She had accepted the lateral promotion to Lord High but had retained her official title of Senior Special Tasks Agent when she had accepted Office of Scientific Inquiry command of the Scientific Probe Mission. She had been assigned three ships, loaded with technicians and soldiers, she had been briefed on how the three ships would be hiding inside the massive hulk of a Terror Forerunner vessel, and how she would lead a probe to a Terror System that the Empire desired.

The multi-month journey through transit-space had worn on everyone's nerves.

Now, she stood in her briefing room, staring at the maps, as the ground investigation teams geared up and got ready.

Probes were sweeping across the two moons and the planet, more devoted to the planet and the larger moon than the smaller one. The data they were gathering was being streamed in realtime to the holotank/holotable she stood next to, constantly updated strips of the maps.

One of the Means to the End technicians looked up, frowning.

"Lord High Pratulpet?" he stated, his voice properly servile.

"Yes?" the large female said, still staring at the map of the larger moon, where three facilities had been discovered so far.

"There is an anomaly," the technician said.

Pratulpet didn't bother with the name, just referred to him in her head with a number. The technician was easily replaceable, hundreds of other males waiting to take his place.

"Elaborate," Pratulpet ordered, still staring at the holotank as one of the probes did a low altitude, slow flyover of the larger of the facilities.

"Basic orbital mechanics knowledge quickly points out that..." the male started gibbering.

"To the point," Pratulpet snapped.

"The smaller moon should be moving faster than the larger one, not the other way around," the male stated.

Pratulpet looked at him. "And?"

"The larger moon is moving at a higher velocity around the planetary body, completing an orbit once every 29 point three one one days," the male said. "The smaller one completes an full orbit once every 29 point three two five days."

"That sounds like they are moving at the same speed," Pratulpet stated coldly. She motioned at one of the Ways of the Means military guards, who stepped up behind the male. The WoMMG didn't say anything, just stood only inches behind the technician, staring down at the top of his head.

"No, they aren't," the male said. "The closer moon has a smaller circumference to move through. It should be moving at nearly ten times the larger and further out moon's speed. Instead, it's moving too slowly."

Pratulpet bruxed her back teeth. "So?" She made a motion and the WOMMG put her hand on the male's shoulder, just dropping it heavily.

"It's moving too slow to maintain orbit," the male said, cringing slightly. "It's orbit should decay almost immediately."

Looking at the data Pratulpet brought up programs to run the data herself. While the technicians had been educated in their own discipline with the most advanced knowledge the Empire possessed, they each only had an extremely limited field of knowledge.

It took Senior Agents such as her to put the data together.

After running it three times, the data was conclusive.

The inner moon should have fallen into the atmosphere within two revolutions at the maximum.

She made a motion and the Way of the Means Military Guard squeezed the male's shoulder tightly, eliciting a gasp of pain, then let go, stepping back against the wall.

"Another anomaly, Lord High Pratulpet," another technician said.

"What?" Pratulpet snapped. She disliked that the moon was doing the impossible. Imperial science could not explain it.

"The moon has far too low of a gravitational signature," the male said.

Another motion from Pratulpet had that male's shoulder grasped by one of the Ways of the Means Military Guard.

"Explain," Pratulpet ordered.

"I cannot," the male said, flinching. "The moon's gravitational signature is a hundredth of what it should be, yet probes show it has the save amount of gravity as the planet itself," them male said, his ears flicking in fear.

"How?" Pratulpet asked.

"Unknown," the male said. He flinched slightly as the grip increased on his shoulder. "Even stranger, is that the gravity is less than on 0.000185 standard gravities until the probe reaches one thousand five hundred meters from the highest point, at which point the gravity increases rapidly until it is at one point five standard gravity."

Thinking for a moment, Pratulpet examined the data.

The male was not wrong and a motion from her sent the Ways of the Means Guard back against the wall.

"Gravity generators? Gravity pumps?" Pratulpet asked.

"No power signatures, no signatures consistent with gravity pumps or generators known to the Empire," the male stated, cringing slightly.

Pratulpet bruxed her back teeth, staring at the maps.

The smaller moon had only a single facility. A wide dome, nearly two kilometers in diameter, with a small half-kilometer box sticking off to one side. A probe had spotted an entryway on the side of the box furthest away from the dome, and one of the scientific teams would be landing there to examine it.

"Another anomaly," a third male said.

Pratulpet had to resist the urge to scream at the male.

"What now?" she snapped.

"The orbital inclinations are all wrong," the male said, cringing.

"How so?" Pratulpet asked.

"Normally, an orbital body moves around the equator," the male started.

