Great power comes by controlling the information the public receives. But rarely is this for good.

- Writings of the Sol Empress, Words of Faith

[Diego]

Diego's tailored dark suit and custom leather boots seemed out of place in the cluttered dock control room. Cleared of the blue overall clad workers that normally oversaw the control panels, only Diego with two of his cohorts and one other man occupied the room. He peered out the window overlooking the dock, his hands behind his back. Welder robots created showers of sparks while workers moved about the damaged dock bay, donned in spacesuits because of the loss of atmosphere containment.

"This is disappointing, Mr. Grange." He turned, drawing his trimmed eyebrows down into a single menacing line. "Very disappointing."

Irritation tightened in his chest. Why must I deal with such incompetence?

Silver Grange gulped as he gazed up from a scuffed desk chair placed in the middle of the room. With one arm in a sling, he glanced back over the other shoulder to the mountain of a man who scowled down on him with arms crossed. "Well, you see--"

"All you had to do was delay the repairs on the Phoenix Star and wait for our arrival as we instructed. Was that so difficult, Mr. Grange? Then you would have been substantially richer and a hero as well." He sighed. "But no. Now a dangerous terrorist is still on the loose. Who knows how many more will suffer from your stupidity?"

Silver leaned forward to stand. He grimaced, tilting his injured shoulder down as the man behind him yanked him back into the chair. A nervous grin came to Silver's face. "Mr. Diego, there are some things you should know that might be useful to you."

Diego arched an eyebrow. "Oh, do tell."

"The Phoenix Star goes by the name Raven Sky now, with a new identification beacon."

"A wise move on their part. That is good to know, Mr. Grange. What can you tell me about the Captain, Elijah Lee? I believe that is name?"

Silver made an exaggerated nod. "Yes, sir. He usually goes by the name Moon. I do business with him sometimes. He is an independent hauler that specializes in custom cargos. The ship is very fast, perhaps the fastest hauler around." He lowered his voice and half-grinned. "He also hauls off-the-books, if you know what I mean."

Diego frowned. He is the kind of hauler that the Consortium wishes to end. "I see. Anything else?"

"The Priestess, Celeste Ciel... she is pregnant. Looks like she could drop a litter anytime now."

"Interesting." Diego struggled to maintain a neutral expression on his face while his insides prickled at the implications.

Does she bring a new Sol Empress? Well played, Celeste, but this is not over.

A dark-haired woman sitting at a computer terminal nodded at Diego. "We have all the footage now." She removed a memory crystal from a slot and slid it into the pocket of her black jacket.

Diego leaned down such that his face was only a breath away from Silver's. He nearly whispered. "Mr. Grange, I want you to stay here and review every bit of footage, every log, everything. If you find something useful that would tell me where they are going, perhaps you may find a measure of redemption. Do not disappoint me again. Am I clear?"

With wide eyes and paled face, Silver nodded three times in quick succession. "Yes, sir. I will find something."

Diego straightened up and grinned. "Good!" With a tilt of his head, his companions followed him to the control room door. Silver let out an audible breath as Diego turned away.

A tall sandy-haired man in a black shirt met Diego at the docking port, standing stiffly at attention beside the door. As Diego ducked his head to enter the enclosed gangway leading to his personal starship, he lifted his eyes to the man. "Is it ready, Mr. Harmon?"

The man nodded. "Yes, sir. On your command."

Returning to his office, he poured himself a drink from an old brown bottle, swirling the expensive brandy in a glass snifter to take in the aroma. He sat down and leaned back in his leather chair, propping his feet up on the polished table.

"Display on. Aft view," he commanded.

The large view-panel displayed the Oracle space station, growing smaller as the starship sped away. He pressed a button on the com box. "Mr. Harmon, trigger the device."

He shielded his eyes from the blindingly bright burst originating from the maintenance dock, the same one that had docked his starship moments ago, and days earlier the Raven Sky. The bright light quickly died away, leaving a gaping hole in the pod surrounded by swirling debris.

He smiled. Amazing the damage even a small nuclear device can do.

Diego touched the com box again. "Claire, make an appointment with the chairman. Tell them it is urgent."

*****

A painting hung in the outer lobby caught Diego's eye. He stepped back to examine it, his head at a tilt and a hand to his chin. The Chairman was an art lover and this one was, no doubt, acquired at great cost. While not so much drawn to art for art's sake, Diego valued it for the high social status that came with ownership of such a piece. Created nearly a millennium ago, the painting depicted the heroic rise of the first Empress. A statuesque woman draped in flowing white cloth stood tall, raising her hands between two warring armies. Huddled frightened children laid at her feet. A small golden plaque fixed to the frame below displayed the title: From Peace Comes Freedom.

