Krüger rose slowly not with theatrics, nor with the grandeur of some military procession but with the deliberate weight of a man who understood what the moment was about to become. His glass caught the light of the chamber’s overhead strips, turning the liquid inside into a warm, amber glow. He looked between Frei, Dimitrious, Carmen, and the gathered attendants, and for once, his usually sharp expression softened not out of sentimentality, but out of recognition.
Corin… Dimitrious… Carmen…
He gave each of their names the respect of a pause.
We stand here as the products of very different roads.
Yours carved through the dust and stone of Crete, ours through the steel and soot of Rheinland’s forgotten factories.
His tone carried the weight of lived experience, not rhetoric.
But hardship real hardship forges the same metal in every corner of Sirius.
It tempers people the same way a furnace tempers steel: brutally… relentlessly… honestly.
He lifted the glass slightly, elbow still bent; the gesture was not yet the toast merely a mark of emphasis.
Your people fight with grit born from survival.
Ours fight with precision carved from labor.
Two worlds different tools, different trades but the same refusal to kneel.
He turned enough to acknowledge Carmen directly.
You speak of integrity.
Let it be known: the Unioners value that more than any contract.
A corporation can buy loyalty… but not honor.
Then his gaze shifted to Dimitrious not adversarial, but with a craftsman’s measured respect.
And you, Señor Dimitrious, speak of heritage of ships made with hands that remember.
We understand that.
Our own tools, our own stations, our own pistons and welds — all built by workers who passed down craft through generations.
Finally, he turned to Frei, whose presence carried a quiet gravity.
Corin… your words always cut through the noise.
You said it right: might and precision. Reach and infiltration.
Where one of us falls short, the other steps forward.
Krüger finally raised his glass fully, his voice gaining a solemn strength not loud, not dramatic, simply steady.
Let this be clear not as a line on a datapad, but as a promise between people who have fought too long to waste chances like this.
To allies.
To shared labor. To building something that will outlive all of us in steel, in struggle, and in victory.
He inclined his head, the gesture carrying an almost old-world sincerity.
As in Rheinland… and so beyond.
He touched his glass gently to Corin’s, then to Dimitrious’s, then Carmen’s no flourish, no bravado, simply a craftsman’s affirmation of a pact well made.
I will drink to that.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)
![[Image: XTF1d6x.png]](https://i.imgur.com/XTF1d6x.png)