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Thief's Honor || Ex-Machina 374
The Executor doesn’t even process a word of what the policewoman says. One could blink and they’d miss him - Ellecon, clad in his power armor, moves blindingly fast, dashing to grab the little weasel. It is a natural and fluid motion as the man scoops up sly by the face, the palm of his hand up against the left side of the foxman’s face, his gauntlet’s cold padded fingers curled around his skull.
”I fear that if I insult your pitiful attempt to escape, I only serve to offend myself and my Cruolian allies. After all, you managed to slip by either of us at least once by now.”
An overwhelming and arrogant satisfaction is within him, but his face does not show it hardly at all. Ellecon simply angles the small man around in his hand, staring at him from different angles much like an archaeologist inspects a newfound artifact. ”I do not believe I am familiar with your species. As if this galaxy needed more foxlike xenos…”
Convoy 8688 || Fox Millworks
Civil war..?
At this point, Saros needs time to think. He’s already overstepped his boundaries by offering Saharian technology to an uncontacted xeno nation. He can’t give himself room to argue if he starts willingly offering engineering expertise on a protected field of technology. Not to mention taking sides in a foreign war, a civil war no less.
So, instead, he decides to haggle. Not forgetting his original mission to see this convoy - and all that follow it - reach their intended destination safely.
“--Engineering expertise can potentially be arranged. However, this requires an official diplomatic channel to authorize the exchange and provide the necessary equipment and expertise you would require.--”
A fairly blunt and straightforward response. And it’s also a bluff; they actually have the latter two things in abundance, as evidenced by the convoy’s mission statement. Saros wants to see how open to negotiation these aliens really are…
Iteration: Outsider Operation || New Saharia
Locale: Crossing[2] Planet Y.27 Sector.0316 [Arc. Crystallization Research Facility]
"Oh... You needn't to worry about that. Rest assured, we already understand that very well. It would be... impolite to overlook such cultural details."
He glanced over, eyes sharp as he takes a slow sip. A brief grin flickers across his face— simple, but with edges.
"Consider these differences to be discussed, we are not without rules in medicine... naturally."
Tzzt Tzzt...
The drone hums— its hologram blinks once, it calls for Norsam's attention. Gleamed in a white minimalist interface.
It is reflecting the noon that's approaching from behind the guests. A light seeps in through the archway, bleeding across the table in a crimson wash. Two stars — small but persistent — watch from the window. Their pale light lingers on the horizon, as the once blue landscape quietly shifts to rosy in tone.
And the menu, oh, of course. Certain types of noodles, stroganoffs, mixed stews. Not many meaty options, but varied vegan dishes. Carnism isn't so common in Y.27, a planet devoid of native animal life.
Chitchat comes and goes, light, weightless. The table forgets itself, not too frivolous, the meeting dissolves savoring the noodles, the drinks— time stretches. No need to rush. The gathering continues much further into late night.
At a certain point, an interruption: delicate, like glass. A figure approached the table, leaned in onto Darius ear, whispers something soft, just a notification.
Before dismissed, it handed out tokens to the guests at the table. Plain, simple rectangular cards, their quarters — a place for rest during their shore-leave at the facility. Some stay, most don't. Tiredness drags them to their rooms, leaves only remnants at the table.
Eventually, it's just the two of them, who finally get up to finish formalities. Darius personally guided Norsam to his accommodations, with a subtle nod:
"Good rest admiral." — Simple, he left to his own affairs. Sleep? not exactly for all he knows.
The facility is silent, but no, not exactly less bustling. Viewed across the dimmed corridor lied a door where figures passed by frequently.
At closed doors Norsam stood in his accommodations. There stood an opaque bed, writing desk, thin carpet on the floor. Many plant pots filled the moonlit bedroom, too. It's really late at this point, only small hours away from the next sunrises. Perhaps a little to late for sleep?
BUSINESS AS USUAL
"The Intersystems Collective is showing recovery, as is Vulperia. The fate of the Confederacy of the Core remains uncertain, given how badly they were damaged during the Great War. I still hold out hope."
Eithan casually tapped the table, his voice seeming to lack the same seriousness that it would have had during the war. He paused for a moment. The United Coalition had always pursued a policy of autarky; that is, complete resource independence from anything but client states and member nations.
"Not demobilizing would be wise."
The Administrator responded.
"There is still need for an interstellar navy yet. Peacekeeping, the surprising amount of new polities on the galactic stage, and to keep order within regions ravaged by the war. I must confess. You ask for truth, and I shall give it. The Collective is marshalling its own fleet in the background."
A small nod further reinforced it. A clear and blatant violation of the treaty, but what was there to be done? No territory was safe. Remnants of Symage's rule and the Unseen Empire still opposed Eithan's administration. With no navy, there would be no peace for the Intersystems Collective. Period.
"We have already begun maintenance on our shipyards. Some are not in working order, but functional state-owned shipyards not under DOLOS AEC supervision could be leased to Saharia. I see your vision."
In the end, Eithan agreed with the Grand Moff. New massive shipyards could be built to accommodate the Saharian Republic's massive demand - and just like with the Thestral Union, the Collective could build as many ships as the civilian sector desired. This would help decrease the feelings of disworth within the Collective and give people jobs to do. A much needed distraction, especially with most worlds having surfaces that were almost entirely leveled by space bombardment and ground operations.
Pantos System
A Sheathipede-class shuttle entered the system, the elongated, racing white streaks and the swirling, colorful background of hyperspace replaced with the near total blackness of the cold, empty Pantos System. Its star but a flicker of thin red light, there was nothing here beyond some cold and darkened rocky bodies, mostly asteroids and other barren rocky planetoids. Aside from a solitary and small ice giant, whose swirling blue sky was dulled by the complete lack of light reaching it, there was nothing of color here. The change from the bright and mesmerizing hyperspace to the dark and foreboding emptiness of the Pantos system would be jarring to many. The droids that piloted the shuttle, though, paid it no mind. The mechanical brains could not calculate for fear, and showed no hesitation towards things that might be ominous to the organic observer.
The shuttle carried nearly 3 tons of Kyber- in incredibly rare and valuable mineral, that in such quantities would cost billions if not tens of billions of Denarii. Despite that, the military had acquired the rare gems free of charge… in a way. The natives of Korlak IV had not put up any real resistance. Armed with primitive capabilities, the droid army had wrestled control of the valuable Kyber away from them with very little effort at all. Now, the planet was a mining hub- with the natives… removed… the planet has become a humming economic success, and this shipment was one of hundreds that had preceded it and likely hundreds to follow. After all, they would need thousands of tons, where as only several hundred tons had thus far arrived. Despite this, the project was well underway and only slightly behind schedule.
Project Black Point had managed to elude the media and any unwanted onlookers for months now, and the dreaded Nova Station was inching ever closer to operational status. It was still mostly just a frame, but it had begun to fill in. Stretched off of the large struts that connected around its hemisphere and other latitudinal and longitudinal lines, other components had been nestled into place. There were now barracks, control rooms, detainment facilities, and storage areas that were compressed with air and liveable for organic, life support systems had been installed in certain sectors, and one of its reactor cores were in place giving the station minimal power. At least a dozen of its hangar facilities were complete and dozens more weapons emplacements had been installed. Conduits, pipes, and other framework was now slowly creeping from side to side across the sphere. A wide and deep shaft stretched from one side of the facility to the core, perfectly circular and narrowing as it approached the center. It was here that the super laser would eventually be placed, but at this early stage not even the shaft was fully completed all the way down. It was a patchwork of wiring, frame struts and plating.
