TAVIK OF LEGEND

The meeting had taken years to arrange, for it required absolute trust on both sides: The Emperor of Oraahnaj, one of the most powerful Kyyreni in all the galaxy, was permitting a pirate lord to step aboard his vessel.
The Tavik Clan came aboard with an armed escort. Tavik himself wore a faded teal pressure suit. His wife and sons wore more utilitarian browns and greys. The two eldest children, both men in their late teens, carried a chest between them. The sight of it made the Emperor's guards stiffen in dread anticipation, but Tavik stepped aside calmly and announced the chest as it was brought forth. “Honoured host, allow me to present to you a sign of my good faith. A gift most prized by the nobility of Urokon and many worlds beyond.”
Tavik's sons opened the chest. The Emperor kept his emotions carefully guarded, though inwardly he was in awe of the bounty. “Are they Chaldakri pearls?” he asked.
“They most certainly are. Three thousand of them, the largest haul to reach our space in a decade, and they are yours.”
A thin smile formed upon the Emperor's muzzle. “It is thanks to your predations they are so rare, Tavik.”
The pirate lord shrugged amiably. “I have forged an empire out beyond the fringes, and I am entitled to take what I wish from those who trespass. Is it not so within your realm, Emperor?”
The smile faded. “I think you for your gift, now let us speak of your 'empire'. The Dawn sees in the Chaldakri a valuable ally, and there are many worlds ripe for exploitation between our outer colonies and their near border. You represent the greatest hurdle to our expansion, and where others seek a military solution I pursue more profitable alternatives.”
“You wish to buy my loyalty,” Tavik stated calmly. “Others have made such advances in the past.”
The Emperor stepped towards the chest of pearls and scooped a few up into his paw. “They cannot offer what I possess. I do not dangle baubles before you, Tavik,” he let a few drop between his fingers for emphasis. “I would make your title official. I would have you as an Imperial Noble and colonial governor, and the world you command would be the envy of all others.”
Tavik raised an eyebrow. “You have my attention,” he said softly.
Turning swiftly on his heel, tail flicking behind him, the Emperor stepped towards the nearest hatch and bid his guests follow. “I would grant you a world within your favoured hunting grounds, a planet that could in time become a centre of commerce for us. More than that, it will be a wonder of the universe. A bold claim, I know, but when you see what I have imagined you will doubtless agree.”
The Kyyreni stepped into a meeting room. Screens along the inner wall were already active, displaying schematics for a colony dome. Tavik glanced at them only briefly, then looked again when his mind processed the numbers he had seen. The diagram on the screen was for a colony dome six miles across.
“As you can see, this is no mere outpost,” the Emperor continued. “A dome able to contain and support a quarter-million souls with space to spare and orbital anchorages to match. This structure will house the planet's population during the terraforming process, and  when the planet is fit for habitation the dome can be dismantled to reveal the living, thriving city beneath! They will be ruled properly, by our laws and customs. They could be ruled by House Tavik.”
“I would rule a quarter-million souls?” the pirate failed to keep the tones of awe from his voice as he took in the Emperor's ambition.
“Perhaps more. Your descendants would rule over millions. The oldest and largest of colony worlds have populations greater than Urokon itself.” The ruler saw the hungry gleam in Tavik's eyes and added, “Taviksaad could be such a world, in time.”
“Taviksaad,” Tavik echoed. He liked how the world felt upon his tongue. “I would ask one other boon, a final touch to cement the arrangement. I wish to be a Legend.”
A smile of victory crossed the Emperor's lips. “Then it shall be so. Welcome to the Imperial Court, Tavik of Legend – Lord Governor of Taviksaad!”

Vaan hated Oraahnaj. He hated it for many reasons, but one reason especially stood out to him – the cold. He was somewhere on the western side of the Empire, judging by how low Urokon's sun hung in the sky, and it was always cold here. Vaan was a Daysider, born and raised in a tropical country where the heat was ever-present. He couldn't fathom how anyone lived in such a hateful place as this.
He rose from his bed before first chimes, dressing warmly and heading out of his bunkhouse to get to the kitchens before a queue could form. There were six hundred Daysiders in the camp, all detainees like him. Their crime was mere existence; the Empire had expanded their borders eastward, and those who hadn't the wisdom to flee were now considered enemy combatants. Vaan had never paid any mind to politics; he only cared about the harvest, and the coin he'd been saving, and the young female with the shining blue eyes who smiled whenever he came to her diner... But because a piece of paper said he was a citizen of Ura-Mahl, the First Empire had sent soldiers to round him up and ship him off to this frozen detention camp.
Being one of the first to eat also meant being one of the first to work. There were only so many jobs to go around, and while the pay was shit it was better than nothing; coin could buy a few luxuries, or bribe a guard for information. His family weren't in the camp with him, and he hoped to find out where they had been sent. Perhaps he'd even be able to transfer to them.
