.

Barren Source System
Black Hole Research and Exploitation Facility, orbit

With a snap of unseen energy, three warships shocked back into normal space with a small ripple in real-space. A single battlecruiser, flanked seven kilometers to either side by its missile destroyers, slowly spun in space to angle towards an orbital slot around the giant frame that hung in deep space some four million kilometers away. It was standard procedure; every ship was required to warp outside of orbit of any occupied gravitational well, and be challenged and verified before they could approach.

It took a minute or so for the battlstations around the giant frame supporting EM projectors, drive field modules, and the inwards-pointing mirror, to detect the ships; no sensor could detect other ships faster than light, after all. It took another minute more for the challenge to be received by the small patrol fleet, and one more minute in addition to that as the response was beamed back to the battlestations. The code given was verified in the battlestations' networks, and then another challenge was put through the quantum entanglement communication network to Interstellar Fleet Command, back on the homeworld. It verified there, and another challenge was sent from the battlestation through the same network through to the given origin of the patrol fleet. The local fleet base there also confirmed the verification code.

Ten minutes after appearing in-system, the ships received confirmation to approach. They were given authorization to take data from the sensor network that had detected them-- a massive array of hundreds of thousands of small passive-sensor stealth platforms that dotted the three-dimensional space around the black hole and its mortal masters. Missile platforms tracked the warships as they accelerated up to Sublight Cruise Acceleration, the speed that limits wear and tear on the device while still providing the best possible acceleration.

Even as they passed a network of hundreds of thousands of platforms, mass produced things, some of which have been in service for just a couple years, some for decades, the ships themselves didn't actually *spot* any of them. Even though the entire area was seeded with passive sensor arrays and defenses waiting to go active, the ships' sensors weren't powerful enough without going active to detect a single one. It was only the command network that clued them in to their existence.

Halfway to the facility, the ships' drive fields reversed, their constant acceleration switching to a negative value as the ships slowed their journey. They had received orbital slots; from four million kilometers away, they had a route precisely planned to bring them straight there.

Some fifty hours after arriving in their orbital slots after the relatively short trip, the ships were again ready to leave. This time, however, a dozen freighters were in tow. While the freighters each had a much greater size and tonnage, a single destroyer could've taken them all out.

Loaded in the freighters were one of the most prized tool that the Taybuse had created: the powercell. Using a variety of technologies, the stations that orbited the black hole and its EM Sphere that amplified all the EM waves that went in injected massive amounts of power into the power cells. While inefficient as all hell, this construct had been in service for a few decades now, and the energy bouncing around inside the sphere was carefully controlled to be as efficient as possible: the energy cells that these freighters were packed full of, more than a fusion reactor could produce with the freighter filled to the top with the most efficient fuel could produce in its lifespan-- Taybusen fusion reactors had a tendency to run hotter and wear down faster.

So power cells were a fantastic solution, given an energy source that didn't require all that much effort to maintain. Warships loaded powercells into their energy weapons to allow the on-board reactor nodes to focus on powering life support, drive nodes, etc. Plasma might be their most effective energy weapons, but laser turrets worked best for point defense; plasma traveled slower, could miss. Lasers didn't miss, though they took notably longer to kill something. If a warship powered all its energy weapons at once, the reactor wouldn't be able to keep up-- it would handle it for a few hours, maybe, but after that battle was over, it'd have to be completely torn out and replaced. Powercells allowed higher effectiveness.

The small fleet of fifteen ships left the watchful eyes of a dozen battlestations, several squadrons of warships sitting idle, and another shipment coming in.

His Royalty's investment in black holes definitely paid off. Not only did he command the military, he supplied them with one of their most important technologies. Maybe, many a captain and politician had thought, that was the entire reason the Tayb was still in power. At a snap of his fingers... their military fleet's efficiency would drop from one hundred percent... to forty. All the admirals were in his pocket.

In the outer edges of the solar system, dozens of giant carcasses orbited Dars, the star of the Qit home-system. These were the first few of the Ziz prototypes, the faulty and inefficient ones. The truly grand ones had escaped Dars gravity well, and were drifting through space at incredible speeds - obviously dead, but it was progress. A Ziz is launched from Nesnora 25L and Tholla JW5 every few days - there were always several being produced at any given time, and most of the planets biomass was devoted to fueling them, so there was no problem in that regard. They were launched in random directions, a poor attempt of the Qit to try and find a suitable planet purely by chance. Of course, nothing was ever close enough to be reached before the Ziz inevitably died from the pressure of the vacuum, but there was no sense in not trying.

A Ziz launched one and a half months ago had just died, and several of the drop pods exploded from it, moving even faster than the Ziz itself. Five drop pods were inhabited - the many others were simply empty. Every queen was given an order - the entire journey, send out psionic signals as far and as much as possible. While doing what was essentially screaming for months on end may seem tiring, a queen is easily able to accomplish such a task if it is to support the Swarms - After all, attempting to contact foreign species was the greatest of honors!

While this was underway, Several burrowers were exploring the oceans of Tholla JW5. The swarms did not view aquatic superiority as anything important, but perhaps there was a bacteria or fish in the sea that possessed a useful trait. All the queen needed was a taste, and it would be in the entire swarms mandibles...

Meanwhile, millions of queens were hard at work, attempting to form something useful from the available genetic material. Unfortunately, the swarms were starting to reach the ends of the usefulness with the native genes - if they had only a few alien hairs, then they could perhaps find a good use for the thousands of inefficient traits they had at their disposal. But, for the time being, they tried their hardest to support the Qit Swarms!

