The Freedom Military Contractor fleet hung above No'aar like a verdict.
Twenty-two Lunar-class hulls held their formation with disciplined spacing, engines idling at controlled output, weapons ports closed in the polite posture of restraint. From the palace war chamber, they looked almost calm, a wall of mass and intent arranged into geometry that could become violence with a single command. Tobias stood before the hololith and watched their signatures stabilize into steady patterns, and he felt the tension in the room settle into a colder kind of readiness.
This was not a raid.
This was a message delivered with capital letters.
Trace stood at Tobias' left, eyes narrowed as he compared transponder strings to archived Lunan contractor IDs. Cassian waited behind Tobias, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back, listening to the rhythm of command as if it were a heartbeat. Kvasir worked at the console with quiet intensity, filtering signals and mapping the orbital lanes that were now effectively under corporate observation. The remaining SCORPIO squad was present in the room without being visible, and Tobias felt their mind-blocking discipline as a faint blur around the edges of his inner sight, a reminder that even his gifts were not sovereign here.
Tobias did not waste time on anger.
He opened a direct channel.
The hail request transmitted through Imperial encryption, framed not as a plea but as formal sovereign contact, the kind of message fleets were obligated to answer unless they intended to declare hostility. The response took six seconds, which was fast enough to suggest preparedness and slow enough to suggest deliberation. A view-screen unfolded above the command table, resolving into the image of a bridge lit in pale white, its lines clean and corporate, designed to convey competence rather than grandeur.
A man sat centered in the frame, shoulders broad, uniform immaculate, hair clipped short in the military style of private contractors. His expression carried the practiced calm of someone who had negotiated their way out of more danger than they had fought through. Rank insignia was present but understated, and Tobias recognized the intentionality of that too.
"Lord Tobias Hawthorne," the man said, voice smooth, "acting steward of No'aar under Solar Imperium charter. I am General Alaric Vane, field commander of Freedom Military Contractor's Fleet Detachment. You have my attention."
Tobias held the general's gaze without blinking.
"General Vane," Tobias replied evenly, "your fleet has entered Imperial space in force and established a blockade posture over No'aar. This world is under the Emperor's guidance by charter and under my stewardship by direct appointment through House Hawthorne." His voice did not rise, but it sharpened with each word. "State your intent. State it clearly, and state why you believe you have the authority to be here."
General Vane's smile was almost apologetic, as if the situation was an inconvenience rather than a crisis. "Our intentions are not aggression," he said calmly. "We are not here to attack No'aar, and we are not here to interfere with House Hawthorne governance." He raised one hand slightly, palm outward, a gesture meant to signal openness. "Freedom Military Contractor has been hired to establish a protective blockade during an active petition being heard at the Clansmoot. House Mordred made an appeal to His Imperial Majesty regarding Dust security and 'regional destabilization.' In response to that political uncertainty, our contract is to prevent unauthorized traffic from entering or leaving No'aar until the Clansmoot resolves the matter."
Tobias listened without interruption, then replied with a quiet precision that made the air in the chamber feel thinner.
"House Mordred is the destabilization," Tobias said. "They poisoned my father, infiltrated the capital, and attempted to undermine this stewardship through erosion and murder." He leaned forward slightly. "So I will ask you once more, General. Why is a Lunan corporate fleet enforcing a blockade in Imperial space at the request of a House that has demonstrated hostile action against the Imperium's own stability?"
Vane's expression did not falter, but the smile became more careful. "We don't adjudicate politics, my lord," he said. "We execute contracts. The contract specifies protection, not aggression. Our fleet posture is defensive and our weapons remain cold. If you cooperate, there will be no escalation." He paused, then added, "This is for your benefit as well. It prevents opportunists, smugglers, and raiders from exploiting uncertainty. It ensures Dust remains secure."
Tobias felt the lie not as a psychic revelation, but as simple logic.
Protection did not arrive with twenty-two capital hulls unless the goal was intimidation, and "preventing traffic" was another way of saying "controlling a world." He did not show disgust, because disgust gave an opponent leverage. Instead he nodded once, slowly, as though considering cooperation, and let the general believe the moment had softened.