Today there was no work. He stood in line for an hour waiting for the metal shutter to rise, shivering as his breath turned to mist. No work. People at the back of the queue began to walk away, but Vaan stayed. Half an hour more passed, and he too considered giving up until a pair of Dawnsiders approached, guards in pale grassland camouflage with the Imperial Sigil on their caps. “Fall out!” one of them barked, gesturing with his rifle. “Everyone to the yard!”
There was a great deal of grumbling, but all were wise enough to obey. The entire camp was being assembled in the communal exercise yard, a concrete square with a small grassy area to the eastern face. As Vaan drew near he could hear the purr of idling engines, which turned out to be coming from a dozen shuttles all packed into the grassy field to the east of the yard. A makeshift stage had been erected in front of the transports, little more than four double-stacked shipping pallets. An Imperial officer stood on top of the pallets with a megaphone raised and ready.
“Attention all detainees! You are hereby instructed to board transports for relocation! Proceed as directed and do not dawdle!”
“What about our belongings?” a younger Daysider called out as he was manhandled towards the transport. He got no answer. The mood was souring quickly, and several of the guards began using their rifles to direct the Daysiders where to go. Most took the hint – some did not. As Vaan headed for the third shuttle a gunshot cracked sharply behind, making him flinch. Hundreds cried out in alarm, but Vaan was not one of them. He clenched his eyes shut and walked forward, guided by thermal sense alone into the blissfully warm interior of the shuttle. He shuffled along to his appointed seat, made no protest as he was shoved down into his allotted seat, and cooperated as his restraints were locked in place.
Only when he was secured did he look back. He saw two soldiers lift up the detainee who had fought against her deportation. A pair of blue eyes stared back at him, cold and lifeless, destroying the happy memory of that beautiful female forever. He turned away and wept as the shuttles hatch sealed shut.

Taviksaad turned out to be a cold, desolate place. Its sandy surface was the dark yellow-brown of pubic fur, its air devoid of oxygen and its water - what little of it could be found – was brackish and tainted. No-one could live there, not yet. As he gazed upon it, Tavik of Legend wondered if he'd been conned by his own greed.
The City Dome was underway, though its progress was glacial despite the frantic activity. The Emperor had been honest about his ambitions at least; Tavik had never seen so many ships in this part of space before! Every day brought fresh shipments of raw materials, industrial equipment and personnel. Gargantuan tugs brought in segments of orbital habitats, while void-miners began to establish themselves in the less habitable regions of the system. The scale of the operation was beyond Tavik's reckoning.
“This isn't charity,” Vaskal warned. Tavik glanced at the females familiar scowl. Vaskal was his fleet's quartermaster, a Dawnsider with brown fur so dark it bordered on black. Her eyes were the colour of polished amber, and they shimmered with pent-up frustration.
“Care to explain?”
“You should know well enough that homeworld nobility does not bestow wealth to the likes of us! We will be made to pay this back with interest!”
Tavik chuckled. “the likes of us? Need I remind you that I am 'homeworld nobility' now myself?” Vaskal bit back whatever comment she had intended to make, prompting Tavik to add, “I have not forgotten your loyalty, old friend. I will see you all rewarded.”
The Kyyreni female raised an eyebrow, “Oh yes? Going to cover us in jewels and make us pampered slaves in your new House?”
“I was planning to give you your own,” Tavik answered. “I am not stupid, Vaskal; the Emperor is bound to offer 'advisors' to us, perhaps even relocate a few well-established families to see we are running things as he likes. There will have to be a council, lesser Houses to advise me and to assume duties of state on my behalf. We shall stack the deck, make our own Houses from the officers of our fleet! They can 'advise' all they damn like, but every man and woman in a position of power will be one of us, loyal to me as I am loyal to them.”
Vaskal gave a quiet chuckle. “I underestimated you, admiral.”
“Lord Governor,” Tavik corrected.

Suicide was always an option on Taviksaad.
Every morning, Vaan and the other slaves awoke to horns and donned their suits. Taviksaad was no warmer than Oraahnaj, but it had the extra curse of lacking oxygen. After putting on their clothes and eating re-heated meat pastries, the slaves donned their oxygen tanks and affixed their masks in place. Then they left the hab-unit in pairs, slowly filtering out of the cramped airlock and filing into the waiting trucks. Once outside, all it would take to die was to slip away, beyond the reach of any would-be saviour, and abandon the breathing masks. Vaan had been tempted to do it more than once.
The transport that he boarded had no windows. It bounced along the loose sand, heading north towards the city-dome for about two miles before slewing to a halt and dropping the tailgate. Despite his hatred of Taviksaad, the sight of the dome never ceased to leave Vaan awestruck. It was titanic in scale, an impossibly vast edifice of such immense proportions that Vaan struggled to believe it was intended for Kyyreni to live in. He had to imagine it was meant to house some kind of giant aliens, given its immense proportions. Depending on who he asked, the dome's footprint was anywhere from five to ten miles across!
