JEWEL-BRIGHT AND BLUE-GREEN AS the Earth of legend was Gododdin, shining through the false window that fronted the Tamerlane's bridge.  I stood alone on the forward observation platform, looking down and out at the planet into whose orbit we had so recently entered.  Tangled ribbons of cloud raked across her surface, white as snow; and but for the rusty bloom of deserts here and there her landscapes flowered like drops of Eden beneath her golden sun.

The sun I would destroy.

The false window dimmed its light so that a man might look upon its majesty unshuttered.  The ancients believed that the Morning Star was a jewel carried into the heavens by a great hero who had reclaimed that star from the lord of the underworld, and that in payment for his heroism, the gods set him to sail the skies, forever carrying that gem aloft.  Earth's Morning Star was only her sister planet, Venus, but it was easy to understand how the ancients made that mistake.  They say the oldest stars have hearts of diamond, and maybe it is so.  But the ancients may be forgiven for their error, whereas I deserve the underworld.

"We have contact with the surface, captain," came Lieutenant Pherrine's pleasant tones.

"Traffic control?" asked Captain Corvo.  I did not turn from my study of the world beneath us, but squinted, trying to pick out the glitter of satellites and ships in parking orbits as we drew nearer.

Pherrine answered, "No ma'am, it's from Fort Din."

"Put it through on the central well, lieutenant. Hadrian!"

Only reluctantly did I turn my face from the window.  I had dressed in my diplomatic best: polished black boots cuffed just below the knee, black trousers with the crimson double stripe down either side, knee-length quilted jacket with fitted sleeves and a high collar depicting my pitchfork and pentacle in red above the heart.  Over it all I'd donned a brilliant white cape cut lacerna-fashion and bordered with a maze pattern to match the red on my trousers and of my crest.  I wore my sword again in its magnetic hasp at my right hip alongside a plasma burner.

I looked every inch the Knight Victorian, I thought, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the glossy black wall as I approached the holography well.  The well was a pedestal two yards across, about waist high in the center of the bridge before the captain's chair.  I approached via the catwalk that ran from the forward observation platform to the captain's station above the stations and consoles of the other bridge officers.

As I drew near, the figure of a man materialized above the pedestal, replacing the wire-frame model of the Tamerlane.  His back was to me, but he had the ramrod straight, square profile of any Legionary officer, and from the silver braids draped across his shoulder I took him for a man of some import.

"You must be Captain Corvo!" he said, voice gruff but not impolite.  "Sir Amalric Osman, Knight-Castellan at Fort Din.  Let me be the first to welcome the Red Company to Gododdin system."

Otavia Corvo was still too much the Norman for all this Imperial pomp and circumstance.  I watched her smooth mild amusement from her face before answering.  "Thank you, Sir Amalric.  I am Captain Otavia Corvo of the ISV Tamerlane, here on Imperial orders."

"Is Lord Marlowe with you?" Osman asked, looking uselessly around.  The projection pickups only afforded the fellow a view of a narrow slice of the bridge around Corvo.  He could not see me.  I raised a hand to signal Otavia to stall.  I wanted to get a measure of the man first, and leaned in to study his blunt, square-featured face and bald scalp.  Osman struck me as one of those common legionnaires promoted to the rank of officer and patrician status by long years of service.  There had been a time when such men were rare in the Legions, but seven centuries of fighting had bled much of the aristocratic officer class from the ranks, and new blood had been permitted to rise on merit.

I crossed my arms, listening.

"He should be with us momentarily, Knight-Castellan," Corvo said, glancing toward me.