Mackenzie chuckled politely at Andrei’s joke. “Please, rich old men are my speciality. I’ve represented some division heads back home. Honestly it would make this whole thing seem a bit more normal.” She indicated for him to take a seat, before sitting across from him. “The issues going on are, unfortunate however you don’t need to worry about our potential involvement. Lorne is a company, we’re just here to do business that will benefit all the people back home.”

She clicked a button on a nearby tablet and a drone slid over, she keyed in a drink request then she signalled that Andrei could do the same by an interface on the drones arm. “Honestly with all that is going on I was surprised by you reaching out to us, we were going to give you some time before we made any formal introductions. So what can Lorne do for you today?”

“Oh, much. You will have heard about the Earth Cultural Union beforehand,” Andrei guessed, from her language. “Good. Then you may have also heard about our focus on-” he paused, considering how to phrase it “-holographic simulation?”

Mackenzie nodded “I’ve spent as much time before our meeting reading up on everything I can find about you available on the ships public network. I wouldn’t say I’m well versed, but I am aware of your work.”

Overachievers, Andrei thought, I always hated them in school.. He had done no equal research on the Lorne, of course, but remembered what the Savant said. "Wonderful," he answered Mackenzie. "Good. You see, we are very glad to know you are a company. The ECU understands business. I have large shares in the entertainment industry, myself, and we have already heard that your people are skilled in spaceborne construction. Our allies were most impressed. That is why we wish to propose..."

It was not dramatic tension that made Andrei pause. At least, not after the first three seconds or so. Because it was then that Andrei noticed two things. The first was that there was nothing for his hands to fiddle with, which is a habit of his. But the second was that his hands also seemed determined to hover a little higher over his lap than they usually do, and this then led to the realization that his entire body, somehow, seemed... floatier.

The Oligarch moved his arms about slowly, staring at them and feeling how they don't move exactly right, before he recognized the sensation all at once. He had once been on the Listening Post when the gravity went down.

"I'm sorry," Andrei interrupted himself. "Is it just me, or is the gravity in this room a little lighter than it should be?"

Mackenzie chuckled. “Maybe for you it is, but if your people have lived in space since before the Gateways were built then it would be just right, artificial gravity wasn’t always as good as it is now and as such our bodies became used to lower gravity, we struggle in anything higher now. It’s part of why we never colonised Delta-4.”

For a moment, Andrei wondered if that makes them different from baseline humans. But then he remembered that the ECU is in a war with non-baseline humans because of that exact thinking, and decided to think about something else instead.

"I believe I've heard of your people before, then" he said. "In Academy, the process one must go through before joining the Noocracy," a process mostly for show, but he doesn't say this, "they teach us that some humans have lived in space since before the Fall of Earth. It's part of why my people do not mind building space stations now. Keeping to tradition is, as it should be, very important for us." He paused for a moment, wishing there was wine he could mysteriously swirl in its glass. He should have taken that chance to get a drink earlier. "So you'll forgive the question: have you kept to it?" He meets her eyes. "To Old Earth, that is?"

Mackenzie nodded along as he explained some history she was aware off, and some she wasn't. "I'm sorry I don't quite understand your question, what do you mean by 'kept to Earth'? Our people don't live drastically different lives than those of our ancestors."

At this point, Andrei really did get a wine from the droid, and did swirl it mysteriously. (But alas, the moment was passed, and it didn’t have the effect he desired.) “Keeping to Old Earth. At formal occasions like this, we would never just call her ‘Earth.’” Pause. Swallow. Decent wine, not very strong, but that might be for the better. Andrei is beginning to wonder if it’s all healthy. “Anyway, don’t mind it all,” he said. “It’s just the kind of question I’m expected to ask. Savant’s Orders. Back to business.”

He was unable to stop himself from downing the rest of the wine before continuing.

“The ECU is looking for trading partners. With the war between us and the Zetans slowing down, people are starting to think about other things. Like money. There’s no, what would you call it-” he snapped his fingers- “shared currency, between all the different nations, but there are other ways to pay. We specialize in media. If your people enjoy any kind of fun- games, films, plays, I don’t know, musicals, then we can share ours with you.” As he gets comfortable speaking to this Mackenzie woman, Andrei was aware his speech was getting more casual. He only barely stopped himself from joking about the heavy propaganda that they’d be taking in with it. “Or, if you like the more solid stuff: we have metal. A lot of metal. Our whole planet was once covered with alien ruins, and we’ve been melting them down for centuries. It’s how we built our whole navy. And there’s plenty more.”

The man smiled. He’d see if they’re interested first, and then tell them what the ECU wants in exchange.

Mackenzie smiled. “Our people always value entertainment, its important to allow workers to relax after a day off work. Obviously any media would need to pass our review board that all media goes through however I shouldn’t think that would be a problem, and access to metals that simply need melted down and then smelted into something new again is also beneficial.” She took a sip off her own drink, as the drone busied itself in getting Andrei another one.

“Out of curiosity, you have had time between the first founding nations to build this station. How has no central exchange currency not already been established?”

Andrei paused. He was a little unused to thinking about politics very deeply, and so might have stayed paused for a while, before answering:

“They probably just haven’t gotten around to it yet. The Zetan Occupation began almost right after the Meeting Place was established. That leaves us, the Undefeated and the Zetans fighting, and all the other nations panicking about what to do about it.” He sighed. “Really, since the Meeting Place was founded, nobody has done much meeting there at all. When this blows over, maybe we should all sit down and work out a currency, trade, all that. I’d bet the Lorne would have ideas.”

Mackenzie smiled. “That makes sense, hopefully going forward things can be much more productive in future. Now, to the business. What can Lorne do for the ECU?”

“Engineers,” Andrei said simply. “We don’t have any.” He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s not true. We have many skilled architects, and holo-suite experts, and all the others you expect in any functioning society. Plus all our great work on terraforming technologies. But we’re just not used to outer space in the way- in the way your people are. We want to borrow your expertise, that is. Have you seen our Meeting Place addition? If the hologram emitters broke down, I think half of it would vanish.” He laughed. “Alright, that is a joke, but I think you get our dilemma.”

Mackenzie chuckled slightly. “Don’t worry, not all representatives lack a sense of humour. You’ll meet them in good time, and just wait till you meet the board. They’re a riot. In terms of your request that’s certainly something we can do, we have ships specifically designed for establishing orbital facilities. Mining outposts, storage depots, shipyards, defense stations. That kind of thing. Are you looking for just general spaceborne equipment or anything in particular?”

"Defense is our highest priority," Andrei recited, as it's what Heralds said eight or nine times, "but we're also looking to develop better methods for terraforming from space. That means we need to set up real, you know, research stations for the first time. Because..." He grinned. "Well, I guess you'll be the first to know." And now he leans in dramatically, dropping his voice to a whisper. "We're going to try bringing Earth back to life."

Mackenzie nodded along. “Certainly a noble and interesting prospect. We don’t know much about terraforming though I’m sure we can learn some things together. We certainly have the capability to create the stations.”

“Then we’ve got what we need!” Andrei declared. “Don’t worry, terraforming is our department. We’ve been doing it for decades.” There was no shortage of pride in that statement, but it wasn’t wrong. “The stations will need to be built around Earth, I’m told. To collect samples, or scan and measure things. The whole Meeting Place will see it. Give them something new to talk about, yeah? I propose a toast to that…”

The shuttle slowly swooped over the ocean and thick forests of the northern continent on its approach to the Omega station. “Home, sweet, home.” Jim peeked out of the window. It felt strange to be here again, taking a military transport to the front, as if nothing had happened. He looked over the horizon, almost expecting to see more aircrafts there, transporting an entire division to the front, and ready to bring the previous one home just as it had been done for years and years before the Gateway reopened.

But today it was just them, alone in the morning sky. Even the pterroes seemed to be occupied elsewhere and didn’t bother them. Nevertheless, the gunners still carefully searched the clouds and sky around them, just in case one decided to try and take them down.

The Omega station was positioned on a steep hill, surrounded by steel and concrete fortifications, with miles of forests cleared around it to prevent the enemy from sneaking closer. Under normal circumstances, the airspace around it would be busy with transporters and fighters coming and leaving, hundreds of soldiers getting ready for hot zone deployment or just coming back from combat to rest and resupply. Since the front had been halted, there was only a small crew of a couple of dozen men guarding the outpost. Jim was actually surprised they weren’t overrun by the Screechers yet.

After landing, he headed straight to the command center, noticing that several squads were getting ready to go out. He guessed that would be his men for the rescue/capture mission.

“Welcome to the Omega station, sir.” A dark skinned woman with a deep scar running down her cheek saluted him just as he entered.

“At ease, Major Galeski.” He looked around on all the screens showing the current front information, latest enemy movement intel, various topographic maps of the immediate and wider area, even current weather conditions and forecasts. He had spent so much time in command centers such as this one he could move around blindfolded. So many memories. “Any updates?”

“Nothing new, sir. The Hyperion is monitoring the crash area, but due to the cloudiness they couldn’t get any specific images. The exact spot is here,” she brought up a topographic map to the main screen. “212 miles north-west off here, deep within the red zone.”

“Any Screecher activity there? I am actually quite surprised that you guys are still holding this place. How many attacks do you get?”

“Actually, sir, since the front fighting stopped, the Screechers didn’t really show up here. We have had one or two smaller attacks which we repelled without any losses, but since then it has been quiet.” The woman shrugged. “Some men are saying that the natives are planning something big, some that they are too tired of fighting. Who knows what those primitives are thinking. We don’t have any scouts in the red zone, which means no accurate intel on the enemy movement. One of our pilots tried to do a flyover around the crash site, but the pterro activity there was very high, he barely made it back. I’m gonna send everything we have with you, but you will still have a hard time landing there.”

Everything was ready. Four squads, each in one transporter - they could fit way more men there, but since it was a rescue mission, they needed space to bring the survivors back. Each transporter had two gunners positioned at the sides of the craft. As an escort, they had six air-fighters, flown by experienced pilots. It was not much to go so deep in the combat zone, but it had to do.

Jim boarded one of the transporters and gave the signal to take off. “Hey guys,” he said to the radio open channel. “I’m Jim and I’ll be your Commander today.” He heard some quiet giggles in his earpiece. “Remember, we have no idea who or what was on the crashed ship. It might be humans from some other colony, it might be some weird-ass aliens. Our mission is simple - we are going to land near their wreck, pick everyone up and bring them to the transporters, willingly or not. No strangers are allowed to roam free on Ellara. So try not to kill anyone, that might be a bit problematic later, but if they resist, do not hesitate to use stun guns. We need to go in and out quickly, before all of the red zone hell converges on our position. Fighters will circle around us fighting the pterroes off before we are ready to go. Any questions?”

“Sir, I just wanna say that we are happy to go out again. Being stuck behind the walls was making us crazy.”

Jim smiled. “Let’s hope that feeling lasts when a horde of Screechers appears or a pterro tries to bite your butt off.”

“Ah, don’t worry.” The man slapped the exoskeleton over his buttcheek. “I got extra reinforced ass plating.”

The formation moved slowly over the thick forests and swamps, fortunately without any incidents. The wilderness might have seemed beautiful from up here, but all the men knew what dangers hid in there.

“Coming up on the crash site,” the transporter pilot reported. A thin pillar of smoke was visible from a distance, blackened parts of the ship scattered all around.

“Circle around, let’s see what we have here.”



Kfuu looked down from the arms of a Pterro. “Ah man, this isn’t fun.”

“Not fun for you, worse for me.” This remark came from SGT. Jodie scott, who’s midsection was currently being slowly torn apart by a Pterro’s razor sharp teeth as she was carried off further from the crash site.

“Must be even worse if anyone else survived, the whole ship was filled with geyser gas, it’s probably starting to leak so-” The engineer was interrupted by a loud explosion, followed by a rain of debris.

“It would explode. Luckily most of the ship could handle that, just the damaged section would have any trouble.” Kfuu finished, as they began to go through a cloud.

“Wait Kfuu, shit up for a second.” Said Ralo, currently being held in the arms of a struggling pterro. If the guard wanted he could probably just snap the creature's legs, but he had loyalty to the group. “Do you hear aircraft?”

“Can’t say I do.” Responded SGT Rodgers, who managed, even with two broken legs, to clamber to the back of his pterro. “Although if there are, I hope they can help.”

“No, that’s definitely aircraft.” Argued Ralo.

“Uh, guys I think we're headed down.” Kfuu interrupted.

“Do you think they’re here to help us?” Asked SGT Scott.

“I’m not sure but I would hope so.” Said SGT Rodgers, continuing to ignore Kfuu.

“GUYS!” Yelled Kfuu, “We’re going down-” And with that the unlucky survivors were dropped in a large nest. All except SGT Rodgers, who had somehow managed to get a piece of rope in the Pterro’s mouth and was attempting to ride it.

“Just like… Riding… A bull.” Stammered SGT Rodegrs, on top of the bucking dinosaur like creature.

“Sergeant, you’ve never ridden a bull.” Just as SGT Scott reminded him he fell into the rocky nest.

“The least they could have done was made it comfortable, Eh Sarg?” Kfuu said, elbowing the bruised body of SGT Rodgers.

“Hopefully those aircraft will come soon.” Said SGT Scott looking off into the distance.

“I sure hope they don’t have anything to do with those monsters we encountered before.” Mumbled Ralo.

“I sure hope not.” SGT Scott agreed.



The transporters were coming closer to the crashed ship while the fighters stayed up, circling around them, searching for potential enemies. “Sir, we have some movement down there,” Jim’s pilot reported. “But… nah, it’s just a couple of crocoes. They do appear to be fighting over something though.”

Jim shivered. These beasts were native to the northern continent, discovered only after the first soldiers disembarked on its shores. It seemed that Ellara always had a way of throwing some new monstrosities in their faces. “Let’s go down and see if…” His orders were interrupted by a loud explosion that shook the ship violently. Jim hit the side wall, then the ceiling, then the floor, then the wall again before the pilot got the craft back under control. The rest of the men were no better, one big pile of metal stacked up on the side of the cargo space. Thank god they have been wearing their combat suits, which dampened most of the hits.

“Shit, what was that? Everybody alright?” After receiving a quick report, he had to admit they were lucky. All the transportes were at a safe distance, so the blast wave roughened them up a bit, but didn’t send them crashing to the ground. The exoskeletons prevented any serious damage to the men - out of 24 people that were going on the ground, only two were no longer in a fighting condition, and it was only due to a broken arm and a concussion, nothing serious.

The pilot kept scanning the wreckage to see if there would be any followup explosions. “We can’t say what caused it, sir. It might have been some sort of a reactor overload, weapons malfunction, an explosion of whatever was in the cargo hold.”

Jim sighed, knowing that due to their orders, they will still have to land and go check the site for survivors. Although he had no idea how anyone could survive that.

“Sir, this is Phantom 3,” one of the fighter pilots said into the comms. “I have a large group of pterroes leaving the area and they appear to be carrying something.”

Now this was finally some good news. Pterroes liked to bring their prey home alive, to let the young ones do the killing. A nasty death, being torn apart by their sharp claws and tiny teeth. They were pretty smart too, quickly learning that their claws can’t penetrate the metal of the combat suits, they flew the soldiers to a great height before releasing them. The exosuit cracked on ground impact, and the beasts had an open table.

“Phantom 3, follow them from a safe distance, and ping the nest position. The rest make a formation and follow Phantom 3.” The aircrafts elegantly assumed correct positions and slowly moved towards the closest mountain range.

“We’ve got at least eight bogeys in the air, one is hovering near the nest. I’m counting three figures in the nest. They look human from back here, although two of them are significantly larger. And there is… what the FUCK? Oh my, I don’t fucking believe this!”

Jim cursed. “Phantom 3, use words! Report what you see!”

“Uh, sir, there is a… man. Riding a pterro.”

“Come again?”

“I repeat, there is a fourth human, he is sitting on the back of the pterro nearest to the nest, and he is attempting to… ride it.”

Jim blinked a couple of times, speechless. Who the hell were these people? “Alright guys, let's focus and do our job. Phantoms, engage the airborne enemies, watch out for more taking off from nearby nests. Ignore the one with the human for now, we will try to help him from the ground.” Somehow. How, that was beyond Jim right now.

“Nevermind that, sir, he fell off.”

“Limo 1 lands in this nest, Limoes 2 and 3 search the nests to the north east. Limo 4 remains in the air as backup.” Even though the nests were quite sturdy and spacious, it was not a good idea to put too many people in one.

Jim’s transport hovered just a few inches above the nest surface and seven men in combat exosuits armed with rifles jumped out. They could hear cannons and missiles from above where fighters were engaged in air combat with several adult pterroes. “Make a perimeter around the survivors, watch out for the younglings.” While the young reptiles couldn’t fly yet, they were still a considerable enemy. The worst part was that a nest of this size could easily hold more than two dozen of them. Jim’s men had to go in and out quickly.

“I’m Commander Harlowe from the Undefeated, the nation living on this planet.” Jim rushed over to the strangers, taking only a split second to notice that two of them were unusually large, pale and their eyes seemed… weird. “If you can get up and walk, I suggest…” His words were interrupted by gunfire. A bunch of young pterroes have appeared and started to attack his men. “I suggest you move to the transport, so we can get the hell out of here!” Jim yelled so they could hear him over the noise and pointed towards Limo 1, which was still hovering just above the nest floor, a few meters away from them.



The survivors of the “35” crash weren’t too surprised when the ships arrived. Three out of the four of them had heard them, and SGT Scott had seen them arriving from a mile or two away. The Abberians just squinted and tried to adjust their eyes. The virus was supposed to give them thousands of years of evolution on their side, but really it mostly just made them blind in daylight.

“I told you, dudes, I knew they were peaceful.” Said Kfuu, trying to make out a better picture of Commander Harlowe.

“Kfuu, the whole time you were arguing that they would try to-” Ralo started.

“Well let’s not dwell on the past, am I right or am I right?” Kfuu interrupted. “Because I’m pretty sure they're not going to eat us.” He said slowly walking backwards into the aircraft.

“Anyways, I’m Ralo and these two need medical help.” Said Ralo, gesturing to the two injured humans. Then he stood up, grabbed a Pterro who had somehow doged the gunfire and tossed it clean over the side of the nest. With one step he pulled himself onto the aircraft, and immediately banged his head on the top. Although being ten feet tall is okay in places built for you, a small aircraft is not.

“Hi, um we’re bleeding to death over here so if one of you could like…” Said the almost dead body of SGT Scott.

“Wait, SGT Scott, I just got a message from the dead drift.” Whispred SGT Rodgers.

“Never mind, we're not bleeding to death anymore.” Said SGT Scott, attempting to roll closer to SGT Rodgers.

“It’s dated fifth hour, ninth day, cycle three.”

“Okay, and?”

“The date right now is third hour, first day, cycle one, but that’s not the important part, did you see the star go supernova?”

“No.”

“Well right before we left it did, and it’s pulling the dead drift into it.”

“Ah… So… This is bad then?”

“Real bad.”



Jim watched as two of the strangers rushed to Limo 1. They seemed really weird - huge and strong, yes, but strangely primitive. Not even starting about their eyes. The other two, who looked much more human-like, stayed on the ground. Jim has only now noticed that the woman was bleeding profoundly from a deep stomach wound and the man who was previously trying to ride a pterro had his legs twisted in weird angles.

They were whispering something amongst themselves, but Jim found that understandable. He could see they were military people and they were about to be taken by another military force, potentially hostile, so they were probably debating which things they can divulge in case of an interrogation.

"Medic! You two!" He summoned two of the soldiers that came with him. "Help this man into a transport." Soldiers rushed in, carefully picked the injured man up, and carried him over to Limo 1. Meanwhile, the squad's medic knelt beside the woman.

"She needs surgery right away, there is not much I can do for her here," he said as he applied pressure bandages in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Even if we leave right now, she'll be lucky if she survives long enough to get to the Omega outpost. I can try to stabilize her while onboard the transporter."