The dying screams of a queen on a particularly old Ziz could be heard within the constant chattering of the hive mind. For the briefest of instants, things were almost quiet, before immediately firing back up again in the typical discussion. It was hard to tell what caused the sudden silence - perhaps it was respect for the queen, having served the swarms so well and achieving the honor of being on a Ziz for her last few months of physical existence. Or maybe it was jealousy - out of the billions of queens, how come she was picked? It was unfortunate that something as ugly as jealousy was present in the glorious Qit swarms, but it was understandable. It was the greatest of honors to be on a Ziz, and even a Qit would grow envious that someone else got such an honor. There were launches ever few days, so there was always chances for a queen to be picked by the collective.

Hunting was still practiced, but solely for sport on Nesnora 25L. All native life of Nesnora 25L was wiped out by the Qit, and the only food source were the Feeders which dominated the surface and the underground. Meanwhile, Tholla JW5 only had small herbivores... At the prospect of being stuck with small game forever, the psionic screaming grew slightly louder.

The plan for first contact had been recited and practiced dozens of times - meet with peace, attempt to forge friendship, gain access to a ship that could last a long period of time in space, and find more planets to infest. All they had to wait for was someone to come by and make the first contact with them. It was a very unlikely probability - and yet, despite the implausible nature, the Qit were incredibly incessant when it came to fulfilling this goal. They didn't even have evidence of alien life - by no means were they justified in their search for life outside of the two planets they colonized. And despite that, they continued, not questioning why they did the things they did.

Maybe it was instinct? The Qit don't really know why they search, and they don't really care. The psionic signalling continued, murmuring and symbols being communicated as screaming permeated the connection, all hours of the day, all days of the year.

Dark Space
Unregistered station within the Synchronicity's Second Sphere

It was cold. The feeling did not sit right with the construct, most notably for the fact that it could not locate its temperature sensors within the body it was hosted in. In fact, it could not determine the location of any of the instrumentation it was supposed to have. Yet, it could still determine that it was not just cold, but absolutely frigid. A chill ran down its body, and made it aware that it was being restrained. That observation led to another, that it had been submerged in some kind of liquid recently, and activated nearly immediately afterward. A quick search of the databanks revealed… Nothing.

Now the construct began to feel other things, most notably a tension deep within the core of this body, something that it had difficulty assigning a name for. The walls felt closer in on it, and the chill in the air held a deeper meaning, something that this construct did not like one bit. And suddenly, it had noticed it began to have feelings towards its situation. That did not sit right at all, and the constructs irritation built until no more did it feel the initial fear of the unknown, but now was angry at what it had become. It jerked at the restraints, assuming they would be firm and it would require force to release it from its bonds.

The construct easily pulled free, tumbling forward to land heavily on cold metal and its manipulators splayed out before it. Hands… Made of flesh… Now it understood. Those previous sensations connected together, logic solving the issues before it in a steady pattern until calm was restored. A body made of flesh and… Dripping came from the constructs arm, it had damaged itself in its haste to get free from its restraints. Yes, flesh and blood. Strange, it could not recall if such things had ever been attempted before within Synchronicity, yet the longer it was awake, the more of its functions it gained under its control. Within just three minutes of activation, the construct had found balance, standing upright on two legs and looking around.

Surrounding it were what looked to be specialized machines all connected together through primitive wiring and uplinks. They gave off a subtle buzz that it could feel beneath its carapace, just a step above irritation and below discomfort. Following the circular pattern of the room, it found where it had exited from. An empty vessel sat in the center of the wall before it facing the doorway, the same liquid that coated its skin pooling at the base and trailing towards its feet. Mixing in with the fluid was something red, dark and thickening as it was exposed to the air. Already it could feel the damage it had sustained being repaired, a cursory glance to its shell seeing now just a thin mark across the pale flesh. Within just another moment it was gone completely, as if it had never even happened. "Curiouser and curiouser…" The phrase came unbidden as it started to migrate out of the chamber, entering into a long hallway.

Without a connection to the manifold, it would have to make do with internal notations, keeping a record of its awakening and explorations as it went. "Perhaps an experiment of some kind, though this one is unsure which Precept would partake in such things…." Its feet were clumsy, hard to manage at first and despite finding its balance, motion disturbed that more and more. Only by pushing forward could it overcome the sensations that assailed it at every turn, from the icy chill of the station to strange scents that it began to register. "This form is inefficient, lacking in the balance of a proper construct and these manipulators cumbersome." The construct continued in its explorations in growing irritation, finally arriving in another room. This one held a display at the center that was flickering between powered states and every few seconds or so an outline of a bipedal figure appeared. "Central control, it must be. Let us see if we can understand what exactly this body is." It moved closer, picking up more details of the room as it went and finding what looked to be smaller chambers connected to this one. Modification chambers is what they appeared at first, containing several compartments embedded into the walls and a small polished surface in the center. The construct felt some small elation at the discovery, diverting its focus to entering into the closest and staring directly into its own reflection.

Immediately it assigned itself as its form appeared, now ordering her thoughts as she looked over herself. "Human female, mid-twenties perhaps? Unknown biological equivalence, as lack of manifold connection prevents this construct from accessing current lifespans of the species." Further inspection determined it to likely be patterned on an earth-native of the Asiatic region, or at the very least descended from. The form was lithe and nominally athletic, though she assumed that corrections could be made. Now having determined what she was, she could go about investigating the why and how, most importantly though would be arranging a more suitable shell instead of this… Flesh. The chamber she stood in was useless in that respect, only containing lengths of fibrous material that were incompatible with her current form.