He scoffed. Freedom only comes from power.

Everything in the lobby spoke of power and wealth: the white marble floor that glistened under the light of crystal chandeliers, the ornate carvings on the stone arches that supported a tall domed ceiling, and the row of stained-glass windows that overlooked a scenic seaside landscape.

This is what freedom looks like.

An auburn-haired woman with colorful and artistically applied makeup glided up to him. He dropped his eyes to survey her form, taking in her willowy curves and ample cleavage displayed by her form-fitting black dress.

The old man got a new receptionist. His previous one was getting old. Perhaps I should upgrade as well.

Only when she spoke did he lift his eyes back up. It didn't seem to bother her. "Mr. Diego, Chairman Locke will see you now."

His eyes took in the sway of hips as she led him to a pair of massive dark wooden doors adorned with golden accents. He took no notice of the burly bodyguard who stood to the side as the door slowly swung open on its own.

Chairman Corbin Locke positioned himself at the window that wrapped around the top of the Hoge Toren, gazing at the colorful formal garden far below. Diego stopped behind him.

"What have you done, Mr. Diego?"

"What was necessary, sir."

The Chairman turned, blazing a penetrating stare at Diego. Tall, slim, gray speckled hair, and wearing an expensive gray suit; Corbin Locke looked the part of a respected executive. He had purposefully fine-tuned the youth treatments to cultivate just the right appearance. "This is a dangerous game you play. You were too close. If the Consortium were ever to be associated with a terrorist attack, all that we sought would be lost. And both of us would be unemployed."

"Likely much worse than that, Mr. Chairman. But Celeste Ciel is being blamed for the attack. The select footage I leaked to our media outlets places her there prior to the explosion. My presence later merely labels me as a potential target. We may be able to leverage that perception." Diego suppressed a smug smile.

"We have no choice now." Locke wandered to a small nearby table with a glass top and intricately carved wooden legs. From a cut-glass decanter on top of it, he poured a measure of a caramel-colored liquor into two crystal tumblers, handing one to Diego. "Many on the Board become nervous after such horrendous acts. They prefer that we work behind the scenes, not thrust within them." He swirled the liquid in his glass and took a sip. "The final vote on our trade legislation is due soon. We are in a sensitive phase."

Diego took a sip. "With the recent terrorist attack, the public, and by extension the Parliament, would more likely favor the stronger regulations that benefit the Trade Consortium."

Locke scowled, drawing graying eyebrows together. "We already had that in hand, Mr. Diego! Your drastic action was unwarranted and dangerous!"

Power does not favor the meek!

Diego tightened one hand into a fist behind his back. An angry retort reached his tongue, but he swallowed it, washing it down with a gulp of the fine liquor. He and the Chairman had an unspoken agreement, an alliance of sorts. Each could bring down the other, but neither desired what the other had. So, they used each other to the benefit of both, and it worked.

For now...

Once the anger withered, he replied in a calm voice. "There was another development, the one which brings me here now."

Diego removed a viewer from a suit pocket and pressed a button. A shimmering holographic image appeared before him. "Celeste Ciel is pregnant."

Locke raised an eyebrow as he scanned the image of a woman. Cinnamon eyes peered out from within a blue face covering. But most telling was her extended belly. He frowned. "Does she bear the late Empress' heir? This is an unexpectedly bold move on her part. We cannot allow a new Sol Empress to emerge."

"She is a wanted criminal, there are few places that she could hide, and we know the ship she is on. Every port watches for her. We also have a general notion where she heads. We--"

Locke raised a hand to halt Diego's dialogue. "I do not wish to know the details. Use what resources you need, Mr. Diego. But more quietly this time. Do you understand?" He turned his head and said, "Open."

Diego nodded as the huge wooden door slowly swung out. "Yes, sir."

Diego stopped at the door and turned back. "I see you have a new receptionist. A pretty thing she is. Have you sampled her fruit?"

The Chairman narrowed his eyes. "You know I take from a different tree, Mr. Diego. Regardless, Greta is a superb receptionist, and her exotic fruit is for the good of the Consortium, not my personal pleasure. Several times have I utilized her allure to influence those susceptible to it. I would not take her from her duties. And you, Mr. Diego, I expect you to keep your hands off of the produce."

Diego dipped his head. "Very well, Mr. Chairman."

He took one more lustful gaze at Greta as he left.

What good are the fruits of power if you do not taste their sweetness?