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For the first time that year there was a sunrise in the east. By the Human calendar it had been close to forty eight days since it set. Despite the frigid temperature outside, Veyyr Cae Imyyl, daughter of the High Praetor of the Senate of the Republic of Tzajii, watched the sunrise from her balcony over breakfast. She dined on lightly poached eggs served in delicate pasta shells, with fresh fruit slices imported from Mettrmeik, served next to two wafer thin strips of e'krras meat and, as a treat, three miniature upo. The meal was served on a platinum dish and consumed with gilded cutlery - a gift from some suitor or another whose name she could not remember, nor did she care to try. Aside from the gentle clink of utensils or the occasional crystal tone of a glass being moved, the only sounds were those of the city. Though muted by distance, it was never truly silenced; the air above the city buzzed with the sound of half a million people going about their lives. From her vantage point it was a low, gentle hiss, like a transmitter unit left detuned in the next room. On a whim she turned her eyes from the sun and glanced downward. Tzajii spread out before her like the night sky inverted; a million pinpricks of light formed constellations that were every bit as familiar to her as those above. She deigned to turn her gaze toward the eastern sprawl and followed, through the gaps in the ornate silver-work of the railing the lines of rustic lamps, almost lost to sight, that marked where the ad-hoc urban conglomerations ended and the city proper began. From there she sought the Praying Man; the braziers and beacon lights of the city's three largest temples. They competed for space and sought to outdo one another, each praising the virtues of their specific religious doctrine over the other. Their ostentatious frontages almost obscured the Dancing Spider - the unique collection of off-blue street lamps that lit the grounds of the Guild of Motorised Transporters. Rising from her seat, Veyyr lofted over to the filigree emblazoned rail and leaned forward a fraction to study the lights closer to home. They were mostly obscured there by rooftops, balconies and overhanging walkways, but the angle was not so steep as to deny her a view worth admiring. Stretching away for a good three hundred metres were the domes and shallow-curved rooftops of Tzajiian's rising citizens. They were rising figuratively and literally, their properties clinging to and digging into the steep-sided cliff that was Tzajii's most distinctive feature and most exploited asset. The ornate lighting fixtures of the Common Houses and Guildhalls reflected off the bronze and brass of the structures below, producing a unique, shimmering aura unlike anything else she had ever known. Not that the sentiment meant anything; she was fifteen years of age and had never actually left the city. That was about to change. She shivered, and not because of the cold. The female Dawnsider pulled her Bayyl-fur coat tight around her body and turned away from the city, taking a moment to rest against the rail and shake off the unhappy thought that had so ungraciously spoiled her breakfast. Her plate was being carefully cleared away by a young man; a Kyyreni with the snow white fur and distinctive red eyes of a man born with albinism. Not that his eyes were visible, concealed as they were by cloth facial wraps of rich Tzajiian blue. He seemed to sense her gaze upon him and turned his head toward her a fraction. "I saved one for you," she said, pointing a silk-gloved hand toward the solitary upo left uneaten on the dessert plate. He smiled at the comment, popped the treat into his mouth whole, and tried to inconspicuously wipe his fingers on his silk shirt. That made Veyyr laugh, though she knew it shouldn't. She retreated inside, back to the warm and welcome splendour of the bedroom. A king-sized bed, framed with off-world woods and silken curtains from parts unknown was the central item of furniture, with all else relegated to spaces against the walls. This left considerable room for thick, real wool-and-fur rugs to be draped over the black wood floorboards and intricate, hand-wrought light cages, each made of a thousand individual strands of gold, silver and bronze, to hang from the vaulted ceiling. The ceiling itself was painted with frescoes of the city below, picked out in vivid colours and in the timeless style of high art. The blindfolded man, now assisted by two female servants in amber robes helped Veyyr undress and change into her formal robes of office. The outfit was a mix of amaranth shades contrasted by white, speckled fur from some creature or another. It was also heavily layered; a six-piece set formed the base layer, bound in place with brass clasps and navy silk. Over that went the half-shirt and skirt, followed by sock leggings that reached the crotch and gloves that stopped just short of the armpit. There were a dozen cloth wraps, another shirt, two tabards, a headpiece, boots and gloves with over-locking leather shin and wrist guards, and a cloak all still to come. It was hot and heavy to wear and the female aides applied antiperspirants to her body as they worked. Veyyr knew from experience she'd be glad of all the layers when she stepped out into the cold morning once more. Her journey to the senate hall was longer than it needed to be. Heavy snow fall came suddenly and out of nowhere, immediately making the street treacherous to walk. She past under Gothic road lights and followed the blue-tinted path they created toward the Senate Hall, passing the grounds of the city's ruling elite. She took a brief moment to admire each of them, as though committing their frontage to memory. Finally, with street workers already emerging to begin clearing the snow even as it fell, Veyyr reached her destination. She stood and waited impatiently until the hall staff removed themselves from the entrance and stepped inside, huffing out a lungful of cold air into the blissfully warm chamber. Black marble plinths topped with ivory statues lined her route as she crossed the vermilion carpet to a set of wide, curved steps leading to the upper corridors. Security guards, their weapons and armour hidden beneath cobalt robes bowed to her as she passed. She did not acknowledge them. At last, she reached the venerable wooden double doors, turned black with age that would grant her access to the Senate Chambers. She stood in front of them until the doormen permitted her access and passed through to a large, glass roofed oval chamber. The upper seating was divided into seventy two partitioned sections, each marked with the heraldry of a Senate House. Below, the lower level was a single mass of seating, occupied by low-born representatives of civic interest; Guild leaders, captains of industry, social representatives voted for by their community and a myriad of other worthies. Her place was in the largest of the upper divisions; the partition of the High Praetor's House.

