Someone was banging on the door. What door? Kelsie squinted, but it was too dark to see much, just a dim light coming from a lamp on the other side of the room. Still, she had to close her eyes immediately, groaning and rolling over. Bad idea. Her stomach growled violently, threatening to evacuate its contents on the floor. Fucking hell. What the hell happened? How did she even get here? How long was she out? And why the fuck was someone banging a hammer INSIDE HER HEAD? So many questions, no answers.

She tried opening her eyes again, noticing some glasses on the nightstand. One was filled with water, another one with what looked like some juice. And, a miracle, a couple of pink pills were lying there too. Kelsie grabbed them and put them in her mouth, concentrating with her sheer will to not throw up. A little sip of water and when her stomach started protesting again, she laid back down. Insane that in all those centuries no one had come up with some miraculous hangover cure.

Her mind was busy trying to put the pieces of last night together but failing spectacularly. She remembered hearing about the Horizon, sending the squads to invade the ECU bar, and then holding the bottle of that horrible liquor they left behind. Then there were some vague images of hugging a lamp, glass shattering, and a loud bang. Huh. That probably explains the sharp pain in her elbow. And the knee. And the bump on the back of her head that was pulsing painfully. When was the last time she got this drunk? Kelsie already knew the answer - never. She rarely ever drank. A toast to fallen comrades, a sip here and there when someone passed the bottle, but that was it. “No training,” she croaked.

“Indeed.” A quiet voice answered her from a dark corner. Kelsie’s first instinct was to jump up and reach for her gun, but her body refused to cooperate and she stumbled and fell down, one big pile of bruised limbs.

“Dammit, Kelsie.” David got up, collected her from the ground, and helped her back to bed.

“David, I think I said…,” she hesitated, wishing she would forget that part of the evening.

“Forget it,” he waved his hand. “I know you, talk first, think later. Perfect diplomatic material.” He grinned.

“Shut up.” Talking made the headache worse.

“Wish I could. But, there has been sort of an incident. The guys got really wasted in the ECU bar.”

“Oh fuck,” Kelsie sat up, trying to ignore the world spinning and whirling around her. “How bad? Please tell me they didn’t actually attack the Zetans?”

“Calm down, it’s not that bad. All that the official sources are saying is that ‘someone’ vandalized the walls around the Zetan embassy. Unfortunately, the cameras had a mysterious malfunction, so they couldn’t find out who did it.”

“Mysterious malfunction?” Kelsie closed her eyes, relieved that nothing worse happened.

David smiled. “Yes, very mysterious. You can ask Julianna about it, those things happen from time to time.”

“Oh, I’m gonna rip those bastards a new one.”

“Already ordered them to go through all our supplies, armory, and storage rooms and run a full inventory checkup. They look about as well as you do, so it’s gonna take them some time. You can yell at them all you want though. If you can,” he chuckled.

“Maybe later,” she rolled her eyes, collapsing back on the bed. “Thank you.”

Once upon a time the boardroom had been the command centre of the station, formerly known as Habitat-1. As the station had grown over time to encompass the planet, adding room for more people, facilities and storage the command centre had become unfit for purpose. That's when it became the home to the board and all their meetings. While it couldn't control the entire facility anymore it did give them direct access to communications and a readout on every system within the space owned by the Lorne Administration, which made it perfect for administration work. Division heads took up several floors below the Boardroom, with various staff and facilities all catered to their own needs. Entertainment even had its own offices, albeit not an official division under the previous CEOs leadership it had flourished. This was why Tyrell was now taking the pressure to allow them to have their own voice on the board.

Tyrell Lorne straightened his tie as he stood in front of the holographic display showing the gateway in its now active state. The five cruisers sat protecting it, they certainly weren't pretty and to his understanding having re-activated them after so long there were significant maintenance issues.

Oversight from the previous CEO who had thought that they would never be needed. "So, does anyone have any thoughts?"

It was Augustus Feltch who spoke first and as was expected for the head of the military it was a violent solution. "We should deactivate it from our side. Send in a swarm of dismantler drones and from what we understand we could have it out of commission in a couple of hours."

"You can't just dismantle it." Doctor Raidne, head of Medical. Obviously the first one to but in against Augustus. "We have no idea who is on the other side-"

"Which is exactly why we should dismantle it."

"It could be our clients."

"It's been three hundred years, I don't think they're coming."

Tyrell raised his hands. "We could go in circles with the debate over how long it's been on the other side of the gateway-" He nodded at Raidne. "I understand the theory that it may have only been three hundred years on this side of the gateway, due to some form of temporal displacement error but let's not get bogged down in what ifs. The gateways open. I need options."

He turned to face Madeline Ulrop, an aging woman with silver hair and more wrinkles on her face than anyone else. By all means, she should be living it up in one of the retirement centers, but instead, she was still here working to this day. That said it was rare for teachers to retire, most of them kept going as long as possible. "We should send a ship through." The little side bickering and conversations came to an end as she spoke. Not everyone agreed with her but her voice still carried weight. When she spoke, people listened.

"We have been alone for three hundred years. By all means, we've completed our mission here, our people are happy but we lack the drive to do more. We're builders, miners, and engineers. Not colonists. If there are colonies out there we can do our part to build them up, give our people something more to do in life other than building more drones, to build more ships, to make new mines. Hell, we can't even add to the infrastructure down on Delta-Four! Add anything else and we tip the ecological balance we've worked too hard to maintain. So not only do we owe it to our people to find them purpose, but we owe it to our predecessors to see people living down on the planet."

Kayla is strange for an Oligarch. Aside from the hyperactive attitude anyone notices, there's something more subtle about her; something different that only fellow Oligarchs tend to see.

Part of it is why she's sitting at this foreign bar in a Chinese-inspired dress. (That is, not a historical Chinese dress.) And another part is that she's speaking English, but not in a proper Old English accent, or an Old American one. Or not even an Australian, South African, Scottish, or Irish one either. What she is speaking is a form of English that developed only on New Hollywood, the New Beijing accent- which should be clearly understandable, but no other Oligarch would be seen publicly using.

It is, like her dress, not of Earth.

Kayla is a New Hollywoodite. There's no denying it. But the problem, from her peer's perspective, is that she's too much of a Hollywoodite. Is there anything left of Beautiful Mother Terra in her? That question has propelled her across the Gateway, to watch over this blockade in another corner of the galaxy, where her new-ness is safely contained from being spread to the others back home.

Kayla admits all of this to her bartender, in fact, at least in her own hyper-fast speech. Fortunate that he can't understand a word of it. Doesn't speak English, New Beijing or otherwise.

She laughs at a joke about Zetans that only she told and only she understood, and downs another drink.

"Patricians." The Speaker of the Senate declared imperiously. The hubbub of noise continued unabated despite this.

"Patricians." The speaker insisted again. A hundred and twenty years old, but looking like someone in their sixties at most, the steel-haired woman slammed her fist down onto her podium, sending a screech of feedback through the entire auditorium. "PATRICIANS." She finally barked out, at last bringing the cacophony to silence. "Quite right." The Speaker finally declared. "I expect this sort of racket from our younger members, but it is quite unseemly for the Upper Senate to act so raucously. Now then, to business." She smoothed her clothes down, and indicated across to another podium. "Speaking now, the Venerable Chancellor of Matuvista, Condel Julianus de Aqualius."

"My thanks, Speaker." The Chancellor nodded respectfully. Younger than the speaker by several decades, the de-facto President of the Grand Republic adjusted their medals a little, then begun to speak. "Friends. Patricians. Countrymen. The time that we have long since considered would never come has finally arrived. Above us, where once three stars burned, a fourth has sprung to life. We know not why or how, but a probe sent through has returned unharmed." He paused for emphasis.

"For the first time in three centuries, we now are reconnected once again with the rest of the galaxy." Polite applause broke out throughout the auditorium. "We are now able to return to Earth. To find out what happened to our fellow colonists, strung through the stars like glistening pearls of hope for our race. To understand our place in this wonderous universe. It is a privilege, and a pleasure, to be the Chancellor who, by the grace of the saints, has been given this opportunity, and I hope each and every patrician will feel the same way."

"To those who are not here today, the patricians and plebians both, understand that this is a most momentous occasion. Each and every one of us is now no mere citizen of the Republic: We are representatives of it. Of our people. Our fine culture. Our honourable legacy. This is a great burden, yes, but also an honour no past generation has had. With God as my witness, let this day begin a renaissance for our people, our planets, and our Republic!"

---

Alfonso Leoncio Alvarez De Caravajal had been assigned to his most difficult mission yet. Harder than handling insurgencies. Harder than interstellar combat. Harder even than not making a fool of himself at the debut gala. No, his mission was to head through the Gateway, and see what was left of Earth. His new flagship- an extensively modified patrol corvette re-christened La Introducción, sailed through the empty space that connected solar systems, plotting a course for the home of humanity- Sol System.

When he emerged, he wasn't entirely certain what he was going to find, but it certainly wasn't this. A swarm of vessels, of many and varied designs shuffled to and fro through the gateway, all heading towards a lump of steel that hung above a...

"Dios Mio." Alfonso paused there for a moment, staring at the remnants of a home he had never owned. The planet... It was grey. Ashen. No blue. No green... Not even the white of clouds. "Head for that station," he declared. "And try to figure out who all these people are!"

He had a messanger drone to send back to Matuvista.

Twelve heavily armed men and women moved quietly through a large, seemingly abandoned underground junction. Maya sent two men to check on an abandoned vehicle, hoping they could get it operational and make faster progress through these creepy tunnels. The place was strangely quiet and the fact that they haven’t encountered any resistance yet was highly suspicious. Especially since this place looked perfect for an ambush.

“Guys, watch out,” Maya warned the rest, aiming her flashlight up onto the boxes held mid-air by large cranes. There were some brief reflections. Was it an enemy? Or was it just part of the crane hydraulics?

Suddenly, one of the crates fell down and exploded on impact. A bright light flashed into Maya’s face, blinding her temporarily. Years of training saved her life because instead of standing in spot disoriented, she threw herself to the ground. She roughly remembered a direction towards the nearest cover and quickly rolled there, still half-blind. Countless bullets pierced the place where she had been just moments ago, followed by three robotic warforms that jumped down from the ceiling. Maya used the overlay on her exoskeleton helmet to check the line of fire for friendlies and then leaned from her cover, returning fire on the robots. The air was filled with smoke, bullets, and laser shots. “Aim for the joints!” someone yelled as one of the warforms collapsed to the ground, its leg cut off. It didn’t stop it from shooting, but with its mobility decreased, it became an easier target and soon the holes covered most of its body and it finally shut down.

Two remaining robots spread out, taking cover behind structures in the room. “Butchers left flank! Yoyos cover fire!” Maya radioed orders and watched as half of the men separated and carefully started moving towards the left side of the room near the entrance to one of the bigger tunnels. “Jim, what is the status of that transport?”

Before she could get a response, the hair on her neck stood up and she jumped to the side, almost avoiding another warform jumping on her from the ceiling. The thing grabbed her ankle and pulled her closer, raising one of its arms. Maya briefly noticed that his hand was in fact not a hand, but a huge drill, ready to dive into her body, before using her free leg to kick him slightly away. It didn’t do much, but it gave her time to reach for her sidearm and empty half a magazine into the robot’s head from up close. The warform stumbled and fell directly on her, the drill missing her helmet by just a few inches, delving deep into the floor. “Shit,” she mumbled. “Watch for the clankers from above!” she yelled as soon as she could reach the comm activation button, using all the hydraulics of her exoskeleton trying to push the dead robot’s weight away from her.

“We got multiple new contacts, east side,” someone reported. Maya didn’t recognize the voice, so it was probably one of the Butchers.

“Fall back, regroup at the western tunnel entrance.” Maya finally managed to push the warform away from her and rolled to the nearest cover. The room was quiet now, but some metallic noises were coming from a large tunnel entrance to the east. “Status?” Maya moved to the rest of her men.

“Four men down and Avery there can’t walk.”

“Fuckin clanker crushed my leg with some huge clamp,” man lying on the ground gritted his teeth. “Crumpled my exo-suit into my leg.”

“Just hang in there, mate.” Maya nodded at him. “Jimmy, what about that transport?”

One of the men standing around a small hovercraft, or whatever that thing was, turned to her. “Well, I got interrupted. But I should have it operational in maybe… twenty minutes?”

“Make it ten.” The noise was still coming from the western tunnel, but it wasn’t getting any closer. What the hell were they doing in there? “All right, guys, the clankers are in the western tunnel, so we will head east. You go check if the way is clear.” She gestured to three men who immediately moved out, going carefully from cover to cover, working in well-coordinated pairs. “And move those large boxes out of the way.” One of the men stopped, using the full strength of his exoskeleton trying to push some big containers in the tunnel entrance out of the way. Maya let them do their thing and moved to Jim. The transporter was already hovering two feet above the ground and men helped Avery up on the small cargo platform in the back. “Do you need any help?”

“Ye, move out of my w…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A powerful shock wave came out of the tunnel, followed by a huge ball of fire. Some of the crates must have been booby-trapped, and as the men tried to move them, they exploded, killing everyone in the tunnel. Fiery hell burned behind them now, consuming three of her men and showing the silhouettes of the rest perfectly. Maya just now realized that the enemy in the eastern tunnel was just making some noise to force them into the trap while waiting for the right moment to attack. A swarm of figures poured into the room and once again the air filled with bullets. Maya hit one enemy twice and he immediately fell to the ground. Wasn’t that a bit too easy? She moved closer to get a better look. They were humans! Well, mostly human, majority of them had some mechanical enhancements, but still, big parts of their bodies were human. And human bodies were incomparably easier to kill than huge robots that couldn’t feel pain. “Aim for the human parts! Let's make them BLEED!” Finally. Have they run out of robots? Who cares?

