“Kelsie, wake up!”

“Mmm, just a few more minutes.” The sheets were so warm and cuddly.

“KELSIE!”

“Whaat?”

“It’s… it’s your father, honey,” her mother was sobbing. “They… they murdered him!” She pointed to a message on a datapad.

Everything was blurry and fuzzy, Kelsie couldn’t focus on the letters, but some words popped out. Dishonorable discharge. Executed. “W… what did he do?” she mumbled.

“WHAT DID HE DO?” Claire yelled at her. “That is the first thing that comes to your mind? You are just like the rest of them!”

Image of her yelling mother blurred out, shifting and changing to a familiar figure.

“... terrorist attack.” Hamonga and Kelsie were in combat uniforms, their squadron heading out into battle.

“What? No, she wouldn’t do that.” Panic was threatening to take over.

“They stopped her, but…” Hamonga shook his head, unsure what to say.

“No, no.” That couldn’t be true. Kelsie curled down on the floor, desperately fighting the tears. “No.” She was alone. So alone. All alone now. How could her parents have done this to her?



“NO!” she screamed out, trying to jump up, too late remembering she had fallen asleep in a hammock. As she tried to gather all her limbs off the ground, there was a soft knock on the door.

The stupid nightmare still lingered in her head. She hasn’t had them in years, all this stress must have been taking a bigger toll on her than she realized. “Come in,” she mumbled, still shaken.

Julianna Petrova peeked into the room. “I am sorry, Guardian, we have tried to reach you over the comms, but you weren’t responding.”

Kelsie must have turned it off to get a moment alone. Dammit. “What is going on?”

“You are needed on the bridge. Another ship just appeared.”

Fuck. “I’ll be right there.”

Julianna hesitated. “Is… everything alright?”

Wow, did she really look that bad? “I’m fine,” she sneered. “But… thanks for asking. I didn’t even have time to ask, what did you think about our guests?” she asked as they headed to the bridge.

“Well, to be honest, their technological superiority is intimidating. We don’t come anywhere that close. But, I agree with you that we should stay away from them. There was something really off about them. The way they talked and acted… And that predator form crap? Why the hell would they go into such detail as adding dreadlocks on a remotely controlled robot designed to fight off predators?”

Kelsie didn’t even notice such details. “So, you think there was an actual person inside that thing?”

Julianna shrugged. “I think there was something that used to be a person once. What is it now, that is a question I cannot answer. I would love to know how they were communicating, though. And not just through the Gateway, but they must have had some connection with each other. The way they moved in sync, without even looking at the others, like they were just parts of one organism.”

“I don’t think they will be eager to tell us now.”

The whole crew was on the bridge, looking at the monitors, chatting excitedly. “So, what do we have here?”

“Another ship came through the Gateway a few minutes ago. They are trying to contact us,” Parker answered.

“That’s good, so why all the fuss?”

“Because of that.” A 3D model appeared on one of the screens. “It’s huge, and it’s obvious it was designed for war. Look at all the weapons, and those are just the ones our scanners are able to detect and identify. These guys came packin’. They could blow us and the other ships up without breaking a sweat.”

Kelsie studied the battleship model. She was afraid of this, although it was clear that there would be more than a few former colonies ready to wage interstellar war. The Undefeated, however, weren’t one of them, and she couldn’t afford to antagonize yet another technologically advanced civilization. ‘Please just no more robots,’ she thought. ‘Let them just be nice guys who came armed to the teeth to scare off potential enemies.’

“All right, hail them, tell them who we are, that we are pleased to meet them, et cetera, just like the others. Tell them that we would love to send our ambassadors to their ship, if they want to meet in person.” If they want to appear strong, we can let them. Not that we have any other choice.

Collab between @Sigma and @Irredeemable


Earth
Aboard 1-Alpha-One
Sigma-Devi, and, by extension, the Collective, was not exactly pleased with contact being re-established. Two backwards states, one obsessed with warfare, the other with old Earth, and yet, without any understanding of what made old Earth great. It was displeasing. Immensely so… And yet, here came a new vessel, sailing through the portal.

A greeting was sent across- the same as the other two, but with a new twist. At the end, they were invited to come aboard and meet with a representative of the Zetan Consciousness, along with directions towards an airlock for boarding.

The exterior of the ship was rather strange-looking, at least by Columbian-standards. It was quite small and had various antenna-like structures protruding from the vessel. Granted, these people may have never experienced what Columbia has, so a ship like the Alamo may have been completely unnecessary for them at least. After some time had passed, the airlock doors started to whistle and whirl as the Columbian delegation team entered. The airlock doors opened up, the chancellor being the first to step forward as he was greeted by a rather surprising, and at the same time, unsettling sight. “Humans”, if you can call them that anymore, covered in head to toe in various cybernetics and machinery.

Sigma-Devi was once again there to greet them, and now with two anti-predator forms to match. Bowing deeply and then performing the hand-gesture, she smiled warmly, masking her surprise rather well, she thought. An honest, in-the-flesh sapient alien lifeform, walking besides humans? She remembered to get her greetings out first. “It is excellent to meet you. I am Sigma-Devi, these two are for my protection only, and I assure you will do you no harm as long as you abide by the same conditions.” She was faux-beaming, although cautiously optimistic that these new individuals might be more sensible than the last.

“As we declared, we are the Zetan Consciousness, we hail from the Zeta system- how about yourselves?, and, if I might be so bold, I am rather fascinated by the fact that you appear to have made contact with genuine sapient xenos life. Quite astounding, our warmest greetings to you as well.”

The chancellor quickly shook any thoughts out of his head as he extended his hand out. “Chancellor Constantine of the United Republic of Columbia.” He declared. “A pleasure to meet you miss Sigma-Devi.” He turned to his delegation. “And these are some fine officers of the ship that brought me here, the Alamo, and members of my personal guard.” The escort and officers both put up some smiles, although in truth, they were clearly afraid of what they were seeing. “And Captain Iskel Jashi, captain of said ship.”

“Charmed.” The captain spoke with a bow. “As for my standing here with humans...let’s say that is a complicated story..”
United Republic of Columbia. That sounded promising. Names like Alamo brought to mind the ECU, but they were different peoples. Remain positive. Remain cordial. When Constantine reached out, she shook his hand once, firmly, and then turned. “Please, follow me. I’m afraid this is not an exploratory or diplomatic vessel, so you must excuse me for the slightly unprofessional appearance. We are already working on a proper set of diplomatic vessels and stations.”

The halls of the ship were tight and cramped- just big enough for the anti-predator forms to comfortably walk through, but otherwise stuffed with pipes, tubing, foil insulation, regular insulation, panels and all other manner of equipment and infrastructure. After just a minute or two of walking the small group emerged out onto what was very obviously a cleaned up cafeteria, Sigma-Devi offering the chancellor and his companions a seat.

“The other ships,” she explained, “are being piloted by representatives of the ‘Earth Cultural Union’ and ‘The Undefeated.’ They seemed rather concerned by our augmentation, which was disappointing.” She pulled a seat out for herself, lifted up a corner of fabric that threatened to be tugged if she wasn’t careful, and sat down. “I assure you that we are no less human just because of a little metal.”

The chancellor and his entourage took their seats, the poor captain was not exactly at his most comfortable. Small spaces like this were suboptimal for humans, but for a Janari, a bit too cramped for his liking, even bumped his head a few times on the way. The chancellor and others had a little chuckle at his expense. Julian turned his attention back to the Zetans. “I’ll..take your word for it.” The chancellor said, trying to be as polite as possible, although, he couldn’t help but perhaps agree with those other groups, but no need to be rude to possible friends. “Although I must admit, your form, with respect that is, has taken me aback, what brought on such changes to the human body? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Apologies, we didn’t expect for someone of a… Significantly taller stature than our defensive forms here to ever wander through these halls.” Sigma-Devi inclined her head slightly, before answering the question. “The world we hail from, Zeta, is not one that is inclined to allow humans to live on it without a great amount of strife.” She paused for a moment.

“Human beings are naturally adapted to life on Earth, and we found ourselves subjected to radically different conditions. Conditions of temperature extremes, higher radiation, a more toxic atmosphere and a lack of water. All of these needed to be compensated for, lest we wished to be cast into the evolutionary dustbin. With flesh not sufficing, we had to use alternative methods of biological progress.”

“That seems awfully tragic in a way.” The chancellor said. “You’ve sacrificed so much to survive on an unforgiving world, you’ve beaten the odds, but by the looks of it, it has cost you much.” The chancellor paused…the Zetans will probably take this as offensive. “But…in a way, it’s also enduring, you’ve dominated your world, where others would’ve given up or simply died out. Granted. I wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone purposely.”

The frown was obvious on Sigma-Devi’s face, and she made little attempt to hide it… Until the compliment came. “Thank you. The others thought a similar way about the tragic nature of it. We do not see it that way.” She reached up to run a hand along the metal replacing her neck. “To us, this metal is not a sacrifice, or a burden, or a rejection of our humanity.” One of the defensive forms behind her splayed its articulated hand out as if admiring its fingernails.

“Throughout history, mankind has changed and adapted itself to fit new environments. When we were cold we sewed ourselves clothes. When we needed to cook food we lit fires. When we needed to safely hunt we made bows. When we needed fast transportation we made cars, planes, rocketships, telegrams for communications and guns for fighting. We have always been a species that defined itself not by the limits of its form, but by what it could create. We have simply internalised our tools.” A small drone rolled over to the table, carrying several meals taken from Zeta specifically for guests. “Please, enjoy,” she continued.

“And, I can assure you, it is a fate that we undergo quite willingly. Nobody forces us to undergo augmentation, but having a way to surpass it only highlights the limitations of the original human form.”

The chancellor pondered Sigma-Devi's words, resting his chin on clasped hands. “While I don’t necessarily agree with some of the changes, it is not my place to judge you on circumstances that were beyond your control. Granted disagreement won’t equal condemnation, our society thrives on the age-old human pastime of disagreements and debate, it’s how anything gets done or differences made known and are respected or ignored, there’s ups and downs.”

“I’m very glad to hear you still follow the democratic methods of old. As the saying goes, it’s the worst form of government, except for all the others that have been tried.” She smiled at her own joke. “The Consciousness is a democratic society as well, although we prefer a more direct approach to voting.”

While the two talked, the officers and guards helped themselves to the meal provided, surprisingly good for food made by robot people. “Heh, all too true.” Julian said in reaction to the joke. “A bit surprising, but comforting to see humanity has not lost its way in ways of democracy. On Columbia, we’ve fought hard to preserve the old spirit of freedom, both from our own, and others.”

Sigma-Devi’s eyes flicked between the non-human and the rest of the Chancellor’s entourage, her mind mulling over his word. “From others.” She stated, although it was not a question. “It seems you have quite the story to tell. I shared how Zetans came to be augmented, perhaps you could share a tale of your own?”

“It would be fair to share, yes.” The Chancellor said. “Over three decades ago, Columbia was visited by an alien intelligence of far greater technological level than humanity, they called themselves the Yulzan. We didn’t and still don’t know how far their empire reaches, all we knew was that they were large enough to conquer and enslave several species.”
“My people, the Janari were among them.” Captain Jashi added. “I and many others were forced to fight for the Yulzan, it was all we knew of our lives…”

“We’ve fought for fifteen years, in the aftermath, the Yulzan left our world scarred and broken. In their retreat, they had left millions of their slave soldiers behind, at our mercy.”

“Many of my kind fought still. But I and many more others, grew tired of war, and surrendered.”
“The long and short of it, we’ve fought and beaten an interstellar empire, and in the end, we’ve made new friends and allies out of former enemies.”

A concerned expression spread across Sigma-Devi’s face, and at once the Consciousness had a new thread to focus on. An interstellar empire, likely with a greater technological might than Zeta, enslaving races to fight underneath it? Zeta had no navy, no army and little interest in weapons technology, but this… This was cause to prepare.

“Thank you for sharing,” the diplomat said kindly. “It certainly sounds like you’ve had some tremendous obstacles of your own to overcome.” A long pause hung in the air of the cafeteria.

