It seemed that whatever the ECU did, they did it with style. Or at least with a chaotic mixup that was apparently considered stylish on New Hollywood. Kelsie was standing at the entrance to the ECU section of the Meeting Place, trying to take in all those things in front of her. Golden drapes. Red carpets. Fancy signs and letters hovering in the air. And of course, people dressed in the most ridiculous outfits. Even though she was invited, she felt like an intruder here. Regardless, she took a step inside and nearly had a heart attack, as a male figure appeared in front of her out of thin air.

“Guardian Blackwood, welcome, you are expected. Please allow me to lead you to Oligarch Abadi’s office,” he told her.

Kelsie realized she was instinctively reaching for her sidearm, or at least when the gun would be under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances, so she was unarmed and alone. She forced herself to calm down, taking a closer look. The hologram was a middle-aged man that appeared to be balding, dressed in sort of a uniform that included a tailcoat, with a slightly disturbing smile on his face. “Ehm. Yes. Thank you.”

He bowed and gestured her to follow, walking over one of the fancy red carpets. Kelsie stopped after a few seconds, looking around curiously. “Please follow me,” the hologram said in the same tone as before, but somehow sounding impatient now.

“Sure, sure. So, you are a hologram?”

The man stood up straight. “I am a holo-butler, part of the new diplomatic holosuite collection. I was programmed to serve the embassy employees and fulfill their and their guests’ wishes.”

“Interesting. Can I touch you?” Kelsie hesitated a bit but then decided that a computed program probably wouldn’t get offended.

“I was programmed to serve the embassy employees and fulfill their and their guests’ wishes,” he repeated.

Kelsie took it as a yes and slowly poked the man’s hand. It felt strange, like a hard surface, not at all soft and warm as you would expect from touching someone’s skin. Still, creating something solid with just projected light seemed almost like magic to her. She smiled, thinking she should have brought Julianna with her. Her new personal assistant would be thrilled about the technology. “Can you fight?” The soldier in her was always interested in the practical side of things. “Hurt someone?” Could that thing kill a trained soldier?

Butler frowned a bit. “I was programmed to…” he started again.

“To serve, yes I heard. But what if there was an intruder? An attack on Oligarch’s life?” Kelsie interrupted him.

The hologram was silent for a second. “I have no combat procedures. Please follow me.” He turned and started walking away, apparently considering the debate closed. So there were some combat procedures? Kelsie quickly followed, thinking about how those things could be incredibly useful in training.

“Oligarch Abadi,” she smiled at the woman, entering the spacious office. “Allow me to congratulate,” she said and really meant it, the memories of the day she got promoted to the Guardian running through her head. Finally, a reward for the years of hard work. “I am glad that we could meet again and that our governments seem to share a similar… attitude towards the Zetans.” Kelsie was just guessing, but given the fact that Abadi got promoted and not fired, the ECU probably agreed with what she said. “I think we can find more common ground in that matter. Also, I have to say that your holographic technology is just…,” she paused, looking for the right word, “... incredible.”

All that had happened outwards had drawn the Collectives memory inwards. To long ago- before the 'Consciousness' had had any idea of what they would become, and where he next step they would take in artificial evolution would lead them. Back when Elysium-Alpha had been the only settlement, an eked-out existence a kilometre and a half below the surface. Down there, in the dark, drawing power through thin lifelines up to solar panels, things had been hard.

Much of Zeta-5's life relied on the subterranean environment to provide it cover from the extreme surface world. Like most inhabitable planets, once you got down into the crust, temperatures evened out and weather was no longer a factor. A searfront could roll by your burrow and you'd survive, safe and sound, where the heat wouldn't concern you. The initial tunnels, un-guarded and carved directly into the rock, were prime targets for the deepest of Zeta's burrowing life- large, annelid-looking things, harmless yet terrifying, bastard-born swarms of foul-smelling yet tiny predators, drawn to the vibrations of daily life, and more besides. Firearms were too risky in the enclosed conditions to be used, so instead colonists found themselves fighting back vermin with their tools- hand drills, mattocks and pickaxes.

Back then, hydroponics had been worth giving your life for. The precious seedlings were what sustained the colony- leafy greens, protein-filled mushrooms and nuts, flavourful fruits. What was one life in exchange for the wellbeing of all those in the colony? Such hardships had bonded them closer, but also made them more fragile. Their politicians had become dictators, consolidating power around them and their parties 'for the best' of the colony.

The Collective, when it had first been formed, was little more than the internet in one's head. At first, people were inducted slowly, through exterior gadgets, and only when the technology had improved that it did burrow into their skulls and start to replace their grey matter. Not for centuries had the Collective implanted a fully grown adult, and the technology had advanced oh-so-much since then... But they had a new challenge. Induction.

---

The ECU would be sure to make this out to be some kind of aggressive action. In truth, it had been Bodi's idea in the first place. Disrespected, ground down and displeased, when it had been made clear that the Zetan ambassadors were no longer welcome in the Cultural Union's borders, they had surreptitiously smuggled out the good doctor with them. Nobody had noticed for long enough for the crew to slip through the gateway and back to the Zeta system, and now, after two weeks in the space between stars, the ship came down towards the surface of the fifth planet from the sun of Zeta.

The Collective was… Unsure if this would work. Normally, induction occurred prior to puberty- prior, in fact, prior to the ability for humans to recall memories when they were older. This was a new one. An entirely new one. The ship that had conveyed their first foreign citizen touched down into Elysium-Alpha to a flurry of activity. No sooner had the doors of the craft opened before they were beset by a contingent of doctors and scientists standing by, all displaying a vast and dizzying variety of augmentations to better serve their purposes. The maglev to the surface had been cleared in preparation for the doctor’s arrival, and although there were no journalists, the entire Collective was tuning in to the show.

“Welcome to Zeta-5,” a tall, handsome, and extremely augmented gentleman declared. “No time to waste: we’re going to try the implants ASAP.”

Dr. Bodi, potential ECU defector and very frightened man, only nodded. "I… see." Ever since meeting the Zetans for the first time six months earlier, aboard the Listening Post he worked on, he felt a deeper connection to them than he ever had in his own nation. The Zetan diplomats were polite and considerate, whereas any Oligarch only treated legitimate scientists as tools to be used or dirty secrets to be hidden.

No, no, it went deeper than that. Any diplomat would be polite. But the ECU once promised the doctor a future, and when his heart gave out and had to be replaced with a prosthetic, attitudes changed. They were so concerned with preserving the human form that even that small replacement was something horrid. It made him less-than-human. New Hollywood hadn't been his home since; they holed him up at the Listening Post, where he met the Zetans.

Dr. Bodi took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's go."

The Mag-Lev spooled up and off the ground, then fired its engines. “This,” explained Bodi’s new guide, “Is Elysium-Alpha. The whole of Zeta-5 is broken down into 3 sectors, each carrying twenty-four subsectors, denoting their viability for life and usefulness to us as colonists. Elysium holds the best, brightest and most valuable sectors, whilst Tartarus holds the least valuable and most dangerous. Most all Zetan settlements are located deep beneath the surface- our hydroponic plants don’t much like the radiation on the surface.”

Bodi chuckled at this. "Our people don't much like radiation on the surface."

“True enough. It’s why we only head to the surface once we’ve shed enough to keep ourselves safe.”

Their vehicle was currently moving just slightly slower than the sound barrier. At this speed, it took only a minute or two to descend down to the main ‘city,’ not that Bodi would be seeing much of it, as they instead hurried to the main medical facility of Elysium-Alpha. Sleek, clean and sterile, the people inside parted to allow the team through.

“We can’t put you under for the operation. It’s simply too risky. We’ll apply a local anaesthetic, but it’s likely it won’t penetrate deep enough to make you entirely numb to the sensation. We’ll try to make it as easy on you as we possibly can.” A long pause. “And, I suppose, the good news is that the brain doesn’t hold any pain receptors.”

Ah, good news. Yes. That's good news.

Bodi briefly considered running away instead. But his mouth instead said "Yes, alright." It was too late to reconsider.

Bodi was unceremoniously stripped and asked to lie down on a custom-produced hospital bed. The headrest had a looped shape to it, keeping his head in place whilst allowing direct access to the back of it and his neck. “Apologies,” one of the doctors said, pulling a strap across his scalp and tightening it down. “This must all feel rather inhumane, but it’s best not to take chances.”

Well, thought Bodi. It could be worse. They could be using even more straps.

More straps applied to his arms and legs, and then, when all was ready, he would feel a cold gel applied to his neck and lower head. The sensation spread inwards, penetrating the skin and sapping sensation away from his flesh, until the entire area couldn’t feel a thing.

“Vital signs reading normal. Elevated heart rate. Nervous?” One of the doctors asked him, although they already knew his answer.

"Oh, you know what I'm thinking already," Bodi answered from the bed. It was meant to be a light-hearted joke, but probably didn't come out that way.

“Preparing site.” There was a quick hissing noise, and then the rather disgusting smell of hair being scorched off. “Don’t worry,” the doctor remarked. “It’s just a medical grade razor. No blade means nothing to sterilise.” Then came the instrument itself. Just one- so innocent, so… Innocuous. A plain metal spike, splitting open to reveal a needle. A large needle, a very thick, sharp, and pointy needle, but just a needle.

“Inserting.” As promised, there was a tweak of pain as the needle eased its way through the numbed portion of Bodi’s flesh, and into the still-sensitive part. Still, it slid deeper, until the man could feel an odd sensation- a piece of metal scratching at his skull.

“Bone reached. You’re going to feel a sharp pinch,” the doctor warned. A muffled click sounded from inside his head, accompanied by a dagger of pain, and then the needle continued past, into the senseless brain matter underneath.

Bodi’s fingers gripped onto the bed as he tried not to scream. That was not a pinch. That was a whole stab into his brain, but at least, it was subsiding as they went deeper. A small mercy. Did they use anaesthetic when they did this on infants? Or was every Zetan traumatized at an early age? Did the Collective carry a group trauma that nobody ever acknowledged?

The man decided to focus on this, rather than all of what was going on around (and now, inside) him.

“Reached grey matter.” There was a long pause.

“Nanite spike deploying.” The plunger was depressed, and the payload of microscopic robots was deployed into Dr. Bodi’s brain. The needle slid cleanly out, the doctor wiping away a dot of blood, then spraying on a sterile ‘foam’ of neutered nanites, which would patch the skull, sew the skin together and then harmlessly pass into his bloodstream to be filtered by his kidneys and deposited as waste. “Right. Nanites are currently dormant. Activation signal in

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

Activating.”

A few seconds went by. Dr. Bodi started to think it wasn’t going to work, and then, he realized the doctor was thinking the same thing. From a different perspective, anyway, because the Zetan doctor knew much more about…

Wait. Bodi thought. How do I know that?

Picking up nanite surge. They’re multiplying. Neural tissue being modified… the words weren’t spoken, yet Bodi heard them. The same way he heard the thoughts, maybe even the feelings, of the men and women in the room with him. And the adjacent room… and then…

Like a bird’s eye view, but from the level of individuals rather than over their heads, he could suddenly feel the building around him- or, the people within it. He witnessed through their eyes, through the eyes of a man briefly on the surface, hearing through the ears a woman in orbit, and finally, knowing the anxieties of an explorer far, far on the other end of a Gateway.

“...oh,” he said, as if that covers it. “That’s what it’s like.”

Nanite appetite is stabilising, they’re settling into normal transcendence routines. Activating medical nanites… Now… He would feel a tingling sensation as the medical robots did their job. Complete. Welcome to the Collective, Dr Bodi… Or, how does ‘Alpha-Bodi’ sound to you?

---

Most Zetans no longer feared radiation. The simple fact of the matter was that it posed much less of a threat to humans forged from metal than it did those still comprised of flesh. Replaced organs, dermal coverings and their deeply-dug tunnels kept them safe, even when they left those tunnels for the surface, but there was one part of Zetan society that still had to be kept radiation-free... Their plants.

All of Zeta's half-a-billion strong population was supplied by their farms. A combination of hydroponic, aeroponic and tissue-culture plants were carefully groomed for maximum yields with minimal resources. Although most Zetans took this system for granted, it was oh-so-very fragile. It only took one or two things going wrong for a catastrophic cascade of events to knock out most of Zeta's food supplies, and although they could be regrown and stores would keep Zetans alive, there was no doubt that they were the most vulnerable of all the Consciousness' systems.

Because of this, should fighting enter the tunnels, and Zetans once again had to fight for their homes, their current weapons were unacceptable. The deleterious effects of their fusion batteries were a boon when scorching enemy soil, but down in the tunnels all they would do was seal the Consciousness' doom if improperly used. Thus, the subterranean theatre had required its own developments.

First and foremost was the upgrading of current radiation countermeasures. It had been floated that, against a sufficiently threatening enemy, it might be possible to 'flood' passages and rooms with bursts of gamma radiation. Around 30 grays of ionizing radiation, although invariably fatal within only a few days, could be extremely potent in the short term- just minutes after such exposure burns, nausea, vomiting, headaches and worse would cripple enemy troops, rendering them easy picking for infantry.

Said infantry would need to equip themselves with different weapons to their surface-fighting brethren, and it had been found in classic weapons from old Earth- firearms. The tunnels of their forebearers were far too risky to use firearms in, but Zetans had built them sturdier and safer in the intervening decades. Automatic shotguns and compact rifles, in combination with melee weapons would defend Zetan homes, children, and crops.

They could only pray these preparations were in vain.

Abadi smiles back at her guest- a warm, inviting, and above all, genuine smile. Or at least it's supposed to be. She's been practicing for three hours.

