In the blackness of space, there was nothing. And yet there was something. There was a pocket of nothing that moved in the nothing at speeds greater than what little light there was. Within this pocket sailed a thousand-meter double-hulled warship, almost as wide as it was long, with a beaked prow like some enormous predatory bird over eighty stories tall, majestically silent in the nothing and appearing as nothing to any observer. On the side of the great beak, painted in stylized High Rihan script five stories tall, unlit by floodlights with the giant vessel cloaked, were two words: ch’M’R Aen’rhien.