“We have, yes.” Julian agreed as he leaned back. “But we emerged stronger, more cautious of the stars. Never again will we be caught off guard.”

“I have a proposition for you, chancellor. As we speak, plans are being made for an embassy in the orbit of Zeta-5 and for a station established here above Earth. We would like to welcome you aboard either, or both, of these vessels- or, whichever diplomatic staff you would prefer, in the hopes that we could facilitate strong diplomatic, trade, and perhaps even military links between our nations. Together, we are much stronger than split apart.”

The chancellor smiled, some friends are being made today, the travel was well worth taking. “I will gladly take you up on your proposition, Sigma-Devi.” He said, leaning forward once more. “And you are very welcome to establish an embassy of your own in our orbital outpost, Sentinel. The station has more than enough space for such facilities.”

“The Consciousness has granted me the honour of overseeing the embassy here over Earth, but no doubt another of my fellows will arrive to your system in due time.” She extended her hand out to the man. “To forthright relations.”

Julian replied in kind, shaking her hand. “And to a better tomorrow.”

These are people we can do business with. Thought the Collective.

Savant James Heralds has many skills: engineering, politicking, holographic simulation creation, and most importantly, manipulating. He believes that last one is the most valuable ability a person can have. Delivered at the right time, given the right weight and wording, there is nothing more powerful than a lie.

But even that doesn't protect you from a club to the face.

Heralds only barely jumps out of its reach, but as soon as he has, the twisted protector's mace is swinging around faster than any real weapon should. It clips him hard on the chin- bleeding, bruising- then comes down on his head again in the same second. The only thing the Savant, genius leader of the ECU, can think to do is drop down and shield his face with his hands. He only gets blunted in the stomach instead.

Fighting is not one of the skills of Savant James Heralds.

He looks up in time to see his smiling assailant raise the club one more time, lifting it high enough to block out the sun, to hide the light, to murder a Savant, and- and- and then it pauses in mid-swing.

Heralds frowns, feeling a little disappointed.

When it stays stuck, still halfway through its murderous arc, he at last stands up to take a look. He meanders around his frozen murderer, examining the pose, prodding him a little bit. Thinking that wasn't supposed to happen.

Then, just as it paused, the hologram suddenly finishes his swing, bringing down the club at empty ground. Three times as fast and twice as hard as he's meant to. That's not supposed to happen, either. Clearly, this still needs a lot of work.

"Holographic Protector," Heralds commands, "Deactivate." The holo-protector stops existing, and the blood running down Heralds mouth follows its example. There is a lingering soreness, though: it really had hit him. It could really do that.

The holo-protectors are a personal project, a work-in-progress, and as per recent events, the best chance for the ECU's survival. The transmission from Student Adami's shuttle, detailing her experiences with a race of cybernetic former-humans, has prompted the Savant to pick it up again. Until today, the files had been sitting in his private database, untouched for eight months. Now they seem to be taking up residence in his mind.

How does it fight outside of Holographic Suites? How will it interact with electromagnetism? Can it communicate with others? Is there a way to make it stop smiling?

That is one thing. In every available program, the protectors are portrayed as benevolent, kind defenders. Friendly neighborhood heroes, who always smile at the viewer. It was only when he finally finished the first holo-protector program that Heralds realized this meant they would always smile at their victims, too.

Maybe it'll frighten people. That's worth something.

~~~~~~~~

It's been hours since Abadi sent out the message. She told them all about her contact with the Zetans, and the Undefeated, and the mess of an argument that followed. She's received back three responses, each from a different Oligarch, with four different sets of instructions on what to do next.

None of it is helpful. She already knows one thing: her future is over. No matter what she does after this, no matter what instructions they send her or which ones she follows, her future is dead before it begins.

She was supposed to be initiated into the Oligarch formaly in six months. This scouting mission to Earth was only something to add to her Justification, to show the Noocratic Judges: look, I'm smart enough to be an Oligarch!

Well, not that it matters. Abadi is aware, like everyone in-the-know, that the Noocracy doesn't pick by merit anymore. That's just something they tell everyday people so they'll do what they're told. It wasn't always like that, some say. There was once a time where potential Oligarchs needed to have a host of discoveries to their name, or more importantly, a mind of elephantine proportions. There were dozens of tests to make sure you were smart enough to rule.

But all that's gone. Today, holographic indoctrination keeps the populace controlled, and the protectors violently solve any problem-causers. The Justification is a formality, for appearances. Abadi has never heard of a person who actually failed theirs.

Which means, wow, she'll be the first. That's something.

Because there's no way they'll let her in now. She'll need to be an example, she knows it. "This is what happens when you make a bunch of advanced cyborgs mad at us." Will she be a Student forever?

Will they kill her?

There's another vessel in orbit here. The Zetans are already talking to them, probably telling them how bad the ECU is. On another day, she would have tried contacting them next, making things right and... but she just can't now. Not with the noose hanging over her head. She already replied to the Revenant, telling them she'd let her superiors know the Undefeated desire a meeting, throwing in a bunch of nice diplomatic talk, and the girl decides that's all she can do right now.

She sends the massive ship a short little message. Something about hoping to meet someday, remembering the virtues of Earth, whatever. And then she drifts back through the Gateway.

~~~~~~~~

"Hail! I greet you on behalf of the Earth Cultural Union, a league of mankind dedicated to preserving the ways and forms of Old Earth."

That's the message they sent, anyway. The arranged Diplomatic Greeting the ECU had determined to use for all new contacts. And they intended to mean it.

Only- they were a little concerned this time. There was already talk of war and alliances and exterminating the horrific cyborg menace, of course. And in fact, the ECU was already demolishing old Bezian ruins and using the metals to construct new, military ships as fast as they possibly could. And they were planning a propaganda campaign, new military tactics- the whole deal. But all of that might get just a little bit stickier if an already powerful Colony were to appear. One that had the weapons and ships, today, that could decide the entire war effort before the ECU completed a single corvette.

And wouldn't you know...

They hailed the militarized ship again. Same message. Same secret fear behind it.

Meanwhile on the planet Ellara

The air tasted weird. A soft breeze caused by a passing hovercraft moved her hair a bit and she had to blink vigorously to fight off tears suddenly filling her eyes. She barely even remembered feeling the wind on her face. Her transport was waiting on the roof, just a few steps from the door, but for some reason, her legs wouldn’t move. After years in a small cell, the open space just felt too huge. Claire knew about the phobias one could develop, about fear of open areas after spending a lot of time in a confined space, but considered them so illogical, something her scientific mind could deal with easily. Yet here she was, frozen in place, staring at the night sky over the Citadel.

Her escort wasn’t of the most patient kind. One man gave her a slight nudge and when she didn’t move, they just grabbed her by her elbows and half dragged her to the hovercraft. The flight was short and the vehicle soon stopped in a hangar in one of the science complex buildings. The soldiers pushed her out rather roughly, not giving her enough time to adjust her eyes to the sudden sharp light.

“All right, that is enough. You are dismissed.”

Claire blinked into the lights. She would recognize that deep voice anywhere. “Ikei Hamonga. Long time no see I guess?” Her eyes finally focused on a massive dark-skinned person standing in front of her. Hamonga was a perfect descendant of the long-lost Maori tribe.

Hamonga seemed nervous and uncomfortable. “Claire, I… Let’s go inside.” He led her through a maze of hallways, opening a lot of doors with a keycard, the last few also required a biometric scan. “This entire section is dedicated to the Perun project. The labs and the test areas are there in the back.” They stopped in a small conference and leisure room.

“Well, this cell certainly seems more comfortable than the last one,” Claire sat in one of the armchairs, feeling the soft material with her fingers.

The Guardian sighed. “Claire, I really don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything when Jeremy…”

Claire snorted. “At least you don’t hide behind a mouthful of excuses like some others.” She paused for a moment, continuing in a more conciliatory tone. “The Grand Douchebag said that you have protected her all that time.”

“Not that she would need much protection,” Hamonga smiled. “Children shouldn’t pay for the sins of their parents.”

“Of course trying to save lives is a sin to you, tin soldiers. You prefer to march and shoot in a pointed direction.”

“Screecher lives.”

“Not just Screecher lives. Jeremy was trying to prevent bloodshed on both sides.”

“I see you haven’t changed a bit,” Hamonga sighed.

“Have your ‘correction facilities’ ever actually corrected anyone?”

“You would be surprised. I think we will have to agree to disagree, just like we did years ago. Let’s just talk about the project. What’s the deal here?”

“Are you kidding me?” Claire laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be leading it?”

“You and I both know that I am no scientist. My orders are to make sure you do the work…”

“And then you take credit for it,” Claire interrupted him. “I know the drill. After all, I am a Rejected, the trash of society, only ever good when you need someone to solve your problems.” Her voice was bitter, remembering all those years when she was an ‘assistant’ to high-ranked scientists, who couldn’t even teach science to third-graders. All her papers and inventions published under someone else’s name.

“I never really thought about you that way,” Hamonga said defensively. “Even the Grand General has always known that you were the one behind the research. That is the reason why you are here after all. Honestly not many high-ranking officers think that way. Jeremy was proof of that.”

“Don't you dare to talk about my husband,” Claire hissed at him and Hamonga kept quiet. He had learned a long time ago not to correct her on Jeremy not technically being her husband. The Rejected could only get married to other Rejected, but a Rejected and a soldier could never be officially together. That was the reason Kelsie had her father's last name and Claire didn't blame her for it. On Ellara it was easier to grow up as a daughter of a soldier, even of a soldier executed for disobeying orders, than as a daughter of a Rejected. Claire sighed, she didn't want to argue. “Do you know who Perun was?”

Hamonga just shrugged. “No idea never heard of him.”

“In the ancient times on Earth, it was the Slavic god of lightning and thunder, even of war in some cultures. Project Perun was exploring the possibilities of using plasma in warfare - both in weapons and in shields. We came up with a revolutionary set of weapons that could be used in space combat and deflector shields that could protect spaceships from nearly anything. But the project got canceled before we even got to the prototype phase.”

“There was no need for fancy space weapons against the Screechers,” nodded Hamonga.

“It would benefit ground combat as well. Eventually. But yes, at that time it cost too much and brought too little. I guess we were just ahead of our time.”

“Claire,” Hamonga said quietly, “I have got to ask you. Are you actually on board for this project or are you just trying to get back at the Grant General?”

Clare gave him a sad smile. “Trust me, if it was just about me I would simply use this project to build the biggest bomb I could and shove it right up his arse, blowing this entire place to particles. But I am not going to do this to Kelsie. Again. And quite frankly this whole planet is in danger now so I'm going to do my best and play along.” For now, she didn't add.

Hamonga seemed satisfied with that answer. “So, is that the plasma thing we donate in the hospitals? I mean, we should have a ton of that.”

Claire closed her eyes slowly. “No, Ikei, that is not the same plasma. It’s…,” she hesitated, no idea how to dumb it down enough so he would understand, “well let’s just say that it is very complicated and it requires strong magnetic fields to create and, more importantly, to keep it in some form and shape that could be useful to us.”

“Why does it have to be on a spaceship? Wouldn’t it be easier to make a shield around something smaller, like a hovercraft?”

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be around a spaceship, just around something big. The electromagnetic field is generated by magnets and, at our current level of technology, they need to be huge. Using this technology on something smaller is just not possible until we come up with a more efficient way of electromagnetic field generation. Also, the power requirements for this kind of thing are enormous. Honestly, this project was just an idea that was technically unfeasible at that time. Unless something has changed?” she asked him, seeing his cryptic smile.

“There is something you should see.”

---

The hangar was huge, but the ship still looked like it was about to burst out of it. There were dozens of people running around and over it, cranes hovering above bringing pieces of metal; sparks and fumes from welding and cutting filled the room.

“This is the Thorsten,” Hamonga said with pride. “Our very first space battleship. The Perun project wasn’t the only one that was deemed unnecessary and canceled before and now reopened. We began with the construction as soon as the Gateway was reactivated. So far it is armed with conventional weapons just like we use for ground combat - laser and projectile turrets, both with offensive and defensive capabilities, and conventional missiles upgraded to be used in space. It is powered by some fancy new reactor thing which I’ve been told shouldn’t have any problems powering your plasma-magnetic-whatevers. So if you can come up with some fancy new weapons, we needed them like yesterday.”

