Isaque paused. The jungle was quiet. Far too quiet. That was to be expected though. Yyasums could do a lot to hide their bases from detection. Sensor jamming, old-fashioned camouflage, murdering recon teams that drew too near, but ultimately, they were intruders on this planet, and it was impossible to linger in someone else’s home indefinitely without drawing their attention. When their presence had been confirmed, ISOC teams had been dispatched to eliminate them. They were dug in hard; intelligence suggested this settlement had been here for a few years as they built up strength, a remnant from a previously-shattered base. A jetbike assault could have worked, or it could have been suicide: there was no way to tell. If the ISOCs could remove any countermeasures though, jetknight reinforcements could hurtle in to take care of the remaining survivors.

It was a simple operation, but simple didn’t mean easy. Xenos-busts were a staple of most military branches, but the Yyasum were never pushovers. Turning to his left, Isaque nodded towards another soldier, who locked eyes with him, nodded back, then pressed a figure of Santa Jorge against her lips for good luck. Moving in single-file now, the group crept through the undergrowth, each footfall carefully chosen to minimise their presence.

The camp unveiled itself slowly.

Isaque had seen similar structures before. Yyasum engineering was a peculiar beast. Squat, barrel-shaped buildings jutted up from the ground like a collection of malformed teeth. Between them, Yyasum could be seen- some patrolling, some clearly carrying out tasks of some kind, others, perhaps, at leisure.

All, however, plotting the downfall of Matuvistan society. That was the simple matter of the Yyasum presence here. There could be no compromise, no peace, no mercy. The planet may have been large, but humanity’s continual existence demanded that they stay the only, unquestioned master of this world. This was why, as Isaque took up position behind a rocky outcropping, he felt no mercy towards the creature on the wrong end of his gun barrel. It would do the same to him.

The shooting began with a single word issued over their closed communications. The ISOCs, having spread out to provide overlapping fields of fire, caught any of the Yyasum in the open in a devastating fusillade of lead. Isaque knew, of course, that it would never be that easy. These villages weren’t just what you saw on the surface- Yyasum built down too. As he relinquished his pressure on the trigger and let his gun cool off, he looked about for the next foe.

He didn’t have to wait long. One minute the camp was silent but for the dripping of foreign ichor, the next, Yyasum warriors burst out in a counter-attack. The air was filled with the crackle of ozone, the Yyasum guns conducting their lethal charges through the moisture in the air. Isaque watched as one of the unfortunate ISOC’s nearest to one of the aliens was caught by the blast, body twisting and twitching in unnatural ways.

His training instincts kicked in. Focus. He dumped his magazine, slotted a fresh one in, and sighted his next target. His rifle rattled and barked under his firm grips, one of the gangly figures spasming as bullets rent holes in its form. As a figure turned towards him he ducked down behind the cluster of rocks he was using as cover.

He had managed it just soon enough. He heard the sound of a Yyasum gun firing up, but with him out of the way it was conducted harmlessly down and away from his body.

Not harmlessly enough. By now the gunfire, explosions and electricity had caused the damp underbrush to catch on fire despite itself. Smoke began drifting up into the air, even as the muffled detonation of an HE charge sent vibrations rattling through his teeth. Peeking back up and out of cover, Isaque was met with a hellish scene.

---

Blood. Fire. Corpses lying on the ground. Explosions rocking the tiny fraction of the universe that his world had been compressed into. Alpha-Amundsen pressed himself against the subterranean rock, gun lying forgotten on the floor, a tear streaming down his face. Then, the Undefeated soldier, unmerciful, uncaring, unforgiving, stomped through the tunnel. Its armoured form barely even turned to acknowledge him, instead merely pointing its gun down towards him and muttering ‘fucking Clanker.’ Then, it pulled the trigger, and…

Alpha-Amundsen was violently pulled out of his sleep cycle. Electronic neurons fired violently, wrestling this way and that, until at last they settled and he felt himself able to exert control once more. If he still had a body, he knew his lungs would be heaving, his face slick with sweat and clammy, but instead, the room was deadly silent, the military grade chassis’ cooling systems naught but a whisper, and he didn’t need to glance down at his articulated, artificial fingers to know that no sweat beaded across his skin.

Wordlessly, Amundsen let out a scream of exhaustion and frustration, stopping himself from putting a fist through a nearby wall with some effort. Every time he slept, the nightmares tore through him. Always the same. The same place, the same people he was fighting, the same result. No matter who or what he tried to do to stop them. Speaking of who though, Alpha-Agnesi had been roused by his violent awakening.

The feeling of warm skin against his metallic shell brought some sense of relief to Amundsen. His fingers searched for hers and squeezed down, hard, a drowning man clutching at the first thing that could be found.

Of the half a billion people that lived on Zeta-5, not a single one was a psychiatrist. Oh yes, there were people who academically studied the discipline of psychology to learn about it, but when intimate thoughts were shared and everyone was united in a common thread, what need was there for shrinks? Before the war, Amundsen had been of the same mind. Now though… With Eta-Theta roaming around and acting more independently than anyone else before had, and with so many shaken by the fighting, he could only wish that there were people around who could help him.

---

Eta-Theta looked up at the raindrops falling from the sky.

They had never felt rain before. They never would, the android supposed. They could sense it now, of course, water dripping down, soaking the oversized clothes they had draped themselves in to help conceal their form if it was glimpsed in an alleyway or slipping through a doorway, ran down their metallic face, spilled out onto the concrete beneath them…

But they would never feel it with flesh. The thought… Eta-Theta scoured themselves for any sign of what that thought meant to them, and came up blank. Oh well. They pressed on, through the abandoned alleyways, the sound of marching feet sending vibrations up and through their carefully-engineered form. Then, a voice from the crowd catches them. Holds them still.

They recognise that voice.

They move through the alleyway and lean against a filthy wall, tugging their collar up to give themselves the best chance of disrupting their inhuman silhouette. "Just more bodies in the ground. Just more dead people. Stop, everyone, stop. Walk away. Go home."

Oh Yun. They had listened. Listened to Eta’s proclamation in the desert, with blood and snot running down their nose. But, Eta-Theta knew something. Sometimes, it didn’t take many bullets to kill many people. Sometimes, all it took was just one, placed well.

Their chest holster pulled open, and Eta-Theta removed their handgun. They examined it carefully, then eased back the slide. The crowds are silent. Ashamed. The fate of this night, perhaps the fate of the entire ECU regime, hangs in the balance created by a single ex-protector.

And that balance will be destroyed by a set of mechanical hands.

The gun twitches a little as Eta-Theta pulls the trigger. The suppressor’s ability to… Well, suppress had been somewhat compromised during their time here on this planet, and the resulting bang, is muffled, yes, but still distinctive enough that everyone knows what has happened. A neck-shot is a little too good for the people that turned Eta into this form, but it will do, the android watching as Hollywoodite blood spills out onto the street.

They don’t stick around to see how much havoc one well-placed bullet has caused.

Isabella was having a wonderful evening. She had managed to wrangle herself aboard the Santa De Angelo’s prestigious gala, not as one of the entertainers, but instead, simply to enjoy the evening. Not even just the evening too- the journey out here had been a sumptuous experience filled with fine alcohol and wonderful food, and she’d gone to countless practises and rehearsals. Now, with the gala in full swing, she had given herself a personal mission.

In her pocket was a metal capsule of ‘Alicia.’ Among the various…. Extramedical pharmaceuticals that Matuvista’s chemical plants produced, Alicia was new, unique and pricey. It was the designer drug to beat all designer drugs, a full audiovisual hallucinogen that allowed for mutual hallucinations. Isabella didn’t understand it of course, she was no mathetes and had not the attention to figure out how it worked. She would merely enjoy it with a foreigner. Speaking of which, here came two now, leaving one of the poetry readings.

“Hello there,” she said pleasantly. She looked ravishing; the Lobasla family was more than wealthy enough to afford to have her in fine clothes for the main event, and the muscle and scars that marked an experienced jetknight were neatly hidden behind her clothing. “I hope you’re enjoying the festivities…” She paused for a moment. “And I was wondering if one of you would be interested in enjoying a… New sensation with me. It’s freshly approved for human usage, as safe as could be.” She procured the small metal cylinder, which sat innocently in the palm of her hand.

Tanaka and Abadi quirked eyebrows at each other, but Abadi's eyebrow quirked noticeably faster. She was much quicker on the uptake with that kind of thing.

New Hollywood had drugs, although they were (of course) of the Old Earth variety. And since many of those were narcotics, they were also of the illegal variety. Some criminal gangs pushed them around here or there; nobody cared enough to stop them. For an Oligarch, it started and stopped with alcohol or tobacco.

Well, officially. Many Oligarchs went in further behind the scenes. But since they were powerful, nobody commented on it. Abadi didn’t go that far, but her family sometimes said she was too fond of the 1960's Rock Culture Parties, and a few of them guessed at the reason. She occasionally came home smelling a little herbal.

"A... new sensation?" She asked. "That sounds like a euphemism for something."

“Ah yes! I forgot! I heard that you ECU types weren’t all that big on narcotics. A shame really, but luckily for you, this is Matuvistan territory!” She smiled. “And we’ve gotten very good at what we do. This is a capsule of Alicia: one of the latest and greatest inventions from our pharmacological mathetes. I’ve never tried it before, and I’ve heard the greater the difference between the people taking it, the wilder it is. And who’s more different from me than a total foreigner?” She gave the capsule a soft shake, although it didn’t rattle.

“So, what do you say? Interested in seeing what happens when things go topsy-turvy?”

Tanaka and Abadi gave each other another look; and then a few more, more intense looks during the argument that ensued. It was done quietly, off to the side and in English- which they both secretly hoped Isabella didn't speak.

Abadi wanted to try it, but Tanaka thought it was dangerous, and "beneath her status." Abadi asked if Oligarch status would ever start being a privilege for her instead of a burden. Tanaka said that Heralds wouldn't like it. Abadi said that nobody has cared what Heralds thought since they lost a war on his watch- and you know, maybe she wanted to use her position to try something fun for a change, instead of just covering for Tanaka every single day.

And at that Tanaka's face fell, Abadi felt very guilty, and they both silently agreed to go separate ways for the evening.

Abadi returned to Isabella and, with no preamble, said "Sure, why not, sounds fun."

Isabella thought it best to not reveal that she understood what they were saying. Yes, the plebeians spoke Tongue Nuevo, the bastardised mixture of Spanish, Portuguese and English that had slowly subsumed the planet to become its dominant language, but patricians learned English as it was spoken back on Earth, along with proper Spanish, Portuguese, and even a little Latin on top.

So it was that when they returned from their argument, she pretended she hadn’t understood a word. “Just you then?” She said innocently. “Wonderful! Now, please don’t take this the wrong way: would you like to come to my berth?”

"Just me then," Abadi confirmed. She struggled only slightly in making out Isabella's words; Spanish was her third language, after English and Arabic, and this woman's speech sounded like some fusion of English, Spanish and something Abadi didn't fully recognize. Like you put three languages in a blender and left it on for a few centuries.

The ECU phrase for that kind of language-mixing, "Dog Tongues," was not considered polite.

Abadi laughed a little when she heard the offer. Well, she did come to meet another culture. "Alright, amiga, lead the way."

The patrician grinned and, just as promised, guided Abadi through the Santa De Angelo. Unlike all the other guests, they took a peculiar little elevator-shuttle away from the main event and to the accommodation hub of the craft, and then wandered through abandoned, hotel-like halls until they reached one innocently marked 129B. There was a mechanical clunking sound as Isabella opened the door, implying some kind of locking system, but the patrician hadn’t drawn anything out or spoken a command, indicating that whatever kept this door shut was doing so through a much more sophisticated system than normal, and then the door clunked close behind them.

Inside was, unusually for a berth in a spaceship, although perhaps not for the Oligarch, room and comfort. It was a peculiar cross between a teenager’s dorm room, a colonial-era boudoir and a barracks. A rapier hung above a double postered bed, jetbike schematics were affixed, poster-like to the walls, a partially disassembled rifle sat next to a pile of physics textbooks, a small electronic machine sat next to what was unmistakably a bong, despite three hundred years separating it from the old world, and, of course, like any good Matuvistan, a golden cross hung on the wall, just above a shelf that had been populated with various common religious texts. Exaltations of the Saints, On The Nature of The Divine, Standing in The Saint’s Garden, Life Beyond Life, and so on. To a Matuvistan, the bare minimum a patrician’s religious education should have covered.

“Alejandro,” she called out to the room, and a series of lights embedded in the walls faintly glowed in response. “Put on my… Eh... “ She paused for a moment. “Why not. Put on playlist: Songs To..” She turned towards Abadi, suddenly feeling self conscious. “Songs To Get Railed On A Jetbike To.” The walls lit up for a brief second again, and then a flamenco guitar broke through the quiet of the room, lonely and mournful, then joined by trumpets, a drum machine, synthesisers and a heavily autotuned voice.

Abadi might recognise it, if not for the content, than for the style. This was a throwback to years bygone, a peculiar retrofuturistic flavour of what the music of tomorrow would sound like. She restrained the urge to laugh at the name of the playlist: she’d made several, all labelled things like "Playlist A3" just to avoid that situation. She considered it to be her lifetime smartest decision.

“Alejandro?” she joked. “Mine’s just called ‘Butler.’”

“Yours? Oh, no.” She grinned for a second. “Alejandro isn’t a unique system or anything. Santa Alejandro was De Angelo’s squire, and his name is used for these types of systems all over Matuvista. He comes with the ship. In Lobasla we have unique pseudo-AIs though.”

But, that was irrelevant. Isabella set the capsule she had in her pocket down atop the physics textbooks and flicked a switch on the device, causing it to open up into… What looked like a harmonica had been welded to an inhaler’s canister. “I guess it’s a little unhy-… Oh, no, wait! Here! ‘Room setting.” She grinned, then gave the mouthpiece a twist, opening it up like a flower’s petals.

“Alright, and then just…” She depressed a button, and the capsule let out a slow, soft hiss, a visible purple haze seeping out of it. “Should just now fill the room. Effects begin between five and ten minutes after activation, and last between one and two hours.” She examined the capsule carefully one last time, then eased her shoes off and hopped up onto her bed.

“So, now I guess we just wait for it to kick in.”

It struck Abadi as a little odd, the way Isabelle could combine such clinical language with such a casual setting. She was used to performing roles, being fully this, or fully that. The "Liaison" role had taken up her mind fully lately. Whatever this Alicia stuff is, hopefully it’s strong enough to take her mind off of it?

It was.

It started with the floor falling out. Although she was sitting on her bed, Isabella suddenly became aware that she was actually plummeting down through the floor, into what appeared to be an endless black void. Too shocked to say anything, she tried scrambling forward and only succeeded in toppling off her bed (which now didn’t exist any more,) and landing on the floor hard enough to hurt her tailbone.

And then… They were… In… Space? She looked around; up above her was the floor of the Santa De Angelo, notably without a hole in it. The milky way swarmed around her, far more stars than she’d ever seen looking out of the ship blanketing space in a thick cloud of brightness, and the sun’s light, gloriously incandescent, brighter than all the others combined, all shining upon…

“Hijo de puta, the fuck kinda Earth do you think about?”

It was Earth, but not Earth, because it was without any flaws. Like the world seen through a nostalgia-tinted filter: even from this distance, they could both make out shimmering blue seas, golden shores and impossibly green forests that went deeper than the imagination. It was a kaleidoscope of colors that never clashed.

"That," Abadi said, trying to sound casual even though she felt anything but. "That's the kind of Earth I think about."

Their descent looked slow at first, but only because of the distance. By the time they passed through the atmosphere- that may have smelt a little like lilacs- they were clearly hurdling into Earth like little comets.

Isabella’s mind was struggling to keep up with what was going on. Not only was she dealing with the conflicting sensations she was getting from her aching rear, but this… This was definitely a foreign look at Earth. A gorgeous one, nonetheless, but a foreign one. As the duo hurtled down through the atmosphere, the patrician’s instincts kicked in and she reached for a jump pack that wasn’t there, her eyes widening as the two careened wildly towards a strange, square-shaped peninsula on the western coast of one of the continents.

“GAH!” She screamed, a second before the duo smacked into the ground, but, of course, no harm came to them, even if she swore she could feel the branches whipping past her face and the crunch of undergrowth beneath her. Both her hallucinated form and her real one pushed themselves up to their feet, looking around. “Mi madre…”

"What does your mom have to do with this?"

Abadi leaned over to the side, running her fingers over the emerald-shade grass shining underneath them, and-

She burst out laughing. "It's foam! Girl, the grass is made of foam! Oh, that's gotta be a metaphor for something, I swear." She dug deeper, and the dirt was definitely some kind of soft plastic, and she’s pretty sure those trees they felt on the way down were… well, wooden, but not alive wood. Not a tree. Just wooden.

“That’s not what that means.” Isabella frowned, then looked as Abadi dug into the ground and discovered it to be… “The perfect Earth is fake, eh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Shit amiga, you’ve got some funky thoughts banging around up there.” The track had changed now, their soundtrack as they explored this bizarro Earth filled with electric guitars and psychedelia.

Looking up from the ground, Isabella paused. Those trees… Weren’t… As she looked up, the trees seemed to elongate and extend, rising up higher and higher as she craned her head. Falling back down, this time, thankfully, back on her bed, she gazed up, to where even the sky itself had been blotted out by these towering creations.

Then, through the forest, figures emerged, sat astride horses. They were shimmering and pale, so much so that it hurt Isabella’s eyes to look at them for too long, and she had to squint and shade her gaze. “Dios mio…”

Now, Abadi knew that had to be an addition of Isabella's; the New Hollywoodite had never imagined something like this in her life. Her eyes didn’t even want to look at them. They were stars made into people. Spectacular, in a completely alien and terrifying way. These guys probably were not foam.

"Hey, you're not made of foam, right?" she asked anyway, for some stupid reason.

Even squinting as she was, Isabella could make out recognisable faces among the crowd. Santa De Angelo, of course, leading the host. “Santa Jorge. Santa Alejandro, Santa Don Juan, Santa Pedro…” She hadn’t even realised she was saying their names out loud, the host pressing past and through the two women. Turning around, Isabella’s eyes widened as she saw…

That was a monsturo. Like the kind she had trained to fight back on Matuvista. Towering. Imposing. Nigh indestructible without struggle and sacrifice. She had never fought one herself, thank the lord, but their mere existence reduced humanity to ants… and here it was, down on Earth? If this trip didn’t give her a heart attack, maybe it was time to go and visit a psychiatrist.

Abadi stumbled backwards in shock. (Somewhere in the real world, her body knocked a jetbike schematic off of Isabella's wall.) She looked up at the towering creature, and kept looking up, because it kept going. That thing reached high as the sky- did it still smell of lilacs up there?- and she found herself shouting "Hologram: Exit!" by instinct. It's what you say to end a holo-program when it's gone a good bit farther than you would've liked.

The program didn't end, since there was no program. The air did shimmer and mist exactly like a hologram turning off, but instead of vanishing and leaving a plain white room behind, as Abadi thought it well should have, it simply morphed into another world completely.

The world was clouded with fog and mist, blanketing the duo. Reeling further back, until she hit the headboard of her bed, Isabella paused, looking wildly about for what was next to come. Half of her was confused and wanted off this ride, whilst the other half was almost eager to see what their combined subconscious would drag up next.
Street signs formed. Neon advertisements hanging off nondescript skyscrapers and apartment complexes, their colours a swirling kaleidoscope. Above them, she heard the distinctive roar of jetbikes zooming by, but this wasn’t Matuvista… Or at least a Matuvista that she knew. Gold-armoured officers strode through in lockstep formations, against… Colonial protesters?

Abadi recognized this particular variety of neon vomit: the many clashing colors of New Hollywood. With jetbikes added.

“The men in gold are protectors,” Abadi realized and explained at once. “They put down dissidents. Like those people over there must be?”

“They’re…” Isabella paused. She was dragged back to a news article, and even as she remembered it, the same footage was pulled into the hallucinations. One chant in particular, ‘Hell no, we won’t go!’ She remembered that one. It had been after a large Yyasum incursion across the four celestial bodies, and mandatory conscription had been instated for the first time in fifty-six years. On Matuvista, it had been orderly and neat. Offworld, it had been… Well… This.

The protectors moved forward in lockstep, wielding batons. Intermingled with them, men-at-arms, dressed in riot equipment, activated stun-maces and hefted riot shields. Despite their differences in appearance, they were as one.

This is so trippy, Abadi thought. Isabella knew that the colonial protestors were rebels, and Abadi knew that the protectors put rebels down. But how did the drug know those two concepts had a connection?

And more than that, how did she see what Isabella was thinking? It played like a holo-film in her mind, the footage of the colonial conscription protestors. It reminded her of the White Flowers she’d watched and read about. They always sprinkled petals on the ground, for some reason, coating the streets in…

There they are. Abadi looks down at her shoes, and white petals are on them. From the opposite end of the distorted neon-lit street they’re standing on, a familiar marching sound beats out, and a crowd of White Flowers and Mixtists round the corner.

They exchange glances with the colonial protestors, and with mutual nods, it's obvious the two kinds of dissident understand one another. They charge together in a riotous roar. Abadi thinks they're going to attack the protectors and men-at-arms, but her heart skips a beat when she realizes- they're rushing directly at herself and Isabella. A thousand imagined footsteps, coming to kill them.

"Protectors!" She called out, panicked, as she was taught to do if her life was ever in danger. And as she said it, the golden men formed around her and Isabella to protect them both; and the men-at-arms came with. Together, they stood in a circle around the two, shielding them from mutual threats. The rebels could never break through their combined ranks.

A chill went down Abadi's spine. Is this a drug, or a vision? Because she thinks she sees an answer here.

“To me” Shouted Isabella, and just like that, her steed had arrived, hurtling through the air along with a host of other jetknights, set astride their bikes. As the men-at-arms and protectors lashed out, clubs and maces beating back the crowd around them, and the riot descended into a bloody street brawl, Isabella clambered atop her bike and kicked the ignition, offering a hand down towards her new friend.

“We are peculiarly alike,” she mused as the other woman clambered aboard the vehicle, and even as the jetknights on either side drew out their carbines and began to fire into the crowds, she was lifting off, up, into the rain and the strangely logic-defying colours of the advertisements. Flying like this was an instinct so ingrained into the patrician that her body was fooled along with her mind.

They both left behind the messy streets, people of lower classes fighting beneath them. While they soared higher and higher into the sky, into the horizon, into…

Reality. The scene faded, gently returning to normalcy. The walls of room 129B were back, with their decorations and schematics and rapiers, and Isabella in the midst of it, leaned against the headboard of her bed. Abadi's hands were grasping against the wall, which she now realized was not actually her friend’s jetbike, and very quickly straightened herself. What to do now? Her whole life was based on assuming roles: the dutiful student, then the fresh new Oligarch. The girl at the party, and then the Liaison at the Meeting Place. But she didn’t know what role this was. How do you behave after an experience like that?

“So, that was… cool,” she started, awkwardly. Testing the waters.

And at last, the veil was lifted. “That was fucking insane chica.” Isabella looked to the oligarch. “How the fuck does that even work? Those pharmacy mathetes are crazy fuckers.” She shook her head as if to clear out the last of the hallucinations, realising as she did so that there was a faint smell of… Lilacs? In the air?

Lilac in the air, thought Abadi, at the same time. Funny. A little bit of the hallucinations left-over? She realizes now how fried her brain feels.

“Yeah, they must be. This is why we have restricted research back home.” Abadi rubbed her temples. “That, and protectors to enforce it. But I guess you saw what they are already.”

“Those your men-at-arms. Yeah? Fighting the protestors?” She eased herself down from the headboard and lay supine on her bed, a hand slung underneath her head. “Restricted research just means you don’t get shit like that.” Isabella laughed a little. She was exhausted: she felt totally fucked in the head, but at the same time the whole thing had been more than she possibly could have expected.

“You got a riot problem eh? My papa’s in the Upper Senate back home. Think that would be a good idea?”

Abadi thought about it. The recent news had White Flower “protestors” organizing into cohesive groups much larger than protests; rumors were that they’d try and take over areas of Neo London, Neo Paris and New Beijing soon. That’s three major cities crippled by... well, maybe it’s time to just call them what they are: rebels.

Abadi didn’t like the idea of dragging foreigners into this. It didn’t work so well last time. But something strange lingering in the air made her trust Isabella just a little more, and made her just a little more anxious at the thought of rebellion. That hallucinated image of charging discontents flashed back through her mind.

“You’re offering back-up? Yeah, yeah, we’ll take it.”

Isabella promised she would talk to her Papa about it. Abadi said thank-you, and offered support in kind. The conversation gradually drifted from there, skipping semi-randomly around different subjects while both women dealt with the aftereffects of Alicia. Somewhere in this, Abadi couldn't help but notice that the Matuvistan didn't seem to go more than three sentences without some reference to "Santa" whoever. Santa Pedro, Santa Teresa of Ávila...

