The One was still battling over New Beijing and other areas on the ECU homeworld, news would come from New London with the fights there. Thousands dead, even more to die.

All the death and destruction made them think about all the dark thoughts that they believed to be gone. We don't deserve life, sentience. Humans only fight and fight and fight...until there's no one left to fight, then and only then, they start surviving. How many million Ones have died to keep themselves alive? How many more will?

When will all this death end?

It was a thought that plagued the One. Always lingering in the back of their mind, now even more pronounced after Kayla's integration. Her thoughts were strange and her memories showed a lot of the dark sides of the ECU but still, she kept her hope and her compassion. She believed that things will be better. Things wil--

" Sirs, sorry to disturb. May we ask you for a story? It's dark without all the lights and we're afraid. A story might just help the others focus on something else " said a young rebel, no older than 17, interrupting the Grant's line of thought. The signs of war clear on the teen's face.

The Grant smiled, took a sip of the whiskey they were holding and nodded.

" A story? What do you wish to know? About Old Earth? Its green pastures and blue sea? " asked the Grant.

" We've heard about Earth our whole lives. Tell us about yourselves." answered back the young rebel, a small gathering of children, women and other non-combatants slowly forming around the Grant.

" We remember Earth. The Fall was not theoritized for a long time but we never truly saw it coming but to understand us, let's go back in time, before the Fall. On the streets of London, the original city.

A boy was born there called James and he was left in an orphanage when he was 5, barely any memories of his parents. He grew up there, no one wanted him. He was always fighting, always hated the world for abandoning him.

As it is the case with these stories, things didn't go well. When he was older, a gang recruited him for small time jobs. Pickpocketing, B&E, beating up a person or two who didn't pay on time...small things but eventually he was caught.

James was 15 at that time and he got lucky with the judge. They gave him 4 years, which weren't the nicest years in his life but that doesn't matter. Once he got out, he had no clue what to do with his life. No family, no friends, no money, no education and with his rack sheet, no one respectable business wanted to hire him. No one but the military and somehow that's where he found a purpose.

James worked hard there, always believing that life will get better. Joined the SAS after a while and that’s when he knew that was his destiny. He did in the SAS what he knew best and they praised him for it. James was all over Earth, putting down terrorists and the sorts thinking that’s going to make Earth better. Of course, that never happened.

One mission he participated in didn’t end well. They were ordered to storm a village where terrorists were supposed to be occupying and they did. Shots were fired, the village was basically riddled with bullet holes and then they checked the buildings, one by one. Children, women, animals.

No terrorists and no weapons were found that day. They were fed wrong intel and civilians paid the price, James didn’t take it well. He felt guilty of killing all those people, and couldn't stay with the SAS for any longer.

Years later, he left the UK and moved to America. Lived there for a while, doing odd jobs and watching Earth going downhill. Protests, environmental damage...you name it and it probably happened.

The Gateway initiative was launched soon after, James didn’t know the details of it but it was everywhere. Humanity’s last chance, bright lights, propaganda and all that stuff. James knew he had to apply for a spot on the colony ship, he had to believe that this “New Earth” they’re going to be going to will be better than the previous one. How wrong he was…

They left Earth a week before all communications were lost to it and passed through the Gateway. Everyone was happy and melancholic at the same time. New beginnings, new hope. That plan went to shit as well.

They got through the Gateway, saw the planet and then everything went black. Next thing James knew was that the ship crashed on the planet, a city. Sprawling in every direction he would look. Half of the colony was dead on impact, others were injured and most of the equipment they brought was burning.

A perimeter was quickly set around the crash site, food and supplies were salvaged first and whatever was left. The colony realised later that there was nothing to eat on the planet. No flora, no fauna, nothing. Only dead remains of a long dead civilisation, soon to be followed by another civilisation...humanity.

As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, food became a major issue. With no way of replenishing their suppliers, they started to run out. A group of guards took control of the storage space by force and fought hard to keep everyone out. James and others fought back, only to realize later that it would’ve been better not to.

Most of the food was gone by the time they got to it and then the madness began. Rapes, murders, cannibalism. People being hunted for whatever scraps they had, others eating each other, drinking their blood and picking their bones clean.

In only 4 months, there was almost nothing left. James and 3 three others managed to somehow survive. Going days without food, clean water until they would find a small cache of food a colonist managed to hide and so on, until even those became harder and harder to find. The others turned on each other and on James, eventually there was only one left. James.

What happened after it’s hard to describe, from cache to salvaging the ship for anything that resembled food even if it went bad. Almost a year after they arrived, James found something. Deep in the city, he wandered aimlessly. Whatever food or water he once had was gone a few days prior. Half hallucinating, half awake he discovered what is today the One.

Inside a bunker, lights were still on. After centuries there was still light. He was drawn to it like moths to a flame...stumbling inside, he found hundreds of containers. Empty. He didn’t know what they were or how they’re used but he didn’t have anything to lose, got into one and...he became we.

What followed it doesn’t matter anymore. You can call it genocide, you can call it survival. We did what we had to in order to survive. ” the Grant told the story with a melancholic voice all the time, occasionally taking puffs from a cigarette and swings from the whiskey bottle.

At last their story finished, most of the gathered rebels left at different points of the story, turning in for the night or going on to their duties. In the end, only the young rebel that first asked him stayed. Asleep.

“Maybe it would have been better if we all died. ” said the Grant, taking one last swing of the whiskey and shaking their head.



On another side of the spaceport, the One brought the prisoners they’ve caught over to a staging area where the prisoners would await trial. One in particular caught their interest and an idea was formed in their minds.

“ Mark that one. We’re going to take it home with us. Subject B-B-M-1. ” said a Grant to the others.

Collab between @Liotrent@Raylah@Sigma@Dog@Crusader Lord@Irredeemable

_{Federal Union of Uston}
This is not good! There are big ships coming to do harm against corporate assets. Ah, bugger - what will our humble (or not so humble) corporate mining fleets do now? Well, not too much - but there is a very small military “fleet” among the fleet. These consist of three cruisers and six destroyers (belonging to them corpo(s). Originally, they were there to protect their fleet rival corporations. Petrochemical Incorporated against Standard Agricultural while Union Chemical Industries against Petrochemical Incorporated - Petrochemical Incorporated against Union Chemical Industries while...you get the point. These corpo(s) are not all too friendly with each other. However, it appears that they must unite and fight together..for now. I ask - what is their chance of winning? Not a lot. While that might be, they might as well cause as much damage as possible. But with that? Good question there because the corpo(s) will do the best thing that they know of - cyberwafare. The bread and butter of any cutthroat mega corporations. How else would they get their trade secrets and steal away industrial technology from rivals?

I do hope that the defense fleets like surprises because they’re in for a big one. Two cruisers and two destroyers belonging to the New Haven Directorate get their targeting systems breached and then quickly taken over, with their weapons turned to focus fire onto their destroyers. Likewise, the coming attack fleet experiences major breaches within their software systems. That’s not really fun, is it? No. No it is not. Sadly, two ECW cruisers can only do so much against such a massive fleet. Now, if there was a battleship with a cyberwafare suite then real damage could be done, but there was no such thing with the corpo fleet stationed at the belt. So, what’s the damage? Glad you asked because the URC’s Alamo has its targeting systems greatly messed with with the mass-cyberattack. Even with the top-of-the-line cyber-suite for the Alamo, the corpo(s) don’t mess around with their hacking prowess. Given this, all six destroyers focus their attention on tackling the smaller ships around the Alamo by firing onto their smaller ships with enmassed missile fire. Coupled with mass-branches everywhere causing plenty of issues in software, the first round of fighting should be interesting. Albeit, the corpo(s) fully know that they can’t win this battle, but they’ll put up one hell of a fight.

---

_{United Republic of Columbia}
The bridge of the Alamo darkened as systems began to shut down one by one. “Ugh, what now!?” Jasi groaned, the shutdown couldn’t come at the worst time. “We’re being hacked sir, several ship systems are on the fritz.” The tech officer replied, rapidly pressing through the keyboard. “Targeting, main engine, the works….working on a solution in taking back the ship…give me ten minutes to sort it out.”
“Just get it done, we’re a sitting duck out here!” Jasi eyed a small indention on the left armrest, pressing down as a radio popped out. “Commander Grant, you have clearance for a few squadrons, provide cover for the fleet.”

---

_{New Haven Directorate}
Missiles and guns were going awry on the New Havenist front. Missiles were homing in on allied ships and guns were being fired at their own ships. The pressure was already weighing heavily on Admiral Durnham’s shoulders.

“Get our ships to stop firing at each other!” He shouted, one of the crew manning the fleet monitor aboard the Resilience then chimed in,

“Sir, our ships got hit by a cyber attack. We should be able to reboot all systems and prevent another one but it will take time.”

Another chimed in, “Sir, NHS Dreamweaver is reporting that their systems are locking on to our allies within the Columbian fleet!”

Durnham looked at the monitor and quickly turned to the Comms officer, “Send a communique to those ships damn it! Get it done NOW!”

He then turned to the helmsman, “Helm, get us closer, we’re bringing the fight to them” he again turned to comms, “Tell NHS Demeter and NHS Ceres to launch all their drones. Hunt down those cheeky bastards hacking our vessels.”

“Aye aye sir.”

A sweat was running down Durnham’s forehead as he watched the battle unfold second by second.

---

_{The Undefeated}
Guardian Ikei Hamonga was standing on the bridge of the Undefeated Battleship Hyperion, looking over various screens that were showing the current status of the fights around Pluto and the Kuiper belt. The Undefeated fleet has not interfered with the fighting yet, nor did it have any intentions to do so. Joint forces of the Xandalians, Colombians, and the New Haven Directorate should have been more than enough to take care of the enemy. Hamonga was tasked to maintain a security perimeter around the Gateway to keep more hostiles from coming through. While of course avoiding intercepting other vessels, which was a peculiar task on its own.

The enemy fleet seemed to consist of hundreds of small and mostly unarmed mining ships, an annoying swarm to deal with and catch every last one, but the others should have no problems fighting them. There were a few military ships that didn’t pose any larger danger. Or at least didn’t seem to.

“What the hell are they doing?” Hamonga leaned closer to one of the screens, because the scanner readings suddenly stopped making sense.

One of the officers pressed a few buttons to readjust the sensors and shook his head. “Uh, sir… It appears that the friendlies have opened fire against each other. I mean literally, not just at each other, even at their own ships.”

Crap. Infiltration, sabotage? Or maybe just someone is messing with their systems? Hamonga didn’t believe that the Colombians and the NHD would suddenly turn against each other in the middle of the battle.

“Sir, should we move in to intercept?”

“No.” They had their orders. “We stay stationed around the Gateway in case these guys will be getting reinforcements. Full battle stations. Signal to the Sonne to be ready to release the fighters.” What a mess this was.

---

_{United Republic of Columbia}
Several squadrons of starhawks, hornets and thunderstrikes launched out of the Alamo, their primary objective being to both harass the enemy ships and intercept any missiles they could from compromised allied ships. “Wild Wings are a go!” One of the squadron leaders announced.

“Naughty Angels away!”

“Earth Crackers away!”

The Earth Crackers, a squadron of Thunderstrike Bombers diverted their attention towards the attacking destroyers, friendly light warships under constant barrage, one of the frigates broadcasting. “This is the Rio Grande! We’re taking too much heat from the enemy, shields are down by half and our targeting systems have gone to shit! We could use some help over here!”

“Copy that Rio Grande, we’re on our way.” Earth Cracker Leader said, the bombers making their way towards the Utsonian Destroyers.
The Wild Wings however, were tasked on harassing the nearby cruisers, taking their attention away from the fleet.

All the while, the Naughty Angels hung back as they circled the battle, ready to take out any rogue projectiles until this hacking situation was dealt with.

The Alamo’s main escorts, the Cruisers Overwatch and Valiant, had split off, the Overwatch tasked with engaging the enemy cruisers. “While our fighters tag one of the cruisers, we’ll hit the other one, keep ‘em busy and divided.” Hans announced the plan to the bridge crew. “ Waiting for the moment the Wild Wings picked their target….within moments they begun to swarm the cruiser on the left. “Targets tag, engage the second enemy cruiser!”

---

_{Zetan Consciousness/Gran Republic of Matuvista}
Two different fleets sailed their way through the Gateway at roughly the same time, but they could not be more different. One looked sleek and scientific, but had weapons almost crudely and haphazardly attached to them. The limping remnants of the Zetan navy that had survived or been recently cobbled together was hardly an imposing force, but that was the point of sending these tattered remnants out instead of their slowly-forming new navy; they wanted people to underestimate them. They needed to project an outward weakness, to act as if they were still reeling from the war and beneath much interest before they crashed their way back into the international forum.

Thus, when their motley crew formed up in the gathering armada, they signaled towards the larger, more established military ships. “Sol Division, reporting for duty. This is Naval-Speaker Tau-Hypatia, tell us where you want us.”

The other fleet was anything but slapdash. A small horde of patrol corvettes surged through the gateways first, followed by three battlecruisers, well-rounded and well-armoured in preparation for anything that could be sent at them. Almost immediately their guns turned towards the firefight, their computers sending out a host of targeting requests from their new erstwhile allies so that their own guns could add to the barrage of fire.

Inside these battlecruisers, marines loaded themselves patiently into boarding torpedoes. voidsuits were checked and secured, guns loaded, and sabres polished and ready for war. If they had the opportunity to seize some of these offending vehicles, they would do so without hesitation.

---

_{United Republic of Columbia}
The Earth Crackers are in for a good time and by that - I mean a whole world of pain. Intense anti-air (if you call space air and such) causes great damage to half of their fighter-size - only leaving six Crackers left to do the fight. Shells and small missiles spit at the Earth Crackers, filling the local space around them with debris and explosions. Meanwhile, the Wild Wings also meet heavy AA from the ECW cruisers. A wave of guided missiles approach the fighters, hoping to strike and down as many fighters that they can. At the same time, Cruisers Overwatch and Valiant are approached by the single cruiser that was meant for a standoff. A series of anti-ship guided missiles are fired, rapidly approaching the Cruisers Overwatch and Valiant.

---

_{Xandalian Republic}

---

Reports of incoming ships from other nations, other ships making targeting requests to pitch in, and a flood of news washed over the command decks of the two Xandalian Battleships. Named “Mars” and “Athenos”, the two vessels towered as the largest Xandalian vessels in the battle. From their bridges the commanders hashed out orders for their own fleet, as well as calculated statistics and processed the battle reports from their own other craft and involved allied craft. Communicators and operators and data flew about the place as things were pieced together, but out of all the new thus far...the commander of Battleship Mars felt a shiver run up his spine.

[i]“Reports of cyber attacks being launched against allied ships. Confirmed friendly fire from New Haven Directorate Ships and hurried communicades of warning toward Columbian vessels.”[/color]

Commander Hilthern immediately looked at the comms officer who had spoken, a sharp look in his middle aged eyes. He then joined in on the ships internal comms system, barking out with the growl of a seasoned sailor. If the enemy wasn’t going to pull punches, neither was he.

“Attention, this is a fleetwide announcement from Commander Hilthern of the Mars. I want every comms officer not dedicated to battle analysis and communication on each ship to keep tabs on the vulnerable points of your craft. Mech pilots, your alert warning system should provide ample alert should such attempts occur.

I want all Xandalian craft to prepare Hard-Wall Initiative measures in case of attempted cyber attacks on our systems. That means should anything try to poke into your soft systems you hard-cut the system and switch over to the secondary hard-wired internal systems on your vessels. In such a case we will utilize designated ‘silent mode’ manners of communication within the fleet throughout the remainder of the engagement.”

As much as a ship had to remain open and available to communicate with others, it was also a vulnerability. So pirates tended to use dirtier tactics in order to achieve any sort of edge. Tactics like cyber attacks and virus bombs and so forth alongside the usual ‘hit and run’ in realspace, among other things, were common enough among their kind even now back along the Xandalian-Gusb trade route. It wasn’t a full-on cyber war by any means, but generally the hybridized Gusb-Xandalian coding language was enough to slow things down and potentially give time to retaliate back home. To others it would be entirely foreign...though for now long was anyone’s guess. Could be for this battle. Could be for a whole war. Could be less and could be more.

Yet this was where the The Hard-Wall Initiative came in. A somewhat more ancient idea from the Thalarite Century, and the chaos and infighting of those times, it had been kept along and revived during the war with the Gusb. Then it had lingered due to space piracy’s emergence, but not seen deeper investment yet....well, at least publicly.

The concept was to cut off any external vulnerabilities, subjecting all ships to closed-system comms and computing. No way into the systems at that point...but also no way out either. A hard defense, but also one that made it harder to communicate between ships by quite a good bit. Any comms would be reliant at such a point on the means of communication listed under the fleet’s ‘silent mode’ training for all comms officers. Certain gestures from mechs, as well as signs and flashing lights and generating certain radar blips and such used in combination otherwise with them and other ships, to send messages of simpler natures at faster speeds. It was not the most streamlined system, the ‘silent mode’ stuff was basically as ancient as the Hard-Wall Initiative itself after all.

So the Commander’s mere mention of it was enough to take many among the Xandalians’ comms officers aback. Though with the sudden tense air on the bridge of his own ship, as the mention of more serious cyber-attacks was enough to worry a good bit of the Xandalian forces, Hilthern stretched his neck side to side with a light ‘pop’ and ‘crack’ before the comms lit up again with his co-Commander’s voice from the Athenos.

“I second the order! It’s a relic of an idea, but it might be what we need if the worst occurs. The moment anyone goes into ‘silent mode’ status we all do as a precaution. So move it!

Further, I want observation of attacks on allied ships to be performed simultaneously by those keeping tabs on our own internal system security. Get a read on the systems of the opposition. I want the data on this sent to the Mars and Athenos ASAP!”

“For the time being, I want most of our military frame units and corvettes deployed to support smaller allied craft. Military frames should focus on point defense, and all smaller units should remain aware of their surroundings in case of further cyber attacks on allied units.

Any remainder among military frame and corvette units will remain within the shield support of our own Carrier craft for the moment being for safety until the distance is closed well enough to rush the enemy vessels at as close a range as possible.”

“All Cruiser and non-small offensive craft should utilize hard weapons and minimize the implementation of externally-affected guided munitions otherwise. I want suppressive fire laid down en-masse into the enemy positions and larger craft. Force them to pay more attention to our craft and their own to try to relieve allied ships.

Internal closed-guidance systems are also to be implemented should the Hard-Wall Initiative come into place.”

---

_{New Haven Directorate}
“Sir, reboot complete on NHS Dreamweaver, NHS Wayfinder, NHS Swordbearer, and NHS Lightbringer. Electronic warfare countermeasures have been deployed. Hacking is now unlikely on all our vessels, sir”

As the report came in, Durnham looked to his comms officer, “Send this communications to all our ships. Redirect efforts against all vessels. We cannot and will not suffer another attack.”

“Sir, even the mining vessels?”

Durnham turned to face the comms officer, “We don’t know whether any of these vessels are capable of such a thing. We of all people should know that it’s easy enough to disguise such equipment in a mining vessel. Destroy everything unless told to otherwise by the coalition.”

“Aye aye sir!”

All directorate vessels turned their guns against the unarmed mining vessels and the motley fleet of combat vessels in the back, joining the Columbians in their assault.

---

_{United Republic of Columbia}
“Break! Break!” Earth Cracker Leader cried out as the remainder of the squadron scattered, half of their numbers reduced to scrap from point defense guns and missiles. “Regroup for another run! Activate countermeasures and dive in! Hit them with everything you got!”

Back on the Alamo, the bridge crews were frantic as they all pitched in to restore control of the ship. “Almost…..done….” The tech stated as she rapidly tapped on the keyboard, within moments, the bridge was illuminated, whirling to life. “And we’re back online! All ship systems are back in our control.”

“Getting reports that the rest of the affected ships regained some systems back, at least enough to stop shooting at allied craft. “Another officer declared. “Uhhh...we have another problem though…”

“What could it be this time?” Jasi asked, visibly irked by this point, the whole day seemingly not in short supply of annoyances. “The New Haven ships seem to be firing upon unarmed ships…”

“Oh my gods…” Jasi muttered, rubbing his temples as the battle just got more complicated. Hard enough to tangle with a foe that could hack your systems, now imagine said foe bringing in a massive civilian fleet no less. “Proceed with the attack, we’ll follow the Xandies lead, and open a channel with the New Haven Commander.”

Elsewhere, the Overwatch and Valiant fell under heavy barrage from enemy missile salvos. The bridge of the Overwatch shook violently as the shields were under heavy stress, Hans falling out of his chair, Rean holding on tightly to said chair, keeping his stance. “Status on shields?!” . Hans frantically asked as he pulled himself up. “Shield’s at 40%!” One of the deck officers said.

“Friendlies incoming! We got a ton of allied ships closing in.” Another officer said as a mixture of Xandalian, Zetan, New Havenist, and Matuvistan ships were all within the battle space.

“Perfect timing!” Hans said enthusiastically. “Push forward with the attack! Fire everything we got before they blow us to dust!”

---

_{Federal Union of Uston}
The battle rages on, with missiles, railguns, fighters, and what have you being shot every few seconds in space. Commands and orders were given, ships were destroyed, and all is good in war. Of course, the small fleet of 3 cruisers and a few destroyers stood no damn chance in hell in fighting against the enmassed fleet of other nations, but they did put up a decent enough fight in the end. Once the dust settled, only the mining fleet remained. The mining fleet was quite large, albeit in reality it was a small fleet for the mega corporations.

---

Conclusion

The Ustonian mining fleet had been routed by the combined efforts of the allied forces of the colonies, the remaining mining ships and one surviving warship rerouted to the Meeting Place, taken as prisoners, followed by many Interrogations of the crew, demanding where they came from. The aftermath of the battle had presented....interesting questions for the colonial nations, chief among them being officially proclaiming the Sol System as neutral, sacred ground, to prevent any more incident as this. This proclamation in turn led to serious talks about the established of an international organization of sorts, a successor to the United Nations of Old Earth.

Although most were for the idea, others had resisted the idea, some deciding against joining such an organization, seeing it as restrictive. Others however, saw this as an opportunity to bring the galactic community closer, to deepen the bonds of brotherhood among the Colonies. Regardless, it was finally put forward, the Sol United Nations was born, with the dream of a more interconnected galaxy.

Time passes.

The year is now 2602.

More than three hundred years have passed since Earth fell. Two years since the Gateways reopened. And six months since the Battle of Sol. This galaxy has already seen too much human conflict, of the same kind that killed Mother Earth, in this little speck of time. There have been wars, assassinations, manipulations and revolutions. Battle after battle, human blood has painted the Milky Way. And still we fight.

But- perhaps- our fate has just started to shift. The S.U.N. shines: the Sol United Nations, a gathering of colonies at the Meeting Place, where important issues can be voted on and debated as a group. Here, one may propose customs that will effect every member nation: intergalactic currency, international defense fleets, the embargo of a particular nation. After a Proposal is made by a particular nation, all members can vote YES or NO, and the most votes wins. Simple, right?

Not all have joined. But for those who have chosen to rise with the SUN, new opportunities for cooperation and for control are already revealing themselves. Who will win in the war of politic?

Time will tell, time will pass, and inevitably, blood will be spilt.

Welcome to the SUN.