Two huge cones of fire lit up at the center of the room, pinning two of her men down. While a woman with artificial arms forced them to take cover, a man with a second flamethrower circled around them, ready to attack them from the side. “Oh no, you won’t, bitches,” Maya mumbled. “Cover me!” she yelled and started running, jumping up on a container, leaping forward, and grabbing a crane hook. She then swung forward, letting go at the furthest point, landing straight on her target with a very satisfying sound of bones cracking and intestines squelching. “There you go, cunt,” she stepped on the woman’s head, just for good measure.

Before she could rush over to the guy with the second flamethrower a bullet grazed her shoulder plating, throwing her off balance for a moment. The shot came from a weird angle, seemingly from above. Maya looked up, but couldn’t see anyone. “Somebody take care of the fucking sniper!” she radioed. She had no time to deal with snipers right now, she needed to take care of the flamethrower guy before he could do some serious damage. Horrible screams revealed that it was too late. The Zetan moved around her men’s cover and was now giving them a full blast from the side. The soldier closer to him was completely engulfed in flames, the other one tried to roll to safety, exposing himself to other enemies that were shooting from distance. “HEY!” she shouted to get Zetan’s attention. It worked, maybe a bit too well, now the cone of fire was pointed in her direction. Against all odds, her suit was still holding together, even though it was getting hot really fast. She jumped towards the man holding the flamethrower, watching the surprise in his eyes. Of course, he would expect people trying to run away from the fire, not move into it. Maya twisted the hose out of his still very human hands and turned it against him. “Burn in hell, bastard.”

“Top clear for now,” someone reported.

Getting up from a screaming Zetan burning alive, Maya turned to her own burned man. He was quiet now, no more desperate screeches coming from his dead body. His exo suit was still bright red from all the heat and Maya shivered. She could hardly imagine a worse death. The second soldier had made it to cover a few meters away and then died quietly, his suit punctured in several places. “Bloody hell,” Maya cursed.

The Zetans were now being more careful, not wanting to go hand-to-hand against the Undefeated, but it wouldn’t last long. They formed a line around the eastern side of the room, taking cover and waiting for reinforcements. Unlike the remaining Undefeated, they had all the time in the world. Maya tried the radio, but the signal was being jammed, or maybe it just couldn’t reach so deep underground. The possibility that there was nobody left to answer her calls was just a bit too scary to think about right now.

“Mayo, clear the way for us, will ya?” By some miracle, the transport was still intact. It was parked in the corner of a room and shielded from a direct blast from the western tunnel, but still, it was a miracle it was operational.

Maya didn’t have time to think about the wonders of Zetan engineering. “Copy.” Two grenades fell into the Zetan improvised trenches and two more cleared the eastern tunnel entrance. Maya ran over right as the grenade exploded, finishing enemies off. The hydraulics of her suit was getting a bit glitchy, probably due to the fire damage, but so far it hasn’t given her any major problems.

“Incoming!” Jim shouted into the comms.

Maya glanced back, started running, and jumped just in the right moment to land on the passing transporter. Jim was piloting it and injured Avery was sitting in the back, sniping any Zetan head that popped out from cover. “Matthews and Lorne?” Avery asked her but she just shook her head.

“Dead.” She didn’t want to explain to him how exactly they died.

“Fuck.” His rifle fired a couple of shots. “BOOYAH! That’s eleven. Come at me, you assholes!”

It was just the three of them. Well, two and a half, speeding through a dark tunnel. For now, it seemed they managed to outrun the enemy. “Do you even know where you are going?” She yelled at Jim.

“Are you kidding? I have no idea what half of these controls do. I just figured this would be the throttle and that one a steering wheel. SHIT!” The transporter took a sharp turn left because a huge gate suddenly slid down from the tunnel ceiling, blocking the way. “They don’t seem to want us here!”

“No kidding!” Avery called from the back. “We got company!”

Maya jumped back at the cargo platform and lifted her rifle. The transporter they stole was a sturdy thing designed to slowly move cargo around. The Zetans - both humans and warforms chasing them however had some sort of hoverbikes, much faster and more maneuverable. “We cannot outrun them!” Maya aimed and shot a couple of times, but with their vehicle moving and trembling and the Zetans zigzagging behind them, it was nearly impossible to hit anything.

“There is another gate! Shoot the servos, don’t let it close!” Jim yelled at them.

Maya blasted the mechanism on one side of the door, but before she could aim at the other side, their transporter got a direct hit. The world turned into one fast-rotating blur. They got thrown off and sent flying across the tunnel, hitting the walls. Maya heard some of her bones crack and then a soft thump of the gate sliding into place, sealing them off from whatever was on the other side. Before she could ask if anyone survived, she heard Avery’s rifle, yelling and maniacal laugh, as he was shooting at the warforms that followed them through the tunnel. After a short exchange, his rifle went silent. Shit. “Jim?” The overlay display in her helmet pinpointed his signal just a few meters away from her and Maya half rolled, half crawled there, using every inch of her will not to scream in pain as the sharp ends of the broken bones rubbed against each other. “Jim!” As she was already suspecting, he was dead, probably got thrown off the transporter straight into the wall headfirst and snapped his neck. A nice quick death, considering the circumstances.

A few bullets bounced off the wreck she was using as a cover. Maya shot back a couple of times, just to get some more time to think. Even though there was nothing to think about. She wondered what was behind the gate that they fought so hard to protect? Entrance to their city? Some vital infrastructure? Not like she would ever find out. The warforms were trying to flank her, she shot in their general direction to slow them down and looked at Jim’s body again. They went through the academy together, all their missions. He was always a bit crazy, a big fan of technology, mechanics, and… explosions! Of course, he had a bag filled with plastic explosives they planned to use on closed doors. She had no idea whether it would work on the gate, it looked sturdy, but at least she would take some of the clankers with her. And that would be worth it. She quickly searched the backpack, trying to find a working detonator. The enemy was getting too close.

“Hey, assholes!” she yelled at them, her numb fingers failing to attach the detonator. “HEY! Stop shooting, dammit!” The gloves went off, but the shaking fingers still refused to cooperate. “Do you want to know a secret?”

The tunnel went quiet for a few seconds. “You do not possess any information that would be useful to us,” a metallic voice responded.

“Are you sure?” FINALLY, the stupid thing went inside. Maya armed the detonator and put her finger on the trigger, taking a last deep breath. “There is one thing you clankers probably don’t know. There is no SILICON HEAVEN!” She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

There's a man in a room, but the man is real and the room isn't. In front of him is a box- a golden cube covered in gears and wires- and behind him is a voice speaking: "What's in the box? What's in the box? Open it."

There's something familiar about the voice that sends a chill down the man's spine- he hates it intimately, so much so that it propels him to try opening the golden box if only it means he won't have to turn around (and face the voice's owner.) The little thing opens up obediently at his touch, its gears turning in such a way that the four walls of the cube fall bang! on the floor. The voice asks again: "What's in the box?" Inside it, nuzzled between cogs, is...

...a puzzle. A regular jigsaw. Funny, the man remembers playing these as a kid, but he could never put them together. His brain didn't wanna do it. He'd get mad, smash the pieces, and throw the board across the room when the other kids finished first. They all started to be afraid of him- years spent as the scary one taught him how to be scary.

He tries solving this one now, this little plastic puzzle, but something is wrong. Reality bends in a way it shouldn't- the gears around it turn on their own, the puzzle is chewed up in their metal teeth, the box changes shape, stands up into-

Oh. That's whose voice it was.

He can only stop screaming when Eta-Theta, made now of perfect golden gears and cogs, crushes his throat like putty.

Protector Yun wakes up in a hot sweat, his sheets drenched through-and-through. His heart is hammering like a drum. Hands are shaking in rhythm on their own, and before he can take a single deep breath, he's fallen to the floor in panic, caught up in the wet sheets like a net.

They call it a Protector's Dream. It's not exactly a holo-program, but those are supposedly why they happen. All day spent in holo-training programs, the ones the Noocracy supplies to "keep the protectors focused", does weird things to your mind. It's like sleeping after too much coffee while you have a fever, and also you haven't slept in three weeks. Your mind fogs over into a kind of insanity that would make Freud giggle in glee.

There's no fix for it. Yun learned that a long, long time ago. Ten years now he's been in the service, and the only cure for a Protector's Dream he's ever found is just to carry on with your day like it didn't happen. And he's pretty sure he's not the only one who does this- not if the haunted looks in some of his fellow protector's eyes are any indication. They all feel it.

Today, his door slides open to find Jo's eyes to be staring right back at him, but she doesn't show any sign of nighttime terrors. She never has. In the time since they've been paired up, Yun doesn't think he's seen a single genuine feeling come from Jo for any reason. When they killed that toaste- Eta-Theta, she walked away from the airlock whistling.

"What's up, Jo?"

"Walk with me," she smiles, and he does. They head on through the cramped corridors of the Memory, one of the two ECU cruisers to survive the initial invasion of Zeta. Since that fateful day, they've been hovering over the surface of a terror planet that's killed almost every New Hollywoodite to set foot on it. Weather or ambush, something ends anyone who makes the mistake of going down to Zeta-5.

"You heard the news?" Jo asks him.

"That we're trapped with these cyborgs until the Oligarchs finally decide to bomb the place to dust?" Yun asks. "Yeah, Jo, I figured that one out."

They both slow down as they approach the launch bay. Their transport inside is being checked over by a team of engineers who use glimmering holographic displays.

"No, moron, I mean that they don't think we're good enough."

Yun's heavy eyebrows shoot up, waiting for explanation. Jo sighs like he's thick-headed and goes on:

"They've got some kind of mercenaries coming in. From the URC, if you can believe it." (Yun, who had not heard of the United Republic of Colombia, could.) "Apparently some of them don't like cyborgs either, and some 'volunteers' are coming over to help us. Which means replace us."

Yun wasn't sure about that. One mercenary group couldn't replace all the protectors. But he knows not to argue with Jo- she'd punish him with little verbal barbs and insults for a week. He just nods. "Sounds bad."

"Duh," she answers.

"S-sir and, uh, ma'am," a nervous scientist approaches, clearly afraid to be interrupting two protectors. People have gotten broken jaws for less. "Your transport is ready. To take you down to the Elysium-Alpha sector, that is." The ECU finally found out where it was.

Without any further words, Yun and Jo join the other six protectors, and head off for their scouting mission.





The ECU has a brand new policy: be first for everything.

For all their talk about human superiority and destiny and reunification, it remains the opinion of Savant Heralds and a large council of Oligarchs that much of the ECU's success in their war against the Zetans is, really, simply because no strong nation chose to step to the defense of the cyborgs. And why is that? Of course, it is because the ECU got their story out first. Tanaka and Heralds told everyone about Bodi's "kidnapping" from the get-go, so that by the time Sigma-Devi thought to defend their reputation, the concept of Zetans as kidnappers was already sunken deep into the minds of the Galaxy's denizens. Whatever the robots say now, it seems a panicked defense against this accusation. If they fight it, they feed it.

First impression is everything.

It is with this in mind that Oligarch Abadi gets dressed, and rather quickly. There's a new ship on the horizon. Scans show it as something never seen before, something totally new to the Meeting Place. And news from back home says the Gateway Listening Post registers not one, but two new destinations opened up just recently. Looks like one of them has people headed this way.

She rushes out of her cramped, borrowed office space and into the neon hubbub of the ECU's segment. Three holograms have registered her heightened nerves and appeared to assist her before she finds someone who can really help. "You," she tells a new Diplomatic Adjacent, an older man with more brains than most Oligarchs, "Liason Tanaka is busy, so this is up to us..."

Within a quarter of an hour, a greeting message has been composed and sent to the unknown vessel. Rather hastily, it reads like so:

Welcome unknown vessel! Should you be unaware, the structure you are currently approaching is known as the Meeting Place, an international, diplomatic space station made from the cooperation of a variety of Earth's colonies. I, Oligarch Abadi, am a representative of the peoples known as the Earth Cultural Union, and would be pleased to invite you to join us for a discussion of the events which have transpired since the reopening of the Gateways.

Directions to the ECU station of the Meeting Place follow. Abadi knows she doesn't speak or write as well as Tanaka, but that's less important here. What matters is getting this new nation to see the ECU as a potential friend before anyone else can get their foot in the door. Especially, especially the Zetans.

--=Semiosis Research Centre, New Dalat, Aurora

Whilst the wheels of government turned and the machinations that were a-place continued amongst the stars amid the buzz of the gateways, old projects continued even if the colour of the flag had changed. The Semiosis Project was almost as old as the colonies in Auriga - albeit it had been poorly funded in its nascent days, and kept purely to proven matters during the Corporate Era. The Revolution had changed many things in Auriga, and Semiosis was one of them.

Professor Takahira had been a new face - at least several decades ago when the newly formed federal government had assigned her to Semiosis. The intent of Semiosis had always been to understand and, if at all possible, communicate, with the sentient sometimes ambulatory plant life that was found all over the surface of Aurora, that had been colloquially termed "Ents" though as far as it went, only a few could be considered tree-like species. As far as Takahira understood it, Semiosis had learned how to essentially encourage the world's plant life to move and consequently how to manage its migration, something that had been incredibly useful in the early days of settlement and kept some of the more aggressive species from coming into conflict with the colonists. The Corporate era had seen little change here - it wanted to continue to use the Semiosis project because it worked, it was reliable, and it stopped the loss of assets, but it had never given it enough funding or leeway for anything much else to be done, so Semiosis had stayed, in stasis.

Takahira had some of the old custodians of the project on staff - and in continuing that work and training those who would some day replace them, they had been invaluable, but they were limited. She had a few experts on Aurigan native life and other experts from a few other incidental or related fields on staff, but most of the critical work fell on her, not at least because she was the only one with priority access to request processing time from Red Star, which had quickly borne fruit.

