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Elisa Merran awoke at 05:00 precisely. It was a habit from the old days of working on science vessels, and somehow she'd never quite let it go. She rose from her bed with sunrise still a few minutes away and found the bathroom by memory. Lit by a blue-tinted luminescent tube, she looked herself over in the mirror whilst waiting for the shower to heat up. The face in the mirror was framed by shoulder-length black air, and the light made her high cheek bones even more prominent than usual. She had time to kill, so she killed it catching up on current events. It took a while to find a news channel she was satisfied with. Since Vaahn came to power three years ago he had done a fine job of getting news crews to show their true colours; some hailed him as a saviour of Icara, others as a monster. As she sought information, the channel DMN took centre stage on the Holo. No channel exemplified the media's conflict of interests better than they did. Maxwell Duggan, former head of a media and corporate empire, learned quickly that Vaahn's policies could help his fortune grow ever larger. Within a year he was the richest man on Icara, and before long he was summoned by the King. What happened after is known only to Vaahn and Duggan, but police and journalists alike have theorised that Vaahn demanded the mogul hand over a considerable amount of his amassed wealth. Duggan, naturally, refused. Within a month the man had vanished in mysterious circumstances. A single severed finger was found on his kitchen floor, with neither sign of forced entry nor evidence of the attacker. It would take a year for his body to emerge, dredged up from the bottom of a lake sixty miles outside of Nouveau Calais. A week after Duggan vanished, Vaahn summoned the new head of the commercial syndicate. It was decided that his demands would be met, and so the rich and powerful began to crumble.

She shut off the Holo, having long since given up on both sides of the argument. Most media were quick to denounce Vaahn and claim, falsely, that he sought to leave the world impoverished and poor. The Liberal media, by contrast, saw the realities for the common people; the rich were getting poorer, but the poor were getting richer. Merran approved of that, but not how readily a blind eye was turned to Vaahn's methods. The rich were not just taxed; they were threatened, blackmailed or even killed at the whim of the King. Vaahn was kind to those too far beneath him to matter, and ruthless with those who could challenge him.

And now, by choice, Merran was putting herself into the firing line.

* * *

It turned out that Elisa was the second visitor to the King that morning. After ten minutes of flicking through magazines in the reception the double-doors opened to reveal Mr Fahir, president of ICS Electronics. The man's face was utterly devoid of emotion; the kind of calm that could only come from a deeply repressed inner rage. He glared at the secretary and hissed through barely parted lips, "Get me a car." He took a seat opposite her, but was back on his feet within minutes to begin pacing the room. "Bad meeting?" Merran blurted out as Mr Fahir once again found somewhere to sit. "Bad doesn't begin to describe it!" the man snorted. "It seems our 'king' has made sponsoring politicians a crime! He threatened me with Hard Time Penitence! The gall!" No sooner had Merran opened her mouth to reply did the doors open once more. Before her now stood a Kyyreni of seventeen years, though he carried himself in the manner of a man far older. A barely visible scar ran from neck to sternum, all but concealed beneath a thick mane of dark-blond fur. Even if it were visible, the wound would have been overshadowed by the far more prominent injury over his left eye. He was dressed in dark grey trousers of indeterminate fabric, a matching sleeveless, open shirt and a sword belt with two blades. "Mr Fahir, why are you still here?" Vaahn growled. "I am waiting for my ride," the man answered in equally unfriendly tones. Vaahn cocked his head toward the door. "Then wait somewhere else; in the street, in a cafe, under a bus - anywhere but here." The King permitted himself a quick, smug smirk at the business man's fury before turning his attention to the remaining visitor. "And you are?" "Your eleven o'clock," Merran replied. "Ngh!" the nasal sound was barely an acknowledgement; it was the sort of sound a man might make when he finds dog muck stuck to his shoe. "Alright, let's get this over with. Come in."