“I am terribly sorry, but I was in jail yesterday,” Claire mumbled, still stunned by the view. As much as she hated the military system, she had to admit that in situations like these it was incredibly efficient.

“Right,” Hamonga grinned, turning back to the ship. “It is just a prototype, but the initial tests are looking good and we already have facilities prepared to start building several more of those. Plus smaller cruisers and fighters. If all goes well, we should have a fleet ready in a matter of weeks.”

“What? How?” As far as Claire knew, there weren’t nearly enough people to just start mass-producing spaceships on a scale like that.

Hamonga shrugged. “Well the progress on the northern front has been stopped, and 8th and 9th recalled, we have more than enough workers. We are scrambling resources wherever we can, halting other unnecessary production chains. The mining station on the Donut was rushed to completion and soon we will start getting the material from there.”

“Aren’t your tin soldiers mad that they will have to slave away in factories instead of murdering the enemy?”

“Not all of them are happy about it, naturally, but those working in the spaceship assembly will have a priority when the crews will be selected, and that is worth it. Plus, and I realize how pathetic it sounds, it’s for the good of all people on Ellara.”

"Right," Claire snorted, "for all people on Ellara."

---

Oscar Pawlowski was exhausted, it felt like he hadn’t slept since the Gateway opened. But at least everything seemed to be going well. If they just had a little more time, before some alien armada comes knocking on their doors. Just a few weeks. Even a few days. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Sir. The Gateway has reactivated.”

So much for having a few more days to prepare. “The Revenant?”

“No, sir. It was just some sort of an automated probe, that broadcasted a message in English, binary, and some unknown language and then self-destructed. It moved away from the Gateway and our ships before doing that, we sustained no damage. Our scouts are trying to collect the pieces to get some more information on the technology, but it doesn’t seem very promising.”

The Grand General rested a little. No danger for now. “Smart. Show me the message.” He took his time to read it several times, carefully analyzing each sentence, and then sighed. “They sure aren’t afraid to rattle weapons and show strength. My kind of people.” If only we had something to rattle with, he thought. “Thorsten isn’t ready yet, right? So we have no ship to send there even if we wanted to. And we haven’t heard from the Revenant?”

“No sir, but there is actually good news on that part. See we have been analyzing the signals coming through the Gateways, trying to unscramble the mess they create. But then we discovered that on certain frequencies and with proper coder and decoder, of course setting it up properly was tricky…”

Oscar interrupted him rougly. “Fewer words.”

“Uh, sure sir. We think we can contact the Revenant through the Gateway.”

“Perfect. Try hailing them then, see if they are able to respond.” If they are still alive.

@Raylah
Earth
Aboard the Alamo
A short while has passed since the successful talks with the Zetans, the chancellor and his entourage having since returned to the Alamo, greeted by the XO of the ship, a woman named May Oliver. "Captain on deck!" An officer announced. "A success I presume?" she asked, standing at attention, saluting both the captain and chancellor, along with several other officers. "I would say so." Captain Jasi replied.

"First Contact with our first "human" colony went smoothly." The chancellor added, their rather frighting appearance still lingering in the back of his mind. "Although...I would hardly call them human anymore."

"Sir?" May inquired, the chancellor’s comment very eye-catching. "I'll fill you in later." Captain Jasi said.

"Nonetheless, they proved friendly enough, and are one step towards uniting all the colonies." The Chancellor said with grandiose in his tone, he certainly had a grand vision in mind. "But enough about that, have the other ships contacted us?"

"Yes, your excellency." XO Oliver replied to the Chancellor, tinkering with a personal datapad she brought along. "The ship under the banner of the "Earth Cultural Union" sent a small message of goodwill but had soon left system."

Julian frowned. "Huh, a shame." Julian said. "Would've been useful to hear their take on the Zetans. What about the other ship?"

XO Oliver was quiet for a moment, pressing down on the pad. "The vessel under the “Undefeated” has sent their greetings and have requested that their delegation board the ship."

"Of course, give them the all clear. Once we settle talks with the Undefeated, we'll set a course home."

---

@Ekreture
Sentinel Base
Grant and most of his command staff, along with a small squad of marines, had assembled at the docking ports of the station, seeing the trader ship slowly docking. Grant chuckled, garnering the attention of his second-in-command, Kazon. “What’s funny, sir?”

“Well, I never expected to be actually welcoming aliens to our home.” Grant said. “For ten years, I’ve thought we’d be at the frontline of new war against the Yulzan.” He added. “Guess that ship has long since sailed.”

Sentinel base initially was made for the purpose of both as a border outpost, and as a weapon against any future Yulzan attacks. Now, it seems Sentinel may serve as an interstellar port for future visitors from across the galaxy. Which in truth, would be a preferable alternative, the Yulzan forgotten as a bad memory, this new era taking precedence.

The Trader vessel was soon caught in the docking clamps, the airlock or whatever it was, slowly lowering down to revel the occupants of the ship. A mixture of human and xenos, not too dissimilar to grant’s little group, something they can find common ground in. Grant was the first to step forward and approach the new visitors, the first man in the system to shake hands with aliens and humans from outside. “Name’s Dennis Grant.” He stated his name. “Commander of Sentinel Base, and let me be the very first to welcome you to the United Republic of Columbia.” He extended his hand towards the lead man of the group. “And you are?”

---

@Tortoise
New Hollywood
CSS Overwatch
Hans and the rest of the bridge staff looked in awe, another world like Columbia, countless light years away from home. “We actually made it.” Hans said to himself.

There wasn’t much time to fully adjust to their surroundings, the natives of this world already responding to the Overwatch’s arrival in a timely matter. “Captain, we’ve just received a message from the colony, an automated message.” The communications officer said.

The ECU message begun to rang out over the ship’s intercom. “Orders?”

“Set a direct course for the nearest space station, tell the E.C.U. we come in the name of peace and that they can send whomever they wish to speak with us.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

“These folks sound pretty interesting.” Rean commented.

“Sounds that way.” Hans said, the message sent gave a certain impression of the ECU, both good and bad. Preserving cultural ties to Earth is not bad in itself, although, how fanatical is this devotion? Would it prove a detriment to future relations or merely a quirk that can be worked around? Only time can tell, and to actually hear the ECU out.

“We are being hailed.”

Finally. Kelsie jumped up from the oddly uncomfortable captain’s chair. The Zetans seemed to have beaten them in contacting the battleship first and now their delegations have apparently been engaged in a very long talk. The suspense was killing her, she wished she had at least some information about who the people on the big ship were. Or if they even were people. “So, how did they respond?”

“Um…,” Parker hesitated, “the transmission is not coming from any of the ships. It seems to be coming through the Gateway.” He re-checked the screen. “It’s the Grand General.”

Awesome. Just awesome. Maybe he will just order someone to execute me and so I won’t get another chance to screw up with yet another technologically more advanced society, Kelsie thought. “Good, I will take it on my personal comlink. Meanwhile, transmit every piece of data we have obtained so far - scans of Earth, all the ships, the security footage, everything. Make sure it is encrypted.”

---

The call seemed to have taken forever. Pawlowski wanted to know all the details, they went through the security footage together, debated about every word the foreign delegations had said. Surprisingly, at the end of it, not only he didn’t order her execution, but he actually praised her for making the right choice. Apparently, his stance on the Zetans was even more strict than hers. Officially, there was no business to be done with them.

Just as she ended the call and thought she would get a moment's rest, she got called back to the bridge.

“So, the ship is called Alamo and belongs to a state called the United Republic of Columbia. They have agreed to accept our delegation on board and sent us docking instructions.”

Alamo. Columbia. Those names had some vague meaning to her, something from Earth’s history. Hopefully, they won’t be another old Earth fanatics like the ECU. “Can we even do that?”

“Well, fortunately, someone thought to add an extendable airlock bridge to the ship. But whether it will work… no idea.”

“That’s just perfect.” Kelsie rolled her eyes. “Call Miss Petrova, she is coming with me. You are in charge, while I am gone. If anything happens, and I mean anything, you immediately detach and make a run for it. If these guys prove to be hostile, we need to warn the high command.”

Parker saluted her. “Good luck.”

Julianna was already at the airlock, and so was Harding. “Surely you will not take my assistant on this vital diplomatic mission,” he said with a threat not very subtly hidden in his voice.

“Commander Harding, I would never endanger the life of such an important scientist as you by taking you to a potentially hostile situation on board an unknown ship. I was just telling Major Parker that if anything goes wrong, he is to take the ship back through the Gateway immediately, leaving us behind. Your research is too important for Ellara, we cannot afford to let you fall into enemy hands,” Kelsie explained as calmly as she could. She has about had it with this guy.

He stormed out, gritting his teeth, knowing exactly what she was doing, but couldn’t say a word about it.

“You should be careful around the Commander,” Julianna said quietly. “He is a powerful man.”

“Honestly, unless he is blowing the Grand General on a daily basis, I don’t care. And maybe even then.” Kelsie has worked hard for her position, so she could afford to be a bit arrogant about it.

Julianna giggled. “As you think.”

A series of soft thumps signaled the airlock connecting to the other vessel and the green light that a stable pressure was achieved. The two women slowly walked through, entering the Colombian ship.

@Raylah
Earth
Aboard the CSS Alamo
Once the airlock bridge linked the two vessels, the chancellor, his guards and the captain were quickly pacing towards the meeting point with the Undefeated delegation, reaching the correct airlock just in time. "Decontamination in progress..." A feminine voice announced over the local intercom. The group standing ready to welcome their new guests, the chancellor making last minute prep as he fixed up his suit. "Decontamination complete." the computerized voiced announced as the airlock doors raised up to reveal Kelsie and Julianna as they stepped forward, two completely normal human women much to the relief of the chancellor's guards and the captain. The chancellor was the first to step forward out of his group, meeting them with a smile as he extended his hand forward. "Chancellor Constantine of the United Columbian Republic." He announced to the two women. "A pleasure to meet you!"

"And I'd like you welcome you aboard the CSS Alamo." The captain stepped up to add. "Safest place in the galaxy, I can guarantee you."

"And what do I call you, young ladies?" Julian said.

---

@Crusader Lord
Xandal
Aboard the CSS Tokyo
A few days had passed since the probe was detected by Sentinel Station, the message forwarded to High Command, soon after, the probe has self-destructed. The rather mixed message had raised concerns among the brass, leading to the dilemma of sending a warship to the colony of Xandal, the possibility of of a new war against an unknown power was quite distressing. For both as a safety precaution and a show of strength, it was decided that the CSS Tokyo, an Endurance Heavy Cruiser, be sent in.

And so it was done, the Tokyo had emerged from the other side of the gateway, was met a fleet of xandlian warships. Captain Ophinna Brywell and her bridge staff were anxiously approaching the fleet. "Open channels." She ordered. "No need to start a war here."

"Aye aye, captain." Her comms officer said as he pressed down a few keys. "Patching you through."

"This is Captain Brywell of the CSS Tokyo of the United Columbian Republic, we've received your probe's message and have come in peace, do not open fire. I repeat, do not open fire."

As the door opened and a completely normal-looking elder man came forward to greet them, Kelsie was relieved. Right until the moment she looked over the rest of the group and saw the alien captain. She tried to mask her surprise as best as she could, but a short gasp escaped her lips. Well isn’t this unfair. Why do these guys have nice and friendly aliens and all we got was hyper-aggressive primitives? Kelsie wondered who was actually in charge here. The human, Chancellor Constantine, seemed to be the head of the diplomacy. She vaguely remembered that the title had great political importance back on Earth. But then again, the captain of the ship was an alien. Were these humans under the yolk of some advanced alien race? It was a possibility, but Kelsie didn’t think so. The ship, while very advanced, was clearly of human design. And its name, as well as the name of the nation, was Earth-based. There must be some interesting story behind all this.