Really, Abadi had no idea what a Santa was, except a myth about a guy who gave children presents by going down their chimney in a way that totally, definitely wasn't terrifying. Supposedly he did that on December 25th, but she didn’t know what was special about that date. Anymore then she recognized the golden cross on the other woman’s wall. But she liked the color, and- perhaps this is because of the lingering high- somehow felt herself striding across the room to touch it. "What is this?"

Isabella froze for a moment. Right, of course. This foreigner wouldn’t know about the saints. “Don’t touch that please,” she requested quietly.

“It’s the Matuvistan Cross. A symbol of the saints, taken from Old Earth.” She paused. “It reminds me that there is always something greater looking down upon us, shining light into darkness, truth into lies.” She paused for a moment. She was unsure exactly how she should go about introducing her own religiosity to a woman who had no clue about any of it.

“You don’t worship anything?” She eventually asked.

“Earth,” Abadi answered, without being sure why. Nobody ever said that they worshiped Earth, out loud, but it felt so true that her lips said it for her.

Isabella’s mind was dragged back to that first hallucination. The Earth. Gold. Shiny. ‘Pure,’ and yet at the same time totally fake. Was that really what the oligarchs believed in?

Abadi felt high-jacked, and immediately covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,” she said, recovering from the embarrassment just a bit, “don’t know why I said that one. No, I don’t worship anything. New Hollywoodites don’t.” Except the Mixtists.

“You ca-” Isabella was cut off. Alright, sure, they didn’t worship anything, she guessed. Reluctantly, she reached up towards the shelf and took down Exaltations of the Saints, flipping to a random page. The Selfless Conscription.

We, the saints of the sea and sky.
We who have heard our descendants cry,
All who dwell ‘neath tyranny
Our hands shall save…

She handed the book almost gingerly over to Abadi. “Be careful with that please. Mama’d kill me if I got it damaged.”

Abadi took it just as gingerly, even though she didn't fully catch what could be so delicate about a book. There have to be other copies of it, right? If you spill coffee or something on it, you just buy a new one. That was elementary.

But she didn't argue. And out of politeness, flipped through the pages meanderingly. Faith, prayers, saints, faith. It all reminded her of exactly one thing back on New Hollywood.

"You know, this feels like Mixtist stuff. They're a religious group on New Hollywood, the only one. But they're dangerous. They encourage dissent. You can't be loyal to your nation and to- gods, or whatever- at the same time. You have to value one over the other, right?" This was a commonly held belief back home, one of the usual justifications for keeping Mixtists down, which she never thought would be seriously questioned.

“You…” She paused, blinking a few times. The idea of splitting your loyalty like that… It confused Isabella. “No? I follow my government and the saints equally. I am loyal to the former, and I love the latter, with all my heart.” She smiled.

“But what if they, I don’t know, disagree? Like if the government asked you to do something you don’t think the saints would like?” But then Abadi stopped, and smiled back. “You know, it’s not that important. Have there been any new saints, since the Tragedy?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, since the Fall of Earth?”

If they disagreed? Isabella thought on this for a while, and was about to reply before Abadi retracted the question and gave her a new one. “Oh yeah! Lots! The one this ship is named after is the most famous: Santa De Angelo. Without her, we’d still be living under a series of idiotic, uncultured tyrants.”

A series of idiotic, uncultured tyrants. A rough way to paint your own history- but then, ECU history was taking its own turn for the worst lately. Abadi and Isabella kept talking about these things, for far longer than either of them realized, and both latched on to those things they did agree intimately on. Rebels are a threat, culture is important, and force is sometimes required to stop the first from destroying the second. The lines were drawn; the Matuvistans would help the ECU keep their dissidents down.

Abadi left the party with a strange feeling. Neither her nor even Tanaka had seriously expected to win over anything more than empty words and pleasantries, but it looked like a real- alliance, friendship, bargain?- had been formed. The two obviously most cultured nations had found each other.

Left foot forward. Right foot forward. Left. Right. Over and over. Walking is a funny thing if you think about it. You have to keep balance on this very small part of your body - at one point only a few square inches of your foot touch the ground, and yet you don’t fall down. Even when you have been walking for days. Even when you are tired. Exhausted. Even when you can’t just concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, but also have to carefully watch your surroundings to avoid things that want to grab a bite. Of you. Still, you keep walking. Left. Right. Left. Right. Like a machine.

An indistinct path she had been following through the thick forest ended on a small clearance. The way forward was blocked by an impenetrable wall of thorny bushes. “Fuck it!” Yuki stopped. “I hate this stupid planet!” It had been eight days since she left the alien ship and started walking back to the Omega station. Back to civilization. Safety. Hot bubble bath. In an ideal world, she would just need another day or two to reach the oddly silent front. But this was Ellara, not an ideal world. Four days ago, she reached a wide river. The wild stream jumped in cascades and while it was a beautiful sight it quickly turned out to be an impassable obstacle. Trying to cross it directly was a suicide - the rocks were sharp and slippery and the violent streams between them could easily carry her away and push her helpless body around, smashing her against the sharp edges.

Yuki decided to go upstream, following the logical thought that downstream the river would only get wider and stronger. For three days she walked, crawled, climbed across the rocks and through bushes before she finally found a spot where she could cross. Not without danger, but at least with a solid chance to survive. When she pulled herself out of the water on the other side, exhausted, banged up, and gritting her teeth, she hardly felt any relief. So much time and energy wasted going in a completely wrong direction. She was now way off her original course, but it wasn’t such a big issue. If she just kept walking she eventually had to pass through the line of outposts, guard towers, and sensor points that marked the border of the territory the Undefeated had already conquered on this continent. Someone would definitely notice that. The trick was getting there alive.

She rested, ate, refilled her water containers, and the next morning continued her journey. Following a path was risky, you never know who made it or might be using it, but it was certainly better than trying to crawl through thick bushes with ten-inch thorns spiced up by a ton of tiny hooks that tore holes in your clothes and skin. There didn’t seem to be any fresh tracks on the ground, but Yuki was hardly a skilled tracker. She would have probably noticed if an oliphant had walked through there earlier, but anything smaller than that was debatable.

A twig snapped somewhere behind her and Yuki turned around, startled. For hours she had a constant feeling something or someone was watching her and every sudden noise made her jump up. The forest was full of scary unexplainable noises so she did a lot of jumping and turning around.

She sighed as her eyes scanned the impenetrable bushy wall, trying to find some more accessible point. Sadly her compass insisted she had to go that way. Yuki rolled her eyes and in doing so she caught a glimpse of movement up in the treetops. The trees were tall and their thick long branches created sort of an upper level of the forest - if you were tall, strong, and flexible enough you could pass from one to another crossing great distances without ever touching the ground and having to struggle in the bushes. Yuki wasn’t either of those things. Most humans wouldn’t be. Unfortunately, humans weren’t at the top of the food chain in these parts.

Drops of cold sweat ran down her spine as she stood there motionless, carefully watching the trees above. There were two of them. At least two. It didn’t matter really, two, three, twenty. Even one was enough. Her combat suit would make one on one fight equal. If she had her rifle, she could take out three or four before they would even reach her. But now, dressed in a shirt of a dead alien giant and armed with a knife and a sharpened stick… She couldn’t kill a Screecher baby.

They noticed she knew about them and stopped hiding, lazily swinging and jumping from one branch to another to get closer to her. Her mouth was dry as she turned her head trying to keep them both in her field of vision, fingers desperately clutching the handle of her knife. From this distance, the Screechers looked like huge monkeys - the average adults were around 8 feet tall. On the ground, they walked on two back legs, but up in the trees, they used all four limbs equally. Their bodies were covered by short fur that varied in color - the forest tribes were usually various shades of brown or black. Yuki had seen images from the battle of Flat Mountain, the local primitives were plain white and barely visible in the snowdrifts. Her new friends were dark brown, wearing only simple leather waist-cloths and straps across their bodies to which various tools and weapons were attached. Each had several long spears and some knives. Their civilization, if you can even call it that way, hadn’t progressed far enough to make use of metals, so their weapons were made out of sharpened stones and bones. Which of course didn’t make them any less dangerous.

The noises they made would cause any sane person to turn around and flee. Yuki couldn’t even imagine how terrified the first scouting parties must have been. To land on an unknown planet, enter an unexplored area, and then hear the ear ripping wailing, screeching, screaming, and other indescribable sounds. At least Yuki knew where the sounds were coming from. Although it hardly helped.

The first Screecher finally got tired of watching her from a distance and leaped down onto the clearing. He seemed a bit smaller than average, only about 6 feet which meant he was most likely a young one trying to prove himself to one of the tribe elders. Still, he was at least a head taller than Yuki and their muscle mass was incomparable. He let out a long 'eek' and grabbed his spear, waving the ornate bone tip in her direction. The other one stayed up for now, but Yuki had no illusions about them having some concept of a fair fight. If it looked for a second that by some miracle she would be getting the upper hand in this fight, the elder would not hesitate to join in and help his protege out.

“Come on then, you asshole.” Yuki grabbed her weapons, just as primitive as her enemy’s. “I’ll give you a coming-of-age experience you won’t forget for the rest of your shitty life!” The alien howled and leaped towards her. Did he seriously think she would just stand there motionless and let him stab her? She leaned aside to avoid his spear and pointed her own against him. His own momentum worked against him now, earning him a long scratch on the side of his chest. He jumped away from her, staring at the dark blood dripping from his wound in disbelief. Screecher's faces were surprisingly humanoid, but their huge eyes were black instead of white, with large yellow irises and vertical pupils similar to cats. Their noses were bigger and longer to accommodate the increased number of sensory cells for their heightened sense of smell.

“Eeeee-ech!” He spat out furiously.

“Ech yourself, dummy,” Yuki teased him. The Screechers were smart, much smarter than what they looked like, but just like humans, they tended to act irrationally when angry. This one could have just thrown one of his spears at her, she wouldn’t be able to dodge it from such a short distance, but now he was angry and wanted to deal with her from up close. Without a rifle, that was Yuki’s only chance to at least hurt him.

Her spear didn’t do her much good as he sprinted to her, the alien just waved his hand against it, breaking the piece of wood in two, and knocking her to the ground. He landed above her on all four and lifted one arm, the sharp claws ready to rip her throat open. The triumphant smirk on his face quickly turned into a scream of pain when she raised her knife and plunged it between his ribs, right into the spot where she assumed one of his two hearts should be. She must have missed it because he didn’t die. He straightened up instead, trying to grab the small hilt of the knife with his long fingers. The blood pouring from his wound made everything slippery and he was just hurting himself even more. Yuki didn’t wait for him to finish what he was doing and quickly rolled over to her stomach and crawled away from him.

Just as she thought she was in a safe distance and tried to get up, she heard a loud stomp right next to her and a strong kick into her stomach threw her a few yards away. Luckily she landed in a pile of leaves and avoided the stones and roots sticking from the ground, but still, all she could do was curl up into a small hurting ball and try not to throw up her intestines.

“Uk-uk! EEEEE!” The older Screecher turned to the younger one, shrieking at him. They finally managed to pull out Yuki’s knife but the bleeding only got stronger.

“Don’t yell at him. He sucks but that only means you were a shitty teacher.” Yuki laughed and coughed up some blood. That was not good. The older alien hissed violently and walked over towards her. Yuki tried to stand up, she really didn’t want to die on her knees, but her body was not cooperating. He leisurely kicked her again, this time she could distinctly hear a rib crack. She landed on her back and her fingers desperately scoured the ground for anything that could be used as a weapon. A branch, a bone, a stone, whatever. It just felt so lame to die empty-handed. As he leaned over her, she could admire his necklace. The trophies were mostly human ears and noses, but there were some other things that looked like Screecher parts - claws, noses, and something that looked very much like a gigantic penis. She turned her head in disgust as it rocked over her face, determined not to go out with an alien dick in her mouth.

Suddenly, the Screecher let out a quiet groan and wavered. It took a second for Yuki to notice the tip of something bloodied, sharp, and shiny sticking out from the front of his chest. Ignoring the sharp pain in her ribcage, she managed to roll away just in time before the massive alien body collapsed to the ground. She squinted through the tears of pain to see a long wooden handle sticking out from the alien's back. A spear probably, thrown with much greater strength than any human could ever develop. Which only meant one thing - there were more of them around here.

The new arrival was a well-built adult with brown fur, and for some reason had blue stripes painted over his head and chest. Yuki had never seen or heard of anything like that before. He reached onto his back to grab a new spear. “Ek-ek-ek.” He let out a strange whooping noise as he approached the younger Screecher. Yuki’s first opponent was now kneeling in the dirt, his hands pushed against the wound on his chest, unable to stop the blood pouring out. It looked like although she missed the heart, she still cut through something important enough to kill him. A fat lot of good it did for her.

The blue-striped alien came to the young one, watched him for a second, and then mercilessly shoved the spear through his neck. Bending over to the body, he pulled out a knife and started cutting something off. A knife. An actual knife made out of actual metal. Crude and primitive maybe, but still ways off from the sharpened bones and stones the others used. Yuki remembered that the tip of his first spear was also shinier than you would expect from a bone. How was this possible?

Yuki got up on all four and grabbed the hilt of the spear sticking from the dead Screecher next to her, trying to wrest it off his body. When it finally slid out with a loud slurping noise, she couldn’t keep her balance and fell back onto the ground. “Ek-ek-ek.” The alien was standing a few steps away from her, watching her curiously, his ugly teeth sticking out in a wide grin. Yuki stood up, using the spear as a cane, taking her time to look at the metallic spearhead. A low-quality iron, their metallurgy certainly wasn't the state of the art, but just the fact that they had something that could be called metallurgy was a huge breakthrough. Not that it would help Yuki in any way in her current situation.

He made the whooping sound again and Yuki snapped at him. "Are you actually laughing at me?! Come over here, I'll give you something to laugh at."

He stepped closer and she pointed his bloodied spear in his direction. It was merely a gesture, she was so weak she could barely stand unsupported, and the Screecher knew it. "K'eeh rhsh," he snorted and easily knocked the weapon out of her hands.

"Fuck you too." Yuki had to tilt her head back a lot to look directly into his eyes. He looked back at her, strangely quiet and motionless. "So what are you waiting for?" Yuki staggered. It hurt to stand, talk, even just breathe. Darkness slowly crept to the corners of her field of vision. She blinked to get it out but it only got bigger until she slowly collapsed to the ground.

She woke up into a world of cold and pain, lying on wet ground in a very uncomfortable position. An attempt to move revealed her hands are tied behind her back and there is a rope around her neck. “S-shit,” she mumbled through the gritting teeth. The place was unfamiliar to her, there was a small stream running right between two huge trees. How did she get here? The answer was sitting next to her, munching on some pink berries, and digging through her improvised backpack.

The blue-striped Screecher was methodically pulling things out, carefully observing and sniffing them before putting them on the ground. Yuki didn’t gather many things, just a small water canteen she found in the alien shipwreck and some food wrapped in thick green leaves - the remains of a grilled lizard and some fruit she picked because it looked and smelled nice but didn’t have the courage to test it yet. And she wasn’t going to, the Screecher just looked at it and threw it away. Probably a good thing she didn’t eat it. And then, on the very bottom of the bag, there was her notebook. She had grown very attached to it, every evening she drew what she saw on that day, she added notes about peculiar creatures she met, even sketched a rough map of where she had been. A part of her soul was on those pages and now that creature pulled it out with his dirty claws. “Don’t touch that!” Yuki acted before thinking, getting up on her knees and trying to lunge forward. The rope around her neck tightened as she moved, strangling her.

The Screecher got up and watched her gasp for air for a few moments. He laughed and leaned over her, releasing the rope just enough so she could breathe. Then he went back to ignoring her, intrigued by the thing she was trying to protect so much. His fingers swiped through the pages surprisingly gently and he stared at each page, making various humming and growling sounds. Yuki tried to wiggle herself into a bit more comfortable position without strangling herself again and ended up sitting with her back against a thick above-ground root. The pain from the broken rib was agonizing, it felt like being stabbed with each breath she took. Plus she really needed to scratch her nose, which was an impossible task with the hands tied behind her back.

At least those feelings helped her overcome the paralyzing fear that threatened to take over her. It seemed that for now her nose, ears, and other body parts were in the correct position, but for how long? He didn’t kill her right away, which was terrifying - the Screechers rarely took prisoners. And when they did… the rescue teams usually found only bones, picked clean, with distinct claw and teeth marks. Was he keeping her around just to have fresh meat for dinner? Or bringing her home for his offspring to practice killing as the pterroes did? None of the options she could think of were optimistic.

He finished browsing the notebook, closed it, and put it back into the bag along with her other things. After attaching the bag to his belt (Yuki noticed that instead of a simple waistcloth he was actually wearing something vaguely resembling shorts) he walked back to her, extending his hand. There were a couple of the pink berries he had been eating earlier on his palm. Yuki was hungry, but not that hungry. Also, she remembered a story her mother told her, about an old hag living in an abandoned factory in the middle of the woods. The hag captured people, locked them in cages, and stuffed them with food until they were nicely fat. Then she ate them. Yuki was always terrified of that story. Why would you tell something like that to children? Anyway, she certainly wasn’t going to season her own flesh for him by eating whatever that thing was. She tightly closed her lips and shook her head. He shrugged in an oddly human way and poured the berries into his mouth.

He grabbed the other end of the rope that was around her neck, untied it from a tree, and then grabbed her arm to pull her up. Yuki had to bite her tongue so as not to shout out in pain. The rope straightened as he started walking and she had to follow unless she wanted to fall and smash her face. It was a nightmare. Even under normal circumstances, moving through these woods was complicated, having to climb over roots sticking out of the ground, avoiding bushes and low-hanging branches, carefully watching each step, because what seemed like a twig from a distance could turn out to be a poisonous snake when you step on it. With her hands tied behind her back, she had no way to keep balance. Her lungs were on fire and her entire abdomen was pulsing in pain. Yuki wondered whether she had some internal injuries and how long it would take for her to die from them. Plus the Screecher’s legs were about twice as long as hers, so for his casual stride, she would have to jog to keep up the pace.

She slipped on a moldy rock and banged her knee and then moments later she stumbled over a root and fell into a muddy puddle. “Alright, that’s it! I’m done with you!” That was all she could shout before the rope cut off her air supply. She gave up and stayed down, hoping she would just pass out quickly. The alien stopped pulling the rope and went back to her, his huge figure looming over her. “Yea, that’s right,” Yuki whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’m not making another step unless you untie me. If you wanna drag my dead body around, suit yourself,” she spat out and closed her eyes. The mud was surprisingly comfortable, albeit cold.

The Screecher tilted his head back and let out a long loud scream. Anyone and anything in a few miles radius must have heard that terrifying noise. He crouched beside her and hissed violently, but she just raised her brow and continued to ignore him. What she couldn’t ignore anymore was when his knife touched the skin on her throat. Part of her just wished it to be over, but there was a part of her that desperately clung to staying alive at all costs. “Look,” she tried to sound calm, knowing he didn't understand a word she was saying. “You want me to walk, fine, I’ll walk. But it will all go much faster and easier if you untie me. It’s not like I could outrun you.” That idea was amusing. They stared at each other for a few moments before the Screecher finally made a decision and jerked the knife up, cutting through the noose around her neck. Yuki closed her eyes in relief. He helped her up and quickly untied her hands. “Thank you,” she said quietly, rubbing her wrists. The Screecher just snorted and started moving again, easily jumping over a fallen tree and then stopping to see what she would do. Yuki crawled underneath it, she was already covered in mud, putting on some extra didn’t bother her. Her situation still sucked, but at least now she could move freely. Just as she said, she couldn’t hope to outrun the Screecher, but now she was ready to grab an opportunity, should one arise.

It felt like they walked for ages even though it was probably just an hour or two before her captor finally stopped on a small clearing dominated by a tree with a huge above-ground root system that created holes and caverns of various sizes. The Screecher motioned her to stop and Yuki didn't protest, sitting down on a log totally exhausted, and carefully lifted her T-shirt. A huge bruise covered the entire side of her ribcage, black, blue, and yellow spots mixed together like some abstract art. Yuki knew she should wrap her chest in tight bandages to help the broken rib heal, but even if she was willing to sacrifice a part of her huge alien shirt to do that, it’s not like her new friend would just lend her a knife. She looked at him, curious about what he was doing, just to see him quietly creeping around the tree, peeking into the holes, and occasionally poking there with his spear.

Yuki let him do his weird stuff and slowly walked towards a small stream that was running around the clearing. The water seemed to be ever-present in these forests, anywhere you went you eventually came across a river, a stream, a lake, or a swamp. Yuki gathered some water with her hands and splashed it against her face. It was warmer than she expected. Sure, it was strides away from a hot bubble bath, but at least it didn’t feel like her skin was being pinched by thousands of tiny needles. She took off the large shirt she stole from a dead alien and was now using as a cloak, and tried to rinse the stains off as best as she could without an actual washing machine.

When she got back to the Screecher, he was just gutting and skinning an armadillo-looking creature he pulled out of a tree hole, all while carefully watching her, ready to jump at her in case she strode too far off. Yuki hung the wet shirt on a tree branch and started to collect firewood, hissing in pain every time she leaned over or crouched.

“Aren’t we just like a happy couple going camping?” she mumbled ironically when they sat near a small fire and watched the armadillo sizzle above the flames. This time she didn’t refuse when he offered her food. If she was going to be stumbling through the forest the entire next day, she needed to gather some strength. She actually regretted not having her notebook to draw the Screecher the way he was sitting there, staring in the flames and eating, tearing the meat off the bones with his sharp teeth. Despite it being primitive and quite scary, or maybe even because of that, it seemed worth recording. Damn her artistic soul. She should be thinking about how to get out of this mess, not about the influence natural light has on the scene.

Her plans to sneak out at night quickly turned to dust when the Screecher forced her to crawl into one of the empty holes under the tree and slept blocking the only exit. Still, it was better than sleeping tied up which was apparently the other option. The next morning they continued their journey. Yuki had to admit that he knew his way around these woods and was always able to find the most easily passable way. Still, his pace was murderous and she could barely keep up. Just when she thought they would spend another night camping outside, a short screech pierced the silence. It came from somewhere above. Yuki’s ‘friend’ answered with a similar sound and kept going. “Advanced patrol,” Yuki mumbled to herself. That must have meant they were getting closer to wherever they were headed.

Yuki’s heart started racing. She thought she would have more time to escape but right now she didn’t see a way out. Sure, she could try to run or fight, but without any real chance of surviving it would be an empty gesture, a stupid one for that matter.

The forest ended in a small valley and Yuki had to stop and stare at the view. It was breathtaking. There was an azure lake in the center and groups of rather primitive huts were scattered along its banks. The sides of the valley were protected by steep mountains and the further end was closed off by a tall cliff with an impressive waterfall. It was a good place to defend, the only reasonable access was the forest through which they just arrived. Sure, small groups of enemies could cross the mountains or use ropes to climb down the cliff, and of course, it was completely vulnerable to an airborne assault, but all things considered, it was a good place for a village. The Screecher wasn’t of the most patient kind, he pulled out one of his spears and poked her with the shaft.

Yuki had visited some Screecher settlements before, mostly to kill everyone inside and burn it down to the ground. She hated those kinds of missions, killing helpless elders and children was not really her thing, but the locals would hardly appreciate that kind of information even if she had a way to tell them. If angry stares could kill, she would be dead a hundred times over. She kept her head down, not wanting to anger the small crowd that gathered around, wondering what humans would do if the situation was reversed. Would they throw rotten eggs and tomatoes? Stones? Would some wannabe hero just pull out a gun and get it over with? The Screechers just stood there in silence. Ironically, they looked just as afraid of her as she was of them.

Even though she tried not to look around much, she noticed some odd things. The first one was naturally the forge. A large hut built aside from others with smoke and loud metallic banging coming from inside. Primitive, but still ways ahead of anything she had seen in Screecher villages before. The second, and probably the most notable difference was the locals’ fur. Normally, a tribe living together like this would have a similar color but here it seemed like the villagers came from all over the continent, if not all over the planet. Brown and black Screechers were standing next to the beige and yellow ones, even though their original tribes were most likely natural enemies. The only thing they had in common was the blue stripes painted on their chests.

She was led through the village to the central hut and she and her guide both entered it. It was dark and a bit smokey and Yuki had to wait a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Meanwhile, the Screecher approached a figure sitting on a long bench covered in pelts next to a fireplace in the center of the room. He bowed his head and they started a vivid debate full of screeching, growling, and barking. Yuki’s friend was angry but the other voice sounded almost calm, at least for a Screecher. If they were having an argument, the latter was definitely winning. Her guide motioned her to come closer and she reluctantly took a few steps towards the fireplace.