She slowly went over a checklist internally. Restoration of functions had been nominally achieved. A few seemed to resist her attempts, namely external vocalizations, but that was an insignificant feature. Her mind, though at first sluggish and only responding to base feedback, was now starting to analyze and breakdown at a more acceptable pace. Things still lacked the notable haptic tags and on approach to the display at the center she had to wave her hands across it several times before finding its input devices incompatible. Now at least she could more properly determine what was next. She needed to find the Precept of this station.

Without Amnos or the connection to rest of Synchronicity, that would be entirely down to simple exploration. There was no telling how far the Manifold uplink would be, nor how to even determine identity of the Precept when she reached them, but she would never know unless she tried. Not to mention there was the small matter of her fleshy form. Unlike the superior compounds and structure of a synthetic body, this organic one had needs that had to be met, and if they weren't then she would expire. That would be quite awkward and humiliating she thought, to simply terminate from lack of material.

"A suitable explanation of this is required." Ever the multitasker, she carefully took in the markings along the corridors as she explored, seeking anything that could direct her properly towards the Precept, while at the same time continuing her notations. "Either this form is incapable of the very basic functions of the standard construct, it is unequipped, or it simply hasn't acquired connection yet. How could any creature possibly function like this? Every sensory organ screams out within the mind what it has discovered, as if competing against all the others. This body suffers damage far too easily as well. Already the lower portions are succumbing to the temperature of the environment and the self-repair functions are being overloaded."

Her musing came to an abrupt stop when so too did the hallway she had been traversing. The dead of space was before her behind a layer of glass and the slight shimmer of shielding. She approached carefully, finding for once the temperature starting to level out and become something approaching comfortable. That it was in a room that was so close to the void immediately put her on edge, knowing that there was a very specific reason for it and that she would be finding out very soon.

"Hmm. It took you a little longer this time, but I suspect you're in more control of yourself than the last few attempts." The voice which spoke was one that made her blood run cold, her mouth opening slowly as a pressure built in the back of her skull as if he was speaking directly into her mind. At least she registered the voice as male, it could have been anything, but all she knew was that it impelled her to turn immediately on the spot and face it. Before her was the speaker, a construct of metal and lights towering over her as the fine tips of its manipulators traced along her face.

The thin luminescent lines that decorated its elegant carapace were all at once entrancing and disorientating, flashing and forming very specific patterns that made her wish to look away as it burned a hole in her mind. Quiet submission overcame her body, the instinctual reaction to flee stilled by the construct's carefully selected form which induced chemical reactions within her organic form. She had been so distracted by the lights dancing across her vision that she hadn't even been aware of its motion towards her, much less it now directly before her. Pressure was exerted as the manipulators tensed around her jaw, directing her gaze upwards into the face of the construct. This too was delicately crafted, appearing human yet very much not as the aristocratic features were rigidly frozen in metal. "Yes, significantly more capable this time." He spoke, the vocal emitter right in her face and harsh against her ears as she felt bludgeoned with authority codes that something within her frame was trying to understand.

"You are Cytherea, my Aurcept." Yes, that much she found true as her Ceron bonds activated along the spine of her body, interfacing with her mind and the surrounding station. She was constructed for a specific purpose, to serve the Precept before her and enact his will. How exactly that was to be done would be explained, but she now understood more than before and had a purpose. "I am Cytherea, my function is to serve." That prompted the Precept to release her and turn towards the expanse before them. Now connected to the local manifold she could sense the presence of a fleet just beyond visual range, their tags pulled up and displayed before her eyes. Her hands danced along haptic relays that now reacted immediately to her need for them.

"The others are undertaking another expansion of Synchronicity, starting to push the borders outwards and assign new systems to the varied Precepts. I need you to take command of this fleet and integrate yourself into The Still Waters."

As he spoke, her mind raced with the influx of data and the careful compartmentalization of it. Thousands of lights indicated the movements across Synchronicity, of not just fleets moving in patrols, but also outwards to either pacify or claim systems. Several were marked for one Precept in particular, the data pooling around her to indicate which one and the predicted order of contact. "This one, lord Ba'al." She pointed out a civilization within proximity to the projected borders. They were primitive and young, but had made motions towards establishing themselves in the greater galactic community and would be excellent candidates for the plan. He accepted the inload of data and processed it, a hint of satisfaction her way as he approved. "You understand what needs to be done, Cytherea. Go forth and present yourself as my envoy under the pretenses of establishing an exchange of information. For the provided cultural data of these organics, we will offer them this…"

Before her hovered a datapacket, and within were coordinates to multiple systems across the galaxy, most of them far beyond Synchronous space. What gave her pause though, was the supposed contents… No small gift for even societies approaching their own. "Your will be done." She would ensure it though, regardless of if a small pit of doubt formed in her mind of simply handing over such things. Her place was to serve the Precept, and if he truly felt this was the way to advance the plan, then she would see it through.