“We are glad to be here,” she managed to smile, focusing on the Chancellor. He seemed like a friendly elder man, but she could see he was a smart politician, not to be underestimated. “I am Guardian Kelsie Blackwood from the Undefeated nation of the planet Ellara. This is my assistant, Miss Julianna Petrova.” She had decided not to mention that Julianna is a member of their science team as it could be seen like she had brought her along to spy on Colombian technology. Which she did. But they didn’t have to know that. Plus it would be useful to have them dismiss her as an unimportant assistant and ignore her. Julianna had her way of becoming nearly invisible in situations like this.

“It seems that you were lucky to find new friends among the stars.” She nodded towards the alien captain, feeling strange. Spending years shooting every alien that crossed her path didn’t really prepare her for this situation. How different would it be if the Screechers were this civilized? 300 years of war, unimaginable resources being poured down the drain, while we could have just coexisted peacefully, advancing both our societies. Well, life doesn’t play on what-ifs. The Undefeated were at a disadvantage here and she needed to make sure that no one is going to use it against them.

@Raylah
The chancellor chuckled. "We'll we had our own set of troubles before arriving to this point." He said as he motioned the pair to follow him down to a comfortable location to further discuss matters. The many eyes were drawn to the new arrivals as they walked down the Alamo's corridors, some stopping to salute both the captain and chancellor. Before long, the group had finally arrived to a small conference room, the doors sliding open as the lights flickered to life, revealing a round table. "Please sit." The chancellor said as he and the captain sat down.

"To follow up what I've mentioned earlier." He begun. "It would only be fair to share this with you, as we did with the Zetans." The chancellor paused as he cleared his throat, than continued. "Over three decades ago, our world was at war. A war for our very survival, against an alien intelligence of far greater technological level, the Yulzan."

"They were damned cowards." Captain jashi interjected. "They enslave and force other species to fight on their behalf. Mine and several others were sent to fight and die against the humans."

"For fifteen years, we've fought and struggled." The chancellor said. "It was truly a miracle when the Yulzan were beaten back. In their retreat, they had forsaken millions of their former slave soldiers." He paused once more, looking somber, his eyes drawn at the table. "Those that truly believed, fought and died."

"And others, like myself, surrendered to the humans." The captain said. "I hated the Yulzan with my being, and there was enough bloodshed."

"The short of it, we've made friends and allies, yes but it came at a great cost....But enough of that. Tell us more about yourselves! I'm quite curious to see how you've handled yourselves over the centuries?"

A small frown appeared on Kelsie’s face as the Chancellor spoke of the war with the Yulzan. An advanced alien empire that enslaves other races, forcing them to fight their wars. Guess the Colombians weren’t so lucky after all. “You certainly did overcome your own struggles to get here. I am terribly sorry for the fate of your people,” she turned to the captain. “These Yulzan sound like a formidable enemy that could endanger all our colonies.” Especially now that the Gateways have reopened, which would allow them to travel anywhere they wanted, Kelsie thought. She hoped that the contact with these people would not put Ellara in danger.

“As for us, we struggled from the beginning. Our planet, albeit beautiful, proved to be very hostile. In the very first year after landing, we had to deal with aggressive fauna and flora, a serious disease outbreak which nearly decimated the starting colony, and we also discovered that there were primitive natives present. Sadly, they proved to be unwilling to communicate and immediately started to attack us. We have been at war with them ever since.” She decided to not mention the fact that some of the captured Screechers were used as slaves. Such a fact would probably not establish the best relations between the two nations, especially with all the new information about the Yulzan.

“So, what are your thoughts on the Zetans, if I may ask?” She was rather curious about what others think about them.

@Raylah
The chancellor thought over it. "They seemed...friendly enough." He said. "If rather unsettling. A fate I don't ever wish on my fellow man." He paused as he leaned backwards, clasping his hands. "But as it is often said, looks can be quite deceiving. They may prove to be valuable friends and allies." He paused as he shifted his chair to the right. "But they may also prove to be a potential danger. One can never be sure, I'm willing to risk it." He then shifted to the left.

“I’m awfully sorry to hear of your present situation on Ellra.” The chancellor said. “Before the Yulzan, we had a similar conflict with the natives, the Urkani.” He paused as he shifted back to facing the two. “But the arrival of Yulzan had forced both parties put aside any hard feelings to focus on the greater threat. I pray that you will find peace with the natives…and if not, perhaps we and others may be willing to help bring about peace.”

Andrei, the Oligarch in charge of the Gateway Listening Post, is a little less drunk than he was earlier. Back when all those weird robot men came on board. Even with modern medicine, there's no sure-fire way to sober up, but years of alcoholism have either empowered his kidney or brought his brain down to a state of eternal inebriation. Either way, the drunkenness doesn't last long.

So it was with mostly-sober eyes that he looks at a read-out of current Gateway activity, and notices something strange. One of the destinations has vanished. He's already forgetting what it was labeled, but it was certainly there a moment ago, and certainly isn't anymore. He doesn't think it's anyone the ECU has met yet. Still, there's something undeniably sad about it.

Did their Gateway shut down? Was it destroyed? Whatever it was, they are cut off from all the other Colonies, after only just learning they're still alive...

Andrei lifts his whiskey, and quotes an Old Earth saying he's fond of. "Here's to ya, lads." Maybe, one day, they'll be able to come back.






A little alarm goes off at the Oligarch Andrei's station, right as he's downing that shot of whiskey. Another ship is approaching, with no ECU-valid tag. That only means one thing.

"Invite the aliens aboard," he speaks into the intercom for the few folks in charge of airlocks and boarding. Poor guys are probably so overworked. Nobody anticipated all this. "And tell them I'll be there to meet them soon."

And he is. (After having taken a wide, wide path around the suite where Dr. Bodi is still discussing things with the Zetans.) This time, rather than being a shambling drunk, Andrei's pitch hair is slicked back, his collar shirt is open a little bit, and his smile is only slightly crooked. Back when he was a Student, his old friends called him "Dis-Count Dracula" for dressing that way, but his younger self thought they were only jealous.

Actually, come to think of it, his current self thinks that too.

"Are the, uh, guests arriving?" he asks the nameless engineer to his right. With no dedicated diplomatic staff, all sorts of people are stepping in to fill the gap, from workers to scientists to fellow Oligarchs. Maybe he's getting soft, but Andrei almost wants to call it... inspiring.

Kelsie sighed. If only it were that simple. “I am afraid that all efforts on communicating with the natives were in vain. They seemed to be capable of understanding some basic things, but ending a conflict wasn’t one of them. Their society is very primitive and based heavily on warrior culture. Before we arrived, they were fighting each other, now they are fighting each other AND us. We do have a technological advantage, but they breed and mature very fast, giving them strength in numbers. But, our problems are our problems, no need to bother with them.” Kelsie didn’t want to go into details of the bloody mess that was going on Ellara for the past 300 years.

“On the other hand, the Yulzan could possibly become a threat to everyone, should they return. Now that the Gateways are opened, it would be easy for them to travel to any other colony, and not everyone is as capable of fighting them as you or us.” She was totally bluffing. The Undefeated couldn’t fight off an alien invasion any better than they could land on the sun. But the Colombians didn’t know that.

---

---

The Assembly ship was afflury, with Baals, monks, and philosophers running about to find the best response to the foreign vessel’s message. The main problem; they didn’t know what he said. They knew it was in Old Imperial, that’s for sure, but anyone fluent in Old Imperial had been vetoed off the ship. Both the Mission and the Teaching viewed human civilization before the Ark as a bit of a backwater. While very moderate Baals encouraged the study of pre-Gateway culture, they are the outlier.

Only one individual, a Missionary Baal of Shem named Haim bin Assar, claimed to speak Old Imperial, so he was sent to communicate. In a thick accent, he began. “Kh-khelo. Peace...upon you, and your house. We, Shekhehan, from the Moons of Salome.” He cleared his throat, and walked away from the comm link sheepishly. Looking to the other attendants on the ship, he said, “It has...been a while since I spoke Old Imperial.”

Uh-oh, partners, Tanaka was thinking, back on the lonely little ECU shuttle. That made way less sense than his new Zelrio friends had. In three centuries, could this colony have formed another language?

Hopefully not. The ECU has violently stamped out any linguistics research that goes beyond the Earth languages. There's an old, mean term for people who speak the hybrids that have formed since the Tragedy: 'Dog Tongues.'

"Hologram," Tanaka commanded, and she appeared exactly like she had always been there; as if she just hadn't been noticed yet. "Can you translate these people's language at all?"

"I would need to hear a sample," she says, polite and smiling because she has no other tone and knows no other expression. "Do you have one available?"

Tanaka stopped for a second, feeling a little embarrassed because he didn't- and then remembered.

"Excuse me," he sent back to the foreign ship. "Can you, um- say some more stuff?" How much would they understand? "I'm attempting to translate."

Baal Haim looked between the other passengers and back to the comm.

“You want me to speak?”

Wait, wait, now the Oligarch was thinking that made too much sense. Maybe this person is trying to speak Old English, and is just really bad at it? These poor people must not value education very much.

"In your native language, that is." No, Tanaka, don't be so complicated. "Your… mother tongue. The-" what did they say- "the speech of the Moons of Salome. Speak that."

“Ah!” Finally, Haim understood something this foreign man was saying, albeit every other word. And so he began to scratch his beard, thinking of what to say, when he realized what he must-here he was, representing the Human Mission, face to face with a foreign human nation. He would say what all those who follow the Mission must say-the Statement of Mission. And so, he closed his eyes, and began to hum, low and sadly, until his mind was clear.

”Those who may forget, listen and remember.”

He continued, with great passion, to decree his Mission in this universe, careful to enunciate every word, every syllable. His eyes, closed tight, began to let out tears as he spoke, powerfully and low. Finally, he came to the last paragraph of the Statement.

”What has gone is still with you.
What is lost will soon be found.
Peace, peace, peace, peace.”

With that, the other Missionaries on board, and even some of the Teachists who were raised Missionary, announced their agreement, and the ship was silent.

Tanaka's holographic secretary inclined her ear, listened with a focused but happy expression, and promptly concluded: "That is not one of the Valid and True Earth Tongues. Please try again with a language that is one of the Valid and Tr-"

"Hologram: Mute."

Tanaka usually liked to let holograms talk. They were nicer than people. But well, he was getting a little upset.

"I'm afraid that didn't work," he replied, although it had sounded so beautiful. He tried conveying the sadness in his voice, if words couldn't work. "I do not comprehend you. I'm sorry, friends." Something about the chant had gotten to him, although he didn't catch a word of it.

Haim backed away from the computer, frustrated. “Bah!” No matter what the man on the other line had said, it was clear that there was a major communication problem. “We come across the galaxy and our words become sound!” Suddenly, he heard the sound of a wooden cane knocking on metal.

“Spoken words have always been but sound. It is what they carry that is more.” All eyes in the room turned to the one alien on board-the Pono monk, Teacher Da’ra. Her gnarled and wrinkled hands clasped to her cane, and though her old age had brought her blindness, she seemed to know her path. She made her way to Haim’s side, and he looked down at her.

“What is it, monk?” Though she stood only at his waist, in this moment it seems she stood eye to eye. She tapped her cane as she tisked her tongue.
“Now, my student-”

“I am not your student.”

“My friend, then-try patience.”

The Baal looked down and sighed. “You are right, monk. But we have no speakers of the Imperial tongue with us.”

“None?” She said.

“No, of course-” Suddenly, an Assembly soldier stepped forward.

“I hate to interrupt, Baal, but many robots come with the Old Imperial tongue loaded on their software.”

The scholar looked at him with his eyebrows raised high. “Well, do we have any robots on board?”

A few of the soldiers began looking at each other nervously. “We do, but…”

“But what?”

Elsewhere on board, Lev and Roshi were sat in their quarters playing a game, a racing board game supposedly invented in The Great Time Before, called ‘Ur’. As Roshi’s last piece fell off the board, the robot began ringing his bell triumphantly. “I am VICTORIOUS!”

Lev chuckled and sighed, wiping the tired from his eyes. “Yeah, bud, what else is new?” Roshi’s optical sensors relaxed with pity.

“Lev, do not talk about yourself like that! You have won four times.”

“Yeah? How many times have we played?”

“Two hundred.” Just then, Baal Haim and the soldier he had been talking to stepped into the room. Lev stood up from his seat.