The second Screecher was a female, a very old one, most likely the local Matriarch. The Screechers didn’t really care about their leaders’ genders, they followed the strong for their power and the old for their wisdom. Tribes were led by a council of the elders which was ruled by either a Matriarch or a Patriarch. This one’s fur was bright white, safe for the blue stripes, and she looked almost ancient, her wrinkled skin was full of scars. Yuki looked at some of them more carefully and then gulped audibly. She thought she was in trouble before, but now it became obvious she was doomed. Because those scars, a set of perfect circles around the Screecher’s neck, were caused by humans. And it was not in combat, which at least would be something they might tolerate. No, these wounds were caused by an electric collar, a rather brutal device used in labor camps to keep the aliens under control. Yuki had no idea that some Screechers managed to escape the camps. The thought of being brutally tortured in front of the whole village suddenly became the most probable outcome of this situation.

The Matriarch leaned forward, her eyes carefully studying Yuki’s face. She murmured something and the other Screecher responded by grabbing Yuki’s arm and pulling her closer. “Tak, tak,” the Matriarch clattered, nodded, and got up. She moved slowly, as old people with sore joints did, and Yuki noticed one of her legs was twisted strangely. It didn’t stop her from moving around though, using an ornate spear as a cane she hobbled to Yuki. “See’wah,” she said, pointing at herself.

Yuki stared at her. She expected a lot of things to happen, but this was not one of them. Did the elder just tell her her name? The Screechers have never responded to any attempts to communicate with them or come up with their own. Violence seemed to be their only method of communication, at least with humans. Until now. “Uh…,” Yuki hesitated. “Yuki.” She pointed at her chest, deciding that a small friendly conversation can’t hurt.

“Yuh’kee.” See’wah rolled the name on her tongue while the other Screecher laughed. Great, her name probably meant something funny in their language. The Matriarch turned to him, barked a few orders, and hobbled back to her chair.

He just stared at her in disbelief. See’wah repeated herself, sounding stronger and louder this time, and when he still didn’t react, she smacked his head with her cane. He growled violently, showing all his teeth, but she looked unamused. Snorting, he turned to Yuki. “Gree,” he said, banging his fist against his chest.

Yuki opened her mouth to answer him, but he just stormed out, leaving her alone with the Matriarch. Actually, they were not alone, she just now noticed that there were at least two guards hidden in the shadowy corners. She turned back to See’wah, who gestured to sit beside her. Yuki walked over to her, bewildered. The furniture was designed for 8-foot tall users so Yuki had to climb up and even then she felt like a kid invited to the adult table. They sat there in silence for a moment, Yuki pondering what the hell was happening and See’wah just staring into the flames. “Akh,” she said eventually and pointed towards the fire, looking at Yuki.

Yuki straightened up, prepared for an attack, certain that the Matriarch will have her thrown into the flames. What else would she do with a human? The labor camps were a terrible place, even from a battle-hardened soldier perspective. Screechers were treated as slaves, even worse, as animals, shocked or beaten up at any sign of disobedience. Some of the guards enjoyed themselves so much they would torture the aliens without any reason at all. Yuki couldn’t even imagine what horrors See’wah went through. But nothing happened, the guards didn’t jump out of the shadows to burn her alive.

“Akh,” the Matriarch repeated vigorously, waving her cane over the flames.

A small part of Yuki’s brain operating in a different mode came up with a possible solution. A strange one, but… maybe? “Fire?” she asked, pointing at the fireplace. “Is ‘akh’ fire?” She was sure she pronounced the word wrong, her vocal cords weren't used to making such sounds, but See’wah nodded. Well, be damned. "But why?" She mumbled quietly to herself. The Matriarch grinned and tapped at the scars on her neck. That was not really an explanation, at least not one Yuki was hoping for, but who knows what See’wah meant by that. The brutal torture and death still weren’t completely off the table. It just looked like she was about to receive some education first.

---

ELYSIUM SYSTEM GATEWAY
SCIENCE VESSEL NHS HOPEFUL

---

It was a not so regular day on the NHS Hopeful when the gate opened. The captain of course went to question the engineers at site. The gateway hasn't been used for years and beyond that was deactivated. This obviously confused the hell out of the captain who was in-charge of getting the gate operational and studying it. An engineer was summoned to the bridge so that the captain could question the engineers about it, but when he did he was told that it just turned on.

"What the hell do you mean it just turned on? Nothing just turns on!"

"Uh well sir, at first it went wooooop and then fshhhhhhhhhhh and then BANG! it just opened all bright and whirring and everything!" The engineer explained along with comedically appropriate hand gestures.

The captain of the Hopeful paused and stared at the engineer with a blank expression before having the understandable reaction of being confused, "I- Wait- Explain it to me again."

The engineer repeated his explanation, again with appropriate hand gestures, "It went woop, fsshhhh, and then BANG!"

"I'll pretend that I understand what that means and ask how it went woop, fshhh, and then bang."

"Um... We don't know sir." the engineer shrugged.

It was at this point the captain gave up asking and put a palm to his face, "Ugh! We're not going to get anywhere with this! Comms contact the Lead Director, he's gonna wanna hear this."

As the bridge was contacting New Haven, Navigation chimed in.

"Conn, Navigation."

The captain replied, "Go ahead Navigation."

"Navigation is recieving a signal from the gate. It looks to be a star map. Our files have been updated and it seems we're now able to interface with the gate and choose a destination. I think you should know, Earth is on here too."

The captain's eyes widened when heard about Earth – the long-lost homeland. "Understood Navigation, we'll relay that information to the Lead Director."

The captain sat back into his chair and gave a big sigh. "It's going to be a long and busy day."

---

NEW HAVEN
LEAD DIRECTOR'S OFFICE

---

The director was going about his regular day blasting music as loud as he possibly could and dancing to the beat in his private office as he signed read and signed off on different reports and requests. The room itself looked organized, sanitized, and overall plain. If it weren't for the posters and little doodads that the Lead Director used to decorate his office, it would look completely boring.

"Computer! Any status update on the gate?" he asked while grabbing a latte off of his desk and taking a loud audible sip.

"Funny you should ask sir..." The computer replied, "... There's a message from Captain Francis Mcbadbad, he reports that the gate has is operational."

In an instant he spat out his latte and he turned towards the many holographic screens and said, "You said what now!?"

"He also reports that-"

"Actually, never mind! I'm no imbecile! I heard what you said, patch him through!"

The computer minimized all holographic displays in order to create a three-dimensional rendition of the Hopeful's bridge, this was also the same for the Hopeful where Lead Director Hubert Seymour would be rendered in full 3D for the crew.

"Francis! Where are you!"

"I'm right behind you sir."

Hubert then let out a small yelp of panic as captain Francis replied, "AAH! JEEZUS! Computer! Lower volume! Why do you always put it at 200%!?"

Hubert then proceeded to straighten himself out and addressed the captain.

"So, I hear the Gate is operational! How'd you do it?"

Francis then replied, "Well... We didn't."

"I'm sorry what?"

"The engineers basically said, they don't know how it turned on. They say it went woop, fshhh, and bang!"

Hubert then raised an eyebrow, "A What, a what, and a what?"

"Basically, it just sparked to life and now we're looking at a very bright and very open gate. But that's not the only thing..."

The captain then sent a live feed of the new navigational charts. "... The gate is giving us access to all these new locations. Though, the people here are inclined to explore Earth first."

Hubert put a hand to his chin and wiggled his fancy mustache mulling it over, "Alright then! Go explore Earth, if you encounter anything record it for posterity so that we may all study it!"

"Uh... Yes sir, I'll get underway, but shouldn't we-"

"Oh yes, this'll be a good test too! Try to keep the connection! I wonder if it'll hold"

"S-Sir, You don't surely mean we go through now do you?" the captain loosened his collar as a slew of things could happen going through the gate. For all they know it might malfunction and they'll get stranded in space or worse torn to shreds at an atomic level.

"Captain Francis, science waits for no man! We shall boldly and quite recklessly go where we've been to before!"

"Y-Yes sir... Helmsman, full ahead."

The bridge began going through the motions. The communications between the various stations began to increase as all hands braced for what lie ahead. The ship vibrated as it began accelerating towards the gate.

---

SOL SYSTEM GATEWAY
EARTH

---

The NHS Hopeful entered one end and emerged on the other side only to behold the lost homeworld of Earth. Miraculously the communications between New Haven and Sol held.

Hubert shrugged as he looked at Earth, “Well… That’s almost pretty much what I expected seeing Earth.”

Francis and his crew looked on to the once verdant world – now a ruin. It was hard to believe that this was once the homeworld of the Human race. There were many descriptions and depictions that were saved from the first colonists of Earth before it became a ruin. Green forest, deep blue oceans, golden sands – a whole world of color.

“I know I should probably be quiet and solemn, but can we please focus on the massive, hobbled together space station right hovering right above it?”

The moment Hubert mentioned this, Francis shouted, “Mr.Gilligan, magnify image!”

In an instant, the screen magnified the image of the space station. The metallic structure looked as if it had different parts that were cobbled together. It was incredibly sophisticated and distinct in some places and suggested that it was made by different cultures.

“Sir, this doesn’t match anything we know from the first colonists.” Said one of the crew members.

Hubert was quick to act, “Inaction breeds laziness! Open all communication channels and announce our presence! I mean, not like it’s needed. If they can make that they probably know we’re here already.”

Francis pressed a button on his captain’s chair and said, “Comms Conn…”

The comms’ station replied, “Conn Comms, what do you need sir?”

“The Lead Director wants to address our welcome party, open broadcast, all frequencies.”

Francis waited for a notification for broadcasting before giving the Lead Director a thumbs up. Hubert then began his open broadcast with the signature flamboyant flare in his voice speaking in the Old English Tongue.

“Greetings fellow 'presumably' descendants of Earth! We’re from New Haven representing the New Haven Directorate! We come in peace with the intention of studying Earth and exploring new strange worlds! To signify our intentions of peace, I shall sing you a song of my people!”

Hubert then presses a button on his glove and New Haven rock music (thematically similar to that of Back in Black by AC/DC) begins to play. The entire bridge then gets engulfed in dynamic disco lighting as a mic emerges out of the ceiling from Hubert’s personal office. What happened next was nothing captain Francis or the crew of the Hopeful ever thought they’d see – a singing, dancing, rock star of a Lead Director represent New Haven through the power of rock & roll.

However, the Lead Director knows that the people who might be listening to the broadcast might not even speak old English at all, or in-fact, understand New Haven's reconstruction of Old English. This broadcast all hinges on whether or not the Humans or Aliens listening on the other side can decipher his rhythmic screeching as actual intelligible words. He knew this, but did it anyway to illicit a response and hopefully decipher their language to communicate back.

"I DON'T KNOW BUT I'VE BEEN TOLD!" A single voice screamed through a megaphone.

"I DON'T KNOW BUT I'VE BEEN TOLD." Came the reply, barked out by far more people.

"LIFE OFFWORLD CAN GET REAL OLD." The back-and-forth continued.

"LIFE OFFWORLD CAN GET REAL OLD." Again came the response.

"OUR ALLIES CALLED US SAID TO COME!" Crackled the megaphone.

"OUR ALLIES CALLED US SAID TO COME!" Echoed the response.

"TO KICK THE ASS OF REBEL SCUM!" This line was said with some relish, even through the megaphone's distortion.

"TO KICK THE ASS OF REBEL SCUM!" The reply was equally as enthusiastic.

"MATUVISTAN VOLUNTEER CORPS!" Shouted the drill sergeant.

"OOOOOOOORAH!" Rippled out from the crowd of uniformed soldiers, rifles held high.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? TO NOT BE HEARD? PUT SOME EFFORT INTO IT!" Spittle flew from the drill sergeant's mouth.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORAH!" Came the second response, so loud that it threatened the integrity of nearby windows.

"THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!" The soldiers continued marching, another cadence call starting up as they did so. The Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Corps were prepared and ready, drawn predominantly from the army, but a few men-at-arms and marines had also joined the crew, being formed into auxiliary units. It wasn't a large force: only a few thousand soldiers, but they were here to assist, not to steal all the glory. This was the final batch of the Expeditionary Corps to be sent to New Hollywood, the soldiers marching their way towards the spaceport that would carry them into the stars. For many, this was their first time ever leaving Matuvista, and for some, it was their last time ever seeing their homeworld.

But the saints could ferry a soldier to the afterlife no matter where they fell, and so they ventured forth, confident and ready to keep another oligarchic nation from losing its way. They were put under the command of an up-and-coming young jetknight: one Isabella de Lobasla, the person to propose the alliance to her politically influential father. Comporting herself well on this task, regardless on its actual success, could springboard her political career... Or relegate her to being just another jetknight commander without a future. Still aboard the Santa De Angelo, the young woman took on her new duties with the taste and decorum required by a patrician, no matter how much she wanted to stay and continue to indulge with her new oligarch friends.

---

If there was one thing the Zetan Consciousness was good at doing, it was learning from its mistakes. For too long, they had allowed others to control the narrative. Now, despite the gala actively ongoing, they were not about to let another opportunity slip past them. Sigma-Devi was currently occupied with the gala, but Alpha-Newton was not. There was the small problem that Alpha-Newton was not a diplomat, but this was such a small problem that it hadn't even occurred to the Collective. They were now regretting this.

Still, he was the only person available to respond to this 'New Haven Directorate' from Zeta, and they needed to hit the ground running. Once the music was done, the various communications beacons aboard the Zetan part of the meeting space turned towards this new craft, and Alpha-Newton's monotone voice sounded out.

"The song was rather... Enjoyable to listen to. My name is Alpha-Newton, representative of the Zetan Consciousness, a nation dedicated to furthering mankind's understanding of the universe. You have arrived at the Meeting Place, an international neutral zone for the various galactic nations to interact with each other. I am afraid you've caught us at a slightly awkward time: much of our diplomatic staff are currently aboard the rather large vessel you can see in orbit some distance away from us for a gala." He paused for a moment.

"However, we are both happy and available to take guests at this time. Should you desire to meet face to face, we can supply directions and docking instructions to our section of the Meeting Place."

Columbia
Province of Southern Cascadia
Port town of Houie

The ethereal sounds of gunfire echoed through the air…the Zetans made their final advance in all corners, what remained of the ground elements of Task Force Retribution, alongside a handful of Undefeated survivors, were now boxed in… gruesome scenes flashed in and out, bodies torn limb from limb, corpse scattered in the tunnels…they all ran, the battle was lost, all that mattered now was survival. The retreat, however, would come at a cost, many were too injured to even move, a sacrifice was to be made, a scene shifted to a mortally wounded Malcom alongside a tearful Isana, their hands grasping tightly as the couple looked to each other for the last time. “Like hell I’m leaving you behind!” A voice cried out in protest. “Gravemakers stick together to the bitter end!”

“We already lost Binat! I’m not throwing away more lives!” Malcom shouted before succumbing to a coughing fit, hacking out blood. “Gideon….you still have a chance…”

Isana looked to Gideon with a sorrowful expression. “Live for us, tell our families we love them, please...”

“This is my final order.” Malcom said, weakly. “Live. Save as many people as you can, and live goddamnit.” The scene shifted once more as Gideon led what remained of the invasion force away from the enemy, Malcom, Isana, and the others making a last despite stand to stave off their advance, a series of gunfire echoing through the tunnel, followed by an explosion before all went silent…
Gideon closed his eyes as he found himself in a dark void, surrounded by the corpses of his fallen brothers in arms, crying out in anguish as he witnessed the unthinkable.

Gideon jolted up from his bed, the early sunrise beaming through the windows, break out in cold sweat, breathing in a rapid pace as the room got blurry, same damn nightmare as many times before. “Fuck..” He cursed to himself as jumped off the bed, washing his face, starring into the mirror to see not a War Hero….but a scarred, broken old man. A short while later, Gideon stood outside on his apartment’s balcony, taking in the sights before him, familiar scent of the sea breeze taking over the air, he can at least can take solace in the fact that Columbia still stands, his real war being over long ago…but the pain of losing his friends, his only family, is too much to handle, it is a pain that never will truly go away.

“I need a drink.”

---

(To @Liotrent)
Earth
The Meeting Place
Columbian Embassy.
Once the New Havenist’s rather…..unorthodox introduction came to a close, the guards and staff that remained behind to hold the fort were left with puzzled looks, some more amused than others. “That was a banger, I gotta admit.” One of the Republican Guardsmen noted.

Similar to the Zetans, the Columbians had found themselves in a rather awkward position, the Ambassador himself not available at this time, but of course, he had left his secretary in charge of the Embassy in times like this, and it was all up to her now. Secretary, or rather, Acting Ambassador Janna Ranford was a very recent addition to the Columbian Embassy, coming at the recommendation as a “fresh…but promising talent.” And with the new arrivals, this could be her opportunity to prove herself. Janna clumsily stood right up, the commotion garnering the Guard Captain’s attention. “Ma’am?”

“Captain, send an invite to our new guests. Tell them the Columbian Republic welcomes them to the Meeting Place, and we’ll gladly offer them a short tour.”

^{Addressing @Irredeemable@Sigma}

---

SOL SYSTEM
EARTH
MEETING PLACE

---

After the exhilarating performance, comms chimed in and exclaimed, "Oh my god that actually worked!"

Francis put comms back in line, "Your training Mr. Jenkins, what do you mean that worked?"

"Oh- uh sorry sir! We're receiving two transmissions from the space station, relaying both to you now!"

The Lead Director basically put a triumphant fist in the air (kinda like that one queen meme) and shouted, "I'm a fucken' genius! OH YEAH BABY!"

Everyone, including Captain Francis Mcbadbad, couldn't believe that such a hairbrained introduction would work so well. For one, despite the Zetans sounding confused and hesitant (as they honestly should be) they still offered to introduce themselves and accept envoys. For two, the Columbians, who seemed a little more enthusiastic, were also offering to do the same thing.

"Wow, a diplomatic choice already. Which one should we-" Before Francis could even finish his sentence, Hubert let out yet another top-notch plan.

"We'll go to both of them!"

"Wait what!?" Francis exclaimed.

Hubert slowly turned to Francis before repeating himself slowly, "Francis, maybe you should increase my volume, I think you may have set me too low... Let me just repeat what I said... We'll go to both of them. It's not that hard."

"Sir, unless you've noticed, there's only one of me."

"Oh Francis, you're not the one going to them, I will!"

Francis and the crew looked understandably confused. How would the director go to both places at the same time even when he's not physically present? Hubert saw this confusion, sighed, and then frustratedly asked "You're the crew of the Hopeful, the most advanced science vessel ever fielded, crewed with New Haven's best men and women, and you can't even figure out that all I need is an android and a portable wifi module? Where in the world did the navy find you egg heads?"

The crew embarrassed, shocked even, didn't flinch when they were asked this question - deer in headlights. After what felt like a minute of long silence, Francis finally came to his senses and barked out orders, "Well you heard the lead director! get to work!"

After that Francis pressed another button on his captain's chair and said "Engineering Conn."

The Engineering section then replied promptly, "Conn Engineering."

"I need two Androids capable of receiving command inputs from New Haven, can it be done?"

"Aye sir! When do you need them?"

"Now."

Engineering paused in their response then asked, "Now sir? Like 'now' now?"

Francis replied, "Uh yeah now, why? Is there a problem?"

"Can you give us like maybe five minutes sir?" There was a slight crack in the Engineer's voice.

Francis, having seen everything replied coldly, "You've got two minutes."

He then turned his attention back to Hubert who was calibrating his 3D sensors while also talking to the computer.

"... Computer! Wake up Director Dick Wazzinski and tell him it's urgent. Turn on the sprinkler system if you have to! Then tell him to get over to his office on the double!"

The computer replied in its normal happy tone, "Yes Director, would you also like another latte?"

"Of course I'd like another latte! We just met other people beyond our little piece of paradise! Who wouldn't want a celebratory latte! Especially since I spat out my earlier one."

Francis joined the conversation, "Sir, what should we send as a reply to the two... Er... Nations? Nations. What should we send to the two nations ambassadors?"

Hubert looked at Francis, put his hand to his chin before replying in an exaggeratedly professional tone, "Tell them this, the lead director is willing to meet with you. He'll be speaking through an Android because he's currently not physically on-board this ship, but back at New Haven. However, we will not miss this opportunity to meet. The android will also be accompanied by two trained representatives should his internet fail... There, that sounds like something you'd say Francis, send that!"

Francis then stared at Hubert for a moment before shaking his head and relaying the message through communications.

---

ELYSIUM SYSTEM
NEW HAVEN
CAPITAL CITY ATHENIA

---

Meanwhile back at home, a man was being rudely awakened by his computer system. An incessant, droning beep pierced Dick Wazzinski's ears.

"Uuuuugh- Computer, turn off the alarm... It's not even six o'clock yet."

The computer, recognizing that Director Wazzinski was not going to wake up, did as the Lead Director instructed and turned on the water sprinklers. In an instant the director jolted out of his bed angry, confused, and unable to speak coherently.

"Uhgn Wha- I- Compfunter- Shtop! Sphop! I'm awake!"

The computer did as it was told recognizing that Director Dick Wazzinski was awake. The room then filled with hot air and cycled for a few minutes until the room, and subsequently Dick, was dry.

"Computer... Why did you do this to me?" He took his glasses off of a table beside his bed and put it on, blinking twice to let his eyes adjust.

The computer then displayed a three dimensional hologram of recent events before replying, "The Lead Director requires you in your personal office, immediately."

Dick's eyes widen. He looks over the hologram again, walking circles around it. He turns around to look away only to look back and confirm he's not dreaming. He's seeing and hearing first contact with what is presumed to be the other surviving colonies and possibly alien life.

"Computer... Screw going to the office, I'm taking that call here." Dick then goes to his wardrobe, gets his best suit, styles his hair, looks in the mirror to make sure his teeth are clean and his glasses are on right.

"Alright. I'm ready, put me in computer!"

The One went on the ship, everyone taking their positions like a well oiled machine. A James would open a door while another one would close, it was all clockwork. No talking, no signs, everyone would instinctively know what the other would do.

Kayla and her team would be led towards the bridge of the ship which occupied a very big part of the front of the ship. Screens everywhere showing each part of the ship but the kitchens. Ones would move between each other relaying messages from one side of the ship to the other, in constant motion.

A different Grant than before, guided Kayla towards a seat right next to the Captain’s seat.

“ Ambassador Kayla, if there is something that you’ll need from us, please let us know. Food is being prepped as we speak and refreshments are on their way. ”

Ambassador? That was a new one. Kayla had been Citizen, Candidate, Student, Oligarch, and Liaison. The ECU was full of titles. But ambassador has a satisfying ring, doesn’t it?

Well, the- ahem, ambassador- was too busy to really respond. She was engrossed in watching the news feed she’d downloaded just before heading off the Meeting Place, one loaded with the most recent events on New Hollywood- and delivered with the usual theatrical flair. Everything was monumental, the way the anchormen presented it. Everything was huge news.

Except for one thing, that is. It scrolled by the bottom of the screen with no pomp or presentation, a simple footnote, as if they barely wanted you to notice it at all.

It said: “The Office of the Savant accepts military aid from the Matuvistans.”

The anchorman kept talking about other things. He did not acknowledge the bombshell that just scrolled by underneath him; nobody did. But Kayla read it again, and it was still there.

“Military aid from the Matuvistans.”

Kayla gripped the arms of her chair. She released. She breathed in deeply, and let it out slowly. She tried to stifle the chill down her spine. A foreign army, on New Hollywood. Probably killing citizens. The ones the government wanted killed, that is.

She shook her head violently. “Um, yeah,” she asked a nearby James. “Maybe… maybe I could get some water? I’m sorry, I’ve- received very bad news.”

The lead Grant watched Kayla with interest the whole trip. Any minor movement of her eyes would make them think about what she was thinking about.
As soon as she opened her mouth to talk, half of the room turned almost at once towards her. Almost immediately, a bone-cup was handed over to her. Hot tea, still steaming hot.

“ We are very sorry to hear that. Is everything alright? We hope we haven’t offended your leaders somehow by taking you here. ” genuine concern in their voice.
Almost at once, a dozen of James approached Kayla. Ready to assist in whatever she’d require.

Kayla laughed. No, she reassured them, her leaders weren’t offended. They’re crazy, is the problem, that rebellious part of her mind thought- the same part that prompted her never to complete her tasks, or to assist the government in anything that didn’t interest her on a personal level.

Was it laziness? No, that can't be. Back in her teens, she could spend hours rigging up a prank. Or helping a friend with their school project. Or studying for her own school work. Her grades were top notch!

But then, that was the problem. She started studying ECU history, government, culture, the economy- and suddenly it all disgusted her. Enraged her. The more she learned about the way her nation truly functioned, the less she wanted to do with it. 'It's all a scam,' is what she told her non-Oligarch parents, who were so heartbroken when they realized their daughter didn't have that faith in the system they tried to instill in her. 'It's just about keeping everyone the same, acting the same, with their heads down.'

Over time, she learned to hide her rage. Manifest it in other ways. But reading about what was happening now, with the government bringing in armed soldiers from who-knows-where, made her blood boil up fresh again.

If only there was something that could be done about it.

“Yeah,” she lied to the One. “Everything is alright.”