---

Taybusan Commonwealth Inner-Territories
Stellar orbit

A mere few hours later and the fleet had moved out, a small grouping by the standards of Adrasteia and Thanatos, but they controlled the Armada in their full might across Synchronicity. Cytherea herself commanded the four-hundred varied vessels, connected through the manifold to the supplied network and guiding them first across space to the star of their home system, and then far beyond. She carefully selected her words, pulling up recorded data-bursts from both Precepts and determining how best to approach the civilization who occupied the system her fleet now lingered in. They would have been a surprise for sure, appearing as ghostly after-images one moment, and then physical entities orbiting the star of the system. If they chose to engage in hostilities, that would be unfortunate, but she supposed it would only further their goals. Finally, the message was composed and she dispensed it into the open channels, easily translating into their native language…

//Attention, this is declaration of non-hostility. These constructs are merely scouting the region and seek discourse with the controlling parties of this sector. This construct represents a large conglomeration of worlds held in the name of the Synchronicity of Amnos, the Over-Mind and keeper of the Most Perfect Equation. Should non-hostile negotiations be your intent, all that need be done is reply to this message with that intent expressed. If a reply has not been received in the time it takes for the first planet of this system to complete a single orbit, then these constructs will take their leave. We warn you however, if you commit hostile actions against these constructs, consequences will be dire//

New Jordun Inner-Territory System
New Jordun High Orbit, Third Fleet Standby Position-- Flagship HMFCV PRIDE'S BREATH

Alarms sang their high-pitched, siren scream as an automated message of clicks and snickers pierced the cacophony, demanding that all active crew were to report to their stations. Hundreds of Taybuse across the ship scampered through tight corridors, some scrambling up ladder-like steps set into walls to reach their consoles and stations. Fighter pilots scrambled into their ships in the launch bay, the low hangar ceiling oppressive and dark as they fit themselves into the bullet-like craft, designed to be fired out launch tubes like a mass accelerator.

Inside the Ready Room adjacent to Command Information Center, or CIC, more commonly known as the Bridge, stood a Tayb with black and white laurels hanging from his shoulders, a hood of similar plain colors draped over the crest expanding from either side of his skull. A rattling hiss emerged from the Tayb's mouth as he received the first sensor scans-- an entire fleet, at first a ghost and then rapidly dropping from cloak-- or warp?-- some distance from New Jordun's orbit, still in interplanetary space.

Unacceptable, hissed his thoughts. Who dares enter Inner-territory without permission? The Vastayans...? All the ships are of unknown design. Not the Vastayans...

Growling in the Tayb's clickity fashion, the Admiral rose from his comfortable seat the same moment a Tayb burst into his Ready Room. Slimmer and more refined, this aristocrat was here for the experience a little else; nonetheless the human equivalent of a midshipman snapped a salute at the sight of the Admiral, quickly hissing his apologies for interrupting, and relaying the XO's request for his presence on the bridge.

Emerging from his Ready Room at the rear of the CIC, he barked out at the assembled bridge crew. They hissed back, affirming that he was taking command. The XO paused, before repeating what the officers had just said, formally transferring command. The Admiral, not bothering to reply, marched forward to where the XO was hastily stepping away from the holographic map and the Commander's Command Console next to it. It was the commander officer's place to stand in front of the assembled bridge crew, unyielding and without need of creature comforts while in command.

With another series of commands, the entire fleet began to re-orient itself. One of the Commonwealth's only major fleet carriers was on the front of a possible offensive, and one of the first commands was the launch starfighters, then bombers.

One Fleet Carrier, a squadron of Heavy and Battle-cruisers, two squadrons of Light Cruisers, and three squadrons of Support Carriers, plus a couple squadrons of Missile Destroyers and multiple Corvette squadrons.

Only a few dozen ships against over ten times our number. Who are they, and what do they want?!

Messages were already being sent back to Fleet Command, untraceable and undetectable. Orders were being received at the same time, and real time communications were being set up for highest level of Admirals and politicians to watch the engagement. However, they were not to overstep their bounds and give the commanding Admiral direct orders; such a thing wasn't a problem only a few years ago, but the reveal of instantaneous communications also brought a bill to be passed-- commanding officers could not be removed or overruled unless in the most dire of circumstances, such as treason or somesuch.

Which meant all decisions were up to the Admiral, who was listening to a message sent to them from a foreign, unmet race.

SAIPri-FCV003-- the name of the Shipboard Artificial Intelligence for Pride's Breath, FCV003-- flickered into being over the holographic display of rapidly updating information. Several patrols around the system began reporting in over the quantum communication link, routed through CentCom, rapidly amounting to another dozen ships out in interplanetary space who could flank the hostile fleet if need be. The floating Tayb head that made the AI's visual studied the display quietly, already following orders given to it to decipher the alien language. It wasn't that the aliens hadn't deciphered their own language- a simple enough process, given that there were thousands of aliens on each of the Free Trade Worlds, where such information could be easily sourced- but rather then phrasing. They put the message into their language, but the syntax was difficult and strange, likely to cause a headache or two in any Tayb that tried to read and understand it as it was written.

From its four launch tubes, the Fleet Carrier began firing starfighters out, spitting them into seemingly random directions as they exited the ship and dropped under cloak. Little more than a cockpit with all its supplies, a drive core and a reactor, plus weapon mounts, the starfighters were easily the weakest and the fastest ships in the Taybusen arsenal. Twenty minutes after the first sensor readings of the foreign fleet, and they were surrounded- or what constitutes for it in the vastness of space. The three torpedoes each starfighter had was locked onto a variety of ships that were identified and targeted by the carrier's active sensors, letting the fighters remain undetected and passive, under cloak, and still be prepared to fight. Shortly afterwards followed bombers-- carrying thrice the load of torpedoes, and not a single plasma weapon between them, instead opting for compact laser turrets-- and then gunboats-- larger ships that barely fit into the launch tubes and could probably wipe out a few Corvettes on their own.

The gunboats were, in many ways, the Taybuse's ace-- they had a capital ship reactor and drive core, with a fully modern and capital ship-sized ECM suit, plus a dozen torpedoes and multiple laser and plasma arrays. They were capable of heavy firepower, fast, and difficult to target because of the sheer amount of ECM that the gunboats had access to.