A shove from the man behind broke his daydreaming. There was work to be done, and it was hard work at that; foundations had to be dug, utility lines installed, electrics wired, support structures prepped, and millions of hexagonal tiles raised and interconnected to those supports to form the dome's skin. Today, Vaan was not working inside the city itself; his team were charged with turning the southern highway from compacted sand into a true, modern road surface. Mountains of loose stone, aggregate and industrial by-product had been stockpiled for the task.
Vaan liked working the road, mostly because it involved a lot of hot machinery he could warm himself with, plus the breather mask helped hide the stink of whatever mixture he was boiling. It was also made more pleasant by the other workers, most of whom were Dawnsiders. Vaan did not like Dawnsiders as a rule, but these ones seemed better than most. It was their constant complaining that won him over in the end; they hated Taviksaad as much as he did. In fact, they wrote a song about it.
“Oh come lad, come build a world called Taviksaad!” one of the labourers sang as he shovelled stone into a freshly dug trench.
The rest of his detail answered, “And soon you will sit on a mountain of coin!”
“Now the days might be long, and the labouring hard!” he continued, waving Vaan over.
“But soon you will sit on a mountain of coin!” came the reply from the rest of the workers.
Vaan smiled as he wheeled over the mixer and the lead singer dove into his first bridge:
“Well the pay they had promised was grand I must say: Forty coin an hour for an eight hour day!
But when time came to pay up I found I'd been gypped, for the bastards paid up in their own Guilder script!”
Vaan enjoyed their singing, and even joined in once in a while, but there was a hint of bitterness to it. For all their complaints, the free labourers were paid for their services. He felt sure their complaints were exaggerated as a way to blow off steam, as was common back on Urokon among farmhands. When the work was over and the city built, they could go home. Vaan could not.
The call to stop and eat rang down the line, and Vaan offered his paw to the Dawnsider he'd attached himself to. He was blond-furred like all Dawnsiders, but he was also blessed with size and muscles, so much so that when he pulled on Vaan's arm the Daysider nearly fell into the pit. “Easy there, orange!” the brute laughed. “The name's Rus, by the way.”
“Vaan. You're an off-worlder, aren't you?”
Rus laughed at the question. “Everyone here's an off-worlder!”
“Right. I meant you're not from Urokon,” Vaan corrected.
“No, I'm Ryyksaad born and raised. Most of our little gang are. The Toskar Labour Company drew in a few thousand of us all in one go with promises of work and wages. What about yourself?”
“Indentured,” Vaan replied. “Our lands were annexed by the Empire and they relocated us here.”
“Typical Oraahnaj scum! Someone ought to wipe the bastards off the map!” Rus barked. His cursing drew the attention of a few scattered Kyyreni, including the gang-bosses who had brought Vaan and the other slaves to the work site. He also drew no shortage of smiles.
The food was mediocre, more meat pastries that were lukewarm by the time they reached the workers. They ate outside, forced to take off their breathing masks to get mouthfuls of food or swigs of water. Between bites they checked their air-tanks, and most topped up at an air-truck parked out of the way.
“What was Ryyksaad like anyway?” Vaan asked as he finished his meal and wiped his paws on his fatigues.
Rus took an unexpected amount of time to consider his answer, given his otherwise brash nature. “Ryyksaad's a place you come from, not a place you go,” he said at last.
“Does it turn like Taviksaad does?”
Rus nodded. “Oh yes, but a little slower. It's warmer too, and we never had to terraform it.”
The labourer noticed the gang-bosses making the rounds and gave Vaan a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Come on, back to it! Sooner we build this road to that landing field over the horizon, the sooner we can all go home!”

It had been four years since Tavik had been gifted the planet, and yet it felt as though little had been accomplished. He'd spent the last year away, dividing his fleet between political ventures, economic acquisitions and, of course, raiding. His fleet had missed the blood-pumping excitement of a pirate's life, and those who had missed out were bitter because of it.
“They'll settle down,” Vaskal said when Tavik expressed his concerns to her.
The Lord Governor sighed. “I hope so. Much as I hate to say it, most of my captains have proven near useless here on Taviksaad. Dasat is the only man who seems to be getting any work done, and he's a damn outsider.”
“Is he giving us the tour?”
“Yes, he insisted on doing that personally.”
Vaskal grinned as only a pirate could. “Good. Let's keep him waiting.”
They touched down on the landing field two hours late, riding down in a bulk hauler laden with pipes and plumbing parts. Unlike the crews and labourers, who made do with simple masks, Tavik and Vaskal both wore void-sealed flight suits; partly to present themselves as being Kyyreni of station, but also so they could converse in private if needed.
