his prized Asgeirr-Carbine and on his right, the Asgeirr-Carbine given to him by Clearchus during his fall on Cunaxa.
“You look such the soldier,” said Artemas.
The sarcasm was obvious enough that Tamara burst out into laughter. All of them apart from Artemas wore the same equipment, but Roxana and Glaucon only bore the icons of Attica, a mark of their connection with the homeworld. Tamara fidgeted as she adjusted her tightly molded chest armor.
“What’s wrong, pup?” asked Glaucon while grinning at Xenophon.
“This armor. You can tell it was made by a man, how are you supposed to move in it?”
Artemas had grabbed her Imperial regalia as they’d made their way down to the hangar. Though she wore her modified Terran armor, her clothing was Median. The long gown was skin tight and bright white. Her long black boots matched the armor, and her head was unadorned so that everybody could see her face and her long hair.
“Are you planning on subduing them with your looks?” Glaucon asked.
Artemas looked to the blast door and answered without bothering to show him any attention.
“These are border worlds people. They may appear primitive, but they can survive out here with minimal supplies, and the Imperial Fleet has never been able to control them. They will negotiate when pushed, but they will pull back if threatened. Terran power and Imperial authority should do the trick.”
“No purple?” Xenophon asked.
She smiled and lifted her hands to adjust the back of her collar. As she removed her hands, both of which were clad in long black gloves that run to the forearms, something moved at her neck. A light, silken cloak fell down behind her to barely touch the ground. It was dark purple with hints of crimson. Depending on the light, it could have been taken as the red of Laconia or even purple.
“Nice,” said Tamara.
She was evidently impressed.
“Where have you been hiding that?”
Artemas shook her head left and right and straightened her hair out. It now ran in equal measure down her shoulders and to the middle of her back.
“That’s a secret.”
She then turned her head around to look at Xenophon.
“The Imperial Purple is the last touch. Let’s hope it helps. I’m not one for reminding others of my connection to...”
Xenophon nodded.
“We know. It’s okay.”
The ship settled onto the platform, and the blast doors opened up. The view greeting them was of a long, empty docking arm that was shielded right up to the outpost structures. Xenophon stepped out first, Roxana and Tamara flanking him. Artemas followed; Glaucon right beside her with his pulse cannon resting up against his shoulder.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Xenophon kept moving forward, deliberately not wanting to look concerned or nervous. Although nobody was there to greet them, it would have been extremely unlikely for them not to be observed from another position.
“Keep going forward. We need this to look official.”
The small group of five made it halfway across the long, slender platform before they spotted movement. A door opened in a corkscrew fashion, and out came a single Carduchian male, tall, regal, and dressed in his finery. The cloth was cut tight and in brown tones. He wore a pair of crossed bandoliers across his chest and a soft cap underneath a Carduchian helm. He was little different in build to Xenophon and carried a curved blade on his flank. Xenophon looked behind him to Artemas who gave him a nod and stepped to the front of the group.
“Leave this to me. I know their people.”
They stopped just as another four Carduchians emerged. Each was dressed in variations of the tribal clothing worn by the first. The difference with this group was the weaponry. Much like the Medes, they carried long rifles, yet these were even bigger. Each weapon was at least the same height as the person carrying it.
“Some nice fowling pieces, there,” said Glaucon dismissively.
Artemas threw him a withering
“You look such the soldier,” said Artemas.
The sarcasm was obvious enough that Tamara burst out into laughter. All of them apart from Artemas wore the same equipment, but Roxana and Glaucon only bore the icons of Attica, a mark of their connection with the homeworld. Tamara fidgeted as she adjusted her tightly molded chest armor.
“What’s wrong, pup?” asked Glaucon while grinning at Xenophon.
“This armor. You can tell it was made by a man, how are you supposed to move in it?”
Artemas had grabbed her Imperial regalia as they’d made their way down to the hangar. Though she wore her modified Terran armor, her clothing was Median. The long gown was skin tight and bright white. Her long black boots matched the armor, and her head was unadorned so that everybody could see her face and her long hair.
“Are you planning on subduing them with your looks?” Glaucon asked.
Artemas looked to the blast door and answered without bothering to show him any attention.
“These are border worlds people. They may appear primitive, but they can survive out here with minimal supplies, and the Imperial Fleet has never been able to control them. They will negotiate when pushed, but they will pull back if threatened. Terran power and Imperial authority should do the trick.”
“No purple?” Xenophon asked.
She smiled and lifted her hands to adjust the back of her collar. As she removed her hands, both of which were clad in long black gloves that run to the forearms, something moved at her neck. A light, silken cloak fell down behind her to barely touch the ground. It was dark purple with hints of crimson. Depending on the light, it could have been taken as the red of Laconia or even purple.
“Nice,” said Tamara.
She was evidently impressed.
“Where have you been hiding that?”
Artemas shook her head left and right and straightened her hair out. It now ran in equal measure down her shoulders and to the middle of her back.
“That’s a secret.”
She then turned her head around to look at Xenophon.
“The Imperial Purple is the last touch. Let’s hope it helps. I’m not one for reminding others of my connection to...”
Xenophon nodded.
“We know. It’s okay.”
The ship settled onto the platform, and the blast doors opened up. The view greeting them was of a long, empty docking arm that was shielded right up to the outpost structures. Xenophon stepped out first, Roxana and Tamara flanking him. Artemas followed; Glaucon right beside her with his pulse cannon resting up against his shoulder.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Xenophon kept moving forward, deliberately not wanting to look concerned or nervous. Although nobody was there to greet them, it would have been extremely unlikely for them not to be observed from another position.
“Keep going forward. We need this to look official.”
The small group of five made it halfway across the long, slender platform before they spotted movement. A door opened in a corkscrew fashion, and out came a single Carduchian male, tall, regal, and dressed in his finery. The cloth was cut tight and in brown tones. He wore a pair of crossed bandoliers across his chest and a soft cap underneath a Carduchian helm. He was little different in build to Xenophon and carried a curved blade on his flank. Xenophon looked behind him to Artemas who gave him a nod and stepped to the front of the group.
“Leave this to me. I know their people.”
They stopped just as another four Carduchians emerged. Each was dressed in variations of the tribal clothing worn by the first. The difference with this group was the weaponry. Much like the Medes, they carried long rifles, yet these were even bigger. Each weapon was at least the same height as the person carrying it.
“Some nice fowling pieces, there,” said Glaucon dismissively.
Artemas threw him a withering
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