And that was why Takahira was a guest in her own office. The Secretary for the Environment, Thomas Groenig, making himself quite at home in the space she had come to see as her own domain. He was a relatively unassuming man, but Takahira knew better. The entire government was full of "Yellows", or red-greens, the socialist enviromentalist core of the revolution had never really lost its sway, and the Environment Secretariat was a prestigious posting, even if an average looking man of western european descent did not seem to give any of that away.

"I see." Groenig said, looking over some data Takahira had flashed across from her device before she had retreated into her own thoughts. "I understand Semiosis's previous lack of ambition explains why such things were left unseen for so long - and we are seeing the same activity on Australis and Borealis?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but humouring the response.

"Yes, Secretary. Aurora's own network is stable, as the data shows, but the networks on Australis and Borealis are both growing. The working theory is once they reach a critical mass as seen on Aurora, they will stabilize and predictable patterns of growth will be the norm, as well as less effort for Custodians as migration paths are settled and our own effors can focus purely upon tweaking those." Takahira responded, flashing a display of the fungal, or "Mycorrhizal" networks of Australis and Borealis into 3D above her desk - displaying predicted patterns alongside a history of their growth, with a smaller display of Aurora with its own network shown alongside.

"Excellent. The presence of Auroran ent's on Australis and Borealis was a past error from before both of our time, but one we can soon adapt to as we have here, my main concern is the assertion in your most recent reports of a breakthrough in Semiosis?" Groenig asked, simply looking at Takahira.

"Ah, yes. The Mycorrhizal network is not something new - it is, of course, named after an Earth fungus - nearly all plant life on Earth was in some way connected to a fungal network to some greater or lesser benefit. Once my understanding of the scale of the Auroran network, and her cousins of course, came into play, the realisation that they were a truly global and truly unique network completely in sync with itself and all plant life, even the terran plants we cultivate here, I thought if I asked Red Star to run a few simulations as if it were.. well, a brain, we might get somewhere." Takahira said, knowing Groenig was humouring her explanation but genuinely interested in the results. He motioned for her to continue.

"We got some great theoretical data from that, so I ran a few simulations of my own. I think if we can get a specially altered drone that can communicate on the same frequencies we use to help us with the ents we could potentially interface.. I dare not say communicate, I am unsure if such a thing would be possible in ways we could understand, but it could be possible. Yes, we could interface, if we got close enough to the main fungal mass with it, we could no doubt receive some kind of.. response." Takahira finished, knowing at this point she was falling into rambling about something she did not yet fully understand, let alone comprehend.

"I see." Secretary Groenig said once more, looking askance out of a window. "Very well. You may lodge your immediate requests with Red Star and the Secretariat." He said, standing, and flashing an authorization over on to her own device. "And there you will find you have my approval for any staff and materials you need. Semiosis is a valuable project for understanding our world, and what may potentially be two new forms of life our species has seeded. Being able to at least partially understand their.. mother, if you will, would be a boon for science, if not for all the workers of the republics." He nodded respectfully at Takahira as she herself stood, returning the gesture, and left, with little other fanfare.

"Time to get to work." Takahira said, musing on just what she needed. With this backing, anything was possible.

----


--=AMFg Karuna, Orbit of Aurora

The Karuna was the eponymous vessel of her class. First laid down by a corporate shipbuilder on behalf of their overlords just before the revolution as a top of the line Frigate, she had been the only one in service when sabotage had disabled her in the early days of the Revolution. She had been relatively quickly repaired by militia hands and had served to keep a number of other corporate ships coralled in their imposed inactivity, and had quickly found a place in the growing Aurigan Fleet once the Federal Government had been established. Though the corporate era spin-gravity had been one of the first things to receive a refit, it did give her notable sensor or launch platforms which aided her as a competent combat vessel.

The Karuna was here, though, because she was unassuming and full of loyal red fleet personell who knew better than to talk about Admirals meeting in her admittedly small conference room. Officially, all the Karuna's were receiving a tour from the Admirals, in appreciation of the service they had given to the people, and to commemorate them as they would all soon be scrapped and replaced with the modern fighting vessels of the post-revolution era.

Only the Secretary of Defense, Adele Hillier who was not officially there, of course, and the last Admiral due to leave, Vasily Gradenko, remained on the Karuna as it readied for one of her last system patrols.

"With the support of the Secretariat and, as we have seen, my fellows of the Red Fleet in the Admiralty, there is no doubt our stalwart comrades in the Guard will be on side, of course. Forgive me, Secretary, but why here, why all the secrecy?" Gradenko asked, peering at the Secretary - he was not an unhandsome fellow, far from it, but Adele always found when he did that his features became sharp and almost.. frightening, very unlike him when they were.. alone elsewhere.

"Of course.. Ah my fair Vasily, you do realise that a full meeting of the various arms of the ever noble revolution coming together in Svoboda would raise many eyebrows. We are no longer free to move so openly, not with the gateways open. The Intelligence Directorate assures me we have nothing to fear, of course, but at the same time they cannot tell me how many people who may come through the gateway are of ill intent, let alone active intelligence operatives from the other states we know exist. And that is why my time here is short. Too short." Adele said, standing and walking around the small conference table and subtly stroking her paramour's arm as she passed, stopping just shy of the door.

"Will the people support a.. indelicate conflict at such a time, when we know so little, though?" Gradenko asked, seemingly asking the air.

"The General Secretary is in full agreement, though.. the current conflict already in play does not bode well for the Aurigan nation if we do nothing. They are not like us, but to others, they are too like us for the similarities to be missed. We must be ready to act to preserve our revolution." Adele paused for a moment. "If the Assembly or a full Presidium session chooses not to authorise us to take pro-active action.. well, it is for the best we ensure that they must." Adele said, the perfunctory clunk of the door coming together signifying she had left.

Vasily sighed, then touched his arm where she had.

----

--=Meeting Place, Aurigan "Embassy"

Gupta pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Things were happening back home and she wasn't sure if she liked some of it, indeed, she almost wished she was back home so she didn't have to actually deal with liking it or not, but she was here, and the messages she was getting from friends, sources, and her superiors all added up to one thing - trouble.

There was also one pressing bit of trouble now at her door. At least it was a visitor, she mused, was one thing - but she wasn't sure if the many chaotic forces of the universe were starting to take a dislike to her. Or maybe too much of a positive interest, you could never know with these things.

Standing and preparing herself, she walked through the small, but nevertheless bright Aurigan "Embassy" - festooned with numerous plants, though of course none of the mobile variety, to welcome the representative in, it was only polite, after all.

@Irredeemable


Earth Orbit
The Meeting Place
URC Embassy
Ambassador Ghask sat in his office as his lanky fingers scrolled through some documents on a datapad, checking that everything in the Columbian portion of the station was in order and functional and inspecting daily reports from staff, a rather dull assignment that led to less than exciting days but a job's a job. He continued scrolling until the Embassy's assistant A.I., Adam, materialized right before him, appearance as a young man in a republican guard uniform. "Ambassador Ghask." Adam spoke. "Station sensors have detected a new craft incoming, a new gateway has reactivated." Ghask paused as his eyes met Adam's with a grin. "Is that so?" He asked, a good excuse to escape his weekly assignments. He thought those Aurigans would be the last new arrivals in a good while, Gateway openings having become less frequent, so another gate opening so soon was quite the pleasant surprise.

"The ECU were the first to welcome the new arrivals, shall we send our own greetings?" Adam asked. Ambassador Ghask stood as he streched out his arms, sitting in the chair all day making his joints crying out for a good stretch. "Can't let the ECU one up us, can we?" He replied to Adam. "I'll say a little something."

Adam nodded as a small red dot appeared right beside him, ready to record the message. "Greetings new arrivals!" Ghask begun. "On behalf of the United Columbian Republic, we welcome you to the Meeting Place! A station built by the hands of many worlds. All coming together in the name of diplomacy and cooperation! The world that stands before, unfortunately, is Earth, the ancestral home of mankind. While this world may be dead, we seek to one day, restore it to what it once was. A pristine world of plenty. Once again, welcome new friends, to the Meeting place!"

Isabella adjusted the loose-fitted cuffs of her shirt, gave her rapier a final once-over, then stepped forward. In front of her stood Raphael Lorenzo de Antigua, patrician of thirty-four years and a loudmouthed, ignorant, backwards-thinking bastard. "Aren't you glad I chose blades, rather than bullets? Just think, I could have shot you dead already, but instead you get a chance to reconsider!" She swished the blade lazily through the air a few times, trying to convince herself to be cockier than she really was. Raphael was not going to go easy on her, so she would not be able to go easy on him.

This whole duel was not even remotely what she desired. A way for her to pointlessly die before her twenty-fifth birthday? Yes, that was precisely what she loved to do, yet the blaggard had ended up so incensed by her that he had thrown down the glove, and she would have looked terrible to refuse such a challenge. For the umpteenth time she sized him up, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, all three suns staring down upon them.

"On this day, the eighteenth rotation of the third quarter, Anno 300, Patrician Isabella Maria Rodriguez de Lobasla, defending herself against Patrician Raphael Lorenzo de Antigua. The fight will end when one fighter is incapable of defending themselves. May the saints grace you, and may the fight begin." The mediator bowed and took a step back, leaving the two with only air between them.

A bead of sweat slipped down Isabella's face as the pair rotated around each other, cautiously. She had the longer reach with her rapier, but Raphael's sabre was not to be underestimated. She kept him at arm’s length, the pair stepping back and forth slowly, neither one willing to commit... Until Raphael darted forward, sabre held high. Isabella raised her blade up and lunged forward, steel clashing against steel as the point of her blade was deflected away. Before she could strike again, the sabre came across, the woman throwing herself back to avoid its razor edge.

Then forward again. She took the initiative this time, darting forward and thrusting out low, towards his stomach. Raphael side-stepped, then returned with an overhead. She brought the blade up, the sabre skidding off the flat of her rapier, then riposted. Raphael moved to the side and twisted his hand, the guard of their sabre failing to purchase on the thinner rapier blade. So as to not lose tempo, he followed through despite the failed grab, his sabre sweeping against her sleeve and snicking the fabric in two. Unperturbed, Isabella pushed forward, her blade finding a significantly juicier target in his forearm, where it slid cleanly in and out.

To his credit, Raphael didn’t make a sound despite the blood staining his shirt. The two fighters moved backwards, Isabella flicking her rapier to get rid of any large droplets of crimson, then tightened her footwork up again and prepared herself, just in time for Raphael’s next assault. This time, the man attempted to get in close, past her guard, bringing the sabre down and towards her shoulder blade. A flick of her wrist deflected, but then before she could counter-attack, he had stepped in, her rapier finding itself uselessly shoved to his side.

She lashed out with her foot; Raphael moved out of the way. He attempted to grab her hand, she smacked it back. He put more pressure on his sabre, she reached up and grabbed a hold of it, wrestling with the man for control of his blade. Just as it seemed she might win control, he rapidly retreated, taking his sabre with him. By now, the superficial puncture had thoroughly soaked his shirt, a few drops penetrating the fabric and falling down to water the grass below the pair.

Again, they matched against each other. Again, metal clashed, ripostes and counter-ripostes failing to make any dent in the other’s attack. Were they both equally good, or were they just both horrendous fighters? Who could tell anymore, the heat and intensity having brought beads of sweat to the skins of both duellists.

For the fourth time the duo circled each other. A quick thrust by Isabella was sidestepped, a wild swing from Raphael left unpunished. Then, quite unexpectedly, Isabella darted forward, driving her rapier towards him hard. He just barely avoided it- earning himself a tear in his shirt to match hers, but her aim was not to hit him with the thrust, but instead to get in close enough to grab his forearm. Distracted by her blade, he failed to react in time, and she managed to twist his arm about and pull his sword out of position, bringing her rapier across for a finishing cut.

Astonishingly, he caught it with the blade of his sabre, the rapier a hair’s breadth from slicing his neck open. Frowning, she hammered her head forward hard, the brow of her head impacting hard with his nose. Reeling backwards, the sweep her rapier made was practically lazy compared to the tight swordsmanship displayed before, but it didn’t need to be sophisticated. Her rapier sliced through his skin and thin layer of fat, lodging itself between his ribs and somewhere deep within his lungs. As quickly as she had lunged in she retreated, drawing her sword out and slicing through quite a bit more of the man. A laboured breath of his caught and turned into a gurgle, the man’s hand coming down quite automatically to clutch at his side. As medics rushed forth to aid him, Isabella planted the tip of her rapier in the ground and delivered a final line. “Let this… be a lesson… to the remaining De Antiguas that would think your behaviour appropriate.”

One of the assistants by the duel handed her a bottle of coffee-flavoured re-hydrating solution and she sucked it down eagerly, finally handing her blade off and walking towards the changing room she had emerged from not ten minutes ago. She had been asked to model for charcoal artists at the Academia el Arte Lupata, and she didn’t intend on being late just because of a little thing like a duel.

---

You got your warform needlessly damaged. The technician looked at the machine, frustrated.

I ‘got’ satisfaction from it. It wasn’t needless. Eta-Theta joined them, looking down at their new form. After the gunfire it had taken it was in bad shape, metal twisted and servomotors misaligned in unusual and strange ways. And it’s given me ideas. Their left arm reached down and picked up their damaged right, before rotating their forearm around 360 degrees like a bizarre fan blade. We’re already pioneering new warforms. Let me design one myself.

A brief vote was held in the Collective. A custom-made warform was not an unusual request, and truth be told there were some in the Consciousness that had recognised Eta-Theta’s slightly concerning behaviour and actively encouraged it. They were in a war for survival- an unhinged terror weapon was now a benefit, not a disadvantage. So it was that Eta-Theta got their desire, and a new form was manufactured for them, in the foundries of Elysium-Alpha.

