Weston Orbit.
Brown-Robed Prince.
Captain Helantex came before the throne of Jando Skolevok, commander of the Night Lords' 45th Company.
"Count of the Tattooed Face, I have compiled the responses."
"First, 159 space stations have accepted your demands. Lord Karen Kil has already departed to take them over."
"Second, 138 space stations are willing to supply you with fuel, but unwilling to provide population."
Skolevok's pale fingers brushed across his chin, his nails gleaming a deep black.
"They think they can still watch the fire from across the river. They think I gave them a choice."
"All they have received is fear. They will accept punishment."
Helantex looked at the figure upon the throne, a chill running down his spine.
He always felt as though two people were speaking, not one.
"By your command, Count of the Tattooed Face."
He lowered his head, pressed his Communication Bead, and listened to the report.
Skolevok frowned. "Shadow of Order?"
"It is Alpha."
Skolevok's brows relaxed. He knew Omega had once appeared and spoken with the Night Lord.
There was some cooperation between the Legions, but he was not a member of the Night Bat Council and did not know the details.
"Put them through."
"The communication link has been established."
"Count of the Tattooed Face." A low voice came through.
"Who is speaking?"
"Omega."
Skolevok chuckled. "Should I call you lord?"
"You all call yourselves Omega. How many have died lately?"
"I am Omega." The low voice stressed it again.
"Rather than who I am, you should be more concerned with your objective."
"You only have one warship now. If you wish to establish your Corpse World, you need our help."
"Help?" Skolevok chuckled.
"Nostramo has a saying: no dog will fetch you food unless it intends to bite you to death