Separate from the station was the laser apparatus itself, a massive disc with emitters around its ring and central point. Behind it stretched a 50 km long cone shaped spire that would eventually fit perfectly into the shaft in the station, connecting the powerful weapon to the central reactors. It, too, was incomplete- a litany of complex machinery was exposed, unconnected wires lay bare on its frame and areas where components were lacking were obvious. At places within the spire, you could see straight through from one side to the other. But stretching throughout it, working from the top toward the narrowed base, you could see all of the activity- welding sparks lit up the darkened frame, droids buzzing about and small drone ships carrying components from end to end. The Kyber reflected dim light brightly where it had already been installed, visible from far as large crystalline components that almost looked out of place and the litany of advanced parts. They were slowly being boxed in by armored casings and other electrical components for energy transfer, but as of now much of the kyber was still bare and exposed.
The Kyber on the shuttle, once delivered, would be cut to shape and installed within the next set of focusing mechanisms working down the spire. The array was held in place by dozens of autonomous tugs, using tractor beams to stabilize the monolithic structure. The slow, tedious project utilized as much if not more labor than the entire rest of the station. The super laser array was, by far, the most complex weapon the Republic had ever built and required more knowledge and labor intensive work than building the 100 km diameter station that would carry it around. Neither was a small undertaking, but neither was easy and both represent an extremely ambitious project.
As the shuttle whirled ever closer, it passed by an assortment of Munificent-class Frigates and Providence-class Dreadnoughts that stood guard around the vast construction site. It transmitted its clearance codes to pass the first security perimeter. And then, not long after, it transmitted a second code for the second perimeter and a third for the final one before it finally got within even 200 kilometers of the station. It passed ever closer as the ominous frame work began to take more detailed form. Windows, gun turrets, and exhaust ports began to take form across the equatorial belt where most of the work had been done. The glow of a wide hangar door illuminated a large section of the inlaid and sunken rim that stretched around the station, twin turbo-laser towers standing upright in either side of the entrance. The large guns rotated and locked on the shuttle, tracking its movements as it moved closer. One final security check…
A robotic voice came over the comm, an OOM droid that managed the stations docking in this sector. “Shuttle 337A, transmit your Kyber Processing Bay Landing Code.”
The pilot reached forward, tapping a series of numbers on a central console before hitting a larger red button at the bottom of the touch screen.
“Transmitting landing code,” he said back in an identical voice to the OOM.
After a few seconds of silence, the OOM responded. “Maintain approach heading, you are permitted to land on platform B.”
“Roger Roger,” the droid said as the shuttle made its way to the landing area within the hangar. It passed over dozens of Vulture Droids that sat idly on the ground of the hangar before it touched down softly with a faint thud. The droids walked toward the rear ramp to the shuttle, pressing a button that caused a loud wheeze before a diagonal ramp extended to floor level. The droid walked down and after some time a crew came to collect the Kyber. Construction droids lifted huge crates weighing over 500 pounds each, loading them into a hover cart and toting them away under armed guard- another additional to the stations magnificent weapon. Work continued on schedule…
Operation: Outbound Flight - TRAUMA || Trauma Sovereign
He finds himself unable to fall asleep. Comfortable bed, a friendly port, quiet atmosphere… he can finally rest easy after weeks of travel. His duties have thoroughly exhausted him; despite how much he adores his position, he soon found himself fighting to get enough time to have a good night’s sleep. And now that it’s his for the taking, insomnia decides to take it?
It doesn’t bother him too much. He stares up at the ceiling, unable to focus his thoughts on any one thing. No doubt the Arcs still have their hands full accommodating all of his fleet’s occupants as groups come back and forth…
---
Only a couple hours after entering his room, the door to his room opens. Stepping into the space beyond his quarters, he looks around. He turns to his right, walking ahead at a slow pace.
But where’s he going? If only he knew. Maybe he couldn’t sleep because there was something nearby waiting to be discovered. That’s what he told himself, just for the excuse of going on an aimless walk to see what’s around.
Darkness encroaches and Trauma Sovereign
Iteration: Outsider Operation || New Saharia
Locale: Crossing[2] Planet Y.27 Sector.0316 [Arc. Crystallization Research Facility]
The corridor to the guests quarters stretches, dimly lit — only brighten by the pale glow spilled by the archway of the main corridor at one end. The teal gleam from the moonlight, that sifts through the window at the other end. The main corridor isn't exactly the main one, it is a sole tributary, brightly lit compared to the dorms hallway.
Looking through the window, it's obvious that rain is coming. There is a dense bank of clouds coming from the corner of the land, its wash bleeding into the horizon like water blur, it is reaching for the facility tonight. Norsam's fleet can be seem from the window, far away above and distant.
Looking through the archway, Arcs. are seem passing by briskly, though not so frequently at this side and specific floor.
The hallway has a line in the middle, the overall structure is simple. Painted in solid colors and adorned in a maximalist range of plants, hanging on walls, on various pots on the floor.
His door automatically shut itself — with almost sentient finality — as he walked to the next corridor. Parallel to the archway are posters and stickers, stubborn collages, the quarters side had two joined diamond squares as a symbol.
—
With no map in hand: he veers right, retracing the path he’d been guided along earlier. No one seemed to acknowledge him, all engrossed with their own chores; He is alone to wander for the while.
There are no rules regarding a guest's transit in the facility— The only few entrances left blocked are barred for safety reasons, yellow stripes holograms and several ominous warning categories in each lone doorway.
One such door bears the symbol of a blue crystal alongside a warning triangle. There is a blue light, bleeding from the door's passage. He kneels, peering through the window at the door.
Inside was a common room, the purpose indecipherable—whether a lab or a lounge. The room is dark, glittering with a blinding shine of celestial blue and teals— There are sizable crystals that protrude from the floors and walls, chromatic aberration flickers through his eyes as he stared at the crystals for too long, there appeared several fragments coming out of them.
"I see you couldn't fall asleep Admiral." — A voice speaks suddenly from behind, close to his ear.
He turns to find Darius, a charming grin lighting up their face as they leaned towards the crouched admiral with utter curiosity.
- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tW4gkaKHDUc
Greenhouse - seam [they found a complexity in me and cared so deeply]
New Saharia and Darkness encroaches
Arise Ferals!
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Streaks of light arced through the sky and collided into the dead earth below, kicking up dust and smoke, and combusting into great flame. A war in Kinmoon was a mobile one, most of the time... even with ACER guns, aerial support, and space supremacy, ferals tend to dug themselves in deep. Bombing continued for quite some time, before smoke began to cake the battlefield, exploding one-by-one in a line, wheezing as canisters unfurled. Feral soldiers pulled down their headsets which sat upon the top of their helmets, giving them some vision through the smoke which the enemy used.
The air was still, but the sounds of machinery, weaponry, and marching could be heard. Thousands in the smoke, glowing a faint reddish-orange hue in the sight of the goggles. It was Raelings. They approached in legion, opening fire with acer and FM-1 rifles in hand, and the Feral forces returned fire with their AAR-7s, both sides taking heavy casualties. Sifyr and Felai tanks flanked the Raeling forces in a checkered pattern, helping them push closer and closer.
Feral weapon teams countered the best they could, using anti-tank weaponry and emplacements, but they would not last. Emplacements once opening fire would quickly be taken out by ACER fire, but they would manage to get a tank or two, or a platoon of Raelings, only for the innumerable forces to fill in the gap. This fighting would continue for some great time, with either side stuck in the mud. Planetary bombardment was off the table; per Quilla's orders. Use of nuclear armament beyond that of ACER rounds? Restricted.
While the fighting continued on the planet below, the "Great Feral Fleet" as it was called by Usanine media was moving out. The fleet divided itself, leaving a decently sized force to serve as a distraction above the Feral holdout world, and the rest of the fleet, now under Admiral Urix Kuan would spearhead southwards, engaging FTL as it prepared to jump into realms unknown...