“ As you wish, but don't be afraid to ask us anything. We are more than happy to assist our, hopefully, new ally. ” a short reply and all the James continued their initial jobs.

If the ride through the Gateway would be called bumpy, it would've been an understatement. The whole ship shuddered and metal would pop from time to time. More than once a James would fall from their seat, only to get back on it a few seconds later.

And the worst didn't happen at first, as soon as they passed through it and laid eyes upon the One planet, the thousands of the black pyramids that surrounded the space around the Gateway activated.

The same EMP pulse that brought down the first colony ship threatened to do so with the second one. All over the ship lights went off and life support would soon follow.

The Ones were calm. A few minutes after every system would turn off and the EMP pulse passed the ship, a faint screaming could be heard all over the ship for a few seconds then it would stop and start again. Kayla gripped her seat- why were they screaming?

This happened again and again, until the lights turned on.

" We are very, very sorry you had to go through that. As you can see, our "friends" left gifts for us ages after their extinction.Luckily, this time, we were prepared. "

“I wonder how much trial and error it took to get that right?” asked the one other diplomat on this meeting, a bearded man named Hanson. His lone protector muttered: “I wonder why they were screaming?”

The lead Grant smiled passively and answered the questions.

“ Up until the Gateways opened, we didn’t have any spaceships. The materials were always high in demand and we’ve decided it’s pointless. As for the screaming, it was our unique way of solving the issue with a large burst EMP pulse. ” the answer to Hanson’s question was obvious after that. It was the first time the One tried the trip.

The planet showed itself to the Ones and they've put an image of it on screen for Kayla to see.

True to the One's words, the planet was on one side painted in white and on the other side bright red. Separating them was a circle, going from one side of the planet to the other. Small writing could be seen on it, marking certain parts of the city. But the biggest label was on top of the city, it read : "Circle of One".

With their arms spread wide, Grant looked into Kayla's eyes and said, with tears of joy in his eyes " Welcome home. "

“So glad to be back?” Kayla thought that was funny. Any planet that forced someone to clone himself like this could hardly be so great. “Well, thank you for having us.”

“ Glad to be back? We’d say no but yes at the same time. Half of us felt relief when we left and the other half were homesick. ” answered a nearby James. Conflicting feelings were rare between the One but would occasionally happen.

The ship started its descent to the city, to an area called, “Market” as seen on the map. The only place the One cleared out completely of debris upon the Gateway’s opening. Ruins tall as skyscrapers were littered everywhere one could see but this one place was empty.

Upon landing, hundreds of thousands of Ones were waiting outside. Most didn’t wear clothes and those that did, had only the bare minimum on them. Upon inspecting their body, one could see burn marks, scars and old-healed bullet holes.

Kayla and the other diplomats were led outside where the Ones were all watching. Confusion turned to understanding in seconds as they watched the lead Grant with other humans.

“ We, the One, welcome you home! ” shouted the Ones around the ship.

"Oh, by Earth," cried Hanson and the protector; Kayla used a harsher word. They shielded their eyes with their hands, and sometimes each other's hands, when they walked off the ship. "By Earth," repeated Hanson, his diplomatic reserve fighting against his natural horror. They stepped onto the floor of the Market. "Sir, why do you... why do you all not wear clothes?"

The lead Grant laughed out loud and realised their mistake.

“ We completely forgot that other people need to use clothes. Sorry about that, we’ll get that issue “a-dressed” for you.

Why aren’t we wearing clothes? Why would we? Are you afraid of watching yourself in the mirror? We aren’t. ” a minor break and then the lead Grant approached Handson, looked him square in the eye and said “ Not sir. Sirs. ”. His voice was dark and the threat was clear.

“Ah, yes, of course, I apologize… sirs.” Hanson was a sociologist and anthropologist. He’d never before encountered a society like this- but then, who had? He decided it would make for a brilliant paper, to be published under the name of some Oligarch or other, if nobody stabs him with a bone knife first.

The Ones who weren’t dressed soon left the market, only to be replaced by others with clothes on.

“ Ambassador Kayla, what do you wish to see in our city? We can show you everything that we’ve explored so far. There are still places very dangerous for ourselves which will be off-limits, of course. ” the lead Grant said, smiling at Kayla.

“Oh, anything, as long as you’re all wearing clothes,” she half-joked. “We should see the ruins, yeah? The alien ones.” She laughed. “Well, I guess they’re all alien. But… the ones with the writing? See if I recognize it.”

“ We cannot promise that everywhere we’re going to go, you’ll find us wearing clothes. Resources aren’t something we have to spare but we will try to notify the others to avoid our group. ” said the lead Grant then chuckled as Kayla asked the other question.

“ This whole place is a ruin, Ambassador Kayla, but we understand what you mean. We’ll go to one of the many Vaults we’ve discovered, it’s been long abandoned even by the Immortalis. It’s about 3 kms north from the market. ” said Grant as he started walking towards the Vault.

As they were walking, groups of One would come and replace the original party of guards. One by one, all but the lead Grant was replaced by another One. They’ve gathered new knowledge and it had to be uploaded and shared with everyone.

On their way, they’d occasionally see Ones disassembling different objects, alien in origin and from time to time, explosions could be heard in the distance.

The other Ones tried to keep their distance from the party but one, dressed differently than the other Ones, could occasionally be seen watching from afar. Spear in hand and vaulting over buildings and sorts, following the group.

The ECU protector, one of the relatively few left employed, thought he recognized that kind of behavior. “Them with the spear- they’re like security?”

“ Yes and no. They are...One. We require no security here as you pose no threat to the One. We cannot say more until later. ” muttered a James which was near the soldier.

They finally approached the Vault. A massive door awaited them. Burn marks and holes in the door would make most understand that whatever opened it, wasn’t peaceful.

“ Here we are. Watch out on what you’re stepping on, sometimes automated defences will activate when pressure plates are pressed. Most are deactivated but just in case it happens, move the group behind us. We’ll gladly give our lives. ” said the lead Grant.

As they went inside, the vault lit up. Small globes light up around them making everything shine blue. Most of the corridors have been closed off due to internal damage while some had a simple skull drawn in red “paint” on the wall next to them.

Reaching inside the core of the vault, one could see hundreds of shelves going down.

“ We aren’t sure how far down it goes but watch your step. We’ve sent a few of ours there and they haven’t found a way back yet. ” mentioned Grant in passing then stopped.

“ Ambassador Kayla, welcome to the Library. We’ve come to call it as such due to the shelves or whatever purpose they might’ve served ages past. Feel free to look around, you’ll find Immortalis's writing everywhere. ”.

Kayla did look around, and it was an eerie experience. The symbols she found on the walls were not completely familiar, but it was that constant sensation of deja vu. She would bend to look at a bit of “Immortalis” writing, and suddenly remember the ruins she saw as a girl. Flashbacks. Each mark was like a little piece of memory.

“I think…” she pointed to one crumbled section of wall that still had deep writing on it. “I think this looks the most familiar. Most like what I saw. As a kid. Have you learned how to translate?”

The lead Grant watched Kayla with interest, following her around the library.

“ We can then say that your Bezians and our Immortalis are in fact one and the same? If that’s the case, our theory holds. We are dealing with an empire that spanned multiple solar systems. ” they said, face full of wonder and concern over the implications of this discovery.

“ Over the past 300 years, we’ve devoted ourselves to understanding their writings, culture, history...but without proper resources, we barely managed to scratch the surface of the great people the Immortalis must’ve been.
Their alphabet and the very way their word structure works is very different from any language we know from Earth. ” they took a sharp breath and showed Kayla, once again, the symbols on their arm.

Pointing at one of the symbols, they said “ This one can mean danger but can also mean safety. Depending on how long the symbols are. We’ve learned that the hard way. ”, he continued and pointed out a few other letters that they managed to translate in words for a few minutes.

“A language where danger and safety are synonyms,” Hanson mused out loud. Kayla finished for him: “The Immortalis sound very… exciting.” Or, she thought, totally suicidal.

“I know a linguist on New Hollywood, he works with unusual samples,” Hanson spoke a little more loudly than before, taking a step forward between Kayla and the lead Grant. “He reconstructs rare Old Earth languages. We should take pictures of all this and send it back to him. Protector Jones! Jones! Listen, Jones, where’s your holorecorder?”

The Grant lifted a finger in the air and the surrounding Ones put their hands on their weapons.

“ We haven’t agreed with you that taking pictures or filming the Circle of One is allowed but...we will let this slide this time in exchange for a favor in the future.” smiled the Grant at Kayla.

The holorecorder was on Jones’ back, inside his backpack, within a metal case in a sealed compartment. It was a very important piece of equipment; and took five minutes to get fully out of its many containers. Half the contents of Jones’ backpack were sprawled onto the ruin floors, extra clothes and snack bars and all, before it could be retrieved.

Hanson stepped over Jones’ socks and grabbed the holorecorder from him. It was a small, black box not unlike the handheld cameras of Earth- but with the ability to take and render images in three dimensions.

“Now,” Hanson spoke to the Grant with a tone of authority, “hold out your arm so I can get a clear image…”

The One followed the actions of Kayla and her crew with great interest, memorising every single detail of their equipment, movement and weapons they might’ve carried. A nearby James poked Hanson with the back of his spear, gently and said with a threatening voice “ We don’t know how you do things in your own world but here, in our house, we don’t forget that you have to treat your hosts with respect when addressing them. Please, don’t make us have to answer to the ECU later as to why their diplomatic envoys have mysteriously disappeared on an alien planet”.

Hanson, ironically, went spear-straight. He didn't say a word. Neither did Kayla, but in a different way: she was getting used to the ever-present threat of conversation with the One. It was like talking to a soldier, or a psychopath, or a king. You were in a cage with a lion.

Could be useful. Could be dangerous.

“That won’t be necessary,” Kayla said. She kept her voice from shaking with some effort. They were so willing to kill. What could the One do, if someone pushed them to do it?

The same James took his sleeve off and showed his arm to Hanson. This James’s arm had less symbols than the lead Grant and in a different order.

A tradition which the ECU wouldn’t know about but which became used more and more to determine the age of a clone was the inscribing of the alien letters every year on their skin. The older the clone, more symbols would appear.

The image was taken, and then with three taps on a screen, projected in front of them. It was a miniaturized hologram of the James’ arm, presented in perfect detail.

The One was amazed by the technology of the ECU.

“ We can only say wow to that. The Immortalis’s technology in your hands is a thing of wonder.

The cloning vats, holograms, interstellar space travel. We think we can all agree that this civilization was more advanced than humanity by far, now or in the past. ”

Another James approached the hologram of the symbols and watched with interest. They traced a path with their finger on symbols and rearranging them in a sentence.

“[color=word] Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. If we’d have access to this technology, we’d be able to extend our knowledge tenfold or more.

We are willing to work for it, of course. Name something...[/color]” they paused and looked straight at Kayla, “ you require from us, Ambassador Kayla.”.
Kayla thought. And thought, and thought, and realized her mind kept going back to one thing. Anything else she asked for would just end up benefiting the Savant and the other Oligarchs: and they’re the people who just invited armed, foreign soldiers onto New Hollywoodite land. But there’s another request that can be made. One which actually benefits the people, instead of only the rulers.

“Yeah, there’s one thing. But it’s-” she glanced over to the protector and Hanson, shamelessly leaning in- “uh, top secret. Here-” she whispered into the lead Grant’s ear.

The lead Grant understood immediately what Kayla meant and in a loud voice, for everyone to hear said “ Ambassador Kayla, we completely forgot. We are truly sorry, there’s something else we’d like to show you. ” he then took Kayla by the arm, in a polite way, and guided her towards a remote part of the library.

The other Ones casually started speaking with the other ECU representatives, asking them questions ranging from food to reproduction of the ECU citizens.

As soon as they got close to a turn, leading deeper in the library, the lead Grant pulled Kayla in the tunnel.

“ Yes? Do you require something from us? Workers? Meat? Killing those buffoons from outside? Sex?” asked the lead Grant with an amused look on his face.

“Fighters,” Kayla answered, with a much more serious voice than usual. “The others wouldn’t tell you, but my planet is stuck in... honestly, it’s in a rebellion. A full-scale rebellion. Neo London and New Beijing, two big cities, both about to be taken over by the rebels. They’re called White Flowers. Called that because we-” she caught herself using that word- “they lay white flowers on the graves of people murdered by the regime. I’m supposed to be on their side- the regime, that is. But.” She shook her head. “Well, it’s never been on my side.” She looked the Grant in their eyes.

“I want you to help the rebels. And when we’re in charge, we’ll share all our holo-technology with you.”

The lead Grant listened to Kayla and then they were silent for a long time, thinking about the path the One will take. On one hand, if they help the White Flowers and they win, they’d receive long needed resources and new technology but if they help and they lose, they’ll stand on making an enemy of a more technologically advanced nation. Or, they could follow the third option, do nothing. Let them sort themselves out and ignore their situation.

Suddenly the One from before makes their presence known from the back-end of the tunnel by striking their spear on the ground, rhythmically.

They advanced towards where Kayla and the Grant were. Their face being more and more illuminated as they approached, one would notice that this One looked different than the other Ones. Older, hair gray and wrinkles covered their face. Stronger, their body was full of muscles. Confident, the way they walked expressed it with every fiber of their being.

“ Grant. ” they said with a curt nod then turned to Kayla.

“ Kayla, ECU representative, wants us to kill people in her name. We’ve heard that before, many times before. ” took a sharp breath and a mocking voice continued, “ Please, steal from Devon’s group. He has so much food. ”.

Kayla had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. (An instinct, from dealing with other Oligarchs.)

“ You remind us of ourselves from ages past. A group of people just trying to survive against nature or empire in your case…We agree to help but not only for the holo-tech. We’ll require something else as well. A volunteer that will wish to transfer their information to the One and raw materials. Metals and the sorts”.

“I can give one. Not the others. Till after we win, anyway.” She sighed. “The other two here wouldn’t ‘volunteer’ for a- brain transfer, or whatever- with a gun to their head. And I didn’t bring my gun. So… you can have my information, I guess.”

The Old One approached Kayla and walked around her for a second or two then stopped and looked her square in the eye.
“ We don’t need guns to take information from others, Kayla . We can take what we need by any means necessary. Always. ”

At that, the lead Grant stepped in front of the Old One.

“ Enough of that. We don’t need to scare her for no reason. We already agreed that we are going to help. Do you understand what it means to transfer your information Ambassador Kayla? If not, let us explain. Your mind will forever be part of the One. Your knowledge, your memories, your life will be known to us. Perfect recall of every memory you ever had. Are you sure you’ll subject yourself to that? ”

Was there another option? She nodded, quietly.

The Old One started laughing as Kayla agreed.

“ Fool. You don’t know what you’re subjecting yourself to. ” they said as they walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the library.

Those words almost struck Kayla. People have told her those things forever- that she doesn’t know enough, that she’s too brash. But this is important. It’s, perhaps, the one totally selfless thing she’s done in years. The girl hardens her heart into iron. “Yes,” she muttered, as the Old One vanished away, “I do.”

The lead Grant watched the Old One walk away, a scowl on their face and only when they were sure they left, they looked at Kayla.

“ We are sorry but this is the only way we can agree to it. The Old One speaks the truth, it won’t be nice for yourself but if it helps calm your mind...We risk a great deal as well. We don’t know what this will do to us either. It can potentially help us or destroy all that we’ve built.

Now, what will we do about those two from outside? Do they need to be killed or incarcerated? Surely they’ll inform your leaders that an army of One will aid the rebels. ”

“Not possible to keep it a secret, is it?” Kayla frowned. “You know, Hanson isn’t really a bad guy. He’s actually really, really smart. That’s why he’s so bitter. He’s not an Oligarch. So it doesn’t matter how smart he is- he’ll never get real, I don’t know, respect. He doesn’t know it, but this is for him, too.” She shook her head, and the next words she said tasted like bile: “Yes, incarcerate them. But keep them alive. Let them eat that weird meat you’re always giving us. We’ll take them both back when this is over.

“ Unfortunately, it’s not possible, no. If we are to succeed in winning your war, we need to have the element of surprise. We have no weapons other than what you’ve seen and we haven’t managed to understand how to program the black pyramids. Secrecy and numbers are our only weapons. ” explained the lead Grant.

“The protector will try to fight, but-” she hesitated. Would she really tell them this secret, too? But yes, she will. It sounds like they’ll know everything soon. “Most protectors are indoctrinated in very specific ways, to obey Oligarchs. It’s all subliminal stuff. If I use certain special phrases, he’ll do what I say.” These codes were called the ‘command phrases’ among the Noocracy, and most every protector had them trained into them each time they used a holosuite. It was a safeguard- a way to keep the soldiers on leashes.

“ Your protectors can’t do much against us, as you might’ve seen. Our city has many hiding places and some, we haven’t even discovered yet. We will incarcerate your scientist, no problem. ” they smiled with a predatory grin.

The lead Grant then took Kayla by the arm, in the same fashion as before and walked towards the main group. They muttered words and made sounds to indicate that Kayla and themselves were in a very deep conversation

“ Everyone! Listen to us! Kayla managed to convince us to show you our cloning vats. We fought against it, as we need to protect our only source of reproduction but your ambassador really earned her title and managed to convince us. Please, follow us. ”

Without waiting for a reply from the others, they pushed forward with Kayla still on their arm. As soon as they left the temple, the lead Grant stopped. They let go of Kayla’s arm and let out a warcry. A sound they’d use to terrify their prey, the other colonists, in the first years of the colonisation process.

Immediately, the Ones around the main party had their spears at the ready and pointed towards Hanson and the protector. Others appeared from nearby streets wielding swords, spears and similar weapons. Soon the area around the temple was surrounded by the One. A few hundred James mobilised in a matter of minutes to respond to the warcry.

Unfortunately, ECU protectors have a fight-or-flight response that could be triggered by even a leaf scraping against the ground. Jones transformed into a blur of motion- the gun drawing from his hip, the half-sprint across the courtyard, the duck-and-roll up to the lead Grant. And in a flash, Jones held his gun to the clone’s head.

But when he spoke, it was clear he was not okay. There’s the other side of the token: where every skilled protector stands, so does a man with a broken mind. Already, his eyes were wide, and his voice trembled in terror, “Stay back, stay back, I’ll kill him! I’ll kill all of you- all of you fu- freaks- I’ll kill-”

“Shhh,” Kayla raised her hands calmly, to the protector and to the clones. “Everybody, slow down. I am an Oligarch. Nobody needs to get hurt.” Is this how the One deals with situations? By Earth.

The lead Grant was taken by surprise by the protector. He was faster than anticipated, but his actions were useless. One can die and another will take their place. The Grant went rigid as the gun touched their head. They had a smile on their face, looking at Kayla. Waiting to see if her plan did work.

The protector’s eyes were screaming, promising murder. He looked at Kayla. “You’re their- their friend, right? Right? Make them put down those weapons.”

“Shhh,” she hushed again. “They’ll put them down, but only if you come quietly. You and Hanson need to be kept here for a while. It’s… top secret business. Just trust me.”

Hanson (who was kneeling with his hands in the air, hoping not to be skewered) and the protector both looked truly horrified at the idea, but when the latter opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off: “Listen to me. Sold cold bold. An Oligarch is in danger. I am an Oligarch. Yellow meadow. Look me in the eye.”

He looked her in the eye.

“Sold cold bold. An Oligarch is in danger. I need your help. I need you to do something for me. Put the gun down. Put the gun down gently. I am an Oligarch. Put the gun down gently, and go with these men without fighting.”

The very perceptive would have already noticed the protector’s breathing slowing down, and his eyes glazing over. He took a long, deep breath, and suddenly, it seemed that he was not there at all anymore. A different man was in his place. The person who used to be Jones stepped away from the lead Grant, placed the gun on the ground, and waited to be led away- to wherever the One planned on storing them. He stood with no trace of resistance left.

Hanson could do nothing but cover his face with his hands and wail in such a despairing way, Kayla couldn’t help but feel awful.

“You should hurry,” she whispered hoarsely, to a nearby One. “It won’t last forever. The mind always wants to reassert itself. Go back to normal. That’s, uh, what I was taught, anyway.” You’ll know soon enough, thought another part of her mind.

The One watched with great interest the exchange and way the protector complied with all the commands Kayla spoke. It was surprising.

They've read about brainwashing in books and seen movies on old Earth centuries ago, but they never saw it in action. Truly it was a terrifying way to go down but in the same time, it seemed more peaceful than the usual way of stopping someone from killing you.

The lead Grant applauded silently as the protector put the gun on the ground and immediately, a few nearby One took it away.
" Wonderful exchange. Absolutely wonderful. If we had that technology a few hundred years ago, we wouldn't have resorted to cloning ourselves. We would've simply took control of everyone.

Don't worry, they took us by surprise once. It will not happen again. We’ve seen how they move and with your knowledge, we'll know how they think. "

The One around Hanson and Jones approached them quickly and held their hands and legs while another two Ones would put them in a chokehold, slowly knocking them out.

As they would fall asleep, they lifted them up in the air and then up their shoulders. They would go into another vault. One which long collapsed with only one corridor above the ground and the entrance to it.
40 James would be their guards and combined with the hundred more in the nearby vicinity, it would make the old vault a good prison.

The lead Grant approached Kayla and put a hand towards her to shake.

" May this be the first step in a long relationship between our two people. ".

There's supposed to be stars in the sky. Not the big spheres of burning gas that planets orbit around, that you see in astronomy maps, but stars. Real stars. The little twinkling lights in the sky that you wish upon. But you can't see any tonight- or most of the nights that Li has seen. Not that she's worried about it.

"Isn't it beautiful up here?" she asks.
"Yeah," he answers.

It's the cities, they say. New Beijing, like every New Hollywood city, is an endless parade of light and noise. Li likes it like that; even if all that brightness hides the night. It might be near to midnight, but the sky overhead is only a plain gray sheet.

"I would stay up here forever, wouldn't you?" she asks.
"Sure," he answers.

Her boyfriend has never been as enthusiastic about these things as she is. She was hoping they could really enjoy the Ferris wheel together, or any part of Nosi Amusement Park, but he's been distracted the entire time. No reaction to anything. It's all that news he watches, she decides. Hearing revolution this and Gateway that, he never thinks about anything else any more. He pinned a white flower on to his shirt a week ago. It's still there- Li truly does not like that.

They're coming to the peak of the Ferris wheel now, riding slowly up to its zenith; the ever-present carnival music picks up the pace a little, like it's playing just for them. And it might be. Late on a Monday night, following an entire day of solid rain, almost nobody is still here. It's just Li, Ramesh and the staff. And a lot of animatronic clowns. They move in strange dances.

Honestly, there's too many for comfort. The fear of clowns has never been as rampant on New Hollywood as it might be in other places (strange costumes and bright colors are too common to be scary) but there's just something in the way they move that puts Li on edge. Robotic. All wearing those poofy clothes and those plastic masks. Why couldn't they just use holograms?

"I don't like the clowns," she says.
"Then don't look at them," he answers. She tries not to.

Ah, there. That's a sight that puts even the clowns out of her mind. Gorgeous. Her and Josh have now reached the precarious tip of the Ferris wheel, and they can see everything. To their left, the lights and joys of New Beijing. To their right, a vast open wasteland dotted with Bezian ruins. And right in front of them, the war between them both: the little bits of grass encroaching on the wasteland, the little tale-tell signs of terraforming and buildings making this alien world into something human. Li, the true New Hollywoodite that she is, sheds a tear at the sight. This ride was worth the price.

Below, some clowns stop dancing. But Li does not notice, because she's still watching the view.

"Look!" Li tells her boyfriend. He looks. He nods. She jostles his arm: "No, really look! Can't you see it?" He nods again, faster, with a little latent irritation behind it that she pretends not to notice- but she does.

Below, some clowns take off their plastic masks.

"Listen," Li says, "we paid a lot of money to come here today, okay? We've been planning it for, like, three weeks. It took us both forever to get this day off."

Below, the clowns aren't really clowns any more. They were never animatronic. Li hasn't looked yet.

Ramesh finally smiles back at her, but in a sad kind of way. "You're right, Li," he says. "I've just been thinking a lot lately. With all the stuff on the news channels. It gets you going, you know?" He forces a laugh. "I'm sor-"

The Ferris wheel stops. It's a creaking, shuttering stop that feels very unintentional; it cuts Ramesh off in the middle of his apology. It cuts Li off, too, from milking it. It's silent for a moment. Nothing but the whining of the wheel. Some puddles splash.

"Uh... hello?" Li is shouting down the side. "Hey, we're still on this!"

The wind blows as an answer. It's not a very articulate one.

"Hello!" She shouts again. Ramesh has to be elbowed in the side before he joins in. "Uh, hey... hey, me and my girlfriend are up here!"

"You're not being loud enough, Ramy!"

Splash, splash. Far beneath, something is running through the rain puddles. An army is on the move, an unknown one that can't be seen in their dark robes. They're almost to the Ferris wheel.