Earth
The Meeting Place
International sector
A sleek, elegantly designed transport departed from the massive templeship, making way for the designated coordinates provided by air traffic control, escorted by several Undefeated fighters. The transport drawing closer to the international sector of the Meeting Place, it’s escort break off as they came with landing distance. Crowds of passing by tourists, other visitors, station, and various embassy personnel all drew their attention to the newest addition in a long line of long-lost colonies of Earth. Clouds of steam and exhaust filled the hanger as the ship made landing, the last-minute crowd waiting with anticipation on the new visitors, the boarding ramp lowering, three robbed figured stepped out in unison, almost mirroring each other as they took each step, followed by s company’s worth of skeletal drone soldiers, marching as a single unit as they trailed behind the emissaries.

The lead figure, Darius, removed his veil, revealing a singular glowing eye and nothing else, much to the shock of the crowd, his two other companions sharing similar features. Darius eyed the room, giving quick glanced towards the crowd… the fear in their eyes. Good… good He thought to himself. Deep down, this pleased Darius, the fear in their… disgusting fleshy eyes, their very sight sickened him on a spiritual level. Darius was fortunate he lacked a true face; his sheer contempt would’ve been…difficult to disguise.

Regardless, Darius pressed on, raising his metallic arms up high, as if to break out in a sermon, and in a way, he was. “Fear not! Children of Earth!” He declared. “We bring you both peace and her most holy word, our divine Gaia!” The fear…was somewhat eased with Darius’ proclamation. “Long have we wondered if Mankind had survived the Great Calamity! Our fears and curiosity have now been answered!”

---

The Meeting Place
Zetan Sector

Some hours had passed since the Gaians first arrived on the Meeting Place…and it seems a whirlwind of events had transpired during both their absence and since their arrival. More importantly however, Darius and his companions had been recently sent an invitation from a peculiar group within the station…one that they hoped to find a common ground with. Darius was very pleasantly surprised to discover that they weren’t the only ones to ascend to a more blessed form of existence. These Zetans could prove a potential ally in this new Galactic landscape, one where they are outnumbered ten to one, surrounded by… flesh.

Sigma-Devi stood in front of one of her aides, nerves tingling through her as her companion gently applied makeup to her face. Normally, they did this to highlight the human parts of her and downplay the cyborg, but this time, it was the other way around. The black metal of her throat and lower jaw was expanded outwards, her eyes were ringed slightly to make them appear more sunken and replaced, and she wore a skintight synthetic set of arm-length gloves to cover up her largely unmodified arms.

Straightening her back out, she gave herself one last check in the mirror, thanked her aide, and then moved to the front of the Zetan embassy, watching as the Gaians entered in through the doorway.

What they had heard of these new arrivals was... Interesting. They apppeared to be extremley religious, something which was unusual, but which Zeta was not opposed to. Most of the front of the embassy had been cleared to make way for this new group, which left Sigma-Devi as the most human of the bunch, flanked by several transcended and with multiple warforms standing as honour guards along the halls of the structure.

"Greetings," Sigma-Devi declared, a warm and genuine smile splitting her face. She held her hand up to salute Darius and his fellow androids, then bowed deeply, one hand kept demurely across her clothes to keep them tidy. "It is... Very good to meet another nation who has fully accepted the advantages of mechanical augmentation. My name is Sigma-Devi, and I am the First Speaker of the Zetan Consciousness, a nation dedicated to uncovering the truth of this universe through observation." She felt a few twinges of nervousness leave her, covering the jitters up by flicking her hair back.

"Please... Do any of you still require nutrition? We have some food avaliable, but if you've managed to eliminate the necessity for such things, we can move straight to business."

The three emissaries bowed in kind to Sigma-Devi. “It pleases us to find others just like ourselves.” Darius spoke, his singular eye scanning his surroundings. “I am Darius. “He announced himself, before turning to his two fellows. “And these two are Ezekiel and Zakaria. We three come here as Emissaries on behalf of his holiness, the Primarch Vamarus and on behalf of our most divine lady, Gaia.”

“A pleasure.” Ezekiel spoke in a soft spoken tone.

“A blessing be upon you.” Zakaria said, the seemingly “younger” sounding member among their troop.

Darius turned his attention back too Sigma-Devi. “I must apologize my dear… but we have long since outgrown our need for nourishment of that sort.” Darius said as sympathetically as he could. ‘The blessings of our divine lady are all we require, and the paradise she provides for us.”

Darius soon took notice of Sigma-Devi’s nervous stance, if he had a face, he’d form a playful smirk. “Relax my dear.” He spoke. “You are among friends, among mutuals.”

"My sincerest thanks for your blessings." Sigma-Devi bowed again. "Daris. Ezekial. Zakaria." She addressed each one individually, then let out a slow breath. "Of course. It is merely... We have been realtively alone in this galaxy for some time. The only other nation that widely accepts our transhumanist beliefs is the New Haven Directorate, and as pleasant as they are to interact with, we find them a little... Peculiar in their habits and attitudes. Others have gone so far as to try to erase us from the galaxy for our ways."

She smoothed her dress out again, then turned to walk through the halls of the Zetan Embassy. "I hope you can tell me more about this 'Divine Lady' of yours, she must be a fascinating figure. Is she your leader? Your figurehead? Your goddess? Please, excuse me for any offences I may inadvertently commit, but my curiosity compels me to ask many questions." Not just her curiosity- the curiosity of almost the whole Zetan population too.

The group arrived at a meeting room with a perfectly circular table. Sigma-Devi took her customary seat as far away from the door as possible, then indicated for the Gaians to sit wherever they would like. "You must excuse me, incidentally, for I am not what my people refer to as 'Transcended.' I am a 'First Form' Zetan, in that this body is the same one I was born in to. Depending on how long my service as First-Speaker continues for, and how long it remains beneficial to Zeta for my augmentations to remain acceptable to those who fail to understand our ideals, it seems likely I will Transcend fully in between..." She paused for a moment. "Fifty to seventy years. Of course," she allowed a laugh to sneak out. "At the current rate of mind transferral, I'll be mentally Transcended in less than a decade. We usually have the process progress slowly, to make sure there are no issues."

The Gaians stook their seats, the three emissaries sitting next to each other on the opposite side of the table. So much questions… good Darius thought to himself. “I simply can’t imagine such… loneliness among these people.” Darius said, the last word said with such venom, even a blind man could tell there was anger in those words, such fire fueled by the fact the Zetans were close to genocide. “Don’t let such blasphemous fools bother you, my dear.” Darius says with such unsettlingly comforting words.

Something about Darius' tone of voice began to cause Sigma-Devi to sit up. The small quirks at the edges of her lips eased themsleves down again, and she managed to re-compose herself into a more serious state. Soon though, Darius turned to explanations, and she paid close attention.

“Know that you are no longer alone in the galaxy and soon… perhaps your enemies will see the light, that there is nothing to fear.” Darius paused as he continued. “As for what we can share about Gaia? Our Divine lady is all these things. She is our leader, our goddess, our protector, our mother.” He said. “She was the first among many to fully ascend to a greater existence and was merciful enough to share this blessing to our people. Many at first resisted this gift, but…. They eventually saw the light, one way or another…” Darius paused, looking to his two companions, then turning his attention back to Sigma-Devi.

He would find her face now set in its neutral turn at his words. She was doing an excellent job of keeping it off her face, but one simple paragraph had driven out all the hope and idealism she had had from these newcomers, and replaced it with a grim anger. "She sounds fascinating. Was she a researcher, some kind of leader? Both?"

“Indeed! We sadly do not know her true identity… all that we know was that she was a brilliant scientist on our homeworld of Kronos, who brought the gift of true immortality to humanity.” Darius said, this being all he wished to share at the moment. Darius, however, was curious for about another matter entirely.

“I must also find it fascinating that you would forego Transcendence, why deny yourself greatness by decades?” Darius may have slipped there...such a sudden, unsettling turn of character..

Sigma-Devi hid her anger with a small laugh. "We have eternity to forge ourselves from steel. My flesh is temporary, but it is because it is temporary that I find myself keeping so much of it. It will wither and fail, but by then I will have moved on."

"That is..certainly an interesting thought." Darius said, who seemed frankly puzzled by Sigma-Devi's words. Willingly live in the sinful flesh? Even when Transcendence is within her grasp!, he shook himself silghtly. "I must apologize but.... I still do not understand." Darius said. "Surely this must be an agonizing experince? To willingly suffer from the sins of the flesh?"

"We have a... Different view of the nature of flesh. As Zetans, we will shed and inhabit form after form once Transcended. We can change, adapt, modify these forms however we wish, in whatever way we please. It if malfunctions, it is trivial to fix. If it ages, we merely replace it with fresh steel. Our bodies are a unique experience- they change without our will, they adapt and shift, ache and adjust themselves. Some find this to be a frustration, or an irritation to be immediately exorcised. Most of us, myself included, find it to be a... Learning experience. We are all human, no? The human experience is one of growth and deterioration. Then, after we have learned from that, Transcendence can begin."

Darius fet complicated emotions, emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time, but he must remain vigilant, the Zetans themselves have proven that they need as much help as the rest of humanity, their vision is a flawed one, one that can easily be remined, and they can at last, attain true greatness among the stars. “Ahh, but Sigma-Devi, my dear.” Darius said with a sense of escalation in his tone. “Both of our peoples are so much more. You and I, we have elevated ourselves to something greater. Why wait? Leave your flesh behind and let us show you something beautiful on the other side that awaits you and your people.”

"I will achieve my beauty when I am ready for it. Would you force my Transcendence upon me?"

Darius was silent for a brief moment, compilating his words. “If it was absolutely necessary, yes, I would, without hestiation."

Sigma-Devi leaned foward, across the table. "I will allow you to retract that. Not out of any insult it has caused to me personally, but because if that belief gets out, both of our nations will be scrutinised like never before. They attempted to erase us for the belief that we might unwillingly roboticise a single individual. If you intend on mentioning that belief publically, it will inspire hatred like never before. Now, are you positive that you would force Transcendence upon people?"

Darius shook his “head”. “I deeply apologize Sigma-Devi.” He said, with a hint of regret in his tone, followed by a faint red glow in his eye, it was a shame, he truly did like her for the brief time they shared together, but if the Zetans and Gaians are to be on opposing sides in the coming conflict, then so be it. “But I’m afraid I can’t do that. Let them believe so, their fear is a natural reaction to change, a change that cannot, will not be stopped. We have forced Transcendence before, it has partially worked…. although many still resist on Kronos, but their futile fight WILL come to an end, they will embrace our Divine Lady, we will all be made whole.”

Sigma-Devi stiffened her back a little. "Very well then." There was a long pause as the Collective convened and decided. "You claim this change cannot be stopped. Zeta will stop it. We will oppose you at every turn. If you invade others, we will stand against you. The Aegis will delay you, the Oistos will harry you, and if you make the mistake of assuming us to be weak, we will show you otherwise... And if you assume our struggle to be 'futile,' we will demonstrate to you exactly why we have survived against three nations already. " She paused for a long time. "Now, please, would you like me to escort you out?"

“Thank you, that will be appreciated.” Darius said as he, Ezekiel, and Zakaria all stood up in a uniform fashion. “In time, we shall meet once more in the field of battle. I hope you can prove your worth to Gaia.”

Sigma-Devi lead what had been potential allies out through the embassy, grim expressions on the faces of every single Zetan they passed. Several warforms looked down at Darius, their mechanical heads tracking him as he left their field of view. Then, once the three Gaians had left, Sigma-Devi prepared herself to make an announcement.

It went out the next day.

"The Zetan Conciousness would like to reaffirm their dedication to the cause of all humanity, and our commitment to the betterment of that same humanity through research, understanding, and the creation of stronger bonds between the common individual. We would like to make it absolutely and inequivocably clear we never have and never will augment someone without their explicit permission and consent. Thank you."

Two nations however received a much more explicit message. In the isolated world of Ishtar, the crew of the waylaid gunboat informed the Commonality that a new threat, far greater than that of the One, was rising. Back on the Meeting Place, one of the Zetan diplomatic aides would leave a simple message with the Xandilian Republic.

The Gaians revealed their true selves to us. They are a threat that cannot be overestimated. Prepare for war, but hope it does not arrive. We will do the same.

| @Lady Lascivious | and | @Crusader Lord | have been warned.

It was these words, four months ago, that heralded a new era for the Kingdom of Kudrion, and the Kudrioni people at large. After the ‘Gateway Boarding Incident’, as it became known on Kudrion, independent Kudrioni had flooded through the gateway, looking for work, trade opportunities, or simply to escape the constant cycles of violence endemic to their society. In barely a few months, Kudrioni could be found all over the Meeting Place, as well as any other places they could legally migrate to. In this time, the Kingdom itself built their own section on the Meeting Place to serve as an embassy, in order to negotiate diplomatic agreements. Beyond that, Kudrion didn’t have much contact with other nations during these months except for meetings to introduce themselves.

It was also these words that had changed the course of Emily’s life forever. Not only did she have knowledge of the English language, which seemed to be the lingua franca between these shattered fragments of humanity, she also had a degree of experience in talking to the foreigners. This led her to become unwillingly promoted to representative of the entire Kingdom, a task which she neither wanted nor was really suited for. It had been difficult at first, of course. After being quarantined for fear of spreading diseases unknown to the Kudrioni, she barely had a day on the surface before being sent out again, tasked with setting up an embassy on the meeting place.

The first meetings with those from other nations were always difficult. Many, like those from the Directorate or the Undefeated, seemed relatively normal and well-adjusted. Speaking to, or even seeing some of the others had been… difficult. The cyborgs were especially unsettling to her, and after seeing the apes she often felt the need to wear power armour over her uniform when going outside of Kudrion’s part of the station.

Whether these changes are a loss or a gain remains to be seen. It was these words, part of the original Kudrioni message, that had been on her mind the past few months. She knew which of these paths Kudrion had taken.

---

If Emily had come back to Kudrion at that time, she would find it different than when she had left it. The realization that they were not alone, that other nations existed out there, in the cold void of space, resulted in the biggest increase in activity Kudrion had seen since its unification. Many Kudrioni had begun to learn the English language in order to be able to migrate and work outside of Kudrioni space. King Dishuz had created three new organisations from scratch in order to be able to reign in the clans, exert some influence on the outside world, and ensure Kudrion’s prosperity.

The first of these three was the Kudrioni Navy. Made up of vessels recruited from the different Kudrioni clans and some ships from the Royal Guard at first, the Kudrioni Navy rapidly grew in size over these months as new technologies, bigger ships and better armaments were discovered and made. Members of this navy were recruited from all different Kudrioni clans, with little regard for the status of the clans themselves. It was primarily used as a policing force for Kudrioni space, but could also be used to defend Kudrion if it ever came to war. After all, stagnation in an ever-changing galaxy meant death, a lesson that the Kudrioni had learned well from their planet.

The second was the Kudrioni Defence Force. Made up of levies of Kudrioni warriors, many Kudrioni were actually glad to join up, seeing it as a way to gain honor and glory through combat in case war ever broke out.

The third was the College of Kroit, founded in the city of the same name. Never before had Kudrion seen such an institution, except in the very ancient times. Inspired by Emily’s knowledge of a strange language and her dedication to gaining more knowledge, Dishuz created the College so that important scientific knowledge could be kept and pooled together to benefit all Kudrioni rather than individuals.

The consequences of these first meetings sent shockwaves through Kudrion’s society as well. The strange observation that was already seen during their first meeting with another nation, the fact that Kudrioni were often larger than many other humans, quickly led to the realization that there must have been some genetic tampering far in Kudrion’s past. And suddenly, all of Kudrion knew where those ancient legends, the ones that spoke of the Kudrioni receiving strength from the gods, came from. A culture that prided itself on its ability to fight without any enhancements suddenly learned that it had these enhancements all along. The Ashokites immediately jumped on this opportunity to claim that their philosophy that demanded constant adaptation was correct, citing the fact that the ancient Kudrioni had to modify themselves as proof. Many others rejected this idea, hating themselves for something that wasn’t their fault. Either way, further divisions had been created in Kudrioni society. There had also been some resistance against the King’s use of his absolute power, but most Kudrioni realized that this was necessary to protect themselves in a potentially hostile galaxy.

---

It was always the smaller bars where the mercenaries and the hunters gathered. After all, these were the places where one could speak privately, and make sure others could not hear. It was in one of these places where three of these hunters, two men and one woman, had gathered. They had always spent their time in between assignments there, drinking, eating and talking with each other.

It was on one of the regular days, when the three were sitting around their favorite table, when a woman that none of them had seen before had come in. She had walked over to the table where the trio sat, and put a stack of coins on the table, the traditional way of requesting a hunt.

The three had another assignment.

---

The man had been there in the cell for some time, although he lost track somewhere around the fifteenth day. The cell itself was relatively clean, although the walls were painted with strange, swirling patterns and runes. He always had the same routine of waking up, being given meagre scraps of food, and then waiting until he was tired enough to go to sleep again. The days blended together as the man wasted away in his cell. He wasn’t really sure why he was there. As far as the man knew, he hadn’t broken any clan laws or committed any acts considered dishonorable, and for some reason his memories were foggy. Maybe there was something in the food?

It was around what he estimated to be about two months when his daily routine was broken by something a little strange. A woman, dressed in strange robes that reminded him a bit of the white robes the Arido priests wore, although completely black, came into his cell. She had with her a bowl of ochre-colored paint, and she had drawn something on his forehead with it while saying something in a language he did not understand. After, she left.

How strange.

"The past is a foreign country."
6 Months Ago

---

As the E.S.M.G.'s hold on the city became nigh on impossible and with the fall of the main HQ, Major General Batzorig reined all of his forces, along with many others, into a perimeter surrounding F.O.B. Steel. Neo Beijing became the last hotspot of ECU resistance against the wailing tide of Whiny Fucks, a name used by the last defenders of the ruined government as an insult to the revolutionary's legitimacy. To some, this killing was just business. A contract with an end which seemed to be coming near. To many others, this once foreign conflict became very personal. The ex-Protectors hanging on who have lost all that they knew, clinging on to what seemed like their last hope from a vengeful tide. The newly formed Mercenarios who deserted their own army after losing too much and gaining too little from this conflict. And even the apes, who were sent here by the wishes of their city-states, felt abandoned in a useless cause and desperate after so many losses.

Not that the mercenaries did not make Whiny Fucks pay. Blood was paid back with blood, bodies stacking on both sides. Surrounded on all sides with no help, F.O.B. Steel should have been an anarchic mess that the Flowers could sweep up. But allies of convenience can quickly become brothers in arms.

The E.S.M.G. had been holding its current perimeter for over a few days, with fortified checkpoints and constant patrols. Bolstered by human allies, the mercenaries had some reprieve in their week of constant retreat. The land they occupied was empty of anything aside from IEDs and ambushes among burnt-out buildings. For now, there was some quiet on Checkpoint Charlie and within was an unlikely foursome you would not have seen anywhere else in the galaxy.

They were banging their heads to the tunes of old-Earth 50 Cent. Well, at least three of them were.

"♩ Many men, wish death upon me / blood in my eye dawg and I can't see ♭"

A heavily scarred Mercenario took a sip of his ¡Bomba! drink, a sought-after and jealously guarded prize among the rationing Matuvistan deserters at the moment. "Hijo de putas, I don't understand why you like this shit music."

"I like this better than your mariachi bands."

"Fuck up Adrien, you don't know what a mariachi band is, had to learn it from the monkey even though you live in this Earth-loving hell-"

Both received a banana peel to the face each, courtesy of a tribal-looking, laughing chimpanzee in a skirt. The Matuvistan sputtered as one flap entered his mouth but Adrien was smart enough to keep his golden visor up, the peel falling and sticking on the scratched "PROTECTOR" logo instead. Both looked his way but only one visibly glared at the diminutive ape, which only sent him cackling. "Who knew humans were so stupid? I dearly hope the spirits, bless their souls, were not close to even half of how stupid you are Juan. Bloody bareskins."

"¡Qué Cabrón! ¡Fucking el mono!"

"Fake Spanish fuckers."

"¡Pendejo!"

"Drug addled softie."

"¡Coño!"

"I heard the exclamation points in that one. Is all you know is shouting, swearing and drugs? I swear you barely know Spanish beyond swear words."

"Don't forget the women, drinking and killing mi hermano. If only you monkeys were a race of space babes instead of babuinos. Mierde I would kill for somewhere to lay some pipe, if you get what I me-"

"Your pipin' don't work as good as you think, Juan. Y'all should pay attention to the convoy ahead." As always, the quieter ex-Protector came in between the two loudmouths, focusing them on the job at hand. It's been the dynamics of the unlikely trio ever since they came together in Checkpoint Charlie. Due to the high attrition rates on patrols, the shifts on checkpoints had become longer and manpower shortages across the front caused previously separated forces together.

Thus how the quiet ex-Protector, loudmouthed Mercenario and the foolish chimpanzee found company in each other. Charlie was equal parts lively and violent, culture clashes happening frequently between the three but they certainly got over their grudges quickly. One had to if one were to rely on that same face you punched to be saving your life an hour afterwards. Fights would only really happen between Juan and Xi, with Adrien breaking it between them.

Their job consisted of checking for hidden trackers, potential false flag attacks and intercepting enemy incursions within the area. Along with the ten others in Charlie, they would act as a QRF force to block any holes in the line. As it stands, they would be lucky if they could fill the hole in the broken toilet.

As the convoy stopped in front of the makeshift wire gate, the fourth member of the foursome came from behind the lumbering Adrien. The German Shepherd, lovingly nicknamed Lady by the former Protector, leapt forth nose first.

Outwardly, Khanate-provided canines seem the same as the ones on Earth. As you learned while working with them, they were anything but those glorified house pets. Lady has a keener sense of smell than any naturally born dog, with a full three cones in her eyes, sharper intelligence and a fiercer bite than even an old Earth wolf. Fearsome, loyal and adorable all wrapped in one package. She would work in tandem with Adrien to search the vehicles as the others keep watch. It was slow, repetitive work but the black and gold armour-wearer felt calm in how familiar it felt.

It was good to feel familiarity in things other than murder and violence. Other than those creeping voices in his head, the monsters which stalk his nightmares, metal and gaunt and screaming-

"Aight, they clear!" Adrien pulled a treat out of his pocket as Lady put her paws on his boots, looking up at him with puppy eyes. He scratched behind her ears with clean gloves, smiling softly under his mask. Yes, familiar and boring but so much calmer.

It would go like this for a few more hours as it neared to the end of their shift. Adrien patiently watching the other two banter with each other as Lady loyally laid at his feet. Check convoy, pass them through. Check convoy, pass them through. Soon enough the sun would go down the horizon and their officer signaled that the next shift members were coming through. He yawned, peering into the dimly lit streets.

"You okay friend?" A hairy hand wrapped itself on his bicep before a sudden hefty weight sat on the ex-Protector's shoulders. He merely shrugged the weight on as if it was nothing.

"It's nothin' Xi, just thinkin' that's all." There was a silence that stretched between the two comrades, looking out to the darkness. It was comfortable, more comfortable than Adrien has been since Zeta-5.

There was a tap on Adrien's head. "You know, I never got to thank you for trying to help me find my friend. Sergeant Marley deserves a friend like you. I just abandoned him there like a coward."

He waved his hand, dismissing the nervous chimp antics. "Don't worry 'bout it bud, ya can't do much when yer burning alive yknow."