The Senate was in session. A passionate back and forth was taking place between the upper echelons and the Concordants who represented the common people. The topic was Oraahnaj and the rumours of civil war that leaked out from their borders. It was a troubling notion for a people whose laws were designed specifically to avoid such things. More troubling still was the knowledge that civil wars rarely stay 'civil' for any length of time. Letyn Imyyr, High Praetor of Tzajii, watched the back and forth with regal objectivity. She was a tall woman, powerfully built, with striking cheek bones and piercing eyes that could nail the most rowdy and outspoken of men to the wall. She noted Veyyr's arrival, though made an effort to pretend she hadn't, and gave the broiling political arguments several more minutes of back-and-forth before raising a hand for silence. "The matter of Oraahnaj's military actions is one that requires long deliberation," she said, her every syllable ringing out clear and confident. "The Concordants in particular have made their desire to cast votes on the matter very clear, but this is not a choice we can make. I remind you all that we are part of a greater nation, and if the Dawn Kingdom summons us to war then we are oath-bound to answer. If we do not, we risk being branded as enemies of the Kingdom. To that end, I request a recess in order to call upon representatives of our allied nations and the king's court. We will reconvene once said delegates have arrived." Letyn's announcement bought her some time with her daughter. They settled into their seats, not making eye contact but instead looking out at the Senate floor. "You will be going soon," the High Praetor commented matter-of-factly. "Yes, mother," Veyyr replied. She let her gaze drop to the thick vermilion carpet. "I... is it wrong to have doubts? If I'm honest, I do not wish to go through with this marriage." "Your father was the same," Letyn answered. "I would rather you stay here and succeed me, but fate does not always give us what we want. You were born to rule; fate has simply chosen a realm other than Tzajii." "Will you see me off?" Leytn finally met her daughter's gaze. "Nothing in this world could stop me."