"I know this. Get to it," Pratulpet growled, grabbing the bar at the edge of the holotable and squeezing as tightly as her three fingered hands would let her.

"When adjusted for the axial tilt, both orbit at a forty-five degree angle, exactly between the equator and the poles," the male said. "That isn't normal."

Closing her eyes and bruxing her back teeth hard for a moment, Pratulpet got her righteous anger under control.

Don't these fools understand that the Empire is the inheritor of the galaxy? Why must the Terror worlds always be so... so... uncooperative? she asked herself.

She motioned and the guard stepped back against the wall, letting go of the back of the male's neck.

"Very well," she said. She made a sharp motion. "Stay silent, the first team is landing at the smaller moon," she said.

She opened up the window and watched.

The dropship had landed only a few hundred meters from the entrance to the small boxy extrusion of the dome. The technicians and the scientists and the guards all wore strength enhancing armor to allow them to move easily in the 1.5 standard gravity of the moon's surface. The boots of the scientific team left 25mm prints in the dust as they moved to the entrance.

Looking closely, Pratulpet saw that there was actually three entrance. Two smaller upright rectangles, one very large side to side rectangle. The smaller upright ones were roughly three point one meters tall and one point five meters wide. The larger one was twenty meters high and a hundred meters across.

The scientific team moved up to one of the smaller ones, examining the doorway, then a protrusion in the wall.

"Standard hyperalloy," one of the technicians said, looking at the telemetry. "Used by Fallen Confederacy as well as the Precursor Autonomous War Machines," the male didn't bother looking up. "Called 'battlesteel' by the Fallen Confederacy."

"High crystalline doping in the hyperalloy, crystals consistent with phasic enhancement," another male, this one from the Division of Psychic Technological Applications, stated in a distant voice.

The fact that male had an unkempt and greasy pelt, uneven whiskers, and dirty claws annoyed Pratulpet, but she knew that her authority only went so far with the Division of Scientific Technology.

It took some minutes for the team on the surface to realize they could just slip their fingers under the edge of the box like protrusion and lift it up to reveal a keypad and a small screen. They touched the keypad and immediately data began streaming down the screen.

The lead put a small screen over the keypad and screen, allowing instant, realtime translation of the Terror runes. They worked on it for a few minutes, trying to figure out a way to get it to respond. Pratulpet kept bruxing her back teeth as she waited impatiently, listening to the lower ranking scientists and technicians as they tried various means to open the door.

There was a clink on the communications channel.

A Treana'ad made of sparkling light appeared in the middle of the holotable, 'walking' over to the video of the away team working on the door.

"Get out of there," Pratulpet snapped.

"Make me," the Treana'ad answered. "Whew, this network's thinner than melted ice cream on a summer's day," it signified displeasure as it 'looked' at the hologram of the away team. "That's Terran elliptic curve encryption. You're going to have a tough time beating that."

"Bah," Pratulpet said. She tabbed up the communication to the away team. "It's standard elliptic curve encryption like we have found on other Terror relics. Bypass it."

The glittering Treana'ad snickered, lighting a cigarette.

The scientific team worked for a few minutes, then backed away.

"The encryption is polymorphic. We cannot bypass it," the team leader said, looking nervous.

"You are using sixteen qubit quantum systems, how can you not bypass it?"

The Treana'ad snickered again. "Because that little datapad is running 1024 qubits. That's why," he said. He exhaled smoke. "Sixteen is standard for personal data devices."

"We demand you assist us in opening that door," Pratulpet said.

The glittering Treana'ad sighed. "Open it for them, Bravo-Six."

Pratulpet saw the team suddenly react, their viewpoint changing as they all turned toward a flickering distortion that suddenly turned into one of the massive Treana'ad. It was in armor, sensible due to the vacuum, but the armor had the feel of advanced combat armor. It was carrying a rifle across its back and a cutting bar on one hip with a pistol on the other.

"Don't bump me," the Treana'ad said with the flat overtones of a translator at work.

It moved up to the door, lifting a screen and rapidly typing. The panel flashed several times and the door slowly opened on heavy hinges. It was a meter thick, supported by hydraulics and pistons.

"Here, you'll need this to talk to anyone outside. That facility is heavily shielded," the Treana'ad said. It set a cube down, then the Treana'ad backed up, moved away a few yards and stood still. The Treana'ad suddenly rippled and vanished.

"How are you doing that? Why does that one not show up on our sensors?" Pratulpet asked, her voice furious.

"Because special tasks teams use stealth," the Treana'ad said. "You new races are about some rude people."

"Enter the facility," Pratulpet ordered, deciding to ignore the irritating unwanted visitor.

"Did you ever stop to think that this might be something you might not want to disturb?" the Treana'ad asked suddenly.

