NB: For context, see parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. This concludes this particular arc, but a subsequent arc detailing the next chapter in Casiella’s life will launch next week.

Heimatar Region
Abudban System
The gate shimmered with energy for a moment before firing. A pod appeared a few seconds later, scant kilometers away. Without hesitation, it aligned towards the fourth planet and warped away. The local customs officers paid it no particular mind, as capsuleer pods couldn’t carry any cargo and this particular pilot had no outstanding warrants or other legal problems.
As it drew close to the Tribal Liberation Force station and requested docking, the militia command tried to hail the pilot. Casiella chose not to respond immediately. The docking systems drew her pod into the labyrinthine corridors that led to hangars. Her pod remained suspended by electromagnetic forces, far above the light pits in the hangar floor. She made no move to exit the pod.
She did, however, finally open a communication channel with TLF command.
“Pilot Truza, please report in. We have data that indicate—”
“I respectfully decline to submit a report.”
“We require a report, pilot. TLF SOP 5.3.12 specifies reports must be provided upon instruction.”
“On behalf of my corporation, I hereby submit my resignation from the Tribal Liberation Force, effective immediately.”
A pause, then: “Please confirm that. We still have need of pilots, simply requiring a minimum of order and discipline.”
“Confirmed. Truza out.”
With that, she signaled the dock control systems to release and relaunch her pod into Abudban space. Once she had cleared the docking rings, the pod aligned to a nearby stargate and accelerated quickly into warp.
Rens System
The space around the Brutor Tribe Treasury station looked nearly solid with traffic. Ships streamed in and out of the station, one of the busiest in the entire cluster. Freighters and industrials carried equipment, resources, and passengers in and out: the lifeblood of the economy, or at least the capsuleer economy. Combat ships docked to take on ammunition and refit, or undocked to engage other ships. Autocannon fire aimed carefully between neutral vessels, and thick beams of powerful energy streamed through space from one ship to another.
Amongst this silent cacophony, a pod slipped quietly into a docking bay. Casiella chose again not to leave the pod, interfacing through the world purely through her implant. A coded report came in from a contact inside the Republic Security Service, labeled simply “Arzad”.
Her ocular implant and general disengagement of her glands and other physical processes kept her from weeping into the ectoplasm. Inside her mind, though, she squared her jaw and drew further resolve. Her crew enslaved and remaining ships confiscated, all in the name of that harlot empress. The report had little information on individuals or casualties, but they’d confirmed her aide Jorunn had not appeared in any of the infirmary rosters on the station.
The time had come. Casiella would fight, not on someone else’s terms, but her own.