"Yes, our holograms are one of our people's triumphs. It brings our past to the present, so to speak. Can I offer you something?" Diplomatic talk, but they really did have every refreshment imaginable on hand. "Since the terraforming of New Hollywood has been under way, we've been able to grow anything from green tea to genuine chocolate. Trust me, it's much better than synthesized stuff."

Today, given the militant nature these talks might take, Abadi wore the most authoritative clothes she could think of. Middle ages metal armor, with the exception of high-heeled shoes, and a Queen's Guard 'bearskin' hat. Armed in such an outfit, the Oligarch intends to propose a mutual defense treaty between the ECU and the Undefeated, and if things flow especially well tonight, perhaps even float the suggestion of a pre-emptive strike against their shared threat.

"And I do appreciate the congratulations," Abadi continues. "Becoming an Oligarch is a lifelong goal for ma- hold on." Her infopad beeps an emergency signal, and as soon as she takes it out to check, she is suddenly flying to her feet. Her eyes are wide open in shock. Before Kelsie can even try asking what's wrong, a man in a turban and hammer pants runs by shouting "They took him, they just took him!" Nobody knows who he's trying to inform.

The holo-butler appears again, and without being asked, gently helps Abadi back into her seat. She's visibly shaken. "I'm sorry," she says to her guest. "We have just received urgent news." She looks Kelsie in the eyes.

"The Zetans have kidnapped an ECU citizen."




"On of our own!" the man in the army outfit is shouting. "This was one of our own people, a loyal man of New Hollywood, and these- these monsters took him!"

He's only one of hundreds of protestors on the streets of New Beijing, New Paris, Neo London, and more. They're carrying signs, things like "Bring Back Bodi!" and "Our Doctor, Our Man!" In a stroke of brilliance, one cardboard sign reads "He wasn't just any Bodi!" A sort of makeshift shrine to him sits in the corner between a holo-suite and a public restroom, adorned with flowers, his picture leaning against the brick wall. The people of New Hollywood are not religious, but if they were, they'd be praying for him.

As it is, military action will have to do.

Overhead, countless fleets of makeshift ships flock through orbit, dipping low enough for the crowds to witness them, shrieking on their way to the Gateway. They're not entering it. Not quite yet, because they await a single order. And there's only one man who can give it.





"Wait," Savant Heralds tells the council.

"For what? What are we waiting for?! They took our scientist!" An old Oligarch cries. He says it in much the same way a child would say 'He stole my toy!'

"Wait," Heralds repeats again, no louder than before. There's no reason to yell. They can't overrule him on this. The ships are manned by protectors, and Savant's Third Principle is clear on who commands the protectors. "This is my order to give. And I will not give it if we rush to defeat."

First, he explains to his audience of powerful but very angry Oligarchs, they would reach out to potential allies. He assures them that the most capable young ruler, one Abadi, is working over the Undefeated as they speak. In the meantime...

"We reach out to you," the encrypted message, addressed to the United Republic of Colombia, reads, "because we believe you hold humanity sacred. Yes, we have heard of your history. Your legendary fight against the Yulzan aliens inspires us all. But sadly, we have also heard of your supposed friendship with these Zetans. And so we wish to inform you that recently, they have kidnapped an ECU citizen, one of our own, and likely subjected him to unknown tortures. They have done this without reason or provocation. Are these creatures your friends? We would never imagine such things from your great peoples..."

In this way, the letter goes on to imply that the URC should distance itself from the Zetan Consciousness. The last few lines, boldly, even hint that the Colombians may be rewarded for joining the side of the ECU in this coming conflict. But this is only throwing darts in the dark. Really, the Cultural Union is more afraid that the URC will attempt to defend the Zetans against this attack, and this message is intended to cast doubts on their plans. Hopefully, it will succeed.




"'Ay, 'ay, darlin'!" a New Paris writer is trying very hard to catch up with an Oligarch, who is trying very hard to walk away from him. "Listen, I promise, this is the biggest thing since Elvis!"

The Oligarch sighs, and turns around. Her eyes have to drop down to where the hyperactive writer is standing. "I will hear out your whole proposal right now if you can tell me who Elvis was."

The man smiles like he just got handed a blank check, because for all intents and purposes, he did. "Eh, he was some music guy or somethin'- so, so, my plan is this, right, we go to those Xandalians or whatever they're called..."

He goes on to explain, with twice as much repetition and half as much detail as needed, a 'perfect scheme' to get the Xandalians in on the war effort. They've been receiving ECU media for months now. Movies, plays, you name it. Most of them are just repurposed holo-programs, made for a non-interactive environment, but now the writer wants to make stories exclusively for non-ECU nations.

"It's the perfect scheme!," he says again. "We can show them whatever we want, make them think like us here on New Hollywood think! Make the whole galaxy, you know, believes the things we believe! It's, what do you call it, a Fernanda!"

"Propaganda," the Oligarch answers him. "The word for this is propaganda." But she's smiling.





A few hours have passed since the news dropped, and the dust is only now settling in the ECU embassy. Abadi begged her guest to stay while she coordinates with the Noocracy back home, but when she walks back into the office where Kelsie waits for her, she looks even more nervous than before. The hat and the heels only partially hide it.

"Guardian Blackwood," Abadi begins, "My government has informed me we are... declaring war. This is going to happen now, no matter what. We cannot overlook a human being, kidnapped from his own place of work. The Zetans will be punished for this. We only have one question for your people.

"Will you join us?"



"They tryin' to figure out if those 'Undefeated' boys are gonna come with," one protector tells another. "That's why they got us floatin' up here by the Gate like sittin' ducks. Waitin' on their answer."

His fighter's comm system picks up the return message: "What, don't they think we can handle it? I've beat up lots of people before. I bet I can bust up some walking toaster."

Alone in his ship, the protector laughs proudly. He can't wait.

Kelsie tried to remain calm, as the ECU embassy around her turned into chaos. Why would the Zetans do that? They must have realized that kidnapping someone would be considered a hostile action and would directly lead to war. Or were they just so far from human beings they didn’t care anymore? Then the debates around her revealed that the man was in fact a scientist. That made much more sense. Kelsie shivered. Poor man, what are they going to do to him to get to ECU secrets?

She used the time to inform everyone of the current situation, both her associates here on the station and the high command back on Ellara. So far she received about eight angry texts from the Reapers Squad members and other military personnel stationed on the Meeting Place, asking if they could go and kick the clankers’ asses. She gave a strict order on no hostile actions on the diplomatic grounds and recalled everyone back to their section of the station, just to be safe. There was no response from Ellara yet other than a message received confirmation.

---

Oscar Pawlowski was enjoying his morning swim. It was too early and the pool was still closed to the public, but being the Grand General did have some perks. Along with a huge pile of responsibilities. But he was trying to not think about those now, his body moving in a steady rhythm, his head clear at least for these few precious minutes. He didn’t bring any communication devices with him. No messages, reports, debates, and speeches, this was his time of the day and his subordinates knew very well not to disturb him unless a disaster was on the way. That’s why he winced a bit seeing a nervous soldier on the side of the pool, just enough to kick him out of his rhythm.

“What?” he barked at the soldier, treading water.

“Sir, there is an urgent message from Guardian Blackwood.”

Oscar frowned. It must have been something serious, otherwise they wouldn’t dare to bother him at this time of day. He swam to the side of the pool, jumped out, and grabbed a towel. “So?”

“Apparently the negotiations with the ECU went very well, they seemed to be open to forming a defensive pact.” The man paused and the Grand General gritted his teeth. If this is all that he came with, he is getting his ass demoted to dust. “But during the talks, the ECU representative received a message,” the soldier quickly continued, seeing the look on Oscar’s face. “Apparently the Zetans have kidnapped an ECU citizen, a scientist.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, thinking about everything that needed to be done now. “Call all available Guardians to an emergency meeting. All personnel assigned to the ships will report on board immediately. Finish the resupply and get every available vessel to the Gateway. Code red, battle-ready. We are at war now.”

“Sir, no war has been declared yet, we…”

“There is no other possible action that the ECU can take in response to this,” Oscar replied, vigorously scrubbing his short hair with a towel. “Message Blackwood to tell the ECU we will stand by their side if they decide to take actions against the Zetans. Go! And bring me some clothes!”

---

Claire was sitting on the ground near a shield generator installed on the Thorsten, running tests for what felt like the millionth time. Everything seemed to be in order, but will it actually hold in a real battle? She wished it wouldn’t come to that but already knew that those wishes won’t come true. It would be a miracle if the Undefeated didn’t get themselves involved in some conflict. If only they gave her enough time to figure out how to get the shield generators onto the smaller ships, like the one Kelsie had on the Meeting Place. Claire wanted nothing more than to protect her daughter. Not that Kelsie cared for it.


She almost didn’t recognize her. Her little girl had grown into an adult woman. Guardian uniform, short military haircut, and a stern look on Kelsie’s face, all those things tore Claire’s heart apart, although she did her best not to let it show.

“Kelsie, I…” She spent years preparing for this moment, yet still didn’t know what to say.

“I thought you were dead.” Kelsie interrupted her. “When Hamonga told me that they stopped you from blowing up the Citadel, I just assumed they executed you right on the spot. Maybe it would have been better.” Kelsie’s voice was cold. “Seriously, mom? After all that bullshit about saving lives?”

Claire’s eyes sank. “I… I wasn’t in a good place after your father died.”

“Don’t you dare to talk about him!” Kelsie leaped to Claire, hissing right into her face. “It was all your fault, you poisoned his mind with your insane ideas! Peace and love, we could all hold hands and hug the Screechers,” she snorted, pausing for a bit and stepping back to regain composure. “Only reason I am here is that the Grand General ordered me to, since you won’t finish your research until you see me. Well, you have seen me, mother, so get back to work. And do not contact me again.” Kelsie turned away and left, slamming the door behind her, leaving Claire alone in her world of remorse.

The datapad on her lap beeped, signaling yet another successful simulation and mercifully pulling her out of the painful memory. Claire rested her head against the cold metal. It will work. It has to. Maybe if we put smaller converters in parallel? But how to deal with the feedback loop? There is no way to safely discharge the capacitors on a smaller ship, unless...

The sound of the ship's alarm interrupted her thoughts. The signal lights started blinking red and a voice came out of the shipwide intercom. “Attention, all personnel. Code red. All assigned crewmembers will report to their battle stations. I repeat. Code red.”

So they did it. Code red. War. Six months since meeting other humans, other civilizations. And there is a war already. Guess we should be grateful it didn’t come earlier. Claire hoped that the Meeting Place would remain neutral ground and Kelsie would be safe there, but she couldn’t be sure. Nobody really shared any tactical information with her. She was here just to keep the shields and new weapons operational.

---

“Captain on deck!” one of the officers yelled as Oscar entered the bridge of the Thorsten.

“At ease, people. So, how are we doing?” He turned to his Executive Officer, a young man named Alex Cooper.

“All crew members are on board and everything is ready. We only managed to load about half of the designated food supplies, but our ammunition stocks are at 95%.”

Oscar nodded and moved to one of the screens that showed the positions of the entire fleet. It was an impressive sight, especially given the fact that six months ago the only spacecraft they had were a few small space shuttles. Now, after a relentless effort of thousands of people, eight large battleships were floating near the Gateway, accompanied by a number of smaller vessels. Since several of the battleships still needed some more work to be done on them and the Gateway would still need to be protected against possible intruders, it was decided that only half of the fleet would go to support the ECU attack.

Four Battleships equipped with the new deflector shields. Three of them were armed with a combination of projectile weapons, missile launchers, and new plasma cannons. The fourth ship, the Sonne, was designed as a fleet carrier, harboring dozens of small fighters. Several Destroyers, smaller ships carrying immense firepower but very vulnerable to attacks especially from enemy fighters, were safely hidden in the middle of the formation, protected by the Battleships and a number of Cruisers. Cruisers were essentially smaller versions of the Battleships, having decent shields as well as an arsenal of weapons.

“They are all ready to go, waiting for your orders, General.”

“Good. It shouldn’t take long now.”

---

Kelsie stood up as Abadi returned to the office. She still couldn’t get used to the woman’s appearance, but the situation was too grave for her to start laughing. Still. Metal armor? That had to be incredibly uncomfortable. Not talking about the tall fluffy hat, clinging dangerously from side to side as Abadi moved.

She nodded as Abadi gave her the news. An expected development. Still the word sent shivers down her spine. War. And this time not against some primitive creatures armed with spears.

“I have already talked to my government and the decision was unanimous. We will support you. Our fleet is ready for a coordinated attack on Zeta-5.”

God help us.

The Consciousness had seen the war preparations. It would be impossible not to. Dr. Bodi had been reassured that none within the Consciousness were upset with him: That the ECU was so unreasonable was not his fault. Now, Sigma-Devi's feet clacked hard against the steel surfaces of the space station above Earth, and she, along with Alpha-Newton, settled in to make an announcement.

"It has come to my attention." She declared authoritatively. "That the ECU has been spreading lies, falsehoods and misinformation about a diplomatic incident that occurred between our nations. As a representative of the Zetan Consciousness, we would like to make it unequivocally clear that under no circumstances would Zetans capture, kidnap or otherwise forcefully take the citizens of another star nation." She paused for emphasis. "Did Dr. Bodi leave the ECU Gateway station on a Zetan vessel? Yes. Is Dr. Bodi currently on Zeta-5? Yes. However." Another long pause, and Alpha-Newton's eye-projector shone out an image of Dr. Bodi, seemingly unaugmented, healthy, and well.