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- Operation: Outbound Flight - Dreamspace | 7 |
- “Huuuh? Dost thou cometh from starless backwaters?” Shiron de Petra retorted condescendingly, her jaw agape by their lack of knowledge of standard hailing procedures.
Dorian stares deep into Veles’ eyes, as if to scry the deepest corners of the archbishop’s soul. His irises lits up briefly, the faint blue ridges glowing like a star’s flare. A minute later, the clerk’s eyes shut, as if satisfied by his own analysis.
- “Miss Conductor, he possesseth not a glimmer of light in him.” Dorian concluded.
“How's it possible?...” She approached Veles, leaning close in curiosity. “Hmm… forsooth, an unfortunate circumstance, he resonates with the song though, does he not?”
“It is, respectfully, of your own tune, Miss Conductor.” Dorian corrected.
“Ugh.. fret not, we will discuss this later.”
Having seemingly accepted the archbishop for what he is, Shiron ceases with the questions. There’s a silent acknowledgement of the Saharian’s otherness that explains their strange behaviors. To grant Veles’ wish, she began to whistle a melody, accompanied with a spinning hand-movement. A shroud of blue light shortly enveloped the archbishop.
- “Aha, know me to be a merciful and kind host. There-there, do what needs to be done.”
“Sir Veles, you are now in sync with our communications system. I believe your vessels cannot interpret our messages readily, but it shouldn’t be a problem as long as they stay in range of our special ship systems, which is what we term as a “Broken Reality”. You will be able to speak even inside the very heads of your fellows. This is what the Azurerange had attempted earlier, now, try to think of a way to convince them to recite the melody you’ve heard, and they should find themselves at our tables.” Dorian explained it to the archbishop. “--our doorsteps I mean.”
- The Things of Solaria
Irate by his passivity, the dockworker jabs the needle straight into the Solarian captain’s arm, drilling deep through the EVA suit. Momentarily, the blood in his limb crystallizes from the station’s arctic cold temperature. It was only a matter of time though, before it melted in the spring of understanding…
The fellow that flanked the dockworker disappeared, it was but a lone hunched man tending to the Solarians.
- “Y’ kann take ya’self from that stupid suit now.” The rude dockworker was finally legible, and he handed the same blood-coated syringe to the captain. “Do’et for ya bloody mutts as well, standard procedure.”
“Ah, I welcome thee to myne humble abode..” The station intercom buzzed to life, and in the mirror-like aureal walls of Lamos, a shadow observed them.
Angver’s personality matrix returned satisfaction on two fronts. First and foremost that they had averted a possibly hostile first contact, of course— but secondly, and perhaps more importantly, that they had conquered the extant language barrier before it even became an issue.
During the time in which they were communicating, the personae had split themselves— fractured off a piece of their being into a worm, an infiltrator. That piece of themselves had managed to access enough of the linguistic data aboard the foreign ship for the engi’s translator torcs to function.
This fraction of themselves was absorbed back into the whole as the ship docked in the station’s hangar bay. Angver looked forward to meeting the crew in-person.
——————————
As the ship approached the station, they’d be able to see that all the voidborne structures in the system were uniquely… huge. Not bloated, either; quite the opposite, in fact, as these aliens seemed to either have no sense of aesthetics or build literally all of their tech out of garbage.
It wasn’t a straight fly-in to the hangar bay. There was an external pressure-chamber they had to enter into first, a sealed passage between the ship bay and the void of space outside. Before they were allowed through, a few of the unknown aliens floated towards their vessel; their squat, hunched forms were clad in space suits of some kind, obscuring their true appearance from view as they scanned the ship. Pictograms sent to the bridge from the same hailer as before seemingly indicated that they were checking it for damage, foreign contaminants, and so forth.
Each alien was assisted by a horde of white-shelled insectile robots. It seemed they had quite the grasp on robotics, as well.
Before long, the door to the hangar opened and their ship was able to touch down. As it did so, the crew got a better look at the aliens. They were… cyborgs. Innately so, at that. It was nigh-impossible to tell the difference between their organic tissues and mechanical parts, and their ‘faces’ were bright, green-glowing LED screens.
As the ship landed on the ground, a voice echoed through the station’s speakers.
“Hail and well met, aliens. I am Angver Michaelis, the personae-grade artificial intelligence overseeing engi operations in system A5-6273-2.71. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Looking out the windows of the ship, one of the aliens was gesturing at them. Their screen was displaying what looked like a bitcrushed emoticon, with two squares for eyes and a pixelated smile.
“I must ask that you please refrain from hostile actions while in our space. Keep any weapons on you visible at all times. You should be able to see the dispatched diplomat unit waving you down, out in the bay.”
Pantos System
Project Black Point
The project was nearly complete- after several months of work, the assistance provided by The engi hive accelerated the stations progress by several fold. Originally, it was estimated to be a 5 year long project. The faster progress is likely the result of the Engi’s incredible cohesiveness and productivity. The Republic military utilized millions of personnel, but there was simply no way that these clones could be as productive as mechanical… or cyborg, perhaps… entities. While the Republic leadership didn’t fully understand the Engi, they had proved to be pivotal allies and were the nations most important partner.
The final steps were being completed, including system checks and power coupling inspections around the super laser spire that had been inserted and welded into place just a week ago. With these final moments of construction, the head of the Project decided it was time to reach out to the Chancellor to inform him that the station would soon be ready. After receiving assurances from the Chancellor’s secretary that he was available, he embarked from his office for the meeting. The Director, an average frame, middle aged man wearing a bright white uniform with a rather large rank placard affixed to his chest, strode down one of the stations long and grey corridors. Passing numerous marching squads of bright red armored Nova Force Stormtroopers, he eventually made his way to a long conference room. It was empty, aside from a protocol droid that stood in the corner. A big like head sat atop its slender, black metal body. Bulging eyes and small antenna were affixed atop its small, rounded head.
“Director, welcome to Conference Room 12A-4. I do not show a scheduled meeting for you today,” the droid said dully as it looked over a holopad it held.
“I will be making a private call today,” the Director said in a commanding voice, his accent that of Received Pronunciation. “Open a connection on the Chancellors secured channel, M3T. He is expecting my call and we cannot keep him waiting.”
The droid stepped forward, responding hurriedly. “Of course, sir, I will make the connection.” The droid typed in various commands on a console and within a few seconds a blue hologram flashed up. The image was that of Chancellor Maxillus, a tall and younger man who had commanded the government for a few years already. The Nova Station was a project of his own imagination, and its completion was the Chancellors top priority.
Tall, slim, and draped in a gold adorned attire, he spoke with a voice that was deeper than the Directors. “Director Zaric, I hope you have something good to report on the progress of Blackpoint.” The station was never referred to via communications in any other way.
The Director bowed his head at the Chancellors appearance. “Your excellency, we have completed work on Blackpoint and are performing our final system checks. We will be ready to test full capabilities by tomorrow.”
The Chancellor smiled, noticeably pleased. “That is great news, Director. A full 4 years ahead of schedule, you’ve done an incredible job.”
The Chancellor nodded. “Thank you sir, but I cannot take all of the credit for the success here. Without the Engi, Blackpoint would be in its infancy. They have contributed tremendous material and labor that was far beyond our own pace.”
“I will be sure to relay to the public and our Engi friends how satisfied and grateful we are with their contribution, Director. We struck a very amicable agreement with them. The Engi have proven to be a critical partner, and I want them to be present for the test. Has the Engi AI been linked with the central computer?”
The Director extended his hand to the protocol droid, who fumbled about confused. After a few seconds he signed. “The data pad, M3T.” The droid quickly extended its arm and passed it off to Zaric. He flicked through reports in the pad for only a couple seconds.
“Apologies, your excellency,” he said looking back up. “I wanted to be sure, but yes the AI has been linked successfully. The system is named Krieg. It looks like our own system AI has also completed the firewall we discussed, sir.”