"Do what you can." Jim saw and heard that a fight was going on in another nest as well. "Any signs of other survivors?"

"Negative. We're already one man down, we are retreating to the Limo."

"Sir, the airspace is filling with hostiles fast, we need to go now."

Jim expected to hear this report from the fighter pilots even sooner. This was obviously a huge pterro colony and they were determined to fight to protect it. It was time they got out of there. They held the fireline before the last survivor was carefully carried to the transporter and then jumped in. Jim was not happy about losing a soldier but had to admit it was a huge success to lose just one person on such a dangerous mission.

The aircrafts were heading back towards the Omega outpost at the top speed possible. Onboard Limo 1, the medic was desperately trying to keep the injured woman alive. The man with broken legs was given anesthetics, enough to dull the pain, but not too much to allow him to stay awake. Even though Ralo spoke to them first, Jim had the feeling that the big guys were just simple grunts and the broken-leg man was in charge.

“Welcome to Ellara,” he turned to him. “What brings you to our wonderful planet?”



‘Well, we’re not here by choice, I'll tell you that. We exited the gateway and managed to hover for a few seconds, before plummeting and crashing to the jungle floor.” Explained SGT Rodgers, Shooing off the person tending to wounds.

“Then we got picked up by those birdy things after watching a crocy thing eat an Abberian.” Added Kfuu, standing up to his full height, probably trying to intimidate some of the humans. “Then our ship exploded, which hopefully didn’t bother you guys too much.”

“Kfuu, Ralo get over here.” Whispered SGT Rogers harshly.

“Sorry, we got some ‘our planet’ business to attend to. What is it Sarg?”

“Stop calling me that, long story short the Dead drift’s star went supernova. They're building a ship, but it won't be done in time.”

“Then send ‘em a message! Oh… sorry that was loud Sarg.”

“I know Kfuu, I know. And I can’t, by the time the message reaches them they’ll either be all dead or all gone.”

“What about the Abberians Sergant? Are they able to exit the planet?” Asked Ralo.

“They are, in fact they’re helping build the ship, not sure how that happened though.”

“Interesting.” Whispered Kfuu. “Nothing interesting over here at all guys! How ‘bout you just take us to your leader!

“What the Heck was that Kfuu?” Asked Ralo, honestly not knowing what just happened.

“I think I just covered our tracks pretty well, Ralo. Even if I do say so myself.”

@Irredeemable

The junk ship barely got into the system when a message was blasted through all the speakers in the spaceship, in english. A normal ship wouldn't have had this problem but as The One's ship was put together with junk, the sounds vibrated throughout the ship, small metal parts falling off it.

"Hail newcomers to the galactical scene! We are the Zetans, and we come in peace."

" We ain't the only survivor! WOOO! " shouted the Ones in pure happiness. Companionship wasn't something they sought as they had their own but the possibility of exchanging technology or books on mechanical engineering or anything that hasn't already been read at least a few hundred times, that was the true goal.

As the Ones tried to send back a message to the Zetans, they discovered something they hadn't taken into account initially. So lost were they in their pursuit to make the ship space-ready, they didn't install any kind of communication system. Thinking fast on a possible solution to what seemed like quite a big problem as the fuel reserves started to run low already and soon the batteries would have to be used which was a last-resort measure at the moment, the One did something a bit unconventional.

Some of the Ones got equipped with their best "space-suits" which would protect them from the cold of the space but they had no air supply whatsoever. Each had a datapad in their suits and another one in their hands which were then tied to each other.
The datapads had a simple message contained on them :

We are a bit stranded here. Come on board if you will or send a ship and we'll come on. Any assistance is welcomed. Promise we aren't killers or rapists

Then after the implants were removed from their spots, basically making the Ones brain dead, they were ejected at a relative speed towards the Zetan's closest ship.

" One dies, One thrives. This is the way. " said the Ones as the bodies of their comrades were ejected. A solemn oath they would make every time one would have to be sacrificed.

It was dark and her head was pounding. Ugh. How much did she drink last night? Her mouth was dry and one of her arms was twisted under her at a very uncomfortable angle. She tried to roll over, but something heavy was all around her, holding her down.

Wait. She hasn’t been drinking. No, because after months of doing nothing, they were finally heading out, on some special mission to rescue aliens who crashed in the red zone. The mission. Yes, she remembered now, the ship exploding, searching the nests, the pterroes everywhere… The pterroes! They were flying and she was falling and falling and falling. Yuki tried to get up again, her heart was racing, panic threatening to take over. What happened to her?

Was she dead? It was weird because she didn’t really feel any sharp pain, certainly not like when she broke her arm or when a Screecher spear went through a dent on her suit right into her shoulder. The suit! Of course, she was still in the suit, but the controls weren’t responding. She carefully wiggled her fingers and toes. Some mild soreness, but other than that, it was good, no broken bones or dislocated joints.

Getting out of the exoskeleton without the servos working and any outside help was tricky even under normal circumstances. Now, when the suit was not just offline, but apparently damaged in several places, without even emergency power, it felt nearly impossible. Yuki didn’t really have any other choice though, so she wiggled and twisted her limbs to reach the emergency cotter pins designed specifically for these situations. Ten minutes later, she was finally able to open the suit enough to slide herself out, looking almost like a snake shedding skin.

It wasn’t dark. Her helmet was buried deep in dirt and mud, which was obscuring her vision before, but now she could see clearly it was around midday, the sun was high in the clear sky with just a couple of white clouds floating around. Perfect weather for a jog in a park. For being stranded in the middle of nowhere… Well, she could have been worse.

After quickly scanning her surroundings for any immediate threats, Yuki knelt beside her beloved suit. The metal cracked in several places, the hydraulic fluid was leaking from torn tubes. A long sigh escaped her lips and her fingers stroked the colorful markings on the shoulder. The thing was done for. She grabbed the knife that was still attached to the suit at waist level. The soldiers rarely ever used it during combat, but it was a useful thing to have around in emergencies. There was a tiny flint and steel in the handle for making fire and a small compass. Plus, it was a big sharp knife.

A strange noise made her turn around swiftly. What was it? She couldn’t see anything, but that hardly meant nothing was there. On Ellara, every inch of ground was home to some lethal danger. It was noon, the beams of sunlight coming through thick vegetation above her created a lot of creepy shadows. She was in so much trouble. The panic threatened to take over and Yuki let it. For ten seconds.

It was noon. The fight happened sometime around morning, which meant…

One…

… the transports were long gone. Nobody searched for her. Why would they? Her heart raced so fast she could hear it. Anyone in a five miles radius could hear it.

Two…

Has anyone ever survived being carried away by a pterro? How did she even survive?

Three...

She looked up. Looks like the beast dropped her on the biggest tree around and she fell right through its crown...

Four…

… breaking a ton of thick branches on her way. Had she not been wearing her suit, she would have been impaled…

Five…

...at least a dozen times. She was alone. Sniffling, she wiped the tears from her eyes, smearing mud over her face.

Six…

Alone in a swamp swarming with crocoes, giant mosquitoes and devil knows what else.

Seven…

The alien ship crash site was 212 miles from Omega station and they have traveled at least a dozen more to reach the pterro nests. That is like a ten days walk.

Eight…

Unless something kills her. All alone, surrounded by bloodthirsty fauna and flora, without any equipment, weapons, or supplies.

Nine…

And the best of all, deep within the Screecher territory.

Ten…

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Alright, panic time over. What do we have?”

Not much, one would say. One totally busted exosuit, broken beyond any point of use. The datapad on the suit forearm was detachable but also shattered to pieces. So far nothing. A knife, compass, and means to make fire. That is going to be useful when the temperatures drop after sundown.

“If I’m still alive by then you mean?”

If she was still going to be alive by then. She looked down on her body to acknowledge another problem. The bruises that were just coming up were fine, she was used to having them. The issue was she was only wearing a thin T-shirt and shorts. There was no need to wear too much clothing while in the exosuit. For one, it could get very hot in it, but more importantly, the fabric messed with the motion sensors, making it harder to operate precisely. Some people even went so far as to go in completely naked. Yuki was not one of them and she was really glad for it now.

“Boy was it really annoying seeing Douglas’ dong every time we geared up.”

Her look traveled further down to reveal the biggest problem of all. Her bare feet. Her toes twirled in the cold mud when she imagined walking over 220 miles without shoes.

“Not a pretty image, huh?” She sighed. “Alright, what was the first step? Set your priorities?” She vaguely remembered that from the survival training. “Damn, I should have paid bigger attention. So, priorities.”

Nobody was coming for her, nobody knew she was alive, so there was no point in staying in position and trying to make some signals. She was deep inside a no-fly zone, there was no chance someone would accidentally see some makeshift HELP ME sign made out of stones. The Hyperion and other ships in orbit probably had eyes on the general area, but she could never create something big enough to get their attention. Which meant she had to get back to the Omega outpost on her own.

“Priority one: staying alive!”

That was a big broad thing to focus on, but as a general motivation, it worked.

“Priority two: not getting eaten or killed.”

That was better. The immediate area around her seemed safe for now, but that could change. Crocoes could travel great distances when sensing prey. She was safe from pterroes, but there were other dangers, like gigantic life-sucking mosquitoes and other things, a lot of them probably not even discovered yet. Sighing, she took the wet mud into both hands and started to rub it all over her skin. It stunk horribly, but it should protect her from the mosquitoes. Croco feces would be even better, but that was a bit dangerous to obtain.

Next, she found a suitable stick and sharpened it with her knife to make an improvised spear. It was always safer to put some distance between the person and the attacker. Chasing a mosquito away with a knife just did not seem like the right thing to do.

“Priority three: water.” Water was always important. Fortunately, it wasn’t too hot, and the sun up north did not have the scorching power it had around the equator. But still, the body needed water and she needed the body to carry her back home. The suit was equipped with an integrated hydration bag with a decent water supply, but it got punctured in several places and was empty now. Yuki carefully extracted it, desperately trying not to tear it even more. There were big holes in the middle and top, but the bottom section looked fine. It was not going to hold much, maybe a liter, two tops, but it was better than nothing.

Yuki made a hole in the swampy ground which soon started to fill with water. Dirty, stinking, grey water. Taking her shirt off (good thing she was still wearing a sports bra underneath it), she used it to gather as much muddy liquid as she could. Then she filled the remains of her hydration bag with it, carefully filtering it through two layers of fabric. It was certainly not perfect and she still needed to boil it to make it drinkable, but she could do that later. She used the damaged part to create a strap to hang the water container over her shoulder, carefully tying it so not a drop of precious liquid would be lost.

Goosebumps popped up on her naked arms. The wet shirt would do her no good now, so she decided to get moving to get warm. She needed to find a safe place to stay the night, which the swamp certainly wasn’t. Ideally, she would head to the wrecked ship - even though the remains were destroyed by the explosion, it was at least a good orientation point. Plus perhaps there were some supplies or gear to scavenge.

“Or there is a functional communication device. How nice would it be not having to walk all that way back home? Just say ‘Hey guys, you kinda left me behind, so come and pick me up.’, wait for a Limo, and then enjoy the huge rounds of drinks everybody owes me for FUCKING ABANDONING ME HERE!” She knew her anger was deeply unjustified. Shouting out loud really helped against the frustration building inside her, but overall it was a very bad idea. As was confirmed seconds later when she heard sounds of grunting and snorting and very loud sniffing from a bush just a few dozen meters from her.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she hissed quietly, looking around for some shelter. Whatever the thing was, it sounded large. And this was Ellara, so it most likely wouldn’t hesitate to eat her. Or at least kill her and bathe in her blood or something. Because the sounds were getting closer fast, she quickly climbed the nearest tree. It was not really a great idea, but she couldn’t come up with anything better.

The grunting creature made its way under her and stopped. It looked… Well, Yuki wasn’t really sure what it was, but it looked like a very hairy pig with huge tusks and three pairs of limbs. Two back pairs functioned as legs and the creature could walk upright, leaving the third pair free to function as clawed arms. All and all, it looked like a fucking centaur with a boar head. “A pigtaur,” Yuki chuckled quietly. The name really made no sense, but neither did the creature. The pigtaur must have heard her because it turned its ugly snout in her general direction and sniffed rabidly. Luckily, it wasn’t arboreal and it seemed like it lost interest quickly.

It leaned towards the ground, using all its limbs to dig through the mud violently, its head coming down every time he discovered something worth eating. From what Yuki could see, it wasn’t picky - it would eat worms, roots, various insects, weird reptiles, and other no doubt yummy things it found in the stinking mud. The creature looked very content and it didn’t seem like it was about to leave any time soon. Which was not a good thing, because Yuki just noticed a pair of big green eyes looking at her from above.

A bigass snake was wrapped around a branch above Yuki, its skin bright green with red stripes, its triangular head watching her, slightly rocking from side to side. Sharp split tongue kept coming out to taste the air around him, detecting particles of her sweat despite the mud she smeared all over herself. “Fucking hell,” Yuki gritted her teeth. “Shoo!” she hissed at the snake and it hissed back at her, aggravated. “Sorry, sweetie.” Her voice was just a quiet whisper. “I didn’t mean to anger you. Just it would be really really awesome if you didn’t try to eat me. Or at least waited till that thing down there was gone.” She glanced at the pigtaur happily digging through mud and, to her immeasurable surprise, the snake followed her look, hissing even more. “Oh, you don’t like him either? So how about you go and eat him, hm?” The snake was big, but not really big enough to swallow the beast whole, so Yuki was astonished to see that it actually moved towards the pigtaur.

The long, brightly colored body slowly descended to a branch on her level and then below, hanging just above the creature. Triangular head turned to Yuki once more and she could swear the thing winked at her. But perhaps she was just going insane from all the stress. The snake wiggled a bit to find the right position and then leaped right onto the pigtaur’s torso, wrapping itself tightly around its neck and chest. Before the creature could react, the snake’s head darted forward and back a couple of times, sharp teeth sinking deep into the flesh. In addition, the snake also used its tail. Yuki hadn’t noticed before that it was armed with several long spikes covered by slimy fluid coming from their tops.

The pigtaur had no chance to do anything. One of its hands grabbed the snake, but its grip was weak and soon it stumbled to the ground. Yuki originally didn’t have any intention to watch the creatures fight, but now she couldn’t look away, thanking every known deity in the entire universe that the snake didn’t bother trying to attack her. How the hell would she fight something like that? Now she was really curious about what would happen next. Even with its jaws unhinged, there was absolutely no way the snake could swallow the creature whole. Maybe it will just wait till the carcass decomposes? But the snake wasn’t of the patient kind. Still firmly wrapped around the pigtaur, its head lunged forward, jaws opened to reveal more teeth than one would expect a snake to have. All the teeth slid into the beast’s soft stomach and then the head yanked back, tearing a huge piece of meat off.

Yuki stared as the snake leisurely swallowed the bite and positioned itself to grab another one. She didn’t know much about snakes, but she knew they were not supposed to do that. “This place is a fucking nightmare.” She climbed down the tree and snuck around the creatures, trying to get as far away from them as quickly as she could.

So, there she was, swiftly marching through a swampy forest, her bare feet covered by the everpresent mud and dirt, wearing nothing but tiny shorts and a sports bra. What a sight to behold!

As she was leaving the forest, the ground became drier, which meant less mud, but also more stones, rocks, twigs, and various other things that were not very comfortable to step on. Yuki had to improvise, cutting several long and sturdy grass blades and trying to weave them into simple sandals. A portion of her still wet shirt had to be sacrificed to create strings to tie the things together and it still wasn’t perfect. “Better than nothing. Perhaps I should have asked the snake to give me a piece of the pigtaur. Its skin would work great.”

She walked for several hours, marching towards the black pillar of smoke on the horizon and trying to ignore rising hunger, thirst, and most importantly cold. The wet shirt wouldn’t dry in the damp air and putting it on would make her even colder, so she had to keep moving almost naked, hoping she would find something useful in the crashed ship, or at least would be able to safely make fire. She crossed the flat, rocky terrain only to end up in another swampy forest. Why did they even want to conquer this land? It was such a shithole.

The smell of burning plastic tickled her nostrils, but it meant she was getting closer to the wreck. “Besides, nothing says ‘civilization’ better than a cloud of toxic smoke.” She was extra careful, knowing that the first scouts and Phantom pilots reported several crocoes in the area, feasting on bodies from the crashed ship. Plus the dreaded mosquitoes. Yuki hoped that the ship explosion either killed the local fauna or at least scared it away and so far it seemed she was right.

The ship wasn’t in a good shape before the explosion, hell it wasn’t in a good shape even before the crash, but now it looked like a blackened pile of metal, ripped from the inside by an immense force. The blast seemed to have originated from the rear part of the vessel, maybe from a cargo hold? Yuki had no idea how the ship was designed.

She followed the huge furrow the vessel dug in the ground during the emergency landing, carefully examining everything she came across. At first, she didn’t discover anything useful, it was mostly just large pieces of plating, girders, and other unrecognizable metallic parts. But as she was nearing the wreck itself, there were more interesting things to find. First, she saw an arm - a regular human arm, the shoulder end was burnt and charred, the hand was briefly chewed on. Not very useful.

The blast clenched the giant’s body between two girders. The mosquitoes must have fed on him before he died, all the fluids had been sucked out of the body, making it look like an ancient mummy. “What the fuck are you people?” It was debatable whether they were even people. Yuki remembered that there were regular-sized humans in the pterro nest as well as these huge ones. Maybe they were some weird humanoid aliens? Clones gone wrong? Terrifying miscreations from hell? Who knew? Certainly not her.

Yuki was tiny even for a girl, with her 5’3 the body truly looked like a giant to her. But the giant was wearing a gigantic shirt and the sun was going to set soon. The temperature was already dropping and Yuki wasn’t far from starting to chatter her teeth. Getting the body out from its position was difficult, but she was determined and ended up using a long piece of metal as a wrecking bar. Had the guy been alive, it would have killed him. But since he was already dead, she didn’t have to be extra careful. The shirt was from some primitive scratchy material, but it was thick and sturdy and big enough to cover her whole body.

She avoided the section of the hull that was still burning and headed to the front which was fortunately upwind, otherwise the thick black smoke would make it impossible to access. The corridors were already mangled by the crash and the blast didn’t help it. As the wall of fire from the explosion ran through them, it burned or melted everything inside. She could hide there for the night, but her hopes of finding anything useful, let alone some working ship systems, slowly disappeared into thin air.

One small door remained closed even after the crash, protecting whatever was behind them from the fire. Yuki was curious and even though it took a lot of her strength to push it open, she was able to sneak inside. “YES, finally some good news!” The place probably used to be a locker room for the crew. All the closets, lockers, and various boxes laid broken in a big pile in one corner, but some of them still had their original contents. Yuki cheered when she found a proper water canteen filled with clean water, some horribly smelling dirty socks, and a pair of pants that were only torn in two places.

Several broken flashlights could be reassembled into one functional, which made the exploration way easier. And there, at the very bottom of the pile… “I can’t fucking believe it.” Yuki started crying when she found a box with a brand new pair of shoes that were just a tiny bit large for her. Two or three pairs of socks were going to fix that easily. It was a different design than the Undefeated used, but proper military boots are still proper military boots, no matter what planet you go to.

She made camp in a large container that had fallen not far from the ship. Half of the big doors remained in place, providing her with a safe place to sleep. A small fire was burning in front of it, wet shirt drying on an improvised clothesline, a skinny lizard on a stick slowly being grilled just above the flickering flames. Yuki had already boiled the water - it didn’t help with the muddy smell, but at least she shouldn’t get sick from it now. She still needed to get more of it, her new canteen combined with the torn hydration bag wouldn’t even hold an amount she should drink in a day, but for now, she was satisfied.

