Null in Void

I have sold everything. My inheritance has been reduced to Isk... So? What is the price of a fresh clone?

         Albin Domitius Chevalier

Chapter One

Twenty three Imperial years earlier.

Khanid Empire - Seb System - Planet Moro III

“He looks so much like you Domitius.” Cleolia remarked while stroking the newborn's tiny arms. “He has good blood.” He responded smiling fondly. “I am so glad to have born you an heir my love.” Domitius stared at his newborn, neglecting his duties momentarily to celebrate with his wife. “I will send for the priest, to register the boy as an Imperial citizen and to have him scribed into our family archives, but in the meantime, you must recover. Let the slave girl take our son, and you rest.” “How can I let him go when I only just met him? Who are you little man?” She smiled faintly and passed the boy to the maiden. “Domitius, where are you going?” “To the fields, the slaves are behind schedule, our harvest is big and taxes are high. This war is taking it's toll and we must excel to adequately serve the Empire. If only the beasts could comprehend what is at stake.” Cleolia peered cautiously at the wooden door knowing that Sethari was standing just beyond it. “Don't worry my love, at least he tries to understand the urgency of our affairs.” He stood up and prepared to leave the room. “Domitius, wait...” He stopped at the door. “What will you tell the priest?” Domitius paused. “I will tell him Albin... Albin Domitius Chevalier.”
He left the room and it was quiet, the slave nurse rocking the supine baby while Cleolia drifted between sleep and conciousness. “Albin.” She repeated to herself as deep sleep enveloped her.

Domitius and his head slave walked briskly out of the manors squinting as blue Moro light reflects off of the grain fields.
“I congratulate you on the birth of your son my lord, I am sure you will be as proud a father as I am of Seth.” “Thank you Sethari, is your son walking yet?” Domitius queried. “No my lord, still crawling on the floor like a beast.” “I am in no mood to jest Sethari.” Domitius clenched his fists. “Get those slaves into formation, I cannot have them idling when they should be harvesting crops! Move!” Sethari made a small bow to his master and started yelling at his Minmatar kinsmen, threatening them with a rolled up whip he procured from somewhere inside his tunic, waving it about and cracking it in the air every so often. Domitius picked up a scythe and proceeded to cleave down large swathes of grain.
This had the a stronger effect of mobilising the straggling slaves to action than did the whip. They all toiled together in the pale light of Moro.

Domitius was sweating, sweating and praying for an Imperial victory over the Gallente Federation. Fighting his small part in a increasingly complicated war, loyal to his people even though the fight is far from home. Praying with a loyalty that cannot be bought.

Khanid Empire - Seb System – Planet Moro III

The priest was in a more jovial mood than usual. This break of routine was a welcome one. A birth in the family Chevalier was indeed a momentous occasion. He did not even seem to mind carrying the heavy keg full of mead over the rolling hills of the plantation colony. “Domitius comes to services far to infrequently,” The portly man mumbled to himself while wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow. “and I eat too well among all these farmers.” The habit of speaking to himself was normal for this man of the cloth who always felt socially disconnected from his flock, caring for their souls and general well being like a responsible but distant father. “I feed their spirits, they feed my body, Hahaha. Tonight I will share my good spirits! Hahahaha!” Impressed by his own sense of humour he turned to witness the majestic blue star set over the skyline. Everything turned a silver gray hue, and then the stars broke through the atmosphere lighting his way. “Clear skies, the blessed stars guide me.” He continued on the path approaching the Domitian manor and rapped a quick knock on the side cellar doors. It creaked open and a tall muscular Minmatar took his baggage and let him in. “Thank you Setharis, my arms are weary, ready to fall off, Empire bless you.” Domitius glimpsed up from his seat below a lantern. “Good to see you Father Ecknard.” “Dispense with the formalities and bring the dispenser.” He motioned to Setharis who placed the heavy keg on a table next to an assortment of documents, quill and inkpot. “You pour Setharis and I will write. Name?” “Albin Domitius Chevalier.” The priest focused, started with his calligraphic art and fashioned the name and YC beautifully onto the family records all the while biting his tongue. “He will inherit the colonial estates, all your assets in Khanid Prime and the offices at Amarr Prime. Correct?” “Yes.” Replied Domitius solemnly. “I will have to rewrite your will and testament. I will make a registry at the parish and send correspondence to Amarr Prime. There will be many from the royal courts who will send their best regards from afar when this news becomes public.” Domitius did not seem as enthusiastic as Ecknard would have liked. “What ails you Domitius?” The priest could not help but make the pun and laughed inside himself.
“I wonder if we should wait before registering him at the Empire.” The priest sat up straight his bouncing belly touching the table. “In heavens name why?” “I am concerned... about this war...” “It is on the other side of Amarr space!” The priest interjected in astonishment. “I know father, maybe I am just being overly cautious, but with the Amarr fleet occupied at the front I am worried about opportunistic corporations exploiting our vulnerable situation in the isolated regions.” “Surely Khanid prime will make seven jumps to our defence in the improbable event of an invasion.” “Yes Ecknard, but the fleet is thinned because most of our ships are on the aforementioned front!” Domitius was serious and father Ecknard decided to not argue with the lord. “I will not register the boy in the Imperial records.” “Thank you father.” “What do you know that we fail to see Domitius.” “The value of Isk. It is not calculated well by the common people, no offence father.” “None taken.” “My son and our blood line is very important to me, if financial opportunists become aware of his existence we will have problems here on Moro III.” “The war does not seem to be ending any time soon, how long shall we stall his registration, and think of the rites he will not be allowed to partake in at the church. He will be like a Minmatar!” Ecknard gestured towards Sethari. “This is a big colony Ecknard. My son will be educated as a member of royalty, all on Moro III will acknowledge his social standing, I am only concerned that the secret be kept from the outside worlds. He will NEVER be considered a Minmatar, he will know who he is and what his position is in New Eden. When the war is over we will properly introduce him to the families, they are too occupied with the war as it is, and might not offer him due ceremony as they would under more peaceable circumstances.” The priest capitulated and grabbed a mug. “Your secret is safe with me Domitius, the lack of technology on this forsaken planet is good for your purposes, seeing as the only comms service in the colony is in the church tower. I swear silence my lord, though let me make a final proposal.” Domitius filled a cup of mead for Sethari and himself, becoming more relaxed and hospitable. “I am listening.” “Let us pretend for the childs sake that he is Khanid royalty only, and not True Amarr. We then continue his education to the full and not put him in a position where he could compromise himself should he be... heavens forbid, captured by some opportunIsktic capsuleer.” Domitius looked ponderously into his cup. “Ecknard, my son is but an infant... How long do you predict this war to continue?” Father Ecknard leaned forward with a glimmer in his eye...

“I sit at the comms desk every night and listen to the chatter.
This war...is going to be a long one.”