Lord Dasat was likewise well-dressed for the environment, clad in a ribbed rubber suit that fed him oxygen via a nose plug. He also wore a throat mic, making Tavik suspicious of who else might be listening. “Welcome to your new world, Lord Governor,” Dasat said with a slight bow. If the delay bothered him he made no sign of it. “I have a transport waiting, if you would?”
Dasat steered his fellow nobles toward a six-wheeled truck with a low bubble-cabin, giving it the look of some giant insect. Two of House Dasat's guards stood outside the vehicle, while the driver wore the bold yellow of one of the transport companies the Oraahnaj noble had brought with him. All three climbed into the rear cabin and the guards followed, sealing the hatch behind them. Dasat pulled out his nose plugs as the hatch thumped shut and a loud hiss filled the space. “You can remove your helmets,” he said.
Tavik did so, mostly so that he could more easily peer through the narrow forward-facing view slits. Peering over the drivers cabin he watched as the transport rumbled along the dirt road, bearing south-west towards the city. “Why are we using a ground vehicle?” he asked.
“They're cheap,” Dasat answered bluntly. “It may not seem like it, but we are working to a budget.”
Vaskal snorted at the statement. “I'll give you the coin to buy me a proper transport for next time.”
A true road appeared as the city dome crested the horizon, but they stayed on sand for a while to give the work crews plenty of room. The transition from sand to asphalt was marked by a sharp bump and a clear change in tyre sound, after which the vehicle picked up speed considerably. Before long, more vehicles appeared, all working their way onto the highway from the various habitats, resource stockpiles and landing fields scattered across the desert.
By the time they passed through the vast airlock gate and entered the dome itself, the arterial road was choked with traffic and progress slowed to a crawl The reason why was apparent as they reached the first turn-off; two of the three lanes on each side were still under construction. Through the wide-open side gates leading off the main road, Tavik had a brief, and uninspiring view of the partition to his south; a temporary roadway erected over a mess of pipes, cables and foundational supports.
The highway tilted upwards as they continued. Each door revealed more of the unfinished city beyond, causing Tavik's doubts to grow as they followed the traffic towards the centre. At last, the tunnel opened up to the dome proper, and as they finally donned their breathing gear and disembarked, Tavik received his first real view of the city. Supported by six great pillars in the centre and parts of a circular ring-wall at the perimeter, the dome arched high above at a distance impossible to truly grasp. Based on the road's incline he had risen several hundred metres from ground level, yet the dome was still half a kilometre away, if not more.
“It does that,” Dasat said, his own voice carrying a hint of awe as he joined the newcomers in their gawking. The space allows for future vertical expansion, as well as air clearance for hover-craft. The perimeter wall will include raised airlock gates to the middle districts, and their outer walls will be likewise gated.
Vaskal was the first to shake off her awe. “Why divide the city this way?”
“Planning for the worst,” Dasat replied. “In the event of catastrophic dome failure, the breached segment can be sealed to protect the rest. You've served aboard ships, it's no different to that.”
“The scale certainly is!”
Tavik chuckled at Vaskal's uncharacteristic alarm. “Don't fret, Vaskal. The dome won't fail.”
Vaskal gave the Lord Governor a puzzled look. There was something about the way he spoke, the total confidence in what he said that made her truly believe it, if only for a moment. “Here's hoping so. Are there any parts of the city that are finished, or is it all like this – all building sites?”
“In a manner of speaking. We have some temporary housing erected at various locations, all pressure-sealed units, obviously. We won't be attempting to make the dome truly liveable for a while yet.”
“Why not?” Tavik asked. “The dome looks almost finished.”
Dasat nodded, “it is, but once we pressurise we will have to get the airlocks up and running, and that would dramatically increase transport time.”
Tavik slowly turned on the spot, his eyes following the boundary wall around the vast central plaza. He closed his eyes slowly, lips moving soundlessly and fingers tracing over mental maps. “I want to refocus our building efforts,” he said at last. “I want one of the outer quadrants made habitable as soon as possible, then have it pressurised and begin construction of liveable structures there.”
“Why? It would only drag out the development process!” Dasat protested.
“How many people live in this city now, Dasat? How many are in your temporary houses?”
The lord considered the question. “I think... twenty-five thousand.”
“And I think twenty-five thousand people should not have to don a breathing mask whenever they step outside their front door. Make it happen, or I will replace you with someone who will.”
Dasat bared his teeth at the threat, but thought better of acting on it. “As the Lord Tavik desires,” he answered with forced diplomacy.