A notebook and a couple of pencils were other priceless treasures she found deep within the ship's wreck. Such items would probably be useless to most of the Undefeated, but Yuki had a half-secret hobby - drawing. Art was generally not considered very ‘cool’ in their society since it provided no real value. Basically, it was just a waste of time, fine when you were a child, but inappropriate for an adult. It was not forbidden or punished though, and her squadmates were more than happy when she created funny cartoon portraits to put on their suits. “How the hell is slaughtering dozens of aliens more appropriate fun than drawing a few lines with a pencil?” Lots of things were strange, but that’s just the way it worked and Yuki was not the one to step out against it. She drew in secrecy, in her spare time between the missions and endless training. Her posting on the Omega outpost after the northern front was halted was ideal - no fighting, just guard duties, training, occasional patrols. Yuki wasn’t against war and killing, but she did not seek it intentionally.

The first few pages of the notebook were filled with unknown letters and weird symbols - she left them in, carefully flipping the pages. If she ever gets back home, perhaps someone will be interested in what those people considered so important they wrote it down. If it was under different circumstances, it would be a lovely evening. Campfire crackling and sputtering, roasted lizard sizzling, the pencil tip quietly scratching on the paper. The darkness here however hid many dangers. The crocoes were not active during the night, but Yuki had no idea about the mosquitoes. Plus there could be other previously unknown monsters like the pigtaur. Yuki glanced on a page - a triangular head with large hypnotic eyes stared back at her, split tongue sticking out of the mouth. The snake looked a bit too realistic to her liking so she turned to a new page and started to draw the poor mummified giant whose shirt she stole.

The morning came almost too soon. Yuki thought she would be too worried to fall asleep, but the exhaustion won and she fell into a deep slumber. Not even a croco walking around would wake her up. Maybe if it started chewing on her leg. But no creatures appeared during the night or morning, probably due to the smelly smoke that was still coming from the ship. “How long could that keep burning?” Yuki knew that back on Earth people burned garbage like that and it was part of the reason it was a dead rock now. The Undefeated weren’t super hard on environmentalism, but they didn’t want to repeat the mistake of their forefathers. “Hmm, if it means turning this swamp into a dead ground, no loss for us,” she gritted her teeth as her brand new shoes acquired a muddy coating.

She collected her primitive weapons, stuffed her humble supplies into an improvised backpack, dressed up, and checked her direction. The Omega outpost, the closest civilization to her position, was southeast off here. 212 long miles. “What do they say, the first 150 miles is the hardest?” Fortunately, the swamp continued further north and southeast quickly turned into dry grassy land. Yuki picked a sharp peak in a mountain range on the horizon as an orientation point, sighed, and started walking.

---

Christensen sat at his desk, terminal in front of him as he leaned back with a small sigh. It had been a hell of a situation, to say the least.

Within the first six months of the gates reopening, a thing once thought impossible, and a war of all things had broken out. The Zetans had been ganged up on by the Undefeated and the Earth Cultural Union, who had launched an invasion that had likely taken quite the toll on the Zetan population. Besides, his own formerly stated suspicions to Sigma-Devi about the Zetans' nature was something the Senate had seemed to believe by this point. A collective consciousness, a hive mind really, filled with individual will but tied together like a beehive. It was fascinating, but it did bring up one major question..."what did it mean to be human"?

That was the big ticket thing there, and in truth the question would likely take a long time to answer on the part of the former colonies.

As for himself, he was glad he'd been able to participate in it all. Drawing attention to the event, and the ensuing further exterior condemnation from other nations to boot, had proven quite the tactic. But that had also been the Senate's plan in the first place: "End Things Peacefully If Possible". Or, at least that was the proper national front the Senate presented. Truth be told, even now the Xandalian Republic was also sending military cargo craft and other relief to assist the Zetans in their post-war recovery efforts. From there it'd be work to build better relations with the Zetans in terms of trade and so forth.

But it was important to note that the Republic wasn't simply tossing out words before either. The real motto they'd gone by in all of this was "Fight If Necessary, End Things Peacefully If Possible". The Senate had begun military mobilization after his announcement at the Meeting Place, which was one reason they'd been able to transition rather rapidly and more easily into sending relief efforts. Then an ECU Protector had tried to shoot him, only for a cocky youngster Oligarch who had seemed to come to challenge the Envoy to instead try to pull a gun on the wannabe assassin. After that he'd ultimately subdued the bloated lummox of a man who had tried to merc him, but the man had died before he could be taken into custody by Xandalian security from their area of the Meeting Place. Hmm...

...it was a shame, really. He'd have liked to drag information out of the guy himself, to get an understanding about the ECU from the inside. After all, the work to maintain peace wasn't always sunshine and happy politics. Sometimes you had people in the shadows, like himself those years ago, who kept it and maintained it one way or another and kept the people happy. But that was that, he supposed, and he was far more glad to be in a diplomatic role now. It let him have more time to call his grandkids during the off hours!

Christensen had also sent a box of non-Thalarite medicine to the ECU's wing, all intended to help Tanaka in his recovery, and a small gift to boot. A mini music player in the form of a tiny 'jukebox' that played music from old Western movies. Heh. Thing had been close to gathering dust at his home for some time, he had used to listen to it often before being reassigned here. It would of course be in good hands. Miniaturized vintage tech, none of the new Thalarite stuff, and something his great-grandfather had passed down in the family as a sort-of heirloom. Maybe the Earth-crazy cowpoke would enjoy it.

What would come next, though? That would be the most interesting thing to see after all of this.

"You are now Acting Liason of the ECU Meeting Place Diplomatic Staff," her holo-butler answers Abadi. "It is completely up to you what to do."

She nodded. There's no other answer you can expect when asking advice of a hologram, but sometimes you still want to try for a sounding board. "It's all so complicated."

"Shall I put on some music?" The butler asks, in a tone carefully balanced between decorum and helpfulness.

Abadi considers it. The Meeting Place is always so much quieter than New Hollywood. It's like a morgue. "Yeah," she answers, "let's hear some Led Zeppelin. As loud as you can make it."

Which turns out to be very, very loud. As Immigrant Song brings the steel, dead walls of the ECU segment back to life, she finally considers all the work in front of her. There's a lot of it.




Yun is in a small room, sitting in a circle of chairs that don't match. Few things match on New Hollywood, of course, so neither him nor the others are surprised to see a plastic folding chair, a tree stump, an ottoman, and a small throne all together. The more shocking thing is the news they're hearing.

"They're really cutting us?" Bisonette asks, from the stump.

"So this is what we get?" asks Smith, from the throne. "After that nightmare on Zeta? We come home and, what, half of us lose our jobs?"

"More than half," Yun corrects him. He's the one in the folding chair.

"Bullshit," declares Bellin, proudly exhausting my means of describing which chair he's sitting in. (It's the ottoman, alright? Why did I do this to myself.) "It's just bullshit." With the clapping of hands and grunts of approval, all the other men agree. Yun is the leader of this group, but Bellin is always a strong second. Maybe too strong.

"But why are they doing it?" someone asks.

"We lost the war," Yun answers, shrugging, before Bellin can interject. "They blame us for not busting up the toasters. The people on the streets are all in a fuss about it, protestin' and stuff."

"Yeah, boss, that's why the need us!" one of the other protectors catches the moment. "We the ones who know how to put 'em all down." More sounds of general agreement from the gathering.

That is, except for Yun, who stays silent. He has been thinking about that exact question lately, and keeping up with the news for the first time in his life. And he has come up with a different answer. At last he says, dropping fully into the expected phrasing of a protector: "I dunno, boys. Those toasters hit us pretty hard. People are comin' back all messed up in the head, and the people have got used to not havin' us around, watchin' them at every corner. They don't want us back. Why would they?"

Nobody answers. In one way or another, they all know it's true. The people have gotten used to a greater feeling of freedom on New Hollywood, without the omnipresent threat of violent protectors. And with their very public failure at Zeta, the government is just itching for an opportunity to put all the blame on the 'incompetent' protector organizations. Soon, most of them will be out of work, and all of the rest will have their funding torn to scraps. It's the end for them.

"...come on, boys," Bellin says. "Break time's over. Let's get back to it."





Abadi, technically 'Acting Liaison Abadi' right now, starts with the Undefeated. She figures it's easier to get into work with a topic you already have an interest in, and she's come to consider Guardian Blackwood to be almost a friend.

Which does make all this a little disappointing. The Undefeated's recent announcement is soaked in that kind of flowery language other Oligarchs might appreciate, but Abadi can hear through it. The Undefeated want to stay in the galaxy's good graces, so they're leaving the ECU to keep fighting alone. Walking away.

Six months ago, she would have been more upset. But recent events have her thinking, and despite her own hand in starting this war, Abadi isn't as confident as she was when it began. The Zetans are strange, but they're one people among many, and could have been ignored. Maybe the ECU should have left well enough alone.

Still, they simply have to respond to this. Allies or not, a borderline betrayal cannot go unnoticed. New Hollywood cannot develop a reputation for being walked over.

When Kelsie next checks her Meeting Place messages, she'll find a short word from Abadi:

Guardian Blackwood,

I was surprised to hear your Meeting Place announcement. In the interest of courtesy, I will say that I was glad to see someone defending our position. However, I was shocked to hear of your withdrawal from the war. We had not discussed this. I would have believed the Undefeated better than the retreat without a word.

In the future, I hope you will consider consulting with allies about decisions in joint military operations. If you wish to maintain alliances, that is.

In Memory of Earth,
Liason Abadi.





Tanaka's heartbeat is getting weaker, and weaker, and weaker. There's two bullets lodged in it, or so scans say. Nobody can look- there's no doctors. In a diplomatic installation with maybe a dozen people, it wasn't thought to bring one.

Holo-suites aren't fit for it, either. He's in one now, made up to look like a hospital room, but it's as artificial as any program. All it can do is monitor him. And today, that just amounts to giving Abadi continued updates on Tanaka's failing condition. Every heartbeats tears open the wounds again...

"Do you like the music box Christensen sent?" Abadi hasn't known how to talk to him since the event. She barely knew before.

"Yeah," says Tanaka, who has also not known how to talk since the event. He seems to keeps thinking of it all as a game that will end soon. Sitting up in his hospital bed, listening to holographic machines pretend to beep and whir all day- the sound of music must have been a welcome change. He insisted on sending an official-sounding 'thank you' note to Christensen for his concern and generosity.

The medicine they sent didn't help, however. Seemed better suited for that tougher Xandalian physiology; Tanaka's frail body could barely process it. One doses, and he was vomiting up his meals for an hour. It was safe to conclude that he wouldn't be getting any better that way.

Abadi sighs. "The New Hollywood Global Physician Organization finally responded to our request. They said it won't be possible to send a shuttle with a doctor in it for some time, and they said- that... they said based on your scans, by then, that..."

Tanaka put together what she was trying to say.

"So what do we do?" he asks at last. As if she can answer him. He's like a lost puppy. And he's stuck in Abadi's care.

"Well," she finally struggles out. "There are the Zetans."

The silence sits for a minute. "Yeah, ha-ha, they made that crazy offer to 'help' me..." Tanaka is prepared to play it off as a joke, but Abadi pushes on: "No, really. There are the Zetans."

He is at a loss for words.

"...the Zetans?"

"Yes."

"...the toasters?"

"That is what we call them."

"...the cyborg robots that we've been at war with? That we're still technically at war with?"

Abadi scratches her neck awkwardly, and tries not to look him in the eye.

"Abadi," he says.

She continues to looks away. She's making a very good study of a spot on the wall.

"Abadi," he says again, sitting up suddenly in his bed- a motion that makes him cry out, wheeze and gasp for air. That third bullet is in his lungs. He coughs, bringing a spew of blood up onto the white sheets, and this is too much for Abadi.

"Would you rather die?"

That evening, a reply of acceptance is sent back to the Zetan embassy.

The Santa De Angelo cruised through the gateway in Matuvista and burst through, into the Sol System. Piloting itself into orbit above Venus, it stabilised itself out, and then began broadcasting a messsage towards the meeting place.

"Representatives of the galactic community, we invite you all to a grand occasion aboard our luxury spaceliner The Santa De Angelo. Food and drink complimentary! Come, enjoy the wonderous experiences of Matuvistan high culture! Music! Paintings! Poetry readings! A peformance of Shakespear's The Tempest! A wonderous occasion not to be missed! Passage and security will be provided to the Santa De Angelo courtesy of the Matuvistan Navy!"

Repeat.

---

The Zetans arrived quickly and with a startling level of professionalism to them. White coats, surgical masks, a stretcher wheeled between them. Three cyborgs and one warform had arrived to where Tanaka currently lay, and one let out a bitter laugh upon seeing him. “That’s all you could do?” The doctor commented. “Fake soldiers. Fake politics. Fake medicine.” The disdain leaked from the woman like, well, blood did from Tanaka’s heart.

“Brief us on the current situation please.”

Abadi answered from Tanaka’s bedside, “Our scanners detect two bullets in the heart, one in the lungs. Every heartbeat reopens the wound, so he can’t heal. There’s-” she paused to remember the term- “severe internal bleeding.”

She looked over to Tanaka, who seemed surprisingly unphased by all of this, and instead was answering the Zetan woman, "Doctor, this station was not intended as a medical facility. To tell the truth, I believe that the fact I’m still alive at all is testament to the fast-action and innovation of the ECU-"

"Everyone,” Abadi interrupted, “I really don't think now is the time for this.” She glanced between him and the Zetans.

“The fact you’re alive at all is because you’re a healthy human who got remarkably lucky. Any sterile location could have kept you alive. Multiple GSWs lodged in vital organs…” She paused for a while, thinking. “Prep for bionic implants. Heart. Lungs. Might as well do both lungs whilst we’re cutting the chest open. Nanite surge to prevent rejection.” At the mention of bionics, Tanaka’s eyes seemed to double in size. Another long pause.

“Fairly typical operation then.” The doctor’s assistants- the two other cyborgs, assisted Tanaka over and onto the stretcher, where one of their arms would break apart to reveal a suite of complicated looking medical technology.

“Will you be joining us?” The doctor turned to look at Abadi, who nodded definitely.

Tanaka inhaled sharply- which was a mistake, as it brought on another agonizing coughing fit, and that brought fresh red blood onto the stretcher. But when it was over, he still managed to ask: "Doctor, are bionics fully... necessary?"

The group began making their way back through the corridors of the Hollywoodite part of the station, the doctor talking as she walked. “You knew what you were going to get when you accepted our offer of assistance. You have one and a half vital organs currently tearing themselves apart against the metal that is lodged inside you. We could try extracting it and using multiple nanite surges to heal the damage, but they’re not designed for that kind of precise, delicate reconstructive work. We could try to suture them together, but this is your heart we’re talking about- one mistake and your blood pressure will bottom and you’ll enter cardiac arrest. Augmentations are the safest and most convenient method to maximise survival chances.”

Tanaka closed his eyes, tried and failed to breathe deeply, and answered simply: “Alright. You can do it.” He never imagined himself as saying yes to bionics, in his daydreams or in the nightmares he’d had of this event, but the sight of the blood and the doctors was making all of it much more real to him. He didn’t want to die.

As he was wheeled through the hallways, one of the assistants reached down to wipe the blood from around his mouth. Abadi tried to reach for the cloth, saying “I’ll do it,” but Tanaka stopped her.

“Excellent. Incidentally, my name is Doctor Epsilon-Sina.” She introduced herself curtly, the small group leaving the Hollywoodite area of the Meeting Place and entering the Zetan section. It was hard to miss the glares that Abadi and Tanaka received from the cyborgs and warforms surrounding them, including at least one warform whose shotgun was pointed directly at Abadi’s chest (although their finger was thankfully off the trigger), the daggers only subsiding when they entered the Zetan medical wing.

As empty as it was, they didn’t stop right away. Instead, Tanaka was taken into an operating theatre- as the group passed through a doorway, a haze of cloudy, chemical-smelling mist was blasted across them, bringing with it a sense of cleanliness.

“We’re going to scrub in now, Tanaka. Doctor Omega-Salk here will monitor your readings until we return. Abadi, come with us- you’ll also need to scrub in for the operation.”

Abadi followed them into the other room, her friend looking like an abandoned child in the intensely foreign atmosphere of the Zetan segment. She never liked him much before, but it’s still hard to watch someone she knows go through all this. Will he still be the same after the implants? They say bad things about them on New Hollywood, but that’s probably just propaganda. She was more worried about his career…

“So, uh, your name,” Abadi chimed in to Doctor Epsilon-Sina, “is it Old Arabic? Mine is as well.” Sudden as the question may have sounded, this was the typical kind of conversation an Oligarch would make to try easing tension. (She did herself the favor of ignoring the ‘Epsilon’ part.)

“It is, yes. You may have realised that many of our names, if not all of them, are drawn from old Earth.” The doctor scrubbed their hands and forearms thoroughly, then took an offered surgical scrub and mask. Their shaved head meant there wasn’t a need for a hair net on top of the rest of the getup, and once she had scrubbed down as well, the same articles would be offered to Abadi.

“I did wonder why you seemed so upset with us when we first made contact. We thought you could help us terraform our planet, you know.” The doctor gave themselves a quick visual check, confirming with the third, as of yet unnamed doctor. “Then you… Well.” Her words were acid and bitter. “You know what you did.”

Underneath the mask she was now wearing, Abadi’s jaw worked in silence for a while before she could tame her feelings and muster a response. Her worst fear about this evening was coming true. "It wasn't..." she made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "Of course I know. And we would have helped you, but-" she is suddenly certain that Tanaka, hidden behind the walls now, would have known exactly what to say. She's always been the one burdened with a tongue that only knows how to start arguments.

"Look," she blurts, "it wasn't about you, okay? I know that's hard to believe, I know, but it wasn't. It wasn't about us, even." She looks down at the floor, not wanting to meet their eyes. "We care about humanity. We care about what people are. It matters more than anything to us. And we, we just don't want to see humanity turn into something else. Can't you understand that?"

“It wasn’t about me? No, you’re right. You have nothing against me, Epsilon-Sina. You have everything against the metal that makes me, me.” She was now outright glaring at Abadi. “Human history is the story of adaptation and change. You cannot desperately fight progress, and then claim that you are the more human for denying something so fundamental to our species. But. Regardless. We have a colleague of yours to save.”

The group returned to the operating room, with Omega-Salk taking the opportunity to scrub up himself. Tanaka was moved from the stretcher to a proper operating theater, and Epsilon-Sina offered him a choice. “We can either put you under, or we can use localised anesthetics to minimise the pain you feel whilst still remaining awake. Note, minimise. We will still be opening your ribcage out, which will inevitably feel rather uncomfortable.”

Tania grimaced, but somewhere along the way it turned into a shy grin, "Well, I'm along for the adventure now, aren't I? Keep me awake, please." He looked between the Zetans and Abadi, oblivious to the argument that was just happening.

“Affirmative. Let’s get your chest numb.” Epsilon-Sina was presented with a series of large needles, the first of which was pressed just above Tanaka’s collar, the second to the left side of his sternum, and the third underneath his sternum. After they had deposited their numbing agents, the Hollywoodite was hooked up to a machine that would keep his body oxygenated with his normal organs removed.

“Firstly,” the doctor explained. “We want to make sure there will be no graft failures. That means that you need a dosage of uplink nanomachines. For a Zetan, this would be simple, and we would merely work off of their preexisting neural implants. Theoretically, we could install those same implants in you, except considering your dislike for even life-saving augmentations, I doubt you’ll find the full Zetan works particularly appealing." (At this, Tanaka managed a laugh. It was only mostly forced.) "That means we need to set up a biomechanical network in your spinal cord.” She looked down at him seriously.

“This will hurt.” That was the only warning Tanaka got. “You know though,” the doctor continued, in an attempt to distract him. “You’re quite lucky. The past little while has given us Zetan doctors quite intimate experience with how to handle gunshot casualties. Comes with the territory, I suppose.” At this, Tanaka did not manage a laugh. As she spoke, the very large nanomachine-releasing needle was produced, and painstakingly eased into Tanaka’s back.

Much like Alpha-Bodi had felt, there was a soft click and a spike of pain as the tiny robots were deployed. “Nanite spike deployed. Activation signal in three… Two… One…” There was a nod from Salk. “Nanites safely deployed. Neural network established. We could have given you dumb implants, but it’s not the twenty-second century anymore, we can do better than that.” She stood up and handed the needle off.

