# The Stellar Throne
## Prologue: The Weight of Stars
The Lenggram Estate orbited no sun. It didn't need to.
Suspended in the void between the Andromeda Spiral and the Perseus Arm, the ancestral seat of humanity's most powerful family existed as its own gravitational anomaly—a construct so massive it bent spacetime around itself, creating artificial days and nights through controlled stellar drift. Seventeen artificial suns rotated around the central palace complex, each one a testament to the family's ability to reshape reality itself.
In the eastern observation tower, Chris von Lenggram stood before a viewport that stretched three hundred meters high, watching a fleet of war vessels conduct maneuvers in the distance. Their formation was precise, mathematical, a deadly ballet of overwhelming force. Each ship could level a planetary surface. Together, they represented barely a fraction of a percent of his family's military capacity.
He was eighteen standard years old, and he was profoundly, utterly bored.
"Young master, your father requests your presence in the strategy chamber," a synthetic voice announced from the room's ambient speakers.
Chris didn't respond immediately. He tracked the movement of the fleet, calculating trajectory adjustments, fuel consumption rates, the efficiency of their formation against theoretical enemy positions. The analysis took him 2.3 seconds. The fleet commander would need another six minutes to reach the same conclusions.
This was his life. Calculations completed before others had framed the questions. Strategies rendered obsolete by his presence before they were fully articulated. He'd been granted access to the family's military databases at age twelve, and within two years had redesigned seventeen core tactical doctrines that were now standard across all six Lenggram fleets.
Everyone called him a genius. He found the term imprecise. He simply saw patterns others didn't, and drew conclusions that seemed obvious once examined. That others failed to see these patterns wasn't his concern—but it did make conversation tedious.
"Acknowledged," he finally said.
The walk to the strategy chamber took him through corridors lined with the accumulated wealth of three million years of human expansion. Artifacts from extinct civilizations, crystallized cores of dead stars, paintings created by minds so alien that viewing them too long caused permanent psychological changes in unaugmented humans. Chris had been augmented since birth, like all Lenggram heirs, but he still didn't look at the paintings. Not from fear, but because he'd already catalogued their contents years ago.
The strategy chamber occupied the heart of the estate, a spherical room where holographic displays could recreate entire galactic sectors at full tactical resolution. His father, Duke Wilhelm von Lenggram, stood at the chamber's center, surrounded by data streams that would overwhelm most military commanders. Wilhelm was reviewing casualty reports from the Outer Rim, where humanity's war with the Krev'nash Collective had entered its third decade.
"The Fourth Fleet reports a fifteen percent increase in enemy adaptive countermeasures," Wilhelm said without turning around. "They're learning from our tactics faster than projected."
Chris studied the data flowing past his father's position. "They're not learning. They're stealing. Someone in the Fourth Fleet command structure is selling tactical data. Likely a communications officer with clearance level seven or higher, based on the specificity of the Krev'nash responses. Review personnel files for anyone who's accumulated debt in the last eight months. Cross-reference with family members in occupied territories."
Wilhelm turned to face his son. The Duke was a large man, enhanced musculature visible even beneath his formal robes, but his eyes held the same calculating intelligence that Chris had inherited. "Already done. Three candidates identified. They'll be interrogated within the hour."
"Then why summon me?"
"Because I wanted to see if you'd spotted it as quickly as my analysts." Wilhelm gestured, and the casualty reports vanished, replaced by a three-dimensional map of the Lenggram holdings. "You've completed your strategic education. Your combat certifications are beyond what most flag officers achieve in a lifetime. By every metric, you're ready to assume command responsibilities."
Chris waited. There was more coming—his father's conversational patterns always followed specific structures.
"But you're restless," Wilhelm continued. "You've been restless for months. The servants report you spend most of your time in the observation towers, watching ship movements. Your combat instructors say you complete their scenarios so quickly they've run out of new material. Even the family AI has noted your decreased engagement with your studies."
"The studies are repetitive," Chris said. "Once you understand the underlying principles, the variations are predictable."
"Everything is predictable to you, isn't it?" Wilhelm's tone wasn't critical, merely observational. "That's the burden of seeing too clearly. The universe becomes a solved equation."
Chris said nothing. His father was correct, but acknowledging it wouldn't change anything.
Wilhelm expanded the map, highlighting a single star system near the galactic core. "The Imperial Academy on Throne World begins its new term in three weeks. It's traditional for young nobles to attend, to form connections, to learn diplomacy alongside tactics."
"I know more than most of their instructors."
"Of course you do. But the Academy isn't about instruction. It's about observation. You've spent your entire life surrounded by people who defer to you because of your bloodline. At the Academy, you'll be surrounded by the heirs of every major house in the Empire. Some will fear you, but some won't. Some will try to use you, to manipulate you, to make themselves important by association. It will be... messy. Unpredictable. Human."