“Something I can help with?”

Bin Assar shook his head. “Not you.” Pointing at Roshi, he continued. “That.” Promptly, Roshi, giddy as he could be, was brought to the comm link.

The robot looked back to the array of people, who looked on expectantly. He then turned back to the other ship, tapped on the microphone, and announced, loudly as he can, “HELLO!” Hearing feedback, the party on board covered their ears, and Teacher Da’ra beckoned him to quiet down.

“Oh...I am sorry! I was very loud. My name is Roshi, I can speak-’OLD IMPERIAL-UNITED KINGDOM, OLD IMPERIAL-UNITED STATES, or OLD IMPERIAL-AUSTRALIA. Do you have any preference?” Baal Haim placed his head in his hand.

“Ach, I might as well have kept talking!” he exclaimed to himself. The robot, meanwhile, quietly waited for a response.

When the Hello, loud and clear and deserving of capitalization, blasted through the shuttle like an audible punch, Tanaka had to admit that he nearly hit the floor. It was only because of his holo-secretary, swooping in to catch him with hardlight hands, that the Salome representatives would get a reply at all. Otherwise, the Oligarch probably would have been knocked out.

That would be an embarrassing end to the diplomacy.

"Ye- yes! I understand you!" Tanaka nearly shouted with glee when he realized he could make sense of it. He loved this part. Already, he loved it. The foreigner finished speaking, and he answered back:

"Oh- oh- I suppose Old Imperial-" what an odd name for a language- "United States." His tutor had made him do a special study in it, when he was still a Student only a few years ago.

"And my name is Oligarch Tanaka! Representative of the Earth Cultural Union, and student to Savant Heralds, our elected leader." Don't want to forget that part!

Roshi clicked his fingers excitedly. He preferred United States, ‘y’all’ is much more convenient than ‘you all’. “Hello Oligarch! I am very glad to meet you. Are you a human? I am a robot!” As he was saying that, Baal Haim began to approach him.

“What is he saying?” Asked the Baal.

“He is saying he likes the United States!” Haim sighed.

“Anything else?”

“Yes! His name is Oligarch, and he represents the Earth Cultural Union.” Roshi turned back to the computer, Haim remaining by his side.

"Oh, oh no," the foreigner's laugh came through. "My name is Tanaka. Oligarch is- my rank. Granted to me by the Noocracy. It's what I am for my world. And of course, we are all humans." He paused for a moment. His voice may have sounded a little strange when it picked up again: "Are… all your people robots?"

“No!” Roshi replied. “I am a robot. I am Roshi! That is what I am for my world! But for work, I am a topographical analysis droid in the military, but my money goes to my best friend, Lev. He is a human. Mr.-I mean Baal Haim, who you just spoke with-he is a human!” He took a look around the room before continuing. “Everybody on the ship is a human, except for me and Ms. Da’ra. She is an ALIEN!” He turned briefly to Teacher Da’ra and waved, who did not wave back because she is blind.

Tanaka stopped himself from saying ‘thank Mother Earth.’ He always thought robots would be nice, like they are in all the holo-programs he liked to play, and Roshi seemed nice. But already news was coming back from his fellow diplomat, Student Adami, about horrifying half-robots that pretend they’re people. About monsters with metal teeth and glowing eyes. About things that- they were already saying- must be avoided, crushed, censured, exterminated. Blocked away. He was glad he hadn't met them.

Only when he started to experience the relief did he catch that last thing. “She is an alien.”

Wow. She’s an alien. An alien.

She. Is. An. Alien.

Robots could be cute, or dangerous. Holograms were helpful. Mutants were sad, or evil. Everybody knows all this. But aliens are something else: something unknowable. They’re never the good guys in any stories. It makes Tanaka’s nerves flare up like little sparks of electricity, even knowing he’s this close to one, this close to a mind with no kin to humanity.

How could they bear to be in the same room as it?

“I… see,” was all he could work out for some time. He felt like he needed to say something- he’s the diplomat- he’s supposed to talk- it’s why he’s here. But the alien was listening, wasn’t it? What did it think? How much did it know? Did it even have ears- did it know him in some other way? He could feel it.

“Oligarch Tanaka,” his holo-secretary said, polite and smiling, and smiling and polite. “Your heart rate has accelerated to a level considered to be dangerous b-”

“Hologram: Shut up.”

A few moments went by in a loud kind of quiet, the Oligarch trying to still his heart and his mind.

“I see,” he repeated, when his breath would let him. “My people have never met aliens.” Each word, his voice returned to its base: optimistic, eloquent, and not too bright. “Our planet used to hold them, but unfortunately, they passed away before we arrived. Archeologists are still piecing together the entire sad story, but its seems that perhaps war destroyed them.” Now would be a good time to make overtures of peace. “I hope that we, all of us, may learn from their mistakes.”

“Oligarch, you were very quiet for a while!” Roshi responded cheerfully. “Peace is very important! That’s what the Baals always say, but in Salome there was a war. The war ended, but now there are aliens who look like big lizards with guns.” He paused. “Teacher Da’ra is not one of them, though.” He stopped and began tapping his foot, before looking at Baal Haim and began speaking in Shekhehani. “I have run out of things to talk about. Should we go home?”

“No! Just...ask him about God. Do they fulfill the Mission?”

Roshi nodded and turned back to the computer. “I ran out of things to talk about, but Baal Haim says it’s not time to go yet. Do you believe in The Ascendent Remains Imminent? And do you fulfill the Human Mission?” Roshi...wasn’t much of one for religion. But he liked the nice songs and pretty temples!

Did the language barrier grow back while Tanaka was panicking? ‘The Ascendent Remains Imminent.’ Those don’t sound like real words. Not even OLD IMPERIAL- UNITED STATES words.

Heralds said not to offend anyone, if they could help it. How do you say this nicely?

“We have not heard of such a thing here on New Hollywood, I’m afraid. Is it some form of religious view?” Religion is dangerous. That’s another thing Heralds says.

“Our Human Mission is to keep the cultures and peoples of Earth alive. We try to live as our ancestors lived, before the Fall of Earth, that great Tragedy. We bear each lost civilization inside us. That is our only mission.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, solemnly. It was the closest thing to faith an Oligarch can have.

As Roshi translated for the assembled party, there was a great kerfuffle among the Missionary leaders. Never heard of God? And their mission is to keep the memory of Babel alive? This alone was a grave enough sin for the Baal, who pushed the robot aside to reprimand the Oligarch as best he can.

“Babel...was like prison, kept Human eating, but not fed. Kept Man speaking, but not listen. Earth...needs to be gone, her ashes have fed Salome.” His nostrils flared as sweat dripped from his brow. “Our mission...unbreak the broken. In war...create peace. That is the Human Mission!” With that, the Baal stepped away angrily from the computer.

As Roshi got back into place, he said, “That was Baal Haim speaking to you just then! I think he speaks more Old Imperial than we thought!”

“Apparently so,” was the response. It was dry, and brittle, like an old leaf shaking in the wind.

There are no words for what Tanaka felt at that moment. It is as if someone marched into an Old Earth church and told the choir, in no uncertain terms, that Heaven was actually Hell and Hell was in fact Heaven. The world was upside-down. Or this Baal man’s brain was.

He had hoped to find friends in the stars. Fellow humans, of the kind who would remember Earth fondly. Who could dance in Neo London. The kind of people you could kick back and watch a holo-film with! He didn’t know what these people were, who sat with aliens and hated the memory of Earth. Their humanity is- wrong.

Forget the nice talk. Let’s just take care of whatever these people want, Tanaka decides, and then they can leave.

“Why did you come here?”

“I came here because Lev came here, and Lev is my best friend!” Roshi cheerfully replied. Among the many members of the party on board, there was disappointment, shock, and some sadness. Among the followers of the Mission, they have found humanity in a greater state of disrepair than they had back in Salome. And to the followers of the Teaching, they found infantilized armchair historians who wallow in memories that aren’t their own.

To one voice, which now resounded across the room, they have found an opportunity to learn and to grow.

“We have come here as a seed which flies through the wind!” Roshi looked back at the voice, Gad Elhai, confused.

“What?”

“Just translate, Roshi.” Gad, with his peppered grey hair and neatly trimmed beard, bounded towards the front of the ship with the confidence of a man who was in the bathroom and saw Baal Haim having a meltdown. He clamored to the front and looked to the foreign ship ahead.
As he spoke, Roshi translated for him. “I apologize for the...brashness of my colleague. Understand that the novelty which we bare upon you is born upon us tenfold.” He paused, a bit out of breath from his dramatic entrance.

“My name is Gad Elhai, I teach the philosophies of Salome at the Great Academy of Ur’daat. The reason that we have ventured through the Gateway which brought humanity to the Tifara system we hail from is because we, as all humans are, are learners and students. In fact, the name which those who follow the Mission refer to the Humans of Salome, Shekhehan, means ‘Those Who May Forget’. I am sure you have many questions of our people, and I certainly have many of yours, so I am more than willing to listen.” Gad closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, hoping he did enough. Roshi looked at him and gave him a thumbs up.

Hesitation. Tension. And an answer returned: “Very well. Alright. Please land at these coordinates. We may discuss your questions.” And a data transmission followed.

Gad relaxed, and shook his hands in the air triumphantly, hugging Roshi and having the pilot put in the coordinates for them to follow.

New Hollywood approaches.

---

---

Your first impression is a bowl of green hidden in a sea of sad, dead grayness. Like a jewel discarded in the trash.

Your second impression is, perhaps less glamorously, “Wow, that sure is a lot of farming.”

New Hollywood was in the process of being terraformed. The atmosphere and temperature of the planet was all being transformed at once, and only slowly. But on the surface level, patches of ground were gradually brought into the new order. Old alien ruins were cleared out, dirt mimicking the composition of Earth’s was synthesized, and plants were regrown from the colony’s original DNA bank. It was a step-by-step process, leaving patches of green and gold buried in the wasteland that is New Hollywood’s nature.

But, people must eat something. So the boring reality is that, far from being the ideal forests and jungles and plains planned at first, most newly terraformed land was appropriated for farmers. They keep the cities fed, the populace eating, the Oligarchs drinking. (Holographic entertainment only helps so much if your stomach is empty.)

Still, if you squinted a little… it did look like Earth.

“Welcome home,” the holo-secretary announces, as Tanaka’s shuttle gently lets down. Autopilot rarely makes mistakes in areas like this; it was still the same programming the original settlers brought with them. It was made for working in Earth-like environments.

The air that floods the open shuttle doors smells, all at once: like fertilizer, like a forest, and like city smog. That’s because the farms and the forest are all around, but the lights of New Beijing are below, watched by this pleasant overhang.

It is not an accident, of course. This spot was designated for diplomacy as soon as the Gateway reopened. There’s even a small building, wooden and simple, with a holographic sign. “Welcome, friends!” Three-stories, mostly empty inside, but with all the windows facing something nice.

Sitting around the chairs and the table in the center were two other diplomats, one a Student and one an Oligarch. And three Protectors, armed with their painful metallic clubs, watched- just in case.

“Our guests should be touching down any moment!,” Tanaka announced to them all. A landing pad large enough for their ship was just to the right. Not one person could stay sitting; the whole entourage was waiting for the foreigners in a moment.

As the vast fields spread out below them, Lev couldn’t help but think of home...the drab grey didn’t quite help, though. Still, it was nice to see that farmers exist wherever you go. He stood at Roshi’s side now, rifle on his shoulder. It was decided that despite his being a scout, he would act as the party’s guard, with the hopes he could keep Roshi...manageable. Gad and Teacher Da’ra would be going too. Baal Haim had refused to, and so his son, Natan-el bin Haim, would be subbing in.

The ship’s pilot was careful not to make any mistakes in the landing, As the landing party disembarked the ship, Roshi pointed at the holographic sign, saying “That says, ‘Welcome Friends!’ That means they want to be our friends!”

