The Blessed Kersi Trost was pissed. In fact, she had been pissed for a few days now.

She glared at the reflection in her bathroom’s mirror, surrounded by marble tiles and golden fixtures, on her space yacht, the Invisible Hand. The heavyset Tusked Porci looked haggard, but she always did. Grey hair tied in a tight but fraying bun, bags under her eyes, and a face that still managed to show wrinkles under her short, brown, wiry fur gave everyone the feeling that she quietly disapproved of everything around her. It wasn’t always true, but this morning tested that theory to its limits. 

An aide handed her a towel once she had washed her face. She accepted with a grunt. 

“There is a call for you from Blessed Paliandra, Madam,” the aide said, bowing reverentially.

“Ugh, that boor,” Kersi said, handing back the now damp towel. “What does he want?”

“He didn’t say,” the aide replied apologetically. “Though he did seem more animated than usual. I expect it’s about the meeting.”

Kersi sighed. “Of course,” she said. “Put him up in the office, I’ll be there.”

“Very good, Madam,” the aide said, bowing out of the bathroom.

Kersi exited the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in grey slacks and a white button down shirt. She took the elevator from her bedroom full of lace, dark wood, and pearl, to her more utilitarian office. This wasn’t to say it wasn’t ostentatious, but she preferred to keep distractions at a minimum where she worked. The dark wood remained, but it was accented sparingly with silver on the corners of her ornate desk, and on leaves embedded within intricate botanical molding near the ceiling. It reflected her office at home, including the soft tan carpet, and the massive window that covered one curved wall, which offered her preferred view of snowy mountain peaks.

She sat at her desk, composed herself, then pressed the blinking red button on her communicator. A hologram projector powered on, and the Blessed Bathest Paliandra appeared in front of her desk. 

“Kersi!” the Wolver Mustid exclaimed. He threw his arms out in greeting. “You old bat, it’s been forever! How’s our money?”

The Blessed Bathest Paliandra was stocky, and powerfully built. Built, in this case, was literal, as he had replaced most of his body with cybernetics (save for his piercing yellow eyes, which he took great pride in). Compared to most cybernetics enthusiasts, his body boasted a more restrained form factor. If he wore long sleeves and pants, he would appear at first glance to simply be someone for whom working out was a regular hobby. The absolute top of the line synth muscle created the perfect figure in Bathest’s mind, and he showed it proudly as his Corporation’s best advertisement, with form fitting tank tops and shorts. All of this failed to detract from his most prominent feature, which were cobalt blue hardlight prosthetic teeth. They were currently in his favorite form, a cartoonish shark’s teeth, simple and sharp. 

“Practically infinite as ever,” Kersi grumbled. “What do you want, Bathest?”

“I wanted to know if you saw the video,” Bathest said, grinning wickedly.

Kersi’s frown deepened. “There’s video of the incident?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” Bathest said. “Madsen always takes over the nearby security systems so they can get a record after a kill. You’ll get a kick out of this, watch!”

“Bathest, I really don’t–” Kersi began, but the video feed had already appeared in the air next to her compatriot.

The next five minutes of Kersi’s life became supremely uncomfortable. She knew getting rid of these people was important, but she didn’t realize Madsen took so much pleasure in it. The gloating and speeches weren’t necessary, surely? Bathest’s ecstatic rewinding and replaying of the moment Madsen severed that girl’s arm definitely wasn’t, regardless of the fact that he had designed the blade that did it (she did have to admit seeing Madsen get struck in the face over and over was somewhat satisfying, even if it wasn’t their own face). However, it was the end of the video that Bathest really wanted to show Kersi.

“Wait for it… Wait for it… Boom!” he shouted, punching the air as the stolen ship’s forward rail cannon fired, ripping through Madsen’s proxy. The camera feed vibrated with the force of the shot. A gaping hole in the opposite wall opened the dock to the vacuum of space before being quickly closed by vacu-foam. 

Kersi felt sick. Her role as High Treasurer kept her sheltered from any sort of wetwork like this. She had seen the remains of a few battlefields during her centuries of life, but never something so brutal. The body was rendered unrecognizable by the massive slug, scattered across the floor of the dock this had all taken place in. To her relief, the video ended there.