The rest of the day passed at a prolonged and anxious pace. Veyyr absorbed every last morsel of local politicking before retiring home. Her many bags were packed and loaded for transit, and the servants who would accompany her were dressed in their finest attire. With Letyn and her retainers in tow they journeyed to the star port far beyond the city's limits. It was a high-walled enclosure well into the night side of the province, so far west that it was almost in another nation altogether. Pot-bellied lifters, their hulls cooked to iridescent shades of orange and green by re-entry heat sat waiting for passengers and cargo. One in particular, sporting the remnants of a cargo guild's heraldry, was meant for her. Veyyr paused at the embarkation ramp, awe inspiring in her regal vestments, and turned toward her mother. She gave the slightest of bows and said, "look after my city while I'm away." Letyn smiled at the comment, her carefully chosen expression giving away none of her inner thoughts to the small crowd of on-lookers who had come to watch the departure. "I have never been more proud of you. Have a safe journey." The two women held each other's gaze a little longer, as though reluctant to turn away. But ultimately Veyyr did. She boarded the lifter with head held high, sat unmoving in her seat for the journey into orbit, and passed through the starship's docking hub as though she owned it. There was another minor ceremony as the captain knelt before her, kissed her silk-gloved hands and formally led her aboard to polite, cultured applause from senior space-farers. And after what felt like aeons she was alone in her quarters. When Tal, her albino manservant and private lover entered he found her face down on the bed, howling into her pillow like an infant. There was no turning back now; she was trapped aboard the ship, destined for a new life on another world, likely never to see her home or family again. She was to be the wife of Vaahn T'rol, but she felt more like his slave.

* * *

Dawn hadn't broken, but it was due any minute. The promise of it crept up over the top of the curtains and turned the shadows on the ceiling a lighter shade of amber. The street lights below were still on, but their influence was waning. Vaahn shifted in his sleep. He was dreaming of riding Kyi'ras through the woodlands north of Yvenik. He knew it was a dream; his fellow riders - Taryyk, Jaahl and Uikke - had been dead for thirty years or more. That and the birds sounded different. Their cries were shrill and harsh to the ear. He rolled over, scowled at the 'bird', and hit the oval beige button on top of the alarm to shut it up. Then he went back to sleep for five minutes. The second interruption resulted in the battery being ripped out and flung into the laundry basket. "You have that alarm set for a reason," said a voice from under the covers. "Fuck it," Vaahn replied, slipping back down next to Jas and pulling the Aspartrian's body close to his own. "I have you in my bed; why would I ever want to leave?" His hands wandered across Jas' chest, sliding across his ruffled stomach fur to their inevitable destination. "Looks like someone doesn't want to leave either," he purred. "That's morning wood." "Good enough for me." He stole a kiss, then two more for good measure, granting Jas an impromptu hand-job that was cut short when he was pushed away. "Work first, play later," Jas scolded. "You've spent God knows how long convincing me that today is necessary so I'm not letting you back out now." To his credit, Vaahn had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I know this arrangement isn't ideal... but you know how our politics works." "I do," Jas answered. "That's why I'm only mildly upset about you marrying someone else." The conversation was over; any attempt to continue it would be unpleasant for both sides. Vaahn showered and dressed quickly and skimmed through the holo-shows on a personal datapad while his breakfast cooked. He ignored the news these days; it served only to take what he already knew, water it down and squeeze it through a filter of heavily political bias. He made a mental note to do something about that, and forgot about it again by the time he was out of the door. His departure was halted, briefly, by Jas. Vaahn smiled at the Aspatrian, kissed him gently on the lips and said, "I love you. Look after the children."

