The community hall was filled with nervous energy as Old Man Henderson. The head of the founding families stepped to the podium. Three hundred and forty-seven adults had participated in Eden-Five's largest vote in decades. The last had been about the second space elevator placement, but this one would determine Eden-Five's future, and those present knew it.
"On the question of expanded cooperation with Tanya Furrow and Genesis operations," Henderson announced, his weathered voice carrying across the packed hall, "the measure has passed with seventy-nine percent support."
The applause was restrained—relief mixed with apprehension rather than celebration. People clapped politely, but Tanya could see the tension in their shoulders, which remained rigid, and the conversations that continued in whispers despite the official outcome.
"Support includes authorisation for temporary refugee housing, orbital construction projects, and expanded supply channels," He continued. "Pending final safety guarantees and subject to orbital station authority concurrence." He continued with a few more conditions that the leaders had agreed to.
Tanya noticed the careful language immediately. The vote approved "further planning" and "provisional cooperation." It was hedged consent with conditions that left room for retreat if circumstances changed. This wasn't an enthusiastic endorsement; it was cautious agreement under pressure. She had been hoping for more, but would take what was given.
At least, it was permission to begin.
"Station representatives chose to abstain pending review of your proposal," The old man added, almost as a warning.
The missing twenty percent. The people who managed orbital trade, export licenses, and who could leave the system when things went wrong. They controlled the infrastructure that farmers depended on. They were the real power in the system, or so they believed. Tanya didn't think so; she was more focused on getting the approval of the farmers.
She walked the farm perimeter with her father after the formal session ended, following irrigation channels that carved Eden-Five's cultivated land into geometric patterns. The paths were exactly as she remembered, but her father's steps seemed more careful, as if the familiar ground had become uncertain. She couldn't blame him, looking at the poisoned farm and the dead crops that had once been their family's livelihood.
"Most of the farmers are relieved," he said, stopping beside a water distribution junction that had required community cooperation to build. "They want safety, predictability, seasons that arrive when expected. Galactic politics..." He shrugged. "That's something that happens to other people."
"But?"
"The people you need to convince aren't here tonight." He gestured toward the orbital stations visible as moving lights against Eden-Five's evening sky. "They control who comes and goes. We just grow the food."
They walked in comfortable silence until her father voiced what had been bothering him since her return.
"You don't ask anymore," he said quietly. "You explain what you're planning, then you do it. That's changed."
Tanya considered his observation, recognising the truth that felt uncomfortable to acknowledge. "Would asking change the necessity?"
"No. But it might change how people feel about the necessity."
He wasn't angry, just unsettled by the transformation in his daughter, who had once sought consensus before building anything larger than farm equipment. "We build slow things here—crops that take seasons, improvements that last generations. You build fast things now. Changes that happen faster than people can adjust."
"I don't have time for slow anymore," Tanya admitted. "The threats I'm preparing for operate on timescales that don't wait for consensus."
Her father nodded slowly, accepting rather than approving. "Just remember that fast things break easier than slow ones. And people aren't machines. They need time to understand what they're agreeing to."
That evening in the orbital station's executive conference room with polished surfaces that reflected more than they revealed, furniture that prioritised impression over comfort, and windows positioned to showcase the trade network. Tanya was addressing the real power of the system.
The faces around the mahogany table represented Eden-Five's real power structure. Not the farmers who had voted, but the families who controlled orbital trade, transport licenses, and the flow of goods between Eden-Five and the rest of human space.
Jimul Arran sat beside his mother, Helena, the council head whose family had managed to insert themselves into every profitable transaction on the planet for three generations. Tanya remembered Jimul and his lion-like mining vessel from back when she had been grateful for any customers.
That dynamic had changed considerably.
"I want to be absolutely transparent about what comes next," Tanya said, remaining standing despite Helena's gesture toward an empty chair. "No one will be forced to participate. No conscription, no planetary lockdown, no mandatory service. People will choose their level of involvement."
She paused, looking around the room before delivering the part they wouldn't like.
"But Eden-Five is becoming part of my forge world network. I have the farmers' support, and I'm not asking for yours."
The silence lasted exactly three heartbeats before erupting into outraged protests about authority and jurisdiction and legal precedents that had never contemplated someone with a ship like Genesis.
"You don't have that kind of power," Helena snapped, her political instincts finally overriding shock.
Tanya gestured toward the window where Genesis hung in orbit like a metal moon, its mass dwarfing every other object in Eden-Five's space. "I have a vortex storm barrier around this entire system. Nothing enters or leaves without my permission. That seems like adequate power for current purposes."