A cackle and a slap to his helmet. Rude monkey, he thought. "You're right there, you big oaf." A pause and once again, that silence comes back. Tenser than before. "You know, if you wanna talk about what happened on Zeta, we can talk. We've been saving each other's asses long enough."

"It ain't worth it."

"That's what I said, before you convinced me to search. We all have each other's backs, my friend."

Adrien stood still for some time and watched the shadows stretch across the pavement. It would be a few minutes of this as his shadow lengthened over him. It felt like it was eating away at him, a caged monster now unleashed, a pain which felt stronger everyday. It made it harder to get up from bed, to eat and even to talk, at times. His teeth were yellow and he knew his hair was unruly from the lack of a shower. But ever since he woke up, he decided he did not deserve to be clean. The filth was too overwhelming for him to just wash it all away. He did not deserve remorse or sympathy, he was just a violent, big, dumb brute who slaughtered innocents. Others don't see it that way. But he did.

"I ain't dumb, yknow, even though ma tests keep saying I am. My ma just told me I was different from the other children. But these kids, yknow, they told me I was wrong and stupid and they called me a retard or sumthin'. But I ain't ever wanted to hurt nobody, I just wanted to protect. Protector, it's in the name yknow? So I signed up like a good little boy, just before Zeta happened."

"This right here, ma home, if ya can even call it that anymore, is jus' different from Zeta. We jus' killed and killed and killed ova' there, killing all of 'em toasters as much as we could. It was, whatchumacallit, geno-cide?" Adrien let out a shaky breath, blood misting up his visor as he recalled his past. "Yeah, yeah it was genocide aight. Cold blooded murder. But it felt good, if ya catch me. It was that word they always be using, right-eous. It never felt wrong to me but I guess I was the one that's wrong. Definitely felt that way when I came home, they started gettin' rid of ma buddies, everyone started lookin' at us weird. These were the people we were supposed to be protectin' but instead, we were murderin' 'em. Now it started to feel wrong."

He clenched his fists, shaking harder even as his buddy placed his hands on his helmet. "Everythin', everythin' I ever did was wrong. I couldn't do nothin' right. I failed my tests, I failed my old buddies. I fucked it up Xi. At Zeta, I failed bein' a human. A proper human wouldn't have done the things I did. They would've stopped Xi. But I just kept goin' and goin' yknow. And here, I failed even harder. I failed my ma, Xi. Them Whiny Fucks went after her, they knew who she was and they made, they made an "exam-ple" out of her. I dunno what that means but they messed her up real bad. Ma wouldn't stop bleedin' Xi, it was like those spirits of yours found me lackin' but ended up punishin' the wrong person. And I killed 'em all bud, I killed all of 'em Whiny Fucks who did that to my ma. B-But just like now, it didn't do nothin' right. It jus' made me empty, yknow. Empty is all I feel nowadays."

Adrien felt the weight come off his shoulders as the diminutive chimpanzee leapt down to face him. "You open that visor up, my friend."

Hesitatingly, he flipped the button up to reveal his face. A young, scarred face revealed itself, pale white from the lack of sunlight. A teen, a young fool with blue eyes and scraggly black hair. Couldn't even grow a beard right yet. Yet gaunt, haunted, lacking proper food and sleep. The eyes hid a much older man, old for all the wrong reasons. Xi stared at the boy, not with sympathy, but with understanding.

"You know what I see when I look at you Adrien?" The boy shook his head, shifting his eyes everywhere but into those staring at him. "I see a young, scared boy taken from his mama too early. I see a manipulated boy, a silly boy, maybe even a dumb boy, but I don't see the monster you keep telling yourself you are. You didn't know what you were doing back then, at least you know what you're doing now. And you know what you're doing friend? You're choosing."

"For the first time in your miserable life Adrien, you can choose. You can be what you want to be. You can do what you want to do Adrien. Don't let your past weigh you down because right now, right now you're surviving. And I can't fault you for that, Juan can't fault you for that, no one can! You're surviving to become a better man, to grow up, to be better than what you used to be. To become a man, not just a boy handed a gun and told what to do without knowing shit about life." The ex-Protector felt a hand reach for his own which he could barely see under the tears. "Don't worry my friend, it gets better from here."

The boy nodded slowly, wiping his tears away just in time, as Juan had finished his break. "¡Oi putas, we got one last convoy before we hit the roa- ¡mierde! You having a moment gringo?"

Adrien only laughed this time, tears receding punching the Matuvistan in the arm which elicited a sharp, manly yelp. "Mourning yer ruined pipe, that's all my friend. Cut back on the drugs, maybe yer gonna get it up next time." He patted his gaping friend on the arm, leaving the other cackling as Lady loyally followed his lead. She looked up at him, concerned with eyebrows furrowed. He only smiled, scratching behind her ears before looking at the new arrivals.

It was standard up until the truck in the middle, holding the wounded from the front. Adrien was joking with the occupants inside until he heard barking, harsh and loud. His head whipped towards Lady, barking at front tire. "Alrighty, what do we have here girlie?" As he jogged towards her, he heard her whine in a way he never had before. A ding sounded.

>WARNING: Sensor jammer detected
>IMMINENT DANGER: EXPLOSIVE DETECTED, LEAVE AREA IMMEDIATELY-

"Lady, get outta there-!"

It was fiery and fast, a high yield explosive designed to destroy the checkpoints. It failed at the last moment, only acting as a anti-personnel bomb rather than the bunker-blaster it was intended to be. The start of the last offensive, just before the E.S.M.G. decided to get off world.

Former Protector Adrien Gausman, who had lied about his age to get into the Protectors to care for his mother. Murderer. Failure. Friend. Dead at 19. Honorary E.S.M.G. mercenary for life.

---

Present time
The Steel, Olympus Mons, Mars

---

"She laid there, you know, wouldn't move from Charlie after you pushed her away. The mutt didn't want to leave the planet, would bite me whenever Juan and I came to get her. The last ship, we left on the last ship because of her, my friend."

It was one of many, a name etched on to a wall on a list which would only grow longer. Brothers and sisters, comrades-in-arms. Lost too early.

Xi dropped the flowers off, as he now did every Monday, telling the same story each time. There were ex-Protectors around him, ones initially too scarred to truly be sent on missions, now keeping the peace in this little garden of the dead. Black armour and golden visor, a scratched "PROTECTOR" on their chest. Boys all of them, hated and scarred for life. He turned and they turned with him, stamping their feet in unison.

"Come on men, we've got a job to do." He called a forward march, set to start patrols around The Steel's most prized area. El Muro de la Muerte. The Wall of the Dead.

Oscar Pawlowski waited until the elevator slowly ascended to the right floor. The building was tall, hundreds of meters of concrete, steel, and glass towering above the capital. The apartment the Grand General had been looking for was somewhere in the middle. Nobody answered the door, even though he knew she was there. It wasn’t locked, so he entered, looking around in the dim light.

The place was a mess, boxes of food lying around the coffee table, dirty clothes thrown over an expensive sofa. One whole wall was made of glass, offering an exquisite view of the city. Right now it was being whipped by streams of water, there was a thunderstorm raging outside, occasional balls of lightning illuminating a silhouette of a person standing there, looking out.

Oscar sighed and walked over to her. Although she must have heard him, there was no notion of movement, she just stood there like a statue, watching the raindrops roll down the glass. Her short dark hair was one big greasy mess and the smell lingering around her suggested she hasn’t showered in a while. “Claire?”

There was no response. Another strike of lightning showed him her face, deadly pale, void of any expression. Oscar wasn’t sure what to do. He was not a shrink and he certainly wasn’t an expert on women. The two things made a dangerous combination in this situation. But he was the only one who could do something.

“Claire. Look at me, please.”

She didn’t move, but her lips growled a response. “Go away.”

Alright, some words, that was a start. But how to continue? “Claire, it has been six weeks. You can’t just stay here forever.” She was a woman of science, prone to listen to reason, right?

“Fuck off.” Her face finally turned to him, raw fury twisting it now. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, Grand Asshole.” There was so much hate and contempt in her voice Oscar almost took a step back away from her. “What, you are worried about your little project? Screw you. I’m done giving you more inventions so you could use them to kill people. Kelsie is gone, which means you have no leverage over me anymore. You want to lock me up for another twenty years? Go ahead. You want me dead? Be a fucking man and do it yourself, just like you killed my husband.”

Oscar could see the ocean of desperation beyond all that anger and hate. She was just a broken woman who had lost everything and needed to let all the emotions out. That’s why he was here, in a way. No, he certainly didn’t enjoy being yelled at and getting blamed for everything bad that has ever happened to her (even though she did have a point in some parts), but if this is what it takes to finally get her out of the terrible lethargy, so be it. He had learned to ignore her insults a long time ago.

“I’m not going to kill you. Or lock you up.” Unless she does something stupid. Claire Martin was a brilliant scientist and a very dangerous woman. “You don’t want to die, otherwise you would have done it already. You are suffering and I understand that, you are not the only one who has ever lost somebody they loved.” No, he was not going to go there. The past was in the past. “You still have a life in front of you. If you want to waste it rotting alive your own filth, be my guest. You can even open the fucking window and jump if that is what you desire. But you don’t get to blame that on me anymore, it’s your choice.” Wow, what a pep talk he managed to put together.

Claire blinked a couple of times, looking shocked. For once, she didn’t have a snappy response to his words. He turned back to the door, slowly walking away. “There is a meeting tomorrow at 0900. I expect my advisor to be there.” His eyebrow went up as he scanned the mess around him one more time. “Looking like a normal person,” he added, giving her one last look before closing the door behind him. The air was much fresher in the hallway.

---

The decision was long overdue, but the High Command couldn’t agree on one opinion and Oscar himself wasn’t sure, so he kept postponing it. But now, with the revolution on the New Hollywood over, the ECU embassy on the Meeting Place taken over by those White Flower people, and with what remained of the Oligarchs transferred to exile to the Matuvistans, the decision needed to be made. The Earth Cultural Union was gone. New Hollywood left in disarray, a bloody mess yet to be organized into a proper government. And the question that arrived from Abadi’s mailbox, although clearly not sent by her, stood there, unanswered. An ally to the government, or to the people?

Claire came, sitting down quietly, an uncertain look on her face. She cleaned herself up, nothing of her reminding Oscar of the empty shell of a woman he met yesterday. Except for the pain in her eyes. She didn’t try to talk to him and he didn’t force her, glad that she didn’t take his other advice about jumping out of the window. That would be a bloody shame.

“We will not support the White Flowers.” Oscar was not the one to beat around the bush and he started the meeting bluntly right after everyone confirmed to be present.

Hamonga sighed. He returned to Ellara with the Undefeated fleet as soon as the battle in the Sol system was over, not wanting to look like a threat to other nations. Or risking repeating the unfortunate incident with the Kudrionians. “They will be a legitimate government on the New Hollywood. Or Bezia or whatever they are calling it now.”

“I don’t give a shit whether they are legitimate or not. They drowned the streets in blood, the mobs whipped up by their crazy preachers murdered and tortured people. That is not something we can support. You want to tell our citizens it’s okay to start revolting against their government?”

“So…,” Jim Harlowe started hesitantly, his face frowning from a screen on the wall. He was still stationed on the Meeting Place and couldn’t fly over to Ellara for every meeting they had. “We are going to support the Oligarchs in exile?” Oscar knew Jim hated the Oligarchs after personally witnessing the horrors they inflicted upon their people while calling it “training”.

“No.” Oscar shook his head decisively. “We won't do either. Those assholes want to fight against each other, murdering their people in the process, inviting foreign forces on their planet? Fine. Let them. Remember, nobody asked us for help.”

Claire was biting on her lip, quiet until now. “We will have to acknowledge the White Flowers as a nation's representatives.” Oscar turned to her with an angry look but she raised her hand to stop him. “No, wait.” Her voice was more confident now. Opposing him was always the thing she did best. “I understand what are you trying to do, you want to make us look neutral, to step aside from the mess, and it is a good thing. But if we want to be seen by others as a stable neutral force, we can’t shut down a diplomatic channel to an entire nation just because we don’t like the way they came to power.”

“She has a point,” Hamonga nodded.

Jim Harlowe chimed in. “I agree. I can issue a statement that since the ECU doesn’t exist anymore, we consider our alliance with them over. And that while we don’t support the White Flowers, we acknowledge them as the current leaders of that bloody shithole of a planet.” The other Guardians nodded in silence and looked at Oscar.

While it might have looked like a form of a democracy, it was far from it. The final decision would be Oscar’s, no matter their opinion. Sometimes it was hard to wear the weight of a whole planet on his shoulders. “Fine. Do that. Don’t use the word shithole though,” he smirked.

“I was not going to, sir,” Harlowe laughed and saluted, ending the transmission.
@Tortoise

---

---

Kelsie was running through the dim-lit corridor at a measured pace, her legs starting to burn slowly. Oh, how she missed being able to exercise, but in the station’s native atmosphere it was difficult to walk, let alone go for a run. Fortunately, after a few weeks of studying the alien writing, language, and technology, Julianna figured out how to reconfigure the atmospheric generator to give them more Ellara-like levels of oxygen and other things. It even got rid of the smell, which apparently was caused by ammonia. Why did the aliens feel the need to artificially add that into their breathing air was beyond Kelsie. Maybe they just liked the smell of urine.

The broken thigh bone that Kelsie and David so expertly treated grew back together, sadly not quite in its original shape, causing Julianna to limp around, muttering curses under her breath. But she was alive, no doubt thanks both to the courtesy of the New Haven Directorate and their nanoshots and also to several donations of David’s blood.

Kelsie was furious because she felt absolutely useless. David was trying to fix the ship and Julianna spent all her time trying to decipher parts of the computer system controlling the station. In a vain hope to reprogram the automated security system so it wouldn’t immediately destroy the Chimera upon powering up. The Big Balls, as they called it. No doubt someone could come up with a fancy sciency name, but the Undefeated weren’t exactly famous for being creative.

From what they were able to figure out, the whole system was in a state of some brutal lockdown. The best guess was that when the aliens were leaving the place (for whatever reason), they didn’t want anyone snooping around their stuff, so they bumped up the security. The current level was set to immediately annihilate anything even remotely resembling a functioning spaceship. The only reason the Chimera didn’t get blown into pieces right after emerging from the Gateway was that the main reactor was offline and they were basically wreckage freely flying through space. And the moment Kelsie powered up the backup generator, the Big Balls activated, ready to destroy them. The security seemed to be such a vital part of the station’s systems Julianna hadn’t even been able to access it, let alone change or disable it.

Everyone but her had something to do. Kelsie knew nothing about science and very little about mechanics and fixing ships, so she just tried to stay out of their way, her frustration growing every day they were stuck here. And it has been a lot of days. Today they actually marked day 42, adding another long scratch on one of the walls. Like prisoners did ages ago back on Earth. Almost closer to two months than to one. Infuriating.

Kelsie needed something to do, anything. She thought life in the Meeting Place was boring, but living here took it to a whole new level. There was no one to fight, the aliens who built the place were long gone. Years, decades, millennia, there was really no way to know. The group spent the first few days worried that the station had sent some sort of a signal when they powered up the reactor and that the rightful owners would show up and kick them out, but nobody arrived. Perhaps they were long dead. Or just didn’t care.

She managed to keep herself busy for the first few days by going through what remained of the Chimera, scavenging anything that could be useful. The water was not a problem, the station itself had both large supplies in the tanks and a whole filtration and recirculation system to deal with it, they could even take long hot showers. But the food was another matter. They were going for a few-hour trip from the Meeting Place to Ellara so they didn’t exactly pack loads of it. While the ship had some emergency supplies on board, a big part of them was destroyed in the explosion, and the rest made for quite thin rations for three people.

Perhaps she should be saving her strength instead of wasting it on such a meaningless thing as jogging, but there was a big possibility she was going to punch someone unless she blew off some steam. And she really didn’t want that. All three of them were already on edge, especially Julianna since she was constantly in pain from her injured leg and frustrated from not being able to come up with a solution to their problem.

Kelsie returned to the part of the station they currently inhabited, panting and drenched in sweat. She had to come upon her tiptoes to reach the door control, it was incredibly annoying. The aliens who built this place were about twice the regular human height and Kelsie constantly felt like a toddler trying to reach for the candy on the table. Julianna managed to rewire controls of one shower to a datapad; it was probably not the safest solution to go with, but at least they didn’t have to jump up every time they wanted to adjust the water temperature.

She took a quick shower, enjoying the waterfalls coming down on her from the incredibly high ceiling, and then grabbed a clean T-shirt from a clothesline, tossing the dirty one into a corner. Knowing she was the one who was going to wash it later. Yes, she was doing the laundry. That’s how useless she was around here.

Her watch told her it was the time for dinner, which was not really a reason for happiness. She would kill for a steak and fries. Sometimes when she couldn’t fall asleep at night, she imagined that piece of rare bloody meat on her plate, how she would stab a fork into it, cut it with a knife, put it into her mouth… Her stomach rumbled. No, she had to go get her tiny bowl of oatmeal or whatever delicious thing they had on the menu tonight.

There were no child-size chairs on the station so the trio usually ate on the ground in one corner of the room they slept in. There were dozens of rooms to choose from, some with one or two huge beds, others with several bunk beds stacked next to each other, but they chose to stay together because the place was just too creepy to sleep alone.

Kelsie squinted at one of the last cans on the very small pile. Mashed potatoes. Yummy.

“Ladies,” David entered the room with a wide grin, “fear not. We will eat our stomachs full tonight.”

Kelsie raised an eyebrow. “With half a bowl of this? Doubt it.”

“Nope.” With a groan, David sat a huge backpack down on the ground and opened it. “With this.” The can was about the size of a bucket, made from the same weird plastic material as the furniture. It was white with some black markings in the alien language.

“You are crazy. We have no idea what’s inside.”

David shook his head, the grin on his face getting even wider. “That’s where you are wrong, my dear Guardian. By the scientific method of trial and error, I have determined this is in fact food. It doesn’t taste particularly awesome, but it’s better than being hungry.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Julianna raised her head from a datapad and stared at him in disbelief. “YOU ATE IT?! You two are seriously unbelievable!” Kelsie winced. What the hell did she do?

David’s excitement was dampened by her angry words but still didn’t disappear completely. “Relax. I tasted it two days ago, ate a few spoons the day after that, and a full bowl yesterday. Not even a stomach ache. I know a military ration when I see one.”

“The fact that you didn’t die immediately doesn’t mean that it’s not poisonous. I mean these guys had ammonia in their breathing air, what the hell do you think they put in their food?” Kelsie supported Julianna.

Sitting down with a quiet sigh, David opened the lid of the alien can and grabbed a spoon. “Seriously, you women are hard to please. I’ll keep eating this, there is enough to last us for like a century by the way, meaning there will be more rations for you from what we scavenged of the Chimera. We need to give our brilliant scientist time to get us out of this mess.”

“STOP IT!” Julianna got up, wincing in pain, leaning against a makeshift crutch David made for her. “I’ve seriously had it with the two of you. Stop looking at me like I have a miraculous solution to everything because I don’t! It doesn’t matter if the food lasts us for ten days or ten years or hundred years. I will be no closer to the solution in a century than I’m now.”

Kelsie and David exchanged worried looks. “Julianna,...”

“No! Shut up! You two assholes are goofing around all the time, waiting for me to solve the problem, but I can’t! It’s just too complicated, too much information, too much… everything, I don’t…” Julianna paused and sniffled, a couple of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Just stop looking at me like I’m some sort of a fucking savior because I’m not.” She hobbled towards the door and used the crutch to tap the door control, disappearing in the hallway.

Kelsie lowered her head down in shame. The young scientist was absolutely right, they never doubted her ability to solve the problem, getting to the point they never attempted to help her, or even to ask her whether she needed any help.

They knew where she was going.

Soon after they arrived, they managed to tap into the station’s network, creating a makeshift connection between one of their computers and wires they gutted from a workstation that didn’t look very important. A lot of good it did for them, now they had a screen full of alien source code written in alien language using an alien alphabet.

Julianna sat there for hours every day, trying to decipher it. While Kelsie and David were truly goofing around, as she said. Sure, they meant it well, trying to stay out of her way and not distract her, but they ended up abandoning her with an impossible task.

“Leave me alone,” she growled when they entered the room. They saw her sitting on the ground, face hidden in her hands, shoulders twitching as she sobbed desperately. David gave Kelsie an uncertain look but followed her when she approached Julianna. They both sat down next to her, each hugging the girl from one side. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, “I didn’t mean it. It’s just… it would have been my mum’s birthday today and I always went to put a stupid flower on her grave. And now… We are never getting out of here.”

Kelsie sometimes kept forgetting how young compared to the two of them the girl was. “We are going to get back home.” It was hard to sound convincing.

Julianna shook her head and waved towards the screen. “I can’t make sense of it. Any of it.”

“Didn’t you fix the air thing?” David asked in surprise.

“That was different, the atmospheric generator interface is based on chemical formulae. Anyone who knows the atomic number of oxygen could do that.”

David snorted. “I think that still leaves only you.”

Julianna chuckled in response. If anything, David was good at distracting her from the desperate crying. “Right, I forgot you two are as dumb as a sack of hammers and I have to think for three when you are around. But I don’t know how to solve this, it’s just too much information. I have three notebooks full of notes that make no sense just on that stupid alphabet. Those symbols aren’t letters, most of them are words or even expressions, others seem to connect the first ones together like some super-complicated prepositions, some are completely nonsensical, they might be names or pop-culture references or some stupid thing like that. I don’t know, I’m not a linguist.” She started sounding desperate again.

“Julianna, you are not alone.” Kelsie hugged her tighter. “Yes, we were stupid to leave you to drown in this river of shit on your own, but it ends now. From now on, we do this together. It’s never too late to start using your brain, right?” Even though it might hurt.

Two Collabs Between @Tortoise and @Irredeemable

The ‘Demon of Zeta’ had started to become a little less demonic as time wore on. More glimpses of their form had gotten out, and no matter how efficient they were in killing, their form always received a small amount of damage, and there was no hope of proper repairs so far from Zeta. So, they had kept their body patched up in the field however they could, and continued to push it to the limits as they tore through anyone that stood in the way of their vengeance.

Now though, their time was waning. The Collective had always supported the White Flowers, and now that they had formalised their rule Eta-Theta could cause a diplomatic incident. They had one last target to cross off their checklist, and that would be that. The body would be destroyed, and Eta-Theta would return home at last.

Their chest complained a little as the holster was revealed for the last time, the android pulling the gun free and sliding the hatch shut once again. They inserted the last bullet directly into the gun and racked the slide to chamber it, before holstering it in a pilfered protector holster. They had saved this bullet for a specific person. A specific person that was currently scratching out a living in the wastelands of the new-old world.

Their footsteps could be heard as they walked along a baked-earth road. The mufflers that had allowed Eta to be so stealthy when they had first arrived had blown out after a particularly long fall, and besides, it wasn’t worth it to be stealthy any more. They had made a promise. They were merely keeping it.

Finally, they stopped in front of the ruins of a building, where a tired man pulled odd-looking fruit from a withered looking bush.

”Hello Yun.”

Wind whistled through the towering, creaking monolith over their heads; a construct of black, rusted metals, two hundred meters high- and still standing. That building, and the sea of others around it, was one the few Bezian ruins left. It was where the exiles were sent. This was the place you went to when the government didn't want you dead, just… out of the way. And now it was Yun’s home. He barely lifted his head.