“Can you believe that?” Bathest asked. He rewound the video to a frame just before the cannon’s slug hit the proxy and jabbed a finger at the image. “Madsen nearly had her! I’ve never seen someone get one over on them like that!”

“That had to be the AI,” Kersi said. “They said they got shot, but I didn’t know it was by a gunship.”

“Bingo!” Bathest said. “Must have snuck into the weapons system when the girl gave Madsen a black eye. I wish my hunting hounds were half as loyal as that thing.”

Kersi shook her head in amazement. So many centuries and she could still find something new. “I take it we’re having this meeting because Madsen failed to actually kill her,” she said.

Bathest shrugged. “The girl survived one of our recovery teams and a CDrive meltdown at the same time.” he said. He gestured at the video screen, which faded away. “Madsen underestimated her and look at where it got them. I’m not gonna make that mistake. Until we see a body, my money is on her pulling through.”

“No eyes on that station?” Kersi asked. “Surely we have at least one plant.”

“We’ll find out at the meeting,” Bathest said. “Madsen’s been out of commission with one hell of a post-death migraine and only came out of it today.”

“Great,” said Kersi with palpable sarcasm. “So wonderful to be pulled from my work for Madsen’s failure to do their job.”

“That’s the spirit!” Bathest said, firing dual finger guns. “See you at the snoozefest.”

Bathest’s hologram disappeared. Kersi sat back in her chair, the girl’s terrified face burned into her mind. What was her name? Where was this sudden sympathy coming from? Before she could dwell on it any further, the intercom button on her desk began to blink. 

Kersi pressed the button and leaned forward to speak. “Go ahead,” she said.

“We are about to dock with the space elevator, Madam,” her aide’s voice said through the speaker. “Shall I let them know you need more time?”

“No, thank you Bolton, I’ll be right there,” Kersi replied.

“Very good, Madam,” the aide said.

…

The conference room only held three of the seven Blessed when Kersi entered. Bathest was sitting at the far end of the long table, resting his feet on the glass top. He gave her a lazy wave. The other two were Drathek Corr, the diminutive Vespian who ran the conglomerate CorrCo, and Orson Jelleq, a quite bulky brown Ursid, the High Admiral of the Ulthean Astronautical Navy. A conference box sat in the middle of the table. The conference room itself was at the top of the tallest skyscraper in Madsen Lawsek’s territory, glass walls providing breathtaking views of the city it resided in.

Drathek didn’t look up as Kersi came in, absorbed in whatever was on the tablet in his hands. He wore a long and high collared black coat made of red rimmed hexagons, the same design that could be seen on many of the UAN’s weapons, vehicles, and AI cores. Large headphones hung from his neck, from which a driving bassline could faintly be heard. 

Orson embodied the very concept of military might. The Grand Old Man. The Lifer. There was a smattering of grey along the Admiral’s snout that had been there for centuries, giving him a dignified air. His dark grey uniform was crisp, and piped with gold. A tasteful number of medals and operation pins on his chest proved his bonafides, but didn’t brag. He nodded stoically to Kersi, who nodded back. 

“Any news on the other three?” Kersi asked as she sat next to Orson, the Ursid being a useful wall between her and Bathest. “I’d like to get this over with.”

“I saw Lawsek on the way in,” Orson said in a voice that could grind stone. His face barely moved as he stared straight ahead. “Seems to still be under the weather.”

“Srita just arrived on her train, but I heard Lozin’s calling in on this meeting,” Bathest said. 

“Excuse me?” Kersi spluttered. “I got dragged halfway across the galaxy. Lozin hasn’t left Ulthea since they got here. They can’t spare a half hour flight?”

“Ahh, you know,” Bathest said airily, making a regal gesture. “First among equals and all that. Propaganda requires a lot of hands on work, I’m sure.”