“Thank you, Rosh,” Lev replied. He felt embarrassed by what happened earlier-sure, this obsession with Earth (the hell is a Hollywood?) might be a bit...strange, but hey, if it’s how they want to live, let them. He made sure to keep his rifle’s safety on, they didn’t seem like the violent type. In fact, he couldn’t quite tell what type they were, and he had a feeling they couldn’t either. None of what he saw seemed personal, or intimate...it all seemed a bit manufactured. He won’t say anything, of course. He’s just the guard.

The four of them made their way to the wooden building, anticipating what was inside as Roshi excitedly opened the doors. “Would anybody like to see my book?!” Lev quickly caught up and shushed him.

Inside the building was- nothing.

Well, mostly nothing. This particular building was an experiment. Unlike most upper class houses on New Hollywood in the last several decades, there was no holographic suite. Instead, the entire structure was hologram-enabled. Hidden in every plain corner, under the large round table, and on the glowing chandelier overhead, were prototypes of 'mico-projectors.' They could manifest a fully interactive, touchable hologram in any area around them. No Suite needed. If it works, the most revolutionary technology in New Hollywood's history.

The idea was to test it by inviting foreign diplomats to this location, and changing the interior of the building to furnishings expected to 'win them over.' A warrior culture might come in here and see swords hanging on the walls; the Zetan, if they were ever invited, would probably find exposed circuitry and technological displays. Responses would be monitored and recorded.

But in the short time before they landed, not a single Oligarch could guess what these particular guests would like to see, and so the room lay bare. Except for that round table, and a golden globe atop it, both carved in the sacred image of Old Earth.

"Welcome to the Round Table, honored guests," Tanaka smiled while the foreigners entered in. "If you have ever enjoyed any of the Arthurian legends, you may... actually, friends, nevermind." For some reason, he was certain they had not heard of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. "Are there enough chairs in here?"

He counted, and there weren't. Then he seemed to address the room itself. "We need three more chairs in here!," the little man shouted, to nobody in particular. Just when they must have though he was insane, three finely carved wooden seats did appear. There was no wavering of light, no sound- the chairs were only there.

"Ah, beautiful!" he said again, to nobody. "Please, everyone, take a seat."

With the sudden apparition of the chairs, all from the assembled party of Salome, aside from the robot, stepped back in surprise. “What sort of alchemy is this?” Baal Natan-el asked in Shekhehani. Roshi, however, was unfazed, leisurely taking a seat.

“I do appreciate minimalism in interior design!” The robot exclaimed, as he relaxed into the seat, hands on his knees. The three religious leaders cautiously sat down, while Lev decided that his purpose would be better served if he...remained standing. He protectively clung to the rifle on his shoulder as he took up guard at the doorway. Gad assisted Teacher Da’ra in finding her chair, which the blind monk quickly thanked him for. Her short legs hung off the edge of the seat, but she was used to humans not always being...especially accommodating.

Natan-el, meanwhile, grabbed something out of his coat. It was a rectangular object, beautiful and metallic, adorned with multi-colored drawings of various astrological objects and geometric designs. At its center was inscribed, in perfect calligraphy, what looked to be some sort of poem, written in the Salome script. Handing it to Oligarch Tanaka, he began to speak, while Roshi translated.

“Peace be upon you, and upon your house. I am Natan-el, my father, Haim, I believe you are already acquainted.” He cleared his throat embarrassedly, before continuing, “I would like to begin by apologizing on his behalf. Though I do not agree with your sentiments, we are guests in your home. Please, take this gift as a token of friendship. On it is inscribed the Statement of Mission, the prayer you heard us utter earlier.”

Tanaka moved hesitantly for the tablet, then quickly. Part of him couldn’t pretend, he knew he liked the prayer. He didn’t need to understand it to- to feel it. But then another part of him, the one that talks with Savant Heralds’ voice, scolded and said it was just all the humming. The holo-programs that make you cry about Earth, it said, used the same tricks. It’s simple sound and show.

Tanaka still took the tablet. And he thanked Natan-el for it. “I will present this to our elected leader, the Savant,” he muttered, but couldn’t imagine such a colorful thing sitting in Heralds’ gray, lifeless office.

“So-” he regained his composure- “one of your people said you have questions. We do as well. But out of deference to you, our guests, we’ll let you go first. Is there anything you wish to know about us?”

“I recommend asking about the holo-suites,” the other Oligarch chimed in smilingly, an old woman who spent fourteen hours out of the day in one.

The Salomites looked between each other and back at the Oligarchs in front of them. "Hollo-soot?" Gad asked. "Is that like the…'Noo Holy-wood'?" Gad didn't entirely know what to make of these... Earthlings? Is that what to call them? On the one hand, he respected their dedication to the past, and on the other hand, something about the armed guards and empty room was...unsettling.

Tanaka stifled a sigh. "Roshi, make sure you're translating all this for us." He was used to giving commands like this to holograms, so this robot child probably isn't too different.

"The holo-suites are complex devices which allow us to…" come to think of it, the Oligarch had no idea how holo-suites worked. There were no classes on it before his Justification. "They let us make things appear out of thin air. Holograms." He smiled. Impressive enough for you? "Give me an exact replica of this tablet!" He commanded the room again. And in the blink of an eye, another one appeared in his hands, exactly like that which Natan-el had given them. "This is a hologram." He patted it firmly. Solid enough.

"But they aren't real, like us or this table. They're made of- of just light and sound and touch. There's nothing inside them. No… atoms, no history."

To demonstrate, he suddenly stood and threw the holo-tablet out of the doorway they had all entered in from. He was aiming for the precipice, and the tablet was well en route before it decided to stop existing.

The older Oligarch clapped in glee.

"Like that," young Tanaka smiled, sitting down. "They can't be where there aren't devices, like holo-suites, to make them real. They are only light." Then he chuckles. "Does that make sense at all, friends?"

At his being ordered, Roshi replied, "I have already been translating, but I am happy to agree if it makes you happy!" After the display of the replica tablet, Natan-el walked up to where it had been, kneeling and feeling the floor with eyebrows knit.

"This is certainly an advanced alchemy." He stood and turned to face the Oligarchs. "How does it work? And what do you use it for?"

Teacher Da'ra nodded amenably. "Hm. The Teaching states that all matter is illusion. That you would create matter which is illusion by purpose is...interesting." She of course could not see the replicant tablet, but she was still happy to listen along, despite the wayward glances she could sense were being cast her way.

All matter is illusion? A strange view. But the older Oligarch, a woman named Kathryne, remembered what Tanaka couldn’t. That when the holo-suites were still only finding their way into New Hollywood’s already media-soaked culture, some few criticised them for presenting a “false reality.” The Noocracy’s philosophical answer?

“Of course, of course” the woman chimed in, her voice thin with age. “Nothing is truly real except what you see and hear. You can’t tell one way or the other, so what’s the difference? Just enjoy the show, darlings.”

While she spoke to the little being, the first conversation between an ECU citizen and an alien, two of the Protectors took up posts around Da’ra’s oversized chair. The other one put a protective hand on the Oligarch’s shoulder. Nobody ordered them to do it, and nobody needed to. It was New Hollywoodian common sense. Don’t let the alien do something weird, get offended, hurt sweet old Kathyrne.

In the meantime, Tanaka answered Natan-el: “Oh, how we do it is… a well-kept secret.” That is, he had no idea. “But it is used for all manner of applications, scientific and personal. It helps us map out our terraforming projects, the fruits of which you see around you. And-” here he smiled- “as my colleague says, it puts on a wild show. Is there anything you have always wished to experience? Here, you can. You can see it. Feel it. Make it real.”

The old monk chuckled. Before she could speak, Gad interjected. "It is quite a...remarkable technology, Oligarch. We have many remarkable technologies of our own, the proof in the Robot you see in front of you." Sighing and putting on as best a smile he could muster, the professor stood and shot his hand out to Tanaka.

"I am sure we have much more to discuss." Though he smiled, and did not view these...Oligarchs as negatively as his comrades did, he had to admit that it seemed their priorities were in the wrong place.

"Yes," Tanaka smiled, and shook Gad's hand. "Much."

And they did. By the time the talks were finished, the sun was setting on New Hollywood.

---

Aboard the bridge of the Xandalian Destroyer XSS Knerian, Commander Walton Varitian watched on as the Columbian ship entered Xandalian space. Though he was only in his mid-thirties, the caucasian man seemed to look on at the new arrival with a discerning eye. He was experienced against pirates in terms of fleet combat, having been a mech pilot at the beginning of his career at that, but had since his rise to a commanding position participated in a number of military drills and training exercises as well both at home and aboard with the Gusb Fleet in cooperative joint-training practice. In short, he was chosen for the job for what experience he had on the fly due to the need for forces to secure the Gateway. It had been an early and rather surprising call from the Executive Officer himself, but all the same he'd seen it as an honor to serve in this capacity alongside his troops. Security and welcoming...almost felt paradoxical given the situation.

Still, rapidly the comms began to light up as initial word came in. Still...he could see the sizeable ship of a heavier sort from the bridge regardless.

"Knerian, this is Squadron Leader Hardrada commander of Squadron Two. Do you read?"

Walton nodded to the comms officer, who rapidly patched him through to the hailing mech squadron leader.

"Loud and clear, Squadron Leader Hardrada. This is Commander Varitian. We can see the foreign vessel from here. Give us your status report."

"Affirmative, Commander Varitian. Vessel on initial scans and observation seems to be, in my experience, superior in firepower and armoring to our Destroyers but with only almost as much armor as our Carriers. In that regard we possess a minute advantage in regards to our Carrier's raw defensive capabilities. Further scans by my men will hopefully determine if shield generators are present onboard. No traces of Thalarite power like our ships use, but more primitive electrical power can be detected coursing through the ship itself.

How should we proceed?"

Walton let out a small sigh. Well, they had sent out a rather decisive message...but he'd no idea how it would be translated and passed along. The ancient Earth concept of the 'telephone game' came to mind. Still, he didn't want to try to spur a further "dick-measuring contest" as it were. All the same they had to not be meek in their own space, but also not aggressive. With this in mind he would promptly return a response to the Squadron Leader.

"Maintain passive observation of the foreign ship, and do not engage. If weapons begin to power up, or other major aggressive changes occur such as the deployment of smaller craft, alert us ASAP using this same secured emergency channel. Meanwhile take your men and alert Squadon One to take up honor guard formation."

"By you orders, Commander."

The CSS Tokyo would the two deployed squadrons of Xandalian mechs form a corridor for the Heavy Cruiser. Unless the concept had been lost, they would be visibly arranged like the honor guard at a ceremony might be placed. No weapons were pointed at the Heavy Cruiser, though the mechs did wield them, and if the Columbian ship was performing any scans of its own they might notice a lack of traditionally electrical or even nuclear power present on any of the Xandalian vessels. Even so, Brywell's communication through the channels would soon hit the comms of the Xandalians.

"Sir, foreign vessel is hailing us. Shall we connect the updated Translator to the comms for reception?"

"Yes. Ensure we can understand things from their end."

After the pressing of a couple of buttons, the alien message soon was received on the bridge loud and clear.

"This is Captain Brywell of the CSS Tokyo of the United Columbian Republic, we've received your probe's message and have come in peace, do not open fire. I repeat, do not open fire."

Perfect, and a rather human-like name for the ship's leader to boot. It seemed their language wasn't too far off, though the work the translators speeded over to Listening Station Alpha to upgrade the Translator tech with old Earth language information and provided Gusb language keys alongside predictive algorithms had been rather welcome. Well, welcome if not more so expensive and more than a bit stressful for those that had done the work.

"Patch me through to their comms, ensure Translation module is double-checking translations before my communication is sent. If we both this then this could get ugly."

"Yes sir!"

Walton then cleared his throat before speaking over the comms to the Columbian ship.

"Attention CSS Tokyo of the United Columbian Republic, we read you loud and clear. This is Commander Walton Varitian of the XSS Knerian. We welcome you to Xandalian space with open arms. Do not fear, for we mean you no harm. We will only fire if fired upon first.

Two squadrons of our Military-Frames have formed a safe passage for you to pass down, and if you wish to send a smaller craft to bring representation to meet our diplomats our unarmed diplomatic vessels closest to you are open for reception. However, if you possess no capabilities to come to us then we can send representation in one of our smaller craft to come meet on your vessel instead. Whichever measure is most accessible and comfortable for you. Over."

