...
Two months later.
In a distant star system still far from the fortress world of Cadia, the *Zealous Advance*, loaded with Cadia's assault troops, is docked outside a hive world for resupply.
Captain Usak Creed is aboard, gathered with his comrades in the ship's tavern, passing the idle hours of travel.
As the officers spiritedly discuss the recall order from the fortress world, Creed and his lieutenant sit at a secluded table, listening quietly over strong drinks.
"It'll take us years to finally get home. This journey is long," one officer says.
"At last, we're going back. I miss my parents..." another murmurs.
"I hear the Tyrant Sector has already started paying tithes. If they'd only paid sooner, we might have been able to use their dimensional engines to speed up our return," another chimes in.
"Don't bring that up... Especially here, with ship crews around," warns one, casting a wary glance.
Creed follows his gaze to a corner where several naval officers from the *Zealous Advance* sit, their expressions souring at the mention of dimensional engines. The disdain is evident in their whispered conversation.
"They have a point," Creed says, taking a sip from his drink and lighting his cigar. "If the *Zealous Advance* were outfitted with the dimensional engines used by the Tyrant Navy, we could indeed save years on the journey home."
His lieutenant, Sergeant Kyle of the Eighth Regiment, is an older, battle-worn soldier, long seasoned by the time Creed had joined as a fresh-faced cadet. Yet, like many in the regiment, he'd come to respect and admire Creed's audacity and skill, devoting himself fully to his young commander.
"Your time in the Tyrant Sector has changed you," Kyle's gruff voice crackles like a damaged speaker. "I've heard the Tyrants revel beneath their cathedrals, and whispers from the Star-Speakers say they craft their dimensional engines through rituals and sacrifices. If I were Navy, I'd die before letting one of those things touch my ship…"
Creed frowns, recalling his time in the Tyrant System. Kyle's tales hold some truth; indeed, the Tyrants do revel beneath their churches. As for the engines…
Pouring Kyle another drink, he leans in and mutters, "Don't believe every bit of hearsay."
"Oh?" Kyle's eyebrows raise, intrigued.
"If dimensional engines could really be used widely, Star-Speakers would be obsolete. Even without faster-than-light communications, messenger ships with those engines would be more reliable than the stars. If you were a Star-Speaker…" Creed trails off, letting Kyle draw his own conclusions.
Kyle ponders, imagining that if he were a Star-Speaker, he'd indeed resist dimensional engines at any cost. But, on the other hand, if those engines are truly as sinister as rumored, who would risk it?
"Commander." A soldier suddenly approaches, saluting crisply. "Someone is here to see you."
Creed looks toward the tavern entrance. There stands Klein, the traveling mercantile vagrant from the Tyrant Sector, accompanied by his aides. They're distributing power armor to officers who placed orders previously.
Creed waves Klein over and whispers to Kyle, "Looks like the dimensional engine does work—otherwise, he'd never find me every time."
Kyle looks up at Klein, recalling how the vagrant had tracked down the Eighth Regiment even when they were on the *Path of Faith* heading into a new battle zone…
Klein strides into the tavern, sits with Creed and Kyle, and exchanges a few pleasantries with Creed.
"Has the Tyrant Lord sent another message for me?" Creed guesses, aware that though Klein left military service, he likely still carries orders from Qin Mo.
But Klein shakes his head. "No message this time. I'm just here as a liaison. I'll be following you for the next few years."
"You're following us? You're a vagrant, not a spy," Kyle remarks, frowning.
Klein glances briefly at Kyle but then turns to Creed. "The Tyrant Lord does not command the Cadian Assault Forces. You don't have to keep me if you don't want. I could return now."
"No," Creed replies, pouring Klein a drink. "Stay with us, brother. Even though we're worlds apart, you can wait for me in Cadia."
While Creed accepts Klein's presence, questions linger. Why not go directly to Cadia's governor? Why does the Tyrant Lord value him so highly?
Creed contemplates, suspecting that Qin Mo has foreseen something. Perhaps he is destined for a significant role in the future.
But Cadia's fate concerns Creed more than personal stature. Even before the recall order reached the Eighth Regiment, the entire unit had begun suspecting a looming catastrophe. They'd all concluded the same—the pestilence and raids haunting the Cadian Gates were only the prelude to a war.
Thinking of the message Klein delivered on his last visit—of a Woskanian Iron Cavalry insurrection upon their landing in Cadia—Creed asks him, "Did you speak with the Tyrant Lord before departing? Any other message?"
"Yes, but no further message. I received the order while resupplying at the Agrippina Forge World," Klein replies, shaking his head.
Creed feels a pang of disappointment. He craves information more than anything now.
"I know you and the governor once made a pact," Klein says, lifting his glass. "All of Tyrant's strength stands behind you. While you journey home, our forces are amassing, so by the time you reach Cadia, we'll be stronger."
Creed raises his glass, yet his face betrays a trace of resignation and uncertainty. "I'm merely a general of the Cadian Assault Forces, no more. There are many who outrank me; I'm hardly fit to represent Cadia."
"Indeed," Klein agrees, puzzled by his own assignment to liaise with Creed instead of going directly to Cadia's governor…
Rising to general within forty years is remarkable, but many in the Cadian Assault Forces are discontented with Creed's rapid ascent. Would Creed someday claim the highest post of Fortress Lord himself?
"How is it you always manage to find him?" Kyle, the sergeant, suddenly asks Klein.
"I'm a vagrant, Sergeant. I have my ways."
"Go on, tell us. Nothing else to do anyway, and we've years yet till Cadia."
"…"
As Klein and Kyle chat, Creed sits back, puffing his cigar and sipping his drink in silence. Observing Klein's amiable nature, Creed thinks that if he ever had a ship, he'd make sure it had a dimensional engine. Then, maybe, the journey back to Cadia wouldn't consume so many years.