“Hello, Eta-Theta.”

The android creaked closer, damaged joints and clicking microservos allowing the android to walk its way slowly opposite the man, then sit down on a desiccated log, staring the ex-protector down. The gun sat between their legs, the killing machine making no movement to draw it up and fire the shot that had been delayed as planets crumbled and regimes fell.

“You know what you made me realise, Yun?” Eta-Theta asked, eyes fixed on the ex-protector’s face. ”Most of the Collective, they… See the best in humanity. They see human flesh as a… Natural stage of their life. But you… When you threw me out that airlock.”

There was a long pause. In Yun’s mind, names replayed.

”When you killed me.” If the android had needed to breathe, now was when it would do so.

”You allowed me to understand that humanity. At least. Most of humanity. The kind of humanity you come from…”

“Is to be despised.”

Yun met the machine’s eyes- two black holes that went into oblivion.

“I. Hate. You.”

Eta-Theta’s hand clenched and unclenched. ”If you carved the word ‘hate’ into every single nanoangstrom of the hundreds of kilometers of wiring through me, you would not have even scratched the surface of the OCEAN of hatred that I have for you.”

“Alright.” Yun spoke. “You hate me. And you’re going to kill me. But you won’t feel better after it. You’ll hate the memory of me. You’ll think of me and hate. If you can dream, you’ll dream of me. This isn’t a release.” Of the seven that Yun had killed, not one made him feel better. Heralds dropped. He still lived in his killer’s head, the ghost of hate.

There is nothing left to live for.

“Go on, then, toaster. Pull the trigger and hate me forever.”

”Good.” Eta-Theta nodded. ”I don’t want a release. I want to see your face. Bloodied on Zeta. Petrified as I shot that protector on these neon streets. Tired. Worn down. I told you to live your best life, Yun. I hope you did it.

The android raised the gun up and towards Yun’s face.

”You planted a seed on Zeta, Yun. Now, here’s its fruit.”

The gun’s report disturbed a flock of hardy birds that had followed the exiles out here.

Eta-Theta paused for a moment. Then, their body’s self-destruct programs activated, and Eta-Theta left the planet of New Hollywood.

---

---

It was a gorgeous day to enjoy Isla Lobasla. Although Il Duque himself was currently absent, (the near-death of his eldest daughter and the uproar in the senate would do that,) the island itself was open for business and pleasure as usual. Isla Lobasla, so named because of its carefully managed wolf population that had been introduced shortly after the colony had made landfall was both an industrial and cultural powerhouse. It was home to some of the planet’s oldest lodestone fields, which had lead the de Lobasla clan to rapidly become one of the wealthiest on the planet, becoming patrons of the arts and the church even before the Republic had been founded.

Of course, this history had led to the clan being surrounded in no small amount of controversy and hostility. Quiet whispers decried the de Lobasla’s as either beneficiaries of a dictator’s good graces or even descended from a dictator that had retired or abdicated instead of being overthrown or assassinated. They had the dubious distinction of having had the most assasination attempts made on them by both rebels and loyalists, had been challenged to the most duels of any of Matuvistas ‘Old Houses,’ and the family tree was so confused and muddled that a poorly timed death could send the whole house into a succession struggle to see who emerged as formal patriarch or matriarch of the clan.

Of course, the Oligarchs currently relaxing on one of the island’s most popular beachside resorts would have known nothing of this. Perfect surfing waves crashed into pearly white beaches, the view of the ocean only spoiled by the vast anti-storm and anti-kaiju structures erected several miles offshore. It was nonetheless picturesque, the Oligarchs enjoying a pampered vacation, complete with cocktails, compliments of Il Duque.

Abadi took another sip of her own cocktail, something pink in a posh little glass, and fought the instinct to start classifying it by "culture, kind and era." No, that's not true: she didn't have to just fight that instinct, she had to beat it off with a wooden stick. If this were New Hollywood, she'd have been talking dutifully with an Oligarch twenty years her senior about the most famous wines of Old Italy, circa 1729.

Stop thinking about New Hollywood stuff, she told herself, unsuccessfully, and continued to think about New Hollywood stuff.

She'd never actually worn a swimsuit before. There was no time to relax as a child- she had to study. Her family, like the family of a certain other young Oligarch- but that other one was a traitor- had been on the sidelines of ECU politics. The wealthier ones, the Isabella's of her own world, had their culture parties and their fame and their opulence without work. But Abadi earned her place: day one, she worked. How many social chances had she missed? She started escaping to culture parties themed around the American and British rock subcultures at sixteen. That was when her life seemed to actually start.

Rudely, completely uninvited, a memory rushed to her mind. Playing on the beach as a girl, with her dad, who seemed so big then. He was a giant. She was- what, seven? Eight? The hooks of life hadn’t quite forced their way into her, that young, despite much trying. They wouldn’t catch her until later.

Oh, she thought, returning her mind to the real and present beach of Isla Lobasla, I guess I have done this before.

An uncomfortable moment passes. Unfairly blue waves break on the sand.

I wonder how Isabella is doing?

That question would perhaps be answered more rapidly than she might think. For now, Abadi would have to make do with a very different individual. They had clearly come for a reason as well, their eyes scanning the beach. A young man, no more than twenty four or twenty five, with neatly trimmed brown hair, a white collar around his neck and a light linen robe. The garb was finished with a long series of golden links around his neck, ending with a large, heavy Matuvistan cross. The same cross was mimicked on the front of the book he carried, a thick tome bound in red leather.

He stopped before one of the other oligarchs, talked for some time, and then moved on, his lightweight sandals making easy work of the boardwalk. Then, something about Abadi seemed to cause him to stop and approach.

“Hello there.” The man said pleasantly. “My name is Padre Cristiano. You’re one of the Oligarchs, aren’t you? My sincerest sympathies. You’ve lost so much already.” He paused for a long moment, then gestured to the sunlounger beside Abadi. “May I sit? I assure you, I won’t take up much of your time.”

“You may,” she said, instinctively, politely. But her thoughts only said Oh no.

“Thank you.” Cristiano nodded pleasantly, then carefully planted him on the corner of the seat, his eyes just barely shaded by the provided umbrella. “Tell me something, Oligarch… Pardon me, what’s your name, miss?”

She answered, adding that it was an Old Arabic name- then wondered if her visitor knew what that was.

“That’s a lovely name.” He inclined his head with a smile. “Abadi, I have heard that New Hollywood was a regime unfamiliar with religion, but… In your years of living… Have you wondered if there was something more to this universe than meets the eye?”

“Oh, by Earth, he’s one of those,” said another voice, not Abadi’s, but definitely one she recognized. He’d been almost following her since that one night in the Meeting Place months ago, popping up suddenly in social spaces- just short of being creepy. Called the “Dis-Count Dracula” back home, like Count Dracula’s cheaper cousin. How could someone so tall be so stealthy?

Andrei Fedorov- in pink, floral swimming trunks that could only be ironic- sat himself uninvited on the sand beside them both. His hair somehow stayed slicked back even in that wet air. Abadi performed a mental calculation to determine how much product he must use to transform it into plastic: the answer is ‘too much.’

“There’s nothing more to the universe than the stuff you feel,” he declared, very certainly.

Cristiano’s eyes moved slowly towards Andrei, the soft, affable smile never leaving his lips. “Ah, but, just think. What you feel can be changed. I’m not certain if the custom of using psychoactives continued in New Hollywood, but,” he laughed a little, “I know it has in the Gran Republic. If you have indulged, consider how different that was to how you are now. Perhaps you were convinced you could see things that did not exist, or you felt strange sensations in your body?” He looked at the pair, (mostly Andrei,) to see the response.

Abadi laughed, only a little strained. "I think Andrei prefers alcohol."

He winked, saying "I think Andrei does, too, and you know what else he pre-" but she cut off whatever inappropriate thing he was about to say. The Oligarchs are new here, Andrei. You need to wait at least five more business days before causing an international incident.

"See, Cristiano," her voice carried over Andrei's, "my country has had bad experiences with... with religion. It divides people’s loyalty. That’s why the Mixtists are rebels. The Cult of Earth was well-intentioned, but their name says it all, doesn't it? I- I respect what you believe, but for me, I think it's best to focus on what's..." what is the best way to phrase this? "... on what's real."

You know, that was probably not the best way to phrase it.

Cristiano nodded along. “Of course, I understand that you’ve had negative experiences with religion before. Subversive elements, rebellion… Terrible, of course, but, if you’ll allow me to share something I find quite wonderful…” Above them in the sky hung the three moons, barely visible in the day. “Even up there, where our own rebels try to undermine everything we have strived to build… Our faith unifies us. It is the duty of Padres and Madres such as myself to cross the divide that has been rent between us, and use our faith to reconcile the two sides.”

After a few moments of silence, he turned to look back to Abadi. “But tell me then, Abadi. What makes you think that this.” He held up the book that was still pressed to his chest. “Is not real?”

She looked away, half embarrassed. This man obviously believed so sincerely. She’d never had faith like that in anything- except once, in Earth, and that turned out to be a lie. Earth is dead. Where were the saints when that happened? This is the real reason she didn’t believe in religions. But out loud, she fell back to the safety of: “There’s just no proof.”

Cristiano nodded in understanding. “To me, the proof is all around us. The sand, the seas, the moons and stars that hang above us in the sky. We are the witnesses of creation, and the saints are the architects of that creation.” He set the book down next to him for a moment and turned to face Abadi head-on. She felt wholly uncomfortable- and halfway interested.

“If that’s not enough to convince you however, there is something else we can do. The saints want to guide you, as they have done for me throughout my life. If you hold out your hand for them, they will take it. Try praying even once, saying ‘saints, if you are real, reveal yourselves to me.'” His smile widened.

“Even if you don’t believe me now, if you are honest and true, and pursue faith with that same honesty and truth, you will find what you seek. I promise you that.”

Andrei rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and if you seek unicorns hard enough, one’ll pop out of your birthday cake.”

Abadi stifled a chuckle, but even while she did, part of her knew that wasn’t what the preacher was saying. It’s not that believing something makes it true. It’s that, if the saints exist, it makes some sense that they could show themselves to someone who looked for them. If you are honest and true. The former liaison didn’t know if she was either of those things, considering her life, her old job. But maybe…

What if she prayed, and they really did answer her?

That was a terrifying thought. Her whole life would have to change- it made staying secular look like a safe-haven. It would mean I’ve been wrong forever. So she shook her head, shaking back to normal. “I don’t know,” she told the Padre. “Maybe. I’ll… I guess I’ll try it.” She buried her feet in the sand, and ignored the raised eyebrow and open-mouthed gape that the Dis-Count Dracula shot her way.

Cristiano smiled. “Would you like to come to our church? It’s not very far away at all, and I’m sure your friend here can take care of your drink.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

With that, the preacher stood back up and offered a hand towards Abadi. Once both were on their feet, he began walking back along the boardwalk, nodding pleasantly at those who stared at him. Soon, he turned off the boardwalk and towards the city streets, spending a few minutes navigating through the winding, snaking roads of the colonial city until the pair finally stood before a medium-sized stone church, a sign above the entrance denoting it as the Chapel of Our Lady of Eternal Assistance.

Cristiano took a moment to explain. “This is the third-oldest chapel on Matuvista. Lobasla was one of the original colonisation landing sites, you see, and so it was established very early on.” He paused for a long minute. “Our reliquary holds one of only three extant Old World Bibles. It is a blessing and a pleasure to serve in her halls.” With that, he pushed the heavy wooden doors open and stepped inside.

The entranceway was lined with hundreds of candles, some having burnt out, most still burning. Small boxes held more candles, as well as digital screens for worshippers to donate a Real to the chapel’s continuing existence. The ceiling displayed an ongoing fresco of the saints directing the colony ships away from a burning planet, and towards a gateway, and a series of stained glass windows displayed various saints, most old world, but two new world as well.

An octagonal chancel held a tremendous golden statue of a kindly, androdynous yet well-built figure, their arms spread out so that a preacher standing at the pulpit was almost embraced by them.

As there was no service, the chapel was relatively quiet. A few worshippers sat in the pews, heads inclined and hands pressed together, or reading from small scripture books that had been left beside every seat.

“Would you like to light a candle?” Cristiano asked, turning towards Abadi.

But she was still busy looking around with surprise. She’d never been in a building so silent. She felt like she should be whispering when she answered: “Uh, well, what could the candle even do?” What do saints have to do with candles? “Are they… real? Not holograms?” She felt stupid as she asked it.

“What does it do? Nothing, by itself. But, a candle is a means of prayer, and lighting a candle can create a space for you to be comforted by it.” He took one of the candles and offered it to her, continuing with the explanations as he did so.

“The saints are very real, but you won’t see them. Hallucinatory visions are fleetingly rare even among the most… Intensely devout. You’ll feel their presence, around and about you, and eventually, perhaps even when you are not praying.”

Abadi didn’t know about that. But there were a lot of things she didn’t know: she just watched her planet crumble under the weight of a discontent centuries old, but hidden the entire time. She'd twice debated with cyborgs about the nature of mankind. She'd shaken appendages with aliens, watched an ape parade, and made friends with a woman later eaten alive by a Gateway- and nobody could yet explain that last one, somehow the strangest of them all.

She'd seen so, so much, but standing there, she realized that she still knew nothing.

"Alright. I'll try lighting a stupid candle."

Cristiano handed her a candle and a match, stepped behind her, and smiled.

Collab between @Dog and @SgtEasy
Base Temujin, Kami, New Gift System
3 Months Ago

---

A man, outfitted with a fancy blue suit and tie, stands aside the window. He has a table with a cup of milk and cookies on it. “You want some sweets?” the man asks as he turns his attention to the outside - a massive geothermal power-station built by General Business Machines.

The trundling machinery powered the growing, expansive multinational effort led by the Khan. Base Temujin is an expansive moon base created on the volcanically active Kami, one of the moons which orbited New Gift along with her brother Numen. General Business Machines had been chosen by the Khan as the first Ustonian corporation to gain rights to work in Khanate space. This would gather many favours but would lead to much negotiation.

Thus while the Khan sorted out the other city-states scrambling to get there word in edgewise for the moon, Herald Temujin II smoothed talks over with the human in front of him. It was a weekly thing by now, to meet here and discuss the ongoings of the projects.

The ape smiled yet politely declined the repetitive request. ”Alas, as it is every week, I am still lactose intolerant, my friend. I come here for our weekly meeting as always.” Beyond the geothermal power-station, streaks could be seen rocketing into the sky. ”Though comparatively primitive to what every other nation has, the Legion fleet now has many of these “Piercer-class” rockets thanks to you and yours. Along with the carrier effort and this base seemingly named after me, I believe you wished to discuss the payments for your services?”

“Aside from the financial transactions, don’t forget our agreed-upon mining-rights. We get access to certain areas and places and we give half of our refined minerals back to you,” the man says as he picks up a cookie and eats it before taking a sip of his milk - yummy. The moon-yard was, for the most part, completed. Temujin was now a fully functioning space-yard outfitted with everything that was needed to construct ships from raw material to finished ship-parts to assembled vessels. All it needed was a constant flow of raw ores, but the moon itself mainly provided all of that and then some. Plus, Temujin hosted the main HQ of General Business Machines and its other factories that produced consumer electronic goods for markets here.

The Herald nodded, bringing up a holographic 3D model of the New Gift system. Highlighted were the two asteroid belts in the system as well as the largest gas giant Zeus. ”Of course, these are still available to you and yours, as well as the continued discounts on E.S.M.G. contracts for defensive purposes of course. Wouldn’t want your competitors to sabotage our efforts here.”

This noted the several mercenaries which could be seen among the workers on Temujin, a mix of well-adjusted New Hollywoodites chosen to defend General Business Machines in-system assets. The Mercenarios were decidedly too antsy to be put on guard duty and many of the apes within the E.S.M.G. were not allowed to set foot in Khanate space.

”But alas, we also put forward another proposal which may interest you.” The ape changed the 3D model to that of a cylindrical space-docking station, cheap and “old-fashioned” as some might say but made from rugged materials. ”A “launcher” carrier as it were, capable of syncing in orbit with planetary bodies and slingshotting its “Piercer” rocket loads at great speeds. As you well know, the rockets are modular and can change for boarding, ramming, cannoning or even commercial use. We look to also use these stations as waypoints for swaps, repairs and refuelling. We are looking to secure our space here within the Khanate and we look at you, G.B.M. to do business with. We are willing to give tugriks for a handful of these for Zeus, New Gift and the gateway.”

He leaned in, putting a furry hand under his chin. Keen primate eyes pierced at the human in front of him. ”We are also willing to provide a new labour resource for you. The Khan is in the works with it but it may be mechanical or organic. Mostly expendable, strong and plentiful. We will act as a middle man since we know how unfortunate the Sol Incident was for Ustonian corporations.”

The businessman thinks, holding up a right hand as he digs into his pocket to retrieve his phone with his left hand. He speed dials a certain number as he walks over to a quieter place to conduct his conversation. A few minutes pass and the blue suited- man returns to his table. He takes another sip of milk. “My higher-ups are happy to hear about these proposals. We can build these stations without much issue and in quick fashion. And as for your other proposal, we’ll agree to that as well - cheap labor and security is always in demand.”

The man darts his eyes towards his watch and notices the time. “Well, I have another meeting to get to. We’ll talk next week - and before I forget, Petrochemical Incorporated, Union Chemical, Standard Agricultural, and Syuro Biogenetic, to name a few, are aiming to also take a piece of the pie. Don’t worry, they’re not rivals with us but they are rivals among each other. I’ll let you figure that out on your own,” the man chuckled as he finished his milk and took the plate of cookies with him.

Temujin II stayed in his seat for a little while after the man rushed past him. He gazed at the industry which would become the future of his nation. Deep within himself, he loathed to rely upon bareskins to further his country but needs must. For now, the Khanate was the little fish in a big pond, needing to prove itself to its neighbours across the galaxy.

For now. A proposal sat on his lap, one which he would leave on the Ustonian’s desk before he left. Within would be an invitation, inviting all of the mega-corporations of Uston, to meet with the Khan. There are things that need to be discussed between the more “insignificant” nations in this S.U.N. And perhaps even outside of it.

A lonely vessel sailed towards the Meeting Place. Aboard, military and medical staff mingled, all attention focused on a single hospital bed, rigged up to over a dozen different machines that beeped, whirred and chugged. A jungle of wires and lines snaked about to keep the various different apparatuses working smoothly throughout the transition, the craft touching against the Meeting Place. Zetans and Matuvistans met in the airlocks, medics explaining each and every issue with their patient as they carefully wheeled them through the hallways of the Zetan section, towards their medical bay.

Marines flanked the comatose woman as they made their way through to the operating theatre, the soldiers finishing their watch by crisply saluting the warforms that stood guard here. The warforms responded with their own salutes, the two soldiers briefly sharing a moment of comradery, and then the marines departed, leaving only a small handful of Matuvistan doctors and two mathetes left to watch over the patrician. Zetan surgeons filtered into the room, and a furious discussion commenced, both sides coming to mutual agreement with surprising celerity.

Then, the surgeons set to work. It was a long and difficult operation. A destroyed arm was severed at the shoulder, the joint drilled out and prosthetic plugs put in its place. The chest was opened up, organs were repaired or replaced, and lastly the face was cut, modified, replaced and built up anew. Nanomachines surged through the patient's body, and ruined flesh was, inch by inch, replaced with steel. One by one, life support was withdrawn, until at last the patient lay, sleeping, not comatose, on the bed.

It had taken eighteen hours.

Three hours after that, Isabella de Lobasla's eyes fluttered once, twice, and then flicked open, and she returned to life.

---

So much had been lost. Her body still ached in half a dozen different places, and her new limbs felt anything but natural to her, but Isabella, slowly but surely, returned to functionality. She had received a troubling amount of brain damage that the Zetan nanomachines had had to struggle to repair, and although they had done their job as best as they could, her new cyborg brain still had its moments of fuzziness and haziness. Luckily, the doctors had said that this was not career ending- they couldn't predict if it would take weeks or years, but she would fly on her jetbike again.

That idea gave her some amount of strength. She was not crippled. She was not invalid. She. Would. Persevere.
Moving deliberately from her bed to her bathroom, she gazed into the mirror, and, as she often did, examined her new body.

It was almost the same. She had to admit, the Zetans had done an extraordinary job. They had gone with the most realistic prosthetics they had, still obviously metal, but they appeared sleek and realistic, a sculpted masterpiece, rather than the sometimes deliberately clanky and industrial styles Zetans could go with.

It was not necessarily an unappealing look, she had to admit. When she pulled her sleeping gown off, her still-human fingers played along the boundary of woman and machine as they almost seamlessly slotted together. She flexed her left arm, watching as microservos and fleximetal shifted and rippled, then repeated the process with her right arm, scrutinising her own flesh.

The one area in which she had disagreed with the Zetans was with her eye. They had given her a standard bionic eye, which, to the outside observer, looked near-identical to the real ones. She had overridden them after she had awoken however, entering the operating theatre for a brief second appointment to have a sophisticated 'eyepatch' implanted. Despite hiding the optics underneath from anyone seeing through, she could see through the eyepatch clearly, and, in fact, it offered her greater vision than she had ever had before. Initially, it had been quite distracting for one eye to suddenly be magnified whilst the other remained the same, the fact her brain had also been bionicised helped immensely.

Slowly, she dressed herself. She was aboard the newly constructed Gran Republic section of the Meeting Place, inaugurated shortly before the S.U.N had come into existence. Once she had pulled on enough clothes to make herself decent, she picked up a packet of cigarillos from next to her bed and slowly but surely made her way to one of several smoking areas dotted about this part of the station.

Nobody else was here. She took the opportunity to sit down on a provided booth and practice with her new arm. Raise the cigarillo to your lips. Take the lighter. Hold it. Grip it gently. Not too hard now. Apply the right pressure to the button. Like most Patricians, her lighter was almost comically overdesigned- inside it, tiny natural lodestones whirred to life and funnelled a jet of plasma up and out the spout. She touched the plasma to the end of her cigarillo, then let go of the button and returned it to her pocket.

It infuriated her. This was not a difficult process... And yet still, she struggled to do it. The infuriating portion was that it was not a physical issue at all- her arm had no malfunction or error that would cause it to jitter and her muscles had bonded strongly. The quakes in her hand were all a product of her mind.

She groaned as the smoke entered her mouth, swirling it around slowly. Inhaling it as she had sometimes done in the past was pointless now. She had two metal lungs with advanced protections against biological and chemical agents that filtered out smoke from entering her system. Tapping off the ash at the tip of the cigarillo, she continued to move her arm about, lifting it, curling it, twisting it this way and that. The more she used her arm, the doctors had told her, the more she would feel that it was hers and the quakes would stop.

---

Isabella’s fingers set to work on the buttons of her shirt, pausing occasionally when the when her fingers quivered a little too much for comfort. The shakes had calmed down significantly, but hadn’t fully stopped. When her shirt was on, she continued with her trousers, then her boots, the patrician able to see their re-constructed face in the polished surface of the leather.

She gave the laces a final tug, then straightened her back and fixed her scabbard to her waist. She was almost complete. The rest of her uniform was eased into slowly, the patrician settling a bicorne onto her head and brushing down her left breast, where her medals would sit once she arrived back to Matuvista.