The tension was palpable on the bridge as the Commander spoke, seeking to be as clear and concise as he could without budging so much as a muscle. It was nerve-wracking, even though the crew had been prepared for this as best as the rather limited amount of time had granted them room for. Regardless, there was a silence that seemed to hang over the comms as the Xandalians awaited a response.

Earth: the dead, empty husk of what once played host to endless civilizations, innumerable peoples, infinite faiths and countless philosophies. Where humanity first took its faltering steps. Where societies first came together, rose up, and then crashed into the dust. Where our home was. But it's all ashes now, gray and still. Sorrowful.

The year, if you mark your calendar from the Fall of Earth, has ticked over to 301. It's been three centuries since those who would become the Colonists were cast out from Earth, like seed thrown from the farmer's hand. And now only six months since they reached across the void and found each other once again.

And now they're all arguing.

No, no, that's not the word for it. They're conducting diplomacy. They've been trying to for six months, that is, but there are so many Colonies that they cannot all possibly meet eachother one-on-one. And who knows how many more may come? The Gateways are still opening...

With this in mind, a neutral starbase has been constructed, named the Meeting Place, and expanded upon by many breeds of mankind to have found their way home so far. It's a beautiful mongrel of a station, gigantic and strange, and an event is being held onboard it. In order to avoid any future confusion, all known colonies have been invited to send representatives. Some may not, but of those who do, they will create an official 'description' of their Colony, as they have become since the end of humanity's first birthplace. These descriptions will be recorded, and from there, all Colonies can be considered to know and recognize each other.

A kind of first contact, en masse.

---

---

An alarm goes off on Tanaka's infopad, making him frown. He never liked these things. Afterall, Old Earth didn't have them. And they aren't nice, like holograms. They never speak to you; not even once has his infopad told him to have a nice day. Not even once! How rude is that for a computer?

Like these Zetans. They're computers, too, or they mostly are. He hasn't met one yet, but he had a chance to speak to Abadi about her experiences with them, and they don't seem nice at all. He'll have to talk to some soon, he knows that, because-

"Welcome, Liason Tanaka!"

Is that a better or worse title than Oligarch? Heralds called it a promotion, at least.

"I prefer Cowboy," he jokes. The woman welcoming him, a non-Oligarch who's kicked and clawed to get to this position he's so uncertain about, laughs along.

There's a space up ahead, in this part of the Meeting Place largely constructed by the ECU. Holograms flicker in and out of being, appearing when needed, vanishing when not. And flying cameras hover around, eager to record the new Liason Tanaka's first words. New Hollywood is attending the Event, of course. Oligarchs never turn down an invitation.

"Humans of the Galaxy," the young man begins, finally actualizing the words he's practiced so many times. "I am here on behalf of the Earth Cultural Union. We are a league of mankind, dedicated to preserving the cultures, ways and forms of our great ancestors. We believe in the potential of humanity, but also in respect for our true nature. We believe in the ways of our lost home, and also in the reality of our present situation. If you will hear us, we will work with you, to revitalize all that has been forgotten. To keep the torch of Earth burning bright even through this long night. To stand against the darkness, and not forget who we are. Thank you."

That description will soon be recorded in the databanks of the Meeting Place, and sent out to all other nations who participate in this Event. Even now, the ECU is also hearing the introductions of other Colonies, both friends and strangers. And enemies. The time of first contacts is over. Even Tanaka realizes. It is time for the action to begin.




Savant Heralds is smiling. This in itself is usually a bad thing, but the context makes it even more dubious.

New Hollywood is covered in old ruins from a bygone civilization: the Bezians. They built from a variety of materials, like mankind, but eons have rotted all of them away but the very strongest. Metal alloys are pulled from the scrapped buildings, vehicles, and structures. Not all of it is in good condition, but if centuries of doing this has taught the ECU anything, it's how to refurbish. And that's why Heralds is smiling.

He's speaking to a crowd in front of him, too. A throng of a throng of curious citizens, standing in the crowded streets of Neo London, pushing each other for spots and trying to avoid the gaze of agitated protectors.

The Savant is telling them how another useless, foreign old city has finally been cleared out of everyone's view- always good news- but this time, trust him, it's even greater. Now, that alien old city is being put to a true purpose again. It's bones were melted down, refurbished, and at last fixed into the shape of the First Stand: a brand new fleet of space-worthy ships. The only one in New Hollywood's history, at all, to sit in orbit around this world. A historic moment!

The crowd cheers.

Heralds does not mention, of course, that the design of these ships is nothing noteworthy. In fact, they were almost completely copied from Old Earth data. He realizes that any other Colony who still remembers their past will recognize this engineering. And of course, the materials are less-than-perfect. The Noocracy puts a positive spin on these unfortunate facts:

"Already," Heralds' projected voice booms out through the streets below his feet, and indeed across the entire world, "we have the kind of vessels that have not been since the Fall of our Mother Earth."

The crowd cries out again, stretching Heralds' proud grin further across his face. The real upshot is that, although the ships may be simple and cheap, they really were made with astounding speed. An estimated one million Bezian buildings were scrapped to create them. Never before has the ECU been so lucky to live in the trash of another civilization.

"Our wonderful Protectors," he keeps on, "the long-time defenders of our ways of life, have volunteered to lead these ships into battle. Thousands of them have. We have selected the best of the best, and they'll be the ones to protect us- from the stars!"

Although his right arm waves dramatically to the sky, this is really more mediocre news. The protectors are dedicated, aggressive, and on average, half as smart as a particularly stupid brick. They will surely make relentless killers in one-on-one combat, as they were indoctrinated for. But in the cerebral strategy of space combat?

Well... it's a good thing they're easy to replace. The ships and the protectors both.

~~~~~~~~

"You will not enter our territory. You will not approach us outside of the Meeting Place. You will interact with no New Hollywood citizens. You will offer no implants, nor will you attempt to spread the influence of such devices to the ECU or her allies. If these demands are not followed, we will consider all methods at our disposal, including naval action."

These are just the last few lines of a message sent via probe into the Zetan system, but they contain the flavor of the whole. It's a threat, plain and simple. In their own internal councils, the Oligarchs have already decided there can be no peace- even an unsteady one- with creatures like the cyborgs. They pretend to be humans, but they are no longer. So an example has to be set, for all the other Colonies, and for those generations who may come later. To show that this kind of modification is inexcusable, unacceptable, a bridge too far. They are not declaring war, but they are playing at dominance.

True humans must have power over the machines. And the Galaxy must witness it.

~~~~~~~~

"Guardian Kelsie," Abadi sent her message through the Gateway towards Ellara. In the last 6 months, many Colonies have learned to contact one another in this way. "The ECU is desirous of another meeting between ourselves and the Undefeated, and as you and I have met previously, I was chosen to propose it. You will, of course, remember our discussion with the Zetans." She was talking around the issue, as most Oligarchs do. "During that conversation, certain philosophical questions were raised. About humanity."

She leans into the recording device, almost desperately. "In these last several months, those questions have become far more practical. The Zetans, we believe, may attempt to act on their views. But if I remember, your own views were much more similar to mine. Perhaps you and I should have another conversation."

For anyone smart enough to read through the lines, as Abadi really hoped Kelsie was, the meaning was clear. The Noocracy is spooked about the Zetans, (even though the ECU may be the aggressors) and they want back-up.

"Oh," she adds, in a lighter tone. "And I have some more positive personal news. In our next meeting, I will be Oligarch Abadi." Her Justification had not destroyed her.

Elysium-Psi had become the most violent place on the planet over the past six months. Ranked near the bottom of the Elysium sectors, although it 'flourished' with life when compared to Asphodel or Tartarus sectors, most of it was the kind of large, angry life that Zetans viewed as more trouble than worth to engage with and drive out. The latest initiatives, however, had changed all this. A modified anti-predator form, now simply being referred to as 'light warform,' was stalking across the sand. Its form had been clad in thin, treated leather clothing to keep the exterior somewhat protected from the sweeping sandstorms that could strip layers of skin off like sheets of paper... Not that its prey was having any trouble with the inclement conditions.

At approximately four foot tall from foot to shoulder, and around six foot long, the beast was Ladon- and one of the largest land predators on Zeta-5. Despite its size, its hide had the impressive ability of acting as both ablative and reactive armour. Initially, the thick, rock-like outer layer could keep the Ladon safe from initial strikes, and when that was penetrated its body would immediately 'bloat' out a surge of tissue development in response to the damage. Such a mechanism drained a lot of energy from the creature, but also meant that they were renowned for their toughness...

Until today. The warform brought its gun up to its head- a by-product of its organic inhabitant being trained to do so, and not an actual need to line up sights. Pins on the warform's foot grounded it and steadied it in the whipping air, and then a finger curled down onto a trigger. When it was depressed, an electrical signal rushed up into the weapon's stock and a small ball of steel was dropped into a long, internal groove. Electromagnets on the device briefly flickered on and off, and then, with the crack of a small object breaking the sound barrier, the same ball was sent flying, whistling through the air to carry out its purpose.

The gun itself let out a long hissing noise, jets of steam rushing out of grooves along the gun's barrel. The Ladon, having not heard the 'shot' until far too late, had not moved, the warform approaching it cautiously. The beast's rocklike form had a single, delicate hole in it- punched neatly all the way through and to the other side, where the payload had spiralled through and laded somewhere else. Although the Ladon stood upright still, it was quite dead.

"Reporting weapon test successful."

---

Above Zeta-5's skies, a different sort of weapon was being devised. News of alien empires, domineering and powerful, and the threat of new human colonies attacking them had meant that Zeta had begun to build its naval forces up once more. The gateways offered a unique tactical challenge- Zeta itself had to become a hardpoint, whilst their navy needed to be a spearhead capable of shattering through an opposing hardpoint and delivering ground forces onto a planet. Troop transports then, needed to be small, fast, and as heavily armoured as they could be without compromising on speed and size. As plans for that had been drawn up, work on the hardpoint had begun.

The usual stations Zetans built would not suffice for such a measure. They needed something that could resist and return large amounts of fire, whilst also supporting point-defence and drone/fighter combat- the Aegis ring. Then, on one of the many, many, many, many moons of Zeta-4, a work had begun. The skeleton of what would become the Oistos defence system had been erected- a great hulk of metal and workers. Working on similar, if greatly magnified, version of the electromagnetic systems their ground forces used, the Oistos was a gigantic rail cannon constructed in the low-gravity, no-atmosphere environment of a tidally-locked moon, and thus, as the weapons system was mounted on a rotating plate, could continually maintain overwatch on the Gateway. Unfortunately, such a large device required tremendous energy, and there was only so much they could store in its batteries. After only one or two initial shots, the Oistos would need to spend precious time rebuilding its banks back up to fire successive shots.

These were, of course, still works in progress. Oistos looked to still be several years from completion, and although the core of the Aegis ring had been rapidly put into place, it was a shadow of what the designers had intended- enough to delay an initial assault perhaps, but no more. Zeta's fledgeling navy was in a similar shape- when combined with the embryotic Aegis ring, the Consciousness could likely just about hold their own system from attack, but could hardly launch a counter-strike. Still, progress had been made, and it had been made just in time with the ECU directly threatening them. It would not stand, and Zeta could not be seen as a mindless aggressor. Luckily, the Meeting Place stood ready for diplomatic posturing.

---

Sigma-Devi strode out confidently, and with her, the other star nations got a first glimpse of Zetan militarisation. The warforms that flanked her were uniform white metal, and carried ballistic weapons designed for station combat. Humanoid, yes, with the familiar digitigrade legs and individually articulated fingers, but it was bulkier, moved less lightly... And, of course, wore visible military equipment. To standardise the small warforms with regularly augmented Zeta soldiers, the warforms carried their ammunition in chest rigs and had sidearms on their hips... Although, their electrical defence systems had not been removed.

Sigma-Devi herself looked particularly prim and proper today. Taking to a small podium, cameras having been set up previously to record the message as an introduction to other nations, she cleared her throat properly, then began.