* * *

Veyyr's arrival was to be performed without any official ceremony, but nevertheless there were no shortage of press. Hovercams and hand-held devices tracked the sleek silver shuttle as it arced gracefully through the sky above Icara City and came down toward the starport. She bore a Starfleet livery; a product of the new-model fleet that Vaahn had been petitioning for since coming into power. It was a far cry from the cutting edge warships he had sought, but it was a start. The shuttle rocked upon its landing struts and the access ramp swung down. Veyyr emerged dressed in a snow-white gown with crimson trappings. She bore all the signs of good breeding; the strong jaw line, high cheek bones and authoritarian stare of someone whose destiny had been decided from the moment of conception. They were desirable traits, but they served to make her handsome rather than beautiful. Her fur was a rich, warm brown with unnaturally blond highlights, making her look something of a tomboy. Flanked by her retainers, Veyyr strode confidently toward Vaahn and, rather than bowing as he expected, merely deigned to tilt her head a fraction. "I am Veyyr Cae Imyyl, Daughter of the High Praetor of Tzajii. It is a pleasure and honour to meet you at last, my husband." "Your Panglish is impressive," Vaahn replied, slightly taken aback by the unshakable certainty of his new bride. "I received a nano-engram prior to my departure. It is a far more time efficient method of acquiring an education than conventional study." "I see... well, perhaps we should retire to the Royal Palace and-" "In a moment," Veyyr replied, turning her attention to the media gathering nearby. "It seems there are quite a few people who would like to meet their new princess. It would be rude of me not to oblige them." And oblige them she did. Vaahn followed along, acting as though this was part of the plan all along, but he couldn't help admire how she worked the media. He noted her carefully chosen words; how she emphasised being from a "Democratic" Republic, how she span her own origins to sound less like a woman born into power and more someone who had devoted her life to the study of politics. It may have been imagined, but Vaahn was sure that she was subtly altering her posture and accent to mimic more closely the men and women she spoke to. A part of him felt disgusted at how easily manipulation came to her. Another part, a part Vaahn preferred not to admit existed, couldn't help but be impressed.

With the interviews and carefully staged photographs completed, the king and his princess returned to the palace. It had once been the seat of presidential power; a fine structure of off-blue stone and given gravitas by the carved slogans above every door. They were written in a dead language, and Vaahn had never thought to ask why. Given her performance on arrival, it came as no surprise that Veyyr wanted to get straight to business. Vaahn had arranged a meeting with the newly appointed Barons, and it seemed the ideal time for Veyyr to settle into her new role. They were assembled around a circular table making idle chat when Vaahn and Veyyr arrived, at which point they stood and bowed in greeting. "Veyyr, allow me to introduce Elisa, Baroness of Icara City North." He gestured to a black haired woman of indeterminate years, who gave her a second slight bow. "This is Gren," Vaahn added, indicating a Drakonian male, "and finally Aidan." "A pleasure to meet you all, I am sure." Veyyr replied. "If I might ask, do any of you have any experience in politics, or governance in general? What of auxiliary roles; have any of you acted as an advisor or diplomat, or perhaps a representative of a civilian, commercial or military interest group?" The answers to her questions were many variations on a theme of "none" and "no". She turned to her husband and gave Vaahn a Look that was deserving of its capital letter, but Vaahn remained utterly unimpressed. "Do you have any notion of what running a country entails? As confident as I am that these individuals are fine, upstanding citizens, it would be quite helpful to keep in power those who know at least the most rudimentary aspects of holding office." "I removed them for a reason," Vaahn replied, but his answer was clearly not winning her over. "Nonetheless, I intend to maintain the transitional government as much as possible for the foreseeable future. Efforts shall be made to acquire new representatives from the electorate and expand their skill sets as necessary." Veyyr's words caught Elisa's attention. "The electorate? Does this mean you support a return to democracy?" "The people desire democracy," Veyyr responded. "As such, they should be given the democratic process. Of course, since the laymen is hardly suitable to decide who should rule, their actual impact should be negligible. I would suggest that we promise to assign elected ministers for each region, but grant them office only if they achieve at least seventy percent popularity. By ensuring the candidates are divisive and unwilling to compromise with one another, we can effectively create a system wherein they never succeed." The Barons were left silent by Veyyr's suggestion. Vaahn allowed himself a genuine chuckle. "I don't know whether to be appalled by your idea, or be in awe of it." The comment made Veyyr smile, and it was a genuine smile; subtly, yet noticeably distinct from the media-friendly expressions she had employed thus far. It didn't stay long, but Vaahn remembered it.