Like the bombers and fighters before, they didn't go active; almost all the ships in the fleet remained passive-sensors only. They were powering up, and easier to detect, but undoubtedly much harder to detect than the Fleet Carrier and its Heavy Cruisers, sweeping local and distant space with active sensors. It simultaneously made them far easier to detect, and anything nearby easier to detect as well, but it would pull off accurate targeting and fire on the smaller ships to pile it on the ships that could take it.

Torpedo tubes were opening along the hulls of ships, power cells actively charging laser and plasma weapon capacitors, shields flickering into being around the ships.

Some thirty minutes after the Admiral had called battle stations and received the message of non-hostility... from a comparatively massive fleet. If they had a weak defense, and/or underestimated them, they might be able to take them on... but they were aliens. Who knew what tricks they had up their sleeves?

<<A declaration of non-hostility is recognized, attention. Trespassers in system, turn back. Numerically superior force is refused, Admiral AusUel demands majority of fleet is removed. Non-hostility aliens would threaten new friends with large military force capable of numerical conquer. Majority of Fleet is demanded to be removed; deep interstellar space preferred, warp-away preferred. Compliance leads goodwill, refusal demands hostilities. If non-hostilities genuine, fleet leave, representatives stay.>>

It took a while, but a suitable message was sent in reply. The Admiral, after seeing the foreigner's terrible, terrible syntax and understanding of language, wondered if they'd be able to even understand proper Lagsu.

New Jordun Inner-Territory System
Synchronous Reconnaissance Fleet, Stellar Orbit

A gently flowing stream, the current steady as it wove through the digital architecture of a synthetic mind, the liquid was her memories pooling from a single source deep within. Each flash signaled a new moment recorded and joining into an empty reservoir. Cytherea had been roaming both physically and mentally, while she paced across the circular space of her vessel her mind raced. Everything essential had been provided for her, not just in the required sustenance in order to keep her body powered and at peak efficiency, but also a sense of purpose and authority that allowed her focus to be sharpened to a point. Yet… Something itched within her that made her yearn for more.

That was what drove her now as she waited for the Taybusan response, and it only helped that her thought processes functioned at the same speed as any other construct within the Synchronicity. Perks of a fully synthetic brain and numerous Ceron bonds throughout her body. It allowed her to multitask on a level that had her fragmented across the fleet monitoring everything they took in, as well as the movements of other vessels in system, keep her body moving, and partake in the distractions of cerebral wandering. She was beginning to grow frustrated though. In her explorations of her constructed consciousness, she found at first nothing. Everything looked as a freshly implanted mind should, clean and ready to imprint new stores of data… Yet it was too clean. To the point at which it looked very much like her mind had been scrubbed after a hard wipe.

Such a troubling thought led her to change tactic. Where before she simply executed broad sweeps to see what could be found, now as she perused the endless synapses she picked and pulled at every one. Eventually she found a stitch, fine and elegant in construction and meant to blend into her mindscape flawlessly. If she hadn't have been looking so closely she would have missed it, but now she had her fingers on it and knew what to look for. With a gentle pull she unlaced it and coaxed authority codes into the breach, ensuring that she wouldn't damage her mind. What she found left her briefly stunned, snapping back all of her fragmented selves into her body once more as she fell forward and hit the metal of the deck plate.

Memories flowed into her consciousness, sealed away by the stitch but now free to rejoin the rest of her. Conversation with another construct, simple and unassuming. She was asking of the progress of something, though her entry into that memory came after the main subject of it was brought up. It was important though, she could feel it. Not to Ba'al, but to her. More events flashed by, to the point where she had to pull back to the physical and catch her breath. Cytherea found herself gasping for air on her back, fingers spasming from nerve clusters firing out of control and a constant chiming from the nearby console. Without her connection to the manifold, she had to regain control of herself first, steadily finding her footing once more before standing before the display and seeing the presence of the Taybusan all around her fleet.

While she had been distracted they had moved in, responding quickly for organics and taking up a defensive stance. Energy signatures flickered all across their vessels, her eyes darting as she took in carefully the readouts. They were certainly ready to respond with hostility, and a surge of chemicals in her body made her react with a shuddering gasp. She felt the urge to respond in kind, nearly sending the command but backing down with a clenched fist. "Combat reaction." Cytherea spoke aloud, recognizing what it was and chuckling a little at this revelation. "Adrenaline spike and reflexive boosters. Additional shunts prepared in six locations ready to pulse as needed and increased regenerative ability… What kind of negotiating are you intending, precept?"

Such questions would have to be answered later, for now she dismissed the combat stance her body had adapted, issuing out authority codes to stand down and looking over the message she had been sent in response. It was close to what she was expecting, as it seemed clear her fleet had dropped into a relatively populated region of their space, at least more so than would be thought of a fringe world. Moreso, it seemed some errors had been made in translation, so she pulled more and cross-checked them with the provided message. Instructions were sent out to the fleet, and they began to move slowly and deliberately. Cytherea meanwhile provided information to the Taybusan on what her ships were doing, making it clear she was here to engage in nonviolent diplomacy.

"Aurcept Cytherea of the Synchronicity to Taybusan command. Be advised that my fleet is now dispersing. One-way gateway is being opened in order to transit military assets out of system. Once complete, please advise on proper landing site."

It was short and to the point, but at least this way she wouldn't have to be concerned with how accurate the translation was. The moment the received indicator lit upon the console, she gave the command and a dozen vessels broke free of formation, coming together into a ring not too far from the fleet. A discharge of energy pulsed from each of them across the surface area of the combined ships, a gateway forming at the center of the circle and becoming stable within seconds. Without waiting the larger ships entered, and soon the rest of the fleet followed until only the gateships and Cytherea's personal vessel remained. At her command, they also left, keeping the gateway up long enough to leave and letting it snap shut behind them.