“How are you feeling? We’re about to open up your chest now, so I’d recommend saying any last words you might have just in case something goes catastrophically wrong with the organ changeover.”

Tanaka seemed to think very, very deeply about this. At last, diplomatic posturing now fully set aside, he settled on his favorite term in any Old Earth language:

"Yee-haw."

Saik and Sina shared a look that could best be summed up as ‘what in the goddamn?’ Then, with a shake of her head, Sina stepped back and Saik’s multi-medical-tool arm split open once again, producing a rather grim looking surgical saw. “Three hundred years of medical evolution, and we’ve yet to get a better way of replacing organs than ripping half the chest apart.”

Then, there was a lot of blood.

When it was over, Tanaka looked down at his freshly closed chest. The Zetan doctors had done a good job- he could hardly tell he had ever been cut open. Not from the outward look of it, or from the inward sensations; whatever the cyborgs had put in there, it felt identical to his old heart, his old lungs. His breathing was a little clearer, he noticed, and nothing else.

But he was different.

Abadi approached the bedside, trying to rest a reassuring hand on his arm, and he had to fight the urge to pull away. He took the chance to survive, but now that it was done, his mind was already filled with thoughts of what would follow. The ECU would push him aside, a stranger in his own country...

While he struggled in his mind, Abadi tried to thank the Zetans curtly and officially for their assistance.

All three of the doctors looked notably more haggard than they had when they started. Sina waved a hand dismissively at Abadi’s thanks, only turning towards Tanaka. “We’re going to keep you in for another two days to make sure nothing goes immediately wrong. Thankfully for you, the wards here are very empty, so you should have some privacy and your colleagues will be more than welcome to visit. For now though, rest. We’re good doctors, but we’re not miracle workers: the human body does not like going through major surgery.” At this, Tanaka smiled weakly.

---

The Collective was... Horrified? It was difficult to express the reaction they had upon finding a series of identical clones shot from the ship down towards the surface of the planet with a request to pick up the craft in orbit. It was baffling on multiple levels, but, they would give these newcomers a chance still. A reply was beamed, informing The One that they would have to wait in orbit for a short period of time prior to their craft rendezvousing.

Aboard the craft sent to assist were placed veterans of the ground war. It was too strange a moment to not ensure the safety of the crew.

Kelsie sighed as she read the message from Abadi. It was not unexpected, but it still hurt coming from her. Of course, just like Kelsie, Abadi most likely had no say in the matter, simply relaying the statements of her government. Even so, it would feel much beter if those words came from that incompetent weirdo Tanaka. But no, he had to get himself shot, heroically saving the Xandalian envoy. Kelsie had to say that she would never expect the kid to do something so brave and selfless. Perhaps she was wrong about him.

The Undefeated were still officially considered allies of the ECU despite the latest diplomatic rift, so Kelsie could enter their embassy without any trouble. The holographic butler escorted her to Abadi’s office and Kelsie knocked hesitantly. “It’s me. Can I come in?” She wasn’t really sure what she was going to say, but wanted to make it right. If not on a diplomatic level, at least on the personal one. That is why she brought a bottle of the best Ellarian whiskey along. It was probably crap compared to whatever the ECU was making, the Undefeated weren’t exactly experts on distillation, but as a token of good will it should work.

The door slid open, revealing Abadi behind a pretty bland, wooden desk. Fortunately, it was the only thing in the room that lifeless: what had originally been a borrowed little office had become an almost permanent habitation for her, and it was finally starting to show. An electric guitar sat in the corner, posters in English, Spanish and Arabic script were hung on the walls, and a little bobblehead of a rockstar was nodding along, perpetually, to a rhythm only he heard. It looked like a bureaucrat's office was invaded by teenage rock fans.

It also perhaps revealed that, despite her position, Abadi was still very young.

“Guardian Kelsie Blackwood,” the holographic butler announced, unnecessarily. The Acting Liaison stood from behind her desk, almost smiled, and then (remembering the current diplomatic situation) caught herself and decided to gaze evenly instead. “How can I help you?” she asked.

Kelsie entered the room, waiting for the butler to disappear. Even though he was just a hologram, it felt weird having someone staring at her all the time, especially with the strange blank expression the holograms had. Even when they were programmed to smile or frown, still there was something missing in their eyes, making shivers run down Kelsie’s spine. And she certainly did not need to feel any more uncomfortable than she already was.

“Liaison Abadi,” she nodded respectfully. “I would congratulate you on the promotion, but given the circumstances…” Kelsie shrugged. “How is Liaison Tanaka? Unfortunately we do not have any medical personnel stationed here, but I could ask the high command to send someone, if you require our assistance. And as for me being here… Well, I got your message and thought it would be better to settle things in person.”

Abadi didn’t say anything, waiting.

Kelsie sighed. “I know that our withdrawal from the Zetan system was a bit sudden and we haven’t discussed it with the ECU. But let’s be honest. The Xandalians were deadly serious about their war threat and neither of us can afford to be at war with both the Zetans and them. Plus the invasion was getting nowhere, getting to the point it was just a huge waste of lives and resources. That was the reason my government decided to withdraw from the conflict and issue such a statement.”

She lowered her eyes, too ashamed to look directly at Abadi. No matter how she sugarcoated it, it still felt like the Undefeated betrayed the ECU and dumped all the blame on them. Kelsie was ashamed she had to justify something like that to her friend. “We are our nations’ representatives, we communicate the official statements of our governments.” She paused and sighed. “No matter our personal opinions,” she added quietly.

Abadi sat back down, not really knowing how to respond. Hollywood Oligarchs never went in for apologies; they threw money and gifts at each other, or quoted ancient literature. And it was just expected the other party understood.

The alcohol was a familiar sight, though.

“I understand,” Abadi said at last, and realizing that was probably too formal, tacked on: “I mean, I get it. You had your job to do. So did I.” She looked out of her window, where Earth was currently visible. She never liked looking at the real Earth, because it reminds you that all the holo-suite fantasies are fake, but it was easier than looking back at Kelsie right now. “I know my message was a little… harsh.” She cleared her throat.

There. That should be enough. Now she looks back at Kelsie, and determined to put it all behind them, bravely changes the subject: “Tanaka is- fine, I guess. To tell you the truth, he’s with the Zetans.” Yes, Abadi thought, you heard that right. “I know, I know how that sounds. But they’re the only ones with the tech to fix him. Option B was just to let him die.”

Kelsie smiled, knowing it was probably hard for Abadi to say such a thing. It seemed that keeping up appearances was the cornerstone of the ECU society, at least between the Oligarchs, and apologizing certainly made dents in a hard-build image. Not from Kelsie’s perspective though, she preferred a direct approach. As she said from the start, she was not the best diplomat.

“The Zetans?” she couldn’t hide her surprise, both from the fact that they offered to help and that the help was accepted. “I don’t blame him. People will do crazy things to survive.” She had seen that many times before in combat. “Are you sure he is in good hands though? Like… won’t they use him against the ECU? Or turn him into something…,” an image of heavily augmented Zetans that paraded around the Meeting Place came to her mind, “... change him too much?” She shrugged. It was really none of her business. “Sorry, I’m just surprised, that’s all. Of course it is up to Liason Tanaka. Please tell him we wish him all the best and hope for his complete recovery. Actually,” she pulled out the bottle she brought, “if you wouldn’t mind, we could make a toast to his health?”

Abadi looked at the bottle with an appraising expression. “Kind, culture and era?” she asked, before realizing the question probably didn’t make sense to anyone outside of the ECU. “I mean, of course.”

So they toasted to the health of Tanaka, currently under foreign care- and as they talked about these things, the conversation naturally turned towards the war.

A few minutes into the talk, Abadi took another sip of the Ellarian whiskey- strong stuff, shouldn’t drink too much- and says “I don’t know, it’s just that when I think about the war and all the fighting… we caused it, didn’t we? Not just our countries.” She was talking about the day her and Kelsie first met each other, and Sigma-Devi, as representatives of their nations. The three-way argument about the nature of humanity, that laid the groundwork for every interaction their peoples have had since. “You and me started this, in a way. Didn’t we?”

Kelsie took a sip and closed her eyes, enjoying the burning sensation and the sudden warmth sliding into her stomach. After her last experience with a hangover, she was really careful not to drink too much. Her eyes still firmly shut, she nodded. This was her recurring nightmare, a thought that hunted her ever since the war started. No matter how hard she pushed it away, it always came back. And it seemed like she wasn’t the only one in such a situation. “In a way. But… It's not like we declared war right back then, six months ago. We were just having a normal conversation, one you would expect to have with distant relatives you haven’t seen for 300 years. The things that happened after… We can hardly blame ourselves for it.” All those deaths and destruction. That was a bit too much weight to carry on their shoulders.

“Maybe it was inevitable. The clash of cultures, diametrically opposite beliefs. It seems humankind hasn’t evolved much since we left Earth, still settling all conflicts with war.” Kelsie smirked, thinking that the ECU should probably be proud of continuing the traditions of Old Earthers. But it was not a remark one would make in a casual conversation. “I try not to think about it too much.” A glass rose to her lips again. “Hopefully it forced both our nations to advance and change enough not to repeat that mistake again. I know the Undefeated changed more than I would ever expect.” Kelsie’s eyebrows went up as she remembered last General’s speech and all the changes that were currently going on back home. She still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Abadi cocked an eyebrow at this. The Undefeated are changing? It sounds like something the Liaison of the ECU should ask about, but she decides to just leave it be. Right now, she doesn’t want to carry that title. She only has it at all because Tanaka went and got himself shot.

“Yeah,” she says instead, “things are definitely changing on New Hollywood. People are protesting, and talking about getting rid of the protectors. There’s this old religion coming back out of the woodwork,” she laughed, “one of them gave me a pamphlet.” She lifted it out of a drawer, a piece of folded paper filled with talk about searching for the Truth and some pretty poorly-veiled jabs at holo-suites.

Kelsie’s eyes skimmed the paper and she raised her eyebrow. “I’m not really an expert on religions, but fanatic believers can cause problems. And it doesn’t really matter what they believe in. Back when the colony on Ellara was established, some people were so adamantly pacifistic they refused to fight even when Screecher spears punched holes through their guts.” Kelsie chuckled at such absurd ideas. “Religions were never a thing with the Undefeated and I hope they will not make a return now. I am sorry about the protests, I can officially offer you our support, even though I think it would be best if our armed forces stayed out of it.”

After reading Harding’s report on protector training methods the ECU used, Kelsie wasn’t really surprised that people wanted to get rid of them. No one could survive such torture and remain a sane and composed person. Kelsie squinted at Abadi, who was playing with her drink, staring at its swirling surface, lost in thoughts. Did she know? Like really knew about everything that happened in their precious holosuites? Even though she just read a report of someone who had only observed the events, she was deeply disturbed by that. She couldn’t even imagine subjecting their own people to such horrors and have the audacity to call it training. Yes, the problematic people on Ellara were locked up, sent off to labor camps, even executed at times, but never tortured. At least as far as she knew.

“So,” she asked carefully, “do you think your government will hear the protestors’ requests, at least partially? The protector numbers have to be quite low after all the fighting. How are they planning to keep the peace?” She realized that her questions were probably a bit too intrusive. “Sorry, that’s just my military brain always thinking in numbers and strategies. I can’t really turn that off.”

Abadi laughed a little, knowing how militant the Ellaryians are. "It's alright. Yeah, it’s best your armed forces stay out of this issue. It’s a New Hollywood problem, and we’ve been dealing with the same kind of issues from year zero. There’s no way the government will listen to them. No way. It’ll blow over.” She herself hoped that wasn’t wishful thinking. She only knew vaguely about what happened to the protectors: in the Academy she attended, meant only for future Oligarchs, protector indoctrination was only touched on as a sort of necessary evil. For the preservation of society and Old Earth Culture, and all that usual stuff.

“The protectors really aren’t so bad,” Abadi said, remembering those classes. “They’re just- trained, I guess. Like attack dogs.” She smiled, a little sorrowfully. “Did you know, I never really thought about it before I came here? Never considered if it was good or bad. When the Gateways reopened, it’s like we all came out of our bubbles. Bubbles that we’d been in for 300 years. And somehow, we were all expecting to find others just like us. I wonder what Old Earth would think of us all.” She gazed out of the window again, where Earth was still just as dead as last time she looked, and added in a quieter voice: “I wonder if it matters.”

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “You said any fanatic belief could be dangerous. What about our respect for Earth?” She looked over at Kelsie, not sure how she’ll react to this question. “ ...What about your own people’s military culture? It seems like you’re all soldiers. Is all of it dangerous if it goes too far?”

“Hmm,” Kelsie scratched her forehead. “You are right. I also never really thought about how we have lived until now. I guess seeing other nations being so different puts things in perspective. For us, the military culture wasn’t a choice, at least not at the beginning. If we had continued the ‘old ways’ with democracy and everything back when the colony ship landed, there wouldn’t be any humans left on Ellara. How we live, it’s… just the way it has always been, it never occured to me to question it. But things are changing now,” she sighed and looked at the glass in her hands. “Who will we be if not soldiers?” she added quietly, realizing that while this was a topic she could debate with a close friend, it was not something to discuss with a representative of another nation.

Her datapad beeped. “Excuse me,” she mumbled and read the message that popped up. Her eyes widened as she read it again. “Oh, crap.” There were some much juicier curses on her tongue, but she needed to keep up at least some appearances. “Have you seen this?” It was broadcasted station-wide, Abadi must have gotten the same message. “Paintings?! Poetry readings?!” Kelsie groaned. She only had a vague idea who Shakespeare was, it certainly wasn’t a topic thoroughly discussed at the military academy. This thing sounded like a perfect hell for any of the Undefeated. And it was obvious she had to go there. When did her life turn into a constant strain of torture?

“Uhh, Abadi? You know all about these fancy things, right?” Kelsie closed her eyes for a second, gathering mental strength for what she was about to say. “You think you could… eh… lend me some dress or something?” There it was. Not in her wildest nightmares would Kelsie think about saying that sentence.

The Hollywoodite, on the other hand, was pretty excited.

“Hah, this reminds me of home!” Abadi declared, when she had skimmed over the message herself. “I studied Shakespeare for a year. ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’” But then she seemed to suddenly remember something, and her smile dropped into a frown. “I hope they stay away from his sonnets, though. Have you ever read the Fair Youth sequence? The way he talks about women-”

And then, at last, she fully registered what her friend asked.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, you can borrow something. I own more than I could ever really wear. That’s expected.” She thought for a moment. “For an event like this, with Shakespeare and poetry, I’d say we should go with something neoclassical British, maybe aiming between the 17th and 20th centuries…” Already thinking of Victorian dresses, Abadi then remembers the reactions most other nations have had to that ECU ‘flair,’ and decides to dial it back some. “Well, I’m sure I have something simple and dignified for you.”

A rose? Kelsie knew it was a flower, a totally useless one. Some were grown around the war memorials, but it would never occur to her to smell them. What would be the point of that? She remembered the saying ‘it’s like you were born on a different planet’. Well, Abadi was technically born on a different planet, so she ought to be a bit different. But now it seemed like she was even speaking a different language. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

Kelsie gasped for air when she saw Abadi’s wardrobe. Or the room that was used as a wardrobe to be precise. Why would someone need so many clothes? Useless ones, on top of that. There was a furry brown thing in the corner that looked like a bear costume. Why would anyone own that? As Abadi browsed through the racks, Kelsie had to fight the urge to run away. Those things weren’t dresses! They were huge fluffy balls that looked like wrapped candy. You could make tents for an entire squad from all the fabric used on one dress.

“Simple and dignified sounds better. I can’t really imagine wearing that.” Kelsie moved to a different part of the room, where the clothes at least didn’t have dozens of layers. Skipping all the brightly colored things, she pulled out a short black dress to have a closer look at it. Too late noticing that the fabric was almost completely transparent. “Uhh. Nope.” She didn’t have to be an experienced party-goer to know that you shouldn’t wear that to an official diplomatic event. You shouldn’t wear that anywhere with people present, unless you were a stripper jumping out of a cake or something like that.

Being way more careful with her selection, it took a while before she took out another one. The dress was black and long, very simple, yet elegant. At least Kelsie thought it was elegant, but she wasn’t really an expert on the matter. With long sleeves and a short collar it actually looked a bit like her uniform, even though the embroidery was different. The split on the side went a bit too high for her liking, but she could live with that. “What about this one?” She waved the dress to get Abadi’s attention.

“You don’t have to wave it,” she laughed, “I can see. Korean, I’m not sure about the Era. I think it’s called an ao… ow something?” One culture Abadi never delved into. “You know, I’m not even completely sure that’s mine. This is kind of a shared place between most of the Oligarchs in the Meeting Place; it’s cramped here, and there’s only like three of us, but no New Hollywoodite could go without a wardrobe twice the size of their office space.” She thought for half a second. “I’m sure nobody will care if you use it, though. Sometimes I wonder how much of this even gets worn.”

Kelsie wasn't really sure about wearing clothes of some other Oligarch she didn't even know, but (to her own surprise) she actually really liked the dress, so she decided to just go with it. It was true that there were more clothes than three people could wear in a lifetime, so hopefully nobody will miss this particular piece for a day. "We are the same way with weapons and armories," she chuckled. (Somehow, this did not surprise Abadi)

"Thank you so much," Kelsie said on her way out, hugging a big bag with the dress. "I should go get ready. I assume I will see you there?" At least one familiar face that won't be frowning at her.

“And probably in something twice as fluffy,” Abadi smiled. Whatever happened between arguing governments, she was glad it hadn’t broken their friendship.

The One received the message and sent another one in the form of another of themselves. Only one message this time.

"

We're a bit stranded here. Sure, take your time. If we get bored, we'll send another one of us.

"

While waiting for the relief that the Zetans mentioned they'll send, The Ones prepared the ship and themselves. They will make a good, nice first impression. No matter how strange these humans might be, The One are gentlemen and they will treat the others as such.

Quickly they started cleaning up the ship, dust was cleaned and junk was moved away to a cargo hold where the One-batteries were waiting to be called upon. Everyone worked together faster than a different-minded group could ever do. While a few Ones were lifting something, the others were already underneath it to clean or dismember it.

Soon the ship, at least the interior of it, looked as clean as something made of junk could possibly be.

On the bridge of the ship, where the Zetans will be received in, a table was assembled out of scrap metal and bones. Leather skin, tanned and braised acted as a cover for the table and a few bone cups were put on the table, filled with warm Glowy-One mushroom tea.

The James were armed with make-shift weapons of all kinds; bone, metal, hardened ash. Some were hidden, between the junk or in the junk itself, ready to spring an ambush if needed while the Grant were in the open. All but one of the Grant had their faces covered with helmets made of bones and leather. As soon as the Zetans would land, they’d see the James ready to defend themselves if needed but welcoming nonetheless.

The William were silently waiting their turn, waiting to be sacrificed for the good of the One. Some in the reactor room, a switch movement away from being used up, others in the mess room; getting ready to eat or be eaten and the rest, hidden away in the cargo hold.

@Irredeemable

Starring: Martina Ward

ECU trials are strange.

The person being tried- Martina Ward- already thinks a lot of things about her country are strange, of course. But this place takes the cake and swallows it whole. The room is lined, wall-to-ceiling and front-to-back, with golden statues three men high. They're all frowning, and all share a resemblance to figures of authority from Old Earth. One is a Julius Caesar, another other a Stalin, there's a Habsburg- a few British kings or Japanese emperors round out the edges- and an American president stands watch by the door, as if waiting to grab up anyone who tried running away.

Aside from being made of gold and massive in height, they all have one other thing in common: they're staring directly at the accused. Ms. Ward, 31 and charged with Anti-Earth Activities on Grand Scale, is made to sit in a metal folding chair right in the center of the room, where all of Earth's tyrants and strongmen can stare down at her disapprovingly.