"Dr. Bodi came to us Because he felt he was being mistreated by the Earth Cultural Union authorities. He believed that his health-based prosthetic, the one that kept him alive, was causing him to be discriminated against. He gave us credible proof of this, and asked, quite willingly, to come with us of his own volition. We have not augmented him against his will. We have not tortured him. All we have done is take in a refugee, and like any empathetic, reasonable nation, we did so." She let out a long breath.

"Any military action taken based on this will be considered a violation of Zetan sovereignty, and we will use any and every method at our disposal to protect our people."

---

Can we safely accelerate transcendence protocols? The group mind was abuzz with war preparations. In the space near the gateway, ships clustered about- swarming like a throng of insects protecting their hive. The Oistos construction site had been hastily disguised, in an attempt to avoid destruction should the worst occur. Colonists on Z and 3 had been busy turning their peaceful surface stations into bastions to protect against ground assault from... And in their minds, work was underway on preserving those who might lose their physical forms in this confrontation.

Theoretically, yes, however... We'd need to stimulate nanite colonies. We know what happens when they get too hungry.

Is that not an advantage? As long as the mind is still fit for transcendence, the nanite surge targeting non-neural tissue could be beneficious for soldiers on the field.

If the nanites were designed for such a thing, yes, but they don't reknit non-neural tissue together properly. They're just not designed for that. We can't build them for everything.

Can we start slower stimulations?

That wouldn't be effective for what we need. We need to ensure individuals who die in conflicts that might start any day now are able to transcend normally.

It has to be rapid then, and if the nanites get overstimulated, we just move them into warforms.

This is... Does this not make us who they think we are?

They forced our hand in this. Don't mistake pragmatism for evil.

--=Around 6 Months Previously, Auriga Star System, Aktov Station, Gateway Transit Point.

The re-opening of the Gateway had come as something of a shock to the various member Republics of Auriga - particularly those in the shadow of Vastergeant. It didn't take long before history was remembered, with the first probe dispatched being practically torn to shreds upon its entry into the gateway - the response had been the redployment of Aktov Station and a constant transmission of warning through the gateway - someone had to of reactivated them, after all - as a team of scientists began to work on the problem that initially had damaged the Auriga expedition and now made the gateway a death trap.

On Auriga in Svoboda, a full convention of the various parties and influential figures of the republics had ccome to pass. Many argued to leave well enough alone, Auriga was vast and still far from exploited, with the revolution still continuing to lift up the lowest to standards of living that had far been out of reach for most of the citizens of Auriga, but it was not a widespread viewpoint. As evidence that transmissions - garbled and using codes that made even that difficult to discern, yet clearly artificial, the choice became even more clear. The gateway had to be made usable, for the safety of others if not purely for Aurigan use, at the very least, and there would no doubt be much that Auriga could do for those that were out there. Svoboda became consumed by the new opposing sides - those who would extend the friendly hand of the workers - and those who argued that our own history extensively proved that the revolution would have to be a forceful affair if it had not already succeeded elsewhere.

These arguments remained unresolved - though the mainstream dove parties had more than enough support to quieten them as the science teams reported success. The gravitational forces of Vastergeant and the Gateway were so perfectly juxtaposed that the violent gravitational shear it caused upon transit could be ameliorated by a directed energetic pulse from Aktov Station, over time, this state could possibly become permanent, but with skill the shear could be navigated - as long as it was mapped. With its forces quitened, this other course would also be taken.

The Naval Expansion bill of the next Assembly passed with full Presidium support.

----


--=ADV Auriga-3, Diplomatic Shuttle, Present Day

The calming of the gateway had come with knowledge of the creation of the so called "Meeting Place" - Auriga had remained aloof, distant and quiet. There was clearly a developing situation amongst the emerging powers of post-Earth mankind, and Auriga had been unsure of how to approach it. No-one had been cleared through the Gateway and only the most limited of scouting and diplomatic missions had gone ahead without much fanfare or interest except for in the supposed place of Unity, at least for now.

Auriga had secured an Office - and today was the day that they had finally dispatched a diplomatic staff, if a small one. Katrina Gupta had been chosen after a long Presidium debate that had been yet another debate between the now so called "doves" and "hawks". Gupta was firmly in neither camp, and was decidedly a compromise candidate. Not that it mattered, she was now a fully accredited Ambassador given plenipotentiary authority for the Federal People's Republics of Auriga on the station she would soon be boarding, and she was also aware she had a message to relay.

A short time later, firmly docked, boarded and ensconced in what was a spartan but decidedly recognised sovereign Aurigan "embassy" of sorts. A moment later, the Aurigan message was relayed as others had been, Katrina's distinctive Russo-Indian heritage was put to camera and became the first Aurigan many would ever see or hear.

"I am Ambassador Katrina Gupta, Appointed representative of the Federal People's Republics of Auriga to those who have come together in this Meeting Place around our shared place of origin, and to any and all beyond. On behalf of the proud and free workers of Auriga we welcome all who would greet us in peace and friendship to share in the fruits of our labour and the infinite possibilities that lay ahead of us all now we are once again free to traverse the stars as true brothers, sisters and others of humanity. On Behalf of all of Auriga, I wish you all the heights of joy, through all misfortunes."

With a smile, she let it cut out. That was that - now the real work began. It did not take much to know things were beginning, both great and terribly in equal measure. It remained to be seen where her own, and Auriga's path, lay in it all.

Finally, the show is about to begin.

The Cultural Union can do nothing without pomp. Without pizazz. And so it’s no surprise that this will not be a quiet war; this will be a loud, screaming, shouting, cheering one, projected across all of New Hollywood on screens mounted to buildings, in private viewing galleries, in holo-suites, and famously, into the office of the Savant Heralds himself. Every citizen of the ECU will witness this. Win or lose- but they’re sure to win.

Heralds raises his hands to the display in front of him. With a sweeping motion, like a conductor with a baton, he orders a swarm of ships to move in unison. It’s like watching an angry colony of ants; little true formation, but everyone seems to know where everyone else is going. These ECU ships are mostly small, single-pilot little things, expecting to overwhelm their enemy by numbers rather than strength. There are only a few large cruisers among them; sadly, the single battleship was too incomplete to join this august war.

Across the planet, fireworks are launched. Crowds cheer, announcers speak to their audiences faster than auctioneers, and the first wave of fighters venture into the Gateway. Destination: Zeta.

They’re coming.

Like a thought across neurons, the message was conveyed through the Collective. Repeated, iterated, screamed, whispered and said. Just over a hundred craft stood ready to defend, along with the few defenses the Aegis had to offer. There were no dramatic speeches, or cultural posturing: Zeta was fighting to survive.

When the first enemy ships came, they unleashed everything they had. The void was lit up with pinpricks of light as missiles and flak guns unloaded their payloads. The Aegis core’s battery of rail cannons joined in as well, volleys of electromagnetically accelerated steel sent hurtling through space. To the Zetans, it was the most firepower their nation had ever put out at one time.

And it tore through the makeshift ECU ships. At least, the first ones; when they fell, upwards of one hundred more came through the Gateway behind them. They had little strategy except what Heralds gave them, and by his remote commands, a third of the ships broke off and headed for the Aegis. The rest tried splitting the Zetan fleet in two, driving a wedge between it.

If any of the Zetans were listening to their comms, they could hear protectors screeching insults and cries of vengeance. The crowds on New Hollywood were, likewise, taken aback by the ferocity of the cyborg's defense, but when the music swelled again, and the ECU fighters continued on, they cheered as before. Both for the show their own ships put on, and occasionally, for the worthy performances of the villains.

There was something beautiful about the way the Zetan ships moved. Something smooth and sinuous and perhaps even a little seductive. Although junkers, although retrofitted and slapdash, the Collective’s power came from their togetherness. Thirty ships slid away from the main body, intricately weaving between the fire of their fellows, to try to protect the Aegis as best they could. In response, the Aegis itself unleashed its missile pods. In retrospect, the Collective would acknowledge these were fired too early, but in the moment, the blue glow of their propellant in the void spoke of a beauty born of science.

The remaining sixty or so ships started to spread out. With the initial barrage eaten up by the invaders, they needed to switch to their less powerful weaponry. More flak guns opened up, clouds of weaponised detritus sent hurtling towards the Hollywoodite ships, their whoops and jeers ignored by the fighters within.

But the protectors laughed when the Aegis’s missiles missed. “Hey toasters, all those gizmos and ya can’t shoot straight?” That particular man was shot down a moment later, but his brother in an adjacent fighter fired torpedoes of revenge. They were aiming for the Aegis now, dodging around its defending ships by Herald’s commands. They swooped and dipped, spun and showed off. Even when one fell, their painted hulls made for sparkling debris not unlike confetti.

But nearer to the Gateway, the ECU was feeling overwhelmed. The sixty Zetan defenders were matched almost one-for-one by Hollywood’s protectors, who could not coordinate nearly as well. They jolted and thrusted randomly, hit their targets by luck or anger, and when they ran out of fuel or ammunition, crashed themselves haphazardly into the enemy and took out as many of the 'toasters' as they could. The resulting debris was now transforming the war zone into a nightmare to fly through.

This, finally, is when the first Old Earth Cruiser made it through the Gateway. It was an odd sight to anyone in the Collective who knew their history, being an ancient design simply painted over in bright new colors. Two dozen more golden fighters danced around it in the void, weapons flaring like a light show. If it didn’t mean death and destruction, it would be dazzling.

This is near to the end of the Cultural Union's available fleet, but the Zetans didn’t need to know this. Herald's voice was projected through the second cruiser to enter the battlefield: “We have countless more warriors on the way. If you surrender now, we will show mercy.” Both of these statements were lies. In his office, Heralds was sweating.

“Where are they?” one of the protectors cries out as two Zetans converge on him. “I thought the Undefeated were coming!”

Although he couldn’t know it, on the end side of a Gateway, they were. “Deflector shields at maximum. We are going through.” Oscar Pawlowski glanced at the fleet status screen one last time and sent a quick prayer to whoever was out there. The Undefeated had long lost beliefs in any of the old Earth gods, but saying things like ‘God help us’ was too deeply rooted in the daily language of the soldiers to just disappear. How could there be any god? They were literally above the sky and there was just one big nothing. The Grand General shook those thoughts away as the ship was passing through the Gateway. He needed to concentrate.

“Status?” he asked right as they emerged on the Zetan side.

His XO studied the screens for a second. “Our fleet passed through unharmed, however the shields seem to be only at 70%, there must be some interference in the wormhole that drains them.” Oscar frowned, that was not good. Still, shields at 70% were better than no shields. “The battle isn’t going well, looks like the ECU has already lost a large number of ships.”

“They are getting their asses kicked,” Oscar scoffed. No surprise there. You could tell at first sight that these people were no warriors. “Time to turn the tide.” He activated the channel shared with our vessel commanders. “Spread out a bit. Thorsten stays in the middle, Eclipse goes left, Horizon takes the right flank. Sonne, what is the status of the fighters?”

“All ready to go.”

“Aright, launch all fighters, but don’t let them go too far in, concentrate on protecting the fleet. Send some to protect the ECU cruisers as well.” He watched the 3D tactical model of the battlefield as dozens of small dots emerged from one of the bigger dots. "Cruisers and Destroyers spread out between the Battleships. What about the new plasma cannons?" He turned to an officer at the weapons station.

"Sir, the enemy ships are too small and fast to target them efficiently without significant friendly fire on the engaged ECU fighters."

"Damn, what a shame. Conventional weapons then, projectiles and guided missiles, fire at will." He walked to the bridge window, watching as the space around the Gateway filled with even more ships, rockets and, eventually, more debris.

In all this chaos, it wasn’t just Union ships that were destroyed- the Consciousness’ own vessels were taking a hammering too. The missiles that were loosed at the Aegis found their mark: it was, of course, near impossible to miss a stationary target, and although the vacuum of space robbed the ECU of the bright explosions they no doubt desired, a portion of the Aegis buckled and crumpled, the rail cannons falling silent as targeting systems and crew were removed from the equation.

Several of the Zetan fighters too, now spiralled out of control or had been blown into shrapnel. The Collective welcomed mind after mind, the shipsmen who perished watching the conflict through their comrades’ eyes.

Then the cruiser came through, and with the cruiser, its message. The response to the message was quite firm, and utterly unmistakeable. One of the largest of the Zetan’s ships had pointed itself directly towards the golden bow of this ghost from the past. As the corvette ploughed forwards, the crew prepared their fireship’s payload… Its uranium-enriched engines.

The protectors were not the kind to recognize this strategy. They fired at the suicidal corvette as it darted past, but made no real effort to stop it; they were certain it couldn’t hurt a big, tough ship like the cruiser. So they were understandably shocked when the ship erupted in a blossom of blinding light, and half that glorious shining cruiser burst inwards, the void of space rushing in while their air rushed out.

On New Hollywood, the holo-screens cut away from this sight.

Within an Undefeated ship, Claire was sitting in one of the auxiliary control rooms, monitoring the shield status as the battle went on, also going over the data from the Gateway passage. So far it seemed that the shields reacted to the wormhole passage as to a hostile environment and tried to protect the ship from it, depleting a part of their capacity. Claire wondered whether a simple change in the programming would help prevent it in the future.

It felt strange, sitting here in a comfortable armchair while a battle raged outside. One of the other scientists was even sipping hot coffee from a regular open mug. Bad idea, Claire thought but didn't comment on it. The man would quickly find out himself when the ship suddenly shook violently. He screamed in pain as the boiling beverage splashed on his hand, but nobody paid any attention to him.

“Status report!” Claire yelled, looking at the screen.

“Shields are at 25% percent!”

“I can see that myself. What the hell happened?”

“WE ARE GOING TO DIE!”