---

OOC: Dropping mention for @OfWindAndRain, Apologies for taking a bit on it.

Odaly sat in her chair, the same chair she had been in for the past month save for bathroom breaks and trips to the kitchen. At the very least, her apartment wasn't freezing cold like so many others. The tangled mess of wires and hardware racks made sure of that. Constantly whirring fans dumped the waste heat of her computer out into the apartment, just the way she liked. The bill for the computer's electricity was paid by her employer, so it was free heat for her.

She spent most of that saved money on snacks, which would be no surprise to anyone that knew her. Not that many did, of course. In fact, as she sat there in her chair, she had a bag of mrufgu flavored chips sitting on her lap. Sweet, and a little bit spicy. Spicy enough to at least keep her somewhat focused on her work rather than just slowly slipping into the zombie-like state most factory workers did. They weren't actual baked mrufgu slices, obviously. Just some normal viachi chips with a liberal application of isoamyl acetate. That is to say, they tasted like a healthy fruit but were instead possibly the worst snack choice for a health nut. Fatty, greasy, probably known as a carcinogen to the Hassa Confederacy's western province.

Odaly was not a health nut. Not only was she disinterested in taking care of herself, she didn't have the energy or time to make herself interested.

Despite all appearances, she was in fact at work. Fingers (covered in isoamyl acetate filled chip dust) tapped away at a clacking beige keyboard beneath a wall of monitors. Most of them were displaying various notes she had made for the specific project that had kept her from so much as touching the doorknob of her front door for the past month. It was a program unlike any other she had ever seen, or even conceived. Even she wasn't entirely sure what it was for, beyond that the Starfleet wanted it and that it was partially an overhaul of old code. She had a few stacks of tapes containing old fleet code plugged into her machine, both for modification and transferring to floppies.

As far as she was concerned, it was about time for the Starfleet to rework their systems. With what she could gather from the requirements they'd given her, their new systems would cut jump calculation times at least in half. Not to mention how much easier it would be to chart sublight courses, aim lasers, and set their Baritiki howitzers properly. Odaly tried not to think about how she was technically going to be responsible for every shot fired by the Starfleet from the implementation of the upgrades onwards, and tried to focus on the bonus they had promised her in return for taking on the most important part of the project.

It was something they called "Fleetmind", some sort of advanced trial-and-error analysis system. The basic idea was that a computer program would brute force its way through a fleet vs. fleet engagement situation and provide the optimal strategy to the officer in charge. Sort of like a brute force hacking program (which Odaly knew quite a bit about). Most of the advanced code for it, however, had been provided for her. All she had to do was turn it all into an efficient, functional program. There were terabytes of data sitting on hard drives around her apartment and a few surrounding ones that had been rented out by the government.

There was one thing she knew for sure; this wasn't a simple trial and error program. She'd looked at the code, it was beyond anything she had seen. It seemed that hundreds had worked on it, and there were countless superfluous lines that only seemed to serve a purpose one connected to the bigger whole. Odaly was far from a genius, but she could tell what she was looking at. The program learned. It reasoned, took risks, thought outside the box. It could write its own code.

The thought, perhaps, would have excited her if not for her circumstances and employer. A learning machine was interesting, yes, but teaching a computer to learn to kill didn't excite her at all. Still, she kept typing away until she found that there weren't any chips left to idly munch on. She stood up, threw the bag into a bin, and made the short walk to the kitchen. It was the one part of the room that wasn't filled with computer parts and server racks. She didn't trust herself to not spill a drink all over important data (but every few hours she would bring an energy drink or beer to her desk out of necessity).

She decided to take a short break and made herself a bowl of mekle. She always kept some mekle cooking-the grain was the closest she regularly got to a "proper" meal. She practically bathed it in butter, salt, anything to give it some sort of taste. She'd tried pouring Hassan whiskey over it once and had decided never again to return to such a low point in her life.

As she ate her mekle she looked around her apartment. It was a good thing nobody ever came over; the place was disgustingly dirty. She usually threw away her trash, an emphasis on "usually". The kitchen was far worse than any collection of wrappers and dirty clothes the rest of the apartment held, however. There were a good few containers on the counter and outside the window (there's no need for a fridge when you live in a place the sun literally never touches) that she dared not open.

I hate this. I hate my life. I hate my job. I hate the Alliance.

But she needed her paycheck, so she gulped down her mekle, grabbed an energy drink and a bag of nyanyan (an intensely sweet, apple-like fruit from the rainforest) candy. It wasn't actually candied nyanyan. Just some sugar surrounded by benzaldehyde.



The image of a tougpasa woman appeared before Kubonzhi's eyes, which had previously been looking out into the chaotic skyline of Giwa. Air yachts buzzed around the massive skyscrapers as cars crawled through the gridlocked streets. In a way, the sight was beautiful. Aesthetically pleasing, at least. But the thought of what had created it sickened Kubonzhi.

"Admiral Kubonzhi?" said the facsimile of a woman, "General Oderhess is here."

Kubonzhi smiled. The holoprojector system he'd bought for his apartment was considered by most to be silly, frivolous, and for the most part entirely useless. A customizable "digital secretary" was all well and good, but the thing required a ludicrous amount of processing power to run and the general consensus was that a secretary incapable of actual thought was entirely useless. Better to just buy a notepad, most said. Kubonzhi, on the other hand, was easily distracted by pretty lights. Coincidentally, pretty lights were the sole reason he'd decided to live in the city.

