Terra, Europae – House Komag Castle.
Unlike most nobles in other regions, who live in hive spires, the House Komag's vast estate is a direct display of their power and wealth.
Patriarchs of Europae's noble houses arrived by shuttle, landing on the castle's pads. After adjusting their robes, they entered Komag Castle.
The nobles gathered around the Komag patriarch, each eager to speak with the powerful man.
From the Imperial Court, Marchioness Delaquois arrived in an ivory gown with a rose-gold net necklace. She approached the Komag patriarch.
"Komag, when will the guest of honor at our banquet, esteemed Graham von Erik, make his appearance?"
The surrounding nobles pricked their ears.
The patriarch smiled. To show his intimacy with Erik, he referred to him directly by name.
"Graham will appear shortly. Be patient, my friends."
"Tell me, have you all considered carefully, will you join us on this great venture?"
A blue-haired noble in burgundy red was first to reply: "Of course! A paradise world just sixty-nine light-years from Terra. Once complete, it will surely draw the admiration of every Terran noble."
"If Erik did not insist on acquiring only antiquities to fill his museum for visitors, I would gladly invest twenty percent of my solar-month liquid capital in such a golden opportunity."
Other nobles chimed in:
"Yes, no one would miss such a chance. I have been to Sallos, that grand construct between Io's boiling magma and Europa's artificial ocean."
"It's merely a vast entertainment complex where Jupiter's elite indulge in opera, but compared with Erik's project, it is dull."
"Indeed, even Venus's orbital resorts pale beside Erik's grand design."
…
Outside the banquet, the Swindler paused, listening to their chatter with a smile.
He entered as the herald proclaimed in a loud, reverent voice: "Esteemed Lord Erik has arrived!"
Every noble turned their gaze toward "Erik."
His towering hairstyle followed the latest Terran court fashion, nobles saw it as elegant and refined.
His slightly altered features exuded noble dignity and unique charm.
His carefully styled jawline projected aloofness and authority, setting the trend that even Marchioness Delaquois had paid dearly to copy, making it fashionable among noblewomen.
Their eyes then moved to the master-crafted powered armor he wore. The baroque-styled relic from the Dark Age of Technology was nearly impossible to find on Terra.
The armor bore ornaments: topaz ears of wheat, silver chains, each an exquisite piece of art, enhancing his aura of grandeur.
The velvet cloak hung from his shoulders like fresh, flawless snow.
All thought the same: Only a true lord could afford both the upkeep and the tech-priests needed to maintain such a relic.
Opening his Spirit Vision, the Swindler read their auras: envy, jealousy, no suspicion.
'Yes. To convince these nobles I am a foreign aristocrat, I had to flaunt lavishly decorated battleships, splendid airships, and reckless displays of wealth. All essential.'
This grand con had cost him dearly.
The Vostroyan artificer in his crew had forged the armor using a sacred template stolen by Howard Fender. Its adornments were spoils gathered by his "Marauders" across Terra.
The Swindler smiled. His beyonder ability of "Charm" even made the worldly Marchioness's eyes glimmer.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
Tierney, the Swindler, had even implanted a device in his throat to enhance his voice, stolen long ago from a surrendered Araneus techno-nobility.
His deep, magnetic tone rolled like music.
"I have forged Babylon, the true paradise world."
"Imagine countless coral isles scattered across warm turquoise seas, a balm for Terra's burdens, washing away fatigue, freeing you from worldly concerns."
"A climate ever warm, with brilliant sunlight. Each reef, home to billions of nautiluses."
His silver tongue and psychic gift pulled the nobles into his vision.
"On every isle, palaces of marble, vast gardens, mighty amphitheaters."
"Colonnades framing vistas so divine they soothe the soul."
"Stroll once around, and paradise itself seeps into your heart."
The nobles, under his subtle psychic intrusion, wore expressions of joy and peace.
Sensing his reserves depleting, he ended with a powerful flourish:
"Ladies and gentlemen, Babylon is the garden of your dreams."
The nobles snapped out of the illusion created by the "mental interference," and each of them realized the immense value hidden within it.
Jupiter's opera house and Venus's orbital resort had been earning vast wealth from the nobles of Terra, including themselves.
Now, here was a new chance.
A new paradise world, Babylon.
Too good to miss. Every noble wanted a share.
The burgundy noble again spoke first: "Erik, your Babylon inspires awe. But the cost must be immense, allow me to support you."
Others quickly followed, each offering "support," hoping to secure profit.
Though Erik had refused countless times, perhaps now he would accept their "sincere generosity."
The Swindler shook his head. The treasures glittering on his armor made them falter.
Each noble could offer one or two adornments; Komag and Delaquois might give several.
But none could match the dozens already glittering upon Erik's armor.
They even wondered: If not for limited space, would his entire armor be covered in jewels?
"I do not need your money," the Swindler said with confidence.
He used his beyonder ability, Thought Misdirection.
"My masterpiece requires no gold. What I need is pearls to adorn it…"
"But the pearls I seek are the halls of art."
Komag was the first to grasp it. Smiling confidently, he declared: "Yes, art. Babylon must have art halls, filled with treasures from every age, showcasing mankind's heritage for noble guests."
"As the Sigillite once said, 'The essence of human art provides a spiritual enjoyment beyond natural scenery.' Art will be the perfect complement to nature's beauty."
"Art shall be Babylon's perfect complement."
The Swindler gave him a grateful nod. "Exactly. I require your ancient treasures. Those who generously contribute will share in Babylon's profits."
The nobles froze. Komag, still smiling, pointed to the clock above his head.
"Erik, this chronometer was crafted in the 18th millennium, commemorating the invention of the warp engine. Made by the master craftsman Rahim."
"Only fifteen exist in the Imperium. Ten returned from the earliest warp-driven voyages. They are a symbol of an age."
The Swindler felt his psychic power surge, warmth dissolving into his veins. He bowed slightly: "This is the very treasure I dreamed of."
Komag smirked inwardly: 'This is only the beginning. Once Babylon is built, it will be mine, just as I 'bought' Rahim's clock from a Rogue Trader.'
The other nobles thought the same.
Though Erik seemed wealthy beyond measure, they all believed their power and intrigue could one day win Babylon for themselves.
Two days later, the Swindler had promised ninety percent of Babylon's profits in exchange for 250 relics from the noble houses.
Aboard his lavish airship, he thought to himself:
'Years of selecting my targets, carefully building the image of a foreign noble richer than kings, none of it was wasted.'
'Through this con, I feel I have mastered the power Lord Nareth granted me.
'At last, I am the true Swindler.'
.....
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