Claire jumped up and moved to the hysterical technician, grabbing him by his collar and throwing him to the ground. “Get out of here! Call the bridge.” She tried to move back to her station but got knocked to the wall by a second impact. This time the ship took longer to stabilize, lights were flickering and all the screens turned red with numerous warnings.

“Claire! We … the shields .... NOW!” Oscar’s voice came through the intercom, almost unintelligible due to interference.

Claire glanced at the monitor and cursed. 3%. She finally got to the table, wiped the blood off her forehead, and pressed the button to respond. “What the fuck are they shooting at us?” she shouted. “Meteorites? The shields weren’t designed for this.” Even at 70%, they should be able to withstand attacks from every weapon they could think of, be it based on plasma, electricity, antimatter, explosive missiles, or simple projectiles. At least for a while. This must have been something with much greater mass or power.

“They … suicide … . I repeat, they … suicide ships … with tons of explosives.” The transmission was getting better, but that was the only good news.

Crap. That’s why the power in the shields went down so fast, trying to stop the sheer mass of a ship ramming into them as well as containing the blasts. “You need to stop them, the shields can’t take another hit.”

Laughter came through the intercom, distortion making it sound even scarier. “The fuck you think we are trying to do?!”

Claire took a deep breath, wiping more blood from her face. She vaguely remembered that with head wounds there is always a lot of blood, but wasn’t this too much? It didn’t really matter though, if they can’t recharge the shields, it will be the last of her problems. The main issue was that the shields were designed to recharge slowly over time, with safe moderated increments. There were several balancing and safety buffers preventing dangerous spikes. The buffers. Of course.

“Discharge all power from the auxiliary buffers to the shields.”

The other people stopped moving and stared at her. “We… we can’t do that. Those buffers are there for a reason, if we pour too much power to the shield generators at once, it could damage other ship’s systems.”

“As opposed to getting blown up to pieces by a suicide bomber?” Claire hissed. “I’ll take that.”

“But there are security protocols…”

“OVERRIDE THEM! Start fuckin moving you incompetent jerks or we will indeed all die here, as the idiot before said.”

It took them four long minutes to create a program that bypassed the security measures and rerouted almost all available power to the shield generators. As they ran it, the lights began flickering and sparks came out from some of the equipment, followed by a strange, weightless feeling.

“We fried the artificial gravity control, but… the shields are coming up. 20, 40, 58%. That’s all the power from the buffers,” one of the men reported.

“We can live without gravity, plus the backup system should kick in soon. But the shields… Send the program to the other ships right away.” Claire turned around after hearing a high-pitched scream. The scientist who was holding the coffee before was now helplessly spinning mid-air, trying to escape a big bubble of still very hot beverage. She reached to him, pulling his leg towards the floor. “Idiots.”

“Ma’am, I have received confirmation from Eclipse, Sonne, and most of the smaller ships, but Horizon is not responding.”

Claire shivered. “Bridge? We have sent the shield recharge procedure to the rest of the fleet, but Horizon didn’t return confirmation. Is there a problem with their communication?”

The solemn silence confirmed what she already expected. “It was too late, the Zetans got to them first. The Horizon is gone.”

The Hollywoodite protectors witnessed the massive Horizon ship burst open just like their own, and for a moment, even these simple men almost lost heart. They are brutes, men of intimidation. What could they do against an enemy so fearless that they’ll kill themselves just to hit back at you?

But at last, the Gateway opened again, and the third and final Old Earth cruiser entered the fray, bringing with it the last of the ECU invasion force. With the Undefeated still intact, they now heavily outnumbered their targets. The protectors have slowly ceased to cheer and jive, but grim-faced, they know what needs to be done.

Beckoning their friends to join them, the two cruisers took on command roles: they cast off to either side, bringing with them half the fighters each, and began mopping up the battlefield as two massive navies. The smaller ships spun in circles around their commanding cruisers, fanatically shooting down any further cyborg vessels that got to close. They were not going to allow a repeat of that little tragedy.

One by one, the Zetan vessels fell under withering firepower. The Aegis quietened- a small plume of scrap metal and bodies floating free from a particularly nasty breach, making it look like smoke from a burning fortress.

Eventually, all resistance halted. Not a single Zetan fighter remained in one piece, nor were there any signs of escape pods. The ECU and their ally, of course, would not know that not one life had been lost in this battle, the minds of each and every ‘dead’ soldier safely returned to Zeta thanks to their new, accelerated transcendence protocols, but the cost for the Consciousness was still dire. Their navy was gone, the infant Aegis shattered and rent.

“We got ‘em, boys.” The protector chief called out across the system, although it doesn’t sound nearly as joyful as he meant it. “Someone get the troop carriers ready. Oh, and send the Undefeated a damn cake!”

The path to Zeta-5 lay open.

Collab Between @Tortoise and @Irredeemable

The protectors were feeling much better, now that the Zetan navy was down for the count.

One of the remaining two cruisers, this one adorned with red stripes, took to the task of organizing troop deployments. In the holo-simulations, this was always taken to be a fairly simple job: find cities, bomb them into dust, repeat. Soldiers were just for picking up stragglers and occupying whatever the ECU decided to leave intact.

But now they were having an odd problem.

“Sir,” one junior protector told the chief. “There’s… no cities.”

“You must have read it wrong!” the chief yelled. ‘Yelling’ is the only volume he has. “Try again.”

The junior protector pushes a few more buttons. (He was trained to do this just a few days ago, and was still uncertain in his movements.)

“No, sir, I’m sure. There’s no cities. Not on this entire planet.”

An awkward silence fills the room.

“Well… what is there?”

A research outpost was chosen as their destination. They didn’t know it was an outpost, exactly, but they knew it was small, isolated, and hopefully contained Zetans they could capture to interrogate on where everybody is living. The shuttle lets down a little roughly, being that the piloting AI is not meant at all for this environment, but the protectors make sure they come out in style. They load their weapons while they walk.

“Open up!”, the commander bangs on the closest thing they can find to a door. “This is the ECU. We have seized this planet. We know you’re in there.”

Zetan weather surveillance outposts were not built with security in mind. They did not have cameras, or guards, or protective measures. What they did have however, was engineering designed to withstand the worst of what the planet could throw at them.

And this one had decided to leave a single warform outside, unpowered. The outpost itself had currently gone into searfront lockdown- an 83c celcius wall of heat was ripping across the surface of Tartarus-Sigma, and it was only a few precious minutes away from gracing the structure.

With the ECU banging outside, one of the disembodied crewmen from the naval battles took control and moved it towards the commander. Rather than immediately reply, it simply stood there, looking at the small squadron with its sleek, inhuman face.

“Woah!,” a young man jumped back from the moving machine. “Look, commander, here’s one- it’s all robot!”

All the protector’s hands immediately went to their hips, where their metal clubs would usually rest. Today, those clubs were exchanged for sidearms and rifles. They drew them in unison, under nobody’s orders but instinct’s, and raised them midway to the terrifying thing in front of them.

“You,” the commander barked. “We need information. Come with us, and we’ll have a talk.”

Even unarmed, a warform was not defenseless. Hardy, heat-and-cold resistant, with a reasonable degree of strength, dexterity, and, of course, its electrical surprise, this one warform could have seriously damaged the squad as it milled about aimlessly. But, instead, it was here to study them. Zetans didn’t get caught in searfronts anymore. Nobody had, not for centuries. So what did a human being do when exposed to non-fire based flash heat? They could theorise and model it, but nothing compared to empirical data.

“I’m sorry,” the warform finally crackled out. “Are you trying to intimidate a remote-controlled robot?”

The men exchanged glances. They had, each one, assumed this was only an extremely modified cyborg.

“...hey,” the young one says at last. “Is it starting to feel a little hot to you?”

It was. Out of nowhere, every human realized he was sweating.

“Welcome to Elysium-Sigma.” The form declared. “This monitoring facility is currently in extreme weather lockdown. The Zetan Consciousness thanks you for your sacrifices to the scientific cause.”

The commander tries to yell at the robot, the way his chief does him, but suddenly finds that yelling is becoming very difficult. Actually, it seems hard to breathe at all. The sudden wave of heat, like an open oven, takes all the air straight from his lungs.

It’s then that a warning traveling up his arms and legs tells him to look down, and when he does- it’s all red. His skin, red, crackling, boiling… soon, they’re all screaming with whatever oxygen they have left.

The team doesn’t make it back to their transport. Four roasting bodies lay in the Zetan sun. The warform alone is still standing.

“Welcome to Zeta-5.” The warform declared bitterly to their burnt bodies. That ship should be good to scrap and see how Hollywoodite troop transports tick. It was something, the Collective supposed.




This is not what they came prepared for. In fact, the Noocracy strictly ordered a blitzkrieg. They would rush in while the toasters still had their pants down, club them to death, and bust up their whole system faster than anyone can say “augmentations.” So to speak.

But as the ECU fleet hovers in orbit over Zeta-5, it became increasingly clear that this would be no quick war. It would be a long, painful, drawn-out siege, the first one in centuries of recorded history. They would need to keep the planet locked down. They would need to face-off against the environment, the native life, and the Zetan resistance fighters. And perhaps most importantly, they would have to stay in blockade, allowing no ships to or from the surface, no Zetan allies to approach, and no space-bound construction.

The protector chief sent his mission report to the Noocratic War Council, but by now, they've watched the whole event themselves. On New Hollywood, people celebrated, believing this to be a victory. But the truth settles in for the protectors ordered to keep orbit on their captive world.

Zeta's navy is gone, their planet is captured, but the real war is obviously only beginning.

---

Commander Varitian sighed as he sat in his new office, one set up on the large military station that had been assembled and attached to the ancient Gateway in the last six months. Albeit 'attached' was rather literal in this sense, simply using tethers and hard point attachments to the exterior of the Gateway rather than being attached to any systems of it. No, the ancient tech was as enigmatic was it had ever been in the last 300 years, but at least now the Republic was able to defend it well. A proper part of the military power of the Xandalian Space Fleet had been attached to this place as a permanent border-control and security force, and a defensive array of guns and weapons were deployed about this area as well to provide a secure corridor for those entering and exiting Xandalian space through the Gateways. Did it seem like overkill? Probably. But all the same it ensured security from this rather exposed entrance into Xandalian space, and that had become more and more relevant these days.

The door to Walton's office would soon whoosh open, however, as a member of his staff in full uniform stepped in and saluted him. He saluted in return.

"I take it the weekly report is done?"

"Yes sir!" the human man said, "I came to report the numbers to you as well. An estimated 15 wandering Migrant vessels were turned back this week from the Gateway...which is less than the daily average a few months ago."

Walton sighed.

Rights to mine and operate in Xandalian space had been denied alongside open migration, all frankly due to security and sovereignty-related reasons primarily, but trade of resources and goods for resources and goods on a general level was seen as acceptable until the Republic could get a better idea of the other nations and peoples out there. Six months was only so much time, as compared to the 300 years everyone has spent in self-isolation. It was like a massive, messy social experiment gone haywire in his mind...even so it was the new reality they all were being faced with. At the very least their own translation technology had been upgraded leagues from its initial form in the last six months of language and information gathering.

At this point the Senate had also made Walton himself permanent in this position at the Gateway as well, which was more cushy but also not as active as his anti-piracy post had been. Military was also deployed to a passive 35% now, which was fully sustainable at least, but had been necessary to maintain proper security of the Gateway and so forth. However, pre-deployment preparations remained in effect in case war raised its ugly head.

Still, once the staff member before him finish prattling off a further list of numbers and statistics the Commander simply gave a nod.

"Anything else?"

"No si-"

The door to Walton's office whooshed open again suddenly, drawing the two men's attention as a female officer stepped in suddenly. Not a usual member of staff indeed. Walton raised an eyebrow, but didn't get a chance to open his mouth before the new arrival hurriedly saluted and began to speak. Beads of sweat hung on the woman's forehead, and it was obvious that her rank was relatively higher than one being sent as a messenger would usually have.

"Commander Walton, urgent news from the Xandalian Import Committee and the Senate proper."

Ah. Yes, the Senate had set up a simple committee to oversee the analysis and judgement of foreign imports. A way to determine product safety for the public primarily, it mostly dealt in consumer goods such as entertainment and the import of foreign foods to ensure Xandalian standards were kept for such things. Localization teams would assist in translating some things if needed, or otherwise adapting things to the Xandalian audience where or if needed. ECU films had become a trendy thing thus far, the stories and so forth alien and foreign and yet also bearing as sense of 'new-ness' the general public seemed to enjoy. Walton couldn't blame them, he'd seen a few films himself and quite enjoyed the different perspective.

"Most recent media have been showing an interesting...and stronger...trend in messages in the last several months. At first the committee simply thought it to be a new theme, evil robots kidnapping people and pretending to be human to infiltrate societies and so forth about 'defining what is humans or not' and beyond, but recent news has brought things into a new context entirely before the Committee.

As you have been made aware, the ECU have made the claims the Zetans kidnapped one of their scientists, and have declared war on the Zetans. The Undefeated have joined them. We have been keeping an eye on things, but...a major development has since occurred.

As of what our intel can gather thus far, by this point the Zetan fleet and space station have been eradicated. Orbital bombardment and invasion measures have begun, but it doesn't look like it will be a quick process.

No formal word about other nations' potential involvement or lack thereof as of yet."

Walton froze in place, the blood in his veins feeling like ice. War, already? He had expected such just about, but had hoped cooler heads would prevail in the end. An...'overly optimistic' thought in hindsight now.