"I appreciate your clarity," Tobias said, voice calm. "Now I will provide mine."
He cut the channel for a fraction of a second and turned to Kvasir, his tone quiet but absolute. "Bring Second Naval Squadron online," he ordered. "Silent running. No emissions. No transponder activation. Maintain dark posture." Kvasir's fingers moved instantly, routing command packets through tightbeam relays that would look like background noise to anyone not specifically listening for them. Trace's gaze sharpened, and Cassian's expression remained still, but Tobias sensed the vice-commander's approval like a steady pulse.
The hololith shifted, and No'aar's third moon rotated into view.
On its far side, hidden from line-of-sight sensors and masked by the moon's bulk and shadow, a new set of icons appeared only on Hawthorne-authenticated layers. They were faint, ghost-coded, and tagged with silent status markers rather than active signatures. Tobias watched the squadron's arrangement form in clean lines, a knife sliding under a cloak.
Two Lunar-class battleships anchored the force, heavy cores around which everything else could pivot. Ten Victory-class destroyers split into three task groups, arranged for coordinated strike vectors rather than simple defense. Task Group One held four destroyers in a wide arc, positioned to pounce on the FMC fleet's flank if it tried to tighten the blockade. Task Group Two held another four destroyers and one Lunar-class, placed to cut the orbital lane leading toward the capital's high anchor. Task Group Three held the remaining two destroyers with the second Lunar-class, positioned as a spear tip that could punch through a gap and force the FMC line to break formation.
All of them ran dark.
No broadcast. No active radar. No engine plume brighter than a whisper.
They moved into position with the patience of predators and the silence of deep water.
Tobias reopened the hail channel to General Vane.
The general appeared again with the same composed expression, as if he had not moved since Tobias last looked at him. Tobias wondered how many of his bridge crew were already sweating beneath that corporate calm, and whether any of them had questioned the wisdom of angling themselves above a planet held by a Great House. Tobias kept his face neutral, his voice measured, and his words dangerously polite.
"General Vane," Tobias said, "you claim you are here to protect No'aar from opportunists and to secure Dust until the Clansmoot resolves political uncertainty." He paused, letting the statement hang long enough to become a hook. "I am informing you that No'aar's security is already under lawful stewardship, and any attempt to restrict Imperial traffic without Imperial authorization is a hostile act regardless of how softly it is spoken."
Vane's smile tightened a fraction. "Lord Tobias, we have authorization through our contract's chain of—"
"You have a contract," Tobias interrupted, still calm, still controlled. "I have a charter and the Emperor's declared stewardship." He leaned forward slightly, eyes steady. "So you will do one of two things. You will withdraw to the system edge and hold position without interference, or you will remain here and accept that House Hawthorne will treat your blockade as an invasion in slow motion."
For the first time, General Vane's eyes cooled.
"This doesn't need to become ugly," Vane said, voice lower. "We're professionals. You know what a misstep here could cost."
Tobias nodded once, as if agreeing with the concept of cost, though not with the implied threat.
"I do," Tobias said. "That is why I've already ensured that if you choose escalation, you will not get to choose the terms of it."
He did not mention the Second Naval Squadron.
He did not need to.
The threat existed whether it was spoken or not, and sometimes the most powerful weapon was the one your enemy did not know was pointed at them. Tobias watched Vane's face for any sign that the general suspected a hidden force, but the corporate commander remained composed, the kind of man who trusted his numbers too much. Tobias felt the future stir, branching faintly into possible outcomes, and he did not chase clarity. He held steadiness.
Outside the palace, No'aar's oceans rolled under the night sky, indifferent to corporate contracts and noble blood. Above it all, a blockade smiled politely while a hidden squadron waited in the moon's shadow with its engines whispering in silence. Tobias stood at the edge of war, Duke in all but title, and understood that the next words spoken across that channel might decide whether No'aar endured through law or through fire.