It was… Morbidly beautiful. The warform had been designed for stealth, manoeuvrability and speed over strength or durability and tapped into the uncanny valley wonderfully well. Their limbs were just slightly out of proportion to the human average, silhouette just a tad too thin and gangly. Their face split the difference between emaciated and a skull, a sunken, hollow, matte-black thing that stared out with haunting red eyes. It was entirely naked, choosing to internalise weaponry and carrying systems, and when Eta-Theta took control of its motors, it felt like slipping into a well-worn set of shoes.

We’re positive it’s the same ones that terminated my original body.

Absolutely. Perfect match.

Well then. I’ll give them a warm Zetan welcome.

---

Isabella’s jetbike thrummed as its magnetic fields were pushed to their limit. She flicked her boots back, the heels coming down on the thruster controls and toes curling to tap the boosters into activation. Her speedometer crept up despite the inclination, until at last she was level with the island, easing the boosters off and gliding down. As her bike’s magnetic fields were pulled in by the lodestone’s attraction, she choked the electromagnets, finally touching down onto its surface cleanly. In front of her, on the hazy horizon of the Lupatan sea settled the second sun, the first having already completed its descent over this part of the planet.

She reached into a pocket, settling side-saddle on her bike, and retrieved a fat, heavy, pungent-smelling stick. El Verde Verdugo, pricy, skunk-like, strong. She fixed one end in her mouth, wrapping her lips around it as she brought her lighter up. There was a quiet whompf, then a soft crackle as she breathed in.

The smoke filled up her lungs with a rich warmth, slowly spilling out into the rest of her upper body. Isabella let her eyes unfocus, affixed on some distant point on the horizon far beyond even the remaining two suns. It was easy to do- the heat coming off the water sent up a screen of hazy mist that practically invited one to rest one’s eyeballs on it.

So much to consider. So much had happened. Even without the duel and her new orders, there was the matter of their fourth sun: the gateway that had opened. Soon, Matuvista would establish formal relations with the other colonies, assuming they had survived, and then nothing would be the same again. It was quite the exciting prospect to consider… Or, she could let herself be washed away on waves of curling smoke.

That second one seemed like a much better prospect right now.

---

Alfonso listened to the messages slowly, then repeated then again, just for good measure. ‘The Meeting Place,’ a diplomatic space station. That made sense with the readings they were getting- so many different ships, and what little they’d seen of the station itself made it seem like a hodgepodge of different systems all stapled together. It was a miracle life support functioned at all. The ‘Earth Cultural Union’ was a peculiar name for a nation, yet… He was here to explore, learn as much as he could, and report back. He had to admit though, ‘United Columbian Republic?’ Now, that sounded quite like quite the right-thinking group of individuals.

“Fetch me my full-dress uniform. My sword and my cap as well.” He turned to follow the plebians as they scurried to do his bidding, situating himself in his quarters as the various elements that made up his uniform were delivered to him. Some might have thought him slightly ridiculous like this, but in the eyes of the Grand Republic, only now was he really properly dressed.

Gold epaulettes, a rich blue jacket, blindingly bright white trousers, white gloves, black boots, a golden belt, his sword, his bicorne, and, of course, a complement of medals and honours adorned his chest. To the trained eye, it spoke of a wound taken in combat against the Yyasum, an award for valour, the ownership of his second vote in the Lower Senate and the participation in an interplanetary campaign. To the untrained eye, it was somewhat over the top.

La Introducción sailed into the Meeting Place calmly, airlock affixing itself and adjusting to scale. Straight back. Eyes forward. An honour guard of plebians stood on either side of Alfonso, boots and caps polished until they gleamed and rifles held at parade-perfect angles. “Excellente.” The patrician nodded. “Remember what Condel Julianus said- we are representatives of the Grand Republic! Act accordingly.” A curt nod to his men, and then the airlock door hissed open, and a Matuvistan boot touched the Meeting Place for the first time.

“Hail!” Alfonso said dramatically, a small microphone in his collar serving double-duty to broadcast the sound back to the frequencies that had signalled to La Introducción as it had entered the system, and also boost the volume of his words now, in the confines of the ship. “I am Alfonso Leoncio Alvarez De Caravajal, patrician, officer and formal representative of the Grand Republic of Matuvista, reporting by the benediction of the saints and on the order of Chancellor Julianus de Aquilius and the senate. Never before has your sight been graced by our presence, and never onwards shall a brighter beacon shine!” Was it boastful? Yes. Was it dramatic? Yes. Was it perfect? Yes.

The Warren // Habitat 2-A // The Ring

Once upon a time, this pub had stunk of sweat and dirt. Now, people were no longer required to do their own manual labour. Instead, it just stunk of piss and vomit. Huddled in the corner of a room a group of friends of various ages, genders and backgrounds sat. Their pints sat untouched, the liquid approaching room temperature. In the same as every other crevice of the room, all people wanted to talk about was the gateway. [I]"I hear that there are apparently dozens of gateways that have re-opened. The probe sent to it apparently connected with it, whether by design or by accident it interfaces with our technology perfectly. Probably some piece of obscure code left over from the old days."

"Have the board sent anyone through it yet?"

The original speaker shook his head. "No. Though the Endurance is set to depart-" the man turned his head down to his watch "-within the hour."

An old woman who was sitting with them spoke up. "Then our job is finally done here."

"What do you mean old-timer?"

"Our people came here to do a job, and we've done it. Now people can come through the gateway, inhabit the planet and we can move on. Move elsewhere and do new jobs, and build new projects. If the gateways are truly open that's a wealth of opportunity for us."

"Why would you want to leave?"

She chuckled slightly. "Oh you young ones, you often forget where we come from. They used to call us Spacers back on Earth, my grandfather told me the stories. We travelled through the solar system in great convoys, we constructed facilities in the belt and on various moons and planets. Yet we've been stuck here for the last three hundred years. We'll have room to grow, and too prosper."

"I feel like we would have been better if the gateway had never reopened."

"Don't be foolish. You've read history books, about how revolution, famine and war used to be a staple of humanity. Why do you think we don't have that here? Everyone has a purpose and we all get what we need when we need it. This is becoming harder for the Ring to provide though, no. New places to go means more opportunities. This can only be a good thing for us."

---

The Endurance // The Gateway // Sol System

The ships hull groaned slightly as it settled back into real space at the other side of the gateway. All Commander McCrorie was concerned about was that if the myth was true that the gateway had some temporal properties, then there was every possibility he would never see his family again. All around him the command centre was a buzz of activity as people moved between stations, it wasn't as well organised as it should have been. Then again until recently, this ship had been left adrift in a graveyard with its sisters. With the reactivation of the gateways, the Board felt it safer to bring the ships they had back online, rather than wait for something new to be constructed.

The process had been mostly successful, even now drones scoured the hails repairing wiring but all the essential systems were fully operational and at the end of the day, that was the important thing. Even if he had little idea how to command a military vessel.

He spun around trying to remember what officer was the communications officer. The layout was all different than that which he was used to, with additional stations compared to the freighter he had worked on for thirty years. This wasn't as exciting as he thought it would have been when he applied. Giving up he just spoke up. "Communications. Broadcast on all frequencies."

"Ready for broadcast sir."

He nodded. "This is the Lorne Administration vessel Endurance. We come peacefully on behalf of the board in the hopes of reconnecting with our lost brothers and sisters, establishing trade and finding the heirs to the world that has been within our charge for three hundred years. We request to send a representative to the leader of the station we are picking up on our scanners so that such a dialogue can be-" he struggled to think of the word. Public speaking was never his thing. "-had. I await your response." He nodded to the officer who had identified themselves as the communications officer. She flashed him a reassuring smile.

Atleast they were all in the same boat.

David left Kelsie's room, closing the door behind him quietly. Kelsie fell asleep again and she really looked like she needed some more rest, so he decided not to disturb her for a few more hours. It's not like something interesting or important was going to happen.

Checking the messages proved him wrong. An unknown ship from a new colony appeared, which was huge news. It looked like the ECU was already handling the welcome party. It was not ideal (David was not super fond of their allies), but it could have gone worse. It could be the Zetans greeting them, spreading their sob stories on how they were just peaceful robots attacked by vile enemies.

David snorted, imagining Sigma-Devi proudly walking through the Meeting Place hallways, as if nothing happened. His cousin died on the Horizon, and every time he met that clanker in one of her beautiful dresses, shamelessly pretending to be human, all he wanted to do was to draw out his gun and shoot her smug face. But they had an order to not engage the Zetans, so all he could was dream about it. Plus the order came from Kelsie, which was even more important to him as he didn't want to disappoint her. He realized some time ago he felt something more for her, but she was so careful and closed off it was nearly impossible to get closer to her. But he was nothing if not optimistic and persistent.

A scanner warning interrupted his thoughts. Another unknown ship just passed through the Gateway. What was happening today? "Lorne Administration," he mumbled upon listening to their broadcast. What a peculiar name for a nation.

"This is Major David Parker, a representative of the Undefeated nation. This station is called the Meeting Place and it is a neutral spot where all nations can safely interact. Therefore, it doesn't have one leader. You are welcome to dock and come aboard. We would be honored to welcome you to our section of the station to explain the events of the past months and the current state of things in the galaxy." David sent the message along with docking coordinates.

The Meeting Place // Sol System

The Endurance docked without much trouble. Streaming in straight for the dock that was sent to them, slowing to a halt. The airlock adjusting and sealing with a hiss as it equalised the pressure to the station. A tall woman stood straightening her suit. Using a nearby panel to check her reflection she saw a stray hair out of place and neatly tucked it back into where it should be. While everyone on the Ring reserved the rights to go into any career path they chose, since their people had left to Delta-4, Mackenzies family had always been in Human Resources. Her father had been an aide to the previous CEO for many years before his death, she was the chosen representative and she was going to do her job professionally, and properly.

She lifted her tablet up from her hip and into view. Probably considering herself halfway through the process of 'Meeting new people, and establishing a timeline on events since the Gateway closed'. After that on the agenda was gauging interest on new contracts, and discovering rightful claim to Delta-4 and all the infrastructure that went with it. If what the Commander had relayed was accurate, and this was a station built by several different societies then establishing rightful claim could prove difficult.

Still. It was her job and she'd see it through.

Rolling her eyes as she heard the metallic thunk in the corridor behind her. She feigned a smile as five marines and their handler approached. "I thought I had told the Commander that I didn't need an escort."

The handlers helmet opened revealing his face. He looked like fun, from the blank expression he was wielding. "With all due respect Ma'am, the Commander has the capacity to overrule you in matters to ship security. Leaving you un-attended would compromise our security, which means we're going with you."

"Well. Let me do the talking then."

"I'd have it no other way Ma'am." With that, his helmet sealed up again. Mackenzie sighed as she turned back around to face the airlock as it opened.

Now they just had to wait for their host.

David was nervous, he knew that while officially he was also a representative of the Undefeated, still these important matters should be left to Kelsie. Then again, the first contact with a new nation probably shouldn’t be led by a tired woman with a horrible hangover. He considered going in alone, but then decided to invite Julianna as well. He was sceptical about her at first, like all soldiers he was taught to resent the Rejected, but over the past few months he started to respect the girl, recognizing her brilliant mind.

They didn’t bring any armed escort along. The war with the Zetans will no doubt have them looking like warmongers, and they didn’t want to strengthen that first impression by meeting the Lorne delegation armed to the teeth. David was wearing the new ceremonial uniform - as was usual for the Undefeated, it was plain black with just simple silver embroidery on one shoulder. No medals or other decorations were necessary. Julianna was wearing a similar set of clothes - dark grey skirt and jacket with a white shirt.

They stopped at a window overlooking the hangar for a moment, watching the new ship dock. “Well, if the rest of their fleet looks like this, we have nothing to worry about from these guys,” David noted.

“Don’t underestimate them, Major,” Julianna shook her head. “Remember the Revenant?”

David laughed. It was hard to forget the ship that first brought them through the Gateway to Sol. “A rusty piece of junk with weapons duct-taped to the hull.”

“Yes, and now we have powerful battleships.”

“Hmm, that is true.” In just six months they managed to build a fleet from nothing. Who knows, maybe these guys can do the same. If they get six months of peace.

They walked towards the ship and watched the airlock open. David’s eyes scanned the woman and sorted her into a ‘not-a-threat’ box, moving to her company - a human in a combat suit and a couple of robots. Their gear and weapons looked about as obsolete as the ship, if not more. They could cause some small problems, but shouldn’t be a match for the Undefeated squads stationed here on the Meeting Place. David walked towards the woman. While not physically imposing, she certainly seemed smart and he was sure she is a skilled politician or diplomat or some of the other people-talkers. That should be fun.

He tried to put his friendly face on. “Welcome,” he smiled. “I am Major David Parker and this is Miss Julianna Petrova and on behalf of the Undefeated, we would like to welcome you to the Meeting Place. This is a neutral station and each nation is welcome to set up an embassy here.”

The drones didn’t move as the airlock opened, the handler however struggled to suppress his instinct to raise his weapon. Without so much as a second thought Mackenzie strode forward and offered her hand to each of the people in turn. “Mackenzie Baum, Human Resources fifth division within the Lorne Administration.” She signalled to the armoured man behind her. “That’s Handler Ran, and well the marines aren’t exciting because they’re just drones.” She feigned a small chuckle.

“It’s an impressive layout, however I feel like there needs to be some slight clarification. We won’t be looking at an embassy, as I don’t represent a nation. I represent a company.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to the major. “Though I suppose we’ve been operating somewhere in between for the past three hundred years.”

She sighed. “I apologise, where are my manners? Would you care for a tour of our ship? I’ll admit she probably doesn’t look like much, but we retired her and her sister for the better part of two centuries, we only brought them back online recently after the gateway reactivated until we could design and build something new.”

David wasn't exactly sure what Human resources meant. A weird image of a big guy in a long leather apron stuffing human limbs into a freezer kept creeping into his mind. But that's probably not what it was. Hopefully.