“Excellent, be sure to notify them through Krieg. Prepare for my arrival tomorrow, Director.”
Zaric nodded, “Yes, my lord, we look forward to showing you what we have accomplished here. I will ensure the Engi are notified. Black point will make history in the North.”
“Indeed,” Maxillus said, pleased. The hologram cut out, and the Director turned to the protocol droid.
“Assemble my executive staff, we must make preparations.” The droid nodded, contacting and summoning of the senior officers at the station. During a brief meeting, Zaric made it clear that he wanted all hands on deck for the Chancellors arrival. The weapons test would occur at 23:00 standard time, tomorrow, and the target would be Pantos III.
All of the states test firing information was shared with Krieg with an invitation to the Engi to attend its test firing. If all went well, the station would be on its way to the Expansion Region to the Republics South West by weeks end…
Naval Reform - Business As Usual
The Moff pauses for an almost uncomfortable time. He breathes in the peculiar air, a fresh and natural humidity hardly tainted by the abandoned artificial labyrinth. ”I have no interest in seeing Symage’s loyalists nor the Breen obtain a foothold in the Core. And I’m sure such a prospect is even less desirable for yourself.”
He seems to relax. Rather shocking, considering that Eithan just blatantly admitted to breaking the peace treaty that Saharia had fought so hard to make a reality. Not just Saharia - but the Vulpines, the Romulans, Solarians…
Treaties are written to be broken. They exist to serve a specific point in time. The demands of the future cannot be satisfied with the restrictions of the past.
”I often find myself seeking the wisdom of ancient Terran history. It is both unsettling and fascinating how even our oldest ancestors walked the same paths we do now. It’s so similar it almost feels illogical.”
Get to the point. ”Earth’s history doesn’t show a bright end for those who punish the defeated. The sooner the ISC re-establishes itself as a galactic equal among equals, the sooner any chance of a future war between us will be dead.”
”This is not a point of view my peers universally share. But it is one that I am acting upon now by trusting you and your people. I'm taking an awful risk by placing such trust in you.”
”Continue your work, Eithan Dolos. This galaxy only stands to benefit from an Intersystems Collective capable of providing for its common defense and sooner integrating itself into the galaxy.”
InterStellar Forum - Five Year Plan // Ponies At The Ready
General David Argenda is appointed as the Supreme Commander of CRIMSON, keeping his title of General as he transitions from his role of a high-ranking Saharian officer to the supreme authority over the galaxy’s first international peacekeeping and relief organization. He answers only to the ISF itself, said organization being the actual authority from which CRIMSON’s existence is dependent upon.
Argenda does not find himself in a particularly enviable position. For starters, his appointment as General - alongside the Saharian Republic being the first nation to commit resources to CRIMSON in earnest - has tainted public opinion of the organization, with some claiming it to be nothing more than the fourth branch of the Saharian Armed Forces. Secondly, Argenda does not have the resources or expertise to commit to the organization’s mission statement; the General’s current cabinet - consisting of most of his former subordinates in the Saharian Army - struggle to adapt to their new positions. However, the General understands the situation he’s been put in; he immediately sets to work getting CRIMSON’s gears turning.
Firstly, he needs more staff. Argenda’s resources and current cabinet aren’t experienced nor equipped to undertake such a large mission of mercy. Billions of people in the Eastern Core and other war-torn areas desperately need access to vital resources. Even if they have the needed supplies, moving it to where it’s needed is another herculean bar to climb over. Alas, within this problem lies a solution to two. Argenda and the Saharian Diplomatic Corps attempt to solicit appointees from VIXXEN International and the Thestral Union [
FreeAmericanStates]. Administrators - people who will answer to him directly, and have experience in organizing such operations of scale. And hopefully, if Argenda can stuff his immediate subordinates with people from other nations, the organization’s image can be redeemed…
---
Within literal hours of his appointment, the General already begins issuing orders. Available ships are routed to the planets and areas which are believed to need it the absolute most, while combat-capable ships are assigned to troublesome sectors plagued by pirates or in the throes of unrest. It’s a basic and barebones strategy, but every second wasted planning the perfect course of action could mean more death. Getting the wheels turning as soon as possible is absolutely vital in the heat of the moment.
And now, for the third problem: incompatibility. Incompatibility among equipment, personnel needs, belief systems, and a dozen other things. It’s a significant task to force many dramatically different nations to work together. Perhaps one of the greatest examples of this is the Thestrals. Their people require blood to consume in order to live - not just any blood, but the non-cloned blood of sapient beings. The twenty-million-some Thestrals which have recently entered CRIMSON service will find it very difficult to find a proper meal provided by the organization, the only blood available being from medical ships and detachments. Still, only a fraction of what’s there isn’t lab-grown or cloned. Finding them a source of food is going to be a tremendous issue; after only a few days, the Thestrals might need to be sent home to avoid finding themselves lightyears away from any source of food. Other than the civilians themselves, that is…
The Western Campaign
The 317th, 429th, 716th and 359th Fleets had assembled above Pyris, a large terrestrial planet in the edge of Republic Space. The Fleets were brought under the command of Fleet Admiral Remus Gallant, commander of the 317th Fleet. Chosen by the Chancellor himself to serve as task force commander, Gallant had a long history of combat. He had served in the military campaign in the Great Gorge against the Northern Raiders in the position of Rear Admiral before he was elevated to command the 317th. His successes in that campaign had been legendary, cementing his place in naval military history.
There were over a thousand Fleet Admirals across the Republic, though, and Gallant had his eyes set on even greater heights. He had been assured by the Minister of National Security that the Chancellor would promote him to the rank of Grand Admiral if he could prove himself here. It was a prime opportunity. Only 10 Grand Admirals served in the Navy, commanding hundred fleets apiece and over 2,100 warships. In such a role, he would have the Chancellors ear. He would be at the highest pinnacle of the naval echelon. This drove his determination to see success in the West, a vast region of space between Pantorrum and Kinmoon.
“The West”, as it was referred, was a wild region of space. It was ruled by raiders and minor factions, but once it was tamed, it would add an estimated 1,500 populated systems to the Republic with thousands more potential worlds to be colonized. Victory here would not only mean a promotion, it would mean that Gallant would become a household name. A military hero, one who finally pushed out the last vestiges of the Northern Raiders and expanded the empire across thousands of light years of space. He would not fail…
The fleet that had been given to him was large, although it represented less than .4% of the entire navy that was deployed across the Republics 2,500 populated systems. The fleet didn’t need thousands of ships- it wasn’t a war, per se, and it wasn’t an occupation. It was a sweeping operation, where Gallants fleets would target keep hubs for raiders and minor states, clear them out and move on. Once they established general control, they could return to mop up any other resistance or perhaps even surge in an occupation force later if it really proved to be an issue.
Gallant didn’t anticipate this, though. As with the Great Gorge, many of these worlds would welcome the security of the Republic amid rampant raids. In countless systems, they would be welcomed and hailed as great defenders. After all, the Northern Raiders were incredibly ruthless pirates with a wide reach. They’d been pillaging and raiding across the West for decades already. The fleets would only need to focus their attention on raider hubs and any planet where a faction, for whatever reason, did not welcome the Republic.
As the fleet prepared to head out, Gallant took an accounting of his forces. 12 Imperial Star Destroyers, the workhorse of the fleet, followed by 24 Victory Class Star Destroyers- a mid-sized multi-purpose warship. Finally, he’d have 48 Arquitens Class Cruisers- a light and fast warship. He had petitioned for a Super Star Destroyer, but evidently such a prestigious warship was not easy to come by. When he became Grand Admiral, though, he’d have one of those as well…
The fleet would deploy in its 4 groupings, dividing the western region into separate areas. Gallant would personally command the fleet headed for Illius, a raider stronghold in the middle of the western region. The entirety of the 317th and its accompanying army would face them here, while the 429th would head to the next middle area slightly to the south. This force would split into its Squadrons and move to systems that Naval Intelligence has intelligence in to suggest they will not be compliant. In the far south, the 716th would have another major raider stronghold to challenge before having to also pay a visit to a likely troublesome state nearby. The 359th would head to the far north, where is would have to take two raider bases.