Of course, that implied that she intended on returning to her home nation the way they believed she would. Now properly dressed, sword and pistol at her hips, she donned a pair of gloves to cover her metallic hand and gave her eyepatch a quick reconfiguration.

It was time to begin her return.

---

Every patrician had the right to be heard in the Lower Senate. Oftentimes, this meant that they would merely wait for the current issues that were being debated on during the day to wind down, then make their speeches and propositions, but it was not unheard of for a patrician to request a formal speech slot earlier on in the day, when more of their fellows would be in the Lower Senate and the discussion would be livelier. The Speaker of the Senate had the right of veto to ensure that such a tool would not be abused, but such requests were rare in and of themselves, and the veto being applied rarer still. So it was that when a request came though from Il Duque himself, none so much as questioned it. There were many, many reasons for such a venerable individual to want to address the Lower Senate, and his request was expediated through the usual red tape.

Shortly before the allotted time for the speech, a small surface-to-orbit craft touched down near the senate’s spaceport. A collection of patricians and an escort of plebians filtered out of the craft, the blazing suns overhead beating down unrelentingly. They quickly moved from the spaceport to a shuttle, and from the shuttle towards the Cortes General.

At last, everything was ready. The allotted time for the speech was ready, and the doors to the Lower Senate swung open.

The individual standing behind the doors was not Il Duque.

Immediately, a quiet hubbub broke out among not only the Lower Senate, but also those who had met in the Upper Senate to watch Il Duque’s speech. Isabella strode forwards, cape fluttering out behind her as she did so. She moved up towards the podium, straightening her back and clearing her throat to ensure the microphones were working as intended, then began.

”Friends. Patricians. Matuvistans. Lend me your ears.

Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 2. It was a speech opening burnt into the Matuvistan consciousness as some of the finest rhetoric of the old world, and it had become somewhat of a tradition for those who desired to make a grand impact to draw upon the speech. Of course, if one fell flat when using it…. Best not to dwell on that.

"I have come here today to speak of my most serious disquietude with the conduct of this Senate, and of the maltreatment of the plebians who lay down their lives in the defence of this most magnificent of Republics." Her eyepatch scoured the hall to see if any would speak up and try to contradict her. None did.

"I was given the honour of leading the Gran Republic's first ever international military expedition, to assist what we hoped would be a newfound alliance, after personally making headway with one of their ambassadors aboard the Santa De Angelo. Despite this, and despite how crucial my efforts were in securing Matuvista's international standing, I found myself hamstrung, no, betrayed, by the individuals in this venerated building." Her fingers swept across the chamber, then up, towards where the Upper Senate sat. ”No enemy hath vanquished the expeditionary force, instead, she was killed only by the cowardice and refusal to hold fast in the face of diplomatic troubles that ran freely through this venerable building.”

Her lips tightened into a sneer. ”There are those who, even now, will begin to criticise me and degrade me. They will seek to deny me the honours and votes I am justly due for the struggle and sacrifice made by both myself and my men. Listen not to them. Understand that the Gran Republic, if it is truly to be a great nation, standing tall among the stars, must stiffen its spine, steel its sinews, and prepare to be a wall that its enemies can neither circumvent nor penetrate. This is the Gran Republic that shall be known and respected. This will be the Gran Republic I shall forever onwards push for.”

It was time for the coup de grâce.

”I hereby announce that I will be running for the position of Chancellor of Matuvista in the next Upper Senate electoral cycle. Viva Matuvista. Viva la República. Muchas gracias.”

She left the Lower Senate to uproar.

---

---

“Are you sure?”

There was no reply.

“Are you sure?”

Again, no reply.

“Scheherazade - are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure?”

A sigh, and the woman seated at the head of the enormous construct making its way for the Gateway turned to face the speaker.

“No, Sachiko. After nearly six… ‘earth months’ I, and every single soul here, and the crew of the Zetan craft, are obviously still unsure of whether this was a wise investment. We poured enormous time and resources into the construction of this monstrosity that we weren’t even sure we might use. We held no fewer than fifty votes on specific additions. We labored day and night on this vessel that’s a space station in its own right - but we were definitely unsure we would use it. Absolutely.” Scheherazade pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Yes, I am sure. And even if I was not - the Commonality is.”

A cherry blossom tattooed hand pulled her own away, and the concerned expression of her Sister-Sage forced its way into her sight. “But what of the risk of angering them? What if they see it as an aggressive act? We mounted weapons on this thing! It moves under its own propulsion! It’s less a space station than it is a giganti-”

“And we have already been told that is an unlikely occurrence at worst. We are entering alone - after the Zetan vessel. Anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together for a nerve impulse could tell a single large vessel from an invading fleet. Tell me, Sachiko - a system wherein new civilizations pop out of the woodwork with great frequency, are they really going to assume immediate hostile intent from a single vessel. We have the Zetans with us, for that matter.”

“But wh-”

“No more ‘buts’ from you. Sit down. Relax. Enjoy the trip.” Scheherazade grinned, “One way or another, it’ll be something to remember for the rest of your life - long may it be. If I were you, I’d take this time to practice your English - we may have had the knowledge implanted, but there’s no substitute for practice for speaking it.”

Sachiko frowned, pausing for a moment as she switched to English. “But I c-can speak it better than you can!”

Scheherazade chuckled, “And yet you’re the one with the stutter.” She said in turn, a thick accent on her words. “Now run around and practice, or sit here with me and enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasts.”

---

The Gateway loomed ahead. Final preparations were being made. Engineers and technicians and construction ships scuttled about the hastily built structures surrounding it. The Zetans would enter first followed by the massive Ishtari space station module. Unlike the Zetans, the Commonality was terrified. The scientists had calculated that, with the combined efforts into stabilizing the Gateway, the possibility of collapse like that which had afflicted the generation ship Ishtar was “approximately one in sixteen quintillion” - but such number only somewhat smoothed the hard, festering nugget of fear in the stomachs of every member of the crew. Even Scheherazade and Istir - the unflappable matriarchs of the construct - felt that fear deep within them. The Commonality had almost forbidden them to go, fearing to lose a valued commander like Istir, or a Sister-Sage as old as Scheherazade. Indeed, Scheherazade had not so much been allowed as she had bludgeoned the Commonality into standing by. Rules be damned. She would not miss such an opportunity for all the finest rum on the planet’s surface.

Istir stood beside her now, even though the armored woman was clearly ill at ease in as mundane and plushly furnished a setting as this.

“Istir, dear - sit down will you?” Scheherazade reclined in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and stretching her arms behind her head. “The engineers will tell you - and me - when we’re clear. The Zetans will confirm for us on the other side. Sit. Have a drink. We’ve all sorts of things in here - things for us, not that piss weak stuff we’ve had to set aside for the ones on the other side of that gate. Take the edge off, why don’t you?”

“Because we might be wandering into a hostile situation unknown! Because we might be about to expose ourselves to a pseudo hive-mind of cannibalistic clone soldiers! Because we’re entering unfamiliar space planning on making bold claims and proclamations based on knowledge given to us by a single nation, one who might have fed us biased or erroneous information!”

Scheherazade watched her pace for a minute more, fingers steepled in front of her. “Be that as it may - this is why I was voted to speak for us. If you approach this like a combat situation you only heighten the risk of violence. Patience, Sister-Soldier, some day we may need to take up the sword against them - but I pray that today is not that day. Now, sit. I won’t stop bothering you until you do.”

---

"This is the Zetan crew. We've made the crossing safely. You may proceed at your leisure."

A loud cheer went up throughout the Commonality. Billions of voices sounded out through the net as the population of New Ishtar prepared for their own vessel to make the crossing. Business as usual had come to a screeching halt on the planet - all, even those not actively synced into the net at the moment, were riveted by the events now unfolding. Automated factories slowed as the overseer-minds diverted their attention. Artisans stepped away from their tools, production line workers set down their controls. Everyone watched.

The feed stayed consistent through the Gateway, and - a new system greeted their eyes. Sol. The birthplace of humanity. Nestled between the warmth of the sun, the protective gravity of Jupiter, lay Earth - and the space station that had been dubbed the Meeting Place.

The Ishtari space station module fired up its engines to full power, broadcasting its message to all descendents of humanity within the system. First in English - then in Esperanto, Spanish, and more.

Fellow descendants of earth, greetings. We are the people of New Ishtar. Trapped by a formerly unstable Gateway, we have been forced to remain by the wayside in anticipation of this day. Well that day has come, and we are overjoyed to meet you at long last. We know there has been strife among your number. We stand ready to aid in whatever manner we may. We constructed this module for what you have termed the ‘Meeting Place’ and we look forward to sharing its amenities with you.

The enormous module fired up the engines clamped to its sides, MPD thrusters magnetically locked and fed a steady source of power from the central fusion reactor kicked into full blast, accelerating the vessel towards its target that hung in orbit around dead earth.

The vast craft had been constructed over the period of six months between the gateway’s closing and its subsequent reopening and stabilization. Intended as a pre-built module to install into the ‘Meeting Place’ they had been told of, the project had overshot its initial goal by some margin. It now sailed through space as a grand display of the Commonality’s prowess.

Not only did it include a diplomatic wing, fully furnished in the finest decor and design conceivable by the Commonality, sleeping quarters for what was projected to some day be a vast staff, and the other expected amenities - it had been modified to address numerous shortcomings, or add what the Ishtari saw as overlooked necessities to life aboard the station. A vast, fully furnished hospital wing outfitted with the finest equipment to hand, built to handle the anticipated growth of the station from humanity’s many far flung descendents. A bar - of all things - stocked with a vast supply of drinks, varieties for consumption both by Perfected and by normal humans. It would be free for all to visit and enjoy. Dueling rooms and recreational halls - private, sectioned off rooms that could just as easily accommodate two people or two dozen for nearly any conceivable indoor pastime. Quiet rooms for meditation. A vast docking area, complete with repair shipyards and ship berths. A troop barracks. Well fortified railgun batteries located away from critical infrastructure, their weapons presently powered down and unmanned. Hydroponic agricultural bays growing a wide variety of Ishtari crops, estimated to be able to keep well over twice the number of the planned full Ishtari delegation well fed and happy - and countless more with careful rationing in case of food stresses. Dedicated embassy spaces not only for those nations that had already been discovered, but for those that had yet to find their ways home. Fully sealed, each delegate would be given full leeway over the room to search it for any suspected monitoring devices - they would find none, for there were none to be found. EMP hardened life support rooms with ample preserved rations and airlocked passages to the hydroponics sections. A grand dining hall capable of accommodating an untold number of guests overlooked perhaps its most stunning feature.



At the heart of this module lay an enormous artificial garden and synthetic ecosystem - a straight line from its main entrance to the wondrous scene. Directly descended from the gardening styles of old Japan, the main feature of the garden were the carefully sculpted gene-modified sakura blossoms, retaining in bloom for the entire year. The orchard in its entirety was a demonstration of the elegance and mastery of bioengineering held by Ishtari society. Over twenty hectares of perfectly crafted splendor. Private, secluded groves for quiet meditation abounded, as well as common areas around artificial streams or within the small traditional constructed Japanese wooden structure built within. A carefully crafted synthetic horizon maintained an almost perfect illusion of being planetside - nestled within a valley in the beautiful Ilyait Mountains on New Ishtar. A light, warm breeze blew through the garden without end, carrying with it the scent of cherry blossoms and the feeling of spring on old earth. The gardens were open to all on the station, and carefully maintained by many of the same gardeners who had crafted it. The entire arrangement was a show not only of beauty to be appreciated by those whose duty placed them within the steel walls of the station, but of power. How many nations could rival such an accomplishment?

To say that the One changed wouldn’t cover what exactly happened. The WFD kept their end of the bargain and with that, life was breath in the Circle Of One.

Cattle, vegetables and fruits were brought in and cloned. Millions of each were consumed daily to feed the One population at first which only kept growing as Williams weren’t needed anymore for food. Soon, over 5 billion Ones existed and throughout the unity of the One, a single thought reigned supreme. Reduce the population. At least a billion Williams and Jamess, took the road towards the frozen side of the planet and walked to their deaths. Their bodies littering the frozen tundra, all to be hidden by the falling snow in hours.

The overall population went down but the One kept growing with the help of the WFD and the URC. Long gone were the signs of battles long past, fallen buildings and debris. All replaced with actual buildings, walls and towers.

While the occupied parts of the city were mostly cleared out, a huge part of the city was still left unexplored. Parts where the Immortalis’s engines of destruction were running amok, automated turrets, towering robots and the nano-machines that ripped the flesh off the bone were all real dangers to those that wandered in those areas and nothing was known of what was below the city itself.

More Vaults were discovered throughout the reclaimed parts of the city by the One but most proved to be filled with the same black pyramids they’ve seen before or empty, whatever would’ve been in them was long gone. The main discovery of the One was another, sister-Vault of the cloning vats one. It was different from the original in the sense it was smaller with only 2 cloning vats inside but those looked different.

The language barrier seemed to be the main issue with these two different looking cloning vats but after a few weeks of non-stop trial and error, they’ve managed to figure them out. The cloning parts were the same but the implants were different, made to communicate with each other instead of being dependent on the cloning machines to transfer information.

The first few months after the new discovery was made, all but a few of the One were replaced with new-improved versions of themselves which proved to feel “weird” for the One. No longer fully separate entities synchronising their movements with perfection, they were always in talk with each other. The downside was that after a few hundred kilometers they’d become unable to talk with each other and that solitude hurt the One, like never before.



Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only downside of the new upgrades. The Old One, the lone survivor, older than any other clone currently alive, grew in power. Before, he was alone in his misery; now, things have changed. Thousands of the One joined his group and took control of a district of the city.

He was an aberration to the overall One. A clone which didn’t update his memories since creation, he is madness turned human. A madness which infected roughly seven thousand clones. They no longer referred to themselves as One but as the Many. Each trying to be different from each other, a changed haircut, tattoos, scars or anything else that would set them apart from the One. This madness was unseen before in the One but was left alone, like a benign tumor. Left alone until it is required to be cut.



On other fronts, the One, using the materials received, scap from the Sol battle and training received from different people of New Beijing, have managed to cannibalize parts of the destroyed ships of the different nations which fought against the megacorporation invaders to build their own line of ships.

While having almost no defences of their own, they were all filled with the black pyramids of the Immortalis which were to be used as EMPs. A way to disable a ship before troop carriers, hundreds of small pods were thrown at high speed would make their way into the potential attacker’s ship. Releasing the Jamess within to wreak havoc on the enemy from inside.

The Behemoth was no longer the lone ship of the One but still the biggest spaceship of the One and the only one equipped with a fully functioning cloning vats. The Behemoth itself wasn’t seen flying after the White Flower revolution due to that fact but was kept behind the line of junk ships, only to be used in case of emergency.



The One kept the good relationship they had with the WFD, while most of them were still wary of the One...with good reason, they weren’t causing issues for them. Mostly due to Kayla’s influence in vouching for them.

In New Beijing, a force of a few hundred Jamess and Grants were kept behind, housed near the spaceport which once acted as their HQ. They’ve mostly integrated with the locals, helping out where they could and occasionally policing the area against the occasional petty crime. Gone was their kill first, ask questions later way of thinking. Thieves caught were brought to the authorities that were and sometimes, left alone.

On the Meeting Place, the One had a minor presence. While not being able to build their own section, the WFD was kind enough to allow them to use their own. A few Grants were left behind with a ship making the hard flight to-and-from the Circle of One every few weeks in order to keep the information flow going.



The One remembered those who fought with them during the WFR from the URC. Many of their soldiers died and fought side-by-side with the One.

As they have promised, the One remembered all their names and how they looked. Soon after the WFR, the URC received a gift at their embassy at the Meeting Place. Small statues shaped in the form of the faces of the lost soldiers.
Those that lived only received kind words with one exception. Sergeant Kaskin, who fought with the One, at an important battle in Beijing received a true gift. The One long tried to break the black pyramids in order to use them as building materials due to their durability but only managed to scratch their surface. One small pebble sized part of a pyramid was able to be chipped away using the newly gained tools and a hole was put in it, to be worn as an amulet.

The pebble was brought to the URC in a small gift box which the WFD was happy to provide.



Secretly, the One took one prisoner from the Khan which was initially reported as MIA. The super-Monke Bloodburn was kept in the cloning vats for the past 6 months, in a deep sleep mode. Unaware of what’s happening outside.

The One has long realized that the Khan proved to be either great allies or great enemies but in case of the latter, they had to be ready which prompted them to start the Super-Monke programme. B-B-M-02 was a failure and so were the B-B-M-56341 specimens. All Bloodburn Monkes but with the One mind, all killing either each other or themselves. All going crazy as soon as the first sign of violence was spotted.

The Super-One programme was soon closed, only to be replaced by a new programme. The Hybrid. The DNA of the One combined with the Bloodburn specimen. Half-One, Half-Monke. The strength of the One mind, the regenerative abilities and strength of the BBM.

While the experiments seemed to work initially, something was missing. Something that the One didn’t manage to understand. The human part worked as intended but the Monke part wasn’t. They needed help, they needed specialists.

Soon the Grants from the Meeting Place made contact with the Khan. Only one message was sent to them.

“ Greetings. We have fought against each other on New Hollywood. We have one of your own. You have something we need. Let’s talk. ”

---

6 MONTHS LATER
NEW HAVEN
HUBERT'S OFFICE

---

Gen. Lee Abrams: "Admiral Durnham, Lucas J., you were ordered by the Lead Director to ONLY protect the medical ship and the Nano Construction Vehicle relegated to Sol in order to assist allied ships in the system. Is that not correct?"

[Durnham took a sip of water before replying to General Abrams]

Adm. Lucas Durnham: "Aye sir."

Gen. Lee Abrams: "Then why did you lead your ships on the offensive Admiral Durnham? You were supposed to stay back."

Adm. Lucas Durnham: "Sir, I escorted the two ships closer to the front to provide more adequate support to our allies. It was then we were engaged by electronic warfare and the friendly fire incidents occurred. I led the remainder of my unaffected ships to hunt down the culprit before damage could be dealt to our unarmed ships, sir."

[The jury began to look towards each other and hushed conversations could be heard but not understood]

Gen. Lee Abrams: "Why then did you deem the mining vessels to be a threat? The purpose of the mission was to apprehend the perpetrators alongside our allies, not annihilate them. We are a self-defense force admiral, not a proper military."

Adm. Lucas Durnham: "Sir, there was no way of knowing whether any of the mining ships were truly mining ships or disguised E-warfare vessels. I ordered my ships to engage any and all threats, this included the mining ships, sir."

Gen. Lee Abrams: "After your ships regained control, why did you not call off your assault? The Columbian and Xandalian fleet were more than capable of wiping out a small combat fleet. Were you under orders to do so?"

Adm. Lucas Durnham: "Sir, I was ordered by the Military Science Director Timothy Candy, to engage and show the might of New Haven to the foreigners, sir."

[The general stood up in shock, the murmurs then turned into heated debates among the jury]

Gen. Lee Abrams: "ORDER IN THE COURT!"

[The jury settled down while the general refocused on Durnham]

Gen. Lee Abrams: "Do you understand the accusation you are making Durnham?"

Adm. Lucas Durnham: "Sir, I am merely answering your question. I was under orders from Director-"

Gen. Lee Abrams: "Enough, I'm elevating this case to the board. This matter involves one of the directors. Court is dismissed."

[End of transcript]

Doug sat quietly next to Hubert as Hubert sat on the floor of his office listening to the audio transcript.

"I knew that little turd had something to do with the Sol incident. All Timbo had to do was be god damned patient! I said I would handle it! Jeez, it's like no one listens to me anymore."

Doug sat up and licked Hubert's face, "I listen! Besides, I think it's just because before meeting the rest of the colonies, Tim didn't really have much of a job, now he does!"

"So the man gets a taste for power and wants more... Geez, I knew I had a bad feeling about him back in the academy. WELP IT'S NOT DURNHAM'S FAULT! He was just following orders. Buuut, if I don't do anything, that'll push the blame on Tim and that's not exactly good either." Hubert put a hand to his chin and hmmmmmed as he thought of a way to deal with the situation.

"Wait, but isn't Tim a danger to the Directorate? Wouldn't it be better to just let him get ousted by the board?" Doug tilted his head all confused like as he looked at Hubert.

"The procedures for ousting a director is time consuming and there's no telling what he'll do. He's had six months to prepare. It's best to let him think I'm an idiot that'll let him get away with everything while I keep my cards to myself. The Praetorian project is still on-going and I think I'm going to form a new task-force... Perhaps..." Hubert's eyes drifted to Lucas Durnham's file, he held out a hand and waved it over towards the front to move the holographic display in front of him. "Maybe, Admiral Durnham would need a demotion and a transfer to some remote 'ship breaking' facility and some RNR at Elysium-3..." Hubert smirked as he looked towards a file named NHS SKYRIDER - PRAETORIAN PROGRAM

Doug then looked towards the file, "I thought Aldini was going to be the one taking the Skyrider..."

Hubert then replied, "He still is, but he needed a tactical adviser. From how Durnham conducted himself, the man seems to have a talent of knowing when and when not to do things. Sure the tribunal was a pain, but for him it was logical. Tim knew he had power over Durnham, but Durnham knew that he could flip it all around in a Court Martial. Looking over the evidence, the man even had back ups of his conversation with Tim. This course of action presented the highest chance of retaining his rank."

"Buuut he won't though."

"Yeah, but compared to what Tim could've done, this is still a cake walk. Not to mention, it will not count towards his military record. Aldini and him will do well, I just know it." Hubert started writing up the orders and his course of action to the board of directors.

Doug rested his head on Hubert's lap, "Oh by the way! The Khan has a message for you too! Something about an alliance of sorts?"

"Oh that? SUN? MOON? What is it now? Just send Dick to do it, he knows what to do..."

Doug stood up and booped his nose on a holographic button labeled simply as: 'Call Dick'

Dick was once again going to be woken up rudely that day.

Loss.

It was something that every human being would have to deal with in their lifetime. This was especially true on Kudrion. Family members could be lost to animal attacks. Villages could be lost to clan wars. A stray Taerascon, a colossal, horned fire-breathing beast with a hide that could only be penetrated by the strongest of weapons, could wipe out a city in one fell swoop. Emily herself had experienced loss several times, even though she was still relatively young.

But what she was mourning now was not personal loss, but something greater. The loss of an entire nation. See, as the Kingdom’s official representative, Emily had a duty to be informed about all of the other nations. And so, doing her job, she read about them, learning as much as she could.

She learned that in other nations, people didn’t constantly have to fight off beast attacks. They didn’t waste millions of lives fighting petty clan wars. Generations of skilled leaders didn’t fight each other to the death. Children grew up safely, were educated, and lived happily with their families. Ouch, that last one maybe was a little personal.

Day in, day out, she spent her day in her office, studying what other nations were doing, and what Kudrion was doing wrong. Emily was essentially alone, having been sent initially as the sole representative, but she didn’t exactly get along with others that had been sent after a few months. She didn’t mind much, preferring to be alone anyway.

That’s not to say there weren’t any personal losses, of course. In order to represent all clans better, Emily voluntarily left her own, taking the name ‘Kaldaz’ instead. What was worse was that she essentially lost her former job. Apparently, to be a ‘real scientist’ one needed hogwash like ‘peer reviews’, and to use the ‘scientific method’, and not just digging around in beast corpses. The King also repeatedly refused her requests for a lab on the station, citing ‘health and safety’ concerns. She was Kudrioni, damnit, she wasn’t even supposed to know what those words meant!