After a length of time that felt far longer than it actually was, Vaahn found an excuse to leave the political arena. Mikhail was waiting for him, smiling like a predator who'd found a lost mouse. Or possibly a lost little girl. "Here I thought it was just you who had a magical talent for alienating people. Now I'm thinking it's a racial trait." "Careful with that attitude of yours, Mikhail," Vaahn warned his chief Enforcer. It would have been wrong to say the two of them were friends, but they had come to a mutual understanding. Mikhail's talents were not widely recognised or welcomed in the old order, but he knew Vaahn would cut him no slack if he over-stepped his bounds. "While you're here, make yourself useful. Go find Francesca and tell her I'm going home for the day. Have her give Veyyr the rest of my appointments to handle." "Dropping the little lady in the deep end? I like it!" the Enforcer chuckled. "I'll make sure there're some of my lads out and about. Plain clothes of course; I know how you disapprove of us making a scene." "Much to your disappointment. Keep an eye on her for me." "Both eyes, sir." "Above the waistline, if you don't mind." Mikhail's eyes twinkled with boyish mischief. "No promises there, sir."

* * *

The day was drawing to a close. The most productive hours were long behind them now, and the class were casting eager glances towards their console clocks, willing them to tick by faster to end the day. Jasat was no exception, though his pauses were brief. He was engaged in writing an article on Urokonian history, focused on the cultural significance of the Ky'rrhn; the "Iron Shapers". It was a subject that some might consider dry and dull, but for Jasat the birth of the Ky'rrhn and the rise of the Tzajiian kings was a subject of considerable interest. It represented the beginnings of the First Dawn Kingdom, a nation that would stand for over two hundred years, and whose fall set the stage for his family line's progenitor to forge his legend. The period was of interest to him, but what had kept him engaged for the better part of forty minutes was the fact that his work would be read and judged by a local history lecturer - the subject was well beyond anything the school's teachers would be expected to know - and said lecturer was convinced, for reasons known only to himself and the Gods, that Tzajii's unification was down to industrial revolution and the sharing of technology, not military might as common sense suggested. Jasat took no small amount of satisfaction from tearing the man's theories apart and poking holes in his sources. The latest example was half-hidden behind his school-issue word processor; a picture of a faded stone carving that showed a complex irrigation system. It was Tzajiian in design, and even had a date carved into it, but the professor had failed to translate the date properly, which Jasat was pointing out in language that was less diplomatic than was strictly appropriate. He was torn away from his work by the ringing of a bell. Saving his progress with a quick keystroke combination and smiling at the pleasant little clack-clack sound his nails made against the keys, he half-listened to the teacher's parting words and headed for the school gates. Free of his distractions his body began to reassert a few basic needs; he was halfway to the door before he realised just how hungry he'd become, and five steps more convinced him to visit the little boy's room on the way. Thus, a little delayed, Jasat found his Human "siblings" waiting for him under the shade of a gnarled old tree with syrup coloured leaves that Jasat assumed was an oak. Simon and Rebecca, both Soft Timers, turned his way and waved together. They were holding hands, or at least touching fingers, seeking to keep their tactile contact subtle and easily dismissed as accidental. Their constant pre-pubescent flirting with one another irked Jasat. The thought flickered past his inner vision, and the mental image the word "irked" created made him smile. It was similar to the name of a rather dim-witted fish back home on Urokon, and that same descriptor seemed to fit Simon in particular rather well. "What are you thinking?" Becci asked cheerfully as Jasat approached. He shrugged off the notion he was thinking of anything, but she persisted. "You look a little grouchy. Had a bad day?" "Just hungry," he said to the dim-witted fish people. "Where's Jas? Isn't he meant to be picking us up?" "Daddy said to wait here until he arrives, remember?" Simon put extra emphasis on "Daddy". It felt strange, if not plain foolish to Jasat to refer to a former servant in such terms. He'd spent years trying to avoid having to do so, but since the Humans had come along Jas seemed to be fond of the idea. That was another thing that irked