, Kathaleen couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy. Here was a man who, after a thousand years, knew his time was finally up. And he had made his peace with that a long time ago. He was proud of his service and knew he had lived a life - or, in his case, several lives - worth remembering. Undoubtedly, his name would be found in textbooks for many generations. Most people didn't get that.

"Mrs. Balliol," he said, shaking her hand eagerly. "Welcome to Pavillion. I trust your flight was comfortable?"

She returned his smile. Kathaleen had seen enough people faking - and had faked herself enough - to know it was genuine. "It was. And thank you again for inviting me here. It's been on my bucket list for a few years. It really is beautiful."

"It's on quite a few, I'm sure," Doctor Wyatt commented, his eyes twinkling as he turned to greet Martin. "Lieutenant-Magistrate." His face hardened - a minute change, but noticeable. "I wasn't aware you would be joining us this evening."

"I wasn't planning to, Doctor," Martin replied. "But, given the circumstances, I felt it prudent."

"Yes, yes. I was hoping to speak with you soon, anyway. I hope the port security didn't give you too much trouble."

Martin waved the concern aside. "No, they were very amicable. However, I do feel bad meeting you all the way up here. We could easily have met face-to-face at your office."

"Please. I insisted. Besides, I was looking for an excuse to get out of doing paperwork."

The party found a corner booth tucked away, overlooking the Framingsea Archipelago. Several small flotillas of Larian ships drifted above the island chain, burning for the mainland. 

A waitress came over in short order, and the three ordered drinks. "What do you recommend?" Martin asked. The waitress rattled off a lengthy list. 

After the drinks had arrived, Kathaleen excused herself to use the restroom, offering Martin a window to speak with Doctor Wyatt alone. "You are aware of the developments?" Martin asked, sipping his cocktail. 

"The warships, yes. It is worrying." 

"How does the Empire plan to respond?"

"My Council is split. Some want to escalate further. The Navy has been pushing to deploy capitals, and my leash is already short in that regard."

"Battleships?"

Wyatt tasted his beverage and patted his lips dry before replying: "Yes. Unfortunately so."

"Well, as of today, there are no Imperial battleships on station at the border. Evidently, you still have a bit of slack."

Doctor Wyatt leaned back in his seat. "I do. I have been resisting escalation, and my time served has earned me significant leeway. But now, I am not so sure. They could overrule me even if I had the inclination to continue playing devil's advocate."

"It's only a destroyer," Martin ventured. "Capitals are surely overkill."

"Don't play coy with me, Magistrate. The Empire knows full well the capabilities of the Larian navy. That destroyer is a threat." 

Mentally, Martin shrugged. It was worth a shot. "I understand the situation is precarious, Doctor, but there must be another way out of this."

"I have tried to find one, believe me. But three Imperial citizens died on that transport. The people - my people - they want justice, one way or another." 

"You really think another war in the Ringreefs is going to bring them justice?" 

"That remains to be seen," Doctor Wyatt said as Kathaleen returned and took her seat. 

Martin gave a tight smile. "Well, you two surely have much to discuss, and I really must be going." He rose from his seat. "I'm sure we will be seeing each other soon, Doctor."

 "I'm sure we will."