The Yudu-Mahj was a popular destination for workers within the city, free and slave alike. It was also Vaan's pride and joy, something he had built through a combination of luck and trickery. Luck had seen him reassigned from the labour-gangs to work in hydroponics; it wasn't farming as he'd known it, but it was close enough. By now, Taviksaad had a hundred thousand mouths to feed, and people were getting sick of rations. Access to crops and farming equipment allowed Vaan to set up a black market business in [i]distil[/i]. It was a wretchedly foul spirit, but it got men drunk, and Taviksaad had plenty of men who wished to be drunk. He volunteered to work at a local kitchen in his off time, which provided him the means to sell his goods. Profits were low, but coin by coin he was making a little extra. It was to buy his freedom, Vaan told himself.
One day, having just sold his last bottle of contraband, Vaan was confronted by an Enforcer. The man wore a jet-black voidsuit designed for ship-to-ship boarding actions, complete with a short-barrel boarding gun carried by a shoulder strap. The reflective face visor had revealed nothing of the Kyyreni inside as the Enforcer stared him down. “Are you Vaan?” he'd asked through the the helmet speaker.
“I am... sir,” Vaan had answered.
“You and I need to have a talk in private,” those were the words that sealed Vaan's fate.
The Daysider had expected to die that day, or at least suffer for his crimes. It turned out the Enforcer was a former pirate who now found himself grounded, and the short meeting between the two revealed a great deal of resentment within the newly-minted Enforcer's Guild for their new way of life. After a period of venting, the Enforcer revealed why he'd sought Vaan out – he was a customer, and he wanted better product.
Within a month, Vaan was permanently assigned to kitchen duties, with a great deal of free time to pursue his new hobby – the making of spirits and assorted alcohols. The Enforcers brought him whatever he needed and, by their own admission, completely ignored anyone who complained about resources gone missing. Vaan had been clear up front about timescale; a week for swill, a month for something half-decent, three months for anything with flavour, and six months for the good stuff. One months later, the Enforcer-Captain himself was in Vaan's kitchen, sampling his first bottle of synthetic mead.
The next day he was running a brewery, and the workers kitchen had become a tavern. His tavern - Yudu-Mahj.
He had been running the tavern for two months when a familiar face stepped through his doorway. Rus stepped into the Yudu-Mahj with a grin that ran from ear to ear and an attractive Dawnsider female as his side. The barrel-chested labourer glanced over at the bar, caught side of Vaan and gasped in surprise. “There's a sight for sore eyes!” he bellowed aloud as he hurried over. “How long has it been?”
“A year I think, maybe more. Who's your friend?”
Rus glanced back at the female. “That's no friend, that's my wife! Vaan, meet Asyr. Asyr, Vaan.”
Vaan accepted the woman's smile, though he noted it never reached her eyes. Oraahnaj native, no doubt – he'd learned to spot the looks they gave to Daysiders. “What can I get you two?”
“Whatever the bar suggests,” Rus replied, but Vaan noticed the subtle paw-sign the man made – one finger extended, wagging slowly; his friend didn't want to spend much.
Vaan produced a pair of aged bottles of his famous mead. “I'll give you two for the price of one, for an old friend,” he said with a genuine grin. “I'll even take Guilder script.”
“Good, because you'd be out of business otherwise!” Rus laughed. He let his wife take her drink and go find a table. “So when did this all happen? It's an unsealed building so it has to be new.”
“Six months ago, but I've been off the labour gangs for a year before that.”
Rus raised his mead in toast, “well here's to your future success! And to mine, come to think of it. If you'd have told me six years ago I'd find the love of my life on this damned planet I'd have called you mad, yet here I am.”
The comment caught Vaan off-guard. “Six years?”
“That's how long I've been here,” Rus repeated.
“Yeah, me too. Guess it never hit me until now. Six years...”
“I know that look. You're homesick.”
Vaan nodded, “I am, but my home doesn't exist anymore. I don't have anywhere else to go.”
“Ah. Fate's harsh sometimes. Well, thanks for the drink,” Rus raised his bottle in salute once more and went to find his table.
While he wiped the bar down, Vaan watched his friend as the couple drank, talked, and laughed together. The sight of a female enjoying herself stirred unwelcome memories in the Daysider. He still longed for the company of women, but he couldn't shake his light sights of the homeworld. Those blue eyes, glassy and dead, still haunted him after all these years.
“Hey! Barkeep!”
Vaan turned to the shouter. It was one of the gang-bosses in charge of the slave labour details; a ragged Dawnsider with a permanent sneer upon his muzzle. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, you can get us four rounds of ale and bring it to table two!”
“Right away,” Vaan answered obediently. He made sure to spit in the drinks before serving them.