It seemed, from the perspective of someone sat on the other side of the King's desk, that Vaahn spent far too long studying documents. Datapads and folders of printed paper threatened to knock each other off the overly cluttered desk, and Merran couldn't help but try to read some of the upside down information. About a third was in a language she couldn't read, but everything left on display was about her; employment history, medical records, residency papers, hand-written notes on her relationship status and more were being scrutinised by the humourless Kyyreni ruler. "Why do you want to be a politician?" he asked at last, flicking the tan coloured folder shut and turning his attention back to Merran. She went for honesty. "Because someone has to." "So why you?" Vaahn snapped back sharply, suddenly looking for a fight. "What makes you so different from the rest of them? Why should I listen to you over the slack-jawed wastes of skin that trot through my doors, bleating about how much 'the people' need them?" To her credit, Merran stood firm against Vaahn's scowl. "You've seen my files; if I wanted riches I could have stayed in the Confederation. If I wanted power, my connections in the scientific community could have landed me a position at Starfleet. I'm not after either of those things; I just want to do what is right. Someone has to stand up to you, highness." "But can you stand up to me?" Vaahn asked as he rose from his seat. He stalked around the desk to stand directly in front of Merran with his right hand on a sword hilt. "Let's assume I am a tyrant as people claim; a despotic overlord with no regard for my people. What will you do, Merran?" She acted quickly, lunging forward to grasp and draw Vaahn's left blade. His hand clasped around her wrist and the second blade hissed free of its sheath with a backhand draw. Merran felt the press of cold steel against her throat. The weapon had a killing edge. "Bold. Not smart, but bold." The pressure on her wrist ceased and Vaahn stepped back, giving Merran breathing room as he sheathed his blade once again. "So did I pass your little test?" "Who said it was a test?" Vaahn answered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He returned to his seat and gave her documentation another read over, more for the look of it than to find any specific information. Rubbing her throat, Merran likewise sat back down. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt, but she felt as though she was on the home stretch. Her was goal was in reach; she just had to take it. "You're a fan of direct approaches, aren't you?" Vaahn nodded without looking up. "That's the problem with most of your so-called 'leaders'; they've never learned what leadership is. You can't lead from the back, and you can't ask someone to do something you wouldn't do yourself. Men who start with nothing, who have had to fight for their power every step of the way understand this. Men like me." She'd put her neck on the line once, and now she did so again. "That's not what my research says." Now she had his attention again. She composed herself, seeking to put on a calm, aloof air of someone in complete control of the situation. "Your great grandfather, for example... Ozrat, wasn't it? Ozrat T'rol, a man utterly unremarkable according to history. He wasn't even a leader; just a soldier who never had a war to fight." Vaahn's good eye darted over every inch of her face, looking for something in her expression that might give him insight as to what she was getting at, or trying to do. There was none. "Then there's Garo... now he's an interesting fellow. Why did he push for your father, just seven years old at the time, to become the next ruler of Tu'ri?" "Careful what you say," Vaahn growled. Merran ignored the warning. She was on a roll and she knew it. "Seems to me that the only reason they wanted Brahlt as a child Lord is because he could not be challenged directly under 'High Law'. That's strange behaviour for people who believe in honour and duty, to manipulate the rules and play the system in order to steal power from people who were playing by the rules..." By now a low growl was emanating from Vaahn's throat; a constant, prehistoric sound of violence about to be unleashed. "You would be wise not to pass comment on things you do not understand." "Then enlighten me," she answered. How do you justify this behaviour? From where I sit, it sounds exactly the sort of politicking you seem to loathe in our leaders." For a moment it seemed as though Vaahn was going to swing for her. She saw the tension build in his limbs, but it passed without incident. "The Houses despise weakness," he said through barred teeth. "The House of Tu'ri had fallen on hard times, and Daak would have been the end of us. He was popular with the old guard; the blinkered fools who put their own personal glory above the good of all. Garo and the others needed a way to save the House from their madness, but they had to do so without inviting their rivals to make a move. A child Lord did that, but my father had a hard time keeping our House afloat in his youth. Once he came of age there were plenty of rivals looking to end us." "About Brahlt," Merran continued, noting how Vaahn's lip twitched a fraction when she mentioned his father's name. "He became a Lord so young he was effectively a ruler all his life. Garo, though never a Lord, was always in the ruling circle. Ozrat, likewise, was one of the 'House Guard', and his father... well, seems to me that the other members of the House got tired of have a Son of T'rol in charge and found their own ruler. And then there's you... a Lord at fourteen, having been groomed for the role since a young age. Do you see where I'm going with this?" "No," Vaahn answered honestly, clearly growing impatient with her. "You're quick to talk about how power doesn't belong to people who simply inherit it, who didn't work their way up from the masses, and yet you are from a bloodline who, for as far back as records can trace your line, have been amongst the ruling elite of Yvenik. T'rol was made a Duke, and despite being disgraced his grandson managed to obtain power, and when the modern House system began to form there was, low and behold, your bloodline in the upper echelons." She leaned over, mimicking the sort of aggressive posturing Vaahn himself used oh-so often. "So give me one reason why I shouldn't have you dethroned as the very sort of self-serving political you claim to despise?" And that was when Vaahn shot her.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Vaahn asked with chilling calmness as he stepped around to where Merran lay, wide-eyed and gulping air like a fish out of water. "It didn't hurt me very much the first time, but I was pumped full of adrenalin and combat drugs at the time. It felt like someone had punched me in the arm. It was only later, when I came back down, that I realised what had happened." Merran couldn't reply. A million thoughts were clashing in her head, but only one was coming through clearly; the knowledge she was going to bleed to death on the aging satin carpet of Vaahn's office. A pair of hands pressed firmly against her chest wound, making her cry out in pain. Vaahn was on top of her, his gaze meeting hers. "Stay awake," he ordered. "You're going into shock. You need to stay with me and stay awake." It was an order she couldn't obey. Her vision blurred and sense of time became distorted. She was aware of people around her, of motion, and of voices in an urgent exchange, but it all faded away into a warm, enveloping darkness.

She came too in a hospital bed. Her shoulder itched unbearably; the tell-tale sign of an intensive nano-lathe treatment. There were security personnel around her bed all dressed in the grim black and grey of Vaahn's Enforcers. Vaahn himself was speaking to a Jalaxian doctor, but he quickly ended the conversation when he saw Merran was awake. When all present had been dismissed Vaahn took a seat by Merran's bed. "How do you feel?" "How do you think I feel?" she replied, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "You shot me!" "There's worse things that can happen in pursuit of your goals." There was something about the way Vaahn said it that made Merran look toward Vaahn's left eye. She noticed something odd about it, a strange reflection in the pupil. It took a moment for her to understand that she wasn't looking at; an artificial eye. "I thought you'd like to know that the man currently in charge of the Correction's Council is a man who attempted to murder my son back when he was king. I like people who stand up for what they believe in, and who are willing to make sacrifices to do what must be done. You'll never be a threat to me, but I think you'd die trying if that's what it came to." Vaahn rose from his seat and gave a curious smile. "If you still want a job, come back to my office on Monday. The position of Baroness of the South-eastern Icara City Barony is still open." "Do you do this to everyone who applies?" Merran asked breathlessly as her King departed. From the doorway, Vaahn gave a short chuckle. "Only those I think have a chance of succeeding."