"If you come as a representative of all the people in your system, then I think the political system doesn't matter. For all intents and purposes, you will most likely be considered a nation by others. I have to say I admire that you didn't need combat ships for two hundred years. Such a long period of peace must have been very beneficial to your people." David wondered what would the Undefeated do if they were in peace for such a long time. Could they even adjust to such change after centuries of wars? What would he do? War was the only thing he was good at, the only thing he knew how to do. Yes, he was also a good pilot, but how many of those do you need in times of peace? Thinking about it, it was kinda sad.

“We would be honored to see your ship, if you want to give us a tour.” Julianna apparently thought that he was quiet for too long and decided to step in before it gets awkward. “I have to ask about something from your message. You said you were looking for heirs to your world? Does that mean you have not settled it?”

“Maybe you have some place on your ship where we could talk? I am sure you yourself have plenty of questions,” David added.

Mackenzie turned around, the drones all stepped to the side in unison, the handler wasn’t quite as much in unison as the rest of them, but he was pretty close. She signalled for the two representatives to follow her. Down various side corridors drones and technicians could be seen still touching up various subsystems. She turned over her shoulder to speak to the representatives.

“The planet Delta-4 has all the infrastructure and living space ready for colonisation, but no it hasn’t been settled as off yet. Two reasons for that really, the first is that it's part of an existing contract. Secondly, you’ve probably noticed the lower gravity aboard the ship. Our people lived and worked in space long before the gateways. We physically can’t inhabit the planet, all the work needs to be done by drones or with us wearing special exoskeletal suits.”

She continued to point out various areas as they went. Nothing of consequence, drone storage, quarters, munitions storage till eventually they reached a board room. She moved to the side to allow them both to sit, their escort taking up space outside the door.

As Mackenzie sat she spoke again. “So, I’m assuming by your military designation, and your nations name being the Undefeated that you’ve had a less peaceful time?”

“It is admirable that you are still honoring the contract made three hundred years ago.” David sighed. “And as for your question, unfortunately, yes. Our planet is beautiful but hides a lot of dangers. Ever since our ancestors first landed there three hundred years ago, they had to struggle for survival. Aside from hostile flora and fauna, within the first few weeks after landing, our colony had nearly been decimated by a dangerous fever that spread rapidly among our people. And when the disease finally subsided, we were attacked by the locals - primitive alien tribes, who are incredibly aggressive. Facing extinction, the colonists decided to reorganize the society to a form more suited to face the threat. Hence our military ranks. We have been at war with the natives for the past three hundred years, slowly pushing them out of our territories, but they always keep coming back.

That is the history part. As for now… I wish to say that the renewed contacts between the long-lost colonies have all been friendly and peaceful, but sadly they weren’t.” David paused for a moment. This was the delicate part, the part where he needed to inconspicuously pass them the idea that Zetans are the evil here and the Undefeated and the ECU are the good guys fighting to preserve mankind. But how was he supposed to do that? He was not known for his talking skills. But then again, neither was Kelsie. What a diplomatic party they were.

“During our first contacts with the colonists from Zeta-5, we noticed that they have altered their bodies to a point they can hardly be considered humans anymore. Our allies, the Earth Cultural Union, were especially horrified by that since they fight to preserve the Old Earth's ways in the purest form possible. Such disregard for the human body was seen almost as a sacrilege to them. Their relationships slowly deteriorated and when the Zetans suggested they would like to offer their ‘enhancements’ to the ECU citizens, they were banned from the ECU space.

The problem is that on leaving their embassy on an ECU station, the Zetans kidnapped one of the ECU citizens, bringing him back to their home planet and subjecting him to unknown horrors and torture. They claim that he went willingly, but there is no proof of it. The man was an important scientist and it is obvious that Zetans were after ECU research. When they lost hopes of getting access to it through diplomacy, they decided to take a more straightforward approach.

The ECU launched an attack on Zeta-5 to retrieve their kidnapped citizen, and, as their allies, we supported them. The thought of that innocent man suffering at the hands of those ‘people’ was just not acceptable to us. Currently, the space around Zeta-5 is occupied by our joint forces, and in case they refuse to hand over their hostage, a ground invasion is planned. We are still trying to make use of diplomacy though, to avoid more bloodshed. We even let a neutral party, the Xandalians, join the negotiations, trying our best to resolve the conflict peacefully.” David was proud of how he described the situation without any big apparent lies, just twisting the truth a tiny bit to make them look better.

Mackenzie clicked her tongue at the mention of an ongoing war. On the bright side war was good for industry, though industrial targets historically were a target. “It is a shame that these, Zetans?” She looked at the Major for clarification. “Decided to resort to such measures resulting in a war.” She shook her head slightly. “We shall do our best to not get involved, as you are probably well aware our people are not the warriors that yours so obviously are. Our expertise comes from industry.”

Mackenzie took out her tablet and gestured towards the screen on the wall. Swiping up on it the planet Delta-4 and all its technical readouts, as well as the information on the Arcadius, the colony ship that was supposed to have seeded life on the planet surface. “While we can’t make use of the planet ourselves, I was wondering if you knew anything about this specific colony ship. It would bear a certain amount of significance to our people if we could fulfil our lives' work, allowing us to move on and do something new.”

David admired the structure around the planet displayed on the screen. These guys must have been exceptional engineers to create something of this size. "Sorry, but it doesn't sound familiar, but we haven't exactly discussed this matter with other nations. Maybe you could use the station's network to send a message to all the representatives gathered here to ask about the ship? But I have to say that the chances are probably slim. Ever since the Gateways reopened, we have met with several civilizations, whose Gateways have closed for unknown reasons soon after opening and we have lost contact with them completely. Plus there must have been a lot of ships who failed to establish a colony at all. The galaxy is a harsh place."

"What are your plans, if you manage to find your colony ship? You said you were looking for something new, what exactly should that be?" Julianna inquired curiously.

Mackenzie clicked her tongue again. “Do you know the gravity settings of the station? Just to figure out if we’d be able to spend any length of time aboard. I don’t want to risk the health of any of our employees to look for information that may very well not exist. I’m sure you understand.”

She turned herself to Julianna, flashing a smile as she did so.

“If we manage to find the colony ship we’ll allow them to fulfill the contract, settle on the planet that we can’t use ourselves. We’ve built and maintained everything they need, agriculture, infrastructure, housing, and buildings for business. Our drones maintain it in the absence of people. In terms of future contracts, we’ll see what the various branches of humanity need. We’re accomplished miners and builders, and while I’m sure there are robotics out there more sophisticated than ours, ours are incredibly efficient at what they do.”

She smiled between the two of them. “If I may ask, how many other people are you currently in contact with?”

Julianna thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm certain we can manage to get you connected to the station's network from your ship, if that is what you need to keep your people safe. Gravity on the station is set to Earth-like levels, but I'm sure that if you wanted to make an addition to the station to create a permanent…
hmmm branch? I think that would be the equivalent of an embassy for a company? Anyway, the gravity can be artificially lowered in part of a station. Just in case you were interested in keeping a presence here in the future.

We are currently in contact with the ECU, the Zetans, Xandalians, Aurigans, the Carpathian Union, and the United Republic of Colombia. Plus, just before you arrived, another unknown ship travelled through the Gateway. I believe they are the representatives of the Grand Republic of Matuvista, but we haven't had direct contact with them yet. The ECU is currently welcoming them to the Station."

"We wish you all the best in finding your colonists," David said with a smile, even though he believed the odds of that happening were astronomically small. "And if you ever look for a new mining project, I believe that we could arrange some agreement. We have a moon with lots of resources, but we lack manpower, technology and experience to fully exploit its potential. So if your leadership would be interested, have them contact us." David wasn't sure he was even authorized to make such deals, but he knew Kelsie spoke about the Donut mining operation to the Grand General and they wanted to expand it. Plus, he wasn't actually making any deals, just expanding their options.

"Julianna is a skilled technician, she can remain on your ship to help you connect to the station's network. If you will allow her, of course," he added, not wanting to sound too commanding. "Is there anything else we can help you with?"

Mackenzie nodded along. “By all means. I’ll pass on the idea to our acquisitions team who will be in touch to discuss the particulars so that we can arrange some form of contract. Mining a moon shouldn’t be any issue for us. We already have drones down on several of the moons within the Delta System. Once we’ve arranged transport it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

She smiled at Julianna. “I appreciate your assistance.” Walking over to the door she keyed the pad and it opened. She smiled at the handler. “Please escort the Major off the ship-” She turned with an apologetic smile on her face. “-Purely so you don’t get lost, please forgive us for our lack of decorum. We’re not used to interacting with others quite yet.”

Turning back to Julianna. “Would you like to come with me?”

Abadi's eyes are rolling so far back in her head, she should be able to see herself think. "Never before has your sight been graced by our presence, and never onwards shall a brighter beacon shine!" That's la introducción you go for? Ego problems. It has to be ego problems.

She bets he's short.

But, while she's in the mood for it, Abadi also bets that's not going to be the real issue here. Shortly after the ECU sent out their first message, a second was detected- this time from the URC base. And then, with the guests arriving at the Meeting Place, it's not exactly clear where they're headed yet. To Abadi, or to the United Republic? The former makes her superiors happy, and the latter costs them their chance to sway early opinions. It's not really a choice- Abadi needs to get this Alfonso man here, now.

She could, she figures, just run down to where he's docked and greet him before anyone else can, then pressure him into coming along. But whatever his culture is, any human would read that as desperate. No, the better move is to get him to choose to come here, willingly... like maybe...

Ugh.

No matter her title or her job, Abadi just isn't a schemer. Where is Tanaka or Heralds when you need them?





Tanaka is entering into the little Aurgian embassy, a nice place by his account. The plants remind him of "fresh land" back on New Hollywood, those places that have been terraformed since the start of the whole process. There's a smell and a feeling to new grasslands that doesn't exist anywhere else in the galaxy.

"Thank you most sincerely for you welcome," he makes a little nod with his head. It's not quite a bow, but just enough of one to pass if this is indeed a culture that bows at greetings. Can't be too careful at first contact. "I am Oliga- Liason Tanaka," he catches himself trying to use the old title. "I represent my people, the Earth Cultural Union, a league of mankind dedicated to preserving the ways and forms of Old Earth. And I already know who your people are: I was very pleased to hear Auriga's greeting to the galaxy. There can never be too many human nations." He hopes, if in vain, that she'll ask if there are any non-human ones. Can't miss a chance to throw the Zetans into bad lighting.

@Irredeemable

Earth,
The Meeting Place
After a rather quick sortie with all his assignments, Ambassador Ghask had found himself with more free time than he had hoped for, taking a nice stroll through the corridors of the Meeting place, escorted by two republican guardsmen as they passed by station personnel, tourists and staff of other Embassies. As he cleared his head of the many headaches that took over his waking hours, he had come to a small realization, those new arrivals would be docking soon....perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to test his speaking skills. Although no doubt, there will be some awkwardness towards his appearance, for all Ghask knew, he could possibly be the first intelligent alien lifeform the Matuvistans have ever seen, or not, one can never know. Regardless, this was a small opening he would not let pass up and took a small detour to the docking bay to welcome the new arrivals.

---

@Crusader Lord

Columbian Space
Aboard the CSS Argus
All stood still once the Xandalian vessel, the XSS Tarkin, had entered the military exercise zone. At first, Admiral Wilson was pretty irked by the appearance of a unauthorized civilian vessel in restricted space but once the Tarkin revealed themselves to be aligned with the Xandalian Diplomatic Corps, his attitude had quickly changed, and once they shared the urgency of their mission, the Admiral had to be a though decision. "Order all ships and frames to stand down." The Admiral ordered. "Relay a message to Captain Xara, tell her that the mock battle will have to be postponed for now."

Death stalked the protector’s away team. The sandstorm that had whipped up prior to their landing was bad, but not so bad that flesh was stripped from bone. Eta-Theta’s form did not strictly require the billowing cloth that was currently hung around it, but it certainly did add to the effect that the soldier was going for. Through the vision-obscuring cloud they watched, patiently, until at last the time came for them to stalk closer and begin their assault.

There were six protectors, a large one brandishing a club and clearly in command, and five smaller men and a woman around him with rifles. For possibly the first time, they were all wearing suits fit for the environment- helmets that filtered the sand, thick metal that was both insulated and tough. (And all golden, of course.)

Eta-Theta had considered using their new rail rifles, but something about that seemed… insufficient, to them. These protectors had done the Zetan a personal injury, and thus, they deserved a personalised end. The revenant’s eyes had already clocked onto the two primary targets, but they were surrounded by chaff- by fodder, and that fodder needed to be cleared out, so that the juiciest morsels could be savoured.

It was time to field-test some of their body’s new capabilities. The sand gave them wonderful concealment on approach, but the cushioned joints of the warform also greatly aided stealth. They were almost silent as they stalked across the sand, extending a hand and trying out another customised feature. The long, elongated fingers of Eta-Theta’s new body fused themselves together, and then as one, the structure shifted, from hand into a leaf-shaped blade.

Then, all that was left to do was to maximise the initial terror inflicted. Eta-Theta waited, patiently, following the group as they moved, and then, as one of their number was mid-sentence, pounced. Cleanly, they strode across the short gap between them and their target, reached their hand back and then thrust it forward. Armour, ribcage, spine… None of it provided enough protection to prevent Eta-Theta’s hand from ripping through to their heart and shredding it.

“Ling!” the protector beside him shouted, and that was all he had time to do. An instinct kicked in, spurred on by years of holo-indoctrination, and his next shout was only a furious, wordless scream. He jumped at the invader, half in vengeance and half without thought at all, throwing his entire body weight into the tackle.

His mistake was using all his weight. Eta-Theta drew back and loosened themselves, catching his limbs and tumbling backwards. The duo fell into a somersault, but halfway through, as the robot was on top, they pushed themselves up and spread themselves out, landing on their feet whilst dragging the protector through the dirt. Their foot came up, then crashed down hard, a rush of satisfaction running through the Zetan as they felt helmet and bone creak and crunch underneath their foot.