Tavik had spent four years watching his new home rise up from nothing. The palace would be in the centre of the city, overlooking the central commons. Tavik had spent a considerable amount of his own personal wealth to have rare and exotic materials shipped in. His past life as a pirate also convinced him to recall half his raider crews to their former stations and have their ships run escort. Thanks to his prudence, not a single transport in the convoy was lost, but reports back from Vaskal, Jaahr and the other captains troubled him. Vaskal herself had ordered her ship to chase down one of the fleeing raiders and close for boarding action, which cost the lives of a dozen of her crew. The survivors tore their victims apart, and not quickly; for two days they indulged themselves, raping and torturing the vanquished crew. One day, he would call Vaskal to task over that.
The Lord Governor shook off such concerns. The central plaza was not yet sealed and oxygenated, forcing the workers to wear breathing gear. Tavik watched as stone from a distant, alien world was carefully arrayed in a circle at the rear of the building, forming an honour ring that Lord Dasat insisted he would require. “Brutality has its uses in our lives,” Dasat had said when Tavik shared a sanitised version of the patrol sweep.
As he paced slowly along the edge of the work site, Tavik caught sight of his eldest son, Tavikat. He was already a man when they came to Taviksaad, but he had shown no interest in the life Tavik had won for them. Quite the contrary, he seemed to resent being planet-bound, and had been the first to volunteer, if not demand a place aboard any raider ship. That had changed over the last few years; having a son did that to people.
Tavikat noticed his father and strolled over, datapad in paw. “I've been speaking with the site manager. He reckons it will take another three years to finish this place.”
“Is that all? Here I was starting to think I'd be dead and burned before I ever set food in my home,” Tavik answered with a not-too-subtle bitterness.
“We could redirect efforts, father. If we go at it all hands, we can have the palace liveable in two with the whole common sealed and breathing.”
The Lord Governor considered the option. “I've turned down such suggestions before, Tavikat. Of course, I wasn't feeling the years quite so much then. Make it so; get us our home.”
“Right away, father,” Tavikat answered with a respectful nod.
Tavik smiled as he watched his son depart. It was much easier growing old when he knew his legacy was in good hands.

Almost ten years to the day since Vaan had been brought to Taviksaad against his will, he finally saw Tavik of Legend in the flesh.
A great ceremony had been arranged out in the wasteland, and attendance was mandatory for every slave. Despite his success, Vaan was still surely that, so he locked up the Yudu-Mahj and boarded one of the many transports headed into the wilderness. He was turned away when the driver pointed out Vaan had forgotten his oxygen mask – it had been two years since the Daysider had needed it.
Eventually, Vaan found himself out in the wilderness with tens of thousands of others, all formed into a ramshackle parade of slaves, free workers, representatives of the various founding Guilds and what passed for Taviksaad's nobility.
The focus of attention was an obelisk. It was currently on its side, with straps and cables readied to haul it upright on command and an appointed team of workers to secure the foundation. Vaan couldn't see the obelisk directly, but there were no shortage of public screens.
“This is a day long in the making,” Tavik of Legend said. The voice of the Lord Governor, now in his early forties, was blared out to the crowd through pole-mounted speakers dotted throughout the assembled visitors. “For ten years I have watched this great city take shape, though I know the work began many years before my arrival. It has been humbling, truly humbling.”
Tavik lowered his head in respect as Dasat brought forth an ancient oak box. The cameras focused upon it as he lifted the lid to reveal an ancient iron ingot, little more than an irregular oblong of rust. “This is iron form the forges of the First City, smelted thousands of years ago by smiths long dead. It once rested within the foundations of that city, and now it rests here. Let this founding iron link us forever to the world we left behind, and the souls of those who lived long before.”
As Dasat reverently placed the founding iron within the ground, a Daysider slave silently thought a curse upon Oraahnaj and all who ever lived within its borders.
The assembly watched as cement was poured to seal the iron ingot, and a cheer rippled through the more enthusiastic members of the crowd. Tavik waited for calm again before he spoke. “This marks the true beginning of our world – and it is [i]our[/i] world, made by and for all of us. One day, Kyyreni will stand before this stone and breathe this planet's air without need of masks or suits. One day the city we build beneath our grand dome will stand open to the sky. One day our ancestors will go forth into the stars as explorers, merchants and warriors without equal, and all the known worlds will speak of us in awe and reverence. I see a Taviksaad not as some vassal world, beholden to a distant emperor; I see us as a shining exemplar of a people, a world to which all others are compared and found wanting. I will not live to see that day, nor shall my children or grandchildren, and yet I do not shirk from the task! Greatness requires sacrifice, and I have resolved to give my life to a cause none here shall ever see complete.
“Some of you may question the wisdom of such a cause, but to those I shall say this – I was master of the Tavik Clan, the most feared marauders in all known space, but I did not forge that reputation by my hand alone. It was the work of many hands, made possible by the efforts of generations. I would not be here, as 'Tavik of Legend' where it not for the labours of my ancestors; so in turn, I commit my life to my sons, and their children, and my descendants yet unborn. Only by dedicating our lives to those future generations can true greatness be attained. I believe myself to be such a man, and I believe you all can be my equal in this cause. Men and women of Taviksaad... hail, to our glorious future!”