"In this vein, ECU imports and craft will be highly scrutinized and more stringently localized where deemed necessary from now on. it will take time to pin down the propaganda, but we are continuing trade as if nothing is wrong to avoid creating an incident at this time. In-depth scans of all arriving vessels are mandatory from this station from now on, and I have been instructed to state to you that the public will learn about this large development on the major news networks tonight. Public opinions seems to be somewhat split, and in at least some part the Committee and Senate think this is likely due to the propaganda that has apparently been streaming in for months now underneath our noses.

Also be prepared for departures later this evening. We are also sending a neutral envoy to the Zetans, and another envoy to the URC, both intending to ascertain these groups' positions in regards to what is going on."

"So it's war between them then? Two versus one seems like a rather staunch odds, though the ECU's seeming lack of military power is something. Likewise the Zetans themselves are rather advanced and efficient in their own manner," the Commander mulled to himself, before lightly shaking his head back and forth. He leaned forward in his chair, with his elbows on his desk and his hands now crossed over each other as a dark look came over his eyes, "Either way, we don't know how things will turn out. Let the Senate and Committee know I read them loud and clear. Likewise I want you to get with the Head Comms Officer on the station, and work out a formal memo to be sent to the rest of the station. Informative in nature, to the point, and none of the extraneous details. Do you understand me?"

He then looked to the soldier who had arrived in his office first.

"And you, soldier, you heard nothing from this room...understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Yes sir!"

Commander Varitian leaned back in his chair once more as the two saluted him and then left the room in a hurry. However, the lingering dread in the office air didn't seem to fully leave with them. No surprise there. The formal memo would at least bring the station onto the same page, and his people would be ready...or as ready as one could be for whatever came next. However, a few things were certain at this point in time:

1) The ECU had brought anti-Zeta propaganda into their civilian population by subterfuge. That was intolerable for trade, as whilst foreign ideas and thoughts did exist in imported movies the line was drawn at trying to manipulate the Republic's own people to garner support for aggressive foreign actions. The Senate was likely livid about it, to say the very least.

2) They had to ascertain the situation to get a clear idea. The envoy to the URC would be interrupting the training exercises going on for sure...but they had to see where the Columbians, who they saw as the best choice for potential allies for the Rrepublic at the moment, lied on the spectrum of things. Likewise the envoy to the Zetans would investigate the matter and speak with them openly, and being a neutral diplomatic ship they would hopefully be granted passage since the Xandalians hadn't taken any side in this war...if blocked or turned back at gunpoint or worse that would not paint a good picture.

The Commander just prayed that in the end things wouldn't get even worse, like attempted genocide, but given the aggressors' stance that dark subject lurked in the dark corners of the man's mind. For now the only actions he could take, though, was what little ones he had room to. That would have to do for now.

((@Irredeemable@Tortoise@Raylah)) ((***IMPORTANT NOTE: The Xandalians are going to try to send a fully unarmed diplomatic ship through to talk to the Zetans and get a read on the situation. It is a very much neutral diplomatic vessel as well, which the Xandalians hope the ECU and Undefeated will let it through, so feel free to address that however ya like. Doesn't have to be a collab, and whatever happens I say this just mainly so we can get the gist if it is allowed through or not.))

---

---

Commander Xara sat in her chair on the bridge of the XSS Cyclostro, her eyes flitting over the projected console before her that displayed the movement of the Military-Frames and ships out in the vacuum of space. The Cyclostro was one of the shining examples of Xandalian Destroyers that had been built in the last 100 years. Since contact and trade with the URC began, though, the Xandalian Space Fleet had been expanding and diversifying their ship types even more so. Primarily the addition of cruisers, heavy cruisers, lighter and faster frigates that were larger than any corvette but smaller than a Destroyer, improvements to existing Carrier designs as well as for the new Heavy Carriers, and finally the further up-arming and reinforcement and partial revamping of the already titanic Xandalian battleships to increase effectiveness and potency to fit with the new model of the Space Fleet. Some of their scientists were tossing around ideas of resizing some of the Military Frame equipment for use in the new ships as well, which has begun to catch on among some in the R&D Department as they went into a nigh frenzy.

However, today had been discussed diplomatically and planned in advance. As a part of ongoing diplomatic efforts with the URC, pilots using older Gen 1 Military-Frames taken out of storage were going to basically practice tactics and piloting skills with the newer URC space mech pilots. Or rather, Xara could say that these URC pilots were entirely green to be frank. It was a new leap in technology, and the URC had survived quite the beating from an alien threat themselves according to historical information the Republic had learned of, so giving them new tools and tactics to work with would be frankly useful in the grand scheme of things. Albeit it had taken these past few months to get the training exercise pilots prepared and accustomed to the Gen 1 tech, as even if kept in pristine condition it was far older than what the pilots of the Republic were used to piloting proper these days. Xara herself would know, she'd been a Military-Frame pilot herself back in the day and been on anti-pirate duty for years before getting up higher in the ranks.

Even now the Xandalian pilots were putting the URC pilots through a regiment of training as well as giving them units to spar with using mock weapons and 'blank' rounds.

A small, amused smirk appeared on the woman's face as memories of the 'good old days' went through her head. What she'd give to be out there right now. It was getting a tad boring from just sitting and watching things go on out there in the field.

"Hail the URC command ship, Comms Officer. I want to see how the URC leader here feels about the joint military training exercises thus far."

"Yes mam!"

Xara sighed. Maybe her foreign compatriot in this endeavor was feeling similar?

@Sigma ((A Xandalian diplomatic envoy vessel might come to interrupt next post, or honestly the one after if you wanna do some more training exercise stuff first. Either way is chill with me, don't want to seem like I am jumping the gun. I am posting all of this before work though, so yee that's a thing. XD)

That's no good at all, thinks Oligarch Kayla, who feels exited. Oh, this is probably terrible news, she decides, and is very happy about it.

The protector at comms asks her "What should we do, ma'am?" It takes her a moment to realize the question is aimed at her, because she's only recently gotten used to being an Oligarch, and is not at all used to being the specific Oligarch people ask for directions. But then, she's the only one present. Nobody else was sent to oversee the Zetan blockade, and Kayla has a creeping suspicion they only sent her for the sake of removing her from the politics back home. (But joke's on them: Kayla has riled people up even through intergalactic messages.)

"Oh! Oh, yes," she answers her personal soldier. "Tell the Xandalians to- hold while we confer!" She can feel the fun in the wind.




Tanaka is staring himself down in the mirror. He intends to do this, and do it well. He knows that it's far more than he asked for, in simply wanting to meet new cultures, but it's his job now. This and not disappointing Savant Heralds. Fastening the tie around his neck, straightening the cowboy hat on his head- the Liason is out the door.

"Humans of the Galaxy," he announces from the center-most area of the Meeting Place, where all can see him and where his voice will be broadcasted out to representatives of every Colony, "I am Liason Tanaka, representative of the Earth Cultural Union in this Meeting Place. I have come today to address an issue that you may have heard about." Deep breath. You got good Eloquence scores, Tanaka, he tells himself, you can do this.

"The rumors you've heard are true. ECU military forces, in tandem with our allies the Undefeated, have undertaken a successful invasion of the Zetan system. Their navy has been destroyed, and as of now, their planet may be considered under blockade. No individuals will be permitted approach without explicit permission from either ECU or Undefeated authorities." He finds himself pausing for audience reaction, but then, there's not much of an 'audience' on the station. A handful of international diplomats look shocked, so maybe that counts.

"We have not done this without provocation. Recently, the Zetan forces abducted an ECU scientist, one Dr. Bodi, and forced him into their territory. They claim he came willingly, but as he left behind no notes or statements of intent, we cannot confirm this. Ladies and gentlemen, he was merely taken. And we intend to retrieve him. We also intend, furthermore, to act on behalf of all mankind in insuring such incidents do not happen again." That last part is clearly a threat hidden behind political language, but Tanaka isn't about to elaborate on it. It'll have to stand on it's own.

"Thankyou for your time." Without pausing for questions- especially not with Sigma-Devi probably walking free on the station somewhere- the Liason disappears into the mess of corridors that will lead him back to the safety of the ECU embassy.




"Don't touch that!" someone tries to tell her, but it's too late- her hand plunges deep into the flames.

"Ow, yowww, it's hot! It's hot!"

"Yes," the old woman suppresses a laugh. "Fire is always hot."

Martina Ward, who's rubbing her burnt fingers against the cold sand, answers back "I know that! I guess I just thought... I don't what I thought. That it was holographic, maybe. Is it? Real, that is?"

"Of course," the woman answers. She's one of the people Ward has risked everything to find. One of the few Mixtists left. "Everything here is real."

"Wow."

Martina stares into the flames, entranced again.





There was great debate among the Oligarchs about this terrifying request. On the one hand, if they let the Xandalian diplomats through, the Zetans will tell their end of the story, which could be a disaster for ECU diplomacy. On the other hand, refusing the diplomats would, well, also be a disaster for ECU diplomacy. Even Heralds seemed fully stumped by the issue. (After the War Council rejected his idea to destroy it and blame the Zetans, anyway.)

Eventually, they forged a compromise that made nobody happy, but at least managed to keep the Cultural Union's reputation intact.

From her cruiser, the Oligarch Kayla sends this message to the Xandalian Republic vessel: "Very well. I will order my ships not to fire. However, we obviously cannot allow a foreign ship free travel during this sensitive situation. This cruiser will escort you, along with several of our fighter craft, and we will sit in on any in-person discussions you have with Zetan individuals." She doesn't mention it, but the ECU is also listening to broadcasts and comms from the surface: if the Zetans say anything to the Xandalians, they'll probably hear it too.

She adds something that wasn't in her official orders: "Oh, and I, Oligarch Kayla, will be the one sitting in." She wonders if they can hear her smile.

"We are the United Republic of Columbia. Like you, we seek to preserve our ties to Old Earth, yet we strive to be so much more. We seek to keep the old spirit of democracy, freedom, and cooperation alive in the stars and hope to spread this message, these ideals, to other worlds, to all of mankind. Columbia is home to many, both human and xeno alike, many of which were formerly our enemies, now are our brothers and sisters in arms. Together, we may reach a better tomorrow" A holographic image of a rather well-dressed young man announced on a loop in select parts of the Columbian portion of the Meeting Place. The interior of the Columbian embassy was designed with a strange blend of idyllic and brutalist designs, a bit of a boastful overstatement, but it was pleasing to the eyes, and rather calming. In the central office of the embassy sat the recently appointed Ambassador Vixril Ghask, the first Janari, let alone the first xeno, to be appointed such an honored position in the URC. He held a datapad, scrolling through as he kept up to speed on recent news. In bolded letters, the sentence "System Colonization Initiative in full swing!" stood out.

The aftermath of the gateways opening had led to a mass resurgence in stellar exploration, both throughout the galaxy and in their very own home system. The past six months saw preparations to establish a wider, permanent presence throughout the Americana system as whole flotillas of freighters, and construction vessels move beyond Columbia's orbit to establish proper infrastructure in preparation for future colonists.

Ambassador Ghask smirked at the news, after decades of reconstruction and isolation, Columbia has finally begun reaching out to the stars once more, this time, with new comrades by their side. He continued scrolling down to much more troubling news, although he had already been made well aware of the situation going on in the Zeta System, thanks in part to Liason Tanaka's announcement. The recent Zetan conflict has grind the senate to a stand still, some senators calling to for war and to deal with the threat the Zetans could become. Others call for the opposite, demanding the ECU end their war and to hear out the Zetan's side of the story. Officially, the URC will remain a neutral party in the conflict, no doubt, much to the relief of the ECU and Undefeated, however, some parties on both sides are seeking to change that.

---

@Crusader Lord
Columbian Space
Space Military Training Grounds

Admiral Wilson watched from the command bridge of the CSS Argus as the training exercise commenced, admiring the maneuverability of the Xandalian Military-Frames, always seemed to be a step ahead of their Columbian counterparts. Granted, spaceborne frames was an entirely new concept to the Columbian military, before the gateway opened, there seemed to be no need to move the combat frames up in space. The reports provided by Captain Brywell, however, proved that it was both quite viable, and tactically sound. Impressive really that the R&D department managed to churn out the Serpah Driive prototypes(The official, fancy name of the spaceborne propulsion boosters.) in a few months.

He continued to observe the mock battle before his comm officer spoke. "Admiral, we're being hailed by the Cyclostro. They're requesting your input on the current mock battle."

"Tell them that so far, I'm quite impressed." Wilson said with a smirk. "Never seen combat frames move with such grace, and I do look forward for further cooperation in this new technological path."

---

"Very well. I will order my ships not to fire. However, we obviously cannot allow a foreign ship free travel during this sensitive situation. This cruiser will escort you, along with several of our fighter craft, and we will sit in on any in-person discussions you have with Zetan individuals."

"Oh, and I, Oligarch Kayla, will be the one sitting in."

Diplomat Matthews clicked her tongue, ensuring she wasn't transmitting over the comms as she did so. Indeed, the ECU and Undefeated had Zetan space locked down. The diplomatic vessel was unarmed, naught a weapon in sight, and had come here to speak to the Zetans on behalf of the Senate of the Xandalian Republic. A mission to try to get to the truth of things before the war continued further, to see if things could be investigated and somehow resolved. However, things were getting more suspicious by the second. A neutral diplomatic vessel being treated like a potential threat of all things, with the aggressors in Zetan space wanting to be in on everything.

Likewise, these demands were coercive at best. Any meeting would expose Zetan positions or individuals to potential harm, which was not what their neutral mission was here for. Likewise it would put any discussions at risk for anything people didn't want getting out of the warzone. Tactical, admittedly, but all the same frustrating to deal with.

However, Matthews was working a plan of sorts out in her head in turn. Maybe it would work, maybe not. Either way.

