The holocomputer cast a pale blue glow across Tobias Hawthorne's chambers, reflecting softly off the polished durasteel walls and the banners of House Hawthorne that hung with ceremonial precision. He stood alone, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the rotating hologram of an ocean world slowly turning in midair. No'aar appeared serene from orbit, a vast sphere of deep cerulean broken only by swirling white cloud systems and a single modest continent. Tobias felt a familiar tightening in his chest as prescient unease stirred, subtle but persistent, like distant thunder beneath calm seas.
With a measured gesture, he expanded the display, pulling planetary data into layered panes of light. Tectonic readouts, tidal force projections, and atmospheric composition scrolled past at his mental command. No'aar was larger than Earth by a narrow margin, its gravity slightly heavier but well within human tolerance. Its oceans were deep beyond precedent, plunging into lightless trenches where Dust deposits clung to the seabed like malignant pearls.
Dust dominated every report Tobias accessed, its name repeating with ritual inevitability. The substance was a crystalline particulate suspended in certain mineral-rich seabed formations, harvested through deep-sea drilling rigs that scarred the ocean floor. When refined, Dust enhanced cognition, extended lifespan, and awakened latent psychic potential in a small percentage of users. Tobias knew the official language described it as a "strategic pharmaceutical resource," but the hidden files called it what it truly was: a drug capable of shaping empires.
He pulled up population statistics next, noting the relatively small number of inhabitants for a world of such value. Just over three million souls lived on No'aar, the majority clustered along the coasts of the lone continent or in floating arcologies tethered to drilling platforms. Mortality rates among rig workers were disturbingly high, though House Mordred's reports described them as "acceptable losses." Tobias's jaw tightened as he absorbed casualty figures that were reduced to percentages and footnotes.
A separate file unfolded, its access restricted and stamped with Imperial sigils. It detailed the Merwyn, the indigenous species of No'aar, described in cold academic language that stripped them of dignity. Amphibious and humanoid, they possessed elongated limbs, webbed hands, and iridescent skin adapted to the crushing pressures of the deep. House Mordred had classified them as "non-sapient labor stock" despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Tobias closed his eyes briefly, and for an instant the data vanished, replaced by a flicker of vision. He saw dark water lit by harsh industrial lights, chains drifting in slow motion, and eyes glowing with mute resentment. The image shattered as quickly as it came, leaving him breathing steadily, fingers flexing as he reasserted control. The Quiet Sisterhood had taught him well, but No'aar pressed against his mind in ways he did not yet understand.
He reopened the holocomputer display and shifted focus to political briefings. House Mordred's stewardship of No'aar had been controversial even within the Solar Imperium. Their monopoly on slave labor skirted Imperial law, tolerated only because Dust production had to be maintained at any cost. That tolerance had finally reached its limit, though Tobias suspected the official explanation concealed deeper currents.
Scrolling further, Tobias studied the record of House Hawthorne's appointment as planetary stewards. The language was formal, reverent even, invoking honor, duty, and restoration of Imperial standards. His father's name, Duke Archimedes Hawthorne, appeared repeatedly as guarantor of stability and justice. Tobias felt pride swell within him, tempered by the heavy certainty that this assignment was as much a trial as it was an honor.
A tactical overlay replaced the political documents, mapping No'aar's orbital space and surface defenses. House Mordred had withdrawn most of their assets, but sensor ghosts suggested lingering presences. Decommissioned platforms still carried power signatures inconsistent with abandonment. Tobias marked them silently, committing coordinates to memory as Warmind reflexes hummed faintly beneath conscious thought.
He brought up historical records next, tracing No'aar's significance back through the centuries. It was here, in the Perseus Sector, that Dust had first been discovered and that the Spacer Guild had committed its most infamous atrocities. Images of early Navigators flickered across the display, their altered eyes and elongated skulls haunting even in archival stills. Tobias felt a shiver as he realized how deeply No'aar was entwined with humanity's darkest ambitions.
The holocomputer chimed softly as a new data stream became available. Tobias authorized access and watched as economic projections unfolded in cascading graphs. Dust exports accounted for a staggering percentage of the Imperium's covert revenue streams. Disruptions here would ripple outward, destabilizing markets and provoking political backlash from factions that preferred the shadows.
Tobias leaned closer, studying projected scenarios of unrest. Labor revolts, Merwyn resistance, and covert interference from House Mordred all appeared as high-probability outcomes. One projection, flagged in crimson, depicted a rapid escalation into open conflict between Great Houses. Tobias felt the weight of that possibility settle over him like a mantle he was not yet meant to wear.
He minimized the projections and summoned environmental footage instead. Live feeds from No'aar's surface revealed endless horizons of rolling waves under alien skies. The capital city clung to the coastline like a delicate organism, its spires rising from artificial foundations anchored into bedrock beneath the sea. Storm systems moved with alarming speed, dwarfing even the most advanced Imperial weather control arrays.
Another vision brushed the edges of his consciousness, unbidden and sharp. He saw a blade flashing in lamplit corridors, heard the echo of running footsteps, and smelled blood mingled with salt air. Tobias inhaled slowly, grounding himself in the present, refusing to chase the image to its conclusion. Prescience was a guide, not a master, or so the Sisterhood insisted.
He straightened and expanded the display once more, calling up military deployment data. House Hawthorne's private fleet would bring overwhelming force to No'aar's orbit, enough to deter overt aggression. Ground forces, including WarMech contingents, were more than sufficient to secure the capital and key infrastructure. Tobias noted the inclusion of Hetairoi-class units and felt a flicker of anticipation he quickly suppressed.
WarMechs represented a paradox he had yet to reconcile. They were instruments of controlled destruction, designed to minimize collateral damage while maximizing battlefield dominance. Tobias respected their elegance and efficiency, yet every deployment carried the implicit acknowledgment of failure elsewhere. Peace, in the Imperium, was always maintained at the edge of a blade.
He dismissed the military data and allowed the holocomputer to dim. The image of No'aar remained, slowly rotating, indifferent to the ambitions imposed upon it. Tobias wondered how many others had stood where he now stood, gazing at that same world with hopes, fears, or hunger in their hearts. History suggested that No'aar devoured such sentiments without discrimination.
A soft chime signaled the approach of curfew, though Tobias ignored it. Sleep came poorly when visions lingered too close to waking thought. He suspected that once they reached No'aar, rest would become a rare luxury. The planet felt like a crucible, and he knew with unsettling certainty that it would test him in ways no tutor ever could.
Tobias reached out and closed the holocomputer with a final gesture. Darkness reclaimed the chamber, broken only by the faint glow of distant stars beyond the viewport. As he turned toward his bed, he paused, one hand resting against the cool glass. Somewhere ahead lay a future branching into countless possibilities, and No'aar sat at the heart of them all.