“Hail!” the crowd roared in reply. Even Vaan added his voice to the chorus. He had not believed in Taviksaad before, and he rarely did so after, but for that one, fleeting moment... Tavik of Legend made him believe.

The Yudu-Mahj was ahead of him, larger and more grand than ever. It had begun as a workers kitchen in a tent, then a tavern made of porta-cabins, and now its current incarnation; a genuine, permanent structure. One of the first, in fact; it said a lot about the priorities of the locals.
As he approached the doors, Vaan found a young woman waiting. She was a Daysider, sixteen years old if his memory served; they'd enjoyed one another's company last Revelry. “Sorry, we were closed for the founding ceremony.”
“I know, I was there,” she answered. “I'm Ina. Do you remember me?”
“Of course! No man would forget you, Ina,” Vaan answered with a convincing smile. It paid to put on the charm to a potential customer.
“I hope you will still be smiling when I tell you why I'm here,” Ina said. Vaan gave her a puzzled look, which quickly turned to mild horror when she began to rub her stomach.
“I... are you certain it's mine?”
Ina nodded. “You were the only man who bedded me at the Revelry. He's yours.”
Vaan fumbled for words, then fumbled for his keys with equal inelegance. “C-come in, please!” He eventually managed to unlock the door and waved her in, shutting and locking the door behind them. “Can I get you something?”
“Water would be fine, thank you,” Ina took a seat at the bar and waiting for Vaan to fetch her drink. He also poured a shot of spirit for himself. “I don't mean to make this difficult for you. I know, I was foolish for trusting cheap contraceptives, my housemates have already reminded me of that more times than I can count!”
“I can't say I took many precautions myself,” Vaan admitted. “What... what do we do now? Despite how it looks, I have little to offer you.”
“You have far more than I do!” Ina replied with a snicker. “You live in an apartment over a tavern, I live in a locker out in the northern wastes! I have to put a breathing mask on to go take a piss in the morning!”
“I am well aware of what that's like, believe me. I lived that way for four years.”
“I've lived that way for less than two, and that was two years too long! Yes, I'll admit that this is me taking advantage, but I will swear an oath that I didn't plan on getting pregnant! This really was an accident! But then I thought how I'd prayed so many nights to get out of this miserable life, to find something better. Then this happened.”
“Would it even be allowed? We're both slaves, property of someone else. How can you be sure they'd let you stay with me?”
“My gang-boss has two daughters of her own, she told me to come speak to you. If you want this, she'll help make it happen,” there was a pleading tone to Ina's voice now.
Vaan downed the last of his drink. He looked into Ina's soft features, noting how her rust-brown fur had subtle shades of amber under the surface, close to her skin. Her eyes were the colour of emeralds, like his own. He looked into those eyes, and realised for the first time no dead woman was looking back at him. The revelation physically shook him. “A sign,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“I think... I think you're right. I think this is a sign. So... this is me accepting your proposal.” He took her paws in his own and said, “Ina, let us wed.”
Ina threw herself into Vaan's arms, almost knocking him from his chair. She kissed him passionately, breaking out into fits of laughter when their lips parted and relief overwhelmed her. “Vaan, I promise to make you the happiest man on Taviksaad!”
They shared another drink, this time toasting their agreement to marry, and spoke pleasantly of how to set matters in motion – whose permission they needed, what religious traditions they both shared and wished to adhere to and so on. The venue, at least, was settled on immediately; the Yudu-Mahj.
“Do you believe in what Tavik said to us? About building a world for our children's children?”
Vaan considered the question for a moment. “If you'd asked me that yesterday I would have said no. I never saw myself as having a future here, despite all that I've accomplished. But now? I suppose I do.”
“Then what will our daughter's descendents be in that far distant future?” Ina asked, stroking her stomach.
“Our [i]son's[/i] descendants will follow in our footsteps. They'll own a tavern, the finest on Taviksaad! It will be a place where even nobles wish to drink!”
“What will they serve these nobles?” Ina grinned as she urged Vaan on.
The newly-engaged Daysider grinned. “Black market [i]distil[/i], the old family recipe. Don't worry, I'll teach you it after the wedding.”

Lord Governor Tavikat Tavik travelled south-east via motorcade, following the arterial highway from the central plaza towards the First District. The roadway sloped down gently, expanding in width as it went to allow additional on-ramps and access tunnels to merge. The whole road system was enclosed, but the ceilings were high enough to allow simultaneous use by ground and hover traffic. The foresight of the designs was a testament to the skills of the army of engineers who had made The City a reality.
