Diesel Empires

LENS FORT, 22-1983. You’ve never heard of elven synth-rock until your old platoon leader handed you a flier and asked you to come watch him play. You knew he was a bassist, but did not realize he was part of a band, and definitely not part of the electronica movement.

Work on the Iron Fire has slowed down because of the War, and it’s almost completely gone now that the RPF has control over Elam and Delos. You got enough to start a new venture, but in the lull, you watch the sergeant rock on a Tuesday night sounds like a good time.

The rest of the team are here too, and you all stand out: hardened corporate freelancers of the Iron Fire, drinking with college kids and still optimistic interns. The colors are bright, and the fashion is cutting edge.

And then the music starts and everyone is entranced. The sarge’s bass holds your hand and keeps you safe, as the lead vocalist transports you to bright ephemeral expanses, and dark primal memories, and that’s before they bring out the magic keyboard.

It’s a beautiful show, but as you feel it wind down gently, an itch builds in the fine tuned instincts you’ve earned on the Iron Fire. The night is about to get much more interesting, and you’re glad you’ve brought you gear...

30 PROCYON, CE-2244. The pilot is ciphered to the glyph coursing through the blood of the dragon. It’s tech that the Silohain likes to keep for its intelligence services, but they are desperate right now.

And lucky.

Rescuing a dragon is not something that you entrust to anyone, and that trusted team has to have a ship fueled and ready to do a hard 2G burn in twenty minutes, because that fancy tracker still doesn’t have unlimited range. These elves are damn lucky they trust you, and that you have a very fast ship.

These freelancers are playing it safe, just like you would. Cruising speed makes their thermals blend in like all of the other ships, and their IFF is a real Krolanius Pilgrim tag, which makes it a headache for any Ascendancy Patrol that wants to do an inspection.

Slow and easy until they disappear into the void, with a priceless and nearly extinct creature of myth onboard.

It’s a tricky play, but the Silohain is promising enough for half-retirement, and in the end it's the right thing to do.

(But also, it’s a lot of gilder.)

ASTERHOLM, 22-1986. The Giant peers over the hill like it’s watching our world from backstage. Its size makes the sky seem small, but it’s so far away, and your mind stumbles on its dimensions. It’s impossible, but looming, and as your mind attempts to settle with this uncomfortable reality, you notice something else: it’s getting closer.

It’s otherwise a beautiful summer night at the #10367 Kings Mart. It’s much quieter than most Sunday nights, but it’s nice to get a chance to enjoy the night shift. It’s the kind of night that really makes you appreciate the natural wonders of the Ashok’s Valley.

Yes, it’s definitely getting closer.

The cracks in your sanity have stopped getting longer, and you can think without it all falling apart. The Giant is here, and it's getting closer. In a few hours it will probably reach the city, and a terrifying question flares into existence: what is this going to do to a million minds living in a packed city?