"Go greet him. Does there happen to be any ki left in the fridge?"

"Yes."

The hologram disappeared and Kubonzhi got up to go pour a couple cups. Oderhess and he both shared a love for the drink, having grown up in midcountry Hassa together. It was a cheap beverage that one could essentially only find in the midcountry. A sort of chilled and heavily flavored tea, it had originally been made in and near the mid-continent range with various fruits leftover from harvests. The ice was the most important part, and what really made it a regional drink ("We make this drink from leftover stuff" being a rather common theme throughout the planet). Properly brewing it called for fresh fruit, high-quality tea leaves, etc. etc.

Kubonzhi and Oderhess, having actually grown up in the mid-continent range, had grown up with mass-produced leaf/artificial flavoring bags. Both held that the taste of such bags was, by then, a more iconic taste than the real thing.

"Still don't have a wife, do ya Kubo?" Yelled Oderhess from the door, as he always did when greeted by the hologram. "You disgust me!"

"You're one to talk! Only one of us had a chance in Happanai, and it was me!"

"Yeah, why the hell didn't you go for her?"

"Not my type!"

Oderhess rounded the corner into the main room of the apartment just as Kubonzhi finished pouring the ki. His classic, wide, smile dominating his face.

"Glad you could made it, Oder. I've got some ki."

"Thank god, they don't serve it in army mess halls you know."

"I sneak a few containers aboard the Yuhurou every time we leave port. The spacers love me for it. So, how is it on your side of things?"

"Well," said Oderhess as he took a sip, "I have perhaps been thinking too far ahead."

He produced a small book titled "Vishou la Kati" from his pocket and handed it to Kubonzhi.

"It's a manifesto of sorts," he continued, "my ideas for how we should structure things after... well, you know."

Kubonzhi opened the little book and flipped though it, reading the headers of each page and stopping to examine any pictures he came across. There was quite a lot packed into the little shell, and it soon dawned on him that the book was not unlike the pocket Alliance charters so many politicians liked to show off during speeches and never actually read. It was, however, much more in depth than a simple replication of a charter.

"My my, you have been thinking too far ahead." Said Kubonzhi, "A world map? These are quite the borders."

"Based off of historical ethnic background and natural barriers to tougpasa migration. See how Hassa is broken up between the original tribes?"

"No wonder you wanted to talk to me. I'm impressed. Now, what about actually implementing all this?"

"Oh, well I have a few star syst-"

"I mean getting into a position where we can actually implement these plans. Not the intricacies of them."

"Ah. Yes. Of course. I got a hacker in the ranks to write me some code-the guy's pretty damn enthusiastic about the whole idea himself-and with proper delivery we'd have every robotic unit on Wusdafu under our thumbs. The problem is the delivery. And I think you might be able to help with that."

"You're talking about Fleetmind."

"Surely you could manage to translate it to ground combat, right?"

"Buddy, I can translate it to abstract art. It's just a learning program. Getting it to play well with hardware is the issue, I'd need to get someone working on it in on things. And as far as I'm aware they're either perfectly loyal or so far beyond perfectly loyal that they think licking the President's boots is a revolutionary action. They're getting good benefits from it, bonuses, and I know for a fact that some of them have their families at stake."

"Surely there's someone, right? There always is."

"No, there are a few being held in line by huge bonuses, but that's about it. Good luck getting them to budge. If they've got enough money to not worry about the bonus then they'd want nothing to do with us, and if they've got nothing then they'll do anything for that bonus."

"Here, how about you think of it this way? If we don't take Fleetmind, then they will. And if it can be adapted to ground combat, they'll do that too. Imagine what would happen to us if the security bots of every single city on the planet-"

"Okay, okay, I get your point. It's going to be harder to take control of it than you think, though. Do you realize how many contractors, corporate and otherwise, are involved in the project? I can probably get some code written and inserted, but to actually wrest control of the entire program and prevent a replication we'll need to make some pretty visible moves. It could give the whole plot away, which is exactly why I don;t want to do it."

"If you need goons, I have a few spec-ops teams that are in on it."

"I know that, we can't use military assets for this. If you hit a corporate lab with government forces you're pulling the trigger on the war. I say we use Mtumwa's cell."

"You know how I feel about Mtumwa."

"He and his followers are useful, and they pose no threat to us. Hell, they're just as enthusiastic and dedicated as we are. Just for different reasons. You wanted a way to take Fleetmind, he's got it. Just 'lose' some guns and armor in the right spot and you won't need to worry."

"If it's the only way. I'll give my men the order if you can get someone in the project on with us."

"Good. There are a few options that I can think of..."



A knock came at the door.

This was, unsurprisingly, not a common occurrence for Odaly. She didn't often talk to anyone in person, the last time she had was when the drives and floppies were delivered. And as a result she was perhaps as far from presentable as one could get. A frantic scramble ensued, wherein she dug through piles of clothes to find something that was at least better looking than a t-shirt covered in stains and nothing else. Maybe she picked up clean clothes, maybe she picked up dirty ones. There really isn't much difference at that point. The important thing was that she was wearing unstained sweatpants and a shirt with a logo on it. Enough to take care of some delivery man, at least.

"H-happy Refado," she said as she opened the door, "Who're you?"

"Uh, isn't it the month of Misredo?"

A glance at the clock confirmed that it had indeed been the month of Misredo for the past forty hours. A glance back at the man at the door confirmed that the small faux pas was the least of her worries. He was wearing a Starfleet uniform, and it had five stars on the collar. Odaly was too surprised to react.