"...Comms Officer, patch me back through. Do it on all channels, and I mean all of them. Maximum broadcasting distance. Even the Zetans will hear this one down on the planet."

The officer raised an eyebrow, but after a moment gave a nod and did as he was told.

"We hear your demands, Oligarch Kayla, and in efforts to keep the peace and satisfy all parties we propose a lovely compromise to maintain our neutrality in this matter as we transmit on all channels. As a neutral, diplomatic vessel, we propose to use this craft as a designated neutral space for the talk. We in this vein invite you, Oligarch Kayla, alone and personally to board our vessel yourself as you have expressed the desire to do. Then if the Zetans would, however discreetly they wish, patch through to us and give us coordinates to pick up a representative then we will be glad to for the sake of netural discourse."

Matthews kept her tone and manner professional, but at the same time the very edges of her mouth perked up a little as she continued.

"From there we will hold the talks on our ship, in space, far from the planet's surface and surrounded by ECU and Undefeated craft.

As the neutral party, we exert the right to dictate a manner for the meeting that will ensure our neutrality and right to take measures to maintain this neutrality as we hope you understand. Of course, this plan also very much accommodates your prior request most aptly to sit in personally on the talks. We want to ensure your safety at all costs, however, so this is why we have made this plan and adjusted it for your sake. There is nothing to fear for boarding our vessel either, as if we did anything it would violate our directive as a neutral, diplomatic vessel and we would be surrounded by combat-capable craft on all sides."

Oligarch Kayla wanted on personally? That was perfectly fine! In fact, to deny their request would likely make them appear more suspicious. So why not drum up the candor about making sure the valuable Oligarch would remain safe? It was no hostile intent at all, really. Then if the Zetans took the hint, it'd be a great chance at keeping things...neutral. Just as Matthews and her crew had been ordered.

So would the Oligarch put her mettle where her mouth was, or would she chicken out and bring suspicion on the ECU? Only the response to this would be able to tell.

@Tortoise

---

---

Envoy Christensen, covered in his fanciful diplomatic garb, knocked on the door to the Zetan Represntative's office. He'd traveled to the Zetan Embassy within the Meeting Place to talk with the Zetan Representative himself, mostly in lieu of Tanaka's announcement and other things going on. Through his secure line back to the Republic, he'd also received an order to investigate the matter as best as he could. Wasn't much to do but talk to a few representatives on the station, but at the same time he'd follow through with it...something in his gut told him something was afoot anyways. He didn't have any guards or such with him during this visit, as per keeping neutral, but at the same time he did have a small 'ace' up his sleeve if anyone tried to get ideas. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it.

"Sigma-Devi, are you here? I wish to speak with you, if possible, on behalf of the Xandalian Republic and the Senate. I am here alone."

If the ECU so much as lifted a stun baton or other thing here, violating the neutrality of this space, it'd be the catalyst for a rather disastrous political incident to be sure. Not just with the Xandalians, but also the rest of the nations here. A nice, big can of worms.

Still, Christensen hoped to talk to the Zetan Representative sooner rather than later.

@Irredeemable

---

---

Xara chuckled for a moment after receiving a response from Admiral Wilson, leaning on her right hand as her right elbow was propped up on the armrest of her chair.

"These are just our old Generation 1 Military-Frames in the field, and already they are impressed...heh...that being said, the feeling is mutual about their variety of spacecraft and implementation of them. They'll get the hang of space frames soon enough, but with our differences in energy technology they'll have to build up from here and develop it on their own sadly. However they've made good work getting started indeed."

Military frames were the one area the Xandalian Republic, aside from Thalarite-related things, was most apt in regards to combat technology in a rough general comparison to the other known nations out there. It was curious, but given how much they'd been pouring into that area for over 100 years now it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise either. However, training the URC pilots in this combined-arms approach and implementation of space military frames was also in some sense 'fun' as it made them the teachers of a given topic for once.

"Send a message to the CSS Argus once more. Tell them that the appreciation is mutual, and that we hope our two nations can continue to grow closer moving into the future. We will be glad to provide a continued advisory position as they develop their own Spaceborne Military-Frames as well."

That should be diplomatic enough-

"Commander Xara, a Xandalian Diplomatic ship has entered through the Gateway! They are hailing us and the URC ship!"

The playful air seemed to cut short as Xara sat up in her chair proper and gave a nod to the Comms Officer who spoke to her.

"Don't just sit there, patch them through!"

A moment later, the visual and audio of Diplomat Trafalgar would pop up on the display.

"XSS Cyclostro, CSS Argus, this is the Xandalian Diplomatic Envoy Ship XSS Tarkin. We come with urgent haste to speak to the leadership of the URC, if we would so be allowed. I repeat, we come with urgent haste to speak to the leadership of the URC."

Xara let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Politicians couldn't just let us finish with this first, couldn't they? Has to be something about 'that' matter if they've come so urgently in the middle of a damned training exercise."

@Sigma

Kayla laughs out loud. "Of course, of course I'd be glad to see your vessel!," she sends back. She's already imagining it like the parties of politics back home- food, social puffery, alliances and betrayals, holograms...

Oh, no, these people probably don't have holograms, do they?

"I'll bring some holograms!" the Oligarch adds on. She's been looking for an opportunity to mess with the new micro-projectors. The ECU has been trying to perfect miniature projectors for years, sneaky little devices that allow holograms to be projected outside of Suites. They've seen some success back on New Hollywood- she hears they even wow'd some foreign whoevers from some place called Salome- but never before have they been used in the way Kayla now intends to use them.

Before waiting for a reply, she slips back into the engineering subsection of her cruiser and hunts down a micro-projector. There's only one on board, but she's sure nobody will notice it's gone. Then, back in the Captain's Quarters that aren't technically hers (but nobody was willing to argue about), she sews it right into the fabric of her dress. It's only a few centimeters wide- a little metallic circle- and it fits perfectly into the shoulder area. Okay, okay, it's a little bit of an awkward bump, but it won't matter. When she presses it like this...

The micro-projector lights up, an odd blue aura glowing from her left shoulder. "Hologram: dog!" the Oligarch happily commands, and lo and behold, an adorable little dalmatian puppy is suddenly at her feet.

It works! Oh, wait til the Zetans see this one!





The ECU Embassy is a busy, busy place tonight.

First of all, the recent declaration of a blockade has sent the staff into a position of heightened security. In these early days of Human Reunification, the term that the Noocracy is now officially using, nobody can yet be sure who to trust. The Undefeated, perhaps, but even then only perhaps. So, for all that the New Hollywoodites value presentation, measures are being taken. Discreet scanners and locked sidearms hide behind curtains. A silent alarm system is rigged to go. And, of course, the newly (roughly) programmed holo-protectors are only ever as far away someone shouting "Hologram: protectors!"

It's still not all enough to make the Liaison feel prepared. Since being stationed here, Tanaka has felt more vulnerable than he ever has in his life. Maybe it's just being so close to enemies- how far away are the Zetans right now?- but he's nervous. Even the usual holo-programs haven't calmed his nerves. So instead, for the first time in his life, Tanaka is using work to relax. How strange.

"I am Ambassador Katrina Gupta, Appointed representative of the Federal People's Republics of Auriga..."

He's been analyzing this message for half an hour. For all that Tanaka suspects people don't think he's the brightest Oligarch in the Oligarchy, he understands language. Not in the head sense, but the ear sense. He can hear the flow and rhythm instinctively. This Liaison couldn't tell you what an adjective is with a plasma pistol to his head, but yet...

"...to those who have come together in this Meeting Place around our shared place of origin, and to any and all beyond."

Any and all beyond? Do they only mean human colonies who haven't come to the Meeting Place? Or does this message of love include even aliens? Tanaka's gut tells him it's the first one, but his brain worries it's the second.

"On behalf of the proud and free workers of Auriga we welcome all who would greet us in peace and friendship to share in the fruits of our labour and the infinite possibilities that lay ahead of us all now we are once again free to traverse the stars as true brothers, sisters and others of humanity."

That's a little more comforting- humanity. They don't sound to have forgotten it, the way some have. But what's this about shared labor, free workers? There are some Oligarchs who won't like that talk. Tanaka prepares to mention it in his report to Heralds.

"On Behalf of all of Auriga, I wish you all the heights of joy, through all misfortunes."

A diplomatic closer. But one that hints, even if it's only a hint, that they've gone through some misfortunes themselves. Enough that it came to mind for their initial greeting to the galaxy. Alright.

Tanaka decides that's enough study. For all his nerves lately, he's still the explorer at heart; he wants to see these people. It's a bit of a walk across the large station, but when the Liaison at last reaches Auriga's new office, he's glad to be requesting entry himself. They have a lot to talk about.

There’s a single, bright line shining overhead. The chairs are steel, and the Zetan’s hands are tied behind it. Across from him are two ECU protectors, one sitting at the metal table and shuffling through files, and the other glaring menacingly from beside the door.

And it’s all clearly a scene taken from an Old Earth, 1950's detective show.

“Look,” the sitting protector said. “I want to help you here, okay? We don’t want this fight. You guys took Bodi from us. We just need some information, and then we’ll let you go home, alright?”

“Forget it, Jo,” her partner cut in. “This tin can probably can’t even talk.”

Eta-Theta was having a bad day. It could have been a lot worse of a day if there had been a problem with their transcendence protocols, but as it was, it was just a bad day. The resistance fighter had been carrying out a subterranean operation when their group had run straight into an ECU patrol nobody else had picked up on- the resulting firefight had left the resistance group wiped almost to a man, and the patrol only barely faring better. Unfortunately, ‘better’ was still good enough to take them captive.

“Alpha-Bodi is a willing refugee. You just wanted an excuse.” They spat onto the floor.

“Where is Alpha-Bodi today, then?”

“Alpha-Elysium, probably.” They frowned.

The protector by the door, whose name is Yun, seems to take a note on his infopad. “I like that you’re willing to cooperate,” he says. “Where is Alpha-Elysium? And how does one enter?”

“It’s the Alpha subsector of the Elysium sector,” Eta-Theta deadpanned. “You get down there by going down the big shuttle, we’ll welcome you the right way.”

Yun rolls his eyes, while Jo slides her infopad across the table. It’s displaying an active map of the Zeta-5, compiled together from orbital data and whatever satellites the ECU has managed to hijack since the blockade started. “Show us on this map where Elysium-Alpha is. If we can get Bodi now, you know, maybe the Oligarchs will be satisfied- and then we can all go home, and your people can be free again. Isn’t that what we all want?”

“You’re destroying our cities, killing our people, ruining our stations and lying about the whole thing, and you think you’ll get me to just give you the location of our first settlement? Burn in Tartarus like your scout teams.”

This time, Jo rolled her eyes while Yun did something. He smiled. The beautiful, big New Hollywood smile that was all teeth and shining.

"Listen, kid," he addressed the Zetan, not because he thought it was a kid, but because that's how protectors talk when they're about to do something intimidating, "we've got some theories about your kind. About how some of you know too much. And the big boys at top are starting to come up with ideas on how to prove it. You wanna be our first test subject? That can be arranged."

There was a long moment of silence. Eta-Theta sat there, eyes staring ahead of them for a few seconds, and then a twitch ran through the side of their face. They slumped down into the chair slightly, then they smirked. “Alright. Test away.”

At that moment, Eta-Theta's head hit the steel floor. Protector Yun had kicked their chair over backwards, and soon was dragging the Zetan out into the hallway by the legs of it. "Alright, you glorified freak, come on then."

They brought them to the only airlock onboard this mid-sized ship. Through the window, you could see Zeta-5 far below.

“Never seen space in person.” The Zetan said, looking out at their planet down below. “She’s… Well, I wouldn’t call her beautiful, but she’s killed more of you than we have, so I suppose she’s due a few compliments.” The cyborg laughed a little.

"Hey, you're about to see her real up-close and personal," Yun growled. This close to killing someone, his act was starting to slip a little. It always did.

The airlock doors wheezed open with a slow hiss. Eta-Theta was briskly tossed in, the chair clanging unceremoniously against the floors.

"Wait!" Jo, who had been following a few steps behind, interrupted. "Are you sure about this?" She paused dramatically. "Those chairs are expensive."

Yun laughed while the doors wheezed back closed.

Eta-Theta was, curiously, equipped quite well for spacing. Not for surviving spacing, no, but with the neural nanobots having fried any and all sensation to their left leg and their arm replacement having taken critical damage, they were never going to simply walk out. Therefore, the best method for going through with this was to transcend as rapidly as possible.

Deep breaths. Eta-Theta had to force out all of the old air as quickly as possible, then fill their lungs. The change in pressure when the airlock doors opened would blow their lungs out rapidly enough. The shock’d knock them unconscious- the lack of oxygen in their blood would begin the transcendence process afterwards. All in all, it would be quick.

They hoped.

Yun's face peered in through the airlock interior door's window, visible from where Eta had landed. "Here's how it's going to go down…"

The ECU had long been theorizing that Zetan individuals were speaking to each other in some covert way. They just too often seemed to know what they shouldn't, or fought in perfect unison without needing to talk at all. Just yesterday, an ECU patrol was spotted by one lone Zetan, and then ambushed by a separate team of warforms only a few minutes later. It was starting to make them suspicious.

"In one-hundred-and-twenty seconds," Yun continued, "this airlock is gonna open up to empty space, and you're gonna be in it or you're not. If you don't wanna be, tell your buddies on the surface to send us a message right now. We know you freaks are talking to each other somehow."

“Open the fucking airlock quicker.” Eta-Theta had never raised their middle finger at someone in Zetan society, but apparently, according to the consciousness, Hollywoodites viewed it as offensive. So, that’s what they did. One middle finger raised directly to the two protectors. “When we rebuild, I’m going to personally crush one of your tracheas.”