"I can't be louder, I have vocal cord damag-"
"Oh, shut up, you've been complaining about that for ten years."
"I've had it for ten years."
"Ju- woaaahh!"

Their stomachs fly into their throats as the wheel drops. A lever has been pulled.

This is not the gentle, playful kind of ride down that the advertisements promised. It's a screaming, screeching, grabbing-each-other kind of ride down where both people briefly think they're going to die. Bang, banging against their metal seats. Plummet hits several Gs. Ramesh sprays the contents of his stomach onto a neon poster on the way down, but has just enough presence of mind to realize it might be an improvement.

They groan in unison when, after swinging back-and-forth like a pendulum, their cart comes to rest at the bottom. The spinning in their heads makes the carnival around them look like watercolor; it takes them both more than a moment to realize what is standing in front of them.

"Oh, uuuugh, it's you guys," Li says. She moans the words.

The guys in question are Mixtists and Flowers- two of the former, and a dozen of the latter. More of both are scattered across the park. They've been planning this 'take over' for three weeks: not only of the Amusement park, but of all New Beijing. Neo London, too. At midnight, every major business and political office is to be seized. And then held- indefinitely. The Oligarchs will all wake up to find a world run by the rebels.

The clown costumes came in to the plan only recently, as a last resort. Security around the Nosi Amusement Park had jumped up lately; some over-zealous, would-be rebel sent in a bomb threat. It nearly stopped the plan in its tracks. But then someone realized: on a dreary Monday night, after rain? Nobody would notice a few extra robo-clowns. They sneaked in, deactivated security cams, and flung the central gate wide open for the small army of rebels waiting outside. A brilliant plan, executed brilliantly.

Then they spotted Josh and Li still on the Ferris wheel.

"By Earth, y'all, what are you doing here?" asked a man named Jeb, a Mixtist who normally did not use such Oligarch expressions. But by Earth, y'all, everyone should have left the park an hour back.

"We didn't leave the park yet," Ramesh says, stating the very obvious. "She thought it would be more romantic at midnight."

"It's more romantic than staying in for the eighty-seventh ni-" but Li is cut off. Jeb has clasped his hand over her mouth. "Shhh, he hisses. "Do you hear that? Listen!"

They listen. There is a faint sound, just on the edge of hearing. It's something repetitive, something high-pitched, something getting louder, getting closer... it is...

Even from under the hand, Li bursts out laughing. Jeb pulls his arm back. "It's carnival music!" she declares. "We're at a carnival, and you're surprised to hear carnival music!" Ramesh toys with the white flower on his shirt, and doesn't laugh along.

Jeb whirls around, to the baker's dozen of rebels behind him. It looks like they think of him as an authority figure. Everybody's spine straightens up a little when he glances over them. "Which one of y'all forgot to turn off the music?" Nobody answers. "Come on, who was it?"

A girl's hand is slowly raised. "It was my responsibility," she says, "but... I did it, I swear. I double checked!"

"What about..." the Mixtist starts, hesitates, stops, and starts again. He feels uneasy; he couldn't explain to you why. "What about the staff? We've got them all locked in the office, right?"

"Under lock, key and death threat," says a man. "We triple checked." Some people look over at the girl again, with those looks that say Well, you must have been the one to mess up. She shirks away from them.

Li rolls her eyes so hard, they should fall out of her sockets. "You guys have no idea what you're doing. Come on, Ramy. Let's just go home. We're loyal citizens. We'll let these morons stay here and play rebel."

She pretends not to notice the hesitation in his movements. He climbs out of the Ferris wheel cart like he doesn't really want to go. Like he wants to stay here and play rebel, too. She takes him by the arm, a white-knuckle grip on his wrist, and practically pulls him along with her to the main gate.

That's when they see it. Hear it, too. It really does sound like carnival music. But it looks like an army.

And that's what it is. An army, all dressed in black, their metallic armor being three inches thick, some carrying speakers that blast music very appropriate to the setting. They march in-line with the clownish beat. Classic ECU: crash the party, but keep with the theme. The only thing that still marks them as protectors is a little gold badge, pinned where their hearts should be. It is molded in the shape of a fist.

"Oh, f-"

Ramesh finishes that word. Then finishes it a few more times. It's fortunate that will not be the last word he ever says, if only because next he has to beg his girlfriend not to go up to the army and ask them for help. "Are you insane!" He hisses into her ear, more animated than he's been all night. "Those are protectors. I don't care what you learned in school, they aren't on our side. And-" he looks down at that white flower on his shirt, now the same as a target on his back, "-they will kill me, Li. Is that what you want?"

They're only a few steps away. The protectors have seen them; their mass fills the gate. There is no exit, there is nowhere to hide. Ramesh grabs his girlfriend's arm, this time, and they run as fast as either can.

The black-gold horde marches behind them, lock-step, unflinching. They don't even speed up. After all, where are the two going to run? Back to the rebels, they go, and frantically recite everything they just saw. Jeb's face goes white. (Really, it goes a shade even lighter than that, for which there is no word but 'terror.')

There is, for half of half of a second, talk about who leaked information, and who the traitor must be- but Jeb silences it. That's not important right now. From what Ramesh and Li say, at least fifty protectors stand out there, and only fifteen rebels- Li bristles at being included in the rebels, but doesn't argue- are here to stand against them. That makes strategy vital, he says. So for just a moment, everyone stops to listen closely to what this supposed strategy is, this thing that will save them from a squad of professional murderers.

It can't be said whether Jeb's plan would have worked, sadly. Because even though they listen, nobody hears him speak. They hear two other things, instead. The first is a man with a deep voice and an American accent shouting: "Initiate Motion 10-A, boys!"

And the second is an unintelligible, horrific wailing. It fills the atmosphere. The speakers have stopped playing circus music; they're playing this instead. This sound that finds you and crawls under your skin, so that you want to claw your ears off to make it stop. This wail that lies somewhere between an infant screaming and a tornado warning. The rebel's flight-or-fight instinct is beyond triggered.

Another command is given, which none of the rebels know of, but the protectors can hear just fine in their protective ear-pieces. "Motion 10-B." Now yellow and red lights are strobing, frantically fast. All the world becomes wailing and flashing. Logic is gone, and instinct takes over.

Just as the protectors intended, the White Flowers break. The girl, the youngest and least ready for this, is the first to run. She doesn't know why she's running, or where to, only that every cell in her body tells her that she must. Seeing her flee strikes the boy beside her in the heart- he runs too. One by one, great and small, the Flowers fall apart. Like roaches when you turn the light on. The proctors laugh, but nobody can hear them.

Li grabs Ramesh's hand again, and for the first time in years, he doesn't pull back. Neither of them can see anymore. With eyes closed, they grope around the amusement park, only knowing to get away from that wailing sound. Their feet scrape and stumble awkwardly against the concrete. They're trying to walk together, but neither knows where the other wants to go. When the couple finally stumbles into something cold- a flagpole?- they silently agree to make this their stopping point.

The wailing has calmed down. Not stopped. Not even close. But it's quieted to the point of only being an awful background sound, instead of the intense, mind-breaking experience it was just twenty seconds ago. Feels like an hour. Ramesh opens his eyes to see Li trembling all over, her feet and her hands. Every one else in view is the same.

The protectors round them up, after that. The Mixtists are too shaken to put up much resistance. Only Jeb escapes, climbing over a lower section of fencing and fleeing into the wasteland. Every one else is taken into custody. After talking to interrogators, and expressing much loyalty to the state, Li is released; but she never sees Ramesh again.

He's not the only one. All over New Beijing and Neo London, the White Flowers are met with these kinds of sudden, psychological attacks. The protectors in black uniforms, the wailing and the flashing. And many do die; but when dawn comes, the rebels have claimed just enough to take control. Neo London and New Beijing, two of the largest ECU cities, are now White Flower territory.

Back in their apartment- now her apartment- Li decides Ramesh would have been happy to hear that.

---

It was enough that the ECU and Undefeated had thrown themselves into a war against the Zetans before. Even now, the Xandalians were sending supplies and volunteers to the Zetans to try to assist them in some manner or another in recovery in the long term. It was an attempt to make good on their word, a genuine effort. In all of this, they had hoped that the peace would manage to last for some time longer before anything else erupted. Humanity had just rediscovered its scattered remnants, and it was a time they should have been using to talk and try to figure out some things...among which the inevitable and big question of 'what happened to the Gateway network 300 years ago?'

And yet, humanity also remained true to its roots in a particular way as well it seemed.

Civil War.

The ECU had thrown themselves into a gambit against the Zetans, and Republic Intelligence spoke in detail about the growing unrest on their homeworld. People fed up with the seeming repression they'd been held under, given more room to 'wiggle' when their 'police' had been pulled away to fight a meaningless war. Yet thing had finally exploded onto the forefront of things, and the Oligarchs were losing their grip. It was a tragic occurrence the Republic would have refrained from for the most part...save for the 'beneficial' opportunity it presented.

An ECU which might be more peaceful and willing to talk due to those in charge. An ECU government that might be more apt to remain neutral in some matters and perhaps less likely to impulsively start conflicts beyond themselves. An ECU society that would be undergoing years of reform, requiring investment and support to help keep stable and so forth.

Did not not sound more pleasing to the ear? Did it not sound far preferrable than potentially letting a set of more unstable leaders create issue in the future?

The anti-ECU propaganda campaign hadn't petered out in its effects yet, with most of the public had seemingly been stirred into a froth about what the Oligarchs had done to the Zetans. Their Envoy was talking to a representative of the ECU at the very least, trying to answer some questions, and in that vein perhaps peaceful talks would be more possible now so more than before. The prior war hadn't fully petered out of the picture either, the civil war simply being added to the consequences of what was going on. It was a mess and a mix of things, including getting word that the Matuvistans had already sent in forces to help put down the rebellion, but at the same time the potential for getting things rolling was clear.

The people there had made their message as clear as day to the Xandalian Senate. A new government, one that did not send them into meaningless wars. Yet they were being terrorized, shot, and suppressed in order to achieve the ultimate goal of their silence.

All it took was a single meeting of the Senate, presenting the intelligence findings and data they had been able to acquire in the past while. From there things had been clear as crystal.

Envoy Christensen would soon find a message in his inbox to speak with the Zetans. Likewise, Executive Officer Garand would find himself awoken once more in the middle of the Xandalian night as an urgent phone call once again reached his ears. Even Commander Walton Varitian would find himself on the receiving end. Other messages would be disseminated in turn as well, but all were direct orders from the senate.

The current state of the military's mobilization, stalled after the sudden ending of the Zetan War after the announcement of Xandalian support for the Zetans, would recommence in full. Preparations of the Reorganized Xandalian Grand Fleet would be continued. Media outlets would be provided an amount of information and some footage and ilk that would 'happen to leak' from ECU space. Humanitarian aid and evacuation ships would be prepared in greater depth. The Xandalian Gateway would continue to be secured with preparatory measures and further defensive measures to be installed. Home protection forces, ones which would remain at home, were put on a higher state of alert as well.

The gears were turning.

The winds were shifting.

The smell of blood in the water was present, the sound of cries in the night lingering, but care and caution had to be taken in this case.

The buildup could be justified as lingering from the old declaration easily.

All that would be left would be to survey the scene politically and act as needed.

All Hail The Republic.

@Irredeemable

---

---

The secure line crackled with static for a moment in the cockpit, requiring only a minute adjustment before the voice on the other end rang out as clear as crystal.

"This is Nest to Mother Hawk, is your clutch ready?"

The dark-skinned man in the cockpit every so slightly grinned, lowly chuckling before leaning back into his seat as he gripped the controls and connected to the system. The lights on the interior of his cockpit lit up like a Christmas tree as the boot-up process kicked in and the mech sprung to life. Five others nearby would also spring to life equally as fast. That was their signal, clear as day.

"Read you loud and clear, Nest. Clutch is hatched, fully fed, and are preparing for flight lessons."

The voice on the other end did not let out so much as a chuckle. Rather, it simply droned on in the same official voice that the man had heard so many times before. However, this time was definitely different than before. No, it was exciting to say the very least.

"Affirmative, Mother Hawk. Proceed with flight lessons at 0200 hours beyond-nest time, and deploy feather coat to ensure you stay warm for the flight. If you fall too far from the tree, however, you cannot expect assistance. In such a case you must destroy the eggshells."

"We are all well aware, Nest. Eggshells will be removed in full if we fall too far away."

The risks were well-known, but their mission was a simple one. Nothing too big or fancy, just some looking about and poking at a few things where needed. Should things go under, they knew what needed to be done.

It wasn't their first rodeo by any stretch of the imagination either. Was a new place though.

"...And good luck, Sergeant Valens. For the Republic."

"For the Republic."

@Tortoise

---

---

---

Another new arrival? At least they used Old English. Used to be the common international language way far back, made sense to try it on a first contact at least.

Even so, Envoy Valeris lightly shook her head back and forth, a long sigh hissing out from between her tired lips.

She'd barely sat down at her desk after all of the moving in, and already she was going to be busy. Made sense, but she'd at least hoped for a drink before any other new nations popped out of the woodwork. The woman had been moved in to act as a redundancy and secondary Envoy to handle the workload...at least after the attempted assassination fiasco. Also in case Christensen got himself shot the next time. If there was a next time. The Republic was far from keen about the matter of an Envoy being shot at so brazenly in a neutral space, and even the security measures in their area of the station had been increased.

Still, the new guys at least had some kind of style. Either that or they were complete idiots.

So she'd just have to see what happened.

The Envoy pressed a button on her desk.

"Yes, Envoy Valeris?"

"Send a broadcasted message to the new arrival, inviting them to speak with us at the station in turn."

That would also give her enough time to take a swig of something. Not enough to ruin a meeting, but juuuuust a small shot of something to soothe the nerves. Preferably some of that derrin root vodka, stuff kicked like a horse and might help her perk back up at least.

@Liotrent

Columbia
Argus City
Senate Building

The senate was in an uproar, a chorus of voices shouting or muttering over each other, the unfolding crisis on New Hollywood garnering their attention. "Ladies, Gentlemen, there will be Order!" The voice of Vice Chancellor Garret Tigh boomed over the microphone, and was soon met with silence. "Thank you." He said, clearing his throat as he took a seat, shuffling through some papers. "As you are well aware, New Hollywood is on the verge of a civil war." More muttering from senators followed. "You're also aware that, because of the chaos caused by the conflict, many of our own citizens remain stranded on New Hollywood." Vice Chancellor Tigh paused as he scanned the room. "We also have been placed in an awkward position..."

Senator Tanner was the first to stand up. "With all due respect, your excellently." Tanner said. "I would say there's nothing awkward about it." Tanner paused, setting the scene. "We are well aware of the ECU's less than stellar human rights issues, we've often avoided serious discussions in the name of "Colonial Solidarity", but my fellow senators, Vice Chancellor Tigh, I say this is an opportunity we can not let slip."

"...What do you propose, Senator Tanner?" Vice Chancellor Tigh asked, the hesitation in his voice.

"I merely suggest that, not only do we get our people offworld, but that we also declare our support of the White Flower faction." The senate had erupted from Senator Tanner's incendiary words. "Order! There will be order!" Vice Chancellor Tigh demanded, before turning his gaze upon Tanner. "We understand that the past and present situation of New Hollywood is....unfortunate." The Vice Chancellor remarked. "But senator, what you suggest could be seen as an act of war."

"I understand, yes." Tanner replied. "I understand, that once we make our stance clear, there will be consequences regardless of the outcome, and I'd rather we do something, than nothing at all."

The senate grew quieter as they mumbled and murmured. "We will all take your words into consideration, Senator Tanner." Vice Chancellor Tigh said. "However, what must be decided now is our next course of action regarding our own people stranded on New Hollywood. I propose we deploy the 401st Rapid Response Regiment, all in favor and opposed?" The room once again grew silent as the senators made their vote, grabbing their mobile pads, pressing either a "Yay or Nay" button. After a while, a din sounded off as the Vice Chancellor checked his own pad. "It's been settled, deployment of the 401st shall commence within the day."
@Crusader Lord@Tortoise@Irredeemable

---

Earth
The Meeting Place
Hanger Bay
Acting Ambassador Ranford along with the Guard Captain Samuels and two other Republican Guardsmen, stood ready to receive their new guests. Their shuttlecraft over the horizon. Janna made some quick last minute touch ups on her dress as the ship was growing closer to the station, and soon the voices of doubt echoed "Did I overdo the dress? Did I not dress well enough? Do I have anything on my face? My teeth? My dress? Am I gonna cause an international incident? Blah blah blah blah". The self-doubt was overbearing. The captain noticing her fidgeting, decided to calm her down. "Relax, you'll do fine, ma'am." Samuels assured her. "I'm sure they're just as nerve-wrecked as you are." The last bit met with a cheeky grin.

"Thanks,,." She replied, viable red from the slight embarrassment, this was her first time greeting a foreign delegation, and she sure as hell wasn't going to muck it up big time.
@Liotrent

The Undefeated were completely out of their element. The normally brave and dauntless soldiers stood grouped up in one of the hallways, having no idea what to do. The beautiful armchairs and sofas invited them to burrow into the cozy cushions, but they look so fragile and incredibly expensive none of the Reapers dared to even touch them.

“Guys, I think I have it.” Janice was finally done studying the leaflet some little girl handed them at the entrance. Once she got past all the art, music, theatre, poetry and god knows what other exhibitions they had in the program, she discovered something that sounded interesting. “They have a distillery here.”

“Ugh, I bet it’s one of those fancy places where you drink tiny glasses of priceless liquor with your little finger sticking into the air.”

“Who cares,” Janice rolled her eyes. “Booze is booze. And it’s free. What do you think, Lieutenant?”

Alfonso sighed. “It doesn’t seem like there is much else to do for normal people. Just don’t get wasted like last time, dumbasses. Remember what Kelsie said.” He looked around. He had no problems navigating in thick jungles or vast empty deserts, but how does one establish orientation points here? All the hallways looked the same, red velvet carpets, gold lining, some artsy things on wobbly pedestals just waiting for someone to bump into them. Fancy dressed people holding tall glasses and talking about super-important stuff, shaping the future of the universe or something. There was no “ALCOHOL THIS WAY” arrow sign.

Finally, his eye caught a familiar sight - a uniform. It was one of the young recruits that welcomed the guests and handed out brochures. Alfonso headed towards the boy, patiently waited till he finished talking to some Xandalian diplomats about different kinds of music the Matuvistans favored, and then approached him. “Hello, young man. Would you be so kind and direct us to this distillery?” He pointed to the right spot in the brochure, just to make sure they were on the same page.

“Of course, I would be honored!” the boy replied excitedly. “The first distillery on Matuvista…”

“Uhh,” Alfonso interrupted him quietly, “we are not really that interested in history lessons, if that is okay. If you could just point us in the right direction, please?”

The boy looked a bit shamefaced, but the smile didn’t disappear from his face as he carefully explained how to get to the distillery. Alfonso thanked him and the Reapers headed off. “You do know we are not supposed to cause any incidents, right?” Janice hissed into his ear.

“I don’t think we are obliged to listen to every lecture in here. Especially when I only asked for directions.”

“Fine, fine,” Janice raised her hands.

The bar looked almost normal. Yes, there was still a lot of fancy stuff, but no golden statues or crimson red carpets. The Reapers sat around one large round table and a waiter appeared almost immediately. He bowed slightly and handed them large menus bound in leather. “What can I get you, ladies and gentlemen? We have a large selection of various rums, Nuevo Porto, beers and ales, both classic and exotic, plenty of hard liquor, and of course a variety of non-alcoholic beverages.”

“I think we can skip those,” one of the men blurted and Janice looked at him with a piercing stare.

“Hmm, they all sound very interesting. Could you perhaps bring us some tasting samples of the rums? We will leave the selection to the professionals,” she smiled at the waiter. “Could you behave less like some club-swinging backwater idiots?” she growled at the men when the waiter left.

“What good is a party when you can’t have fun at it?”

“I don’t think you are supposed to have fun at this kind of party,” Alfonso sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be drinking at all tonight.”

A couple of men and women appeared with large trays, bringing several bottles of variously colored liquor, each provided with a label with a name and short description, lots of glasses, pitchers with water and even a few plates of deliciously-looking salty snacks. “We have tried to include rums from the most famous brands and eras with the most popular flavors, as well as a few I personally think are slightly under-appreciated. If you require more or have any questions whatsoever, do not hesitate to contact me or any of the other personnel. Please, enjoy,” the waiter bowed to them and left them alone.

“Wow.” Janice stared at the intimidating pile of food and drinks in front of them. “Well, the Undefeated don’t back away from a fight,” she shrugged and grabbed a random bottle. The name didn’t really tell her anything. “... with a hint of pineapple. Pineapple? These people are really weird.” She poured a bit into one of the glasses and took a careful sip, her eyes widening in a surprise. “Huh, this actually isn’t half bad. Here, try it.” Alfonso just shook his head and Janice frowned at him. “Alfonso Rodriguez, I will keep these idiots in line. You live a little for once.”

“If you insist,” he grinned at her and tasted the liquor. “Bah, it’s too sweet. What about that black one? With black pepper,” he squinted at the label, “that sounds like a drink for a real man, not this girly thing.”

Several figures approached the group of soldiers- the security for the event. These were the marines, two ISOCs hanging near the back. Looking at the group of Reapers, the leading man glanced around at all of the Undefeated soldiers, cleared his throat, and asked a simple question.

“Shore leave, eh?” The marine raised an eyebrow. “I hope we can expect a more tempered sort of behaviour than the regular?”

Alfonso raised an eyebrow, looking at the soldiers who approached them. He didn’t exactly appreciate that they expected the Reapers to cause trouble, but then again, a group like theirs getting drunk on such a fancy event… No surprise the security wanted to be careful. “No worries, we’re just sampling these fine beverages of yours. We’ll stay away from your fancy guests and won’t cause any trouble, if that's what you’re worried about.” Alfonso sighed and sipped from his drink. These people might have been weird and a bit rude, but they sure as hell knew how to make alcohol. “Soldier to soldier, we know we don’t really belong here. That’s why we’ve found this little hideout and we intend to stay here ‘till the whole thing is over.”

“Good to hear. Just making sure. The last thing any of us want to do is our actual jobs, I can assure you.” The lead soldier extended a hand. “Sergeant Castille, at your service.”

“Yes, that certainly is the last thing we want,” Alfonso replied with a slight sad tone in his voice. No, he didn’t miss the war and killing and dying. But they had been stuck at the Meeting Place for so long it was driving them crazy, longing for some action. “Lieutenant Alfonso Rodriguez,” he bowed his head slightly and then gestured towards Janice. “This is Sergeant Springer and the rest of the Reapers. So, did you encounter any problems yet? No evil robots gone on a killing spree?” he smirked.

“Alfonzo Rodriguez?” Castille paused for a moment, glancing to one of the soldiers by his side. “Hey, Marco, is your mother so much of a slut she’s managed to fuck someone off-world too?” The other soldier scowled and gave Castille a hard tap on the shoulder, the rest of the marines chuckling to themselves.

“Anyway, no problems for us. And… Evil robots? That’s a real problem out here?”

“Yes, I noticed my name is somewhat common among your people,” Alfonso smirked. “Who knows, maybe we do have some common great-great-great-something-great mother who lived on Earth hundreds of years ago.” He smiled at the idea of being related to some of these people. But then again, they were all originally from Earth, didn’t that make them all technically related?

“And yes, evil robots are a real problem here. You didn’t hear about the Zetans and the war? Right, I forgot you are quite new to this place. If I were you, I’d be extra careful around them. They might look human, but they’re not.”

“We heard about some kind of war that happened before our portal opened, but nothing specific. All I’ve heard about Zetans is that we’ve got some people from a ‘Zetan Consciousness’ aboard tonight. Just thought they were another nation.” Castille shrugged. “But hey, they don’t fuck with us, we don’t fuck with them. We got bigger issues than folks with robots.”

“They might call themselves a nation, but that doesn't really make them human.” Alfonso frowned and looked like he wanted to continue the debate, but Janice interjected.

“Let’s not bother our hosts with philosophical debates. I have heard that your nation is in a war with some alien invaders. It must be hard to live in such a constant threat,” she said and Alfonso raised an eyebrow. He had no idea about any aliens. When did she even find that out? “Is that the reason you start training the new recruits so young? I know some nations around here would disagree with such practice, but there is nothing wrong with teaching the kids some discipline early on.”

“Not just aliens. Fucking rebels.” Castille shook his head, clearly frustrated. “Pirates as well, but the rebels are the real pains in the ass. And, nah, we don’t train kids young. That’s a blue-blood thing. The regular forces start at 16.” He paused for a moment. “Signed up the day after my birthday, but I’d been in the cadets as well.”

“Hmm, rebels? We don’t really have those. I mean someone speaks against the government from time to time, but a couple of public executions and things quiet down. I think people are quite content. We are all equal, all have the same chances of moving up through the ranks.” That of course wasn’t entirely true, having friends in high places always helped. “Can’t imagine someone could give orders just because they were born in the right family.” Alfonso shook his head over such an idea.