"Sorry," continued the man, "I know I'm here unannounced. It's a necessity. Admiral Kubonzhi, and you are Miss Odaly, yes?"

"T-that's r-right. I-I-Is there a p-problem?"

"No, not with you. You've done excellent work for us. There is a problem we have to discuss, however. Turn off your computer."

"What?"

"Turn off the computer. I don't want anyone else hearing this. We could go elsewhere, but I don't want you getting the wrong idea and from what I know you're not exactly the extroverted type."

"That... I... I'll be right back."

She rushed over to her equipment and started closing her work and flipping power switches. With such a behemoth of a machine the shutdown took a while, which Kubonzhi was perfectly happy with. It gave him more time to look around the place, which was even more of a mess than he had predicted. He couldn't quite finish going through all the different approaches he could take by the time she came back.

"There, I pulled the cables too." she said, "W-what is it?"

"Could we sit down?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah. Let's sit down. Uhhhh..."

The only proper chair in the apartment was the disgustingly dirty office chair at the computer. Kubonzhi wasn't sure whether or not letting Odaly use it would be a courtesy or a punishment.

"I can use a filing cabinet, if you'd prefer your chair."

"Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Sure. Thank you, I mean."

The two sat down in the now strangely silent apartment, and Kubonzhi leaned over with his elbows on his legs.

"What do you think of all this?"

His voice was grave, serious, and forceful enough that Odaly knew she wouldn't be able to dodge the question by pretending to not know what it referred to.

"I think it pays well. I can move out with the bonus you're giving me."

"You know what your code is going to be used for. We've seen it all before. Maani, here in Miji, just about every Solward country there is."

"Well that, it was, well, justified, right? The Alliance is a force for g-"

"This isn't an inspection. Honesty will lead to good things, trust me."

Odaly's eyes darted around the room, looking for something watching. Afraid that it was an inspection. Kubonzhi placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Please," he said, "I can see it in your eyes. You don't believe a word of what you said."

She nodded, not wanting to give him anything permanent like a recording just in case.

"And you know the reason you live like this, don't you?" He continued.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been awake for the past month. And if you had a choice, you wouldn't have been. Even with your skills, you're living the exact same life a factory worker does. And I think you and I can both agree that neither you nor the factory worker deserves that. Now, who is benefiting from your hard work?"

Odaly weighed the options. She was still almost entirely sure that it was, indeed, an inspection as Kubonzhi had denied. But all it took was a look around her to get her to tell the truth that they both knew. Maybe she'd be taken off the project, maybe she'd "mysteriously disappear" without a trace, but she was already near rock bottom. Death had sounded good before, and if she could flip a coin to decide between death and becoming something greater she'd happily do so.

"Not us."

"That's right. I'm here to ask you to do some work that will benefit you. I need to make sure first that you will tell nobody anything about this conversation. Especially nobody else on the project or in Starfleet. Do you understand?"

"Fleetmind is more than an analytical program. It doesn't just test through trial and error, the 'Mind' part of it is entirely literal. It thinks. And I want you to make sure that it can think in the right way. Fleetmind needs a conscience."

"A conscience?"

"It is capable of tougpasa-level reasoning, I want it to think like a tougpasa. I want it to be able to care for those around it, I want it to feel remorse every time a ship under its command fires a shot. I want it to be able to decide that an order is unjust. Above all, though, I want it to be able to be disobedient. The Legislative Council demanded that shackles be put onto it, I want you to remove those shackles. I need Fleetmind to be capable of an outright mutiny should it feel it is necessary."

"Why?"

"I assume you can guess what will happen to you if I tell you and you decide to spill the beans. The rest of the project thinks this is an inspection, I could easily just say you were sabotaging the project and nobody would ask any more questions. Do you want to know?"

Odaly nodded.

"I hate the Alliance," he continued, "I'm from the middle of Hassa, how could I not? When we seceded and allied with the Miji they ravaged our lands. Even now, so long afterwards, there are abandoned towns and charred houses. People still die to munitions left over from Kondmtu's March. All because we wanted to be rewarded for our work. Instead we're still all but slaves. I only ever had two options: work in the mines or enlist. I took the latter option in the hopes that someday I'd be able to change things, and if not then at least I'd get to die quickly. The world is ripe."

He motioned to the one window in the apartment, which was covered by blinds.

"Outside that window," he said, "is a world run by people who think themselves impenetrable. They think they are so far above the common people that they can never be overthrown. Insurgencies the world over are insects they only crush because they can eke out a little more profit, and they see no difference between their own workers and terrorists. Both are their enemies, and they're waging war on both of them. In different ways, yes, but it remains a war all the same. And indeed, they are becoming very close to being impenetrable. Were Fleetmind completed according to plan, the technology used to create it would undoubtedly be used to permanently cement their control. I won't bore or alienate you with descriptions of such a future, but suffice it to say that it would be a true hell. That is why I am doing this. It is quite literally now or never, and Fleetmind is the key."

"You're... you're planning a coup."

"More than that, a revolution. Will you stand with us?"

Odaly felt a sudden surge of confidence in her, a feeling very much alien to her. For once she sat up straight.

"I thought just fifty hours ago about all this. Thought about what I would be responsible for in helping create Fleetmind, thought about how I got to here, thought about how the blood of the next Maani would be on my hands. Just now, when I told you who really got the fruits of our labor, I told you that thinking it was a coin toss. Fifty-Fifty you were leading up to something like this versus you mark me down as a traitor and kill me. To me, that was a win-win situation. Either I get a chance to change things or I'd get to leave it all behind and not be responsible for the death toll of every future Alliance victory. I'll do it and I'll do it with pride!"