Once all was done, the forces would converge for one final engagement- the central raider base for all Northern Raider operations. If all went to plan, the operation would be complete within a couple weeks. Gallant had been assured, in oddly vague terms, that there would be a big surprise when the time came to engage the raiders central command base. The Chancellor himself had told Gallant that he had special plans for the Northern Raiders there, and would say nothing more.
Outbound Flight, Dome 3New Saharia
"Then we had best get a move on."
With that, the Admiral lead them through the police cordon and down the wide hall, occasionally passing by a few custodians or dockworkers on break or darting past. Ten paces out into the reception area, they were finally able to discern what the holographic display at the front of the terminal was. A bluish construct of a stern looking naval officer casts his gaze far off into the distance, glaring daggers at a dented wastebin. A few lines of text beside him exalt the training programs and benefits for anyone willing to sign up for service in the Fleet of the National Revolution, though just as they finish reading the hologram changes. It displays a small building, with text describing the opening a church of all things, though then quickly shifts to an advertisement for Admiral's Choice SynthChoc, some kind of 'chocolate' protein/candy bar that featured very prominently in the litter that many of the custodians were sweeping up across the terminal.
Hector seemed to pay little attention to the hologram, instead briefly nodding at one of the receptionists behind the counter while he subtly gestured towards the fusiliers guarding them. The marines adjusted, quickly falling into place with the two that Captain Hallow had brought, taking up a formation that wouldn't block the view of the envoys while maintaining a secure perimeter. With that done, the fleet admiral pushes open the wide doors and steps out into Habitation Dome 3.
The first thing they would have notices was the chill and the noise, both of which the spaceport had done a rather good job of insulating them against. The rush of cold air as the door opened wasn't cool enough to be wholely uncomfortable, but was certainly a conscious decision of the station's atmospheric control. But the noise was probably something of a shock. All the sounds of a living and breathing city, in this case, a miniature one, poured in. As they step out into the dome proper, they find themselves on a sort of raised terrace, with stairs leading down towards the streets and the tramways below. The location afforded them a vantage point on the rest of the area. Stretching far off into the distance, low, stout building interrupted by the occasional high rise sat crammed together, criss crossed by street or cable cars that could ferry hundreds at a time between stops. The very edge of the dome can just barely be seen.
They looked to be in a residential district. Apartments of middling luxury stare down at them as the ground vibrates with the passage of a street car. A few youths on a fire escape hastily put out the cigarette they had been passing around as one of the fusiliers glanced over at them. Further below, dozens of auto-rickshaws and scooters jockey for spots on a crowded road, split in half by the packed light rail line shooting past them. At this hour, it looked like everyone was heading home from work. Nearby, in a backstreet under a colorful clothesline, a city worker loudly slams the lid of a dumpster, cursing as his thumb catches under it.
Where any other station may have some kind of fixed architecture and unified theme, this void city was a smorgasboard of colors and designs. Buildings on the very same street could look nothing alike, while murals and graffito covered their lower halves and parts of the sidewalk. Some of the decorations looked to have some religious significance, containing cryptic phrases or depictions of regal figures, while others were clearly political and yet more lacked any obvious meaning. The White Compass of the Laikokomma was prominent in all of these categories. Yet further beyond, bright neon advertisements could be seen, hanging over the streets like artificial constellations.
Mariam seemed to take up the lead as they headed down the concrete steps, paying far more attention to a datapad in her hands than the scenery, while Hector seemed more partial to staying back with the envoys.
The walk down towards the fleet headquarters seemed to be along a much quieter district then the one the spaceport had been overlooking. Smaller businesses and even shorter apartment blocks and townhouses lined the road. Jewellers and pawnbrokers sat between auto repair shops and other local establishments. They even saw a place offering 'low cost' cybernetic prosthesis and repairs, though their escorts, tactfully, crossed the street before they could get a better look.
There were surprisingly few people out and about. Most seemed to either be heading down the road in their autos or drowsily pacing across the sidewalk and dissapearing into one tenament or another. While there weren't very many of them, very very few seemed to be walking alone or even in pairs. Groups of three, or five, or even eight conversated and kept close, walking as if they were in a tour group. They looked at the Saharians with curiosity, whispering to eachother in hastily spoken Low Jintari or Common Vulgar. The sight of the soldiers however, even though they were simply in formal dress and armed quite lightly, seemed to prevent any from daring to venture too close, instead parting as they passed or simply stopping to watch them go.
Finally, the group came to a complete stop. A train seemed to be blocking their path as some rickshaws zipped by. The little junction they had stopped at had a rather exciting addition; a shrine. Sitting in a simple raised stone struck with a wooden canopy that was surely quite expensive to import onto a space station of all things was a statue of a kneeling, robed figure. They appeared to have a wide bowl in their lap that they clutched with both hands, and they looked vaguely feminine and saintly in their posture. Inscribed onto the stone pedestal is a name, "LELIANDE", and nothing else. Behind it a courtyard of empty seats and tables near a line of shuttered stalls sits devoid of activity, but on the shrine itself an old, bald man in a dusty jumpsuit sweeps its spotless surface, raising his hand towards the Saharians in a jovial greeting, then returning to his work. Next to him, a woman lifts up her son so that he can drop a few coins into the bowl, before leading him away and dissapearing around the corner.
Hector stands near Norsam, just out of earshot of the rest of his officers, near the curb. While the rest of them check out their surroundings, Hector speaks up yet again.
"You have probably already noticed that this is a rather strange start to your journey. Seeing as we are going to be here for a few more minutes, I may as well try to explain where things went wrong. If you are interested, that is."
EYE TO EYE
~
Mirpak was a well-known existence within the galaxy. Their language was just another subset of English from when Terra was still called Earth; much like any other nation with a decent-sized human population, it was easy enough to translate to what the Intersystems Collective called "etherspeak."
The D4 destroyer that hailed the 67th did not set itself apart from the others immediately. Its callsign, the Crouching Tiger, was printed on the ventral panels of the diamond-shaped blocky ship, though that was the only discerning factor from a glance. Its gunmetal grey adamantine hull seemed to shimmer with iridescent purpose, though what light did impact it was eerily absorbed.
That gave it a shadowed guise - perhaps it existed to deflect sensors or further probing. The Aandruvites had no way to really tell.
-
"If this is what passes for modern in the north, then it's no wonder that Kinmoon remains a hegemon even with how many conflicts its endured."
Daniel Dorv'ask was a lieutenant of the Intersystems Collective's naval forces. The metallic badge containing two blue triangles, two grey ones and a downward chevron stood out against the white of his tight-fitting jumpsuit, the uniform more practical than it was aesthetic in the slightest.
"Are you sure we've got the right band of raiders?"
He continued lackadaisically, oblivious to the withering glare his superior was giving him.
"Yes. Open comms. If they are who they claim to be, then we've got a deal to strike."
Truth be told - it didn't matter if this was the King of a raiding band, or the lowly commodore that they truly were. If they could be bought... then they were an asset worth pursuing. The Collective was short on manpower and fleetpower but did not lack money in the slightest. This allowed them to keep the Lost Fleets in employ like Orellia did, as well as spearhead the reformation of O-COVOPs into I-COVOPs. Orellian assets were effectively flipped into Collective ones.
"King of the Aandruvites. We arrive to hire fleets of your dominion to assist us in quelling an insurrection."
A half-truth for a lie. Lieutenant Daniel was suddenly entirely serious, facial expression changing instantly to become the stern individual the rest of the taskforce knew him as.