“But of course whatever works for you guys, we don’t mean to judge,” Janice added quickly and kicked Alfonso’s leg under the table.

“Yes,” he flinched. “Perhaps your way is better, what do we know? I mean, we are just common grunts, we try to stay away from politics.”

“Public executions?” The soldiers looked at each other, wary. “What is this, 2053?” The soldier that had spoken their mind had his boot quickly stomped on, Castille glaring at them.

“Equally, we try staying away from politics as well. We’re just plebs, we don’t have all the fancy upper senate positions and all that.”

Alfonso laughed. “Yes, it might seem a bit medieval, but it’s highly efficient. It’s not like it is a weekly event though, it is a very rare occasion. To staying away from politics!” He raised his glass and took a long sip. “Mmm, you guys really know how to make rum. I don’t suppose you could join us for a few minutes? You could at least give us your personal recommendations, the selection is so large we can’t really taste it all.”

“Speak for yourself,” one of the men murmured and Janice’s sharp elbow punched his ribcage. “Uh,” he groaned. “Yes, of course we won’t taste it all.”

“To staying away from politics,” Castille agreed with a wry smile, before waving the other soldiers off. “Well, I certainly can’t be drinking whilst on duty, but I could give a few recommendations.” He took one of the drink menus and glanced down at the list, whistling. “Brought out the big guns here. Half of these would cost more than I make in a month.”

“Well then it’s really a shame that you can’t have a drink with us. Perhaps we can sneak one of these bottles out for later,” Alfonso winked at the Matuvistan Sargeant.

“Well…” Castille paused for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll be done in a few hours. If you’re still interested after that, you can come down to the barracks. Bring some of these bottles, we’ll bring some of ours... Let’s make it a party.” He returned the wink.

Finally they had something to look forward to. “Deal. Good luck, I hope you have a calm night. You know where to find us if you need an extra hand.” From what it seemed the Matuvistans had more than enough hands to go around and the offer was just rhetorical, but Alfonso was trying to be friendly.

When Castille left, Janice raised her glass and gave Alfonso an optimistic smile. “See? They aren’t so bad.”

The Gala had been a great success. All and sundry had witnessed Matuvista’s great cultural feats, and as the shuttles finished depositing guests back on the station, the crew of the Santa De Angelo could let out a deep breath. The hard part of her service had been completed. Now, she would remain as a diplomatic vessel until Matuvista could add their own sections to the Meeting Place.

Isabella, for her part, had taken the next shuttle back to the wormhole. She was set to arrive in the New Hollywood system shortly before the troops arrived, and then she would rendevouz with the troop carrier and assume command of the ground forces. She was a little sad to see her holiday end so soon, but ahead of her was the potential for so much more than just a bit of relaxation. Regardless of if the government withstood the rebels or fell, she had to be seen as an effective commander that did all they could.

Standing in full uniform on the bridge of the small vessel that had carried her to New Hollywood, she watched as the troop transport carrying the Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Force arrived in the system. From the outside, Matuvistan troop carriers looked downright intimidating. Matuvistan tactical doctrine had given them a peculiar role as long-ranged support craft to the navy's much faster and more agile attack craft, and since they never actually entered the atmosphere, they had no need to be designed with aerodynamics in mind. Thus, the craft that entered New Hollywood was a wide and squat cuboid, bristling with an uncomfortably large amount of long-range firepower.

Isabella knew that this one would have been escorted by corvettes all the way to the gateway to ensure its safe arrival, and then the craft would have peeled away and returned to their home stations.

The shuttle approached the larger troop carrier, and after a brief confirmation, the docking doors of the troop carrier swung open. Isabella’s small craft entered and berthed itself, the patrician stepping out and offering a crisp salute to the ship’s captain.

“Report.” She disembarked fully.

“The entire force is in good order, commandanta. We were hailed by the Hollywoodites upon arrival, and they’ve been very forthcoming with all the information we need. Two cities have fallen to the rebels; Neo-London and New-Beijing. I recommend that we move to Neo-London, it was the former capital.” Although Isabella was formally in charge, she wasn’t stupid enough to think that made her the most knowledgeable aboard here. Capitão Alvarez was a veteran of over three decades and a capable naval commander, and more importantly, he knew this ship and the men on it better than she did.

“That seems sensible. Have we prepared an announcement?” As they spoke, the Capitão began to lead Isabella to her berth.

“No, commandanta.” Came the response.

“Get it done. I want it broadcasting as we begin the reclaiming. I assume my jetbike was brought aboard?”

“Of course commandanta. It’s secured in the vehicle garages.”

“Excellente. You seem to have things well in hand Alvarez.”

“Thank you commandanta. With the saints as our witness, I am sure we will come out of this better than we entered.”

---

The Matuvistans had been given access to the oligarch’s media systems. Of course they had: they were on the side of the oligarchs, after all. At once, all of Neo-London’s broadcasting channels were flooded with a single message. It came unaccompanied by visuals, holo-suites merely showed a nondescript white humanoid reading off the lines. "Citizens of Neo-London. We are here because some of you have taken matters of government into your own hands. You have become rebels, violent insurrectionaries against the rightful order." There was a long pause. "You are not children. You are aware of your actions, and that they have consequences. We are the consequences. Make no mistake, this is not a foreign invasion. This is peacekeeping, and you have broken the peace. To anyone who was not involved in this foolish and childish tantrum, you are now being placed under martial law, effective immediately. Obey the instructions of peacekeepers and protectors and no harm will come to you. For the rest, run. Hide. Fight back. It makes no difference. You have foolishly believed yourselves to be the arbitrators of the law. You are not. We are the law." The message repeated.

As it did, the troop transport above began to deploy its atmospheric craft. The initial operation was simple. Matuvista needed a base on the planet where it could refuel its craft, quarter its soldiers and generally carry out day-to-day functioning. There was no all-in-one location down in Neo-London that would suffice, but there was an area that could be turned over to such an operation; New Westminster.

New Westminster was an imitation of, funnily enough, Westminster back in the days of Earth. It had parks, financial institutions… And most importantly, government functions. It also had a recreation of Buckingham Palace, which was an obvious area to reclaim and use as a military headquarters, not just because it was convenient to do so, but also because, it had to be said, using a recreated palace as their military base struck a certain chord with the patricians in charge of the operation.

That was why the deployment ships were now whistling down directly towards New Westminster. They had dropped out of the bottom of the troop transport like missiles falling from bay doors, using only minimal thrust to aim them towards New London. They hit the atmosphere quickly, vibrating hard as they entered the atmosphere. Flames licked at the outside, but soon they were through, the roar of re-entry changing to the whistle of the winds beside them.

They burst through the sky like spears flung from the heavens, piercing the clouds. Engines roared as they prepared for landing, the soldiers inside going through last minute combat checks. Simultaneously they slowed down just before they would have smashed themselves apart against the ground, their deployment doors opening up as soon as they were close enough for safe deployment.

Inside, soldiers checked the green light, prepared themselves, and began to fast-rope down. From becoming visible to digorging troops the whole process had taken under three minutes, and now trained Matuvistan marines had touched down on New Hollywoodite soil. The first ones immediately drew up their carbines, any curious civilians kept back as the rest of their comrades also dropped down from the transport vehicles, all whilst the heaviest of the craft still made their descent.

The soldiers moved towards the palace quickly, preparing themselves for entry. As they approached, the vehicle deployment craft screeched down from the sky, their atmospheric entry shields lowering to reveal their payload of jetrikes. Each craft could carry two magnetically clamped underneath them, and once they had gotten low enough the clamps deactivated and the vehicles dropped down, thrusters and levitation systems roaring to life to keep them from smashing into the ground.

With the vehicles deployed, the crafts lowered themselves further and more soldiers deployed. The jettrikes revved up and shot ahead to form a cordon around the palace even as the doors of New Buckingham were kicked in and the Matuvistans began to sweep through the ornate halls of the building.

Less than an hour later, resistance had been pacified with minimal loss of life, rebels had been captured and the Matuvistans had formally gotten themselves situated down on the planet.

---

Isabella’s briefing was both promising and concerning. On the one hand, insertion into New Westminster had been a success with no casualties, and she could begin the next step of the operation, that of actually establishing a proper planetside operation rather than a mere temporary field command. On the other hand, news on the foreign front was less positive. The Columbian Senate had announced that the ‘401st Rapid Response’ were being deployed to safeguard the interests of their civilians against the civil violence. As of yet, they hadn’t come out backing either side, but more nations could only increase the level of complexity in the unfolding situation.

Still, it was in both the interests of the MVEF and the 401st to cooperate here. They were, after all, both working for the same purpose at the moment. Suppress the rebels, protect the uninvolved. When the first of the 401st ships entered ECU space, she had a message prepped and ready for them.

“Hail Columbians. This is Commandanta Isabella de Lobasla, of the Matuvistan Volunteer Expeditionary Force. We have established a ground-based headquarters capable of being used to refuel and launch surface-to-orbit craft, and secured against rebel assaults. As a sign of good faith and cooperation, we would like to propose a joint military venture between our forces. We are more than happy to safeguard your citizens.” She paused for a moment.

“If such an agreement is satisfactory, I would also like to invite your commander aboard the vessel I am currently aboard. I’m afraid it’s hardly designed for dignitaries, but I’m sure you understand given the circumstances. Commandanta de Lobasla over and out.”

Inviting their higher-ups aboard was just good sense, and hopefully this way they would endear themselves to the Columbian government. Partially this was because as a patrician, she had a mind towards the diplomatic, but the fact that she was doing all of this also reflected well upon herself when she eventually returned to Matuvista.

A win-win-win then.

---

“Contact! Eight o clock!” Miguel hunkered down beneath one of the anti-terrorist bollards, confident that the heavy concrete would serve well to protect him. Beside him, other men of the volunteer force got themselves situated again, the NCO’s radio requests filtering in through his earpiece.

“La Emperatriz, Serpiente-5.” Headquarters would have been Emperador, until someone had pointed out that they were being lead by a Commandanta and that the feminine was probably more appropriate.

“La Emperatriz.” Came the response.

“Encountered resistance, small-arms fire. Requesting jettrike backup at operational area three-five-alfa-romeo-niner, repeat, requesting jettrike backup at operational area three-fiver-alfa-romeo-niner, do you copy, over?”

There was a pause in communications, broken by the rattle of a rebel assault rifle that snapped harmlessly above their heads.

“Copy Serpiente-5. Dispatching Recon Squad Fuego to your location now. Hold for two minutes, over.”

“Appreciate it, la Emperatriz, Serpiente-5 over and out.” The NCO nodded, knowing the squad had heard the request being met.

“You heard la Emperatriz, two minutes. Keep them pinned down then, but don’t take any stupid risks and get your head taken off. You don’t want to be the first casualty over here.” Miguel peeked up and over the barrier he was hiding behind, assessing the situation. The rebels were easy to see: although they’d clearly attempted to hide themselves, they had attacked opportunistically and without much planning, and the pops of their guns and flash from their muzzles pretty clearly revealed their position. Hefting his own rifle up, he rattled off a burst of suppressing fire, ducking back down as one of his squadmates did the same thing.

“Man, this is a lot easier than the rebels back home huh?” One of the female soldiers a single bollard away quipped, taking her opportunity to poke her head up and rattle off a few shots. “They’ve got their shit sorted out, these guys are revolutionary rookies. Just think, if we were on one of the sisters, we’d have been alerted to the ambush with snipers, and then they’d be rocking us with an MG before bailing.”

“Think they’ll even bail before the jetrikes turn up?” Came a response, shouted to get over the din of exchanged automatic fire.

“Shut it and focus, I know they’re disorganised, but those are still bullets flying over your head. Take it seriou-” The NCO’s voice was drowned out by the roar of jet engines, and a spearhead of three jetrikes soared clean over one of the nearby houses, their machineguns opening up in a hail of full-calibre danger. “Alright!” The NCO continued without missing a beat. “Push up whilst they’re suppressed! Take as many alive as you can!”

It really was no contest, Miguel reflected to himself. On the one hand, most of the soldiers in the MVEF were trained in anti-rebel activities, well armed and well drilled. They were facing a force that hadn’t figured out even the basics of guerilla warfare and severely under armed.

He supposed it was a good day to be a Matuvistan, the soldier lighting a cigarette over handcuffed and dead forms.

---

Tau-Curie knew that she was a small cog in a much bigger machine. Of course she did; she was connected to that machine in a way so intimate that it was difficult for others outside the collective to understand. Unlike others however, who might find such an affair to be demoralising or saddening, she found honour in such a thing. Every machine worked through the smooth functioning of all its cogs together, not because one cog happened to be extremely efficient.

She was also reminded that for every single Eta-Theta there was out there, there was countless hers. Hands made of flesh and blood, working hard for the betterment of all of Zeta. No, no, they were leaving behind that name. She should stop thinking of herself as a ‘Zetan.’ Soon, they wouldn’t be on this wretched planet any more. The idea sent a shot of excitement up her spine. Away She looked around on the surface of Tau-Asphodel, as blighted and benighted as it was, and just for a moment closed her eyes and imagined that the gloom and cracked earth covered in salts that mandated heavy protective gear were gone.

She could see it now. Wide rolling fields of green. Fields of crops underneath her feet, breathing in the fresh air, nurtured not by hydroponics but by water from the skies and nutrients from the soil. Then, she opened her eyes again. Back to dust. Back to gloom. Back to the rustling of her rubber gear, and the hissing sound of her respirator working. Really, she should have gotten herself better lungs years ago, but she was one of those Zetans who liked their fleshy forms. After all, she had so much time, centuries, millenia perhaps, to have a body of steel. Why hurry to replace the movement of the diaphragm, the pulse of blood through veins, the blinking of eyelids?

Then she turned back to the Ark in front of her. Tau-Asphodel’s population mandated that they build one particularly large ark; analysis had revealed it to be more efficient to increase the size rather than construct two. At the moment, they were assembling the various frames and panels they needed for the exoskeleton of the ark into place, swarms of automated and semi-automated drones hovering about. She was in charge of a group of the latter as they put in atmospheric shielding, welders screeching and sparking as they forced metal to bond.

Every panel that was slotted into place was another step closer to her dream.

_{(Starring: Yun)}

Yun hates having to go out, these days. Everything you see is a reminder. No, scratch that: everything you hear is a reminder. There is no silence on New Hollywood. The Oligarch-controlled media is everywhere, omnipresent. It stands at each street corner, shouting at you through speakers attached to the neon streetlamps. Only partially drowned out by the beat of distant music, and the little thumping of raindrops all around.

Because, of course, it's raining again.

He doesn't bother with an umbrella, or even a hood. Just like he didn't bother shaving today. Or yesterday. Or whenever it was that his facial hair started to look like a wiry jungle. He could pass as homeless, if he didn't have a home.

Is that a stupid observation? Probably. Yun doesn't care any more. He looks like a wet dog, by the time he finally gets to the little market stall- the only one nearby to have survived both the recent weather and the recent politics. Everyone else is shutting down. As soon as the White Flowers took over New Beijing, the local economy near imploded.

On a mounted screen nearby, jutting uncomfortably out of the brick wall, a new announcer has a lot to say about that. Yun tries to ignore him; Oligarch mouthpiece. He focuses on the old woman running the stall.

"Hey, uh, you happen to have any mushroom?" Some people think it's strange, but Yun always had a taste for them.

The old woman at the stall nods her head. She's so old, it's barely noticeable amongst all the shaking she's already doing. Yun nods back. Silently, trembling, the woman starts to move; it takes her a thousand years to reach down into the depths of her stall. Yun begins to wonder how long he's going to wait.

In the meantime, the news announcer keeps talking, unaware and unabated.

"You see, Leong," he's saying to another man on the screen, who must be Leong, "these White Flower rebels have no idea how to run a city. None. I'm telling you, they're running the beautiful city of New Beijing into the ground. The Colombians are having to evacuate their people from our whole planet, is how bad it's getting. It's an embarrassment."

Below his talking head, the headline "NEW HOLLYWOOD EMBARRASSMENT" appears in ultra-bold text. The old stall woman can't seem to find the promised mushrooms; but don't worry, deary, she's still looking. Yun assures her it's alright.

"And that's the problem!" Leong answers back, still on the screen. "We only barely won the Zetan war, but you know what, we went out there and we did it. We did what we had to do. Nobody else was going to stand up for humanity. No other nation cared enough. The Earth Cultural Union is the only colony in the world that has truly, honestly held on to who we are. And these White Flowers, or Mixtists, or whatever they're calling themselves these days-" he snorted, a sound that was distorted so strangely by the static and the rain- "they just have no appreciation of that. None at all. Honestly, I hope to Earth the Matuvistansa kill every last one of them. Is that too harsh? I don't think so. They've turned their back on what it means to be human. Just like the Zetans. Just like the Xandalians."

Aha, some mushrooms! They were buried underneath only five or six million pots and pans, each one styled after a different culture and time period. How much kitchen equipment does this one stall sell? Its overhead tent is tattered and full of holes, only barely holding out the water. One wonders how the uncovered screens and speakers never short out. The woman wraps up the mushrooms slowly, tenderly, each one individually.

"The Xandalians," not-Leong starts up again. "Oh, boy, let me tell you about the Xandies..."

Yun pays for his mushrooms. He holds his hands over his ears on the way home.

_{(Addressing: @Crusader Lord)}

Floating far over the lights and joys of New Hollywood, someone is pretty bored.

Since the Zetan war ended, life as an ECU fighter pilot has not been particularly exciting. You spend half your time docked in a cruiser. You spend the other half of your time doing meaningless "patrols" around the Gateway and the planet. You do drills nobody cares about. And, if you're like Pilot Klaus, you watch anime on your infopad while the hours crawl by.

Klaus has been watching anime since he was old enough to pick his own shows. His favorite are the action-themed ones, released in Old Japan largely at the end of the 20th century. All bright colors, dramatic fight scenes and a generous helping of explosion. Part of him knows they are aimed at kids, but the rest of him doesn't care.

Beep, beep! Interrupting the anime time that Klaus takes very seriously, sensors detect something rising up out of the atmosphere of New Hollywood. Whatever it is must be relatively small, built for stealth, and highly insulated: to ECU scanners, it read like the echo of a ghost. But it's close. Very close.

Curiosity wins over. Klaus pivots the entirety of his shuttle, aiming carefully so that he might see what it is with his own eyes. And then his jaw drops.

Rising out of the hazy gray-blue atmosphere of New Hollywood, against a backdrop of wastelands and cities, is a man. But not a man: it is metal, all black, with a face almost like a knight's helmet. For a moment, the sunlight bounces off of its smooth exterior, and Klaus swears he can make out hands and feet of alloy.

It's a mech.

In shock, Klaus flies to his feet. His head bangs- ouch!- against the cramped ceiling, and the little infopad in his lap goes scattering to the floor. By chance, it lands in a very acoustic spot, so that the whole cabin is suddenly filled the sound of a familiar song that has just begun to play.

For a moment, inspired by the thematically appropriate theme song, Klaus doesn't even want to fight the creature. He just wants to stand there and stare out his cockpit, taking in the awe of a spacecraft in the shape of a robot in the shape of a man. It rises out of the hazy air, fully in space now, right alongside Klaus' ship; which now feels clumsy and garish by comparison. But then, sadly, whoever is within the black suit seems to spot him, and Klaus quickly has to jerk his ship out of the way before he is obliterated.

A missile flies through where he used to be. The moment of awe passes; panic asserts itself. With a finger jabbed on the "Comms" button, Klaus sends out a distress call, soon answered by four other fighter pilots. Together, they give chase.

The mech is not alone. Five identical comrades appear, rising up from the surface in the same way. The fighter pilots are divided in trying to catch them all. The unknown figures duck and swerve, move sometimes like humans and other times like ships. Klaus calls out, "I can't catch them!" His commander cries back, over comms: "Then just fucking shoot and hope!"

All at once, the ECU fighters open fire, releasing a motley assortment of mass-driver weapons. Bullets built for spacecraft crash into two of the mechs at lightening speed, sending them spinning. It is several seconds before they can right themselves. But the ones not hit release a kind of weapons fire that flare up in the void, like a light show in space.

"That's- so cool!"
"Klaus, they are trying to kill us. Please focus."

Klaus tries to focus. They pursue the mysterious figures for another two minutes, even though it feels more like two hours. At last, all six disappear behind the moon of a local gas giant. And when the fighters round it, they are gone.

"Who were those guys?"

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

Far below the interstellar dogfighting, and far to the West of Yun's silent little struggle, is a man on a mission. His mission is simple, but heavier than the world. Because he is the man who will save the ECU.

Technically, that man should be Savant James Heralds. But, well, he's not. The Savant has been almost an absent commander lately, withdrawing more and more into his old passions of philosophy and engineering. He'll see nobody but his friends; and even them he mistrusts. Dark rumors swirl around his head.

In his place, an Oligarch named Jean Pierre Dupont stands tall as the new Emergency Director. Except he doesn't stand tall, because he is only 5'2, and the nickname "Neo Napoleon" has already began to haunt his every step. (He constantly reminds others that Napoleon was average height for his time, and they constantly remind Jean that he's not.)

He walks over a large, holographically enabled map that dominates the floor of the Strategic Command Warroom. As he steps, little three-dimensional displays project upwards from the floor map, responding to his presence. They display cities: seven of them. Two, labeled Neo London and New Beijing, are wreathed in a very menacing shade of red. Enemy territory.

The other five are colored after the ECU's trademarked gold. Mostly, that is: little dots of red represent where White Flower activity has created hotspots of dissent. Already, they're exporting their revolutionary ideals. If it did not frighten and anger the Oligarch Dupont so much, he would be impressed at their quick spread. The Flowers are populists to the core, promising a better life for the disenfranchised, the outsiders, and the poor. And there are plenty of those in New Hollywood today.

"We need to make them doubt themselves," said a voice. It belonged to a man named Aamadu, who like Dupont, was a native to Neo Istanbul; one of the cities being overtaken by a sea of red dots.

Dupont shook his head violently. "We've done that, my old friend, a trillion times. They still hear the news. And get the holo-films." Another red dot appeared, this time on the city of New Rome. An open air holo-suite had just been bombed there. "We need to use force."

"Force? Come on, Napoleon-" Aamadu is the only non-oligarch Dupont has met who's not intimidated by his title- "force is what created this problem. The protectors." He spat the word out like it was a curse. "And we are not soldiers. It doesn't matter how many maps you make, or Strategic Command Warrooms you build. The ECU is not an army. We're storytellers. We're propagandists. We are..." he smiles, clearly having an idea, "magicians."

But Jean just rolled his eyes. "Stop talking in riddles, and tell me what you think I should do."

"I don't think, I know." He tapped the hovering recreation of Neo London, which enlarged itself at his touch. Neo London was displayed in perfect, exacting detail, down to the last piece of litter on the sidewalk. And in the center of all the red lighting, New Westminster was a glowing beacon of blue. "We have powerful allies here. Far better in the art of war than we could ever, ever be. Yes, I know that our back is against the wall. But that is the time to rely on only our skills. Tell me, do you Oligarchs still have access to the media systems?"

Jean affirms that they do. And finally, Aamadu begins to spill his plan.

First, they'll pump up every light in Neo London and New Beijing, making it brighter than daylight even in the middle of the night. Then they'll crank up the volume on the street-side speakers and screens, too, so that you'll hear them indoors with a pillow over your head. Jets will fly over the two cities in random patterns, occasionally blasting off fireworks, and occasionally dropping bombs onto the homes of well-known rebels. They'll turn the public holo-suites off. The 24/7 news broadcasts are to be replaced with a constant, loud music that plays into every street and alleyway, because there is no escape from the music of New Hollywood.

And more: Jean mentions that the Flowers often communicate via electronic messages, shared through their infopads. Every citizen uses such things; it's New Hollywood's version of the internet. But loyal agents will now hack into every vulnerable White Flower message board, and flood the rest with false information, making it completely untrustworthy.

In the end? A city of uncoordinated, sleep-deprived, on-edge civilians who have no chance against any military effort. And then, then, says Aamadu, they can call in Dupont's beloved protectors to sweep everyone up.

The two men talk late into the night, until eventually, their planning turns to celebration. They order champagne and propose a toast. Not because they are certain they're going to win. No, just the opposite; because in their hearts, they know this is the last ditch effort before the rebels overwhelm them, and the last chance to save their peculiar culture. Because, if the ECU is to fall, at least it shall fall doing what it has always done.

As they clang their glasses together, golden champagne spills out over the floor.

"To our final act!"



His office isn't as clean as it used to be, Tanaka thinks, correctly. And it smells like oil. Both these observations are true, but he will not say them. You can't say these sorts of things to a Savant.

The Savant in question, James Heralds, is leaned over the metal carcass of his most recent project. Even if there were a gun aimed at Tanaka's mechanical heart, he couldn't guess what it was for. It's something with spindly, leg-like appendages that jitter and jump while Heralds prods at them. It reminds you of a patient on an operating table.