The doors to the conference room burst open, and the Blessed Srita Vander whirled into the room. The thin, white furred mustid had the regal but lightly crazed look of someone that had been living as her own company’s mascot for far longer than could be healthy. She embodied her heart motif completely, with a white heart shaped ruff on a long red wool coat, over a pink vest and white pantaloons. In her right hand was a cane with a golden heart shaped handle, and a red fez with golden tassel sat jauntily on her immaculately curled white hair. Most upsettingly, however, were her cybernetic eyes, in which the pupils had been replaced with red hearts.

“Darlings, its so wonderful to have you all back on Ulthea!” Srita said, barely able to contain herself. She hopped into the chair at the opposite end of the table from Bathest and spun a few times before stopping. “We should have a feast!”

“I was in the middle of overseeing a new habworld before getting pulled into this nonsense,” Kersi said. “I would really rather not spend any more time around you people than I have to.”

Srita giggled and waggled her cane at Kersi. “You’re such a pill!” she said, her cheerful expression never changing.

“Everyone is welcome to shut up,” came a voice from the door. 

All eyes turned to the door as Madsen Lawsek slunk in, clutching their head with one hand. The Dober Canid was thin, and wore a simple dark suit. If it weren’t for the glowing cyan eyes, they would have been otherwise completely nondescript. Kersi noticed that they looked more rumpled than usual, and decided that Orson’s assessment of ‘under the weather’ was accurate. Even their eyes were more dim than she was used to. 

“The canid of the hour!” Bathest called, perhaps a bit louder than he needed to. His teeth morphed into cartoonish flat squares, and he clacked them in a way that made even Kersi shudder. “You look terrible!”

“Try getting blown into pieces by a slug the size of your fist,” Madsen growled as they sat down next to Drathek. “See how well it treats you!”

“The field testing on soft bodies was interesting at least,” Drathek murmured.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Madsen said with sarcasm so thick it threatened to crack the glass table. “How about you take your field testing and–”

“Ahh, wonderful, everyone is here!” came a voice from the conference box, making everyone jump.

“Lozin!” Kersi said. Her ears burned with embarrassment as she tried to forget her words from earlier. “Have you been listening to us this entire time?”

“Of course, ma cherie, but do not worry,” Lozin said. “Your complaints are fair. I had something come up as I was about to leave, and decided my vocal presence would be enough. We will make this quick. Shall we begin?”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the assembled Blessed. “Wonderful,” Lozin said again. “Now, I believe we have all seen the incident. Yes?”

Another murmur of agreement ran around the room, with Madsen looking particularly stone faced. “Very good,” Lozin said. “Madsen, I have been reading the file on Casey Black. Emphasizing her involvement with the separatists was well done, and I agree with her attempted arrest. It was clear your proxy had gotten too close. I see why you sent him out again, it made sense in theory, but when the time came… I mean, you were so blinded by how smart you thought you were that you failed to see that she had a wrench in her hand.”

Kersi had been watching Bathest fidgeting and holding back a grin the entire time Lozin had been talking. At the mention of the wrench, Bathest burst out laughing. “I can still see it!” he howled, banging his fist on the table. “What a moron!”

Kersi was failing to see the humor in all of this, but noted that Srita was giggling from the other side of the table. Drathek, still tapping at his tablet, gave a little buzz of laughter himself.

Madsen growled, and their eyes flared. “What about Orson?” they said. “If his retrieval team hadn’t screwed up, I wouldn’t have had to pick up his pieces!”

“Those soldiers were immediately sent for retraining after their debrief,” Orson said without emotion. His dark eyes fixed on Madsen. “Where’s your accountability?”

“I lost a perfectly good proxy, you overstuffed–” Madsen began, but was cut off by Lozin’s voice.

“Everyone, please!” they said. The Blessed fell silent again. “What’s done is done. We learn from mistakes and move on. Madsen, when I first asked you to join me, it was because of your no-nonsense approach to the work. I think it is fair to say you should quit the theatrics. Leave the script writing to me, yes?”

Madsen looked as though they wanted to argue, but thought better of it. “Fine,” they said through gritted teeth.

“Wonderful,” Lozin said. “Now, the question I am sure is on everyone’s mind: Is the girl dead?”