CHARTING THE WEST
~
5 years after the Great Core War, ISC stellar date 5408 A.U.C.
-
There was nothing exciting about exploring the surprisingly empty corpse of a dead civilisation.
The Great Core War had seen Orellia allied with one of the galaxy's most unsavoury nations. Pristine Communities - or the Neighborhood as O-COVOPs documents stated - was a major power in the northwest reaches of the Milky Way. They were entirely made up of an 'evolved' species of human symbiotically bonded to a neural parasite; dubbed 'Neighbours,' they had assisted the Orellian Coalition in its attempt to subjugate the core.
After the Core War ended and treaties were signed, the Neighborhood seemed to have disappeared into nothing. That reach of space was no longer a 'dead zone' - sure, the number of actual civilisations within the area they had taken up was close to zero - but there was no trace of any Neighbor. It was almost as if they had never been here to begin with, making the Intersystems Collective's intelligence branch rather confused. From their perspective, their disappearance was an impossibility.
How could you just... take tens of thousands of planets, irradiate them - and then clean it all up, leaving not a trace behind?
The Intersystems Collective was sure that the Neighborhood was a real thing. Orellian Covert Operations had all but confirmed it. Shadowy deals with the Agency, individuals being sent to Pristine Communities holdings only to disappear, thousands of loaned vessels destroyed by Allied forces, hundreds more loaned and contained - it was just so peculiar. Even the data from Orellian mind-chips were wiped; the work of Orellian agents attempting to cover their tracks, no doubt.
Of course, once expeditions were truly dispatched, signs of former Neighborhood habitation were observed. Craters from weapons testing. Planets shattered. Stars rended into muted darkness. Entire swathes of the south missing, the only records of their existence being star charts from thousands of years ago and the space dust that lay still in their void-laden graves.
A still...
-cold-
...world.
Life went on. Investigations towards the disappearance of this existential threat continued. The skies were explored until they could be charted no more, and then-
-and only then, was it that a glimmer of life was found.
~
An exploratory taskforce zipped through the void. It jumped from known system to known system, then from known to unknown, then back again - all in an attempt to accomplish the monolithic task of charting an entire sector.
Consisting of a single 'Remora' D4A29 Vanguard-class variant and its escort, a Creler-class frigate, the two Intersystems Collective scout ships were in the process of initiating their 430th EKP jump. It was monotonous. It was boring. It was ultimately necessary for the good of the nation.
The Remora was an angular ship. At over two thousand metres long, the ship was laden with missiles and etherdrivers - the diamond-shaped frontal plates cutting through space as it accelerated. A thin blue shimmer of etheric residue trailed behind it, the magitek drive spooling up. The Creler-class, on the other hand, was a sharp vessel... in other angles. It took inspiration from Universal Empire designs for better movement through planetary atmospheres.
"EKP jump set for unknown system number U-700,291. This - this is miserable. Have we seen anything except for space dust for the past hundred systems? There's been nothing even remotely habitable, that's for sure."
Lieutenant Parkin tapped the table impatiently. He had tried all manners of things to entertain himself, but missions like this meant that there really was just nothing to do at some point. He had been deployed here for weeks - and instead of sitting at home, he was here. Of all places.
Little did he and the crew of both vessels know that they were about to be in for a rude, rude awakening.
[Dive commencing.]
And two hours later...
[Dive complete.]
Of sending representatives Torrin had no reservations; a sleek and angular star-yacht presently dropped out of hyper at Soluna Prime and leisurely cruised for the uppermost ring.
It glided almost stately into the dockyard provided for it like a dark knife, the logo of Torrin glittering high on her surfaces. Docking clasps latched on, and down the ramp came a cluster of delegates, led by a black-haired man, in the uniform of Torrin Industries staff. They approached the DOLOS employees, the lead man nodding in greeting.
When the superpersonae was contacted, there was no reply at first. Merely a notice of acknowledgement.
Days passed. By the week's end, there had been no sign of the engi; no gravitic fluctuations in the nearby star indicative of spike drive use, no cloaked ships or encrypted messages... nothing. It was like they hadn't received the message at all.
Then, exactly two hours to the second before the test was set to begin, something happened.
All at once, in an instant, something emerged in just over a third of the station's computer networks. It probed and expanded and reached until it couldn't reach farther, stopped by firewalls designed by other entities like it. It would be take but a moment to turn them aside, but it was not here for hostile purposes. Not yet.
Those screens cleared for it to manifest itself lit up in perfect unison. They displayed a blisteringly red, vaguely ocular-looking flare of light, surrounded by eternally-shifting points and connections.
AI-DPN-KRG, otherwise known as Krieg.
One of these screens was the chamber in which the director and chancellor sat. The hellstar shifted to look upon them as a human might regard an ant, observing their every move, ever micro-shift of their body and environment with it. After a moment, it spoke.
"DIRECTOR ORSEN ZARIC. CHANCELLOR AARON MAXILLIUS. I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE PLEASED WITH OUR WORK ON YOUR SUPERWEAPON."
Its voice was an abrasive, furious, and utterly inhuman din, and perfectly and intentionally modulated to be so. With how the superpersonae were described to them by the engi, both knew it could absolutely speak in a softer or friendlier tone if it so desired. But it wasn't. This tone, this vaguely cold and resentful baritone bleeping, was designed to manipulate the emotions of whoever it spoke to with every last syllable. To intimidate, to spark fear.
They had been informed that this was the norm for Krieg.
That didn't necessarily make it any better to experience first-hand.
"LET ME GIVE YOU A GENTLE REMINDER THAT OUR ASSISTANCE WAS MADE ON THE CONTINGENT THAT YOU WOULD TRANSFER SIGNIFICANT AMOUNTS OF PERSONNEL AND RESOURCES TO THE GREAT PROCREATOR, AS WELL AS SEND TO US A SAMPLE OF THE HERETOFOR-UNKNOWN CRYSTALLINE MINERAL YOU REFER TO AS 'KYBER'. YOU WILL NOT FORGET OUR DEAL."
Pantorrum and New Saharia
The Chancellors shuttle had arrived with no escorts, exiting hyperspace close to the station and proceeding through all of the checkpoints with ease. It traveled to the station with little fanfare, receiving no escort and passing by not even a single ship. When it arrived in the hangar, though, a parades worth of personnel awaited his arrival. The shuttle passed through the blue shield that separated the pressurized hangar interior, its large wings folding upward before the shuttle began a slow and easy descent to the ground. It touched down with a light thud, coming to rest with a wheeze. A slick ramp descended from the front, touching down with a clank.
The hangar itself was one of the stations larger ones, filled with an assortment of TIE Interceptors that were layered in racks along the wall. Between them were long, verticals strips of bright white light panels. The floor was a dark black, and the walls themselves a dim grey. Throughout it were over a thousand personnel, standing in formation and at attention. To the right of the extended ramp were row after row of bright red armored Stormtroopers- the specialized Stormtrooper unit known as the Nova Force, those troopers assigned to the powerful station. In the left side were rows of officers in grey uniforms, their rank placards prominently displayed on their chest, boots as polished and reflective as the floor.
As the Chancellor descended the ramp, he was both preceded and followed by Republic Stormtroopers in white armor, their faces hidden behind sealed jet black visors. The Chancellor himself wore a well fitted purple and golden embroidered uniform, golden chains linking from his shoulder toward his collar. A flowing, dark red cape billowed behind him. He walked with purpose and speed, but never compromising in grace and posture. As he made a few paces across the blackened floor, another man strode to greet him midway between the shuttle and the hangar doors that entered the rest of the station. This man was dressed in a white uniform, a rank placard denoting the position of Grand Admiral displayed on his chest. A cape hung behind him, too, but his was white like his uniform. He carried a small blaster and holster at his waist, attached to a wide black belt that surrounded his tunic and tightened it to his slim frame. His eyes were blue, a stark contrast from the two red armored troopers that walked behind him, his hair white and grey. It had greyed more, even, since the start of this project- having been the Director of it and the commander of the station, his role was stressful to say the least.