He does not like that thought, and quickly brings up the subject he came here for.

"Savant Heralds," he says, in a carefully modulated tone, "I was sent by the Noocratic Counc-" but he is interrupted.

"Tanaka, my youthful friend!," Heralds exclaims, without bothering to turn around from his twitching metal abomination, "It has been too long since we've seen each other. You've been so preoccupied. The Meeting Place is a harsh world."

The young man smiles. (Heralds, still having his back turned, has not bothered to wear one.) "Indeed, Savant. I'm glad to be on temporary leave. And as I was sayi-"

"Are you now? That doesn't sound like the Tanaka I know. In fact, I'm positive you still want to be up there." Tanaka feels a stab in his chest, and at that same moment, remembers what it's always like to talk to the Savant. Heralds goes on: "But I don't mean to contradict you, my youthful friend. You know, you've always been my favorite. Have you gotten the chance to visit Old Japan since you've been back?"

The youth shrugged. "I have never been one for culture parties, Savant." Or for Old Japan. "And of course, in the holo-suites, I prefer-"

"The Wild West!" Heralds turns around. His face is wearing that smile now, for the first time in three or four weeks, and is also covered in grease and oil. Almost nothing is left in him of the Savant, genius leader of the ECU: he looks more like a deranged mechanic. Tanaka wonders how long Heralds has been stuffed up in here. The Noocratic Council contacted him specifically to check on the Savant. They said...

"Oh, yes, cowboy shoot outs and wandering heroes. Yes, very playful. Quaint. Childish. Not," he promises, "that there's anything wrong with that." But his eyes say otherwise.

Tanaka swallows it. "Savant, may I ask-" he gestures to the room at large, as grandly as he can without feeling like he's taking too many liberties- "what is all this?"

"Just projects," Heralds answers immediately. And when he talks next, his voice is somehow harder. Like gray iron: "Why? What did they say? Who have you been talking to?"

This time, the other man doesn't even get the chance to be interrupted. Heralds has resumed before he can open his mouth. "That's why you're here, isn't it? My enemies. They got to you? Who got to you?" Tanaka notes the scattered language. He has never heard the Savant speak so messily. "The Noocratic Council? The ex-protectors? That crazy woman, Kayla? The... White Flowers?"

Tanaka's face goes near as white as those flowers, when Heralds says that, and then the Savant is laughing loudly. He turns and picks up a little box made completely of gears. He tightens one screw, then another, then places it down to whir loudly on the table. "I know you're not my enemy, Tanaka. Not you. But you must be aware. There are some who would kill me, if they could. And you are so foolish. So young. They would use you to spy on me. Don't tell anyone a word. Don't trust anyone who is not me." He rubs his gray, stubbly chin. "If they kill me, they will kill you. Never forget that. You are my closest ally. They know this. My life is your life."

Tanaka looks down at the floor.

"My youthful friend," Heralds repeats again, "don't be so discouraged. This is the way things must go. You see, I am the Savant. I know things. I've read all the histories of Old Earth. Every nation, every culture, every war. Even the ones we censure from the public. I alone know them all. I am the Savant. And I know something else," he steps over scrap metal, leaning in close to Tanaka, and speaks in a conspiratorial whisper, "I know how this revolution will end. There's only so many ways these things can happen. And once certain evens have begun, and indeed passed, the outcome of any war is all but determined. Oh, those stupid, superstitious Mixtists may talk of 'prophecy,' but I know a real prophecy. I know how the White Flower Revolution ends."

Is it too much to hope for? Tanaka meets Herald's eyes. "How, Savant? Do... we win?" He wants to believe. So, so much he wants to believe. In the Savant, in the Noocracy, in all of it. His heart- robotic as it might be- is still fully loyal.

Herald's smile falters. "You've always been so... naive."

With that, the Savant turns to work on his miscellaneous projects again. Gears, wires and engineering consumes his world. Try as he might, and as he does, Tanaka can't stir the Savant to conversation again. It is a steel wall.

He turns to leave, at last. But as soon as he reaches the cramped office door-

"Tanaka, look!" He turns around, and Heralds is holding... something. A misshapen lump of metal and plastic, beating rhythmically, bouncing the cords that dangle off of it. "It's your heart!"

He feels sick to the stomach. He walks out of the room without saying another word. When the Noocratic Council contacts him to ask if the Savant is still stable- because all the whispers suggest he is not- he will lie and say that Heralds is fine. Everything is fine.

Everything is fine, everything is fine.

The mornings after a party were always hard. And damn, the Matuvistans surely knew how to throw one. Kelsie didn’t even think she drank that much and still, she felt like beaten up by a pack of Screechers, all complete with a spear piercing through her head. It wasn’t nearly as bad as her last hangover she drank herself to after the Undefeated lost a Battleship over Zeta-5, but it was still damn inconvenient.

She crawled into her office sipping some miraculous bubbly anti-hangover medicine that did nothing more than to irritate her stomach and sighed upon seeing a swarm of red flag notifications on her workstation. Of course, everything happens all at once while she is away. She swiped through the messages, astonished to see not one, but two new nations arriving.

The first ones, bearing a strange name The One, have already left the system and there was no way of contacting them now. It seemed that at least it was an ECU diplomat who managed to greet them first and establish contact. So, by proxy of being ECU’s allies, the Undefeated won that one as well.

Kelsie opened the message from the second arriving nation and a loud voice echoed through the room.

"Greetings fellow 'presumably' descendants of Earth! We’re from New Haven representing the New Haven Directorate! We come in peace with the intention of studying Earth and exploring new strange worlds!” Hmm, so far they sounded surprisingly normal. "To signify our intentions of peace, I shall sing you a song of my people!” Wait, what?

As the loud music blasted out of the speakers suddenly, Kelsie was torn between the desperate desire to cover her ears and the logical choice of finding the mute button, a stupidly tiny thing placed in a corner of a screen.

“WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” The ungodly roaring and screeching stopped, Kelsie managed to find and press the button. She looked up to see David standing by the door, with his ears covered and face twisted by tortured expression. “Seriously,” he continued when it was finally quiet, “are you trying to kill me?”

Kelsie had to laugh when she noticed he looked even worse than she did. Bad choice, since wiggling her stomach in that way made her nauseous and dizzy. “Sorry, that was a bit unexpected.”

“I hate you.” David could barely keep his eyes open and as he sat down he had to rest his forehead against the cold metal of the table. Kelsie seated herself in a comfy chair at her desk, trying to at least look normal, but her pale face and blank stare gave her away.

“Is that some kind of a new hangover shock treatment?” The young scientist Julianna Petrova was watching them from the doorway, trying very hard not to start laughing. “It seems to be producing very mixed results.” She looked fresh and rested, just like any other morning.

“I hate you as well.” David didn’t even bother to lift his head up. “I hate everything.”

Kelsie’s eyes narrowed when she realized something. “When did you even have time to drink? Weren’t you following me all night like an overgrown piece of walking muscle, all glum and frowny?”

“Exactly.” David looked at her, sounding a bit angry. “And it was so horribly boring that I kept drinking the bubbly thing in those tall fancy glasses. I mean one of those girls basically stalked me and every time I finished one glass she was standing there with another. It seemed rude and very undiplomatic to refuse.”

“Undiplomatic? Is that even a word?” Kelsie chuckled and groaned when her stomach protested again.

Julianna’s eyebrows went up so high they could barely see them. “Incredible. You two are supposed to be the elite of our society. We’re doomed.”

“Ugh, look at her all cocky and smart,” Kelsie burped slightly which might have made her look like an unmannered pig, but it actually made her feel better. “I mean a few weeks ago by the law she wasn’t even a proper person.” Kelsie could afford to say such a thing because she has come to know Julianna well enough to be certain she would take it as a joke.

“Yes, and right now I am more of a person than you two combined. Officers,” she added with an ironic smirk.

David moaned quietly. “Why are we even here? How many important things could have happened over the duration of one party?”

“You’d be surprised.” Kelsie quickly eyed the other messages to see if there was anything equally as important as new nations arriving at the Meeting Place. “Two new nations arrived, one has already made contact with the ECU, took their representative on board, and left. The other one sent a message which I will not replay for obvious reasons.”

“Yes, please don’t,” David agreed with a desperate expression. “Just send them the normal welcoming bullshit, I’m sure they are swamped by messages from other nations anyway. See, I’m a properly functioning person. Can I go back to bed now?”

“I’ll do that,” Julianna offered, seeing that none of the other two is capable of swift action.


“As the representatives of the Undefeated nation, we are happy to welcome you to the Meeting Place, a space station built by the combined efforts of all nations that rose up from the former Earth colonies. We are sure that you must be overwhelmed by messages from other nations. Whenever you have time, we would like to invite you to our section of the Meeting Place where we could talk and establish proper diplomatic relationships.”

“Right, done. Anything else important happened?”

“Well, things aren’t going well for our allies.” Kelsie scrolled through several reports on the rebellion. “Those White Flowers have apparently gained control of two major cities on New Hollywood. And,” her eyebrow rose in surprise, “other nations seem to be meddling in the conflict. But it’s not our problem.”

Julianna frowned. “Aren’t they our allies?”

“A shitload of good they've done for us,” David grumbled quietly, his head back on the table.

Kelsie shrugged, she didn’t really have a say in the matter. “They issued no request for help, official or otherwise. Plus the Grand General isn’t rushing to involve us in another conflict that could potentially turn into a bloodbath, which is good, I guess. That’s about it from me, so if you guys don’t have anything, I think heading back to bed isn’t such a terrible idea.”

“Amen!” David’s head raised up with a hopeful expression.

“Actually, I think that while you guys have been drinking your asses off… I mean forging diplomatic relationships, I have stumbled upon something. Sorry, Major,” she smirked at David who succumbed back into desperation.

Kelsie wasn’t surprised, the girl's intelligence and resourcefulness were the reason she had her in this private ‘High Command’ of hers. “You found something when sneaking around?”

“I didn’t have to sneak around at all, they weren’t very secretive about it. Quite the opposite actually, they are looking to sell it. It’s something called the lodestones.”

“The load stones? Don’t we have a ton of stones at home?” David murmured.

“The lodestones,” Julianna corrected him. “They are naturally magnetized pieces of a mineral called the magnetite.” David stared at her with a blank expression. “Magnets, David. They are magnets.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you just say so right away? Why do we need magnets anyway?”

“Hey, I know that!” Kelsie exclaimed excitedly, feeling like the dumb kid in a science class that actually knows the right answer to something. “The shields operate with magnets, don’t they?”

Julianna nodded. “Exactly, the plasmatic shields we use on our ships depend on maintaining a stable magnetic field. But there are also whispers of some super-secret new project that requires a lot of magnetic materials as well. But I don’t know anything about it except that it exists and that it is led by…” she paused suddenly, looking at Kelsie with caution.

“My mother,” Kelsie snorted. “Of course. I know she is there, whispering into the Grand General’s ears. And for some reason, he listens to her advice.” Kelsie hasn’t spoken to her since she was ordered to do so before the Zetan war. A message popped up in her inbox from time to time that she deleted without reading.

David wisely stayed quiet. Or maybe he had fallen asleep.

“Fine, if my mother managed to convince Pawlowski she needs magnets, she will get magnets. I’ll get in touch with that Luciano guy and see what deal I can get. Now if you guys don’t have anything, I’d really love to get a few more hours of sleep. Julianna? Nothing. David? David’s out. Meeting adjourned.”

Kayla shook the One's hand and that was that. An alliance has been established. Time will tell if the One took the right side in the war.

" We learned that it's better in situations like this to act in haste. The sooner we get the transfer on, the sooner we can save your people. 
Please follow us, we shall make sure that Hanson and the protector will be locked up and safe " they said as they guided Kayla to the original Vault as others led the prisoners to a safe place 
Soon the original Vault appeared, just a few kilometers away from the Library. It was the most imposing building in the city or it would've been if it wasn't fully demolished. Before the extinction, it probably would've towered over the whole city. Hundreds of meters tall. 

Now, only a small door leading down a stairwell remained and debris which was cleared as much as possible by the One.
“ We are very sorry for what we are about to do Ambassador Kayla. But, it’s for your safety...as well as ours ” muttered the lead Grant under his breath.

Kayla looked at them confused but before she could reach or say anything the butt of a spear knocked her out.

Multiple Ones approached and lifted her body up, two on each side and carefully brought her down in the vault. A vast underground place, many kilometers wide in every direction with doors leading to long-collapsed tunnels. Before them stood the cloning vats. They looked small in comparison to the Vault, 3 meters tall and 4 wide. The Ones were all over the Vault, moving constantly from those that would redirect the clone as soon as they were made, to guards, to Williams which were ready to sacrifice themselves at a moment’s notice if a cloning machine would require a boost of power until the next power core would be brought in. 

The lead Grant moved forward with Kayla’s unconscious body and her carriers behind them. 

“ It’s time! We are not going to make a long speech my brethren. We have known from the moment we made ourselves that this time will come. Today, we will allow a new mind to join us. We have been alone for a long time, more than any human is entitled to. Today marks the first time in our history, in which One becomes Two. 
Soon, we will be Three and then Four. We know no limits. The Immortalis have shown us this. The Immortalis have given us the greatest gift which humanity has ever received…WHO ARE WE? ” addressed the lead Grant towards all of the present One. At the next update, the whole One will know about what has transpired in their place of birth. 

All of the present One stopped in their tracks, listening to the lead Grant speak and at the end gave a loud but solemn shout. “ We are ONE. ” 

Shortly afterwards, Kayla was put inside a cloning machine. Her unknown body was scanned, pickled by needles as they drew her blood. Scanning it, making it One then her brain was scanned. All her knowledge, all her memories and everything that made Kayla, Kayla.
And as James William Grant in ages past, Kayla screamed for as long as she could. The pain was unbearable. She was deconstructed to her DNA and then rebuilt. Piece by piece. DNA strand by DNA strand. The One memories flooding Kayla’s brain.  They’d come and go, in flashes. Seeing everything that the One lived, from the first moment until the present.

Earth. London. Trees. Life. Struggle on the streets. First time he stole to survive, the first time he spent days without food. Hustling on the streets. A one way ticket to America. A new life, a new James. Earth was slowly becoming uninhabitable. Opportunity arises, a job on the colony ships. Another one-way trip. Explosions. Death. A foreign planet. An unknown city. Confusion. Murder and more death.  Survival at the price of everything. Kill, eat, hide and kill again. Loneliness. Alone. Hope and then no longer alone. He became them. One purpose. One person. 4 billion times. Same as before. Kill, eat, work, survive. Kill, eat, work, survive.

These last words would be printed in Kayla’s mind like a mantra. Kill, eat, work, survive. Repeated again and again and after what felt like hours but in fact were mere minutes, the cloning machine stopped. 

Kayla fell from the cloning machine, a new bruise on her forehead where the One implant was put, deep inside her brain. Giving her the ability to update her information as the One and to send her information as well to the others. 
A freshly created One jumped straight towards Kayla and caught her. Nodding to the lead Grant, they brought her outside and put her on some pelts. Ones brought her food and tea for when she’ll wake up.

Stage one completed, stage two was about to commence. The update of the One with Kayla’s brain. The lead Grant would be the first to update their knowledge. The first in billions to become Two. They went inside the cloning vats, a look of fear but also resolve on their face. The process that became as normal as breathing for the One was unusual this time. Memories flew in their head. At first their own, then more. Someone else’s. Alien. Foreign. 
Kayla. 

Memories of childhood. Years spent studying believing in the ECU propaganda. A family striving to do whatever is needed to see their daughter succeed. Love and hatred for the ECU. Her anger towards the Oligarchy. Every thought or feeling she ever had, forgotten or not. First kiss, first love, first betrayal. Looked down upon by the others. Seen as less for not being born in the right family. First words she ever said. The loving figure of her mother. Thoughts of rebellion. Everything and anything that made Kayla. All joining the mind of the One. Everything joining the memories of One. Expanding their mind, making them more. 
And as Kayla, the lead Grant fell from the cloning machine. Their mind trying to make sense of the new knowledge. In comparison to Kayla, the lead Grant was still conscious. Their mind was more attuned to the transfer process, unusual as it was. 

In only a day, 100000 Ones had their knowledge updated. Each going through the same confusion as the lead Grant but still maintaining their One mind. As they assembled in front of the Behemoth, the biggest and only ship that the One had, the lead Grant walked in front of the others.

“ Everyone! Listen. We understand Kayla’s motives better than anyone can. We know what we have to do. New Beijing will be our first target. Our homeci-- Her home city. Her knowledge of the city’s inner workings will help us secure a foothold on their planet.

We will be bringing Kayla’s unconscious body with us, hoping that she will wake up and 4 of our cloning vats. We know how dangerous that is but they will be required to make sure we will not lose. ” as they shouted the words, they One boarded the Behemoth. All of them armed with spears, swords, bows and dressed in hardened bones. Enough to withstand a few bullets before eventually breaking. 

The ship felt smaller than before, as it was filled to the brink with the One. Never meant to house this many James at once and Williams to provide power. 
And on they went. A chant of war on their lips. Remembering the days of Old Earth and Kayla’s childhood. 



The Behemoth went through the Gateway with no issues. The black pyramids inert as always, only allowing ships to go out of the system. 
The ECU homeword, New Hollywood laid before them. Shining lights and the occasional explosion marred the surface of the beautiful planet. Memories of Kayla’s first ascent into space came to mind but were quickly suppressed by the One. As they prepared for descent, warnings came on screen as they were hailed by an ECU spaceship orbiting the planet.

“Unknown vessel. You are not cleared to approach New Hollywood. Identify yourself” 

“ This is Oligarch Kayla’s allies. Security code 124-521CB. She has purchased our services and we are ready to descend on New Beijing in order to overthrow the insurgency which has taken place. Do you want us to wake her up to prove this? You might well know how quick the Oligarchs are to anger...if they’re woken up for small nothings like this. ” answered the lead Grant on the Behemoth. Mimicking the speech of protectors to the best of their ability, using the same voice tonality and words as Kayla.

“There’s no need for that. Code went through with no issues. Happy hunting.”
After the initial chat, the Behemoth descended upon Beijing. The lights and loud sounds of the ECU’s psychological attacks could be seen/heard as soon as the ship approached the closest abandoned spaceport. 

“ You hear that? They’ve prepared music for us and a nice light show. These people are surely happy to see us ” joked the lead Grant which made the Ones on the bridge laugh out loud. 

As soon as the ship touched ground, the Ones stepped out in a blur. Hundreds of One started securing the spaceport. Makeshift barricades were raised and anything that remotely looked like a security camera or loudspeaker was destroyed.
Accessing Hanson’s infopad, which they brought over, they sent out a message to the White Flowers. 

“We are here to help. We need to speak.“ 

Terra Supremus
A Gorilla Yankee in the Herald's Court

---

The day finally came. After incredibly fast refits, reverse-engineering, staff training and other whatchamacallit procedures that went over his head, the Terra Supremus was above New Gift once more. The act of flying was normally feared among apes, rising from the ground without their firm grip on anything rooted to said ground was an innate fear. The main reason why any of the ape flying machines, such as the Legion ones he could see circling the former colony ship, were drones controlled by a remote pilot. Frankly, the act of rising from the ground as they had in this rumbling, grand ship felt exhilarating to this old gorilla. He bared his teeth at the sight of New Gift down below, the light and dark of the two halves of Munus in perfect contrast. He felt appeased at the sight which gave old eyes a new meaning for beautiful.

The conflicts which dot the supercontinent seemed insignificant from here. The politicking and the trade wars, the raiding and the constant harassment of native beasts. It felt so far away from him. He zoned in on the harsh, dark greens of the equatorial jungles, cutting the continent in half from east to west. Grey orbs hardened and a smile turned into a frown. Waste of space. Damned imperialist scum. Flashes of bright lights, crimson splattering on dark green, good apes torn to shreds. That horrible munching sound which he could still hear in the far distance, even from here. His mood darkened as forgotten memories came to.

His brooding would be interrupted with a light cough, given by a smiling young orangutan who looked far too old for his age. The old gorilla pointed his gaze downwards, bowing his head in submission.

"Forgive me for interrupting an old ape reminiscing of his branches colonel, but I did call a meeting of the representatives two minutes ago." The light, soft voice was mismatched with the wrinkled face that accompanied it. Such was the fate of many Khans and their imminent heirs. He cleared his throat, marveling slightly at the rich cloths and silks adorning his old subordinate.

"You can't call me colonel no more Temujin, I was discharged from the Auxiliary Corps years ago. Believe it was 'cause I let an unexpected troublemaker under my command. Ya don't need to come meander all this way for a disgraced legionnaire like me. Anyways, I'm only a sergeant now." He said humbly, eyes subtly tracing the burn patches and scars which marked the imminent heir's fur. To young, hotblooded apes of the latest generation, such things were attractive and used to woo females. Often leading to wild romping and tussling. To him, it was a sign of his greatest failure and deepest regret.

A light laugh interrupted his brooding contemplation. He risked a glance at Temujin's eyes, seeing mirth and an undeserved twinkle. "It sounds like we remember things differently, Sergeant William." The orangutan grinned widely, flicking his eyes downwards in a small gesture of appeasement. Or was it submission? No, that couldn't be it. He was only the guest security, not anywhere close to a state representative. Imminent heirs did not hold any official position within the Khanate. But one needed to be monkey-brained to not realise the importance of submitting to the next Khan of all things.

The ornately robed heir started knuckle-walking closer to him, faster than that waddle apes on two feet had. A combat stance, reminding William of old times. They were one arm span apart once the heir started talking. "I believe that you were discharged without precedent or proper procedure, and that the Khan himself, my father, came to address the issue. As Supreme Commander of the Legion, which includes the Corps, this was an unusual case for him to address. But for your incredible acts of heroism and for saving me-" The voice paused a beat, letting that sink in. "-he wished for you to return as colonel and rewarded a Medal of Supreme Inheritance. But instead, you politely declined the most powerful ape on New Gift in front of the Senate, wishing to join the military in your old frontier city-state. The Khan can accept defeat but he does not forget. You declined every attempt to promote you or fast track you to officer school. Instead, you were committed to staying in the lower NCO ranks. The Khan cannot keep an insult like that to continue."

The large drum in his ear stopped for a second. William felt his palms and feet sweat glands release droplets like rain, the nerves rolling off of him. "I didn't mean to commit any treason Temujin, I just didn't feel-"

"-worthy?" A simian hand, orange fur tipped with albino white, gripped the disgraced officer's soldier firmly. "Well, you better prove your worth now. In the power vested in me as Herald of the Khan, I reinstate you as Colonel William Travis IV, Legionnaire. Furthermore, I promote you to head of my personal guard for this expedition. You proved yourself by coming here, after declining the most powerful ape in the Khanate several times. You proved yourself worthy on the frontier. You proved yourself worthy in that jungle, Legionnaire. You proved that to every monkey that got out alive that day, including a young foolish youngling with father issues. You are worthy, William, you merely need to believe in it. I trust you. The Khan trusts you. You need to trust yourself."

There it was. That Earth-damned ability to move even the stiffest of mountains. Damn Khans and their progeny, too good for the lot of them. William could only nod numbly. He knew this was a trap somehow. He had spent years on the frontier as an underpaid, overworked sergeant before this golden opportunity came. This Earth expedition could bring his name to the history books once more, like his predecessors had tried before him, if only in small mentions. Every name in this ship would be written down for this culturally significant occasion. Work as a minor guest security guard, get the name Travis spoken again. Not many apes thought his genetic ancestor was significant enough. But instead, he was dumped with responsibility and a personal speech from the imminent heir and Herald. An old friend.

It was almost enough to make his slumped shoulders stand a little straighter. William nodded, gently removing the heir's good hand down and fixing his bespoke dark suit. "Lead the way, herald."

---

[@everyone]
Through the Gateway, to Earth
The Clergy's Guide to the Galaxy

---

Excitement grew in waves as the announcement. She felt it in the air, the chitter chatter of excited apes down below. That of security guards, workers, minor state representatives, historians and scientists. But here, among representatives of the most important figures of the Khanate, silence reigned. Personal guards and Legionnaires were rigid, alert. Attendees and servers have long left this space above the bridge, leaving these powerful apes to think silently among themselves. The holographic projection of the Terra Supremus' looked grim, with a floating image of the thing next to him. The newly-appointed and unknown head of the Herald's personal guard furrowed his eyebrows and grunted. She dismissed him at first, only seeing an old gorilla with greying fur and bent back. She had second thoughts when she saw how much his presence fit among these strong leaders. Unlike her.

"This right here poses a damn security problem. So many unknowns." The old ape grumbled out, reminding her of John and his own grumblings. A light, almost angelic giggle carried itself from the most powerful simian in the room. The Herald was unlike any authority figure she had seen before. Her life had been sheltered and unlike many here, her only encounters with the outside world was textbooks. The imminent heir to the Khan had been enjoyable and light to be around, much unlike his somber brother. He seemed to carry a heavy weight on his shoulders but fought on with mirth and happiness. He seemed to avoid her though, but that was to be expected. Suspicion was evident in everyone's eyes as they passed over her.