The City. That's all anyone ever called it. Had anyone, at any stage of its design or construction ever cared to name it? His father certainly hadn't. Tavik of Legend, the man who had named everything else he could after himself had reigned his ego in at that sole step. Still, Tavikat mused, there was plenty of time to worry about names later; when there were other settlements of Taviksaad, perhaps they'd get around to naming their first.
First District was named such because it was the first to be habitable. It comprised the outer two sections of the eastern quadrant, with the section above kept separated and still unaired while work continued there. This, the central plaza and the single connecting road were still the only truly liveable parts of The City, but that would change. Tavikat felt certain that his son, Kaahl Tavik would rule a finished city... or at least, one where every district contained oxygen.
His convoy wound through the portable township and to the finished buildings, most of which were dedicated to luxuries. Tavikat couldn't help but smile at how his people chose to live in tents so that they could eat, drink and sleep with prostitutes in comfort. “That must be it. Stop here,” he said to his driver, pointing to the junction ahead. He stepped out onto the walkway and waited for his entourage of Enforcers to array themselves around him. Hardly necessary, in his opinion, but it made the Guild feel useful.
The Yudu-Mahj bore its name proudly on a hand-painted banner above the door. A shield-shaped tavern sign hung out over the street, onto which some aspiring artist had painted a close-up image of a Daysider female's eye. Whether it was the left or the right depended on which side of the sign you viewed, but in eather case the rest of the details were identical. The female's eyes were brilliant blue, though her pupils were unnaturally wide, no doubt to better frame the central image; the vague silhouette of another Kyyreni, backlit by a harsh red sun. Tavikat was no expert in Urlbic, so he struggled to connect the venue's name to the artwork.
His artistic criticism complete, Tavikat stepped inside the tavern. His presence, or likely that of his Enforcers quickly silenced the room. A female Daysider behind the bar startled at their arrival and bolted for the back room, shouting something in Urlbic. Two adult Daysiders answered the child's summons. Tavikat focused on the older male. “I take it you are Vaan?”
“I am,” Vaan confirmed. The Daysider was well into his forties, a fact made clear by the ragged nature of his fur, the grey that smothered his muzzle, and the walking cane he used. Vaan squinted through a pair of cheap glasses at Tavikat and added hastily, “what can I do for you, Lord Governor?”
Tavikat waved a female aide forward and took the stack of papers she carried. A second female offered him a tablet, which he did not take immediately. “I have here copies of your contracts of indenturement. I doubt you've ever seen, given the circumstances under which you were both brought to this world.”
Though he acted submissive, Vaan's voice had a hardened edge to it. “No, Lord Governor. I am sad to say I never saw any semblance of legality when I was enslaved.”
Tavikat chuckled. “You hide some sharp teeth behind that tight-lipped smile. No wonder you've done so well for yourself. Take them, then. A gift from myself in recognition of a lifetime of service to my father's dream.”
Ina took the papers on her husband's behalf, and as her eyes caught the top sheet a quiet gasp escaped her lips. Vaan hobbled over and took the papers himself. He flicked to the next, then the third. All of the contracts had the word ANNULLED stamped across them in bold green ink, along with a date, time and notary's signature. The tremble in Vaan's paws had nothing to do with his age. “You have freed us?”
“I have. Rumour has it the Enforcer-Captain himself wept in grief when he learned you had been relocated to this tavern full time. The mead's quality had gone downhill considerably since then.”
There was nothing false about Vaan's shyness now. “I... thank you for your praise, Lord Governor.”
“There is one other matter I wish to discuss. It concerns my father's vision for the future. He told my many times that obedience was an easy thing to compel, but that true loyalty could only come from one place; the hearts of those who follow us. You, and tens of thousands like you, have been bound to serve my father's dream, yet little thought was ever given as to whether you believed. It falls to me to try and convince you, and those like you, that the Tavik Clan is worthy of your loyalty. In that spirit, I give you this.”
Taviak snapped his fingers, summoning yet more papers. These were handed over to Vaan, who studied them with care. “You have given me ownership of this building?”
“In perpetuity,” Lord Tavikat confirmed. “Do with this place as you will. Build it up, sell it on, or burn it down if that's your wish. Although, I hope you will not do the latter! With this gift, you can truly stand apart – you need not be beholden to the Guilds to loan you property any longer, though I cannot exempt you from taxes. You are a resourceful man, Vaan. Use this boon well.”
Vaan and his family were left speechless, but the patrons made up for it with cheers and whoops. Tavikat took his lead, grinning with pride at a game well-played; by the end of the day, tales of his act of kindness would reach every corner of The City, and the people would believe, many for the first time, in his father's future.
At the door, the Lord Governor paused. He turned back to the still silent family and called, “if I might make a suggestion, Vaan? Consider renaming your tavern. Something in Ruljic, perhaps? 'Yudu-Mahj' hardly rolls off the tongue.”
The old Daysider smiled faintly. “I will consider it, Lord Governor.”