"What? Why wouldn't we want to examine it?" Pratulpet asked.

"Because it's a Terran Tomb World," the Treana'ad said conversationally. "We keep telling you new races to leave them alone, but you keep pushing at them. You've already woken up rogue Precursor Autonomous War Machines several times, even after we warned you to leave those particular systems alone. We had to stop it before it killed off a few species or a few dozen stellar systems."

The Treana'ad paused to light a smokestick. "Ever think we have a reason to tell you to leave these places alone?"

"We are the inheritors of the galaxy," Pratulpet said, her voice full of confidence.

"All you new races say that," The Treana'ad answered. It made a chitter of amusement. "You fight and squabble amongst yourselves, you demand that us older races give you everything you want, the whole time crowing about your superiority even as you demand the older races give you technology."

"It is ours by right," Pratulpet said.

"What right?" the Treana'ad asked.

Pratulpet rolled her eyes, bruxed her back teeth for a moment, then stared at the Treana'ad. "You had your time. You are a fading and dwindling species. The Confederacy is powerless and has fallen from dominance."

"It was never about dominance," the Treana'ad said, shaking his head.

"That is all there is. The strong dominate those weaker than them," Pratulpet said.

"You should be glad that the Confederacy believes differently," the Treana'ad said.

"Silence," Pratulpet ordered. The excursion team was through the airlock and had moved through the interior of the boxy area. It was offices, storage rooms with space suits inside, and dead viewscreens, nothing of any importance, and none of it powered.

The heavy doors opened up and Pratulpet gaped in shock.

Inside were row upon row of crystalline and glittering craft, all them looking like some kind of insect. Row upon row of them, lined up according to design. The lights of the excursion team made the superstructures glitter and gleam, the delicate wings of the ships looking more like large iridescent insect wings than anything that would be used for anything space capable. All of them seemed to be patterned on insects of different types, but all of them flying insects.

"What is that?" Pratulpet asked.

"Spacecraft," the Treana'ad said. He shook his head. "I forgot how beautiful they are."

"I see no engines, see no weapons," Pratulpet stated. "How are they starships?"

"Terran tech. Older tech, civilian grade," the Treana'ad said. It sighed. "They had an eye for beauty."

"Hmph," Pratulpet said. She tabbed the communications icon. "Ignore those for right now. Find a way into the facility."

She quickly checked on the other teams. The three heading for the larger moon were entering a high orbit to scan for an acceptable landing spot near the three different facilities.

A door silently opened when one of the Ways of the Means guards got too close, revealing an ornately decorated box, with wood paneling, swirling gold and silver patterns, and benches of comfortable looking cushions.

"That's an elevator," the Treana'ad said.

"I can see that, insect," Pratulpet stated. She tabbed the com. "Enter the elevator, go deeper into the facility."

There were only two buttons. One of the Ways of the Means guards pressed the top one and waited.

Nothing happened.

The large female soldier touched the bottom one and the doors suddenly slid shut.

"Final warning," the Treana'ad suddenly said. "Are you sure you want to risk disturbing that which should be left to lay dreaming?"

"I will wrest the secrets from this facility, both of these moons, and the planet itself," Pratulpet stated, lifting her chin. "The future is now, insect."

The Treana'ad shook itself. "Well, to quote the Matron of the Damned: Warned thrice and our duty is done," it moved to the edge of the holotable. "Y'all have a nice day now, ya hear?"

With that it jumped off, disintegrating into pixels that showered down on the carpet, twinkled, and vanished.

She watched eagerly as the elevator took long minutes to move. She watched the chronometer and saw it took nearly thirty-two minutes for it to slow down.

During that time, she ordered the other three teams to stay in their ships, wanting to concentrate on the team moving deeper into the Terror facility.

The doors opened and Pratulpet stared in shock.

Beyond the elevator was a garden paradise. Grass, trees, bushes. Fluttering insects that sparkled and shone. A bright yellow star in the blue sky. Fountains and pathways.

In the middle of a path stood a Terror. It was over two meters tall, with fair skin, long blond hair, wearing luxurious looking cloth that wrapped over one shoulder and fell to a skirt at the waist. It had jewelry on, of Substance-W as well as gold and platinum and other precious metals. Gems and jewels gleamed in the jewelry. It had earrings in its earlobes, as well as jeweled wraps around the top of its pointed ears. It was androgynous but even to Pratulpet's biases the being was otherworldly beautiful.

It gave a proper expression of pleasure, lifting up one hand.

On its palm was a weird symbol, a red dot in the middle of an articulated iris.

"Welcome, valued customer," the Terror said in perfect High Speech.