“With statistics and commonly-available data, we can make these determinations about the grand sweeps of history. There is no doubt about it, gentlemen: our research shows that, if kept to the same course, the Empire will fall within the next three hundred years.” The lights came up on the middle-aged academic, short, balding. His face wore the smug confidence of the seasoned lecturer. “Any questions?” he asked. He looked out upon his audience expectantly.

Kolteo had much to think about in the sky-car on the way to the spaceport. Romik and Frens sat in front while Traffic Control automatically guided the sky-car through the crowded skies of Siben. Kolteo looked out on the never-ending skyline. The city stretched far beyond the horizon, wrapping around the entire world of Siben, the capital world of the Galactic Empire, thronging with its trillions of citizens. Above, beyond the pale sky, millions of worlds hosted quadrillions of citizens.

Kolteo spent the rest of that long afternoon in his office in closed conference with Marrem and Romik going once more over all the reports and sightings of Julin over the past ten years. Julin had been a busy man, traveling far and wide across the Periphery, but Imperial regulations were laxly and inconsistently enforced in the outer reaches of the spiral arms. They had a rough timeline of Julin’s travels, albeit with many gaps.

He woke early the next morning. The bedroom door was still shut. He started to write a note to Sari but found he had nothing he could say. He crumpled the paper in his hand and left quietly. He would make this up to her. Their comfortable life together hung by a thread. He would protect her, no matter what. The night’s rest had clarified the larger situation in his mind.

Julin stumbled, just catching himself on the tunnel wall. He knelt, rolled up his torn pant-leg, and cinched the binding tighter around his calf. Sweat streamed down his forehead, and he grimaced. He’d gotten off lucky: the bullet, a stray ricochet, had gone clean through the calf muscle. The bleeding had stopped scant hours ago, but the wound burned with every step. He stood shakily to his feet. He had to stoop slightly under the low ceiling.

A slight scuff out of time with his own footsteps alerted Julin. He whirled, throwing his pack down and drawing his pistol in a two-handed grip, his left hand clamping the light against the barrel. He caught a flash of gray robes, then he found his arm thrust up, his legs swept out from under him, and he was lying on the hard ground staring up at the roof of the tunnel with a knife blade at his throat.

Vhen leaped to the front seats, leaving Julin in the back. Julin turned to peer back through the rear window of the sky-car. His mind didn’t really register what his eyes saw. His father had suspected the plot against him? Was it possible? Why had he gone along with it then? Julin had reviewed hours and hours of logs on his father’s command ship. Nothing he had seen or heard had given any indication that his father suspected anything.

“When the time comes, do exactly as I say,” Vhen had said. Julin’s heart pounded. He had never felt so tense as he and Vhen stepped off the lift into Altolcz’s offices high on the upper floors of the building. He’d done a lot of stupid things in his life. Walking open-eyed into an Imperial trap had to be the stupidest. A secretary looked up from her desk, smiled at Vhen, and went back to her work.

As the sky-barge left its eyrie perch high above the city, bathed in the red-golden light of sunset, all the high-caste party-goers cheered. All but one. And as the sky-barge settled in the River Turga, sheltered from the drizzling rain by force shields, the band started up and all the most important people of this most important city on the most important planet in the Empire, Siben, all of them began to dance beneath the lights of the city.

The next morning, after breakfast, Sari saw Kolteo out the door with a forced smile and a kiss. “Good-bye, darling.” He paused and looked at her curiously. “Sari, about the other night…” Her smile evaporated. She shook her head sharply. “You need to go.” He drew back, stung. When she said nothing more, he turned and went. When the door had shut, she turned back to face the luxurious, quiet, empty penthouse apartment.

As the two women walked to the sky-car perch, Sari’s mind raced. Everything moved too quickly, and she had to pace herself not to walk ahead of Ciah. She needed a plan to ditch her friend somehow. She silently thanked God that she had packed her purse ahead of time. Her thoughts began to coalesce. Yes, that would work. As they climbed into the waiting sky-car, she chanced to look up and saw an armsman climbing into another sky-car just a few perches down.

Sari sized up the situation. The two Enforcers weren’t controlling access to the diner, just keeping watch. A couple left the diner, their talk hushed by the sight of the black armor. After a glance, the Enforcers ignored them, and the couple hurried away down the street. Inside that door were her brother and, most likely, her husband. The unfathomable menace was almost upon her, and she would finally shine a light on it.

Romik met Director Ais on the flat roof of Central Command, an enormous building looming up above the rest of the skyline like a great black cliff. He had received a brief report from Frenz that they were returning to Central with prisoners. Plural. He wondered who besides Julin had fallen into the net? The VIP sky car perches were arranged around a central square with extensive gardens stretching off above either wing of the immense building.

Back in his office, the Director had appeared reluctant to visit his prisoners. Instead, he had called a council of war with Romik, Major Mus, and himself. Usually, such councils were brief. The three men had worked together long enough that they were frequently of the same mind, each able to anticipate the other. Not so this day. “This is a terrible idea,” said Major Mus. It was the third time he had said it, by Romik’s count.