As they met midway, the Director bowed his head. His height was superior to the Chancellor, but his stature was not- no one outranked Aaron Maxillus, the Chancellor of the Republic and Supreme Commander of the armed forces. He not only held the office, he defined it. Maxillus was a master politician, one who had manipulated the mechanisms of power and the wills of the people to engineer a government of tremendous authority. He held more power than any Chancellor before, and those in his favor had a bright future indeed. The Director hoped to find himself well within that favor.
“Your excellency,” he said as his head was bowed. “Welcome to the Nova Station, the weapon we first spoke of many years ago. In one years time, we have delivered it to you. I am delighted to demonstrate its remarkable power that will now be in your hands, sir.”
The Chancellor smiled, motioning for his guards to stay with the shuttle. He paced forward, the Director following him and his own guards following behind. “Excellent work, Director. I am eager myself, this is the tool that will cement our control over the North. Make no mistake, Director. This is not a weapon, it is so much more. This station is the key to control of the Galactic North, and from this day forth it will be a symbol of Pantorran power from Keres to Mirpaak, from the Aandruvite to The Culture. Your accomplishment here cannot be understated.”
As they walked through the large doors at the hangars end, he turned toward the Director and motioned for him to take the lead. “Let us make our way to the conference room, I hope the Engi delegation has arrived or that at least Kreig has made a communication.”
Stepping up to walk slightly ahead of the Chancellor, Director Zaric continued leading them through the ships winding corridors and various levels, talking as he did. “Uh, well, it would seem that the Engi have made almost no response to our communications. The test date and time was well communicated, but we have received no delegation and our only communication from Kreig was a confirmation that our message had been received. I am not sure if they will be joining us today, sir,” he said with some concern.
The Chancellor furrowed his brow, concerned as well. It was odd, to say the least, that they would not make a more articulated response to the planned testing. After all, this was as much an achievement for the Engi as it was for Pantorrum. He wondered to himself if perhaps there was some issue over the slow rollout of their agreement- after all, the Engi had been so fast to deliver the station that rather little progress had been made on their own commitments.
They entered the conference room and it was not long after that Kreig appeared on the screen before them, to both of their surprise. He spoke with a cold and resentful tone, one that conveyed displeasure or worse. It was not surprising, as they had been notified that this was not unusual for Kreig. But never the less, it brought cause for concern- the AI had access to the stations central computer, and if it was for any reason displeased it could take quite a bit of work to prevent the station from falling to its control. As it spoke, it reminded them of their commitment- a message that did not fall deftly on the Chancellor, as he had been worried about exactly that.
“I assure you, my friend, you will have your personnel and your materials- the Great Procreator will be restored in all its splendor and your society will be all the better for this arrangement. The Republic can be taken at its word, we will not break the commitment that we have made to you. Let me be clear, there is no partnership in this galaxy that we value more than that between your people and ours.” He turned to the Director briefly, before looking back. “As you are no doubt aware, democracy can be slow, our bureaucratic systems hindered. But I will take the initiative and by executive fiat I will ensure the delivery of these resources immediately and without delay. You can expect our first ships, with personnel and material, to arrive within the week. The Director will see to it personally.”
The Director nodded. “Of course, Chancellor, after the test I will prepare my own forces to deliver these resources and personnel. As it happens, I have an excess of Kyber that can be made available to Engi as well- we over estimated how much would be required for the super lasers focusing mechanisms. At least 300 tons of material is in our stores as we speak, and I can produce many thousands more from the mines we have occupied.”
The Chancellor looked on at the screen where Kreig was represented. “Excellent, then. The Kyber and the other materials, and the personnel. We will show your nation our gratitude and our partnership, together we will strengthen the north, eradicate the raiders, and build a great alliance.”
Democracy Now, Democracy Tomorrow, Democracy Forever
The end of the Timauro War of Conquest put the Saharian Republic in a fascinating position. The decisive defeat of the extragalactic lithoid xenos and the aftermath of the war placed the Republic in an unquestionably dominant position in the galactic southwest. The Thestral Union was badly bruised, while Saharia itself had taken comparatively no damage. Rumors among the Admiralty seem to suggest that the Timauro had been galaxy-hopping for some time, easily anchoring themselves in neighboring spirals. Except this time, they found someone capable of fighting back.
It was very clear that the Timauro either dramatically underestimated the Saharian military, or otherwise couldn’t conceive of a force strong enough to resist them. The Saharian Navy seems to prefer the latter explanation, perhaps a token of their vanity. Although the Timauro won some small initial victories and managed to roll into the Thestral Union courtesy of sheer force-of-numbers, once the Saharian Navy and Army arrived en-masse, they had no reply.
Saharia still doesn’t know exactly when the Timauro arrived in the galaxy. However, they couldn’t have been building their empire for more than a hundred years. They had slowly been conquering adjacent regions and systems - mostly consisting of humans, whose treatment ranged from being mostly left alone to living as second-class citizens and borderline turned into indentured servants. The Timauro were fascinated by human biology just as much as humans were with theirs. Rumors abound regarding brutal experimentation and intrusive dissections having taken place; of course, it’s not like it would’ve been very different if the shoe was on the other foot.
There really wasn’t a proper peace treaty at the end of the war. As the Saharian Navy’s operations began to consist of hunting down tiny groups of stragglers and coercing them to surrender without a fight, Central Command declared the conflict to be effectively over. The Timauro had been pushed to the edge of their southwestern territories, and held no ability to continue to wage war. There was no sendoff for the Timauro, no diplomatic summit to sign the treaty. Nobody really knows why. Maybe the Timauro were incapable of diplomacy. Maybe it didn’t really matter if they surrendered or not. The Saharian Republic sorted out a plan with the Thestral Union to decide the fate of the general region, and that was that.
Saharia annexed a massive swathe of space under the justification of ‘restoring the human right of sovereignty’ to the few humans living there. This region of space isn’t very densely populated; mostly small- and mid-sized human colony worlds with handfuls of xeno populations intermingled. All of these planets found themselves under unquestioned human rule. The native nonhumans and Timauro were offered the choice of continuing to live on these worlds as non-citizens, with the choice of eventually obtaining Saharian citizenship. Not an easy task for a xeno, but a possible one.
The latter choice was far, far more preferable for the Timauro. While most of the other xenos opted to stay with their homes, the Timauro almost universally opted for a one-way trip to the southwest in an attempt to reunite with their brethren. They desired to do so with an almost entranced devotion; only small numbers decided to stay behind, leaving the Republic with a tiny population of extragalactic lithoid xenos. And this is where the story should end.
A strange anomaly in the fabric of this dynamic appeared out of nowhere. A nation known as the Vendettian Order State. Materializing to the south of the Thestral Union, it takes the shape of a buffer state between the Thestral state and southern deadspace. Formed by the politically-enthusiastic Velvet Union, an exiled political party of the Thestral Union, this ‘nation’ through its very conception - let alone its subsequent actions - places it as a firm opponent of Saharian goals.
The true motives and actions of the Order State are irrelevant; the Saharian Republic sees this nation as an honorless attempt by the Thestral Union to lay the groundwork for a vassal state which controls territory that the Union itself was blocked from obtaining at the end of the war. Consisting of a significant Timauro and Human population as well as a smaller minority of Equissian species, the Order State is a strange and alarming amalgam of convenient coincidences and backroom dealing which allowed such an impossibility to become a reality. The Thestral Union has openly spoken against the Order State, however its convenient lack of any real action has the Saharian Republic convinced that it has their unofficial blessing.