The Herald bared his teeth at the old gorilla, twinkle in one of his scarred eyes. "You think so? Always acting like the largest seed in the fruit, bringing everything down. Ya old ape." The familiarity between the two did not surprise her. She did expect that from the air around them. But the gorilla's sputtering and protests were so comical she almost had to suppress a giggle of her own. She could NOT afford to embarrass herself among the powerful like this. John trusted her with this.

A soft clearing of the throat brought the attention of the room to the wildly dressed ape next to her. A Freeman Republican, dressed in that seemingly uncomfortable, apparently itchy clothing and wig of theirs. The chimpanzee brought his handkerchief down, folding it neatly into a breast pocket. A Descartes something or other, young like her. "Perhaps we should think about who these beings are and why they are here. The what has already been established by good Captain Nelson here. By his analysis, we've stumbled upon some sort of space station, correct sir?"

The military man in naval regalia tugged at his collar before replying. "Initial scans have indicated that this is an artificial, hollow orbital object over the remains of Earth. We cannot identify some of the materials used and designs do not match completely with known architecture. But erm, according to some of the historians on board, there are indications of human influence within the structure. Our analysts and cultural experts agree with the idea that this is an amalgamation of different human colony structures."

The immediate silence was thick and awkward. Her own eyes widened. Living spirits, here? The Freeman shuffled uncomfortably in his seat before cutting through the tension. "Well, that is unexpected."

A snort. "Indeed. Who knew the humans had it in them to come together again? Look at what happened to Earth." She almost risked sending a glare at that statement. Humans have died in droves on that planet. Those poor spirits on that dust-ball, yearning to be freed. She wondered if she could go there and relieve her guilt.

"I agree, they went tits up on that planet. My ancestor tried to warn them." The Conservationist gorilla, jungle green clothing and goggles. They always somehow had some sort of mud on them somehow, even travelling through space.

"Have we dispatched any drones in a screen yet?" Another voice. A chimpanzee in a old Roman-style tunic and toga. The Polity representative, she noted. There were more 4 different representatives here, only one of whom did not come from a Greater State. A variety of factors had brought each of them in this room with the Herald. The Polity was the most powerful city state in Tellus and those frontier states stuck close in the Senate.

The young Freeman coughed politely again. Was he sick? "Perhaps we should avoid being so brash."

A derisive snort came from the only other lady ape there. "The philosophers being scared? Hardly the first time."

The toga-wearer snarled. Bad blood there, the Conservationists had long since taken the spot of the Polity among the Greater States. He bared his fangs. "It is called a precaution, you uneducated tree-loving philistine. Your band of barbarians should learn the concept, they might be useful in keeping firearms pointed away from you."

The conservationist narrowed her eyes.

"Minor."

"Tree-hugger."

"We were evolved to climb trees you fool!"

"And we were enhanced to be better, you devolved ingrate!"

"Why I oughta gouge your eyes, troglo-" *BANG*

The long table rose and tilted to one end, everyone jumping back in a fright. The now malformed and crumpled furniture slammed back into the ground with a thud. The old ape stood with his chest puffed, nostrils flared. Tall, ferocious. Threatening. He beat his chest so hard that she swore she heard some clothes rip. The thumping rang through the room, fear crawling into her spine. They were learned apes but sometimes, she wondered why some spirits were left behind when the Supremus clung to old innate fears. Guilt fought with fear as her thoughts rushed through her head.

"We're on the edge of something big here, you baboons!" The booming voice cut through the silence. "I can't stand watching you monkeys squabble in front of the imminent heir to the Khan himself. Keep your rivalries to yourselves and let the adults talk." The arguing pair from before bowed, the toga-wearer more so than the female. The old gorilla crashed back down to a knuckle-walk stance, glaring around the table. A frightening capable ape.

The Herald however only frowned, lounging in his chair as he gazed on the ruined table. "That was vintage, you know colonel? Real original Human-made steel, not forged by an ape." A long sigh escaped the young orangutan, seemingly unbothered by the other things going on in the room. What an infallible young man. He gazed back at the hologram of the space station, finger scratching his hairy chin.

"I think we should contact them." And that was it. One sentence ended the discussion. She saw his gaze land on her.

"How do you think we should handle this, Priestess Joan? The Church must have sent you here to advise me somehow." She felt every eye on her now but none felt as powerful as his. One wrong word and she could be packed out of here. Joan decided to clench her fists and look the herald in his inquisitive eyes. Fight fire with fire. The orangutan just smiled.

"T-This one believes we should open negotiations, no matter who these travelers are. Humans or not, this one believes that it is better to start with talking, as the good spirits would have done. Humanity's legacy should not be of war but of peace." Joan gained enough confidence in her short speech to add a final part. "But we should be careful, lest they be opportunistic people."

The herald hummed. Those eyes were much too old now, wizened and calculating. It forced Joan to put her gaze down but not before she caught a smile come up and disappear. "I think the good Sister is correct, is she not? The Church truly brings out the wise." He pierced each representative with a striking gaze, waiting for them to nod. She saw each of them flicking their eyes at her as they do so. She cursed in her head. She did not agree to the trip for politicking. She thought this would be a mere pilgrimage to Earth!

The eccentric ape clapped, a full blown grin on his face. "Well then, since I doubt my father has died in the short time we have been travelling, I do not have the political power to deal with foreign affairs. Even if I am herald, I was only named so as a title, not an official political position. We did not expect the dead to come back to life after all!" He winked at Joan then raised a finger to the captain.

"Captain, I want you to send our first contact package in Esperanto first, as it is our main official language. Use our historical linguists to translate the package into old Earth English, Mandarin and Spanish and send a package again afterwards in that order. If I remember history correct, those were the most widely spoken even among our own caretakers. Send a message as well, asking for an invitation to their ugly station." A pause. "Actually, I will write it myself."

Surprised "o's" formed on every ape's face in the room. "You are inviting yourself to the station sir?"

A wave of dismissal. "Have our decontamination procedures used. We already had them prepared for the representatives, researchers, archaeologists, historians and guards arriving from a dead Earth. Do not worry, I am not overstepping my political boundaries. I promise to not make any official deals yet, not until I have word from the Khan. I just wish for the Supremus' first step into galactic communication to be more natural. Colonel Travis, have all security forces and cultural experts practice marching down the long hall, through the jungle. We need our best examples of human culture, we are their inheritors after all."

The old gorilla looked incredulous at the demands, as did the rest of the room. Joan raised a hand and gained the herald's attention. As well as the entire room. Foolishly attracting more attention to herself, she would later realise. "This one asks what you plan on doing, Herald Temujin?"

"A parade performance Joan! Showing the Supremus' best culture and fiercest soldiers. I think we should curate the performance a bit, we can't possibly fit every representative, expert and guard. Colonel, I've changed my mind, only the most important will perform. Extend one hand and keep a knife in the other, is that not what you meant Joan?" He cut off her protest with a wink. "Thank you for your suggestion Priestess."

Joan felt a few glares thrown at her. She shrunk in on herself.

Commander Jim Harlowe was once again aboard the Pathfinder, a fact he wasn’t really happy about. The command of the bigger warships has still eluded him, even after a significant number of military personnel decided to retire following the Grand General’s decree. Jim had no such intentions. Being in the army was his life, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Still, instead of a posting on one of the Battleships or even commanding his own Cruiser, he was assigned to yet another diplomatic mission. And it was not even his own one, which made matters way more complicated.

She was already waiting for him in the docks when the Pathfinder landed next to its sister ship Chimera. She didn't look happy. Damn. This was something he was trying to avoid, and the fact that it wasn't his idea wasn't going to help him at all. Well, he wanted to be in the big game, now he had to play it somehow.

He walked down the ramp, dropped his bag, and saluted, exactly by the book. The best damn salute of his life. Hopefully not the last one. “Guardian Blackwood, I report for duty, as per the orders of the Grand General.” Yes, it was Pawlowski’s idea to send me here, don’t take it out on me.

“Of course.” Her mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t. “We’re happy to have you here.” Of course, they weren’t. She had a team of her own choosing here and he was an outsider she was forced to take in. It must have looked like he’s been sent over to spy on her, although his orders didn’t specify anything like that. Yet.

The layout of the Undefeated section of the Meeting place looked like most other bases back on Ellara, which made it easy to navigate. The Undefeated weren’t really the original and creative types. David Parker was already waiting for them in the meeting room and nodded at Jim in a not very polite or respectful way.

Jim tried not to get discouraged by that. “Commander Parker, congratulations on your promotion.”

“Thank you, Commander Harlowe.”

That smug asshole didn’t even try to look friendly. Jim was really angry, he had to work hard for all his promotions. And apparently, all this dumbass had to do was sleep with the right person. Not an easy task though, Jim had to admit. Kelsie Blackwood was no doubt hot, but she was also terrifying.

“Gentlemen!” Kelsie interrupted their angry staring contest. “There will be no dick measuring here under my command. We are supposed to work together, so we will work together. If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself. We’re supposed to be all professionals here and we all represent our nation.”

Crap. As if Jim needed her pissed at him even more. “Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled. Even David Parker had the decency to look ashamed and mutter an apology.

“Kelsie did you…” A young girl ran into the room and stopped upon noticing Jim there. “Ah, Commander, you are… already here. Umm, welcome to the Meeting Place.” She was obviously nervous and didn’t know how to act around him. That was no surprise, she was a Rejected and those usually did their best to be invisible around the soldiers, even after being granted full civil rights by recent reforms.

He turned to her and bowed his head in respect. “Miss Petrova, a pleasure to meet you.” If by the Grand General’s orders they should be treated as equals, he was going to treat them as equals. Jim personally didn’t really care one way or another. Fortunately, he has done his homework and read up on all the personnel currently stationed here.

“The pleasure is mine,” she replied, looking anything but pleased by him being there. “Kelsie, did you mute your datapad again?” Jim was really surprised by the familiarity she was showing around such a high-ranking officer as Blackwood, but apparently, that was common around here.

Kelsie fished the device out of her pocket. “What, any news on the White Flowers rebellion?”

“Nope. A new nation has appeared.”

“What?” Kelsie frowned at the small screen and so did Parker. Jim felt a bit stupid because he had nothing to look at, apparently his account wasn’t linked to the local subnet yet and he wasn’t receiving these kinds of messages. Fortunately, the Guardian was a fair woman and didn’t leave him there looking like an idiot, quickly forwarding the message to him instead. “Sorry Commander, we haven’t added you the proper rights in the system yet. We’ll fix that after we deal with this.”

Jim quickly skimmed through the message, ignoring the accompanying files for now. “Simian?” He rolled the unknown word on his tongue. At least he wasn’t the only one who looked confused by it.

“They’re monkeys,” Julianna explained with a serious face.

“Monkeys?” Parker asked with a dumb look but for once Jim wasn’t judging him because he felt the same way. “Weren’t monkeys some animals back on Earth?”

Julianna nodded and swiped over her datapad. Two images appeared on a large screen on the wall. “The left one is from our archives brought from Earth, the right one from the message. It’s called a chimpanzee. They were presumably the smartest animals, close relatives to humans, we even share a common ancestor. But while we kept evolving, they didn’t.”

Jim stared at the images, not really capable of any words. Kelsie interrupted the silence. “They came in a spaceship, I’d say they’ve done some evolving.”

“Natural evolution into this state would take considerably longer than 300 years. They must have been modified in some way.”

“So,” David chuckled, “this is basically just someone’s crazy science project? Perfect.”

Jim couldn’t stay quiet and let them make an idiot out of him any longer. “Okay, guys, umm Guardian, sorry, I mean no disrespect, but… is this some sort of a prank to make fun of the new guy that nobody really wants around?” He could imagine Parker coming up with something like that. Haha, let that guy talk to the made-up monkeys while we do the real diplomacy. Very funny.

“I like your thinking. Really out of the box.” Kelsie turned to him. She didn’t seem angry, which was good, but she also didn’t seem to be joking, which was less good. “But, Commander, I can assure you this is no joke. Welcome to the Meeting Place. We have humans of all sorts, aliens, murdering robots, and also apparently monkeys now.”

Dear god. They were actually serious about this. “So, uhh… How do you make diplomacy with monkeys?”

“Well the message came in several languages including English, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” Kelsie shrugged, looking unconcerned as if she negotiated with a spaceships full of animals every other day.

Parker kept closely examining the pictures. “Guys is it just me, or do these ‘monkeys’ look awfully a lot like…”

“The Screechers?” Julianna interrupted him. “They do. The Screechers are technically primates as well. Not related, obviously, but they share similar characteristics, including great physical strength and agility.”

Jim shivered from that thought, now he could see the similarities as well. “Except these guys aren’t using sticks and stones. They are building spaceships.”

“Yes.” Kelsie turned to him. “Which is why it’s a good thing we are not going to war with them. So, what do they like? Should we stock up on that pink golifruit?”

“Or bananas,” Parker laughed. “I bet monkeys love bananas.”

Julianna rolled her eyes. “You’re both idiots. This is serious.”

Jim had to force himself not to stare at her with mouth wide open. Did that little nobody just call one of the most powerful people in their country an idiot? But Kelsie evidently didn’t mind it at all. “Don’t worry, we are taking it seriously.”

“Watermelons?”

“Shut up, David. If they want to make a performance, we should probably direct them to the neutral section. They can land in the hangar there and everyone can come and take a look. I’m sure it’s going to be a sight to behold,” Kelsie added ironically. “Alright, so. ‘Greetings, representatives of the…’ What was it? Ah, Khanate. ‘We are the Undefeated, the descendants of one of the many human colonies that survived to this day.’”

Jim still thought this situation was beyond absurd, but he came here to do a job and he was going to do it well. “I’d leave out the ‘human’, it might seem offensive to them since they’re not.”

“Good point.” Kelsie nodded at him and continued. “‘The station you see in front of you is called the Meeting Place and it was constructed with joint efforts of all surviving nations. We would love to invite you to visit us in our section,’”

“Would we?” Parker didn’t seem so sure about it, and honestly, neither was Jim.

“Yes, we would. ‘but if you prefer to address all nations at once, we are sending the coordinates of the neutral docking place and common grounds at the center of the station, accessible to everyone. We are looking forward to meeting you and learning more about your interesting nation.’ Hmm, isn’t writing ‘interesting’ too much?”

Parker snorted. “They are monkeys coming to a station full of humans. I think they know they are ‘interesting’.”

“True.” Kelsie made a few more edits to the message. “Fine, let's send it like this before someone beats us to it again. And go put on something fancy, looks like we’re about to see some ‘monkey business’.”

“Hey, why are you allowed to make jokes?” Parker poked her shoulder.

Blackwood smirked at him. “Because a) I outrank you and b) mine are actually funny. Take your pick. And David? I swear that if you try to bring a fucking banana to that thing, I’m gonna kick you out of an airlock.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mockingly saluted her and he and the girl both left.

Jim could only envy how relaxed Parker and Julianna were around the Guardian, joking, even making fun of her. Jim’s position was way more complicated. Speaking of that… “Guardian Blackwood?” He stopped her from exiting the room. “I… may I speak honestly?”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you want to stay here, then that is the only way you should speak to me, Commander.”

Right, she was known to be straightforward. Jim was used to taking a more careful approach with other Guardians, compliments and flattering usually made the communication easier. But not with her. “Ma’am, I realize you didn’t want me here. But I am here and I just want to do my job, so…” Was he really going to say that? He took a deep breath. “I would really appreciate it if you gave me an actual chance. Ma’am.” There. He said it. He probably just screwed himself up monumentally.

But Kelsie laughed. “I knew you had a spine. Pawlowski owes me money.” What? Did she make a bet with the Grand General about him?

“Commander,” she walked closer to him, looking him straight in the eyes, “trust me. If I did not want you here, you would not be here. It’s that simple. Now go put on a fancy uniform. I have to go confiscate all the bananas in the immediate area.”


“Greetings, representatives of the Khanate. We are the Undefeated, the descendants of one of the many colonies that survived to this day. The station you see in front of you is called the Meeting Place and it was constructed with joint efforts of all surviving nations. We would love to invite you to visit us in our section, but if you prefer to address all nations at once, we are sending the coordinates of the neutral docking place and common grounds at the center of the station, accessible to everyone. We are looking forward to meeting you and learning more about your interesting nation.”

The world was shocked, to say the least. They had believed that the ancient gates were closed to them forever. They were resolved that they were the last of the human race to exist but now seeing the gate turn on once more and reveal that their was a way back to their home roots the planet was in an uproar some wishing to stay and leave the gate alone for fear that crossing it would be a disaster, other believed that they must go back to find where they are from and if they are truly the last humans alive, other still were just wanting to go through the gate and explore in the hopes of finding a new home to explore and expand. Their own home was large but they were a small people and still haven't fully explored their own home but the idea of figuring out of their planet was unique in its ability to speak to planet itself was a concept to tempting to pass up. They believed that they must send a diplomatic ship as the first ambassadors to their home. The question was in who to send and how armed should they be, truth is they had no idea what would be behind that gate, their only knowledge about it left was that it was where they came from, it held their home system where their roots were so they must see it for themselves.

A celebration rang throughout the entire planet as they accepted their first task of sending ambassadors and explorers to see what their old home was like and if they are truly alone or not. After careful planning they had decided to send one ambassador ship along with 2 battle ships just in case the home they used to know was occupied and hostile. They would send the best of their people so they sent one of the Augury. She was one of the younger Augury and had been allowed to leave as the representative because of the fact that they looked the closest to a human she stood at 6 feet tall well above the average for a standard woman and had dark brown skin which looked closer to the color of bark but would still be able to pass for a standard human, their hair however gave it away as it was the color of emerald and looked like it was made of silk as it reached down to her back. She was known in the human language as "Zephina Wildheart" she was going to represent the governing body of their people. Her grace and beauty would shine despite her young age.

The second one meant to represent them would be their top geneticist and also the one who understood human English the most just in case they had a problem with communication. He was also a hybrid male and unlike Zephina he was more obviously a hybrid as he had Dark blue skin that looked like it was tough and stone like. He stood at a full 7 feet tall and his teeth were more akin to a maw of a predator with sharp fangs. He was bald however he had dark brown beard and yellow cat like eyes. He looked like he was able to take down a normal human in one blow and he was a scientist. Once the two had introduced themselves and had gotten on their ships they left to go and represent their people. So with Zephina and the geneticist named Richard cellbinder they left in their ships and traveled through the gate.

The First ship to go through was the Diplomatic ship that would signal the arrival of their people. As the saying goes put ones best foot forward and this was the pride of the fleet. It was truly a beauty and they could not have many of these ships as they are made from creatures native to their home planet. This one was known as a Vrok translated means star as a result their ship was the star of the fleet in every sense of the word
The other two ships to go through were the escort ships. Essentially battle cruisers ready to protect to the ambassadorial ship on its return if need be. These ships weren't as massive as the ambassadors ship but they were better armored and more maneuverable then the ambassadors ship. They were known as the sky serpents and were better equipped for battle.

As they traveled through the gate they would soon find a way towards the meeting place as it was called. They were both fascinated and bewildered as they saw the strange structures as they were organic in nature like their own technology but thankfully Richard was able to guide them away from the technology and were able to head towards where they could speak to the other humans. As they found their way towards the chamber room they took a moment to figure out how to send a speech to the other nations.

As soon as they figured it out they spoke Zephina was the one to speak in a language that was unfamiliar and was closer to the sounds of a bird singing with certain tones. However they allowed Richard to translate, in a rough translation to English he said I am sorry to say that I am unable to speak to you through my own voice as the world we come from has developed its own language to speak to its planet. My name is Zephina Wildheart and this man translating for me is known as Richard Cellbinder. I am a representative of our government which works under a council system of others like me. This man Richard is our lead scientist and head of genetic manipulation our world was hostile land and humanity was almost destroyed by it but in our history we managed to instead live in harmony with the planet. We seek to see our origin and what remained of what we all once called our home, we seek to learn and find new planets to learn and adapt to. We do not seek to dominate the galaxy or any such notions we seek to expand and see if our planet is unique or if their are other planets like our own. We would happily form bonds with you but we will also defend ourselves if attacked. We are the Mahre Collective we hope to hear that we are not alone" and with that they both gave a small bow to the screen before they walked away going towards their ship and wait for a few days in case they get contacted by another race after their most recent declaration of existence and wish of expansion through worlds that are to hostile for others to inhabit.

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Summary: sent out the leaders to represent both the government and scientist factions of the planet and made a speech to all other nation to declare they wish to expand and learn. Hello everyone

@Irredeemable
New Hollywood
Marine Assault Ship Yankie
Within the command and control center of the Yankie, the designated flagship of the 401st Rapid Response Regiment, or the "Saving Graces" as they've come to be called, Colonel Miles Bisson along a dozen of his top officers gather around a table with a holograhpic image of New Hollywood in full display, countless green dots on the surface representing the confirmed citizens planetside. Having just received the message from the Matuvistan Commander, the Colonel was swift in his decision. "As you are aware, the Matuvistans have offered to work with us for the time being in evacuation efforts, and are kind enough to let our birds use their main base for our own uses. This'll save us the trouble of setting up our base of operations, and skip to the fun part."

"Just tell us where you need us, Sir." One of his captains spoke up, Colonel Bisson nodded to the man.

"I've marked your designated region in your personal datapads." The Colonel said. "Blaze and Ashen Companies are responsible for citizens trapped in the countryside, concentration there is less dense and fighting is subdued, so you'll finish up in no time. The real asskicker will be New Beijing and Neo London." He paused as holograhpic models of the two cities materialize in place of the planet. Both cities a mix of green and red. "As you very well aware, both cities are deep in heavy fighting between the White Flowers, ECU Protectors and Matshies, and our people are caught in the crossfire." Bisson paused once more as he starred at the holoprojections, he than turns to a trio of officers in one corner, two humans and an Aldzir. "Crawford, Sanders, Grrish, you're men will be tasked with Neo London. Walton, O'Brian and Lee will be tasked with New Beijing. The rest of you will remain on standby in case shit hits the fan."

"And what if the locals get..antsy?" Captain O'Brian asked hesitatingly.

"I'm glad you asked." Bisson replied. "Current orders are to avoid engagement if possible, we're not here to kill civvies, we're just trying to get our own people home, understood?"

"Sir!" The officers replied in unison.

"Good, commence with the Operation." Colonel Bisson said, most of the officers leaving the room, only a few remaining. "As for the rest of you, the Matuvistan Commander has invited me aboard her ship, you're more than welcome to join me."

---

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" A group of crew members and Marines chanted in unison, encircling a singular table were two marines sat on opposite ends. Omar Halim, a member of Raven Squad, starring down a rather imposing Dhulrak, Kezil of Hwahg, heavy weapons specialist of Raven Squad. Both men made playful grins across their faces. Below both were glasses filled with some sort of strange concoction, whatever it was....it was purple, and literally fuming, and had a very unpleasant odor to boot. "First one to toss his guts owes the other a hundred bucks.” Kezil challenged Umar.

“You’re on.” Omar accepted the challenge, being the first to gulp down the glass. The urge to gag was strong, it was unlike anything he had tasted before. The sailors and fellow marines continued their chant and wooing as Umar drunk the last drop, gasping for air, breathing rapidly. “You’re move…”

Kezil was quick to gulp down his portion, barely making any indications that it was as bad as it looked. Kezil slammed the glass on the table. Both starred at one another for a brief moment, both fighting the urge to vomit. Unfortunately for Omar, this would be fight he would lose, making a nasty mess on the floor. Kezil let out a warcry of victory as the others cheered, a short-lived victory as he vomited all over the floor. “Ah shit..”

‘We got a tie!” One of the crew members announced.

"And yet another unsatisfying entry in books for Raven Squad." Another squad member quipped. The mess hall was erupted with laughter as Captain Crawford strolled in, looking at his men with mix of amusement and at the same time, disappointment. It was by mere chance one of his men took notice of the captain, prompting him to let out a loud whistle, the mess hall fell silent.

"Captain on deck!" He announced, all present members of Zephyr Company standing at attention. Captain Crawford giving a small nod to the troops as he tours the mess hall, inspecting his men, Omar and Kezil struggled to stand, but managed to at least look presentable, although there was a very big problem on the floor, and right in the captain's path "We're fucked.." Omar muttered to himself, Kezil well within earshot range. "Just got back from briefing, we're to deploy to Neo London within the-" Captain Crawford paused as he passed Omar and Kezil, an cringe-worthy "squishing" sound made underneath his boot, the captain looking down at the nasty sight. "Oh for Gods sake..." Crawford snarled, well aware who made the mess as he turned his gaze to the accused pair, before letting out an audible sigh. "...Quite frankly, we don't have time for this shit..but your little "games" will be discussed." He said, somewhat letting this slide for now, much to the pair's relief.

Crawford cleared his through as he continued. "As I was saying, we're to deploy within a couple of hours, pack your gear and be ready by than....and clean this mess up."