Yun only mimed tapping on a watch. Ten seconds passed, thirty, a minute...

The airlock door hissed open, and Eta-Theta had a full lungful of air. There was a muffled popping noise, and from within their chest came the most excruciating pain imaginable. They didn’t believe that this sort of pain was even imaginable let alone something real that your body could experience.

Luckily, their calculations hadn’t been wrong. Their body shut down less than three seconds after the airlock had opened up again. Thirty seconds later, Eta-Theta had re-entered a warform down on the surface of Zeta-5, looking up at where their original form had perished. The two protectors- Yun and Jo, burned into their mind.

As they examined their individually articulated fingers, strong enough to crush cartilage, they wished they still had the ability to smile.

---

The Zetan response came not from the surface of the planet, but from an old satellite, still hanging in orbit. Summoned to life through old codes and signals, it sent a weak response towards where the Xandalian Republic had made their broadcast.

The message held the coordinates to an unassuming patch of desert, where a single warform had been left. The message assured them it would be activated by the time that talks were meant to begin.

---

Sigma-Devi was roused from her observation of the war by the recognition that someone aboard the station above Earth was attempting to contact her. Christensen, an envoy from the Xandalian Republic. She set herself down in front of her main desks, signalled for the automated door to open, then watched as the man entered. Their displeasure was obvious from their body language, but her smile and neutral eyes made it clear that her frustration was not with the man currently entering the room.

"Firstly, I must say it's very refreshing to see the Xandalians attempt to uncover the truth of what is happening. The ECU are rabid, they're spacing prisoners, attacking civilian centres, blatantly lying about the entire situation..." She hissed, frustrated. "But enough about my ramblings. I'm sure you have a reason to be here, and we should act properly, regardless." There was a long pause. "What can I do for you?"

Kelsie was too nervous to sit in her office and listen to the sparse messages they occasionally got from the Zetan system. She had no doubts they were going to win the battle, the Zetans could not have possibly put together a fleet that could match the joined forces of the ECU and the Undefeated. Mostly the Undefeated though; as far as Kelsie knew, the ECU fleet consisted of a ton of small spacecraft, which were hastily put together from old Earth designs and some alien materials found on New Hollywood. That was not the biggest problem. The biggest problem was the pilots. Dumb brutes whose biggest life achievement was smacking people with sticks. Hardly even trained. They would be great as targets for practice but in a real battle? The Zetans will have some defenses at least, and a lot of those men will never return home.

She walked around the station, knowing very well people were looking at her. Some tried to hide it, some just stared bluntly, most turned away when she looked them in the eyes. Conversations went silent as she walked by, only to begin again when she left, irritated whispers buzzing all around. She sure wasn’t popular. The entrance to the ECU embassy was right next to her and she briefly considered stopping there for a drink, their bar was stocked incredibly well. But that would mean a risk of running into Tanaka and having to withstand his theatrical laments. What an incompetent child. Kelsie wished that they made Abadi the main diplomat on the Meeting Place, but the ECU politics were mysteriously complicated. And probably very corrupt, like any politics.

Having nowhere else to go, she returned to the Undefeated section. When she was leaving, the large meeting room was filled with excited people, laughter, and cheering, as the news of successful takedowns was coming in. Now the atmosphere has changed rapidly, her team was sitting in solemn silence, passing a bottle around. “What happened?”

Janice handed her the bottle. “They took a Battleship down.”

Kelsie exhaled sharply. “Shit. The Thorsten?”

Parker shook his head. “No, the Grand General is safe. It was the Horizon.”

Yes, the Grand General, that’s why she was worried about the Thorsten. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that her treacherous mother was on board. Absolutely nothing. Still, an entire Battleship gone. So many people. Kelsie wondered how many of them she knew. They weren’t from her division, the parts of 9th chosen for the invasion were aboard the Eclipse, but still, they were her brothers and sisters in arms. And now, they are gone. “Well, shit,” she repeated, no idea what to say. She took a big gulp from the bottle, trying not to start coughing. It tasted like crude liquor. It always tasted like crude liquor. The horrible taste was a good reason to have some tears in your eyes. “How?”

“They just kept coming right into them. Ramming their ships into our shields, their engines exploding. The shields held on for a while, but…” Parker shrugged.

“We should get them.” Rodriguez, leader of the Reapers squad, gritted his teeth. The rest of his squad, along with the Hawks, second squad stationed on the Meeting Place as guards, chimed in, whistling and clapping their hands. “There aren’t that many of them, we can take them down easily.”

“No,” Kelsie said loudly so everyone in the room would hear her.

“But…”

“I said NO! Calm down, Lieutenant. I understand you are angry, hell, I’m pissed off too. But we have direct orders from the Grand General himself. This is a neutral space, we can’t just start killing foreign diplomats, no matter how much they deserve it. We will have to leave it to our brothers and sisters in the invasion teams to get our revenge. We just have to sit and wait.” Men and women went silent, aside from an occasional quiet growl. “Yes, I know it sucks. But we are soldiers, and we have our orders. Does anyone have a problem with that?” She stared into their eyes to make sure they got the message.

Rodriguez sighed. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. In fact, why don’t you guys go visit the ECU embassy? Our allies have a non-stop bar, so go get a few drinks,” Kelsie smiled, imagining the look on Tanaka’s face as a dozen angry soldiers invade his bar. “But I want one thing to be perfectly clear,” she leaned against the table, her tone deadly serious. “If any of you drunken assholes will have some ideas about taking justice into your own hands, I will deal with you personally and kick your ass out of an airlock. Now get lost.”

She sat down, resting her head in her hands. Looking up, she realized one of the men didn’t leave. David Parker was sitting across the room, watching her. “You should probably go too. I’m sorry, I’m not really in the mood for sex right now.” There weren’t many ways to have fun on this station and the ‘entertainment of the poor’ was a good way to kill time. They were really good at it together.

He raised one eyebrow, looking offended. “Wow. I’m glad to hear that is the only thing I’m good for around here.” He turned to leave.

“What? Wait, that is not what I…,” Kelsie started, but he was already gone. Fuck. She banged her forehead on the table. This day was just getting better and better. At least they left the bottle here.

_{Addressing: @Raylah}

Oh, why, oh why couldn't they install a holographic bartender? The ECU uses holograms for everything these days. Back home, they're replacing social workers and servants by the millions. But no, no, up here in space, it has to be authentic.

Hans watches helplessly as a half-dozen already buzzed soldiers pour into his bar faster than whiskey. He starts to sigh, but before the breath can get halfway out, another half-dozen follow them. But this time, moving a little more like wine. (He's been working such long shifts lately, it's impossible not to think in terms of alcohol any more.)

"Whaddya got?" one leans his sweaty arm against Hans' clean bar table without asking. "Hey, I said whaddya got?"

Not enough pay to deal with this, that's what. He'd quit, but any other job would be the same; Oligarchs have a way of ending up in charge of all the businesses. The ECU is technically capitalist, but Hans has learned, you need 'noocratic permission' to use any of the recycled Bezian resources, or anything from the freshly terraformed land. Together, those two happen to comprise 100% percent of available resources on New Hollywood. So without permission from a high-up Oligarch, there's just no way to start up a new business on your own- and then you end up working on a bar in the backend of the Sol system with a bunch of foreign soldiers looking like they wanna wreck all your hard work cleaning it up.

"Mate," Hans smiles, adopting his personal favorite Old Australian accent, "we have about every drink you could ever want for. 16th Century Italian Champagne, 20th American Moonshine- not for the faint- an imitation of Roman Empire spirits, English Beer..."

_{Starring: Martina}

"So what do you... believe?"

"Many things. Our predecessors, perhaps in too many things."

"What do you mean?"

"The early Mixtists, you know, their name comes from an Old English word, 'mix.' They accepted almost every Old Earth faith as true in some sense or some other, and tried to smash them all together. This is what made the Noocracy angry with them. Made them chase us out of the cities. Earth religion never had such a unity, so the ECU will not accept it now."

"But why? Isn't unity good?"

"Maybe. But New Hollywood will not have a thing which Earth didn't have. But besides, back when I was still young, we were... over-enthusiastic. Living out in these ruins has made us more discriminating. Perhaps every faith does have some echo of the Truth. But- but- there can still only be one Truth. It is our mission to find it."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"...Can I join you?"

The old woman looks at Martina Ward fully in the eyes, not for the first time since they've sat around this flickering fire. "Of course you can, dear."

Columbia
City of New Landing
Neon Tipsy Bar, Upper levels

Malcolm Talis, a tired and worn-out man in his early sixties laid against the wall of a moving elevator as it made its ascent to the classiest and most expensive bar you could find in this city. The occasion? Malcolm had just returned from a rather somber get-together, a real close friend, practically a younger brother, had recently passed away from complications. Attending his funeral with his family, friends and surviving members of their platoon, and after that depressing reminder of all their mortality, he needed one hell of a drink. So, Malcolm and the rest of the crew had decided to throw a little drinking party in his honor.

The aged Malcolm maintained his balance as he heard the "bing" sound from elevator. The doors sliding open to reveal bright neon lights, they really wanted to put an emphasis on the bar's namesake that's for sure. Malcolm scanned his surroundings, taking in the atmosphere, jazz-like music was booming in the air, followed by soothing scents of various strong drinks.

The bar was half-full, its patrons were a varied sort, ranging from "fellow" navy officers, though by the looks of them, they were a bunch of upper-class suits, city boys wanting to play soldier, to suits of the business variety, both shady and legitimate sat in another corner, all drinking to their hearts content. All the while, in the left corner stood a little stage of sorts, two young, quite attractive women were singing in soothing tones.

Malcolm continued scanning the room until he took notice of a Urkani man hand waving to him, turning to that direction to see a trio waiting for him, the aforementioned Urkani, and two humans, a woman and a slightly younger man. Malcolm walked over and sat down as he grabbed a glass; he was fashionably late enough to have his drink ready. "Glad you could make it, Geo." the aged woman, Isana Talis, his wife called him by his old callsign, bumping her shoulder against his.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Malcolm replied as he bumped back. "Love you too, darling."

"With that." Binat, the Urkani spoke, raising a glass. "A toast to Sanders."

"May he find peace forevermore." Gideon, the other human spoke.

"To the Gravemakers." Both Isana and Malcolm said, the four of them clashing their glasses together and begun gulping down their drinks. An hour had passed, the four, having been separated for a number of years had much catching up to do. "So, how's the family doing?" Binat asked the couple.

Malcolm and Isana looked to one another before turning their attention to their old friend. "Doing well." Malcolm replied. "Called Jade an hour ago, we were going to have a personal holiday together..." Malcolm paused, once more looking to his wife. "...but me and Isana agreed now wasn't the best time...the grandkids were mighty disappointed."

"Yeah..not in a festive mood either." Gideon said, gulping down another glass. Some more time passes as the Gravemakers took it all at a slowed pace, a large hologram screen brightened up as the daily news reports came in, a rather imposing Dhulrak Anchor appearing. "The Zetan War has reached a standstill as coalition forces-"

"Just like out of the old history books." Malcolm said, chugging down another drink. "As soon as we found each other, someone was bound to stir up some shit."

"I have to admit." Binat said. "Those Zetans...they creep the hell out of me."

"I wonder if the whole abduction story is true?" Isana wondered, twirling her glass. "Gives me the chills thinking about it."

"Personally? I don't care much to dig any deeper." Gideon interjected. "All I know is that I don't trust those cogheads."

While the Gravemakers were busy chatting some more, they had failed to notice a young stranger approaching from behind, having just arrived from the elevator. "Captain Talis?" the stranger spoke.

The four turned to see a human man in his mid thirties, wearing a fine suit. He extended his hand outward to the captain. "The name's Leon Severis." He declared. "Could you and your associates come with me for but a moment?" Leon requested of the group. "It won't take long."

---

Some time had passed, the group driving around the city in a rather spacious hover limo. The Gravemakers sat rather comfortably on one end of the hovercar. Facing them on the other end was this Mister Severis. "So, why'd you drag us out here?" Malcolm asked, honestly intrigued by this point.

"I suppose it would be fair, you've waited long enough." Severis said as he cleared his throat. "Are you familiar with the recent conflict occurring the Zeta system?" Leon asked rhetorically.

Malcolm had quickly shifted from intrigued, to confused. "...yes... Why'd you bring that up?"

"I'll get to the point, I've come on behalf of certain parties." Leon said, keeping his ties and allegiance vague, for now. “Parties who have a vested interest in participating in this rather historical conflict, and to see the culling the threat the Zetans pose."

"And that threat would be?" Malcom asked, not convinced.

"The threat of changing what it means to be human." Severis said, his eyes drifting to binat. "Or xeno for that matter." He paused for a moment, continuing. “Out of all the colonies discovered, the Zetans are by far, the most technologically advanced and how they used that technology scares the hell out of people.”

Fear of the unknown. The most deep-rooted, basic, and primal of human emotions, both a boon and a bane to all of mankind, and no doubt the catalyst of many wars and atrocities throughout all of creation. It is a fear that is well understood by the gravemakers and many others. Doesn't help that propaganda films the ECU shipped throughout the galaxy for months have fueled that unease and distrust. Malcom remained silent, having no means to rebuke, leon continued. "The Coalition may have won the battle but the war is far from over. The Zetans may have other plans up their sleeves."

"...And what does this have to do with me exactly?" Malcolm asked.