Eventually, the isolation, long stressful hours and her disillusionment with the country she worked for and lived in took their toll, and she sometimes found herself becoming as cold and distant as the Royal Guard soldiers that had been sent to protect her.

---

Much like four months earlier, the Sword of Tum was once again speeding to the gateway. It had become a much more sleek and agile ship after spending some time in the shipyards, more fit for transporting Kudrioni diplomats to and from the Meeting Place. Escorted by two of the new Navy’s light cruisers, the Dragonslayer and the Krowell, it passed through the Kudrion system, approaching Baldr.

The Kingdom had learned from the Gateway Boarding Incident, and in four months time had built the core of a defense station near the Gateway called Baldr. The construction of Baldr was one of the few things that the clans could agree on, and had proceeded relatively smoothly as a result. Still under construction, it couldn’t do much on its own against invading fleets, but it served as a checkpoint for ships entering and exiting the gateway, as well as a place for Navy ships to dock.

The three ships passed the station, being given permission to pass through the gateway. They were on an express mission from the King, to bring Chieftain Moimir to the Meeting Place. In the distance, many small clan ships could be seen flitting around the gateway, waiting to go through. As the Sword neared the gateway, and preparations were made for the jump, Moimir started to hear an odd noise. Never one for space travel, he had not heard this before, and was curious what it was as the bridge crew seemed to ignore it. As the sound grew louder, Moimir could recognize it as singing, and then the bridge crew started to sing too.

Moimir himself stayed silent. As a representative of the King, singing was not in his job description. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping his sword against the command chair in rhythm with the song, though.

Ah, screw it.

“Come all you young spacemen, and listen to me
I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea

And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows, we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds Solward, yeah, blow ye winds, blow
Into the gateway, boys, steady she goes

Now there is Baldr, our nation’s great shield
Guns and lasers leave ‘em dead in the field

And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows, we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds Solward, yeah, blow ye winds, blow
Into the gateway, boys, steady she goes

Up comes our homeland, fallen planet Earth
Dead like the desert, we’ll give a wide berth

And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows, we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds Solward, yeah, blow ye winds, blow
Into the gateway, boys, steady she goes

There’s the Meeting Place, our home in the stars
We’ll dock and refuel and we’ll drink in the bars

And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows, we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds Solward, yeah, blow ye winds, blow
Into the Gateway, boys, steady she goes”

Some hours later, the Sword docked with the Meeting Place. Moimir had been singing space shanties with the crew all that time, only briefly stopping to give orders. He quickly disembarked as soon as he could. After all, he had to check up on the Kingdom’s representative to make sure everything was going well.

---

Additional note: the space shanty should be sung in the tune of 'Fish in the Sea', as it was based on that

"Five."
"Four."
"Three"
"Two."
"One."

The entire community of Zeta counted down together, in harmony. The cities that had been home to so many people for hundreds of years had been emptied, operated by a skeleton crew of transcended and AI that would slowly decommission them, then transition to scientific research centres. The Zeta system would forever be their home, but they were leaving for the one that had been promised to their ancestors.

This is the New Arkadios Fleet. Are you reading us, Gaia-1? The pre-agreed name for the Lorne administration's main communications hub had become bitterly ironic now that Zeta had found itself its new most hated enemies.

This is Gaia-1. New Arkadios Fleet receiving clearly.

Excellent Gaia-1. New Arkadios Fleet beginning take off.

Engines roared to life across the planet's surface. From Elysium-Alpha to Tartarus-Omega, the arks that had been slowly constructed ever since the end of the War of Oligarch aggression fired up, trembling and shaking as they lifted an entire planet's population, half a billion strong, into the skies. The scorched and frozen landscape of Zeta began to slowly draw away from them, the yellowish planet growing smaller and smaller as the fleet of vehicles assembled themselves into a loose formation in orbit. Protecting them from attack was the brand-new navy, with purpose-built destroyers soaring into position. Once organised, the fleet soared towards the Gateway, and one-by-one the cloud of vessels left the Zeta system, and re-emerged over Delta-4.

Gaia-1, we've got eyes on you all. Welcome to Delta, employers. The Lorne administration confirmed the safe jump.

100% transition rate. We're all here. Responded the Zetans, the Collective re-forming themselves into orderly formations as they came into approach over the planet of Delta and the ringworld surrounding it. Above, in space, their Administration allies had begun work as agreed upon. The shell of the Archimedes hung, drone swarms hovering around it, faint pinpricks of light from welders visible even from this distance.

Nearer the gateway, the new Aegis had begun to be constructed as well, augmented by an orbital Oistos system. Zeta had seen how even half-finished; these defences had worked against the invading Oligarchs and Undefeated. If they could be finished, perhaps they would finally allow for what the Zetans had desired ever since the Gateways had opened- safety.

As the cloud of Arks made their way down towards the planet, they began to split apart, preparing themselves to land at pre-designated areas. The Administration had made Delta criminally easy to colonise, with pre-built infrastructure, agriculture and industry. All they had to do was move in. One by one, Arks would touch down, and cyborgs and androids stepped out into the light of a new world, prepared to start afresh.

---

Sigma-Devi prepared herself for quite possibly the most important speech of her life. Standing in a more recent addition to the Zetan section of the Meeting place, it was a vast auditorium meant for interviews and announcements, with space made for foreign journalists and dignitaries to sit. She had sent a broad invitation to anyone that was interested, and even now as she looked down at the crowd below her, she could see Matuvistans, Colombians, Ishtari, representatives of various Khanate cities, a few Xandilians and even a few new arrivals from the White Flower Democracy.

Clearing her throat, she began.

"Today is an auspicious day. As we complete our recovery from the Hollywoodite Invasion, we have decided to reveal several truths that we have been hiding from the wider galactic community, and announce an important change that will be occurring effective immediately."

She beamed as a few news drones hovered around here, cameras flashing.

"Firstly. The Zetan Consciousness is, as some nations have hypothesised, a 'group mind,' system. We would like to stress that all individual members of our neural network have free will. We are not 'drones,' or 'automata,' no matter what some may claim. Our cohesion is a result of technologically-augmented empathic and intellectual connections that we have named 'The Collective.'"

"In addition, the Consciousness would like to announce that, through a process known as 'Transcendence,' we have managed to subvert the traditional end to human lifespans. We have worked very hard on maintaining the..." She paused for a second, pointing towards a journalist with their arm shot into the air. "Please, questions at the end." She waited for the arm to go back down, then continued.

"We have worked very hard on maintaining a consistent mental state no matter what body a member of the collective may find themselves in. Haecceity is very important to us here in the Collective, and it will always be the case."

"Thirdly, the Collective has confirmed that it is possible to incorporate new members into it through augmentation, even well into adulthood. Because of this, we will be announcing a small-scale citizenship and integration program for those who wish to join the Collective. This program will operate alongside our brand-new augmentation program for E.S.M.G soldiers, and the two will have some crossover."

By now, quite a hubbub had emerged in the auditorium.

"Finally, the Zetan Consciousness has realised that our name does not accurately represent the desired identity of what we are as a nation. 'Zetan Consciousness,' speaks too much to our planetary existence prior to the openings of the gateway, and highlights neither our goals, nor accurately summates our beliefs in governance. From now on, we would like to announce that we will no longer be naming ourselves the 'Zetan Consciousness.'"

She paused for emphasis.

"We are proud to join S.U.N unified together under the banner of the Enlightened Symposium. Thank you." She bowed to the crowd."

"I will now be accepting questions."

Emily and Moirmir waited together at the entrance to the Kudrioni part of the Meeting Place. A few hours before, Emily had sent an invitation to the Undefeated embassy on the station, inviting them to a meeting at the Kudrioni embassy. If the Kingdom was to survive and thrive in a galaxy filled with cyborgs, apes, robots and aliens, it would need friends, maybe even allies. From their earlier contacts, the Undefeated seemed like a strong, proud people, and would make worthy allies if an agreement could be reached.

Of course, both of them could only hope for such an agreement. Emily had spent months trying to gather every scrap of information on the other nations on the Meeting Place, and she frequently had contact with the Undefeated embassy to prepare for this day. Moimir was really just there to make sure Emily didn’t have to do this big meeting alone, and to make sure everything went smoothly. Both of them hadn’t forgotten The Incident, which had affected Emily more than she might want to admit.

The former researcher nervously adjusted her clothing. She wasn’t a big fan of the uniform she had to wear during these official meetings. The skirt seemed ill-suited to any combat that might break out, and uniforms weren’t exactly a thing in Kudrioni culture. At least she got to wear a long coat over it, though. This was also Emily’s first diplomatic meeting of real importance compared to the previous contact Kudrion had with other nations, which didn’t help to soothe her nerves. Moimir motioned her to stop, expecting the Undefeated delegation to be there any minute now.

Guardian Jim Harlowe looked into a large mirror on the wall once more, just to make sure there was not a speck of dust on his formal uniform. This meeting was too important. If everything went well with the Kudrioni then the Undefeated could actually gain an ally that was worth it, not like those heinous Oligarchs from the ECU. Despite the horrible first contact between the Undefeated and the Kingdom of Kudrion, the diplomatic relationships between the countries have been more than good, up to the point where Jim hoped to seal the deal with them at this meeting.

After Kelsie and her people disappeared in the wormhole, Jim remained alone on the Meeting Place, waiting, in a vain, desperate hope that maybe someday they would return. But that day didn’t come, and with all the new arrivals to the station, Jim was swamped by work so much he just had to take someone in. But it was hard to find a replacement for Kelsie’s people, especially for that young scientist, Julianna Petrova. It seemed that any scientist Jim interviewed was either completely stupid, absolutely useless in normal life, or had an insufferable personality. Sometimes all of those combined.

Commander Peter Ross was certainly no scientist, but Jim requested him to be present to this meeting and hoped the man would accept a more permanent position on his team. Peter Ross was the man who led the boarding party that entered the Kudrion vessel and he was also the man who handled the whole incident with diplomacy rather than with force. A rare treat for a lifelong soldier. But, thanks to him, the relationships between the nations didn’t start with bloodshed and hostility. Which would be a shame, because the Kudrioni seemed like very reasonable people and their warrior culture was quite similar to the Undefeated militaristic style of life.

Jim and Peter headed to the Kudrioni part of the station together, both nervous. Jim was better at hiding it, after all, he had been doing this job for months already. The delegation had been waiting for them, and Jim was once again taken aback by how freakishly tall those people were. He bowed his head in respect. “Miss Kaldaz, it is a pleasure to meet you again. This is Commander Peter Ross, he will join us for today’s meeting. Commander, this is Miss Emily Kaldaz, the main representative of the Kingdom of Kudrion here on the Meeting Place.”

“Yes, we have met before,” Peter said with a nervous smile. Was he actually blushing? “It is good to meet you under more… peaceful circumstances, Miss Kaldaz.”

Both Kudrioni watched the Undefeated delegates approach. This was gonna be it. Months of preparation lead to this, so they had to make the best of it. In reality, Emily didn’t even want to be here, having become disillusioned with Kudrion’s warlike way of life, but she steeled her nerves and did her duty. This meeting was more important than her personal feelings on the matter. “Greetings, Guardian Harlowe,” Emily said, returning Jim’s gesture, “I am glad you could join us today. The Kingdom has an interesting proposition for you. My colleague here,” as she gestures to Moimir, “is Chieftain Moimir Collins. He’s a friend of the King and here to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Emily turned to Commander Ross, acknowledging him with a nod. Although it had been four months since they last met, she recognized him immediately. It was hard to forget someone that you met under a situation like that. “So, shall we go to the meeting room?” The Kudrioni started to walk into the hallway, expecting the Undefeated delegation to follow.

Jim did his best to hide his excitement over Emily’s words. An interesting proposition could only mean they were interested in an alliance. Unless something terrible has happened that Jim didn’t know about. The Kingdom of Kudrion had one big weakness in the eyes of the Undefeated - the king could be challenged by other warriors at any time, making the government structure unstable to say the least. And while the situation had been stable for many years, it could change literally at any moment.

“It is an honor to meet you, Chieftain. I can’t wait to hear your proposition,” he said with a smile. “Lead the way, Miss Kaldaz.” They both followed the Kudrioni into their section of the Meeting Place.

The Kingdom’s section of the meeting place had undergone a level of preparation that was uncharacteristic for Kudrion. After passing the front desk at the entrance, the Undefeated delegation was led to a wide, long hallway, with many doors lining the walls. Emily’s boots clacked on the hallway’s granite floor as she walked in front of the group, leading them to the actual meeting room. An honor guard of Royal Guard soldiers lined the hallway, dressed in their white, polished power armour, holding their energy-bladed spears, which produced a blue glow that reflected off their armour.

After minutes of walking, the delegates finally reached the Kudrioni embassy. It was a medium-sized room, perfect for occasions like this. Like the hallway, it had a granite floor. The room’s walls were made of a kind of black stone, one native to Kudrion itself, with carvings depicting scenes from Kudrioni legend. One wall, the one opposite to the doorway, was transparent, except for the middle, where a red, energy-bladed broadsword was attached to the wall. Four lamps in the corners of the ceiling lit the room. In the middle of the meeting room stood a large table, made of a dark wood native to Kudrion, and around the desk there were four wooden chairs. A number of foodstuffs and drinks were arranged on the table.

“Gentlemen,” Emily said as she turned around, “would you like something to drink?”

Jim quietly admired the beauty of the meeting room, taking a mental note to expedite current works on a more representative room in the Undefeated section as well. The Kudrioni were showing off their best - the best room, the best guards, weapons, and armour, but in this case he didn’t take it as a power move to scare off potential enemies. No, he felt this was aimed more at impressing or even honoring potential allies. Unless he terribly misunderstood what was happening in which case the best guards in the shining armor with the incredibly cool-looking weapons would have no problem overpowering the two unarmed Undefeated representatives.

Everything was going well, maybe that was why he was so nervous. In his experience, combat operations rarely went as planned. And diplomacy was just another form of combat, one where you threw ambiguous statements at each other instead of spears or bullets. But their hosts seemed friendly enough for him to calm down.

“We would be honored to share a drink with you,” he replied and bowed his head in respect. It would seem weird if only him and Commander Ross were drinking, but if the Kudrioni joined in as well, it might actually serve as a good start to this negotiation. “I have to say I admire the improvements you have made to this place, it looks impressive.”

Emily walked over to the wall. She pressed on one of the carvings, and a part of the wall opened up, revealing a number of beer mugs and a keg. She carefully filled the mugs with Kudrioni mead, and walked back to the table. “Then let us drink,” she said, placing the mugs on the table.
“Don’t mind her too much,” Moimir said, “I think she is still a bit upset about The Incident,” letting out a hearty laugh.

“Well, I cannot say that I blame her.” Jim tried to keep a lighthearted smile on his face. Yes, ‘the Incident’, as the Kudrioni called their unfortunate first encounter, was quite a big reason to be upset. “And I’m incredibly glad that we have both heroes of that event here with us today. So, I propose a toast.” He grabbed one of the mugs and raised it up. “To Emily Kaldaz and Peter Ross. Without your bravery, we certainly wouldn’t be standing here together as friends.” Jim noticed that Peter was blushing, his head lowered, eyes carefully examining the granite floor. The Commander clearly didn’t like to be in the center of such attention.

Emily shot Moimir a death glare. If she wasn’t in a diplomatic meeting, she probably would’ve hit him. It had been her ass on the line in that ship, not his, and he better know it. Without saying a word, she grabbed one of the three remaining mugs, and downed about half the mead in one go. Moimir nervously raised his mug for the toast before he too started drinking. “Now that that is taken care of,” Emily said in a deadpan tone of voice, “let’s get down to business. As you may be aware, my nation, the Kingdom of Kudrion, is relatively new to the galactic scene. We therefore have to work together with others in order to survive in this galaxy. We believe you are strong and honorable warriors, much like us.”

She paused for a bit. This was the deciding moment.

“The Kingdom of Kudrion therefore proposes a military alliance with the Undefeated nation, so that we may work together to protect ourselves.”

Jim wondered whether proposing the toast wasn’t a bad idea. It seemed like a smart way to honor their Ambassador and lighten up the mood after the inevitable mention of ‘the Incident’, but Emily certainly wasn’t amused. Fortunately, it seemed that the Kudrioni were set to offer them the alliance anyway, despite this slightly awkward moment.

“We are incredibly honored by your offer.” He bowed his head towards both Emily and Moimir. “We too have come to know your people as brave, strong, and exceptionally honorable warriors. While our nations have their differences, I believe we have much in common to build on and turn the relationship between our countries into a long lasting and mutually beneficial friendship. I’m pleased to say that I’ve been authorized by the Grand General to accept your proposal, provided we agree on the exact terms of the treaty, of course.”

“Of course. I have prepared a document beforehand,” Emily said, taking out a piece of paper from somewhere under the table and sliding it over to the Undefeated. “Take as much time as you need to read it.”



Both Kudrioni delegates patiently waited for their colleagues from the Undefeated to read the document.

Jim took his time to carefully read through the document the Kudrioni presented. He could see they really put a big effort into preparing for this meeting, they must have really wanted this alliance to happen. Which was good, because so did the Undefeated. “I have to say you and your legal advisors have done an amazing job putting this together.”

He rubbed his chin, eyes sweeping the paper once more. “I do have a question about Article 1 though. Isn’t it a bit too strict to completely rule out the possibility of an armed conflict? What if a problem arises that simply cannot be resolved by peaceful means? Not that we would of course wish for something like that to happen, but I think we all agree that there are some situations where use of force is inevitable.” Jim didn’t want to sound like a warmonger, but he knew the Grand General would never approve of this particular clause with this wording.

“I think,” he continued, “we could edit that sentence, adding ‘if possible’ at the end? That would give us more maneuvering ground in case the peaceful options fail to accomplish the goal. And of course we will need to add a statement claiming that in case of such an armed conflict is incited by one of the Parties, the other Party is by no means obligated to enter the conflict as well.”

Damnit. That was what Emily had hoped to avoid. By intentionally leaving that out, she thought she could coerce her own nation into avoiding wars. Well, it was a good try, and at least the Undefeated didn’t want to drag Kudrion into a war. “Thank you. I based it off an old treaty document for something called ‘nay-to’ I found in the former ECU’s archives. Of course we can change Article 1. It’s a dangerous galaxy, after all, and I’m sure there’ll be circumstances where we have to strike first.”

She got a pen from the same place where she got the document, and made the necessary changes, writing on the document itself. “We’ll have an official treaty document later, this is just the alliance proposal. I think we might have to get the leaders of our respective countries to sign it, and then ratify it somehow, but I’m not too familiar with how these things work yet.”

“I assure you that we will do everything in our power to keep our nation out of war.” Jim noticed a hint of discontent on Emily’s face and tried to calm her down. “It is a wish of our leadership that we want to be seen as a strong but neutral force. This is merely a precaution in case some unexpected circumstances should arise. I think other than that the document is acceptable, we will of course have to consult it with our legal advisors, but there shouldn’t be any major issue anymore. The Grand General expects to meet King Dishuz to formally sign the treaty once we agree on details of such a meeting.”

The Undefeated representatives gave their Kudrioni counterparts bright smiles. Jim stood up and collected the mugs. “I think this wondrous occasion calls for another toast, so if you will allow me,” he raised an eyebrow, waiting for Emily’s approving nod before he filled the mugs from the same keg as she did before and brought them back to the table. “To the friendship between our countries.” He raised the mug and sipped the strong sweet liquid once more.


It had been a week since the negotiations, and now it was time for the actual signing of the treaty. The necessary changes to Article 1 had been made, and further developments, like the planning of joint training exercises, as well as preparations for a joint development program had happened. Both nations had agreed to hold the signing ceremony in a neutral room aboard the Meeting Place. The Kudrioni had brought plenty of alcohol in celebration, and all that was left to do was to sign the actual treaty.

From the Kudrioni side, Emily, King Dishuz and Moimir were there, along with a number of minor diplomats and clan chieftains brought along for the occasion.

“Friends, Kudrioni and Undefeated alike, we have gathered here today to sign the treaty of alliance between our two nations. May the friendship between our countries last forever, and may our combined strength deter any who wish to destroy us.” Dishuz then stepped aside, seeing if the Grand General wanted to say anything before the signing.

It has been a while since the Grand General last visited the Meeting Place. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been there since the Undefeated embassy was established many months ago. It has certainly grown in size since then, many new additions have been made by new nations arriving through the Gateway. Of course he had read the reports and seen the images, but seeing the strangely mishmashed thing floating above the dead home of their ancestors with his own eyes was something different.

He was truly grateful his people managed to befriend the Kudrioni enough to be offered this alliance, hopefully a sign of a better and more peaceful future for the whole Undefeated nation. Oscar carefully watched King Dishuz during the speech, sizing him up, assessing his potential skills. The King looked like a skilled and experienced warrior, he must have been if there was a constant threat of being challenged to a duel by any of his people.

The Grand General wondered how strange it must be to live under such pressure. While Oscar considered himself a good fighter, he certainly had no illusions about his own strength. Many of the Undefeated could easily defeat him in combat. But it would serve them no good, nobody could take over his post simply by killing him. This potential for instability had him weary about getting closer to the Kudrioni at start - why build a diplomatic relationship with one ruler when he could be killed and replaced at any moment? But King Dishuz has proven to be able to maintain stability and the opportunity to gain a worthy ally was too tempting to pass on.

Dishuz, seeing that the Grand General didn’t seem to want to say anything, quickly moved on to the reason everyone actually was here. “We will now sign the alliance treaty.” He took a pen from the pen stand on the table, and put his signature on both papers. He then stepped aside and pointed his hand towards the table, inviting Oscar to do the same.

Oscar took a deep breath and grabbed the pen. Yes, this was a good thing for the Undefeated, there was no doubt about that. He added his full name on both papers, feeling strangely excited. A smile for the camera and the important part was done. One of the Kudrioni diplomats approached him with a mug and Oscar carefully took it off the tray.

“To the friendship of our people.” He raised the mug and looked at the people gathered in the room. “May it grow in strength and benefit us all.” He was never really one for long speeches.

---

---

---

Omar Affan has butterflies in his stomach. He's sitting at his desk, a desk he fought for and earned, at almost fifty-five years old- and somehow he's still getting butterflies in his stomach. No, scratch that: it's Liaison Affan now, not Omar. And those aren't butterflies, they're... potential? Excitement? Hope?

Butterflies, his mind affirms.

So, Omar Affan is almost fifty-five years old, sitting at his brand-new desk, with butterflies in his stomach. He has to read over the Commonality’s message twice. And then three more times. Because what are the odds?

He has spent six solid months reorganizing the government, putting out fires and trying (desperately, hopelessly trying) to make something coherent out of the mess back home on Bezia. Trying to establish a democracy there. And as soon as it seems like they've succeeded, as soon as the first glint of sunrise starts to peak over the mountains- somebody sends them a poem.

If anyone else had been the Liaison, it wouldn't mean much. But Omar Affan is in love with poems. If he had been born in any nation other than the ECU, he likes to think a poet is what he’d be. The more coherent part of his mind knows that’s a fantasy, but the other half- the part of his mind currently conjuring butterflies- wants to believe it. So he can’t help but see it as a sign. The first day he gets back into office, officially becoming the Liaison and Chief Diplomat of the White Flower Democracy, a poem appears before him.