Jasat, he mused as they waited together. Simon and Rebecca always called Jas "Daddy", and had adopted the more formal, and proper word "Father" when referring to Vaahn. Somehow, that bothered Jasat more than the "Daddy" issue. He was Vaahn's son, he was the one who bore the family name. The Soft Timers weren't Vaahn's children - they were just Rejuves under his care. They didn't have the right to call him Father. Not that he brought this up with anyone; it wasn't like they would listen if he did. He sensed the change in the mood before he was truly aware of it. The tone of conversation around him shifted and attention was drawn to the main gates. Jasat turned to see a long bodied maroon hovercar pull up. The driver got out, as did a sour faced soldier with ebony armour, and the side door was opened for the rear passenger. His pulse racing, Jasat pushed forward through the slowly growing crowd of gawkers to reach the visitor. "Hello, Jasat," Vaahn said with a smile as he strode forward to greet his son. The two embraced, Vaahn's strong arms wrapped around Jasat and lifting him off his feet for a brief, but bonding moment. As Jasat's feet touched the ground once more his Human siblings came to join them, and were greeted in an equally warm, though less energetic manner. "How come you're picking us up?" Becci asked, her eyes fixed lovingly on the hovercar. "Are we riding in the staff car? Are we?" Vaahn couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes we are, now go get in!" "So why are you picking us up?" Jasat probed, giving a quick, sidelong glance at his peers and their parents. This would surely be the talk of the classroom. "Because I wanted to," Vaahn answered casually. Jasat took the hint and boarded the vehicle without probing further. With Simon and Jasat sat quietly, and Becci pressed against the window like an excitable dog (at least until her father gave her a sharp smack across the backside), the hovercar rose up off the ground and sped away, the on-board navigation system wheeling them into the afternoon traffic flow and threading them neatly between a refrigerated lorry and an emerald green sports vehicle. The driver of the latter was a Drakonian, leaned back in his seat with a holopad projecting a documentary for him to watch. Becci peered at him, giving a little wave and trying her best to catch his eye. "Tinted windows, remember?" Jasat pointed out. Her childishness was irking him. "We can see out, but they can't see in." Becci settled back into her seat. "I just want to feel like a celebrity. Is that a bad thing?" "Yes," said Jasat with a finality that made Vaahn raise an eyebrow. He let it be. Before long they were home, and their transport was off and away again before they reached the front door. Jas welcomed the four of them in, quizzed the children about their day and sent them upstairs to get their homework done. Then he closed the front door and kissed his lover. "Good day?" "Better than expected," Vaahn replied with a sheepish edge to this voice. "I think you'll have to come along to meet her at some point." "At some point, yes," Jas answered pointedly. "For now let's not worry about that. It's your turn to cook tonight, by the way." With a smirk, Jas went upstairs to check on the children. Vaahn watched him go before turning his thoughts to the kitchen, and set about raiding the cupboards for something resembling a meal.

* * *

It had been a long day, and the bath was a welcome end. Wrapped in a soft cream towel, Veyyr padded down the unfamiliar hall in search of her new bedroom. It was a grand accommodation, once a Presidential suite according to the young man who'd shown her the way. She didn't recall his name. She only briefly wondered if she should learn it. Tal was waiting, sat nude on the edge of her bed and smiling at nothing. The albino male didn't seem to notice her until she was almost right in front of him. By then, she was likewise skyclad. "A busy first day, my lady." Tern said. Veyyr nodded mutely. She was too tired for conversation. She slumped onto the bed and found comfort under the sheets, giving a welcoming sigh as she felt a familiar presence snuggle up next to her, and arms drape softly around her. "What do you make of him then?" he asked softly. "Vaahn, you mean? More or less what I expected." A soft kiss was planted against her neck. "Do you think we will be happy here?" Veyyr yawned and answered, "You'd be happy anywhere as long as you are with me." "Very true," he sighed. Minutes later, Tal had drifted off to sleep. It took Veyyr much longer to settle into sleep, stuck as she was in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar day-night cycle. Still, she reflected as sleep finally claimed her, at least she didn't have to face this strange new world alone.