"Stay away from it, dumbasses!" The chief protector called out. "Just shoot!"

Pre-empting the fire that was to come, Eta-Theta dashed back into the dust storm. As they did so, a cavity in their chest peeled open and presented the android with a small yet powerful handgun. Racking the slide, Eta-Theta hurtled back into the fray at near-superhuman speeds. Their pistol coughed three times, almost-silent, and another protector fell, whilst the last of the chaff was dispatched with the same callous shooting.

Eta-Theta ejected the spent magazine with a flick, catching the empty with their other hand, then slotting a new one in. ”Remember me?”

Yun and Jo were the only two left. The former did not answer, caught trembling by the pure fear and shock of watching four men he knew fall like plastic toys. The latter, however, was not the kind to be shaken by death.

"No," Jo said casually, "I don't remember you at all." Even as she spoke, she took aim and sprayed hail at the robot.

”Do you think this form isn’t reinforced against that?” Eta-Theta walked calmly forward, through the hail of lightweight fire. ”You questioned me. You threw me out of an airlock. You thought my promise was a joke.” They stalked closer and closer, watching as Jo reloaded, then reached out to squeeze their gun hard, the weapon’s barrel crumpling between their fingers.

Not used to the heavy weight of her armour, Jo almost slipped backwards in the sand. "Wait," she said, "wai-"

”The human brain can only last three minutes without oxygen before it suffers irreparable damage. They had to pull me back together from scraps.” A lie, but one that suited the Consciousness’ purpose well. ”But I made a promise. I intend to fulfil it.” Those same metallic fingers unfurled themselves and wrapped around Jo’s neck, slowly lifting the protector up. ”Any last words?”

Struggling under the ironclad grip, Jo barely found enough breath to bargain: "Wait, I was the good… one, I… tried to help you… " Her ice blue eyes darted around the sands, looking for help but seeing just corpses and Yun, his rifle trembling unsteadily between the killer and her. She only hesitates for a moment.

"It's- it's him you want!"

”Those are terrible last words.” The Zeta lingered for a long time, feeling the pulsing of blood through Jo’s neck. The air being heaved in along her throat. The frantic, gulping, like a fish stranded without water. ”Humanity… It’s such a fragile thing.” Then, they squeezed, metallic motors bending cartilage until it buckled, Eta-Theta watching Jo’s face intensely.

Yun would have agreed that those were awful last words, but his mind was not fit to agree to things right then. His nightmare was coming true. How had he known? Eta-Theta was back from the dead. It shouldn't be possible, but it is, and Jo is gone- and he's running.

Through the covering sand storm and the limited visibility, his rifle fell from his grip somewhere in the dust, and there was no time to retrieve it. The transport, he can only think, must be somewhere in this storm. He could pilot it by himself- where is it? Sand in the eyes. Hands are groping through the cloud for its smooth metal.

Dampeners off. Each footstep that Eta-Theta now took was magnified tenfold, a crunching, metallic harbinger of death. They followed Yun as he stumbled about, almost casual in their movement, watching as the sand clogged his eyes and his brain clouded with fear.

”Looking for something?”

The fight's over, his mind said. The wind whipped at the back of Yun's knees, and brought him down with it, kneeling in the sand. He didn't try to get up. It was over. The whole planet was against him.

For a moment, the storm seemed to clear, and Yun looked up into the skull-like face of his hunter. It's different. It's not the same body anymore, but- there's something in that tilt of the head. Just like in the airlock.

"Eta-Theta," Yun whispered. He took his helmet off. "It's you."

”You do remember.” Eta-Theta reached down, fingers coming around to cling to the back of the man’s head. Lifting him up, dangling him in the air, the android paused for a moment. ”I was going to kill you now, but…” Eta-Theta let the threat hang in the air, eyes searching through the sand for the transport that the protector arrived in. Carrying Yun over, the android slammed the man face-first against its smooth metal surface, then dragged his face along it, smearing blood as they went.

”Run along, back to your headquarters, up there in space. Tell them what happened here.” They paused for extra emphasis. ”And try living as best you can. Because one day, I will find you again, and I will make good on my promise.”

Yun didn’t argue. With only a wild glance into the eyes- cameras?- of the robot, he fled into that transport meant for five more people. His hair was matted red, his heart threatened to explode, but somehow, he was returning to the cruiser alive.

If only he knew what he was bringing with him.

---

"Of course." The warform nodded as the situation was explained. "Here's the essential situation. Our navy is eradicated, and their ground forces have invaded us and are attacking our cities indiscriminately. It's tunnel fighting down there- dark, dangerous, difficult, but it's also our home, and they have no respect for that. None at all. They've blown up hydroponics systems we need to prevent people from starving. They've damaged the power reactors that keep our lights on. They've attacked our civilian centres. We've been forced to use partisans just to keep the lights on and food in our bellies."

They were overstating the damage somewhat, but nothing the warform said was a lie. "Alas, this module is not fitted with a projector, or I would be able to show you some of this. Their casus belli is nonsense as well, Bodi-Alpha joined us of his own volition, and has integrated seamlessly into Zetan society. Their fearmongering of torture and kidnapping are bald lies to cover up their ideological nonsense."

That was all they had the time to talk about. No sooner had they finished then the diplomats walked in, and it was time for the warform to meet with their opposing diplomat. This was a chance for them to get a nation on their side, and that was the first step on the road to pushing the invaders out of their system and maybe even winning this war for good.

---

"Our statement has been clear on this. Bodi-Alpha believed himself to be the victim of anti-cyborg discrimination, and felt that he was not being respected properly despite his expertise. He was not kidnapped- he boarded our vessel of our own volition when we were forcibly exorcised from the ECU's home system shortly before war was declared." Sigma-Devi jabbed her finger down at the table between the pair. "And now, as they go to war over false accusations of torture, they hurl prisoners of war out of space airlocks and blow up our farms! It's a hypocritical disgrace, and the worst of it is that they have the damn Undefeated on their side. We could have defended ourselves if it was just the Hollywoodites, but..." She trailed off, clearly listening to something.

"Blast it to Omega, we've got two new nations at the Meeting Place and the ECU has already got their hooks into one of them." Sigma-Devi seemed like she was about to despair. "I can only hope the second have a better sense of judgement than to listen to those..." She glanced at Christensen, before rattling off several ancient Greek phrases that could only be reasonably put together as an elaborate curse.

"Apologies. Things are tense. Too tense for a pleasant diplomatic chat... And it wasn't as if I was a diplomat before the gateway opened either."

---

Alfonso had to say, he was... Confused. Was this meeting place not for humans? Why then, was a thin, rocky, bipedal alien approaching him? Straightening his collar a little, Alfonso examined Ghask skeptically. "You'll have to forgive the jumpiness of my men. Aliens are rarely a good sign on Matuvista." Almost awkwardly, the man extended his hand, glad for the fact that there would at least be a glove between skin-to-skin contact. "I suppose the 'Earth Cultural Union' has to wait then, mr..." He trailed off, frowning to himself. "How should I refer to you then?" He gestured with his hand. "And, by all means, allow us to walk and talk."

Commander Jim Harlowe read the message again, frowning and rubbing his forehead. His orders were clear, but he was not sure what to think about them. Sure, it looked like an important mission. But it was a diplomatic mission. How the hell was he supposed to earn his superior’s respect and get on the shortlist for the next Guardian by doing diplomatic missions? If only he was lucky enough to get into the invasion fleet. Not aboard the Horizon, sure, that was horrible what happened there. But a warm spot on the aircraft carrier to watch the battle from a safe distance? He would kill for that. Well, not literally. He was ambitious, but he still had some scruples. But orders were orders, so he grabbed his bag and headed to the docks.

The Pathfinder was not a ship designed for battle. Just like her sister Chimera, which was currently docked at the Meeting Place, it was a small vessel, sleek and elegant, designed for swift transfers and scouting, and equipped with the best sensors and various scanners available. It was definitely not the ship Jim dreamed of. He glanced at the other side of the docks, where a big cruiser was just being finished, and sighed. Off to do some diplomacy!




“Well, it certainly doesn’t look half as pretty as Ellara,” Harlowe noted, as they were approaching the designated landing spot on the planet of New Hollywood. The terraformation efforts were visible, but still, the extensive dead plains were depressing. The Pathfinder flew over miles and miles of farms that surrounded the city, patches of green and yellow fields, orchards the size of forests. It was hard to guess what they were growing from this distance, but from what he knew about the ECU, it was all original crops brought from Earth. Jim wondered if they had apples. Seeds from Earth didn’t fare well on Ellara, often catching various diseases and dying, a lot of them had to have been genetically modified and crossbred with their local versions. Apples died out completely. Even locked away in a greenhouse, in a clean controlled environment, the scientists just couldn’t keep them alive. Everybody knew what they looked like, but no one ever tasted them.

Jim snapped out of the weird thoughts. He needed to focus. The Pathfinder was already circling above the city, carefully following the path the ECU designated for them. As he looked out of the window, Jim’s jaw almost dropped. He was used to gray uniform cities the Undefeated had on Ellara. Everything back home was strictly practical, designed to serve its purpose in the most efficient way possible. New Moscow seemed to be quite the opposite. Everything was so bright and colorful as if you stuffed a kid with hallucinogens and had them draw a city using finger paints. Blinking neon signs, advertisements projected on building walls or even into thin air, powerful spotlights aimed into the sky for no apparent reason. And if all the visual stimuli weren’t enough to make your head hurt, there was the noise. Aside from the normal traffic noise, the air was filled with a plethora of voices and music blasting from every corner. One voice was proclaiming their detergent was the best to deal with pesky stains. Rock guitar solo was coming from a rooftop party, followed by an opera singer. The Pathfinder passed so close to a gigantic hologram promoting ‘the best club in town’ that Jim felt he could touch the hologram lady’s nipples if he stuck his hand out of the window.

How could anyone live here without going insane? Jim chuckled, remembering Guardian Blackwood’s report on the first contact with the ECU delegation. One of the words she used in the description was ‘clowns’ and it seemed more than fitting. The ship circled one of the skyscrapers and softly landed on a platform above the lower levels. Jim was nervous as he headed outside but, at least in his opinion, hid it well.

It took all his self-control to not start laughing when he saw his ECU counterpart who came to greet him. Oligarch Reins was dressed in the most ridiculous manner imaginable - a blue tailcoat with a red bowtie and tight leather pants. And on his head, believe it or not, was a feather headdress. “Commander Harlowe,” he approached Jim. “I am Oligarch Reins. Welcome to New Moscow!”

Jim grinned, Oligarch’s enthusiasm was contagious. “I am very glad to be here. So, you train your people right here, in the middle of the city?”

Reins nodded. “Pretty much all the training is done through holo-suites, so it doesn’t really matter where it takes place. And the recruitment office needs to be accessible so that everyone who wishes to join us can just walk in from the street and enroll. Please, follow me, I have a tour prepared for you to show you our best techniques!” The Oligarch seemed excited, he probably didn’t get to show his training methods off very often.

Jim followed him inside the building, thinking about how the hell can they train soldiers just by locking them in a room with some holograms. He had read all the information about the holo-suites the Undefeated had and could imagine incorporating them into training, but not completely replacing everything else. Where were the hundreds of miles they had to run through mountains with all their gear on their backs? All the trenches they had to dig, hours upon hours of crawling through the cold mud or hot sand, trying their best to avoid the sharp eyes of their supervisors? All the maneuvering practice, squads fighting each other in dozens of scenarios. You can't just skip all that, replace it with a hologram.

“Our Protectors are not the smartest of our people, but they are very dedicated,” Reins said as they walked through a long hallway with lots of doors on each side. Jim could hear various sounds from behind them, fighting, crying, screaming, even something that sounded like maniacal laughter. So far it seemed more like a visit to a mental hospital than to a soldier training facility. “Here,” Reins used a keycard on a big door at the end of the hallway, “is our control center for this floor. We can monitor the progress of each subject, adjusting the holo-suite programming as necessary.”

The room was dark, lit only with dozens of monitors grouped around several workstations. A person was sitting at each station, periodically checking the screens and inputting some commands into the computers in front of them, sometimes quietly talking into microphones. “Carry on, guys!” Oligarch cheered on the supervisors, who really paid no attention to him. “We have such a great collective here,” he smiled. “Come, look here. This one is a new addition.” Jim and Reins sat in front of a large screen with nothing but an empty white room on it. Jim still couldn’t shake the thought of a mental hospital.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then a young muscular man entered. “Hmm, look at his muscles. He is going to be a great Protector,” Reins whispered. Jim wanted to object that a great soldier needs to have more things than just big muscles, but the show was just starting. The recruit walked towards a big box with a question mark on it that appeared in the middle of the room. “I will lower the sound for now.” Reins clicked a few buttons. “It’s better with these starting programs, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to hear each other here.”

The man watched the box for a moment, looking around him and waiting for some instructions. When he wasn’t given any, he carefully opened the box and peeked in. A swarm of wasps flew out and started to chase him around the room. He kept running in circles, screaming in horror. Reins chuckled. “We have a wide variety of surprises prepared in the boxes. Spiders, snakes, wasps, scorpions. I like to shake things up a bit. Right now I am creating one that will slowly fill the room with blood.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. What kind of training was this? Was Reins actually an Oligarch, or just some psychopath torturing random people? How would this help to train a soldier in any way?

“I bet you are wondering how this helps us to train our Protectors. Well, observe.”

The man was now curled up in a corner, sobbing quietly. On Oligarch's command, the wasps disappeared and two new boxes appeared in the middle of the room, one with a question mark, the other with an exclamation mark, and a baton lying on the ground in front of them. The recruit got up, still sniffling a bit, looking around him to see where the wasps went. When he couldn’t find them, his gaze turned to the new boxes. He frowned and scratched his head for a good minute, but then grabbed the baton and smashed the question mark box. Fireworks appeared, confetti and some holographic bank notes raining down from the ceiling.