He prays silently: I see Your hand, Truth.

He should really respond to them- and soon, since they currently have some unholy behemoth of a “module” barrelling towards the Meeting Place. But whether it’s the poems or the prayer, something has him in one of those sentimental moods that he treasures so, so much. He ends up opening up his infopad, flipping through it to the file marked “proj” and inside it, a file marked “poem” and inside it, a file that reads:

Cold and cruel for years,
‘Til the air warms at long last:
Spring dawns on Bezia.

He wrote that haiku the day Heralds died. It didn’t feel right to celebrate a man’s death, so he made it to be about a new season. He wanted to say “I’m not glad Heralds went out the way he did: but look, a new life is here!” Instead he ended up writing some pretentious nonsense about spring. But it was close enough.

Alright, Liaison, that’s enough sentiment for this morning that rational part of his mind tells him, and for once, he agrees with it. It really is time to formally answer this “Commonality of New Ishtar.”

And yet…

Oh, fine, he can’t help it. The new arrivals to the Meeting Place have this message directed to their mobile station:

New spring brings new friends,
Brought home to our Mother Earth
A message divine;
We are dispatching two shuttles. They’ll show you the safest place to connect your new module to the Meeting Place, and transmit directions to the White Flower embassy. No way to make that sound poetic. Let’s break bread together.



Warm rays of sunshine
Cast aside the dark winter
Stars’ children rejoice
Our appearance is strange. Please, do not be frightened, for we are but daughters of Earth, long lost.

Scheherazade smiled to herself as the message came through and as she sent a response. Sachiko, within the same room and connected to the same feeds, had hugged her tightly after reading it. Even had she known nothing of these White Flowers - fellow lovers of poetry were always to be celebrated.

“Sachiko, fetch me a bottle of the rum we brought for these folks. The nicest stuf- yes, I know, you don’t drink. It’s the one with the fire and roses on the front.”

She shook her head - little exasperations that might have annoyed her in the past now only filled her with greater excitement. She had been alive for well over three hundred earthen years, by her count. She remembered the early colonization of the planet. The hushed rumors. Her appointed guardian had tried to hide her from the them - but there was little to be done. She still remembered the fear that permeated everyone, even if she was not connected to the Net then. The natives of the world - she couldn’t even remember what they had been called. What they had looked like. She remembered fighting against them - that much she remembered clearly. She remembered finally setting down the title of Soldier and becoming who she was now - dreaming of great things to come. Abnormal, in her hope for the future.

And yet she could not remember ever feeling this excited - and anxious - before. Only the arrival of Zeta came close. But that was not so much excitement as… pure wonder. And joy. Ecstatic, mind numbing joy. The Commonality was not alone. By the time the feeling had passed so had any chance of this feeling of excitement. The fluttery feeling in her gut.

The arrival of Zeta was the closing of an old chapter in the Commonality’s history. The history of the Perfected of New Ishtar. A new chapter was unfurling - and it was she who would write its first words. How could one not be anxious or excited?

As the craft neared the Ishtari station module, she allowed herself to relax for the last time in what would probably be quite a while.

An army of volunteer workers aboard the craft set to work with spare materials, beginning the construction of a properly secured connected to the main station. The massive, hulking, Ishtari addition clung to the structure at odds with the comparatively small additions made by other nations and other peoples over time. Scheherazade boarded a small shuttle flanked by a small detachment of guards. An sword from her collection hung at her hip, inward-curving blade held safely in a carved wooden sheath. An ornate dress, halfway between a military uniform and a normal dress, trailed on the floor behind her. She made no move to conceal her face - though the soldiers marching in formation beside her wore helmets that concealed theirs. It would be best to be open and honest - and so, Sachiko, walking beside her in an ornate kimono, mouth slightly agape as she took in the sights around her - had been instructed to do the same.

Despite the ethereal air she put on as she stepped into the foreign space station, she silently prayed that this would not end poorly.

Her prayer was answered, or perhaps interrupted, by a loud voice declaring: "My new friends, welcome!"

Omar's arms stretched out widely, fatherly, like he was about to go in for a hug. His hands reached to either side of the steel corridor they stood in- as the Ishtari would notice, he was fat and broadly built. (But his smile was just as broad.) He wore a long brown shirt that cut off at the knees, skewed slightly at an angle, and his oily hair fell in rings around his head. He wore glasses.

Somewhere behind him, a woman was just barely visible. Her glasses matched his.

"Allow me and my friend Melissa to lead you to our embassy. We have a space set aside just for such meetings." That space was, naturally, the holo-suite: currently programmed into the shape of a spacious 19th century study, complete with shelves of books and antique wooden furniture. (In his thoughts, Omar wanted to see if they could tell the room was artificial.) Gaslight lit the whole space, cozy and old-fashioned. A mahogany table in the middle has just the right number of seats for all of them.

Scheherazade smiled to him - and to Melissa, silently grateful that thus far nothing had been said of their appearances. The room looked… peculiar, though she could not place her finger on what exactly. She looked around the space, taking in the sights - and, were Omar a native of New Ishtar, would have been seen to make their equivalent of a raised eyebrow. “Gas lighting aboard a space station?” She mused, smiling to herself. “Either you White Flowers have nostalgia something fierce for the nineteenth century of Earth - to a potentially dange`rous extent - or this is simulated?” She looked it over, hidden eyes roaming over each inch of the room. “If so, it is remarkably realistic.”

She seated herself across from him, gesturing for Sachiko to do the same.

“Forgive me,” she said, after a moment, “I do not believe I got your name?”

“I’m Omar,” said Omar. “And yes, the room is a simulation. I’m impressed you spotted it! My friend here is-”

“-Melissa.” The woman cut him off. "Who loves Omar like an uncle, but wishes he would let her talk sometimes. And, technically, he's Liaison Affan, but he thinks being informal is charming. I don’t." She smiled, her way of saying that this was all light-hearted. Omar looked at her with eyes that said 'Ouch,' but the smile remained on his face, too.

"Forgive the banter," he told the Ishtari. "Me and Melissa have known each other for a long time. We were both here back when this was the ECU embassy, actually, as the little people. And speaking of: we should address the elephant in the room." Here he took a deep breath, gripping his fingers to the table as Melissa knew he did when he was about to ask something unpleasant.

Scheherazade restrained the urge to wince in preparation for what she knew must be coming. Sachiko was less successful, her head drooping downwards as she averted her attention to anything else. The Zetans had held their curiosity well - especially with no prior warning. But for unmodified humans like these it must b-

"How did you know about the White Flowers before coming to the system? I loved your haiku, personally. I was the one who composed the poem sent back. But- it shows that you already knew we were rebels against an old regime. You said you had a bad Gateway. So did we all, right? How could you have known about what was happening on the other end?"

For a moment, Scheherazade found herself reaching for a pre-prepared response to the man, a carefully formulated recollection of the events that lead to the Ishtari becoming what they now were. It was not until she was opening her mouth to speak that she realized the man across had an altogether different question.

“The Zetans.” She said, smoothly switching tracks. “Our gate in fact opened approximately… six months ago, using earth-time as a metric? However - it was… unstable and closed shortly after. During the brief period it was active however - a small Zetan craft became stranded in our system and made contact. They told us much, and kept us up to speed on goings on out here.” She smiled, “With their aid, when the gate fluctuated open again, we were able to stabilize it and cross. We’d spent the intervening six months building the large module we’re adding to this ‘Meeting Place’ now.”

Sachiko spoke up. “W-when you say bad gateway - they were all bad, yes. But ours was… damaged. It was damaged, or something, nobody knows! But from what we know it was a far less stable Gate than the others until we fixed it!”

Leave the sensitive stuff to me, please. Scheherazade messaged her, silently. You are young yet. We would be best to be careful, even with potential allies.

Sachiko agreed, looking up at the two with a shy smile. “I- I’m glad you enjoyed the haiku. She wrote the others, but I wrote that on- oh!” She slapped a palm to her forehead, “We forgot our own introductions. I am Sister-Sage 43 Sachiko Treasures The Beauty In The Universe!” She gestured to the woman beside her, nearly identical in every way save for their disposition, the visible tattoos, and manner of dress. “This is Sister-Sage 192 Scheherazade Dreams Of Many Great Things.” A slight nod and easy smile from Scheherazade confirmed her words.

Omar nodded, his face bouncing a little as he did. "The Zetans. Alright. And a broken Gateway?" But his eyes lit up at the names- something in them sounded like the haikus they received. “So poetic!” he commented. “Your names, I mean, I’m sorry. ‘Dreams of Many Great Things.’ That’s… beautiful.”

He wondered what his name would be, in that society. ‘Writes Poems Nobody Will Read,’ maybe. Or ‘Eats Far Too Much Pork.’ What a unique way to express a person.

But his wondering was interrupted. In front of his eyes, on the interior of his glasses and visible only to him, a sea of words decided to float by. Some of the words were surprised, some were excited, and some were just misspelled and incoherent: because they were randomly-selected comments from different Flower citizens, who were currently reacting to all this news with him. As per the new rules of this direct democracy, citizens were allowed a say in all manners government. Including diplomacy. Every few moments, he received input from the people of Bezia.

Oh, yes, Omar realizes. He was supposed to inform the Ishtari about this.

"Forgive me, my friends," Omar says, "but I realize I've forgotten to inform you about an important regulation of ours. You see, these glasses me and Melissa both wear are, well-" he scratched the back of his neck- "cameras. Right now, as we speak, a live feed of everything we see is being sent back home to Bezia. Approximately fifty million Flower citizens are watching these proceedings. After this meeting, they themselves will vote on our future relations with your people. I have no special sway over this process." He lifted his chin. This was a feature he was quite proud of. "You see, it is our goal as a society to allow every person a say in every action taken by the government, and that requires full transparency. Please pardon my not mentioning it earlier."

Melissa smiled awkwardly. "You can pardon him for the idea, too. He's the man who thought of using cameras and votes for diplomacy. I fully blame him.”

Scheherazade grinned widely, as did Sachiko beside her. For a moment, they paused - as the Commonality again declared its approval to them, urging them to share in kind.

“Well,” she said, relaxing slightly. “First of all, my greetings to the people of the White Flower Democracy - and…” pausing for effect, she added, “Greetings from the 4.6 billion people of the Commonality of New Ishtar. Just as you see through those cameras, they’re seeing everything as well.” She nodded to Omar. “This is splendid news. Truly.” She said, smiling. “I am glad that our first contacts with the other children of humanity have been with likeminded people such as you and Zeta.”

Omar chuckled, pleased- even while some people at home still bristled about being compared to the Zetans.

Sachiko spoke up, grinning even more widely than her compatriot as she eagerly leaned in, fully engaged with the conversation now. “And thank you for the compliments. We know our names are unusual - well, we know now - but we agree! Think of them as an indicator of where you are in your life now. The things you’ve seen and witnessed. The values you hold. What defines you? They’re… they’re like a prophecy and a reflection of the past rolled into one.” She explained, positively beaming. Omar listened along, obviously interested. She opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off by a gentle upraised finger from a smiling Scheherazade.

“To clarify - the Commonality of New Ishtar likewise shares this belief. We are all equal. We are all connected to each other. Everyone must have her voice heard.”

“Or their. Or his.” Sachiko amended, to which Scheherazade chuckled and nodded her head.

“That too, yes, forgive me.”

Melissa spoke up now: “Yes, while we’re talking, I wanted to ask about that. In your earlier message to us, the second, uh… haiku?” Omar nodded. “Yes, after the second ‘haiku’ you describe yourself as ‘daughters of Earth.’ I wondered, from that, and from both of you here being women, if your society might be-” she hesitated, still new to this position, so the other Flower ambassador finished for her: “Matriarchal.”

Scheherazade shook her head softly. “No, no, not in the slightest.” She laughed, “I’m afraid the answer’s nowhere near that simple. We are…” She frowned. There was no easy out from this situation she’d roped herself into. Honesty had proven the best policy thus far - and so honesty it would remain.

Even if it felt strange to say it out loud.

“We’re clones.” She said, bluntly. “Approximately ninety five percent of the population - around 4.4 billion - of us are clones of the same woman from our ship. She is- was, known as Tiamat. We have no record of her real name. The remainder of our population is composed of individuals cloned from a few other Primary Strains - but Tiamat’s DNA was uniquely adaptable and tolerant of the process. It is an… unfortunate state of affairs but one we have made do with - Sachiko’s tattoos, for instance, are one way we use to distinguish ourselves.”

The two Flower diplomats both fell silent. Their glasses chose the perfect time to display another round of citizen comments, and before them were words of raw reaction:

"Like the One?"
"Oh, fuck, of course there would be something weird"
"Freaks. Let's call them what they are. Get out of there."
"This is why we're the only colony still really human."
"Y'all, it's not their fault."
"at least their still alive right"
"Always some shit. They even human anymore? Look at their faces."

They both knew these were only the poorly thought-out words of a handful of citizens. The formal votes would not come until later, after everyone had time to process this information, after the news channels had talked it to death, and after everyone had well and truly decided which camp they fell into. But still- this was the flavor of Bezia's initial reaction. Omar's heart sank.

He shifted in his chair. The atmosphere of the room had changed. When, at last, he spoke, his smile was gone: "I see. Thank you for sharing that with us." The fake gaslights kept burning.

Scheherazade nodded. “I can see from your reaction this hasn’t gone over well.” She sighed, “We will leave if you wish it - but…” she drew breath, pondering for a moment how to phrase the words properly. “Zeta has told us of another colony - The One.” She looked to him - and to the cameras rolling on them. “We are nothing like them. We are individuals.”

Sachiko nodded. “Every one of us is a different person. We’re… we look the same. But we’re all different people.” She tried to force a smile, “W-we have another, Istir, she didn’t want to come with us but she’s a soldier through and through! We h-have poets. Artists. Writers. Sculptors. Chefs who’ve made the most amazing dishes. We’ve cr-created a world where everyone can do what they truly love. Just… give us a chance?”

Scheherazade, for once, could not bring herself to interject, merely nodding, her mouth dry.

"It's not their fault," Omar mumbled. His voice was under his breath. But he said nothing else, so his co-worker filled in for him:

"I see," she said. "Yes, that is very interesting. I'm sure our people will take that into account during the upcoming voting session. In fact, we are allies with the One-"

Omar grumbled something inaudible. His hands were gripping the table again.

"-who helped us defeat the Oligarchical regime during the White Flower Revolution. So I think it is a shame that you say you are nothing like them. But me and my 'uncle' Omar here do not have a say in this, anyway. It will be to the people." She paused, waiting for her friend to say something. When he didn't, she spoke again: "I will tell you, based on the reactions me and Omar are seeing, they feel a little uneasy. But I'm sure you're both very busy. We will inform you as to the results of the vote. Thank you for your ti-"

"No," said Omar, quietly. His voice had lost its usual boisterous joy: it was something like a low growl. "No, no. It's not their fault." He stood up. He said things clearly now: "It's not their fault they think like this. Our people are- brainwashed. There, I said it." Melissa's mouth dropped open. Is he really going to do this now? Omar looked over to the foreigners. "I'm sorry, I do try to control my feelings normally. But right now, Bezia is watching. And they need to hear this.

"Listen to me, countrymen" he spoke, turning to look into Melissa’s glasses, letting the cameras zoom into his face, "I can see your reactions, your comments- but this isn't us. We are not the people who judge another based on how they look, or where they come from, or, Truth forbid it, what they went through to survive. All that is the Oligarchs. That's their thinking, and that's their hatred. We are the people of Bezia; we're better than they are. I know, I know, you've heard their poison your whole lives, from every screen and every speaker: but it isn't you. We fought a revolution to rid ourselves of those tyrants. Are we going to be their mouthpieces now?" He shook his great head firmly. "I won't be."

He looked back to the Ishtari now. "Forgive us. The ECU was... backwards. They tried to push that on to us. But I believe my people are prepared to be better than they were." Let's just hope they don't make me a liar, he thought silently. "You are welcome to stay and speak with us."

Sachiko seemed on the verge of tears as she shook in her seat. Scheherazade’s hair stood on end, adrenaline pumping through her system now as she had prepared for the Ishtari delegation to be ejected. She had been unprepared for the reactions of the two before her, and uncertainly looked between them, genuinely at a loss for what to say in response for far longer a time than she would have liked.

When she spoke again, her voice was shaky, and she stuttered much like Sachiko for a second, before breathing deeply, calming herself down. “We were… we were told about the ECU by the Zetans, yes.” She said, weighing her words carefully. “We know they will have given us their account of things, but we know that your people were once ruled by their Oligarchs. That you fought a bloody revolution to liberate yourselves from their grasp. We… we were eager to know there was another direct democracy out there. We sent you our missive in hopes we could help your people build your own stronger. To build a better society.”

Sachiko looked up, “W- we would have helped you, if w-we’d been here. We would have sent… guns. Tanks. Soldiers.” Her voice was shaky, inconsistent, it quavered with every word she spoke. “We- the One- I…” she trailed off, taking a shaky, heavy breath, glancing towards Scheherazade, before speaking more. “What we know of them is scary. To us. W-we were nearly destroyed by something similar. Twice. A hive mind. Many bodies, no individuality. Murderous. Cannibalistic. Formed from humans, and they…” she struggled to continue, finally losing her control.

“We don’t want to be like this!” She shouted, with more force than she had anticipated. “We don’t want to all have the same face! What, do you think we’ve not tried to change it? We can’t! Not without fundamentally changing who we are! Whatever the fuck happened with us, we’re stuck with it! Who are you,” she half-shouted, half cried, to the cameras that rolled on them, “to judge us?! We went through hell! Our people went thr-”

She was cut off, finally, by Scheherazade who at last raised a hand, placing it on her shoulder and pulling her towards her into a hug, throwing a glance towards the other two as if daring them to say anything. Wordlessly, the Ishtari soldiery who had accompanied them filed out of the room- though a keen observer would notice the tension in their body languages as they did so.

“You are wise, Omar.” She said, forcing a hint of a smile. “You were wondering about our names earlier. Were you one of ours I might suggest ‘Stands Firm In Defense Of His Truths’.” She smiled, more genuinely, “Just as your whole nation exists, because you and your people stood firm for what was right. Ultimately, the choice is your people’s - and we would not have it any other way.”

Omar breathed deeply. That made them look good for the cameras, at least.

She paused, watching them for a second. “That said… would you two follow me for a moment, if you would?” She suggested, raising a hand pre-emptively in case of objections. “To our section of the station. They’ve completed the connection already. Let me show you - and your people - what we Ishtari are like. Not with words. You know full well how they can be twisted.” She stood, reaching out a hand. “Bring guards, if you’d like - bring as many as you want. Let them see too. We were planning on perhaps a bit more… fanfare, but I think it fitting.”

The Flowers, in the end, brought only one guard: a visibly thin, young man. This was another signal from Omar, to his countrymen, saying 'I trust these people not to hurt us.' It's debatable whether that message went through. For the people of Bezia, sights are worth more than signs; the cameras eagerly ate up what they saw.

Scheherazade guided them through the module with an unexpectedly practiced ease. At times they would pass an Ishtari guard, who acknowledged the group with a terse nod before continuing their patrol. The module was almost empty, running on a near skeleton crew. The Ishtari would not risk a full delegation’s complement on a gate they did not have faith in - or on foreign nations they did not know.

The hallways were richly decorated. Elaborate paintings of scenery from the world of New Ishtar, or of more abstract concepts dotted the walls. Elegant engravings in the metal helped one scene to flow to the next. Every inch of the station seemed equal part work of art and meticulously engineered construction. However, only a fraction of the station was seen - Scheherazade lead them to the main hall of the station where, dead ahead, lay the garden.

Wordlessly, she brought them into its airlock, a small smile on her lips before she opened the doors to the garden, sweeping an arm out as the cameras adjusted to the change in lighting.

The garden stretched out before them for, seemingly, an infinite space. As they stepped through the door fully, it sealed behind them leaving a near three-dimensional imitation of the intended surrounding scenery. Scheherazade grinned, and beside her, Sachiko nervously smiled. Omar’s lips formed an open-mouthed “wow” expression.

The garden was immaculate. Carefully grown or transplanted over the period of six months, twenty hectares of land stretched out before them brimming over with the light pink cherry blossoms, a gently flowing stream emerged from a cluster of stones beside them, flowing under a small bridge that lead to one of the numerous ornate structures in the garden. Occasionally, an Ishtari gardener could be seen meandering through the garden in something resembling traditional clothing, tending to the plants within or simply enjoying the fruits of their labor.

“Take a look around.” Scheherazade said, gesturing to the garden. “Once we’ve settled in it will be open to any on board the station. From what we knew it seemed… somewhat dreary on board, and thus our gardeners took it upon themselves to begin this project. It was not easy, but most of us agree it was worth it. Consider it a gift to the station here. And then, I implore you, consider what else we can offer your people.”

“Oh,” Omar said, “it sure has been ‘somewhat dreary’ aboard. I catch myself going to a holo-suite for a ‘breath of fresh air.’” He chuckled at himself. “And speaking of!”

He cheerly bent over, smelled a flower- a white-ish one, at that- plucked its petal off, and stuck it in his mouth. (Melissa had to fight the urge to let her jaw drop again.) He chewed it over a bit, stuck his tongue out, plucked the flower right back off, and declared, “It’s not a hologram! Oh, praise the Truth, I thought I wouldn’t see a real flower for as long as I was at the Meeting Place.”

“Liaison Affan,” Melissa hissed.

“Yes? Oh! Yes.” Omar straightened out. “Thank you, people of the Commonality of Ishtar, for letting us see this room. It seems it is not only your names and your poetry that has a capacity for such great beauty.” He looked outwards, staring at the indoor horizon. “It’s ironic. You told me my name might have been ‘Stands Firm In Defense Of His Truths.’ Did you know that Truth is the name of my God? It’s what we call It; they say Its true name is hidden. Not all Flowers worship, but a few of us do.” He was at ease in the garden. “The Zetans probably couldn’t have told you that. We have yet to heal all our old wounds with them. But the people of my world are not the two-dimensional invaders they saw us as. That was the Oligarchs. Free of them, we have much beauty in our society, like you have here. I hope one day we will be able to show it to them. But baby steps.” He reached over and ran his fingers along the flower he had plucked, gently. “You are a unique people. I hope our two cultures will know each other.”

Scheherazade grinned. “How fortuitous! They did not tell us, no. But I am glad it fits so well.” She began walking, beckoning the two to follow her. “Come, there are quiet places to meditate. But I think one of the small huts here will make for better conversation.”

She lead the small group through, gesturing them inside before taking a seated position on the floor, still grinning. “Like I said - this place will be open to all at a later date, once we are firmly established. But let us talk here for now. If you would like I can have food or drink brought here.”

Sachiko took a position beside her, “S-so what we know of your society- your old society, I mean. Um - you were all about preserving the culture of old earth right?”

"Many of us still are," Melissa says.

Sachiko smiled. “We weren’t quite as uh… dedicated. But the crew of the Ishtar primarily came from certain regions of old earth. The…” she paused for a moment, mentally pulling together the words in English before she spoke. “Philippines, Japan, and Iran.” She pointed to the outfit she wore, and to the sword on Scheherazade’s hip, then gestured to the building and gardens that surrounded them. “It’s all around us. We’ve changed, physically - it’s true yes. But we’re… we’re still like you! We still remember some of old earth.” She smiled, shyly - though the concealment of her eyes impaired it somewhat.

