Falarys
- Restricted Imperial World - Expansion Region -


Nothing about the planet Falarys belied its true nature, and that was by design. A world of evergreen forests and beautiful mountains, it was almost entirely unspoiled, save for a handful of villages hundreds of miles from each other. But no one ever seemed to come or go from the world. Indeed, it barely registered more than a footnote in Imperial star charts.

On the southernmost continent, overlooking one of the villages, a lodge midway up a mountain range held a commanding view of not just the valley and village, but the sea beyond. It was larger and more richly appointed than the buildings in the village, but it still adhered to the bucolic aesthetic of the planet. Hand-cut slate stonework stacked in interesting pattern. Vivid and broad beams of redwood. To anyone who might view it from afar, it seemed to be nothing more than a ranch. And indeed, with a few hundred acres of grazing foothills below that contained a hundred and twenty head of nerf, it was certainly that.

But on Falarys, nothing was as it appeared, and that was by design.

At the edge of a redwood deck affixed to the side of the ranch, Wulfgarn Schreiger took note of the speck of foreign influence in the distance. It wasn't difficult, even from a mile away, to pick out the spartan and clean shape of the Lambda-class shuttle parked in the pasture land that made-do for a tarmac. There were no facilities even resembling a spaceport here. There didn't need to be. Travel to and from the stars on Falarys was an arranged act. A kind of theater. This shuttle had been invited, and the sole individual exiting the craft was now being covertly watched by enough organic and synthetic eyes to obliterate any naive concept of privacy, all the while projecting exactly that. A game, maybe. Or maybe just an inside joke for the people that mattered to enjoy.

A hologram appeared from the wooden handrail of the deck of a woman in middle age. Her raven black hair was almost certainly dyed, Schreiger thought. Not exactly out of youthful vanity, but maybe as a sign of creative control. Fit, but not putting a fine point on the matter.

"Wave hello now."

Thirty meters. A ranch hand paused from his tasks, offering a neighborly wave to the uniformed visitor before attending his flock.

"Now the swinging gate."

A smiling old man pushed aside a weathered wooden gate at the pasture's edge, offering a neighborly 'Good morning, ma'am.' A complicated suite of sensors buried in the distressed wood went to work. His guest's blue hologram took on an accent of red, highlighting the small personal blaster the weapon scanner had discretely detected. Not strictly a badge of office. Schreiger knew that his guest carried it for equally practical reasons and knew how to use it.

beep beep...beep beep

Distracted, the Director of the Imperial Security Bureau glanced down at his wrist chrono. Among it's many timekeeping uses, the device also helped him keep a punctual schedule of nutritive needs. Now it was time for his vitamins.

Director Schreiger gave one last glance down to the valley at the approaching speck that was Director R. S. Esalis of Imperial Intelligence. His steely eyes moved from that distant person to her more intimate holographic representation just a reach away. Satisfied with the schedule of things, the Director turned to go back into the ranch. He'd have company in twenty-three minutes.