Leon smiled, possible progress was made. "You were considered a quite the maverick among your peers in the marines, men and women serving under you have commented on your unorthodox, but efficient command. Such an seasoned and flexible officer would be a...valuable asset to our cause"

"So...you want to hire us?" Malcolm asked, a little offend. "Son, I think you're terribly mistaken. We're no hired guns, and sure as hell don't plan on being such."

"Such a crude term." Leon replied. "I like to think of it as...one time contractors."

"Regardless. Why not look for real mercenaries?"

"My benefactors demand a more...creditable face for our little operation. Decorated war heroes such as yourselves would do just that, and they assure you, you will be compensated VERY handsomely."

Malcom looked to his crew as they silently deliberate on their next course of action. In truth, yes, Malcom never really trusted the zetans, many citizens within the URC thought the chancellor's actions were naïve and possibly foolish, opening the doors to Columbia to a potential threat, fearing a repeat of the Yulzan War.

Isana gripped onto Malcom's hand. "What do you say, hun?" She asked. "One last hoorah for the gravemakers?"

Malcom thought deeply further...and he and the rest aren't getting any younger, one last mission, for sanders. Malcom matched his eyes to Leon as he gave a confirming nod.

Leon smirked, mission accomplished. "Thank you." Leon said. "An Officer of your talent and skill will be of great use for the Volunteer task force to come."

"And what role will we play in all this?"

"Well, for you, captain, you'll be the Operational Commander." Leon replied. "You'll be giving a ship, crew and additional volunteers to assist you in your mission. You will be doing all of mankind and xenokind a great service in this endeavor."

Ten soldiers, proceeding through Zetan tunnels. These were Unionist soldiers- protectors, more suited to bullying civilians than they were fighting a guerrilla war, and yet here they were. Eta-Theta examined them through the lenses of their new warform, analysing them. Studying them. It had been determined that the standard 'light warform,' was good enough in combat to be iterated upon, changed, and adjusted. With the glut of disembodied Zetans, there had been high demand for forms to take revenge on those that had taken so much from them. If they were honest though... Eta-Theta wasn't here for vengeance. The people they wanted dead for hurting them were in orbit, to be handled at a later date. No, this? This was simply for their own pleasure.

The squad swept through a set of tunnels and passed by a heavy-duty breach-proof door that had been set open. This was their last mistake. No sooner had the last man entered then both sides slammed shut.

"Fuck!" One of them cried out, looking around. "What the hell?"

"They had eyes on us?" Another said, confused and... Concerned. Eta-Theta had no tongue and no lips, but they would have been using the former to lick the latter had they been in their original body. The warform they were in untangled itself from the ceiling and deactivated its magnetic clamps, clattering against the ground loudly. Immediately, all eyes whirled towards it, guns shouldered, but... Eta-Theta was unarmed.

They were not the threat here.

"So glad you could join me today for an experiment." The Zetan felt as one of the men rattled off half a magazine from their gun, sending the warform backwards and against the ground. Thankfully, they didn't feel the pain of the bullets any more- the hardened carapace of the warform weathering the storm well enough to continue talking.

"In approximately fifteen seconds..."

"Wait! Stop shooting." One of the men said, as a magazine hit the floor. "Let it finish, then shoot it. Fucking toaster."

"I have halted the countdown timer. The room you are in now is built directly adjacent to Asphodel-Epsilon's main nuclear reactor. You are being kept safe by our radiation shielding. However... You are trespassers here. Trespassers must be removed." They could see the unease that the men had already.

"The countdown has been resumed. By the time I finish this sentence, you will have been exposed to lethal levels of ionizing radiation. You will have approximately five minutes of lucidity. I recommend you do with it what you can." Eta-Theta felt something stirring within their chest at the reaction that got from the men. Panic. Fear. Anger. It didn't matter though. Already, the warform's internal Geiger sensors were crackling off the chart. At first, the men would feel nothing. Then, heat. Burns would form. The skin blistered. The radiation exposure was cut off, but the dosage had been given.

Of course, the men extracted vengeance on the form that Eta-Theta was in, but they could only pump so many shots into it, and they had larger things to worry about. Soon nausea set in. The contents of their stomachs splashed out against the floor of the room. Hair began to wither, then teeth fell out. They begged, pleaded, and at last collapsed down. When they fell, Eta-Theta rose, damaged micromotors and misaligned servos screeching to pull the warform up and into shape. As the men closed their eyes and were finally excused from their living hell, Eta-Theta picked one of the still living ones up by the throat.

"Just remember. You made us this way." Eta-Theta squeezed down, hard. They had made a promise, and they needed practise. The warform's thumb, even in its damaged state, sunk into the man's throat and tightened his windpipe shut. The man's eyes fluttered in panic, but there simply wasn't much more his body could do. When his eyes closed, the irradiated warform tossed his corpse down.

"You turned me into a killing machine... Who am I to argue with programming?"

The ECU was already sending ships to scout the Zeta-5 surface, but the Grand General decided for a more cautious approach. Even though the battle was a clear victory and the hostile space forces were completely destroyed, losing a Battleship has deeply shaken all the Undefeated. The fleet was now positioned around the Gateway, ready to deter any arriving ships, and, if necessary, destroy them. They were ready to disable and capture the incoming Xandalian ship, but the ECU decided to take a more diplomatic approach. Maybe it was for the better, it wouldn’t be smart to antagonize a strong nation.

Captains from all the remaining ships have now gathered on the Thorsten, awaiting new orders.

“We have received news from the ECU. Their scouts managed to capture and interrogate one of the Zetans.” Although it was hardly an interrogation - the half-robot gave them all the information right away, basically inviting them into their underground city. That itself was extremely suspicious. Or maybe the machines were just physically incapable of lying? Who knows what algorithms drove their twisted minds. “The captured scientist is in the Zetan main underground city, in a place they call Alpha-Elysium. We don’t know the exact coordinates yet, but we have approximated the location of the Elysium sector and we will begin our scans there. The problem is,” General sighed, “that the conditions on the ground are extremely hostile. We know for sure that at least one of the ECU scout parties was destroyed by weather alone, before even encountering enemy units.”

Quiet whispers spread across the room. “So, what are our plans, General?”

“We scan the surface from space and send smaller ships to investigate suspicious areas. No troops will be landing on the surface. Their ground structures do not concern us. We need to find a suitable entry point to the underground levels and transport our troops there directly to avoid the surface dangers.”

The men nodded and some of them looked at each other hesitantly. Finally, one of the Cruiser captains stood up. “Sir, I’m gonna say what everyone else is thinking. We all want to get revenge for Horizon. So why don’t we just find a hole into these tunnels and start pumping gas inside to flush the clankers out like rats?” The crowd cheered.

“I wish it were that simple. I appreciate the initiative, but without knowing more about the tunnel layout and how their ventilation and filtration systems work, this kind of attack would probably be very inefficient. After all, we don’t even know if their bodies won’t be immune to our chemical and biological weapons.”

---

It was a gate. Not a huge gate, just a regular-size gate in the mountainside, probably just a maintenance access or something like that. The troop transport could probably fit through, but it was decided they weren’t going to try. From here on, they would go on foot. Ten squads through this gate, sixty heavily armed men wearing protective exoskeletons, all battle hardened veterans that went through the endless conflicts back home on Ellara. Other gates were discovered and other troop transports were hovering near them, all waiting for the go-to signal. Their orders were quite simple - go inside and kill anything that moves, be it a person, robot or a fuckin’ automatic can opener.

Finally they could do what they were good at. The best at. Lieutenant Maya Mayers, the leader of the 2-A-2 squad, grinned. The waiting time was over, they were done sitting inside a spaceship, praying that someone doesn’t blow it up like they did to the Horizon. So many good men died there. Maya served with a lot of them, they went through bloody skirmishes, long recons and boring days at the base together. And now, puff, they are gone. The troopers were angry. No, they were beyond angry. They were pissed off and furious and ready to take it on the first enemy they saw.

“All right people, it's time, watch the light show.” The transporter pilot pointed towards the gate. A Cruiser that was hovering above the thin atmosphere, so far that it was barely more than a small dot on the sky, fired from its plasma cannon several times and the gate just vaporized. There was no loud explosion, no debris flying through the air, as it would be if they tried to blow the thing up with conventional explosives.

“Wow, neat.” The men and women in the transporter cheered, eager to finally get into action. The way was open. At the same time the same scene happened in several other places in the Elysium sector. The transporters landed and soldiers swarmed out, heading towards the dark holes, entering the Zetan underground system.

The tunnel went straight on for a while and they haven’t come across any resistance. When they reached a junction, the assault leader ordered them to split up to cover more ground. Maya’s squad, the Yoyos, and another one, nicknamed the Butchers, were assigned to take one of the side tunnels. Others might have mocked the Yoyos for picking such a name which certainly stood out of the crowd of Reapers, Reavers, Destroyers or Killers. But Maya and the others felt it fitting. It was what they did best - go in, get shit done, go out. No holdups, no problems, and, most importantly, no casualties on their side.

It felt like they had been walking for hours, occasionally putting a mark on the tunnel wall. Adrenaline coursed through their veins, making them see an enemy in every shadow and behind every corner, but everything was silent, it seemed that the enemy had retreated deeper into the tunnel system. Eventually, the tunnel had led them to a large open space, a junction of some sorts, apparently used to load cargo on some bigger vehicles. The place looked deserted hastily, some of the cranes still held boxes mid-air. There was some abandoned vehicle in the corner and Maya gestured to two of her men to go check it out. It would certainly help not having to move through these tunnels on foot.

---

...Well, the process of gathering the two representatives had been a success at least. Somehow. One Zetan warform, and one ECU Oligarch, both aboard their neutral vessel that now sat in the vacuum of space in a precarious position. For a moment they were hosting Kayla at the rather lovely bar built into the ship, and had brought the warform to engineering to host them for a moment. It was only a brief things before the talks were to begin, played as proper diplomatic protocol to ensure the representatives were prepared to discuss matters and comfortable. Mostly, however, the chance to get brief information before the meeting began was something the Xandalians valued due to the precarious nature of the situation. In that vein, whilst the barkeep was talking to Kayla as a messenger was headed her way to tell her she and the Zetan representative would be brought to the meeting room on the ship at the same time.

However, back in Engineering things were a bit different where the Zetan representative was concerned. Head Engineer Malden was speaking to them, simply instructed to "make them comfortable, do not converse about the war, and simply maintain neutrality" as those speaking with Kayla had been informed more openly and in front of her to do. She'd been told the same was being done to the Zetan representative to ensure no one talked a peep as Diplomat Matthews finished getting the meeting room organized. Such was the proper protocol for a neutral vessel.

However, Malden knew what the message 'also' meant in regards to the Zetan representative.

"We apologize for this bit of subterfuge, but we don't have long before a messenger comes to bring you to the meeting so we can avoid suspicion from the ECU and Undefeated. Otherwise we risk a major diplomatic incident and our mission of getting the truth back home.

In this time before the messenger gets here, I've been instructed to ask you for any information pertaining to your people's status in this war and to deliver us your side of the story...admittedly in great haste unfortunately. Our time is limited. We have computer systems for jotting information down right here, as we do more manual means of recording information such as paper and pen. If you have any other means of giving us information on what is going on, we can accommodate this as well."

The Head Engineer delivered his message as best he could, but truth was they didn't have the time for long discussions and getting information down normally. They had a very brief window to allow the Zetan representative to get them something before having to take them to the Meeting Room. They had to maintain proper protocol, and the engineer knew that if things went south he alone was on the line for this action. The Republic had to maintain neutrality right now, and the mission was essential to the point he knew what he'd signed on for in this case.

All that remained was if the Zetan representative had any way to give them info in a hurry. Blargh. The nature of it all put a bad taste in the Xandalian man's mouth that they had to do this much.

(A minor "what is Kayla doing" and how the Zetan responds in this brief time is all we need, I think, and we can skip to or to after the talks took place. Whatever works best for your guys tbh, am open. :P)

@Irredeemable@Tortoise

---

---

Christensen, the middle-aged older man he was by Xandalian standards, simply smiled in return and gave a small courtesy nod at first. It was obvious that the Zetan representative would be irate about the war going on, but to make such accusations of warcrimes such as these made the Xandalian Representative think. Not that the ECU and Undefeated weren't already being suspicious themselves according to his secure communication. But how did she have that information? Secure channel? Something else? How did she know they were seeking to uncover things? Ah. Either way, her feelings about it were crystal clear.

Still, Envoy Christensen let the automatic doors whoosh closed behind him before he stepped closer to Sigma-Devi's main desk.

"No no, you are quite fine in voicing your feelings on the matter. I can only image the situation on your homeworld has become quite intense, to say the least, but after Tanaka's announcement and so forth the ECU and Undefeated likely won't make it easy to grasp what is going on in full. I will be going to speak with them later though, but this to be my first stop.

In truth I came to speak with you about the ongoing war, to get information and details from the Zetan side of the incident and war even, and if you have any information you can tell or transfer to me that I can send back to the Senate.

Because you see...let us say that we seek the truth here, the real truth, and perhaps some potential sympathies exist as well for all I know. As it were a certain nation has been pushing greater amounts of anti-Zetan propaganda to the Republic's people, and alongside other suspicious actions this certain nation has done the Senate does not see this in any sort of good light to say the very least."

Christensen's tone was diplomatic, clear, and to the point, his tone was calm and composed, and a gentle smile was even on his face. Yet at the same time, the way he held himself seemed to indicate a level of steel and experience behind his green eyes that seemed to radiate a soothing confidence. Even so, something behind those eyes of his spoke of a greater wealth of experiences that lied untapped at the moment. Even so, his words struck true to the heart of what the Senate had asked him to come here for. The truth. What was going on behind closed doors.

@Irredeemable