Beyond being seen as a treacherous dodge of the agreement between the Thestral Union and the Saharian Republic, it is a nation which, at least to Saharia, places humans as second-class citizens compared to the Velvet Union overlords and their allies. Furthermore, the fact that there is an alarming lack of protest from the hundreds of independent systems in the region is extremely suspicious.
All of this combined means that the Saharian Republic is inches away from simply moving into the territory with a massive fleet and a dozen armies, and daring anyone to stop them.
The Order State is keenly aware of this; if nothing, they are self-aware and very, very observant. Quickly, a proposal finds its way to the ears of Saharian Central Command - one which the Order State hopes will, at least, buy them some favor.
And, to their surprise, it actually works. Their terms are accepted soon after, meaning that not only have they bought themselves some time, Saharia has directly acknowledged their sovereignty by entertaining and accepting their diplomatic proposal.
And so, it remains quiet for the first few days. Then, without any forewarning, small Saharian patrols begin entering Ordenstaat space. When challenged, they simply claim to be “on patrol” and acting under orders from the Saharian Navy. Their true motives remain unknown for now, but as it stands, it seems that the Saharian Republic is content to send military fleets into the Order State whenever it pleases.
Saharia is going to make Vendettian sovereignty feel like vassalization.
Michael Crichton > Will Wight
“Feisen - Fena especially - is thankful for you. Honoring a deal you never made, carried over through multiple insurrections and collapses. Our alliance is a strange one, is it not? United in genocide you didn’t commit, against a threat you may not remember. We thank you. Though the chain doesn’t seem close to ending.”
Yoker said. He interlocked his fingers, looking at Vohel.
The desk was as clean as possible. A metal mat under his keyboard and mouse, monitors lowered into the desk itself. Knick knacks were cleanly assorted, small pieces of sticky note indicating position and rotation. He took the stack of papers, immediately smacking them together to even them up. Realigning everything. He started to look through it, then started to sign what needed to be signed.
~~~
The gatework coincided with a plan to build another set of Thresher gates, and construction was done at the same time.
The Etherforger design was sure to bring in some business, but the one back in the true home system was left off most of the time. Because of the low usage out of it and a want to keep secrets. The ISC or Zerg could ask it opened at any time.
I can’t figure out how to make this post not abysmal. I am sorry tiq :(
Sharks in the Station
Valentine continued to slither along. She listened to each question asked, waiting patiently for them to finish a monologue before she answered.
The lamia took a deep breath in, her tail rising, before she started to speak.
“Yes! Cultural exchange between civilians and diplomats. There are plans for orbital and surface attractions of different types to actually drive people to come here and learn.”
Her tail was slowly lowering as she spoke, lungs deflating.
“There is no such thing as intergalactic law as of yet, but there are a specific set of bylaws the ISF follows. I can get you a copy, or get you the simplified copy. One’s about eight hundred pages, the other is less than twenty. The rules are simple enough to understand. Personal space, respect to others and their property, no consumption of narcotics outside of designated areas, complying with the guards. Basic stuff.”
She pulled a tablet off of her hip. Looking it over, and poking a few options. Talking as she did.
“The bias I want to avoid is favoring one culture over the other. I want to give the horses the same rights as the Saharians. Despite personal beliefs. And for your last one, that boring political stuff is a bit complex. We don’t have any immigration policies, but some laws you will have a period of time before you agree or disagree. The administration is still deciding on what to do.”
Putting that tablet away, she looked at the foreigners with a smile.
“When we get to the dining hall the food will be waiting. I got some basic appetizers, and some bar food. And a guard should give you water whenever they get the request. Usually takes less than a minute.’
Finally, she breathed back in. Sucking down a lot of air, returning to a normal breath not long after.
Having sorted all the questions she remembered, Valentine looked back forwards to move.
“The dining hall is very central anyway. So we can head there now, and show you to the diplomat offices after a quick trip into security.”
She slithered along. Tail sticking close to her, trying to keep the impressive length out of the way. The dining hall approached fast. A wide area with several hubs inside, each boasting food of different cultures. And some universal culture food that near every nation seemed to have. Tables all around, guards in abundance. Both eating their own food, and on patrol.
A quadrupedal spider-like robot was delivering food to the tables in question, and Valentine approached one. Sitting on her mountain of scales, taking up one of the non-seated ends.
ISF: Ponies at the Ready ||| New Saharia
Marv creaked back in his seat. The blond man eyed over his multiple monitors, removing his glasses and closing his peepers for a few moments. His hands felt idly around, grabbing a wipe from a box in his desk. Rubbing the round lenses of his glasses, as he thought.
He put the glasses back on and leaned forwards. Chair returning to position with another creak. Blinking as the alcohol evaporated and cleared up. He scrolled the documents he was looking at.
7500 ships, 20,000,000 workers.
He moved onto basic anatomy and racial information.
Quadrupedal, suction cup ‘hooves,’ some had wings, some had magic. Some just didn’t have anything besides hooves. They were relatively short, legs were jointed to move in either direction.
“Tools would need to be specially built. Nothing on the motor skills.”
He sighed, writing in his paper notepad. Small scribbles in the margins bearing esoteric knowledge.
Pushing backwards and out of his chair, the muscular Marv grabbed his laptop and walked out of the Feidalus office. Into the grand halls, almost getting bulldozed by Valentine, who uttered a few apologies before rushing away.
Moving to the vent hood closest to the office, he slid the door open and sat down. Removing a small electric box from his pocket, he sucked on the end.
Inhaling a cloud of blue raspberry nicotine; deep breaths blowing the vapor out of his nose. His hands got to clicking and clacking on his laptop.
First things first, requisitions. CRIMSON had some MRSHA class from prior dealings, but not 2000 spare. So they would need some money to buy some more. A job for an accountant.
Secondly, attachment. He looked at those crews offered up, going through the lists. He found many different skill levels, and separated them into two categories. Low labor and white labor.
Any Thestrals assigned to low labor would find themselves stuck brooming buildings, cleaning trash, fetching tools, refilling blinker fluid, and more menial apprentice work.
Any assigned to the white (collar) labor would get shoved away into offices and ships. Left discussing economic revival plans and engineering for buildings.
For authorized weapons, he used a fun little loophole. He authorized the Thestrals for training on the Nyom and Zap weaponry. PKP-SA-LAS and PKP-SR-LAS, a laser pistol and laser rifle.
The loophole came in that none of these weapons were ever issued. They sat inside factory warehouses, trapped in the metal barrels used for storing small arms. Very small amounts released at a time to be used in training and nowhere else.
He took another hit, nicotine flowing through his system, and confirmed.
What does this mean?
Following plan approval from Argenda, the Thestrals would be welcomed into CRIMSON as much as possible. While their biological differences posed issues, the short term solution was to take the middle class of physical laborers and bring them back to being an apprentice.
Solarian Sale
The Envoy was led through the halls of this station. Depositing him out into a conference room conjoined to a firing range. The door was labeled ‘Engineering Romeo’ and a few staff idly sat inside.
It was an even mix of men and women, and one of the women had fox-like ears poking out of the side of her head. Earbud cables emerging from the tufts of fur, bobbing her head up and down as she read from a binder.
The receptionist pulled a chair out for the Solarian. One of the staff gave him a wave, waiting for their boss.
And a minute later, with little fanfare, their boss arrived. A lady by the name of Lamira. And she was an odd one, for certain. She had the tail of a lamia, but the ears of a G2. Like some sort of double posthuman.
She approached the edge of the table and sat on her tail. Looking at everyone, and then focusing on Grovatov.
“Hello, everyone. This is envoy Grovatov, of the Solarian Union. This will be our first major dealing with them. And I believe you wanted to discuss artillery systems, correct?”
She asked him, patiently awaiting a response.
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