“Pay us in hard Immortal Jade by sundown, or we haul your northern border towns into the void as collateral!”
The cold wind howling across the northern plateau smelled of burnt astral ozone and dry salt.
Perched on the edge of the high cliffs overlooking the Great Void Rift stood the Outer-Sky Merchant Inn. The tavern was built from the rusted iron hull of an ancient crashed star-freighter. Giant void-exhaust pipes jutted from the roof like chimney stacks, puffing grey steam into the dusk. Inside, rough wooden tables were packed with weathered off-world sailors, void-pilots, and nomadic traders sipping bitter black rum.
Out in the frozen star-dock behind the inn, three massive void-caravans sat dead on their landing pads. Their hull plating was scorched by cosmic radiation, and their engine nacelles were cracked and leaking blue plasma. In the shadow of the dormant ships, fifty thousand void sailors, mechanics, and their families shivered in thin canvas tents. Imperial sentries stood around the perimeter, refusing to let them buy coal or grain without paying extortionate docking fees.
In the private back parlor of the inn, the air was thick with tension.
Grand Preceptor Sima Quan sat at the head of a long steel table. He wore heavy crimson robes lined with white mink fur, his bony fingers tapping impatiently on a gold-plated armrest. Behind him stood sixty elite imperial enforcers in lacquered black armor, their hands resting on the pommels of curved soul-reaping sabers. Two bruised void-navigators knelt in the corner…