Along with the judge in front of her, of course, who is seated much more securely behind a high desk of the kind seen in courtroom films from Earth. The Old Earthers must have figured that was a good place to judge people from. The prosecutor alone has no seat; he prefers pacing around the room energetically. He's been talking for two hours, hammering out Ward's many crimes, accusing her of hating Earth and the ECU and all her people, telling all the citizens of New Hollywood that this is their enemy.

"Has not Ms. Ward been arrested for Anti-Earth activities over a half-dozen times?" he demands. "Has she not been spoken to, patiently, again and again, by our nation's protectors? How long do we allow her to keep going? How long will we let her be a nuisance- no, scratch that, a threat to our way of life?" His voice is magnified around the room, echoing off the sculptures, as if they were joining on in his accusations.

But he's not talking to Martina. Or even to the judge, for that matter. The outcome of this case like this would have been set long before it began. No, he's preaching instead to all of New Hollywood: they're watching through cameras in the statue's eyes. 500 million New Hollywoodites witnessing this trial. On their screens at home, or ones mounted on building sides. It's a public viewing. A show.

The other 700 million will be sure to watch a recording later.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this woman is an enemy of the state. She's organized a dozen rallies and protests against the protectors. And fine, fine, our leaders aren't unreasonable; the protectors have been pulled back, just like her and her radicals demanded. I think it was a mistake, personally- but it happened. And was it good enough?" He made eye contact with Martina. "Was it good enough for you, Ms. Ward?" She gets about three milliseconds to respond, before he answers on her behalf: "Of course not. You turned against the Noocracy next. And the holo-suites! Well, you aren't in a holo-suite now, Ms. Ward. And this is the day it ends. The day New Hollywood finally tells you 'No.'"

It goes on for another thirty minutes, the prosecutor's anxious steps sounding so hollow in this empty room. It's funny; you would think New Hollywood, of all places, would want a court packed with audiences. But there's nobody in here- nobody at all but Ward, Judge Mayer, and the nameless prosecutor. Maybe the cameras make live audiences redundant. Martina wonders what happens to people when the cameras shut off.

Her daydreams are interrupted. The judge is informing her, the accused, that she has three minutes for rebuttal. "This is the allotted time according to Lawyer's Second Principle, established year 235."

"I wasn't told I'd have time to speak at all," says Ward.

"2 minutes, 52 seconds before trial conclusion," says the judge.

So she'll have to improvise. Suddenly, Martina can feel the weight of the statue's eyes on her- every Hollywoodite watching this trial. She's become a kind of famous figure recently, and mostly by accident. Not that it matters to the noocracy; they just want to make her look bad. Chase people away from her message.

Truth, if you're listening, Martina prays, as she has before, to the closest thing Mixtsists have to a formal god, I need back-up.

With a sigh, she starts off: "I'm not against Earth. Or New Hollywood." That's still a stupid name, she thinks, but doesn't press that particular point. "It's a fun place, but that's the problem. All we do is have fun. Our cities never turn off, our music never stops playing, the holo-suites never close..."

She remembers the first time she met a real Mixtist, in the ruins of some nameless alien city, squatting over a campfire. She told Ward about how bizarre and dangerous they thought holograms were; like solid lies.

"That's what they called them," Ward says, relaying this story to the judge and prosecutor. "'Solid lies.' And that's what they are. We spend all day in fantasies, but none of it's real, it just looks like it is. When the game is over, life is still exactly what it was before. Or life is worse off, because you weren't in it. We spend every day dreaming of Earth, but what is Earth? I don't know. I've never been there. Neither have any of you. We waste our time instead of pushing forward and making our real situation something worthwhile."

"What about terraforming?" the prosecution interrupts. "We're making the world better right now."

"They didn't invent terraforming in a holo-suite," Ward interrupts back, and realizes her voice is shaking like it's about to catch fire. "It's based on Old Earth tech anyway, we just filled in the gaps. What have we invented that's new? What does New Hollywood have to be proud of? Our music is 300 years old. Back on Earth, they wrote new songs every day, about anything they wanted. Why can't we?"

She wonders what a new song would sound like. It's a really sad thought. "I don't hate this planet. If I did, I would have run off and joined the Zetans, like a doctor we all know about." Rumors from Bodi's colleagues occasionally leaked into the ravenous, scandal-hungry Hollywoodite media. Slowly, the public- and Martina- was starting to second-guess the ECU story about his 'kidnapping.' "Last week, there was a march on the U.N. Memorial in New Beijing. Two hundred thousand people attended. Do you think they came for no reason? This is a lot bigger than I am. Everything we do is a lie, this government is made of lies, this whole trial is a fucking lie, and people are starting to-"

At this point, the prosecutor slaps her.

"Sorry, your honor," he says, while Ward rubs her cheek in shock. "I just couldn't bear to listen to that anti-Earth nonsense any more."

"Sustained," affirms the Judge, even though that doesn't strictly make sense in this scenario. "Accused, you have twenty seconds remaining. Is there anything else you'd like to add before sentencing?"

"He slapped me," says Martina, all the words apparently knocked right out of her.

"Overruled," says the judge.

And at that, the accused's one, brief moment of having a voice is passed, and her sentence comes down on her.

Addressing: @Crusader Lord

Envoy Christensen,

I'll start off by thanking you for your actions against that anti-Earth terrorist, Davids. I'm certain you'll be glad to hear that Tanaka has fully recovered from his injuries. Speaking of, I've watched over the footage of the incident, and

You know what, forget it. I'm just going to be honest with you. I haven't watched over the footage of that incident. The reason I'm contacting you is because some other people have, really high-up and educated ECU people, and they're getting pretty worked up about it. They said that you moved too fast for a "baseline" human, and that you seemed too strong for a man of your age. I won't lie, the word "inhumans" has been thrown around a lot lately.

They think that you're genetically modified, is what I'm getting at. Now, I'm not judging you for that, if you are, but it's a question my government wants answered, and they're sending me to answer it. If we could maybe have a talk about that- I'll buy the drinks- and maybe afterwards our two peoples will be able to pursue better relations.

Call me,
Andrei Fedorov, Earth Cultural Union, Oligarch.

Starring: Savant Heralds and Kayla

Addressing: @Sigma

"These Columbians sound... interesting," says Kayla, an aggravating but politically weak Oligarch, who has somehow managed to get herself involved in every situation since the blockade ended.

"They're a lurking threat," corrects Savant Heralds, the one true leader of New Hollywood- whatever those discontents crowding the streets might say.

"That's why we need to talk to them, Heralds. Didn't they have some mercenaries who helped us? Maybe they're sympathetic."

Heralds grimaces. He doesn't like thinking about the war. Already, it's proving a black mark on his rule that future Savants would 'learn from' in the worst way. But appearances must be kept. "Perhaps, my young friend," he says. And then he smiles in a way that is meant to be fatherly. "Why don't you go and see them? Talk to some of their diplomats, see their cities, take as much time as you need, and give me a nice full report on them when you get back."

Kayla smiles. "You just want to get me off New Hollywood, don't you?"

Heralds has to sigh. "Yes," he confesses, deadpan. "Now... just go, please. The Columbians can put up with you."

The girl laughs. And in only a short time, she's approaching the United Republic of Columbia's home system, sending out requests from the ECU for a formal discussion. Time to see what really makes these people tick.

---

---

Margaret was sitting on her bunk bed, unsure what to do. It had been just a few hours since the High General’s speech, but the barracks had been in a weird state since then - shock, disbelief, happiness, anger, relief, frustration, fear, all mixed up into one big chaos. Nobody decided to take the General’s offer to leave yet. Some, like Margaret, were considering it, but no one wanted to be the first. Plus there was a crippling fear. What if it was just a joke? An error? A provocation? And those who would dare to ask to be dismissed would get nothing more than a bullet through their heads for being cowards and traitors?

“MAGGIE!” Nadia stormed into the room at her usual speed, grabbed Margaret into a tight hug, and twirled, her tight blonde braids flying around them. “Have you heard?!”

A short sigh escaped Maggie’s lips as she noticed dark stains on her clean uniform. Nadia must have come straight from the maneuvers, still covered in mud and sweat. “Nadezda, you are making a mess!”

“Who cares?!” Nadia laughed and kissed her. “Didn’t you hear? We can go! Finally, we can be free, do all those things we talked about!”

Fantasizing about what they would do if they weren’t in the army was their favorite way to spend time. In Maggie’s mind, there was always a small house somewhere out in the countryside, a garden full of fruits and vegetables, some animals. Kids. “Nadia, that was twenty years ago. Aren’t we a bit too old for such fantasies?”

“Silly,” Nadia scoffed, “we’re 45, our lives lie ahead! Fine, maybe we have missed out on the kids, but what about dogs? And those fluffy brown horsies you love? What were they called?”

“Alpacas. And they aren’t horses, they are…” Maggie sighed. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t just pack our things and start a new life somewhere. We can’t leave.” It was unthinkable.

“That is where you are wrong, girl. We can. And I know what you are thinking, that it’s some stupid trap or a joke or something, but it’s not. You remember Keys, from 46th?” Maggie barely had time to shake her head. “Big black guy with… heh never mind. He left right after the speech, and you know what happened? Nothing! They just thanked him for his service, nobody arrested or shot him. Granted, he did get punched in the face by his squadmate, but I think that was just a stupid way of saying goodbye.” Nadia scratched her head, smearing more mud on her hair. “Someone tries to punch me, it is going to be the last thing they do.”

Maggie shivered. “So you are really doing it?”

“Yes, I’m going there right away.” She stopped and sniffed. “Well, maybe I will have a shower first, I stink like a pig. Maggie,” her tone was urgent and she grabbed Maggie's hands. “Do you really want to die in a filthy jungle somewhere, coughing up your own blood? Or worse, fighting some alien robots in a war that’s not even ours? Please, come with me.”

Maggie smiled, knowing that she would follow her anywhere. Out of the two of them, Nadia was always the more decisive one, and Maggie did her best to protect her from some of those rash decisions, but deep down she felt this was the right one. “To the shower?” she smirked.

A wide grin appeared on Nadia’s face. “If you want,” she winked at Maggie and they both disappeared in the common bathrooms.



Everything felt so different. Her old uniform with the insignia and squad markings removed. The public shuttle that brought them out of the capital. A small bag with what little belongings they had. The constant anticipation of the next order, an order that was never going to come. The freedom seemed terrifying. How do you decide what to do? People suddenly had so many options. After a lifetime of having everything lined up and predetermined, the ability to choose was almost overwhelming. Maggie was glad to have Nadia around, someone who always seemed to know what to do.

The town was called Westbridge. The Undefeated weren’t very inventive or even poetic with naming things, the name was simply derived from the time this was a war front. There was a river running through the town, and decades ago a bridge was built across to allow easier movement of troops and cargo. It was a western front, so it was the Western Bridge. Over the years, the front had moved forward. The bridge and the associated outpost remained, becoming a center of a small agricultural settlement.

The area around the river was lush and fertile, and these days the small town was surrounded by vast fields, greenhouses, pastures, and orchards. It was strangely quiet, compared to the constant noise of the capital. Just a handful of people got off the shuttle along with Nadia and Maggie.

“So, what do you think?” Nadia looked around, smiling as always.

Maggie hesitated. “Well… it’s different. The air is way cleaner here. Let’s look around.”

They wandered around the town, looking a bit strange on the empty streets. As they stood and admired one of the new bridges, a sharp honk sounded right behind them. They both jumped and instinctively reached for their sidearms. It was good they were allowed to keep those, Maggie would rather walk around naked than unarmed.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t shoot the locals,” Nadia smiled and stopped Maggie’s hand. “I think the gentleman just wants us to move so he can ride through.” She raised her fingers to her forehead to salute an old man driving a huge cargo transporter with several wagons filled with grain. The vehicle took almost the whole width of the bridge, practically blocking it. The driver nodded at them respectfully as he slowly passed by, never looking into their eyes. Maggie recognized that subservient attitude, knowing the man was a Rejected. He probably spent his whole life here in Westbridge, plowing, planting, harvesting, being ignored, or even mistreated by the soldiers. Now he was to be treated as equal. Maggie really had no problems with that but knew a lot of others who considered them “subhumans”. No order was going to change that attitude within a few days.

There was some more honking and yelling from behind the transporter. The women stepped aside a bit to see a hovercraft filled with young soldiers. Apparently, they were planning to cross the bridge but their way was blocked now, and the fully-loaded large vehicle barely moved faster than a walking speed. A few of them got off and walked towards the old driver.

“HEY! Move that shit wagon out of our way!” one of them yelled.

The man sighed and turned their way, his head bowed down. “I am sorry, sir, but the transporter does not move any faster than this when loaded. Perhaps you could use another bridge, there is one just half a mile that way.” He waved his hand north.

“What did you just say?! Are you giving me orders, you worthless piece of shit?” The soldier climbed into the cabin, pulling the driver out, sending him flying to the ground. Nadia made a step in their direction, but Maggie grabbed her hand, stopping her.

The old man curled up in the dust, mumbling apologies, expecting to get beaten. If this was daily life here, Maggie didn’t want to stay. On the other hand, perhaps something could be done about it. There was no officer around to order her to start a fight or stand down. The decision would be hers. And so will be the consequences. Nadia’s choice was clear. But Maggie’s?

As one of the soldiers got ready to kick the old man, Maggie stepped forward. “Stop!” she yelled at them. “Didn’t you hear the orders from the Grand General? Leave him alone or I will have you arrested!”

The soldier scoffed. He was barely a man, more of a boy fresh out of the academy. “You don’t give any orders here.” His eyes quickly scanned her uniform, noticing the empty places where the insignia used to be. “Now get lost before you get some too.” He walked towards her and touched one of the vacant spots on her shirt. “Traitor,” hissing right into her face.

Nadia’s eyes widened as she watched Maggie’s stance change slightly. “Oh, boy.” Nadia was fierce and short-tempered, but even on her best days, she could never beat Maggie in hand-to-hand combat. Maggie was always calm and balanced, never getting angry, never making mistakes, which made her one of the best fighters in the unit. The poor boy had no idea what he just got himself into.

Maggie smiled, looking directly into the soldier's eyes, and put her hand over his. “You think you know shit?” Unexpectedly, she yanked his arm forward, stepping aside and punching his jaw with her other elbow. The man huffed and stumbled. “I was fighting in the war before you were even born.” Before he had a chance to regain his balance and stand back up, a military boot firmly placed onto his butt sent him nose-first onto the dirt road. The second man roared in anger and came after her, but not even two seconds later he joined his comrade on the ground squealing, his arm tightly wrapped around his bruised rib cage.

“You’re gonna pay for this, cunt!” The third one stayed in the safe distance and reached for his gun. Nadia leaped forward, always happy to join the fray. She ran into him at full speed, using her shoulder to knock him down before he could unsheath his weapon.

“I’m calling the patrol!” The last soldier moved towards their vehicle and grabbed a radio.

Maggie laughed. “Please do that. I’m sure they will be happy to hear how you are disobeying direct orders from the Grand General himself.” The man hesitated. The others have managed to pick themselves off the ground and hobble away, avoiding Maggie and Nadia. “I think the gentleman already told you that the nearest bridge is that way. I suggest you go there to avoid more humiliation.” The soldiers gritted their teeth but vacated the area, knowing that these days they could really get in trouble for their actions.

Nadia moved to help the old man who took considerably more time to get up. “Thank you, ma’am,” he bowed to her with respect, dusting himself off.

“No problem, friend. We are on the same boat now, aren’t we? Now, you wouldn’t know about any houses for sale around here, would you? One with a garden and some pastures big enough to breed… huh… palcacas?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “The years of fighting really must have knocked your brain out. For the last time, they are called alpacas!”



Oscar and Claire were sitting in a conference room deep within the Citadel, reviewing the latest data.

“You know I have better things to do than watch you read and sigh?” Claire sounded as prickly as usual.

Oscar sighed again. Looking at the reports, he couldn’t help it. “27 percent. That’s more than a quarter.”

“Congratulations!” Claire rolled her eyes. “You can do elementary school math! Honestly, I expected way bigger numbers, maybe some 40, 45 percent.”

The Grand General’s eyes widened in horror. 45 percent? That would mean he would lose almost half of his entire armed forces? Unthinkable. Even a quarter was more than he would expect in his worst nightmares. Were people really that unhappy being soldiers? So discontent that they would jump the first opportunity they had to leave and do… what exactly? “What are they going to do?”

“That’s a good question. A lot of them will probably want to start their own businesses.”

Oscar smirked. “Yea, that is not happening.”

“Why not? You gave people freedom, let them use it.”

“I didn’t give people freedom to destroy the economy and destabilize the country. Look, I don’t mind when someone wants to open a bakery, but what you are suggesting… weapon factories in private hands? Civilians owning parts of the food delivery chain? Unacceptable.” His voice was strong, this was not a decision he was willing to debate.

“I think your pretty little ex-soldiers would go more along the lines of owning a bakery than a weapon factory. I’m sure there are some rules that can be made to satisfy both sides. Don’t you have some economists hidden away in jail? Or did you have them all executed?”

“I don’t have people executed because they are economists.”

“No, you have them executed for saying treasonous things and being subversive individuals.”

Oscar rubbed his temples, which was a mistake. Moving his right arm still sent sharp pain spikes throughout his body, the gunshot wound on his shoulder didn’t have time to heal yet. One of the orthodox militarists was very unhappy with the changes and got too close. “You give me a headache. I think we can find some non-executed economists somewhere and lay out some ground rules to this madness. Very strict rules.”

“I would expect nothing less from you.” Claire got up and seeing Oscar flinch from pain, she forbore the usual insults, raising her fingers to her forehead to mockingly salute him instead. “I’m gonna go get some actual work done. Don’t worry, this is a good thing.”

The Grand General sat there in solemn silence long after she left. He didn’t really see anything good in the situation.

Project Archimedes was what it had been named. It was a challenge, partially. Normally one didn't name projects so... Blatantly. So openly, but this was supposed to be open. An invitation to Hollywodite spies, if such things even existed, to piece together the meaning of a reference to a past they claimed to know.

The Zetans had considered the nature of how, exactly, to penetrate a massive hardpoint like the Aegis. Surely they were not the only ones with the idea. Having dispensed with the idea of military subtleness then, Project Archimedes was a set of designs and concepts, to be implemented with the heavy lifting done by their new compatriots in the Lorne Administration. It was, to be frank, slightly ludicrous. If the Oistos had been overkill, Archimedes was its larger brother. A capital ship shield-smasher, discarding the ability to defend itself with its armaments to instead rend hardpoints asunder.

At the heart of it all was the uncreatively named Maiman Macrocannon. Alas, no Zetan Maimans had participated in its construction, but its name still rang true- the father of LASER would have been proud of this creation, no doubt. The truly prodigious batteries that had been pioneered with the Oistos prototype design thrown up before the ECU's invasion had uses other than giant electromagnets. It turned out that other weapons could be powered with such a design too, and the Maiman was the next one to be realised.

Really, it wasn't quite as fancy as 'macrocannon' implied. Take a LASER gun, and then keep scaling it up. And then up. And then up some more. Up further. Once you had done that several more times, you were left with a weapon that could turn a ship’s armour plating into plasma frighteningly quick. Of course, as previously mentioned, the disadvantage was that the colossi that the macrocannon was mounted on would be basically defenceless. The power required to fire the macrocannon meant that almost nothing else could be spared. Shields? Barely, yes, and engines, those as well, but mounting additional weapons? Almost impossible. It was a battering ram, essentially- good for one thing, and one thing only. Hells, the weapon wasn't even particularly good against planetary targets either: atmospheric dispersion would diffuse a lot of the impact, rendering the weapon merely powerful rather than apocalyptic.

That being said though, there was usage against non-static targets too. The beam was so large and moved as quick as light (obviously, as it was a LASER,) that it was actually theoretically possible to use it against ships. There was some theorising that a new Oistos system could also use this weaponry, but that was not within the remit of Project Archimedes.