“So… you have taught him to hate question marks?” Jim still couldn’t understand the point of all this.

Reins laughed. “It is a bit more complicated than that.”

The confetti and money slowly descended to the floor, creating a colorful mess. Still, nothing else was happening. The recruit looked confused, Jim empathized with him heavily. What was all this about? He destroyed the right box, so he should be rewarded and the program should continue. Maybe the reward was in the exclamation mark box? The man apparently had the same thoughts as Jim, because he carefully approached the second box and opened it.

A snakehead popped out of the box, hissing violently, growing and growing, completely out of proportion, until it filled most of the room. The man was hysterical, desperately banging on the door, screaming to let him out. “He is afraid of snakes,” Reins said like it explained everything.

Jim shook his head. “I am afraid I do not understand. What was the right answer?” He wanted to say that it just seemed like plain torture without any deeper meaning but remembered that he was on a diplomatic mission. Such a thing would probably be considered highly offensive.

“My friend,” Reins patted Jim’s shoulder. “You are clearly too smart for this and you think too hard about it. Let’s see if our recruit understood it.”

Jim did his best not to flinch as the Oligarch touched him. His impression that Reins is just a creepy psychopath that enjoys cruel torture was getting stronger.

The holo-suite changed again. The snake disappeared and the room was now filled with dozens of boxes. Some had question marks or exclamation marks, but most had various new symbols - circles, squares, arrows, and countless others. When the recruit noticed the snake was gone, he slowly turned around, squinting on all the boxes. Then he let out an angry roar, his grip around the holographic baton tightened, and he started smashing everything around him. For each box he destroyed a small firework appeared, and soon the room was filled with colorful explosions. When there were no boxes left, he just stood there in the middle of the room, grunting and panting heavily.

Reins leaned towards the microphone. “Well done, recruit, you have passed your initial test. You will now be assigned a room and your very own baton! Go rest, more tests are ahead.” The man on the screen grinned and left the room. Reins shut the monitor down. “See? He didn’t think about it and got the answer right.”

Jim shook his head. “When you don’t know what to do, use force?” He asked ironically, but Reins’ face lit up.

“Exactly! We teach them that anything unusual can be dangerous and force is the appropriate response.”

“You are programming them to be aggressive?” Jim couldn’t believe the methods these people used. That is just not how you train a soldier. That is not how you treat a human being.

“Every human has aggression already programmed in their brain,” Oligarch shrugged. “We are just increasing the number of things that trigger it. And we have had great success with it, our Protectors are very fierce warriors.”

Fierce? Try emotionally unstable. The Undefeated knew of PTSD and had therapists that regularly talked to soldiers who have been in difficult situations. These talks were mandatory and so was eventual therapy. The ECU was taking normal people and literally implanting PTSD into their brains, thinking it would make them better soldiers? Jim shivered. These were their allies?

“There is one more program I wanted to show you if you are interested?” Reins was so excited that he was nearly jumping up and down on his chair. “This one is entirely by my design. It is relatively new, created specifically for our war versus the Zetans.”

“I would be honored to see it,” Jim responded, trying to keep his diplomatic appearance. What was it going to be? Clankers jumping out of question mark boxes?

“Actually, you would get a much stronger impression if you were inside the holo-suite this time. Don’t worry, the holograms are programmed to ignore visitors, just stay on the side and don’t interfere.”

Jim smiled and got up. He didn’t want to do this, but it seemed like he didn’t have much of a choice unless he was willing to look like a coward. He wasn’t going to shame the Undefeated like this. Plus, he was a trained soldier, a veteran of countless battles, he was not afraid of a bit of solid light.

As he was entering the holo-suite, Reins’ voice came out of nowhere. “Harry, you will have a visitor for your next test, so do your best.” A small, dark-skinned man in the room nodded absentmindedly, his hand clutching a baton. He briefly looked at Jim, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly, making Jim wonder if he had taken some drugs or just hadn’t slept in days. Jim assumed a safe spot, leaning against the wall next to the door, hoping there would be no more wasps. He wasn’t too fond of insects.

“Our enemies can take many forms,” a soft female voice said. “We think they all look like this.” An image of a warform briefly appeared. “But often, they look like this.” The warform was replaced by a family. The man was heavily augmented, all his limbs replaced by sophisticated prosthetics, patches of metal shining even from his bald head. The woman looked mostly human, only parts of her neck and hands were replaced by dark metal. The girl didn’t seem augmented at all, just a hint of red color around her eyes suggested that she wasn’t completely normal.

“These are our enemies.” As the voice spoke, the Zetan moved towards Harry. It didn’t even look like an attack, but the Protector reacted swiftly, swinging his baton at the man, beating him violently. Blood spattered the walls and the holographic woman screamed out, hugging the child, shielding her with her own body. Harry continued until the Zetan’s body stopped moving, turned into a bloody pile of bones, meat, and metal. Harry grinned and panted heavily.

“These are our enemies.” The voice repeated. The woman didn’t even try to defend herself, as the Protector grabbed her by her wrist and dragged her away from the girl. Jim wished he could look away or at least close his eyes, but he couldn’t afford to look weak. He had killed a lot of Screechers, men as well as women, but always the ones that fought back. Beating a helpless woman to death was a bit too much even for his stomach.

Harry looked satisfied with himself, nodding to himself and swinging his baton there and back to shake the blood off. But the simulation didn’t end. ‘Please don’t. Please, just don’t,’ Jim prayed, struggling to maintain a calm face, but his prayers went unheard. “These are our enemies,” the voice repeated once again. Harry walked over to the child cowering in the corner of a room. The girl looked about four years old and had the cutest blond curls imaginable. Jim decided that no amount of pride would make him watch this. In fact, he was just about done with this whole training program.

Harry lifted his baton above the child’s head but hesitated. “These are our enemies.” He gritted his teeth and swung it again, stopping just a few inches from the girl. “These are our enemies,” the voice kept repeating.

“But…,” Harry shook his head, unsure what to do. “This is just a kid!”

“These are our enemies.”

Harry took a step forward, step back, step forward, before finally deciding to turn around, away from the child. Jim sighed in relief. But the program wasn’t going to let them off so easily.

“While they may seem innocent, they ARE our enemies.” The atmosphere in the room changed, the light went dimmer and it even felt like it got colder. Jim watched in horror as the child grew, its body slowly transforming into a warform, while the head remained human. The result was perfect fuel for nightmares - a huge murdering robot with a head of a beautiful blonde girl. Harry turned around, staring at the abomination. Suddenly, metallic bars slid from the ceiling, trapping him in a cage.

“You think you spared an innocent life while in fact, you caused the death of dozens.”

Human bodies started to appear on the floor, twisted and mangled. To Jim, their faces seemed random, but Harry apparently knew them. “Karen? Audrey?!” He screamed out. “DAD?!”

His screams were interrupted by the child's chuckle. Jim had never heard anything creepier in his life and suspected that sound would stay engraved in his brain forever, haunting every single one of his nightmares. “Mum?” Harry’s hands grabbed the bars of his cage, trying to shake them, but they wouldn’t move. Jim forced himself to look at the warform. It was holding a frightened dark-haired woman, its metallic fingers clutching her arms.

“Harry?” She sniffled, looking confused and terrified. Even though Jim knew this was all a hologram, it still felt so incredibly real he kept reaching to a spot where his sidearm would normally be.

The child giggled and pressed harder, making the woman scream out and squirm. “NO! MUM!” Harry shouted desperately, tears running down his face. “LET HER GO!”

The girl laughed. “No.” Jim quickly closed his eyes. He didn’t care who watched him or how he would look. If it didn’t feel too childish, he would put hands over his ears to at least muffle the horrible sounds of Harry and his mum screaming, the Zetan child laughing, and especially of all the ripping, cracking, and tearing.

When the screams died out, Jim forced himself to open his eyes. There were unidentifiable body parts scattered all over the place and the warform was covered in blood from mechanical toes to blonde curls. Harry was kneeling in his cage, sobbing inconsolably.

“These are our enemies. Be sure to remember that,” the voice repeated and the hologram slowly dwindled away. Harry didn’t move at all, but Jim grabbed the door handle and darted out of the room.

“So, did you like it?” Reins was waiting for him in the hallway with a wide grin.

“Mhm,” Jim nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth to say something, he would throw up.

“I knew it! I took care of every detail to make it as realistic and as efficient as possible. Did you notice the details on the dead bodies? It took me hours to interconnect the program with our database to automatically put the right faces on. I will tell you, adding them manually was such incredible labor.”

Reins started walking and Jim followed him, dazed and disoriented. He swore to himself that if they try to put him into another one of these rooms, he will kill every single person in this place with his bare hands. Hmm, maybe the aggressive programming was already taking its toll on him? How ironic. He was not far from bursting into maniacal laughter.

Fortunately, Reins led him to a nice apartment, where everything was real. “You can get some rest and refreshments if you want to. I thought that maybe we could go celebrate our new friendship and visit some bars and holo-suites downtown later?”

Jim shivered from the idea of entering some other holographic hell, let alone accompanied by this psychopath. “Maybe later,” he managed to say before he closed the door and was finally left alone. As much as he considered himself a ‘tough guy’, hardened by countless bloody battles back on Ellara, the things he has seen and experienced here shook him deeply. He knew he should report everything to the high command, but right now even thinking about what happened here seemed too traumatizing.

The room was truly luxurious, there was even a table filled with various foods. Jim looked over it and noticed a miracle - an actual apple. Beautifully red, just asking him to grab it and take a bite. Red, just like all the blood in that terrible holographic hell. He decided he wasn’t actually hungry and reached for his tablet instead. “I need to call my mom.”

"We didn't plan for this," Captain Korhonen is saying, for the third time this meeting. They're onboard the Memory, the ECU cruiser and impromptu center for the invasion of Zeta. "Your men are dedicated, but they're just not..."

"Not what?" Protector Chief Davids interrupts, as he is prone to doing. "Not good enough?"

The Chief- a tall, fat man with a face always flushed- stares down the table. There are a dozen other men in here, all of them commanders of some protector troop or another. Except for Korhonen. Because somebody- somebody- thought it would be a good idea to let the cruiser's captain in on their meetings. That somebody is getting a club to the gut, soon as Davids can find out who he is.

"It's not that," the Captain tries, but he's cut off again.

"Well what is it then, Cap? Because I sure wish somebody would tell me! Every day since we've been here, we got some Oligarch or Savant or big-brained Captain tryin' to tell us we can't cut it, and I'm about sick of it. What is it, Captain? You wanna go down there and fight the toasters?" With some effort, he hoisted himself out of his steel chair and sent it skidding into the wall, half the other protectors standing up with him. "Because I've got a club for you right here!"

Across the room, Korhonen's shoulders seem to arch up tensely, then let out slowly with a sigh. "If that's a threat, Chief-"

"It is!"

"-then I'm afraid it's not working, because I have a pistol and you have a metal stick."

At that bold of a challenge, the room is momentarily filled with protector's shouts, gasps and laughter, and the Chief's eyes look like they're trying to bulge entirely out of his head, but Korhonen only- calmly- holds up a hand for silence. "The cold fact is, Chief, that your men aren't cut out for an invasion. They're... police," he nearly said thugs, "who are intended for combat with civilian threats. And," seeing the Chief billowing up again, he hurries along, "and they're very, very good at it! We couldn't do without our protectors. But this war was not expected to be a long siege. We need help. The volunteers from the URC are more... trained. For this sort of thing."

The Chief has plopped back down into some else's chair while Korhonen is speaking, but the tension in his face remains. He feels like hitting something. He needs to hit something.

He hits the table.

"It's not right," he growls, half to himself. "You people, you eggheads in charge of everything 'round here, you made us this way. You pick us out just 'cause we're big and not smart, and you through us in rooms and show us bad things and make us hate everything. And now we're not good enough." His gaze shoots up to Korhonen.

Who looks away, feeling almost ashamed. The Captain is not on Oligarch, but his father was. He knows what the protectors go through- and he notices that suddenly, none of them seem very interested in making eye contact with anyone.

"Chief," one of them mutters, a thin man with sunk-in eyes, "how many people have come back from Zeta?"

The silence holds for a second.

"How many protectors have made it back, Chief?" Someone else echoes. And then another, and two more.

Davids looks away.

"The correct answer is," Korhonen says quietly, "none. No protector has returned alive from the surface of Zeta-5." And that settles around the room. "I recommend an immediate cessation of all protector activity within Zetan held territory." Realizing his audience might not be the kind to understand that language, he tags on: "I mean, I'm saying that we should stop sending any protectors to the surface."

A vote is held. With no Oligarch present, (Kayla being off-ship for negotiations) that's the default method. 9-to-4, it's decided.

"From this moment forward, until or unless decided by an Oligarch or by order of the Savant, or an authority selected thereby, there shall be no more protectors sent to Zeta-5." Korhonen smiles in a way that's meant to be reassuring. "It's for the better, I promise. Let the Undefeated and those crazy volunteers handle it. Us ECU boys can just bombard that rotten place from up here, right?"

Davids nods his massive head without looking up, half furious and half ashamed. It's right when the protectors are standing to leave that all their infopads beep and vibrate at once. "Captain and Chief," some fast reader says, squinting at his pad, "it says here... Yun is back. Protector Yun. Alive."






"Pound, pound, pound! That's how a bass line should go," asserts 'Kyle', who mimes playing it with his hands.

"No, no," corrects the woman calling herself 'Jade,' "it should go like womp-womp-womp!" She also mimes playing a bass guitar, and does it just a little better.

"You're both wrong," slurs in a third, this one a little drunk, "the bass just needs to be like, uh... what's the word they used to use? Funny? Yeah! We just need a funny bass!"