Chris considered this. His father was offering him chaos, disguised as education. A environment where his calculations would be disrupted by the irrational behavior of his peers, where social dynamics would introduce variables that couldn't be easily quantified.
It was the first interesting proposition he'd heard in months.
"I'll need a ship," Chris said.
Wilhelm's expression didn't change, but Chris detected the micro-tension in his father's jaw. The Duke had anticipated this request. "You can take any vessel from the family fleet. I'd recommend something appropriate for a student—a destroyer, perhaps, or a light cruiser."
"I'll take Golden Dragon."
Now Wilhelm's expression did change. "Absolutely not. That ship is a strategic asset. It's one of only ten quasi-tier seven warships in human space. Six belong to us, but that doesn't make them personal transportation for Academy students."
"Golden Dragon has full system access across all Imperial networks. It can modify its signature to appear as any vessel classification. Its AI is sophisticated enough to handle any social scenarios I might encounter. And," Chris added, meeting his father's stare, "if I'm discovered away from family protection during wartime, I'll need the capability to defend myself."
"If you're discovered, every Krev'nash fleet within a hundred light-years will converge on your position. Golden Dragon can destroy a galaxy, but that doesn't help if they hit you with dimensional weapons before you can charge the main cannon."
"Then I won't be discovered."
Father and son regarded each other in silence. The holographic star map cast shifting lights across their faces, empires rising and falling in the space between them.
Wilhelm sighed. "You're going regardless of what I say, aren't you? This isn't a request. You're informing me of a decision you've already made."
"Yes."
"At least take an escort. A squadron of destroyers, minimal profile—"
"No. That would defeat the purpose. I need to experience this without the family's overwhelming presence distorting every interaction."
Wilhelm turned back to the star map, his shoulders settling into a posture Chris recognized as resignation. "You're going to give me a heart attack, and I've had three replacement hearts already. The fourth one might not take."
"Your medical profile shows a ninety-seven percent compatibility rating with current cardiac augmentation technology. You'll be fine."
"I was speaking metaphorically."
"I know."
Wilhelm waved his hand, and a data crystal materialized in the holo-field, drifting toward Chris. "Emergency command codes. If things go catastrophically wrong, these will allow you to requisition any Imperial military asset within range. Use them only if you're about to die."
Chris caught the crystal, noting its quantum encryption patterns. His father had just given him authorization that technically exceeded the Emperor's own command privileges. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just... try not to start any interstellar incidents. And send regular reports. Your mother will worry."
"Mother is leading the Second Fleet in the Terminus Campaign. Her last transmission suggested she was planning to personally board a Krev'nash dreadnought."
"She still worries. It's what mothers do." Wilhelm looked at his son, and for a moment, the calculating military commander faded, replaced by something more human. "The universe is larger than you think, Chris. More complicated. You've spent your life solving problems that have answers. Most problems don't. Most situations can't be calculated away. You're going to encounter things that don't make sense, people whose behavior defies logic. Try not to let it frustrate you too much."
"I'll adapt."
"I know you will. You're a Lenggram." Wilhelm returned his attention to the tactical displays, dismissing his son with the gesture. "Send a message before you leave. And for the sake of all that's strategic, try to make friends. Real ones, not subordinates who fear you."
Chris left the strategy chamber, the data crystal secure in his pocket, his decision crystallized into action. He had three weeks to prepare, to ensure Golden Dragon's transformation would be undetectable, to create a cover identity that would withstand scrutiny without completely erasing his actual status.
The challenge energized him in a way nothing had for months.
He didn't notice the faint smile on his face as he walked, or the way several servants stopped to stare at the unusual expression on their young master's usually impassive features.
Three weeks later, a message reached Duke Wilhelm von Lenggram while he was reviewing fleet dispositions. It was a holographic recording, brief and to the point:
"Father. I'm departing for the Academy. I've taken Golden Dragon, as discussed. The ship has been reconfigured and will register as a standard tier-three courier vessel. I've added myself to the Imperial registry as a Viscount—appropriate rank for Academy admission without drawing excessive attention. Don't worry about the ship's security; I've updated all authentication protocols. I'll send regular reports. The war situation in Sector Twelve requires your attention; the Krev'nash are massing forces near the Tertius Gate, likely for a major offensive within thirty days. I've forwarded my tactical analysis to your staff. Goodbye."
Wilhelm sat motionless for a full minute after the message ended, then began cursing in seven different languages, three of which were extinct. His staff had never heard several of the words he used.
When he finally calmed down, Wilhelm pulled up the tactical analysis Chris had mentioned. He read it twice, cross-referenced it with current intelligence, then immediately ordered the Third Fleet to reinforce Sector Twelve.
His son had been gone for less than an hour and was already influencing military strategy from halfway across the galaxy.
Wilhelm cursed again, but this time there was pride mixed with the exasperation.
The boy would be fine. The Academy, on the other hand, had no idea what was about to enroll.