"Kindred of the stars." She began, voice warm and filled with emotion. "We are the Zetan Consciousness, a nation that is unequivocally dedicated to the furthering of mankind's knowledge of the universe, and the ability for each and every individual to reap the benefits of such understanding. We stand upon the shoulders of the giants that once inhabited the planet below us, and build on their knowledge and learning, to push back the darkness of ignorance and hatred, and to overcome any obstacle that stands before a brighter future for us, and for humankind!"

“We are the Undefeated of the planet Ellara. Despite all the perils and trials that we had to overcome just to survive, we never wavered and never surrendered. Yet, we have never strayed away from what it means to be human. We will welcome those who are true to the ideals of our ancestors as our friends, and together we will pass the legacy on to the next generations.” The Grand General waited a few seconds in silence, before turning the recorder off. “So, what do you think?” He turned to Kelsie and Hamonga, who were standing behind him during the short speech. Kelsie as the newly appointed representative of the Undefeated at the Meeting Place. Hamonga as a silent threat. This is what our warriors look like. Be intimidated. “Too pathetic?”

“Just the right amount of pathetic. Let’s hope it brings those more ‘normal’ colonists to us.” And we will need more support. Nations kept to themselves mostly in the past few months, but even then there was some friction between the Zetans and the ECU. The Undefeated stood by the ECU, although no official treaty or an alliance had been debated yet. Still, the Zetans had an undisputable technological advantage over the other two. Even though none of them had any weapons to speak of when they first met each other, both ECU and the Undefeated now had a fleet of spaceships ready to fight. No doubt the Zetans also spent the time preparing for a possible conflict.

“Great. My work here is done then. From now on, you are in charge here, Guardian Blackwood. I will return on the Thorsten and take it back through the Gateway. The Chimera will remain here at your disposal.” The Thorsten was the flagship of the new fleet, the very first battleship designed and constructed on Ellara. It was carrying experimental new plasma-based weapons and deflector shields. While the tests and simulations looked promising, the technology had not been tested in battle conditions yet. Kelsie hoped it would stay that way. The Chimera was a tiny vessel in comparison, sleek and elegant, designed for swift transfers and scouting rather than for combat situations. It was, however, equipped with the best sensors and various scanners available.

The Grand General, Hamonga, and most of the other Undefeated, aside from those that Kelsie chose for her team, have left the station. She watched from the window as the Thorsten made a slow turn, showing off all the new fancy guns. His visit here was a power play, a display of strength. Kelsie could have recorded the message just as well, but Pawlowski insisted on coming in person, bringing the new flagship for a joyride. The other Thorsten-class ships were still under construction, nearing completion, but not flight-ready yet. There were smaller cruisers, troop transporters, fighters, and other types of ships Kelsie had lost track of, some operational and guarding their end of the Gateway, some being finished in one of the new large shipyards that grew on Ellara.

First of all, she decided to take a long hot shower, a thing that had become almost a luxury back home. As nearly all resources were poured into the arms race, other parts of the economy, society, and everyday life had to deal with shortages of all kinds. Most recently, the lack of turbine parts for heating plants caused hot water to become unavailable in the capital and all over the central regions. People weren’t happy about these things, but most of them either believed it was for the good of all Undefeated or were just smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Even so, there have been several arrests and two of the biggest insurgents were publicly executed to remind everyone about the nation’s priorities.



Refreshed and dressed in her brand new uniform (simple, yet elegant black suit with silver-embroidered insignia on her shoulder), she opened the message from Abadi again. Kelsie didn’t have time to respond to her back home and decided it would be better to wait for the Meeting Place completion since they both would probably be stationed there anyway.

“Oligarch Abadi,” Kelsie smiled, glad that Abadi got promoted. Interesting how they nearly started a war and yet both got praised for it. “I will be glad to meet again and continue our discussion. I believe that our governments share a similar point of view on certain… matters. I have just arrived at the Meeting point, perhaps I could come and visit you in the ECU section of the station?” Kelsie could have just as well invited her to the Undefeated part, but there was really not much to see. The ECU, however, had the holoprojectors installed all over their section (or at least that was what the rumors said), and Kelsie was eager to see them.

Xandalian Space
CSS Tokyo
The message by the Xandalians was received, much to the relief of the crew of the Tokyo. Captain Brywell and her bridge staff were gluing their eyes to the rather impressive combat frames escorting them. "Funny, even thousands of lightyears away. The idea of frames found their way here." Brywell said.

"I wonder what led to that." The X.O., a Urkani by the name of Zon Rathit, said, impressed with the designs. Their moment of wonder was interrupted as the message from Xandalians came through. Brywell stood up, looking to her executive officer. "I'm leaving you in command while I fly over to one of their ships." She ordered.

"Understood, ma'am." The X.O. replied, saluting her. "Good luck" Brywell nodded back as she walked past the doors, making a small journey from the command bridge, all the way down to the hanger bay. A Razorwing dropship was prepped and ready for her departure, all the while, she was met with a pair of marines in full armor, as a safety precaution of course. "Ready to head out?" The captain asked her bodyguards.

"Ready as ever, ma'am." One of them replied. She nodded as the trio walked up the boarding ramp, the door shutting behind them as they took their seats, the room brightening up as the engines roared. "Preparing for take off." The pilot announced. The razorwing lifting up, its wings folding back as it jetted out of the hanger bay, approaching one of the designated diplomatic vessels.

---

Some time had past, about a good hour or so, X.O. Rathit, along with the rest of the bridge staff, awaiting with anticipation of what would happen next, the Tokyo herself was an impressive ship but recent scans had shown that Xandalian technology was something else entirely, using power sources that wouldn't even register right on the scanners. Of course, he held on to the hope it wouldn't have to come to fighting. Such thoughts were shoved aside as one of the bridge officers spoke up. "Sir, the captain's bird is returning!"

"Anything going on?" He asked, curious if the talks went wrong.

"Negative sir, no signs of pursuit or weapon discharge."

Rathit sighed with relief. "Good, good. I'll meet with the captain in person." He said as he stood right up and left the bridge. A short while later, rathit found himself in the hanger bay as the captain's razorwing slowly met its descent to solid ground. The boarding ramp lowering as the captain and her guards emerged. "Talks went well I assume?" Rathit asked,

"I would say so!" Brywell replied with a smile. "Nice enough folk. The brass and senate will be interested in further talks."

---

New Hollyword
CSS Overwatch
"Rean, I'm leaving you in command." Hans said as the two brothers strolled down the corridors of the Overwatch, crewmen saluting them as they walked past. "I'll head to the station and see who we're dealing with here." The two walked into an elevator. "Shuttle bay." Hans said, the elevator complying with his command. The doors soon opening to reveal a rather cramped space, two shuttle craft jammed.

"Just be careful out there, Hans." Rean said, a bit anxious of the current situation. This is all so new to him, him and everyone else on board, Hans was better at hiding his doubts. "Relax, pretty confident these guys won't start firing at us. We got this far, right?"

Rean nodded. "Right." Hans patted his younger brother on the shoulder. "In and out, promise."

A short while later, Rean had returned to the command bridge, just in time to see his brother off as the shuttle departed, clearly visable from the bridge, approaching the nearby station.

---

A good hour had past since Hans' departure, the bridge crew going about their duties, if a bit bored. Rean on the other hand, had glued his eyes on the station for any suspicious activity, and so far, there was none, thankfully. Soon, Hans' shuttle was spotted leaving the ECU station by the ship's sensors. "Sir, the captain's ship is en route...no hostile activity."

After some time had passed. Hans had finally returned to the bridge, all eyes on him. "So..how did it go?" Rean asked.

"Pretty well, I think. The ECU are very...peculiar. They take cultural preservation very seriously. I don't know if that is a good or bad thing...regardless, the higher ups will want to hear of this, set a course home."

"Aye aye, captain!"

Flicker, flicker, steady. Little golden lights come into being, hovering in empty air before Savant Heralds, each one in perfect representation of a ship currently orbiting over New Hollywood. If you look closely enough, you can even see the weapons, the windows, the outline of a pilot in a fighter. They remind him of the models he used to assemble as a child, and for a moment, this serious-minded man feels like a kid playing with toys again.

But he's not. He's the leader of a planet, and each one of these little holo-models is, in fact, a real ship. As he runs his hands through the Encore, he knows that real cruiser is floating over his head somewhere, ready for war. If only they were all like that one.

Many more of these lights represent the meat of the ECU's navy: repurposed and hastily built. Heralds sees models of shuttles with railguns attached, and asteroid miners with armor bolted on. Such thrown-together ships make up at least half the navy, and the other half: exact clones of Old Earth ships.

Fighters, corvettes, cruisers and a half-finished battleship. All looking like they could be three centuries old. If it wasn't for all the gold paint. Why did it need to be gold? Heralds had proposed gray, but the other Oligarchs do occasionally overrule him. Better, he decides, to be out-voted on aesthetic than on warfare.

That's why this holo-display is set up in his office. It lets him see each ship and each potential battle as it happens in real-time. And not only that: he motions with his finger for a fighter (which is actually a science ship with a cannon) to move to Encore's flank, and it actually does. Both the holo-model, and the real ship. From here, this little gray office with no speck of color but this cylindrical projector emerging from the floor, a man can send orders to an entire fleet. Heralds considers it his best move yet.

If the protectors cannot think, he decides, than their Savant will have to do the thinking for them.




The first thing to catch her attention is the grass. Then the sun. Then, maybe, it's the trees, the distant river, or perhaps the double-rainbow arching overhead. Either way, all at once, she knows where she is. And so she scowls.

Ever since she saw the real Earth, that defeated lump of clay outside, Abadi hasn't been able to stand Earth holo-programs. They just feel like... a lie. She doesn't even know why, since they're as real as any hologram, but that's been the unshakeable impression she's carried ever since that faithful day six months ago. It was the same day she argued with the Zetans, nearly started a war, somehow laid the groundwork for a promotion, and met Kelsie.

So, there were at least two bright spots to all this. Even if Undefeated culture did scare her a bit, she liked Kelsie. That's why she's here- it's not like she came to the Meeting Place to talk to Tanaka.

"So, you like it?" he's asking her. "Does it seem like a good representation of Earth? Or, of uh, ECU longterm terraforming goals?"

It takes her eyes some time to swivel over to where 'Liason' Tanaka is, standing there with that same cowboy hat he wears every day. She wishes he were quieter. Is he even technically an Oligarch anymore?

"The double-rainbow might be a bit much," she confesses, but his stricken expression makes her regret it.

"Oh," he says, and this time he is quiet. "Sorry, Heralds told me to make it perfect." Why does he worship Heralds so much? Abadi doesn't even like the Savant. She doesn't know any other Oligarchs who legitimately do, either. They all get roped into voting for him from threats or empty promises, or sometimes neither, sometimes he just spins a lot of words and has you doing what he asks before you even realize it. But Tanaka's not like that. He actually believes in Heralds. Loves him. Poor guy.

"It's fine," she says. "I'm sorry, it is perfect." A moment passes. "Anyway, I gotta go. I have that meeting, and everything."

"Yeah, yeah, for sure," Tanaka says without looking back at her. "See you later."

Oligarch Abadi exits the Meeting Place holo-suite, leaving the Liason staring at his double-rainbow that isn't there.





"Yes, I am in the ECU area of the Meeting Place currently, and we are able to receive you at your leisure. We look forward to productive talks." A simple and short message, considering they'll be meeting as soon as Kelsie's free.

Abadi looks out of the window of her borrowed office, a second-story room that overlooks the main area of the ECU's station. She knows her people have little experience with truly complex constructions, so their contribution to the Meeting Place is, well, a bit of a mess. But at least, it's one well-hidden by showiness.

Golden drapes cover piping, while complimentary wine platters hide the ventilation. Museum-like displays reveal scenes and artifacts from the golden ages of Earth. Holographic letters float in the air, declaring "Welcome to the E.C.U." in a font inspired by the Las Vegas signs of Old Earth. And finally, red carpets lead guests to the important facilities: the embassy, the holo-suite, and of course, the fully-manned 24/7 bar.

She's already set her holo-butler to appear when Kelsie enters through the big, arched doorway. He'll politely lead her through all that up to this little corner of the place, where hopefully, they can talk business.