This makes Jade roll her eyes. "Funky," she corrects him. "The word is funky!" She's always had a pet peeve about anyone breaking character in a culture party. If you can't remember the correct word, just don't say it! Oh, what is the ECU coming to?

"Uh, thanks," he says, drink sloshing around in an all-too-small shot glass. "So what's your name? Mine is Viktor."

"Jade," she says, but with the same tone as if she were saying 'shut up.' Viktor is definitely not a 1960's British-American Rock Subculture style name. Did he forget to pick a new identity when he came in, too? That's one of the fundamental rules. Ugh.

She manages to slip away from Viktor and Kyle as a new debate about funny baselines begins, weaving her way through the thickening crowd of bushy hairstyles, vibrant tie-dyes and clashing outfits. There's a nasty rumor that Hollywoodites dress like clowns- they should have seen this.

The snack table is almost as colorful. Red jello, green jello, fruits suspended in jello, jello shots and carrots. Who brought carrots?

It was probably Viktor.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" a voice interrupts her musings on the deficiencies of Viktor, "Do you have a moment to discuss something important?"

She turns to look, and her first thought is 'This one even forgot their costuming.' Her second thought is 'Oh no, it's one of them! And they forgot their costuming!'

Everyone in Neo London has heard of the new Mixtist missionaries. There's only a few of them, maybe two dozen at the most, but they're catching attention- massive, national attention that should be getting them beat into dust by protectors. Unfortunately, half of Neo London's protectors are busy getting slaughtered by Zetans at the moment, and that leaves these robe-wearing, pamphlet-carrying weirdos to roam the streets, trying to convert people to... to whatever it is they believe in. It's not even very clear.

"No, I don't," Jade answers, studiously diverting her gaze to the table. "I'm very busy with listening to this song." The singer on stage is a hologram, an older kind that always sounds a little distorted, but she isn't going to let a little thing like taste stand in the way of ignoring this woman.

"Ma'am," the missionary says with a soft voice of compassion, "that song is terrible."

Jade jerks her head back up in surprise, and then laughs. She didn't expect that.

"Okay, okay, maybe it is," she admits. The missionary is a tan-skinned, wild-haired woman, who does kind of make the robe work. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and listen to a bunch of- nonsense."

"No," the missionary answers. "You're just going to go and listen to a bunch of other nonsense, and eat nonsense food, and retire into a nonsense holo-suite that shows you pictures of Earth as it never was." She smiles. "This whole world is nonsensical, ma'am. Every bit, from top to bottom. But I think I have some nonsense here that will do you some good." She hold out a pamphlet, a weird thing in this day of infopads and holograms.

Jade doesn't take it. "No," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Alright." The missionary woman doesn't seem very upset at all. "Well then, will you at least say your real name? Not the fake one. We have to be real sometimes. I'm Martina."

The other one hesitates, and then answers: "Abadi." They part ways.

The dead drift

Location: 35

"35" Slowly emerged from the underground port of Tutum-Infectis. Through the massive windows in the recreation room the brigade could make out the massive shapes of future gharials, like the future wrens after being injected some had escaped to the surface of the planet. The gharial's massive black hides made them almost invisible when leaned against the side of a mountain, which some older ones were almost as large as. One about the size of a school bus took notice of the ship leaving the port and decided to see what was up. Only seconds after it reached the side of the port the engines fired up. As massive potassium powered purple fires slowly pulled the ship towards the rift the gharial was exposed to heat that could melt bone to ashes in less then a second. It walked away steaming, but alive thanks to the SFEI.
As the ship approached the rift one by one all the power went out. Whether it was from the poor design, power of the rift, or both soon the whole ship was gliding into the wormhole with no way to stop itself. The pilot, Kefp was extremely worried by this, as any would be. What worried him more was the debris that was hitting the ship. Large pieces of rock and metal constantly hit the sides of the craft, often sending the passengers sprawling through the anti-gravity. It wasn't until the jukebox came that there was any real danger.
After a particularly large hunk from the side of what appeared to be the Circuit-planetae (the space station that the first people through the gateway lived on) hit the side of the ship a small jukebox crashed through a window. The two abberians inside didn't notice at first, due to the conditions of outer space being similar to those of the surface, which they were evolved to withstand, and continued their anti-gravity ping-pong game. At least, they did until 21 pilots "ride" started blaring through the speakers of the jukebox.

"I'd die for you" that's easy to say
We have a list of people that we would take
A bullet for them, a bullet for you
A bullet for everybody in this room
But I don't seem to see many bullets coming through
Metaphorically, I'm the man
But literally, I-

The abrupt ending was from SGT Roy Rodgers. Back on the Dead drift he led the security team, and after losing a whole squadron to abberians he was having some trouble trusting them. Every time he looked into one of those pale faces, he remembered the looks on his friend's faces as they were crushed to death by guards in the tunnels. Of course the two guards on board the ship also had trouble trusting him. They had gotten an order from the queen to kill all humans, but also not to kill any unless they posed a threat, this confused them as they had spent their whole life only following five rules, now there were six and one of them contradicted the other.
"Wow, amazing. A relic of the past bursts through the window of the room you were in and you didn't notice." Said SGT Rodgers with a fake smile. "I knew most of your kind were idiots, but I didn't think it could get this bad." He continued fake smile slowly turning real. "There are only four people on this ship who can punish you and I'm one of them so get your sorry-"
SGT Rodgers stopped talking when he noticed the mass beyond the broken window. Taking a deep breath of filtered suit air he stammered and tried, but couldn't take his eyes away from it. The massive star that had always lit the surface of the dead drift was pulsing. The two abberians turned to face it as well. Three small shuttles launched from the port, no one noticed. The star got larger and larger, The abberians and Rodgers could feel the heat dropping. Then the star began heating up, and heating up. SGT Rodgers grabbed the abberians by the collars of their shirts and pulled them away into the air lock leading to the main part of the ship. Just before "35" passed into the gateway the star went supernova. Whether it was from the poor design, power of the rift, or both everyone on the ship blacked out before they could see what happened next.

Eta-Theta was back in space. Not ‘in space’ as in secluded in a ship, for the Zetan navy was destroyed. No, Eta-Theta was quite literally exposed to the void of space. Unknown to Protector Yun, when the android had spared the man, they had used the cover of pain and dust to clamber atop his craft, the form’s powerful electromagnets keeping him fixed in place even as the shuttle took off and returned up into space. It had been a rough, bumpy ride, yet here they were again, the only difference being that this form was more than sturdy enough to survive the rigours of a long-term extra-vehicular journey. Of course, given enough time, even this form would struggle- its heat regulators could only radiate away so much without its regular cooling systems, but for hours… Days… Even weeks, they could remain on the outside, looking in.

Rising to their full height, Eta-Theta took the chance, now that everything was relatively stationary, to look around. From the orbit of the cruiser, Zeta-5 was large, yet not the entire world. Even just by turning around and looking up, they could see 3 and Z, where the colonists there put up just as valiant an effort as the ones down on Zeta to repel the invaders from their home. If they turned, they could gaze up at the gateway, then at the star of Zeta itself, and finally, the scaffolding of Aegis, where the bodies of their comrades still hung, both frozen by the cold and cooked by the radiation of their celestial body.

Enough reminiscing though. There was work to be done. Lowering themselves down onto all fours, Eta-Theta took a moment to acclimatise themselves, and then began to scuttle off the outside of the shuttle and onto the cruiser itself. Their only goal here was to cause havoc- the more, the better, and they had all the tools to do it. From opposable thumbs to a drill, the android was going to make sure absolutely nobody aboard the cruiser slept well, and anyone that did emerge to see what was going on never returned.

Who said you needed to board a vessel to kill its crew?

---

Marco slipped the helmet onto his head, clicked his seat-harness on, and turned to look to his left, then his right. They were out on the Amergio Lodefields, a relatively arid part of Matuvista almost entirely devoid of patricians. A lack of patricians meant a lack of the law, and that went double for Lodefields- the only people who lived here were miners, their families, and the people who catered for them, and these were the sorts of rough-and-ready folks that handled their own issues without bringing in law enforcement and their needless complications.

Which was why stuff like the skyraces were so popular. You could never get away with a bunch of plebians ripping through the skies where patricians lived- mostly because they’d pull out their jetbikes and thoroughly embarrass you, but also because once they’d done so, they’d force you to land, take your license and slap you with a fine. Out here, Marco was pretty sure most people didn’t even have a license, himself included. Didn’t mean he hadn’t been driving jetcars since he had been thirteen though.

He was sitting in a stripped-down jetcar on the ground, four other cars also lined up. The race rules were simple- get through the lodefields without losing your car. The first one to get to the other side and touch down won. Away from their launch points, a crowd had gathered, mostly teens and young adults, but a few older folks turning up to see the show. At least four different people had brought big enough speakers to war with each other, rap and pop-country vying with each other for dominance. In front of them stood the requisite race babe, carrying the centuries-old sign of racing- the chequered flag.

“ARE YOU READY?” Cheered out the announcer through a megaphone. The crowd responded- a rolling, rising noise that cut through any other din.

”I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I SAID! ARE! YOU! READY?!”

The noise now was almost deafening, the announcer turning towards the drivers now.

“Racers! START YOUR ENGINES!” A fog of dust was kicked up as five jetcars all revved themselves just above the ground at the same time. Marco tapped the accelerator a few times, the engine responding to each one with a powerful blast.

“READY!”
“SET!”
”GO, GO, GO!”

Marco didn’t wait for the second ‘go’ to put pedal to the metal. The race girl’s cap was blown off as all of the competitors ripped past her, engines screaming as they were pushed to their limits. The start of a race was pure jockeying as each competitor tried to be the first to hit the lodefield, and to figure out what altitude you wanted to hit it at.

Low, and you risked bringing rock rumblers up and crashing into your car. High, and you lost a lot of time and energy climbing that other competitors were using to go forward. Still, Marco didn’t want to lose this car: he’d put plenty of time, money and love into its stripped-down form, and so higher it was, the plebian watching as he fell into fourth place. Fifth seemed to be hanging back deliberately- it might be a sprint model that wanted to save its power for a final burst once they were out of the lodefields rather than wasting it all early on. He’d have to keep an eye out.

The wind whipped past his visor as he cruised through the skies. Most jetcars had actual protection from wind resistance, but in a race model like his, without a roof or, indeed, most of its bodywork, it was down to the racer to insulate themselves. Ahead of him, one of the competitors showboated- spinning itself in a helix and dropping down a few meters in preparation for…

The lodefield. An archipelago of hanging boulders, any one of which could be unstable enough to tear itself apart at the intrusion of a non-mining vehicle like a commercial jetcar. On the other hand, navigate it well, and you could use the magnetic fields to hurl yourself through the air faster than your jets ever could. They were why this sport was so popular in mining communities like this one, far more so than the racecourses in the city.

Also, seeing a jetcar explode was really, really cool.

It didn’t take long after entering for Marco to lose track of his competitors. There was just too much to focus on, too many smaller hanging rocks, too many things to keep in mind without worrying about your competitors. Deftly swerving, ducking and diving, Marco felt pleasantly confident, even as he saw…

It was beautiful. Two large lodestones positioned just barely far enough apart that a jetcar like his could squeeze between them. Climbing rapidly, he squinted a little, making sure that he got into the gap just perfect. Then, cut maglevs, hold with the jets, reignite maglevs, brace on tight, and…

Marco’s vision returned to him a few seconds later, the racer letting out a whoop as he careened wildly through the air. The number of G’s he’d been exposed to had caused him to blackout for a moment, but the move had sent him flying upwards and forwards, almost entirely clear of the lodefield.

Looking down, he could pick out a few of his competitors… And a smouldering wreck, bright hued-flames emerging from its spiralling form. A bright red ram parachute informed Marco that the driver had made it out fine though, and that he was, as far as he could tell, in the lead.

Best to keep it that way. Dropping his maglevs off entirely, he let his car start to lose altitude and pick up speed, the jets keeping him aimed towards his destination even as the wind started to pick up intensity. As his altimeter crept lower and lower at a startling speed, he started to engage the weakest of the electromagnets, the bass of the crowds at the finish line starting to throb through his body.

Then, from next to him, the sprint model began to pull ahead. Its jets had taken on a bright white colour as it accelerated, and in that moment, Marco made a decision that might have been considered stupid- he turned off his maglevs for the third time.

Picking up even more speed even as he lost altitude, he angled himself tight towards the sprint model, the two of them vying for the first-place position. His speed wasn’t even remotely sustainable- he had pretty much hit terminal velocity with his jets angled as they were, and he was burning through height fast, but the sprint car couldn’t have too much juice in its boosters, right?

The finish line drew closer and closer, as did the ground. No, the sprint car did have enough juice. Well then. He needed to do something else. Raising his maglevs again, he waited until the other car was about to overtake, then threw his strongest ones on full-blast. One of the risks of racing like this was that race jetcars had certain safety features turned off, and he was taking advantage of that now.

Normally, jetcars and bikes had automatic features that prevented magnetic entanglement. Such features required a fairly heavy rig to moderate though, and one that was almost always removed. By throwing his maglevs on like this, Marco had locked his own car onto that of his competitors, the two now quite literally neck-and-neck.

The other driver turned to him, and even through the visor Marco could imagine their expression. Two jets together, one of which was clearly boosted to hell, gave the combined car enough force to keep them firmly ahead of their competitors, but there could only be one winner.

The finish line was almost upon them now, and with a single flipped middle finger to his rival, Marco disengaged his maglevs once more, dropping down and picking up speed. He slammed down on his car’s chutes a moment before he actually hit the finish line, feeling himself thrown violently back at the forces of deceleration. Coming to a full stop, he unclipped himself and tossed his helmet off, screaming his victory at the top of his lungs.

It was good to be out on the lodefields.