"You have two choices," she continued with the calm directness that had marked all her recent decisions. "Join what I'm building here and help establish the infrastructure that will save lives when the crisis comes. Or accept transport to Barth or whatever system you prefer."
Most of the council members sat frozen, calculating odds they didn't like. A few muttered about accepting passage out-system. Others threatened to return with Imperial military support that might or might not materialise.
Tanya didn't pay the threats much attention. Maybe her father was right about how much she had changed. The girl who had once been grateful for any customer wouldn't have cared what these people thought of her ultimatums.
The woman had looked into the galaxy and seen its true depth, found their local authority considerably less impressive than they did.
When Tanya didn't respond to their provocation, the room fell silent. The silence stretched for several seconds it was not the stunned quiet of shock, but the calculating pause of people reassessing power structures they had believed protected them.
Helena Arran's gaze moved from Tanya to the window, where Genesis dominated Eden-Five's orbital space, its mere existence was a threat to the empire's order. Her hands pressed against the polished table as understanding settled over her with the weight of inevitability.
This conversation was already over. The outcome had been decided the moment that ship appeared in their system. They just hadn't realised it at the time.
"What exactly do you want from us?" asked Marcus Webb from the far end of the table. His voice carried no bluster, no outrage, just the careful tone of someone who had understood the new realities and was now searching for room to manoeuvre within them.
"Your expertise," Tanya replied. "Do what you are already doing, but only for me, and the systems I'm building."
Murmurs rippled around the table. Not protesting this time, but the sound of people calculating outcomes and possible cost vs risk analysis and not liking the conclusions they were reaching.
"What about existing assets?" pressed Councillor Davies, her financial instincts overriding political posturing. "Station-based holdings, private orbital platforms. If people choose to leave..."
"They leave with what they can legally transport," Tanya said. "Fixed infrastructure remains operational under new management. I'm not seizing property. But it's not something you can take with you."
Helena found her voice again, though it carried less authority than before. "You can't simply redraw system governance because it serves your purposes."
"I didn't redraw anything," Tanya replied with quiet certainty. "I stepped into a structure that wasn't fit for purpose in the new reality. Change was needed and I'm going to be bringing that change."
James Morrison, one of the younger council members, spoke into the uncomfortable silence. "If we... if we chose to support this actively. What would partnership actually look like?"
Tanya noted the shift and was hoping some more would get onboard as well.
"Influence, not control," she said. "Priority access to civilian transit lanes. Contract preference for logistics and fabrication support. Consultation on Forge World supply chain development. And representation when long-term governance structures are established."
The room fell quiet again. They were struggling to adapt to the new order.
Two council members exchanged meaningful glances. Davies looked relieved to have clear parameters instead of legal ambiguity. Another councillor appeared trapped between old loyalties and new necessities.
Helena opened her mouth to speak, then stopped as she realised the fundamental change that had occurred. She was no longer moderating this discussion. Her usual role as the person who shaped consensus and managed competing interests had evaporated the moment Genesis sealed the system.
They weren't debating how to stop Tanya's plans.
They were deciding how to survive in the reality she was already constructing.
Tanya understood, with clarity that unsettled her more than open hostility would have, that authority had followed power without anyone formally transferring it. Not because she had demanded recognition, but because no one else could meaningfully challenge what she had.
She didn't particularly like that transformation. But she accepted it with the same pragmatic directness she had learned to apply to impossible problems that required imperfect solutions.
Leadership, apparently, was something that happened to you when alternatives stopped existing for everyone else. She was quick to move the meeting on, and show the next steps in her plan.
She activated a holographic display showing the orbital construction timeline. "Most will stay and farm as that's essential and honourable. Some will leave to help build forge worlds with my current crew. You who stay will work with Amara, my business manager, to make it all work."
"What about the orbital defence systems?" asked Marcus Webb, whose family controlled one of the larger agricultural cooperatives. "We have defence and hadn't needed any, until you returned from Barth." Tanya picked up the bitterness in his tone.
"The Citadel will be built soon. It is a large defence structure. There is more but that is need to know, and you don't need to know. " Tanya replied with calm certainty. "It's not a negotiation tool or a condition of my staying here. It's proof that Eden-Five won't face threats alone."
"We appreciate the choice," Marcus said carefully. "But what if we object to the orbital construction?"
"Then you will be objecting to something that's already being built," Tanya replied. "I'm not asking permission for defensive infrastructure that protects everyone. I'm informing people that such protection is being provided. You can leave if you wish."