Far above September skies, the network that undergrids the common mesh comes alight as the powerful and petty find excuse to put skill to test.
Interns collate data sets that mean nothing in the abstract. New corporate protocols are established and old projections revisited. And all across the Golden Branch Star Sector conditional people open confidential files.
Kobus waits on the shores of Vox, Loyalty chittering, afraid. On Archonic, Alunde Sinclair, OriCon Expeditionary CEO Emeritus, writes two speeches, one for each grave. Rapid Evening agents tend to wounds and limp towards a new dawn. And on far Apostolos an envoy paces, waiting to deliver a message that they know Apokine Sokrates will not want to hear. The word has gone out. And now there is only the question of whether it is to be believed.
But there is one who already knows that it’s all true. And with each word spoken, each curse uttered, each promise exchanged, with every time its name is mentioned, sound itself comes into its tune. Now all it needs is a bridge.