Lastly, there was one additional issue. The only even vaguely portable battery that could produce enough energy to power the macrocannon- fission. How bitterly Zeta wished it had managed to realise fusion power. Technically, this would not have been an issue in and of itself, but the fact was that there was no way to mount the batteries (being named the 'wave motion' batteries for the fact that the wave motion of particles could actually become visible within the batteries) and sufficient radiological protection to keep the crew safe.

It was good then that the Zetan population was freshly flush with military-minded individuals capable of ignoring radiation.

---

A Zetan ship sailed in to dock at the Meeting Place. This was the first Zetan ship since the beginning of the blockade, and it brought with it several new staff for the ambassadors and staff aboard the station. One, though, beelined his way towards the Lorne Administration's offices, carrying a briefcase. He looked deceptively human, but underneath his skin he was much more metal than many of his kind.

Lambada-Röntgen made a simple request. "May we speak with a high-ranking member of your company? We come bearing certain... Unusual and top-secret plans that the Collective would like to discuss with you." He held up the metal briefcase and gave it a little shake to emphasise his point.

---

The crew aboard the small shuttle were not prepared for what they found. Not even remotely. Skin and bone draped about like they had been catapulted back in time, and a gaggle of identical clones greeting them. The Consciousness might have just met the one nation that was more unusual than themselves.

"Greetings," the leading member of the expedition said, blinking rapidly. "I am Tau-Kao, of the Zetan Consciousness. We are... Very... Pleased? To meet more fellow humans." There was a long pause as the crew considered if these newcomers were even humans, or merely looked quite similar to humans. "We must say, you've already managed to surprise us a great deal."

---

Kelsie wriggled her body, trying to get the dress into a more comfortable and less revealing position. When it was just hanging flat on the cloth hanger the split on the side didn’t seem to go that high, but when she was actually wearing it, it felt a bit too revealing for her liking. Along with the moderately-heeled shoes, she didn’t even recognize herself in the mirror. It made her body look hot though.

Worse thing than her naked legs was the fact she was unarmed. Weapons were not allowed at the gala, and even if they were, she had no idea where she would hide one wearing this ridiculous attire. As she watched her people in formal uniforms wiggling uncomfortably, she knew they felt the same. All of them had years of training in hand-to-hand combat, but a gun is a gun, it is always good to have one at hand.

“Alright, guys, it’s almost time.” Trying her best to ignore them staring at her in such unusual clothes, she turned to the Reapers. “You. Don’t you dare to cause some diplomatic incident. You are under strict orders to avoid Zetans. If they approach you for whatever reason, you smile politely and walk away. Do not respond to any provocation. You can drink, but in moderation, don’t you dare get wasted and cause some scene. If you fuck this up, I will personally cut you into little pieces and space each one through a different airlock, is that clear?”

The squad stood at attention. “Yes, ma’am!” six voices sounded in unison.

“Lieutenant Rodriguez, Sergeant Springer,” she turned to Alfonso and Janice, “you two are personally responsible for the squad’s conduct on this mission. Make sure you represent us well. Now go get ready.” The Reapers saluted her and left the room, leaving her alone with David and Julianna. The young scientist was wearing a dull grey outfit, uninteresting and hopefully unnoticeable. David was in the same uniform as the Reapers, plain black jacket and pants, with subtle silver embroidery on his shoulder, showing the Undefeated symbol and his rank. “I hope I don’t have to tell you two not to get drunk.”

Julianna just smiled and shook her head. “I think it’s not us who has had some problems with drinking too much,” David added, smirking.

“Oh, shut up, will you stop reminding me of that?” David threw his hands in the air in the surrendering motion but kept quiet. “Fine. You know what to do. You go in, try to be invisible, and spy on their technology. If they are willing to talk about it, get as much information as you can.” Julianna nodded; they had discussed this earlier. “And your job...” Kelsie turned to David.

“Is to make sure you don’t break a leg in these ridiculous shoes,” he interrupted her, sending a disapproving look down to her feet.

“What, you don’t like my shoes?”

“Oh, I love them, they just don’t seem very… practical,” he shrugged and leaned towards her to whisper directly into her ear. “In fact, I like them so much that I can imagine you wearing them when we get back. Just the shoes and nothing else.”

Kelsie giggled and blushed. Dammit, wasn’t she a bit too old for this? “Let’s focus on the mission now, Major.”

“Yes, ma’am!” His attention position and salute were exactly by the book. The grin that appeared on his face was definitely not in any of the military books.

Even the shuttles from the Meeting Place to the Santa De Angelo had been fancified for the grand gala. Guests stepping aboard either the Marengo or the Palomo would find themselves treated to a cushy trip. Matuvistan Marines and ISOCs stood as silent sentinels, the former in their shiny grey uniforms and perfectly fitted berets, and the latter with their Mesoamerican-style patterns and face paint gave a wonderful contrast and introduction to the differences one could find in Matuvistan society. Both the Marengo and the Palomo also contained a small dispatch of mathetes, should scientists from foreign nations come aboard, as well as a staff of patricians and plebeians both.

With maté, the second most popular (but official) beverage of the Republic, both shuttles contained small cafes dedicated to the drink, including its traditional gourd and with a silver bombilla. For those that wanted something more familiar, or, perhaps more desired, several blends of Matuvistan coffee were also available, along with tasters of wine and rum. For children and those disinclined to drink, a host of juices were also on offer, and canapes were regularly carried around, allowing individuals to unwind before they arrived on the Santa De Angelo.

When they did though... The Matuvistans weren't messing around with their propaganda barrage. Docking aboard the De Angelo, guests were immediately met with a long hallway totally encompassed by a vast mural, showing a sanitised version of Matuvista's history. Plaques on the walls spoke of the greatness of De Angelo, the evils of the Yyassum, and the bravery of the patrician jet-knights, seen at the end of the hallway blasting off, into an unknown future.

At the end of the hallway had been stationed young patricians to hand out programmes and act as tour guides. Ranging from twelve to sixteen, they were all dressed in proper military wear, familiar to those who had met with Alfonso. The programme was vast and all-encompassing. An art gallery, a concert hall, cocktail lounge with jazz band, a euphemistically named 'indulgences room,' a theatre and even a ballroom were all on offer, and a steady train of waiters and waitresses topped up glasses and filled up stomachs.

Collab between @Tortoise and @Sigma
Columbia
Capital City of Argus
Senate Building

In a reserved conference room was a small circular table, a perfect shape for a trio of Columbian senators sitting opposite to the ECU diplomat, Kalya. “I must say.” One of the senators, a middle-aged man by the name of Houston Tanner was the first to be speak. “It was certainly out of the blue for your arrival.” He paused as he grabbed and drank a small cup of water. “Regardless, on behalf of the Chancellor, I'd like to formally welcome you to the Columbia and it's beating heart.”

“So... what brings a young lady like you here anyhow?” Another of the senators spoke, a woman by the name of Jasmin Brooks.

"Oh, politics," said the young lady in question, noncomitally. "Or something like politics. Curiosity? And war." Her grandmother used to say that Kayla could write a whole book and not say a single thing. It was rare for her to be understood, but really, part of her liked it that way. Kayla the Obscure, she called herself, when nobody else was around to overhear. "The one with the Zetans. We just finished it, as you'll know, and you didn't get involved. That's alright with us- but some of your civilians did. The Grave... somethings? Gravebakers? No, Gravemakers! Yeah, they came to us, but only as mercenaries. It's left us on New Hollywood wondering where the Columbians stand."

There was a brief moment of silence among the senators, the three looking to each other, followed by some nods. “Ah…yes, that.” The last senator spoke, an Urkani by the name of Krais Jia.

“We’ve been made fully aware of Columbian citizens partaking in the war.” Senator Brooks said.

“And the Gravemakers as well…” Senator Tanner said. “Their exploits during the Yulzan War were truly inspiring.” He paused somberly, his eyes looking down. “It’s a damned shame what happened on Zeta. The casualty reports have been…vague at best, body recovery will be…strenuous.”

“And only one of the Gravemakers was able to return from the surface.” Senator Jia said. “And so far…. he refuses to spoke a word of what happened down there.”

“Putting that aside.” Senator Tanner spoke once more. “While our citizens had volunteered in the conflict, this was in no way condoned by the government, quite frankly, the Chancellor had a half a mind to send a task force to support the Zetans.”

Kayla smiled broadly. "Then it's good I'm here. There's another diplomat, his name rhymes with Shanaka, who would have flipped backwards out of this chair if he'd heard something like that. But I'm not mad. Nope, not at all. In fact, I was at the Zetan blockade. I was in charge of it." She let that bombshell settle around the room, before continuing on: "So I'm curious- do the Columbians modify themselves like that?"

In her own way, Kayla was going through the checklist of info she was assigned to learn about the Columbians. The first was whether they supported the ECU or the Zetans- check. The second, if they liked Zeta at all, was whether they'd gone down that same kind of path; the kind that led to a war with New Hollywood.

It was quite the revelation for the senators, having the leader of the blockade sitting right before them. Normally, this would’ve landed someone like Kayla a nice comfy spot in a URC prison, although, despite the alleged and confirmed war crimes that took place, the URC and ECU were never truly in a state of war, and although relations were made complicated due to the conflict, had remained cordial and neutral for the most part, thanks in part to the stand-still that took place in the Senate. Senator Tanner cleared his through, focusing on the subject. “Yes…Columbia is a far different beast than Zeta-5.” Senator Tanner replied. “We’ve would’ve never have gone to such a path.”
“Cybernetics is a part of our lives, yes but for the most part, only when necessary. We don’t replace our whole bodies with machines.” Senator Brooks said. “We Columbians, while embracing progress, are a stubborn people out of habit, keeping our old ties to Earth, to what we once and currently are.”

"Only when necessary," Kayla repeated. "That's what my people said about the invasion, you know. Necessary. It's the Zetans favorite word, too: they say everything is necessary. Chopping legs off and replacing it with metal. Necessary. I think people believe that word is magic." She chuckled at her own joke. "I don't hate them, you know, the Zetans. The Savant just sent me to watch the blockade after the 'naval conflict' was already done. Felt like baby-sitting. The protectors handled all the fighting stuff." She nodded to the bit about keeping their ties to Earth. Boring stuff, to her, but it's what the ECU wanted to hear.

This Kayla was certainly a peculiar woman, the senators rather kept on edge with her antics. “…A comfort to hear.” Senator Jia said. “Columbia potentially seeks to help mend relations between Zeta-5 and New Hollywood in Xandal’s relief efforts, and to further deepen our own ties.”

“It was quite a relief in truth, that the ECU was willing to come to us.” Senator Brooks said. “Factions within the Senate had shared some rather…incendiary words to both parties.” The Columbian Senate had pretty much paralyzed the URC, parties sympathetic to both sides in the war, preventing much decisive action from taking place, much to the displeasure of the Chancellor, the only worthy compromise for both parties was to avoid war altogether. Although the mercenary activities did warrant an ongoing investigation, since it was made quite clear neither the ECU or Undefeated had enlisted their aid to begin with, rather, a mysterious third party was responsible.

"The Xandalians are an interesting people," Kayla commented. "Inventive. I met with some of them, during a negotiation on their ship. No appreciation for holo-tech, but then, nobody outside of the ECU does appreciate it." That reminded her of something. She was starting to feel a little disappointed with all this usual diplomatic talk, and decided to steer the subject into new waters: "While I'm here, I'm asking. Are you people still, ah, reacting well to our media exports? The ECU entertainment, I mean."

This question got a bit of a smile out of Senator Tanner. “Surprisingly well for some.” Tanner replied. “My personal favorite was the Blaze Gina series, feels oddly nostalgic, very retro.” Following that, the senator couldn’t help but start a slight humming of the intro tune.
“Yes, New Hollywoodite media has been in sort of craze in the past few months.” Senator Jia said. “You know how people go for the “exotic” products.”

"Hah!" Kayla laughed. "Senator Tanner, odd nostalgia is the ECU's number one export. Actually, I heard there's a sequel of that coming up, where... ah, ah," she teased, "I shouldn't spoil it." She loved playing this kind of role. A lot more than generic diplomacy, by far. And then she answered Jia: "New Hollywood. We aren't named that for no reason. And that brings something up." Her smiled faded a little bit, knowing the waters she was wading back into. "Since the end of our, uh, conflict with the toas- Zetans- the ECU has been experiencing a bit of a..." how to phrase it? "...cultural shift."

This is the first time an Oligarch has mentioned the brewing rebellion to an outsider, but Kayla decides that's only because none of the others were brave enough. Won't foreigners need to know, eventually? "It's not a new thing. This has been festering for a long, long time. I won't bore you with the details. But all you need to know is that- in the future, I mean- we probably won't be pursuing further wars. Probably. So, we want to focus on media. And trade? Yeah, and trade." Kayla was aware her tongue was tying itself in a rope, so she eases it with a sigh, and pressed onwards. "What I'm saying is: the ECU wants to refocus ourselves on diplomatic and mercantile goals. We would like to pursue further trade with the United Republic of Columbia, and hopefully, ease any lingering mistrust between us from the Zetan Occupation." There. Proper politician speak. Mission accomplished.

The three senators looked to each other once more, all nodded in agreement. “It is quite an honor that you would even share such an exciting event with us first.” Senator Tanner said. “And we would be more than happy to forward the ECU’s proposal with the Senate.”

Anders stood on the main deck watching the address revealing that they had found the true inheritors of Delta-4. There were mixed feelings going among the people within Lorne Space, he could see it in the faces of his crew. As the Prometheus left with the artefact he was now faced with the issue of morale rather than an alien artefact of unknown origin. "Aide." The nearest Aide turned its head towards him, the visual receptor turning blue to indicate he had the A.Is attention. "Cancel all shifts following the current one for 24 hours. Relay information back to the board that I am implementing a 24-hour compassionate break to allow people time to contact their families, celebrate or merely process these developments. All automated processes shall continue. "

Aide merely nodded his head, before turning back to his station. Not moving as he went to work.

---

Beer flowed freely from the taps as people chanted and cheered, drinks were spilt and tipped. In one corner an Old Woman sat with her peers, each of them talking as quietly as they could amongst themselves. While the young celebrated that the labour of their elders was done, there was fear among their predecessors. While some were destined to travel, and desired nothing more. There were those that found that this was their home, the Ring was as much a labour of love as any of the infrastructure down on Delta-4, or elsewhere int he system. What would happen to all their hard work?

Lambada-Röntgen was led down into a meeting room. The Zetan was a fairly archetypal example of his kind… If one was to take the time to look underneath the friendly frontal presentation. Although skin was stretched across his body, he was much closer to Eta-Theta than he was to any of the men and women around him.

He thumbed the emergency button of the briefcase idly, making sure not to depress it. The name of the project was a challenge for the ECU (although the Zetans doubted they had been infiltrated,) the exact specifications were not. Should at any point he be compromised, that button would detonate the datapad within the briefcase instantaneously, and it was done manually, not through electricity.

Before he began, he wanted to make sure such secrecy was appreciated by Lorne. “Know this,” he said, simply. “The briefcase I am currently carrying holds extremely sensitive documents to the Zetan Consciousness. Exposure of these documents by the Lorne Administration will not be appreciated.” ‘Tolerated’ had been deemed too harsh. “They are not to go further than this room until explicit permission has been provided.”

Mackenzie nodded along to the new Zetan sat across from her. The hour was late, and having been recently promoted to the man in charge of the Endurance she had spent all day designing the refurbishments. The Endurance now sat apart from the rest of the meeting place, with free shuttles to and from the meeting place. Various suites and executive lounges… were being worked on. As well as monitoring stations, exchange rooms, and demo rooms to show off what was on offer.

It wasn’t finished yet, but once it was it would be a true marvel. All she had to do was somehow convince each nation, other than the Zetans, to allow Lorne to make individual business deals with the various companies that existed within their nations.

That however was an issue for another time.

“We believe very strongly in client confidentiality, especially with our new neighbours.” She flashed her brightest, and yet genuine, smile. “What have you got for us?”

Röntgen unlocked the suitcase and took out the datapad carefully. He opened the datapad, opened up the Battleship Archimedes blueprints, and set them down.

It was big. Long, primarily, with vast amounts of space for the reactor (which had been erased from these plans,) and the Macrocannon (which didn’t feature, only the tremendous amount of empty space it was to fill.)

He handed it over slowly, analysing Mackenzie’s expression as she looked at it.

Mackenzie wasn’t a technician or an engineer. She didn’t know the exact requirements looking over the plan, she didn’t know how it would go together, what pieces would attach where and what kind of resources would be required.

What she did understand was that it was big. Really big on par with the size of Arcadius back home, possibly even bigger. The difference was that it was all built around something central, something that was absent from these plans. “So, I assume you’d like to contract us to build the frame for this-” she looked at the name of the blueprint “-Battleship Archimedes?”

“Indeed. As it stands, Zetan heavy industry has been decimated by the war, and we’re dedicating effort towards the Arks in order to leave Zeta for good.” This was the one place he could openly mention that. “But, we still would like certain things constructed. We also have plans for a new set of defensive systems that we’d likely require your help with to construct, but… For now…” He gestured towards the tablet.

“Project Archimedes.”

Mackenzie nodded along to the Zetan. “I’m sure we can accommodate the request; we certainly have the capabilities. Now, since we have yet to try and implement some form of universal currency, now comes the bartering, what can you do for us?” She flashed her kindest smile.

“From what we’ve heard, you rely heavily on automated systems for much of your work, and have a strong reliance on robots. Without slighting the no-doubt fantastic work you have come up with over the years, Zetan computing technology is superlative- nobody in the meeting place has been able to come close, from what we can ascertain. We’d be happy to assist you in any way you require when it comes to that field of expertise. In addition, should anyone in your nation require or desire cybernetics, we can arrange for a facility to be sent to your system.”

Mackenzie crossed her arms, a look of contemplation upon her face. “We’ll come back to the computing aspect momentarily. Talking about cybernetics, would it be possible to somehow reinforce bone and muscle structure? Say, allow our people to comfortably be on a planet with normal gravity for prolonged periods of time?”

Röntgen smiled. “Reinforced bone lattices. Muscle-density enhancers. Organ enhancers, to make sure your heart and lungs can keep up with all that extra demand. Spinal replacements. Zetan cybernetic development is intimately tied with the need to overcome mankind’s relatively fragile limitations. There’s no reason why we couldn’t do the same with you.”

Mackenzie smiled politely back, scribbling a note on her tablet. “We won’t consider this part of our official negotiations for now but it's certainly something we may look at establishing in the future. There are some of us who would relish the opportunity to go down to a planet's surface and breathe real air for a change.” She handed over a tablet. “If you could transfer some specifications for the systems and networks you could help us implement onto this device it would be appreciated, at which point we can come to a formal agreement. In the meantime-” She sealed up the Project Archimedes blueprints. “-I’ll have these transferred back to the Ring so our engineers can start preparing the facilities required.”

And with that, the largest part of Project Archimedes was underway.

Collab between @Irredeemable and @Sigma

Julian and his wife stared in awe as they, along with Ambassador Ghask and several other high profile guests exited through the main entrance hall. The interior of the ship was truly an extravagant and elegant sight to behold, a hallmark of Matuvistan engineering and design. “Well, this certainly makes up for our last trip, wouldn’t you say?” Julian said as he looked to Alice with love struck eyes, the ship’s décor amplifying their sense of romance, Alice looked to him, and simply gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “By a thousand miles.” She replied, as she tugged his arm tightly. While the Gala was a perfect occasion for quality time with his wife, Chancellor Constantine had ulterior motives as well, the report forwarded by Ghask regarding the Yyasum and their distant relation with the Yulzen had intrigued him to no end, and what better way to confirm than hear from a direct source?

It was easy to see the Yyasum in the mural. A huge portion of the middle of the hall were dedicated to them, showing their initial invasion and the efforts made to repel them. Camouflage-wearing humans lighting up a jungle with gunfire, a jetbike tumbling out of the sky as it engaged some kind of strange alien craft, even a depiction of a melee brawl between a Matuvistan and an armour-wearing alien, culminating in the latter's (sanitized) decapitation. After the main body of Yyasum depictions faded from the mural, there was a somber portion dedicated to what appeared to be some sort of war cemetery, headstones lined up in neat, organized rows with flags planted before each one.

As the group reached the end of the hallway, they were greeted by one of the young Patricians. "Hello there," the teenaged boy said, pride in his voice. "Welcome to the Santa De Angelo, can I help you with our night of festivities at all?

“Oh, such a charming young man!” Alice said, adoring the young Patrician boy, her grandmotherly instinct almost compelling her to simply grab the boys cheek like she would with her own grandchildren. followed by Julian letting out a hearty laugh. “I must say, the ship is truly a beautiful sight, breath taking really….and yes, you can help me for sure.” The Chancellor’s eyes drawn to the mural itself. “What can you tell me about this? The Yyasum?”

While the chancellor asked his question, Ambassador Ghask stepped forward as he inspected the mural for himself, his gaze drawn towards the Yyasum, characters that represented them…although quite different from his former masters, had shocking similarities that could not be denied. “It’s them…I know it.” Ghask mumbled to himself, almost with a hint of venom.

Rafael blinked a few times, caught totally off-guard. As he was recovering from the cheek-pinching and the compliments, a genteel looking woman strode forward, having clearly been waiting for the Republican delegation. She was demure-looking, in contrast with many around the room, and wore a dress rather than the typical military uniform, but nonetheless seemed confident in her approach.

"Greetings. Alfonso's report caused a significant stir back home on Matuvista. Condel Julianus himself assigned me to introduce myself at this gala. I am Valentina Trinidad Zelina Edita Santa Diana El Segundo, and it's a pleasure to meet you." She extended a hand towards the older duo, having not yet acknowledged Ghask as he stared at the mural.

Julian replied in kind as he shook her hand. “A pleasure to meet you Ms. Segundo. I am Julian Constantine, Chancellor of the United Columbian Republic.” He stated his name and title, all the while he gestured his hands towards his wife and Ghask. “My wife, Alice. Ambassador Ghask, our representative in the Meeting Place.” He paused as he and Alice cleared the way to allow their own guests introduce themselves.

The first to approach Valentina was a light-skinned man in his late forties, dressed in a very expensive-looking business suit. “Davion Hoss, CEO of Evergreen Farms.” Mr. Hoss stated with a theatric bow. “From what little I heard about your world’s culinary industries; I see some great potential for a beautiful partnership.” Following him was another Janari, just like Ghask, although he was a member of the more smooth-skinned Roonak, he too paid no expense, dressed in a fine suit. “Senator Ulik Tash, at your service.” He said with a more humble bow. Lastly among the group was a man that stood out more, dressed in a officer’s uniform of the Columbian Army. “General James Faros of the URC Army, Ma’am.” Faros said with a salute. “Intel regarding a Yulzen resurgence on your world sent High Command in a frenzy, and they best found it that I confirm their fears.”

"Please, just Valentina is fine. 'Ms' is my mother's title." 'Segundo' merely meant that she shared a name with her mother. She hadn't actually given her surname. Still, as more and more people arrived and introduced themselves, it was clear she was overwhelmed. Her eyes widened a little, and she nodded politely to the assorted number. "Rafael and I were not prepared for so many people! My apologies, if you'll excuse me, I can bring one of the majors around- they'll be better prepared to discuss with you, General, and then another of the ambassadors to handle the business side of things." She looked at the group to confirm that her departure would be acceptable.

“Oh, of course Valentina.” The Chancellor said, speaking behalf of the Columbian delegation. “We do apologize for this inconvenience. We’re willing to wait a tad longer.”

Valentina returned a few minutes later, with three people in tow. The first was Rafael, the young man who had welcomed the Columbian delegation, the second was a marine officer, two medals at her chest and a badge pinned to her beret, and the third was another smart-looking individual wearing a business suit.

"I am pleased to introduce major Elisabete and señor Domingo respectively," she said with a smile, gesturing to each of the individuals in turn. Elisabete turned to General Faros and offered a crisp salute, before extending her hand out. For his part, Domingo simply extended his hand out towards Hoss, then the Janari, and lastly the Chancellor.

"Greetings General. It pains me to hear that the Yyasum have caused troubles for another nation aside our own, but I trust, since you are standing here before me today, that you have pulled through all the stronger for it." Elisabete's voice was clipped and efficient, and her accent was fairly minimal, in sharp contrast to Domingo's much more heavily-accented voice.

"Now then," declared Valentina. "I imagine we all have a great deal to discuss: should we go to a meeting room, or would you still be interested in enjoying the festivities we've set out?"

“No need to hide ourselves away.” Julian replied. “We’re among friends, no harm in discussing openly, and no need to not enjoy ourselves while we talk.” With that said, Julian turned his attention towards the Mural once more, noticing the Ambassador’s fixation on the Yyasum characters, this garnering the attention of the Senator as well, staring in awe of the similarities, although the Yyasum did seem far different from his people’s former masters, the resemblance was, however, indisputable. “It seems we have common enemy, and it seems, the Yulzen’s attack on our world was not mere chance.”

"Very well then," Valentina said with a smile, offering a brochure out to Julian. "I shall allow you to choose where we depart to then." As she talked, so did Elisabete.

"We have been fighting them for two hundred years. As a marine, I must admit that I do not engage with Yyasum as much as some as my fellows who serve in the ground forces, but all marines are trained in counter-xenos action." She glanced up at the mural, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Huh, In comparison. Our war seemed like nothing.” General Faro said, inspecting the mural. “Granted, the Yulzen had managed to commit many atrocities on our world all within the span of fifteen years, no doubt learning from their defeat at your hands.” The General paused for a moment, reflecting as past memories of the war seeped into his mind, the pain, the sorrow, the screaming…” Losing to humanity twice no doubt has earned us a very special place on their shit list.” Before long, the group soon relocated elsewhere in the Gala, moving to the art gallery to observe and appreciate Matuvistan artwork.

The painting and statues themselves were very reminiscent of Old Earth’s renaissance, a far cry from Columbia’s more… modern, abstract art.

“With that said.“ General Faro spoke to Elisabete. “Our people are willing to cooperate in intel exchanges and even perhaps aid you in pacifying the Yulzen remnants on your world. There is plenty of recruits back home that would love the chance.”

Elisabete had stopped before a painting of Santa Quixote, depicted mounted atop his warhorse, lance held high and the banner attached to it flapping in the breeze. His noble and dignified squire, Sancho Panza, sat astride a smaller gelding, staring off into the distance. "The saint of jetknights," she said, inclining her head towards it.

"Make no mistake. It is not a single craft that has caused us such trouble. Their initial fleet was tremendous, but now, every few cycles, 'years,' if we go by Earth time, further crafts arrive. As they are slower-than-light, we are forced to assume this stream will continue for the foreseeable future, as xenos soldiers dispatched perhaps hundreds of years ago arrive in our system." She paused for a long moment.

"Luckily, none have left our system once they have arrived. The Navy destroys those in space, and it is the duty of any jetknight to slay the invaders wherever they might be found should they make planetfall. Similarly, our ISOCs and other infantry bravely engage them whenever one of their settlements is located."

She paused for a moment. "The duty of marines is mostly counter-rebellion and counter-piracy, both of which can be a concern."

The General let out a light chuckle. “I admit, I have to commend you.” General Faro said. “Your people held the line for centuries against a Yulzen plot long in the making. If you ever need help in purging them once and for all, we’ll gladly help.” Soon the group moved once more, now partaking in the more culinary aspects of the Gala.

"Should you ever desire to cut your teeth on a hated foe again, you are most welcome to send military detachments to Matuvista. I'm sure our soldiers can share knowledge with each other. Our shock tactics and jungle-fighting skills are second to none, I can assure you." She nodded curtly, watching as Hoss took a cup of coffee.

Mr. Hoss took a sip out of this coffee the Matuvistans were lauding over…and it did not disappoint. Davion’s eyes almost rolling at the back of his head, the flavor was unlike anything back on Columbia, it was so…exotic. “Oh god, this stuff is amazing.” Mr. Hoss said to Domingo and Valentina. “I can barely even describe it…”

Domingo let out a lilting laugh, smiling pleasantly at Mr. Hoss. "Why, I'm so glad to hear that." Both he and Valentina nodded to each other, an easy smile spreading across the latter's face. "We have many wonderful plantations on our planet's surface to grow all kinds of excellent crops, and we're extremely eager to share them with the wider galaxy." Domingo took a cup himself, taking a moment to appreciate the fragrance.

"We were so lucky to have been able to preserve things like this from old Earth."

“Extremely eager to share.” That’s it, those were the words Davion was waiting for, the opportunity had presented itself and like a predator, he readies his fangs to strike, before others do. “I’m very pleased you feel this way, because I can make it happen for you.” He paused as he took another sip out of the coffee. “If your people are willing, Evergreen Farms can help in the importation process of all your goods to the galaxy at large and in a very timely matter. In the exchange, Matuvista will receive our fine products.”

This predator didn't realize quite who they were messing with. Of course Domingo was polite, demure, and all too eager to share Matuvistan produce: he was the CEO of Borinquen Agriculture, and had just as much to gain from this exchange as the man across from him did. "Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful. Once this Gala is done, the Santa De Angelo will be used as temporary diplomatic offices, please," he reached into a pocket and handed across a business card. "Come and see me, and we shall hash the details out."

Davion accepted the card and gave Domingo a nod. “I’ll see you there.” With part of his discussion over, Julian, locked in arms with Alice, stepped into the conversation. “I see your little venture has bore some fruit?” The chancellor asked.

“Halfway there, your excellency.” Davion replied. “And you?”

“I can safely say that I’ve learned what I’ve needed to learn.” Julian replied, looking towards Valentina with a smile. “I thank you for your hospitality and cooperation. I look forward to future cooperation between Columbia and Matuvista.” With those uplifting parting words, the Columbian delegation had gone their separate ways as they enjoyed the rest of the Gala, meeting new and familiar faces alike from the other nations.

The One was surprised to say the least when the Zetans arrived. Robots, cyborgs or something in between as if taken straight from a sci-fi movie they watched before they left Earth, long ago. The One all smiled, underneath their masks and guided the Zetan emissaries to their improvised meeting room.
The first of the Grant, the one that was chosen to speak, welcomed Tau with open arms.

" Welcome! Welcome friends! We're the One but you may call me Grant for the purpose of this conversation. Please take a seat, I hope you like tea. It's made on our planet and if you wish, we can provide some food as well. A feast is in order, the first time we meet other humans or whatever you guys are since we left Earth. " as Grant was talking, the other Grants were moving around the Zetans in a flurry of action.

Food, meat and mushroom soup, and Glowy-One tea was produced on the table in front of the Zetans. Freshly made and still hot, the meat was letting steam out.

" Can we start to say that you guys look awesome and weird at the same time. Not sure what you are but all we've got to say it's wow. Oh' and, thank you for coming here after we called. We're sorry if we've scared anyone with ourselves, unfortunately, none of us thought about repairing the communication systems on the ship. We've seen the Gateway open and we just ate up the opportunity. " said Grant with a huge smile on his face.

The James were watching the newcomers with interest, trying to understand the threat they posed and ways to combat them, while the Grant were studying the warforms. Maybe something could be scavenged and made to work the machinery from 00110001.



The One was getting restless. The first expedition didn't come back yet and without any way to communicate, an issue they only realized after they left, they were in the dark. Something had to be done. A whole nation put their brains together to find a solution to their problem. James, Grant and William taken from their usual duties, thinking as One.
A solution was found a few days later, another ship made using the spheres.

While not being able to be actively used as a defence mechanism, the sheer number of them could be used to form the ship exterior all while being combined with debris and the other junk found in the city or created by the One themselves. The project started off well, millions of James redirected from their usual tasks to build the spaceship.
Days turned into weeks but the ship was built, a true junk ship capable of holding thousands of Ones in the cargo bays and even more in the reator area. The reactor was a thing of pure beauty for the One and one of their most ingenious designs.Taking a dozen of the power cells that were used to power up the cloning vats, fully charged with the lives of a few million Williams and equipped with the William-power-rechargers.
Soon, another ship was ready and sent out through the Gateway. A bastion of One. This time, to the origin planet. Earth. Home.



The One ship passed through the Gateway with no issue, the initial fear that the ship would break down or disintegrate midway through was long gone.

Surprise, fear and at the same time, hope was in the hearts of the One upon seeing the space station. Messages came through, welcomes and hellos from different civilizations in different languages and forms. Tears welled up in Grant's eyes and said what everyone was thinking.

" We are not alone! WE ARE NOT ALOOOONEEE! Wooooo! " yelled as loud as he could and everyone else joined in with a cheer. Finally the One aren't the only ones left.

Learning from the mistakes in the making of the first ship, a communication system was installed as soon as they could possibly do so, a message was sent out to all that could hear.

" We are the One. Can we break bread together and land our ship? " was sent out with the voices of all Ones together this time.

_{(Addressing: @Irredeemable and @TimeMaster)
(Starring: Kayla)}

Of all nations, shouldn't the ECU have more diplomats? Kayla is tired of picking up social duties every time someone else is off having fun. Why did Tanaka and Abadi get to be the ones to party with the Matuvistans?

It's how ECU politics always go, honestly. The Oligarchs are supposed to be only the smartest people, but everyone knows those "intelligence tests" are fake. It's really more about who has the strongest connections. Kayla doesn't. Her parents, investors but not members of the Noocracy, had to kick and claw for years to get her into the system at all- she thinks they bribed half of New Beijing to do it- and it's amounted only to her being constantly side-lined by generations of the more established, more wealthy Oligarchs.

She's sick of it. Or maybe she's just sick of trying not to think about it? Doesn't matter. She sits in a borrowed office on the Meeting Place, bouncing a rubber ball off a wall, catching it, bouncing it again. This is her passive resistance to the whole system; no matter what task she's assigned, she makes sure she doesn't do it. Not as a lazy thing. Because she doesn't want to help them. Kayla imagines herself as gum in the gears, not really breaking the machine, but slowing it all down just a little bit. One undone task at a time, taking the system down.

Or maybe it is a lazy thing.

That doesn't matter, either. She didn't do a thing during the Zetan Occupation, and you know what, she feels good about it. Why should she help the Noocracy bomb some cyborgs out of reality? The Noocracy never did anything for her. It was only a little bittersweet to hear of the Memory's withdraw back to New Hollywood. The last ECU cruiser was finally back home, and was even docking on the planet itself- for inspection, or repairs, or something like that. She didn't read the whole report.

Wish I had more chance to talk to the Zetans, she thinks, as she often has before. Sitting over orbit of a planet under siege, there was never much chance for conversation. And that's really a shame; she likes conversation. Especially with interesting people. It's the one good thing about babysitting the Meeting Place: you might actually meet someone new. Someone not at all like the people of New Hollywood, with a fresh perspective...

Oh, what's that? The sleek console in front of her, which she's been dutifully ignoring for two hours, starts up beeping. Words flash across the screen, and she only absorbs about half of it, but that half makes her very, very excited. Unknown vessel approaching and Requesting dock and Message received.

Then she listens to the message itself, and suddenly, Kayla really is glad she was on the Meeting Place tonight. The One? Let's see what you're about...

She bounces back her own voice recording to the unknown vessel:

"Welcome, welcome! This is Oligarch Kayla speaking, member of the Earth Cultural Union. This construct is the Meeting Place, an international space station created for... uh, diplomacy? Yeah, diplomacy. Ahem. Attached to this message are instructions for docking near the ECU segment of the Meeting Place. Come by, we can... break bread."

_{(Collab: @Tortoise and @TimeMaster)
(Starring: Kayla and the One)}

The One were even happier than before. The construct was called a meeting place which could only mean one thing, there were more humans out there!

The ship crew burst into a strange half-dance/half-work mode as everyone scrambled to positions to land the ship. This would be the first interaction of the One with potentially different species or just different humans. That would truly be something different, for the first time in three Earth centuries, a different face.

As the ship landed, The One were ready for action. Hundreds of themselves stepped out in the landing bay of the ECU as per the instructions. Neatly and ordered with their faces covered, they stepped out to form two columns.

Only one of them, a Grant, stepped in front of the group to greet Kayla. His face uncovered, neatly shaved with a smile on his face. A bone sword attached to his belt.

For half a moment, Kayla felt like she was facing an invading army. The ECU segment usually only housed a few dozen people, and was fairly cramped together at that. Now hundreds had marched on to their gaudy little party zone, the landing bay of which barely held them all, and one had- she could barely believe it- a sword.

Fun!

Kayla smiled back at the Grant. “Welcome to the Earth Cultural Union. I’ll skip the usual spiel- I’m Kayla. You are?”

Grant bowed and kissed Kayla’s hand as one would do when meeting a lady and then said “We are the One. You may call us James William Grant. A pleasure to meet a fellow human. We haven’t met one in a long, long time. ”

Kayla laughed loudly, partly from shock and partly from the general weirdness of this meeting. “You haven’t? Then, uh… what are all those guys behind you, with the, uh, dramatic face coverings?” She waves her hand over her own face. “Robots? Aliens? Robo-aliens?” And why, she thinks but doesn’t ask, are they called ‘the One,’ like there’s not literally hundreds of them right there?

The Ones were surprised at Kayla's laughter.

" We are sorry if we offended, and something funny. We assure you, we're not trying to offend. " said the lead Grant, thinking for a moment they broke some cultural laws of sorts.

Upon hearing Kayla's questions, another Grant stepped forward while the first Grant, covered his face with an identical helmet. The second Grant took his helmet off and answered the question with a more serious look on his face.

" We are the One as we've said already. The aliens we've met are dead, we are all human here but we are all, besides you, One.".

Kayla’s eyes grew wide. Wider than a person’s eyes should normally grow, in fact, darting rapidly between the two Grants. “Twi-twins? No, no, no..." in shock, she nearly tried counting the masked men, but gave up at the enormity of it all. "Too many for twins! Too many."

Deep breaths, Kayla, deep breaths. She'd been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder years ago, and it still occasionally got the better of her. Three inhales and exhales later, she spoke with a steadier voice: "...you're all the same? The same individual? That's- that's, well, I think I can safely say that nobody has ever met anything like you."

Giving Kayla a moment to process, their "secret" revealed, all of the Ones took their helmets off. All of them were watching Kayla with the exact same expression, all but the second Grant.

" Ah, we see you've figured it out. We are the One. This one is called Grant, please refer to this body like that. We're assuming it will be easier for you. " a pause, then, a few others stepped forward.

Each of them speaking a different word of the sentence : " Are we correct to assume that the Earth Cultural Union is not the only human colony that managed to survive throughout the years? We are not fully alone? "

The Oligarch felt a small chill down her spine, the way they coordinated so well without talking to each other, like she’s heard about the Zetans doing. Except that they try to keep it secret- these guys are showing off.

“No, uh, Grant. You’re not alone. So far, we’ve encountered over a dozen other colonies. Fair warning, though: some of their Gateways have closed down after reopening. We don’t know what causes it, how to fix it, nothing.” She shrugged, hoping inside that such a causal move would calm her down as well.

“Right now, I think there’s seven of us altogether, and I guess you make eight.” Kayla whipped the infopad out of her pocket by habit. “Yeah,” she read some text off the screen, after tapping a few buttons to pull it up, “there’s us, the Undefeated, the Xandalian, Columbian and Matuvistan republics, a company called the Lorne Admin., and last but certainly not least, a bunch of cyborgs in the Zetan system.” She counted each colony off on her fingers. “We just had a war with those, the Zetan ones, but lucky for you, you’re entering the galaxy right at peacetime. Nobody trying to kill anyone. I think.”

She cleared her throat. Just don’t look into their identical, creepy eyes, Kayla, she told herself, and then did exactly that. “We- we can send you some data about the other colonies, and help you contact any of them. But… maybe we could talk somewhere more comfortable? We have a fully-stocked bar on board. Lots of stuff to drink.” And maybe, if she’s lucky, that’ll distract her from the gaze of countless mass-produced men.

You know, it probably won’t.

Fear washed through the faces of all Ones. The chance of the Gateways to close would mean that they may be left stranded, not that it would make a difference in the grand scheme of things but the Ones from back home will never know that they weren’t alone in the galaxy.

“ 8 nations with us. That is incredible. ” the possibilities went through the One mind, at once. 7 nations would mean 7 places where natural resources can be gathered from. 7 chances to ally with one of the nations.

“There was a war? Hmph. Human nature never ceases to amaze us. We’ve lost so many when Earth was abandoned and after 300 years with no contact, we still find reasons to kill each other. ”

Their voice was full of hatred at the mere thought of the word “war”; the only reason they were alone was due to people fighting over resources, not understanding that by fighting each other, more was lost than gained.

“ That would be great, unfortunately, we don’t have whatever you’ve held in your hand. We don’t have computers back home on 00110001. The most we’ve managed to build was the spaceship we’ve arrived here with, that and another ship we’ve...potentially lost. Just you telling us this, we’ll remember. Show one of us the information and we’ll remember. ”

At the mention of a fully stocked bar, the One realized their mistake. They haven’t offered any tea or food. Suddenly, a few Williams stepped out of formation and produced, from the ship, a table and chairs, all made of bones with a nice table cloth on top.

“ We are truly sorry to have forgotten about this. Our excitement overtook our manners.” Without looking, Grant sat and the chair was pushed right towards where he would be.

Freshly cooked meat and Glowy-One tea was brought forward.

“ Please, sit. The food is on us this time, the meat is fresh and the tea is made out of a mushroom that grows on our planet. It’s not poisonous, we think. None of us died while drinking it, yet. ”.

Feeling Kayla’s unease and in hopes of keeping things civil, the Ones put their helmets back on, leaving only the main Grant with his face uncovered.

She sat down at the table, a mix of surprised and impressed. This had been more the sort of First Contact she was hoping for: new things to try! “Well, if nobody’s died drinking it, I guess I won’t be the first.”

"Hopefully" muttered the lead Grant under his breath.

The mushroom tea tasted a bit like truffles, but earthlier, tangier, and more... well, glowy. But Kayla liked truffles, and drank down the tea eagerly. She even checked her heart beat in a mock medical examination. “Not dead yet, am I? That’s good.”

The meat, on the other hand, was a little unsatisfying. Like beef, but sweeter, too tender- she liked more texture to her food. Three bites went down without complaint. “Very good,” she fibbed.

On to something more substantial: “So, what’s your own world like?” Kayla asked. “Is there a reason you’re all so, uh, well-matching?”

Grant wanted initially to eat as they’d usually do with his hands but they reminded themselves where they were exactly.

The forks and knives felt different in their hands than they remembered but nonetheless, they hacked at the meat as a gentleman would and drank the Glowy-One tea with great pleasure.

“ Just wait until tomorrow and contact us. If you die, we’d like your body. It would probably be useful at one point or the other. ” half-joked Grant with a friendly smile on his face. (She laughed at this, deciding- or hoping- to take it as a joke.)

Looking closely at Kayla while she was eating them, they haven’t said anything to her. No complaints, no worries then.

“Our world. Not my world. Please refrain from addressing this Grant as a single person. We are One and more. '' gone was friendliness of Grant, their tone changing to be hard as steel then in a moment, their voice changed again to what was before and continued;

“ We’re assuming our world is very different from yours. Barren, stripped of life centuries before humans ever stepped on the planet. One side burning, one side frozen.

But that’s not what you’re asking. You want to know why we are One. It’s a long story but in a few words, a man's true nature is revealed when he’s stripped of food and civilization. The colony ship had some of the best trained soldiers and brightest minds available at that time and even then, when we were starving, we turned on each other.

Murder, theft, rape. All were as common as sand in the desert. In the end, only we remained. The last One . The last survivor of colony ship B-075954 and the last survivor of humanity, or so we thought. ” their tone remained cheerful up until the second part when it became full of sadness.

Or so they thought. Apparently, Kayla decides, they weren't prepared for the millions of identical men that must have been lurking around the planet somewhere.

"So, you... cloned yourself, I guess?" She thought for a second. "You know, our worlds do have some similarities. New Hollywood, my home planet, used to be called Bezia-seventy-two-B. It was all a wasteland when we got there. The old inhabitants- alien guys- killed themselves off. Nothing left. We've been terraforming it to be like Earth." Her lips twisted, and her smile was slightly bitter. "Or what we pretend Earth was like, anyway."

“ Ourselves. We will say this one more time. You are not to refer to any of us, as one person. We are One. We are more.

Just please do that. Alright? We truly don’t want to lose a few hundred bodies today.” .

Kayla didn’t work with a lot of security, like the higher-up and wealthier Oligarchs. There were, however, a half-dozen security guards in the room, and they tightened their grip on metal batons that were very clearly descended from the protector’s clubs.

A few of the surrounding Ones had their hands on their swords already. Others were looking around for security, getting ready to throw their spears at the soldiers at range but then it all stopped with a strong deep laugh from the lead Grant.

“ Phew, we haven’t had that much fun in 300 years. Anyways, back to the matters at hand. Yes, we did clone ourselves and we continue to do so. By our counts, since we’ve left home and arrived here, at least 52171 of us have been created.

We’re sure our planets might seem the same but I can assure you, they’re not. How? Very simple, your nation didn’t kill itself trying to survive which means you’ve had resources. We didn’t, our colony ship was hit by an EMP pulse as soon as it passed through the Gateway. Sheer luck and a good pilot was the only reason we survived the initial crash. No metals, no food, no plants. The Glowy-Ones were discovered 20 years after we cloned ourselves.

You mentioned aliens on your planet. Do you know if any of the ruins had symbols like these or if not, is there a way we could send some of us to check them? ” Grant said while pulling the sleeve of his shirt, revealing small scars in the shape of symbols carved directly into the skin of the Grant.

With a hand raised in the air, Kayla gestured to the security to stand down. Catastrophe averted.

She leaned in, staring at his scars for what would be an uncomfortably long time for anyone but Kayla, who long ago decided social discomfort was just a part of her being.

"You know... those are really familiar. I got lost once, as a kid. In a ruin. I saw some, I don't know, carvings in the walls, they looked just like that. Or almost like that? Yeah." She nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I think that's it." A deep breath. Uncertainty getting the better of her. "You know what? Gimme one second."

Savant James Heralds did not like to be disturbed, especially by Kayla. But as an acting diplomat, she had the ability to send priority-level messages to his office in "the event of emergency," which she decided this was. Hey, Heralds, she thought, I've got hundreds of identical murder-y guys here who really, really wanna know if our ruins have some creepy symbols in them.

Well, her actual message was more formal, but carried the same overtones. Heralds actually replied back quickly, to his credit, and she did as well. It was a bit of back-and-forth from the other ends of a Gateway, but when it was finished, permission had been granted.

"Yeah," Kayla said, looking up from her info pad. "The Savant, our leader-" she restrained the urge to snort sarcastically- "said you can send over researchers to check out the Bezian ruins. They'll need to be under guard. But... they can come." Do fear and excitement always go hand-and-hand? Seems like it.

Excitement and relief. The only two things that the Ones felt upon hearing Kayla’s words. She knows them! SHE KNOWS THEM! The aliens that built the One city might’ve been part of a huge galactic empire as the One presumed long ago.

“ We are very pleased to hear that. We shall leave a few of us here then to be escorted to the ruins but if something happens to them, we will know, just in case someone gets ideas.

In exchange, we’ve got to offer your nation something. A fair trade and all that. You may come with us back to our planet if you wish or we could offer something else. ” a snap of Grant’s fingers and sword was brought over, made of bone with symbols written on it and the blade made fully of metal taken from the ruins.

“ It’s meant to represent status for those that wield it and it can cut through meat and bone alike quite easily. ”

Kayla ran her fingers along the sword, plainly curious. Even at 28 years old, she held onto her childhood sense of fun with both hands. And that sense said, quite loudly, that swords are cool.

“Swords are cool,” she said.

But then she looked more closely at it, and something in it’s unnatural sheen caught her eye. She laughed again. “I’m sorry, but this is a weird day. I’m pretty sure I recognize what this sword is made of, too. We have a group called ‘protectors’ on New Hollywood. They use metal clubs to, uh…” to beat civilians, “to fight. Guess what they’re made of?” She tapped on the sword, and even the ringing sound it made gave her goosebumps. “Bezian alloy. From alien ruins. That where you got this?”

The lead Grant laughed and with a childish voice repeated what Kayla said.

“ Swords are very cool ” not meant as mockery but just a fact, an awesome one.

“ Bezian? Is that what you call your aliens? Are you sure it’s the sa…” mid-sentence Grant stopped and started laughing, “ Wait, New Hollywood? Is Angelina Jolie still acting or Tom Hanks? ” joked the One, not trying to incur anger but just for the simple fact that New Hollywood reminded them of Earth.

“Oh, both are acting,” answered Kayla, “and every other actor who ever lived. Singers, too. Your people will see that when they come over. Fame is a kind of immortality. Or so Savants say. Ever wanted your name in lights?” She stroked her chin. “Anyway, yeah, I’m not sure if they’re the same. Maybe, right? Worth investigating.”

“If they are the same metal then the Immortalis Unum theory does work out. The metal comes from our home planet, parts of a long lost civilisation we’ve discovered.

We’ve long theorized that the Immortalis have been a very advanced civilization capable of FTL travel or something similar that spanned across the galaxy.

We’re even more interested in your knowledge now than before, do you wish to come back with us? See our planet with your own eyes?”

Kayla hesitated, weighing the fear of these strange men against that joy of exploration that she’s always had. It’s a risk- she might call one of them by a singular term and get shanked. But then, she’s dreamed of seeing new things her whole life. Even as a child; it’s what got her lost in those ruins to begin with.

She took a breath, and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll come. One one condition: I get to keep the sword.”

Laughing at Kayla’s last words, the Grant nodded.

“ Agreed, swords are awesome and it would be a shame not to give it to you. Let it be the first gift our nations make to each other. A sign of goodwill and trust. If your leader is alright with it, we’d like to go now.

We’ve been gone from our planet for too long already and wish to be back with our brethren. ”.

They stood up from the table and extended their hand towards Kayla to shake, which she took, while the other Ones in formation went towards the ship.

Streets on New Hollywood are different without protectors. They're louder, for one- nobody likes to talk with an armed guard three steps away. In the days before, people shuffled along crowded intersections with their eyes down. It wasn't a crime to talk, but then, the protectors never needed you to be a criminal.

"To Preserve Society," that was their slogan. They were created during the worst of the New Beijing riots, generations ago, when bombs were set under Oligarch's vehicles and blood was spilled by drunken rioters. A beautiful young Oligarch was murdered back then, one Ai Zhang, and the media plastered her photograph everywhere. Protectors were meant to be the solution; a policing organization willing to force down dissenters. Kill them, if you have to. Ensure it could never happen again.

Rubbish.

Yun is watching the city from the rooftops, like a character in a superhero story. Only he feels less like a character in an supehero story and more like some sad guy sitting on a roof. Oh well. He's taken to coming up here to think; most of his teachers had always said he could hardly think at all, but he's found the thin, atmospheric air clears his head wonderfully. Even today, when he can sense a storm brewing in the sky.

He's been trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle for- count 'em- one, two, three hours now. So many times he's wanted to give up, throw it off the roof and watch it soar into the horizon, but something keeps pressing him to keep trying. Maybe he'd never solved a puzzle in his life, but somehow, this feels like the time and place to do it. It's free up here.

Not like down on the streets.

He looks over the edge, craning his neck, and watches a crowd of thousands marching through. It looks like the whole city is marching along. They step in unison, shaking the ground, making his eardrums tremble even from far off. Some of them are sprinkling white flowers onto the pavement- a symbol of democracy on New Hollywood. They used to lay those at the graves of people killed by protectors.

How many people has Yun buried? Eta-Theta wasn't his first kill. Or his second, or his fifth. But it was part of the job- they expected you to do it. "To Preserve Society." And then grieving loved ones left white flowers on their graves.

In these rare, free moments, Yun has thought a lot about that. And he's decided that a normal person couldn't have done it. Does that make him abnormal? Maybe, but he wasn't born that way. He was born stupid, sure, or so his grades told him. And he was born big- bigger than most people, and stronger than is fair. But it was the ECU indoctrination that made him a murderer.

Now, the murderer hears something. Another rhythm, not quite as organized as the pro-democracy crowd, but louder, brasher and... well, more familiar. He knows that beat.

When he cranes his neck over another part of the rooftop, he spots another crowd, but this one isn't carrying any white flowers. They have golden flags raised over their heads, and some have weapons at their hips. They step out of unison, fight with each other, shout, and carry speakers that blast chaotic music all through the streets.

Yun's comrades. Ex-protectors. On a march of their own, it looks like. He'd heard something about it from his old buddy. Apparently, a lot of the other protectors were mad about being laid off by the government, and intended to "do something" about it. Nobody knew what that something could be, though, so it basically amounted to roaming through the streets and calling it a protest.

He'd declined to join. But those men down there didn't, and judging from their trajectory, it looks like they're heading on a crash course straight for the White Flower protesters. He knows what'll happen when they meet: it's what you call a blood bath.

Yun takes another breath of that electrified, ozone-heavy air, and sighs. He pushes the half-finished, never-to-be-completed puzzle to the side. He heads for the elevator. He presses "first floor."



When the door opens, he almost wishes it hadn't.

The elevator was slower than Yun had anticipated, and the crowds much faster. He steps out of his apartment building right into the midst of a war about to happen. On the right side of Echo Avenue, the wide street Yun lives on, are the White Flowers, sprinkling the ground with petals like girls at a wedding, and chanting pro-democracy, anti-Oligarch rhymes. A few flecks of brown robe hint at the Mixtists among them.

Advancing on his other side are the ex-protectors. They need little description, except that the predominate color is gold, and the predominate attitude is "break stuff." Without their uniforms, it's amazing how much they seem like common thugs. (Is that who they've always been?)

The two crowds are about to meet. Yun stands in the middle of them both, and up in the sky above, deep gray clouds promise a downpour.

"Hey, Flower, Flowers, come over here!" one protector calls, spotting the protestors on the other side. Another says "Hey, y'all the ones that cost us our jobs!" At that, boos and jeers break out across the line. Someone starts laughing manically: "Nobody to keep 'em safe now! Shouldn't have got rid of us!"

An empty liquor bottle flies over Yun's head, and breaks apart at the feet of a young man with messy hair. He looks back at the man who threw it, raising his fist into the air as answer- half the White Flower crowd joins him. The other half seem to start looking around quickly for avenues of escape, but there aren't many.

"Oh, oh, whatchya gonna do?" More laughter. More fists thrown into the air. They draw closer- slowly, testing the waters- they eye each other, curse each other, hands go to hips to grasp for clubs, swords, knives. With a deep, sinking feeling in his gut, Yun spots out a few guns in the throng.

He watches himself step out into the middle of it.

He doesn't even know what he's doing; why is he here? What, is he gonna stop a riot on his own? But something inside Yun, the same thing that came to life that day in the desert with Eta, won't let him do otherwise. That cyborg told him "And try living as best you can. Because one day, I will find you again, and I will make good on my promise."

If he's already a dead man, what does he have to lose? With a hoarse voice, hands spread out to either side of him, Yun shouts "Stop!" The crowds almost seems to hesitate: being directly in-between them, everyone can see and hear him. Does he have their attention?

"Stop!" he says again into the crowds. Yun is not an eloquent speaker. Right now, he's just a desperate one. "Don't do this, don't. It'll just be..." what'll it be? "Just more bodies in the ground. Just more dead people. Stop, everyone, stop. Walk away. Go home."

For a moment, everyone is silent. Maybe this guy is right. Even some of the protectors glance down at their feet and seem almost ashamed. But then just as Yun dares to think he's succeeded, a gun goes off.

Bang! Nobody sees who shot it. But the man hit is a protector, and it's a perfect shot- a hole is in his neck. Blood spurts from his throat onto the ground, splattering through his golden t-shirt on the way, and the sound he makes is truly awful. A sputtering, desperate choke. He thrashes around, grabs at his comrades for support, falls to the ground- his eyes go wide as he realizes what's happening- and it's all too late.

As the White Flowers pull back in shock and fear, a protector shouts "Kill 'em, boys! Vengeance!" The golden crowd surges forward with a ferocious, angered roar, and the Flowers aren't fast enough to escape.

The rain starts to fall. Yun doesn't know what to do. But on instinct, or maybe loyalty, he runs along behind the protectors. They dart through neon-lit alleyways and dodge under exposed wiring, stepping over curbs made of a wild mix of concrete and metal. They jump down stairs and dart past open doorways.

They're chasing a White Flower; Yun doesn't know which. He only figures it out as they finally corner him in an pitch-dark alley, where some busted old screen still bathes everything a blue light. The falling rain reflects it, bounces it around, giving the whole scene a dream-like aura.

"Found you, Flower, Flower," taunts one of the other protectors, and Yun realizes what they've been chasing. It's just a kid. Maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen. Messy hair. Is that the one who raised a fist? Too young to be involved in all this. Why do kids always want to go to protests? He looks afraid.

"Boys," Yun says quietly, to the other two men, "he's just a kid. Maybe we should back off, huh?"

But when they look back at him, he knows in his heart that they won't listen. The light of this alleyway makes their gold bandanas look like a sickly green-yellow, and makes their faces seem strange and demonic. When they smile, their teeth glow. "Come on, Officer Yun," the younger one grins, "I heard about you. You've done worse." Without waiting for Yun to answer back, they both reach down to grab the kid by his throat.

There's one real benefit to the holo-indoctrination protector's go through. Although it drives them nearly to insanity, by running through combat scenarios again and again and again, it also hones their reflexes. In his time, Yun must have participated in tens of thousands of fictional fights. After even a few hundred, everything is muscle-memory. By your second or third thousandth, it's faster and deeper than instinct. Lighting-quick.

It's funny: for all the ECU's emphasis on 'maintaining humanity,' to watch the way a seasoned protector moves, anyone would think they're genetically modified.

So, perhaps the other two protectors shouldn't have been so surprised, when Yun attacked them from behind and threw them to the ground. Or when he moved quicker than either of them (being less experienced protectors) could keep up with, or when he knocked them unconscious with a swift kick each. But the messy-haired kid was certainly surprised.

"What... what happens now?" he just barely chokes out. He's still not sure if this man is a friend or a foe.

"Now, kid," Yun answers, "you go home. Do you know the way?"

He didn't, but Yun led him out. He grew up on these neon streets, and knew every little nook and curve and cranny. They stumbled back onto the main walkway after just a minute or two, each leaning a little on the other for support. (Running for your life and beating men unconscious are both a little tiring.) An older man in a brown robe intercepts them then, and the young man seems to recognize him.

"Hey, uh, Yan or, or whatever your name was," the kid says, "I think I'm good from here. I know this guy."

Yun relieves him into the custody of the 'guy,' who is obviously a Mixtist. Yun has his own thoughts on the 'Mixies,' encouraging protests like this one, getting youth involved in it. But he bites his tongue. There's been enough fighting tonight.

"You know, I'm glad this happened," the kid says, before leaving. "I mean, I'm not glad glad. But the news will talk about this. The more they talk about us, the more people might stop to listen." He smiles weakly. "Thanks, man."

On his way back home, Yun walks through the downpour, spotting drenched white flowers clogging up gutters, noticing flecks of blood mingling with the water. He has no idea how many died tonight. Tomorrow, he will hear that his fellow ex-protectors killed twenty-four White Flower protestors in revenge for the one shot. This will spark retaliation around the globe, bringing anti-protector and anti-Oligarch sentiment to an all-time high. Within a week, the revolution will grow to encompass all of New Hollywood.

But tonight, he doesn't know any of that. He only knows the blood still on his boots, and the rain soaking him down to the skin. He stands in it, alone, and lets it wash over him.