But Omar understood what she was trying to do, and made himself smile back. He never cared for culture the way others of his world did; he loved the strange and the beautiful, like the Ishtari had been today. His friend Melissa, on the other hand-

“I greatly value those cultures,” he heard her say. “I was close friends with a man whose ancestors came from Old Japan. But… I do think his CCE was American Western, rather than Japanese.”
“Mhmm,” said Omar. He explained to the Ishtari: “In our society, CCE means 'Chosen Cultural Expression.' It represents..." how to explain it to a complete stranger? "It represents not just the culture your ancestor comes from, like our friend's family coming from Old Japan, but also... how you present yourself. What you associate with. It's part of who you are. It's sometimes the first question one Hollywoodite- or, uh, Flower, I mean- will ask about someone they've met. So it is good news to us that you still remember the cultures of Earth's great past." He tapped his chest. "We keep them close. Mine is Arabic- Saudi Arabian, to be real specific. Melissa likes to say she’s American. Very boring."

The two Ishtari nodded, looking between each other with an indecipherable expression.

Scheherazade spoke. “Well, as mentioned, most of us are based on the template of a single woman. We don’t have much information on her - though we know she was born in the Philippines on old earth and was a well known war hero and geneticist. Cloning had already been mandated after we suffered catastrophic population losses due to… numerous calamitous events. We didn’t keep the cultures of old earth separate, as a result - but tried to preserve whatever we could. Our language for instance - we had nearly forgotten English before contact with Zeta. Our language is based on a fusion of old earth Filipino, Assyrian, Persian, Japanese, and Esperanto. Over time, certain trends became more dominant than others, or fused with some to create hybrids - such as the martial arts we practice.”

Sachiko nodded, adding on. “It was partly done to… give us something to hold on to, so to speak? Even through war and cataclysm we could take comfort in holding on to stuff from earth, even as we had to adapt to survive.”

“Even so, we created much in the way of new culture, often built off the old.” Scheherazade said, stroking her chin as she spoke. “The idea of preserving culture in such a manner as your own people is certainly unique. I’m not sure if it would have been right for us - but maintaining some memory of old earth is of course to be respected.” She went silent for a while, trying to think of some response.

Sachiko looked thoughtful. “So was there pressure to maintain the same culture you were born into, was it a lifelong commitment? What did you do to keep them from intermixing?” She leaned forward, focused on the camera. “Did you develop the hologram stuff to help with that? To help depict a home or something else from a certain culture or era more easily?”

Omar grimaced beneath his grin, but Melissa spared him by answering: “There is some expectation on us to remain in our family’s CCE, but it is not all-encompassing. We can choose and change our own as adults.” She didn’t mention that changing it too often is a social stumble- people start to criticize. “Especially because we so often have culturally mixed families. We don’t stop the intermixing, so long as everyone maintains their own identity, if that makes sense? My father represents Ethiopian culture, and my mother is French. She stayed French, he’s still Ethiopian. But me… when I was a kid, I saw this holo-film about America. I can’t remember it very well. But it made that world look so nice, so free and pretty, I… I knew that was where I belonged.”

“And there you have the answer to your holo-suite question,” Omar said. “They help us depict the things we haven’t been able to recreate on Bezia. A window into the past, you might say.”

“Plus all the best culture parties are there,” Melissa smirked.

Sachiko nodded, digesting the information as she sat. “Wait - culture party?” She cast a sideways glance at Scheherazade before continuing. “Like… a party to celebrate a specific culture or a way for people from different cultures to experience others? Or were they restricted to people practicing those cultures? Was it a way for people in the same cultural groups to get to know each other better?”

She raised a hand to her mouth, giving a polite cough. “Er, sorry for so many questions. Your people are interesting! And unique! I- you probably want to know more about us I’m sorry but I mean you know ho-”

Scheherazade smiled, raising a hand. “Easy there, maybe let them respond first.” She shook her head, feigning exasperation. She turned to Omar and Melissa, “Sachiko here would be considered an expert on old earth culture among our own. Finding your people has gotten her rather excited.”

“Her first guess was right,” Melissa laughed. “I dragged Omar to one about America the other week. I think all he enjoyed was the hotdogs.” But then she cleared her throat, going back to the formal persona she was trying to keep on. “I’m sure the people of the WFD appreciate the interest. Cultural experts are deeply regarded. If your Sachiko were one of us, she might be leading the delegation.”

Sachiko beamed in response, her expression brightening instantly at his words. “Thank you!” She exclaimed, “I’ve always found that sort of thing interesting.”

A beat passes.

“Well, now that we’ve been getting to know each other a little better,” Melissa went on, “I hope you won’t mind my asking, but… where did the, um,” she motioned her hands over her eyes, and braced herself emotionally while she did, “what purpose do the- the bone growths serve?”

Immediately, the two visibly tensed. The temperature of the room seemed to cool noticeably by several degrees as the cheerful expression dropped from Sachiko’s face, and Scheherazade’s became an impassive, stony wall.

“We don’t know. We didn’t make them.”

Sachiko bit her lip, visibly wanting to speak up - but backing down after a second.

Scheherazade continued. “They are mutations. Beyond our control. Beyond, seemingly, mere genetic code. We have tried, many, many times to purge ourselves of them. But, among other things you have doubtless noticed - we have been unsuccessful.”

She looked to the two of them - and to the cameras scrolling her face to millions of people. Even though her eyes were obscured, the intensity of the expression she fixed them with could not be underestimated. “I am over three hundred years old, using earth as a measuring stick. You may wonder if this means I remember Old Earth. It has been three hundred years, or so, since humanity fled it after all.” She paused, “We thought all of you dead. Starved. Gone. Humanity reduced to nothing but ash and cinder, and us. You see - when our vessel traveled through the Gate it was… trapped? When the Gateways collapsed, our vessel was transported to… the best way to describe it would be a pocket outside of reality as we know it. Our people saw… horrible things, terrifying things whilst trapped there. And as best we can reckon - unless we are missing part of our own history, which is sadly very possible, we were trapped in that nightmare for approximately five hundred and seventy years.”

Sachiko took a nervous breath. “I-it was during that time that we slowly began to notice the mutations. But there was nothing we could do. So many people died then. We nearly died out several times over. War. Famine. Disease. Madness. Cloning was the only way to survive. By the time our ancestors realized mutation like this had taken hold, it was too late to do anything.”

Scheherazade nodded, her attention never turning away from the representatives across from her, as if daring them or their people to suggest there had been any other way, any other alternative. That it might be their fault.

Omar was wordless- a rare thing. He stared inwards at them for a long, long time, looking into where their eyes should be. He'd never heard a story like that; and he was a man who read many stories and many epic poems.

He said at last, "I see. I'm no scientist, so I won't pretend I could ever understand what happened to you. But I can see for myself how it has affected your people... I'm sorry."

Melissa asked, "But could the growths be removed physically? That is, surgically?" She thinks, if she had been born with such a horrible looking growth, she'd claw it out with her hands if she had to.

("Shush, Melissa," Omar tries to say softly, but the words are already out.)

Scherazade frowned. “Oh, certainly.” She said, her voice even and betraying no hint of emotion. “Surgically? Of course we can do it. But it’s an invasive and extremely painful procedure requiring extensive skin grafting, lifelong use of pain medications afterward, and numerous surgeries afterwards to prevent their regrowth. It requires subsequent neurosurgeries and intensive monitoring to disentangle the nerve endings that extend into them, and not even touching on the long term optic damage. But, certainly, it is doable! Theoretically it is doable via more refined flesh sculpting techniques as well, but resulting in many of the same drawbacks including the continuous growth of the tissue.”

She looked to Melissa, steepling her fingers as she leaned in, focusing intently on the woman. “But let me ask you a question in turn, if I may. Ultimately - this is who we are. It’s a mark of the things we have survived and triumphed over. I can hear the unspoken words in your voice. I can imagine what your people have been saying. Would you have us - four and a half billion of us - change ourselves so drastically in order to look how you think we ought to look? Would you have us change ourselves, regardless of the difficulties I have described, to make you comfortable? To fit the mold you have in mind for humanity? Is our appearance so unusual? Reflect for a moment, I ask you, and then ask yourself something, Melissa. Would you really want us to be something different, to change who we are, because you don’t like how we look?"

Scheherazade drew back, watching her coolly. “The realization of the extent of the mutation caused many on board the generation ship to attempt to kill my own ancestors. They believed us a ‘contagion’. They unleashed horrific biological weapons. Gunned them down in cold blood. All because of these mutations. I ask you to consider the impact your words might have on a people who have been through so much. They want nothing more than peace with your people, to offer our aid to your people in rebuilding - but they are wary. I do not think you speak from a place of malice, but… consider.” After a moment, she added, “All of you.”

Melissa held silent for a second. Then, all at once, she blurted: "I'm sorry. I mean... I apologize."

Scheherazade nodded. “You are better than those who came before you.” She said both to Melissa and to the cameras after a moment had passed. “Even if you do not decide you wish to work with us, I thank you for hearing us out. The garden will remain open to your people either way.”

It had been difficult for Melissa to say that, more than the Ishtari could possibly realize. Omar and her both knew the history their society had with modified humans- the war on Zeta, the years of propaganda. They were both on the Meeting Place when it happened, as smaller, sub-Oligarch staff. And the people remembered it too. Another round of reactions displays itself for the two delegates, much the same as the last. Almost identical. But this time, just maybe, a few more people have sympathy.

Somewhere far beneath the surface, change is happening. One person at a time.



The Ishtari, for better or for worse, caught the attention of the media machine. Their strange appearance, the long discourse, the spectacle of a space-station garden- it all combined to make for the perfect news bait. Clips and pictures of them circled back and forth on Bezia, bouncing from infopad to screen back to infopad, from one person to another, again and again. Scheherazade's speech gained special attention. So did the knowledge of a fellow direct democracy, outside Zeta.

Arguments were had. Opinions were aired. The whole subject was talked ad nauseam. Then the vote came round.

Omar breathed a deep, shuddering breath when he opened his infopad to check the results, early one morning. He wanted to look at it before he even stood out of bed.

On the matter of pursuing positive relations with the Commonality of New Ishtar...

Votes In favor: 64%
Votes Opposed: 36%

The Proposal passes. The White Flower Democracy will open its borders to Ishtari, begin sharing information with their Commonality, and dispatch an official representative to serve at an embassy in their segment of the Meeting Place. They will take opportunities to grow a working relationship. Omar hummed happily to himself, and decided he can afford another hour's sleep.

Collab between Tortoise and @Dog

Their signs look like the typical marks of a protest: pickets with bold letters on them, reading things like “GREED DOESN’T PAY,” and “THIS IS OUR LAND,” and “FOREIGNERS GO HOME.” At least three dozen men and women carry those messages, even when some would condemn them for doing so: after all, the Ustonian megacorps had kept their end of the bargain. They pay local tax. They hire local workers.

But this is Bezia- or New Hollywood, or whatever it is called these days. Conflict still abounds. The xenophobic elements, in lieu of true aliens or mutants or cyborgs to rail against, have chosen these foreign companies for now. The Zetans aren’t here. The Columbians all went home. So these Ustonian corps are to be the targets, guilty or no. Angry men march on a newly-built headquarters in bright midday, feeling perfectly justified in their anger.

And, worst, there is something else in the midst. These Flower protestors- some of them, anyway- are also veterans of the revolution. At their hips are weapons. Guns, mostly, with a few axes thrown in for flavor. At least one is the very same axe that split the skull of a Matuvistan in Neo London- because that is, indeed, where this unfortunate company has chosen to take up residence.

You know, there is a fine line between a protest and a riot.

They approach the building. Official Flower security will eventually intercept them, but not before they get to the Ustonians.

“THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING. PLEASE DISPERSE THE AREA. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING,” yells a loudspeaker from an officer on top of an armored car. A small block of riot-officer stood guard, blocking the various pieces of junk thrown at them. This was not much of a riot or protest, to them anyway. If anything, this was simply a small angry mob. With the crowd still determined to stay, the security-officers launch a series of tear-gas and flashbangs into the mob before quickly rushing in to beat down the protesters and then arrest.

But these protestors had faced this kind of thing before. When the first tear-gas canisters arced over their heads, trailing gray smoke across the sky, they knew to pull up scarves around their faces and wrap tight goggles around their eyes. The overall look was kind of ridiculous; but it did keep them safe from the gas. Mostly, anyway. Little tendrils seeped into the eyes-it burned like cut onions.The protestors had to fight through it.

One man shouted through: “These strangers think this is the first time we’ve dealt with this? They’ve never met protectors!” He was answered with jeers and laughter. And with quick-drawn guns.

“I’ll say it again,” the same man shouted, but now he cocked back a shotgun and aimed for a Ustonian: “Get off of our planet!”

He fired, and the first shot echoed through the thick tear-gas mist. The body dropped.
A brutal melee occurs as security-officers, dorning full-protection gear, clash with the mob. Faces are bruised, kneecaps broken, batons broken, rubber-bullets and beanbags shot, and plenty of other things ongoing. A few bodies are taken out of the melee in hand-cuffs and then quickly moved into the backs of vans while others are moved to medical vehicles. An assortment of screams, yells, and thumps are heard as the fight goes on.

The Flower protestors are outnumbered- they think. Through the haze of gas and the fog of a fight, nobody is sure who’s still standing, or who’s where, or who’s who. People throw a punch half as often as they crash into each other like bumper carts. Two competing forces, fear and anger, are as much at war here as the people.

Jims, a teenage Neo London native, loses out to the former. He starts to run. He carries his dad’s pistol with him. He sprints through the crowd, trips over a metal-concrete curb he couldn’t see, and has a bleeding forehead when he is able to open his eyes again. How much time has passed? He still hears the fight around him- only a few seconds, maybe. The gun is still in his hands. He nearly screams when the masked face of a Ustonian security officer lurks out of the tear-gas and appears to see him. So much like the protectors. So much. He knows what they would have done to him, and in that panic, his little pistol feels like the one power he has. The Ustonian tries grabbing at his arms, snatching and gripping and struggling, wanting to put cuffs on him- they nearly mount each other- they roll and wrestle against each other on the hard ground, and Jims somehow, barely, forces his gun up to the Ustonian’s head. The fight stops for a moment.

“Get back, man, I’ll shoot! You- you fucking protector! I swear I’ll really kill you, this bullet isn’t rubber!”

A small chuckle is heard from the Ustonian officer. “Try it, kid,” says the security officer - knowing full well that the pistol cannot do much against his kind of armor.

Jims tries it. A little ‘ting!’ signifies the bullet ricocheting off the officer’s helmet. “Shit!” says Jims, ineffectively.

“Tough luck, kid,” says the officer with a heavy vo-coded voice. With a raised baton, the officer smashes in poor Jim’s face. Hit after hit, Jim’s face starts to get extremely bruised. Before long, Jim loses consciousness and his body is moved towards the medical van.

Collab between @SgtEasy and @Jangel13
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."
The jungles of New Gift

---

The heat was heavy and oppressing, stifling you and taking your breath away. Dehydration was but one of the many killers lurking here, the jungle enticing you with seemingly fresh, cool streams. If a being was not eaten alive by any number of creatures lurking in the dark, the sheer number of diseases you would contract from unknown waterborne contaminants would make your death agonising and slow. But anyone who ventured into these jungles knew that this would be a mercyful fate compared to the madness.

There was darkness at every turn yet out of nowhere, light would shine through the thick canopy. It is a trap laid for the unworthy and unprepared, any number of creatures would strike at you as soon as you step into the light. The dark offered unknown threats from within, death coming at an instant to those unaware. You must hope that death is swift. Or that you die at all.

For elsewhere, in these godforsaken jungles, laid eldritch creatures which haunt your nightmares and stalk you long past your last step from this jungle. Monsters of too many eyes or perhaps none at all, skittering and reaching and rushing towards you. Things which stiffen the spine and raise the hackles at their mere presence, trembling and unwanted urination could swiftly follow. Biologists wonder at how such creatures could evolve but study only results in such apes clawing their eyes out or devolving into a brain-fuddled mess as the sheer impossibility of these creatures are so profound that it destroys all a scientist knows.

Devils, they all are, which stalk you till they decide you are fit for hell. Some, if you lay your eyes upon them, would drive a man mad. Terrifying beasts of sharp claws, gnashing teeth and a cunning unbefitting such wild animals. Though the apes were kings and queens of the jungles of Earth, they served as morsels of food in the jungle food chain.

This was what it is like walking through the equatorial jungles. Expeditionary Legionnaires are set apart from the rest, by their dress, mannerisms and superstition but most obviously, their steadfast courage. Along with their auxiliary volunteers, these are some of the toughest simians one could come across in the entirety of New Gift. Anyone tougher would have already been picked up for more special services yet a few talented individuals still slipped through the cracks,

It was these Legionnaires which forged their way through the monsters and the dark, with heavy guns, furious intent and napalm-fire. They would battle with their sanity everyday for they would encounter all manners of nightmarish things which seem to feed on the soul.

The suicide rate among these brave souls is a remarkably high number. Yet the rewards were plentiful and one could earn many, many tugriks upon the end of their 10 year compulsory service. As well as a comfortable plot of land upon the capital.

It was among these brave souls that the Mahre representatives and their Conservationist allies travelled with. The 27^th Division, First Regiment, E Company. They had travelled here, to this “inner sanctum” by which the two allies have been trying to find for the last six months. Leaving behind the Mobile Stability Base, they travelled in jungle-crushing Virtue-class MBTs, Fortitude-class APCs and the napalm-spewing Righteous-calss ATV. An entire armoured convoy, crushing jungle and making as much noise as possible to deter any curious creatures. Yet as they went deeper, quiet would need to be observed as they came closer to what the Mahre called “the center of the planet”.

So the three parties would eventually disembark their vehicles, half staying with and the other going deeper within.

They trudged through thick undergrowth until the noise started.

It was a deep growling noise, bellyful and strong coming from near the leftmost squad. Close and rumbling and churning in the ear, like stones grinding. It vibrated the brain, etching them to paralyse in fear. The horror starts now.

---

The collective had talked to this race prior to their involvement and had worked out the details in full while they spoke secretly about what the collective could do to help. This seemed to be something familiar and almost like home in a sense and while the danger of the world was obvious they knew better than anyone if there was a chance to integrate and become one with a planet. To find the source of the planet’s soul and make peace with them, proving that mankind could adapt rather than dominate. Once an agreement had been reached between the two the Mahre Collective returned home to deliver the news about finding allies and people to work with. This was in any case a much more dangerous yet just as rewarding experience for they would find another planet much like their own and can possibly get even closer to understanding what made these planets so special in how they had a will of their own.

In ancient times when humans were one race there was believed to be a spirit of the world even then known as Gaia however that spirit wasn’t strong enough or simply knew it was better to simply die then to suffer longer. Why Terra had died didn’t matter anymore but it simply added fuel to their theory that planets have a mind of their own but simply had a varying degree of potency and strength or if the wills could understand self sacrifice or suffering.

As the collective had gotten back home after their trip they organized expedition teams to help their newfound allies. Richard the lead geneticist of the collective organized their science teams a group of 6 of his best geneticists and scientists went. Of course before they were allowed to leave they made sure to get the necessary mutations to allow them to survive in the hostile environment mainly things like stone skins and poison eating stomachs, things that would allow them to survive in harsh environments and survive killing blows that would normally be fatal like having a second heart just in case. They were ready to go and like anything else they needed their own security detail. They didn’t want to send too many or they would seem paranoid or hostile. The council had a long debate about whether or not they should risk sending one of their thorns in on this expedition or not since they were few in number and were the elite among the elite and were nearly impossible to kill here on their home planet. However they decided that this chance to see a planet similar to their own was one worth the risk. So they allowed a single thorn to be awoken from their slumber asking if they would take such a task.

The warrior agreed in understanding that this was paramount to understanding their own world; his name was Severnus and was stronger and bulkier than the other guard. They decided to allow him to take 3 of their warriors with him to protect the scientists and make sure that they made it back or if nothing else that their research made it back.

That brings us to the present moment as they are riding inside the strange machine and burning away the forests around them. Once they were told to leave the vehicle the elite thorn Severnus stayed behind to guard their way out and half the scientists. The one that left ahead was the lead geneticist of the group by the name of Gorgmus a young man made of almost iron like skin along with the 3 warriors they brought with them.

---

It was darker than it should have been, that was what set Sergeant Rock of E Company off ease. Well, that and the mutated bareskins which were only a few meters away from him. Ironskins may have been a more accurate title. They were eerie and strange, even with his own mutations his genetic manipulation was not as extensive as his human escorts. And, well, the fact that they were human was strange in and of itself.

Humans were creatures learned about in books, songs and movies, not in the flesh. Secretly in his mind, he wished for the fall of human civilisations to be quick. It was unnerving to see such potentially violent beings around him and his. Fuck the human worshippers, he knew what they had done.

It was professionalism and a little bit of fright which held the Rock’s tongue back, his eyes darting to and fro the shadows which enveloped him and his squad. There were three automatons at the front, slicing and burning away at the forest with the Conservationists and their alien allies in the middle. Around them were his squad in E Company. Travel through here was monotonous work, until a dinging sound rang in their ears.

>Hostile detected: 1
>Species: Cervus Ursinus
>WARNING: EXTREMELY HOSTILE, CLASS 3 THREAT
>Recommendation: Heavy Weapons Support and armour
>Marking locations… ERROR ERROR INTERFERENCE-

Rock dialled the volume down on his earpiece, as did the other Expeditionaries around him. This deep in the jungle and the sensors went haywire, all they could serve as were early warning systems. As a career soldier, he kept his cool but was sweating underneath his armour.

“Oi humans, five hostiles in a 100 meter radius around us. Keep your eyes peeled for bright lights and a -”

Deep growling noises cut him off, one which shook his brain violently in his skull. Bang bang bang, it went, slamming his brains back and forth. His ears felt as though they were erupting, tears welling up in his eyes. A bright white light shone itself in front of Rock and the escorts, his HUD immediately darkening to counteract the blinding lumens. Along with this, fast-acting drugs flooded into his system which regulated the shocking symptoms immediately. It was in these relieving moments that he finally saw the monster.



It sat atop a branch above, five meters tall at a crouch. It reverberated that awful sound, still bouncing within his memories. A long tongue slicked out of its jaw, licking along its canines with an eyeball sitting atop one. Hungry, bottomless, sinking eyes stared right at him. Large, powerful arms with muscular sinew wrapped with small feathers, strange hands dripping with blood. Crimson dripped down to the forest floor, down to the headless gorilla shock trooper underneath it.

Shaking out of their collective reverie at the rare beast, Rock along with his squad and the automatons concentrated fire upon the monster. .50 calibre slugs along with twin-cannons firing alongside them, the automatons and the squad’s remaining shock trooper opening up with the later.

It moved, the slugs destroying the tree it was on moments before. It charged through the hailstorm of bullets, twisting through the air in an unnatural dance even as darkish liquid seeped out of knicks and cuts from whizzing rounds. It went “antlers” first into one of the lead automatons, moving it easily aside with the bony protrusions. The gunfire followed but it was simply too fast or, as it would be more accurately described as later on, too elusive.

It contorted in strange shapes and positions to avoid life-threatening bullets, almost as if its body was completely boneless aside from the antlers. Its movements were to jump to each individual, tearing apart bodies like ripping paper even as everyone alive was still trying to track a bead on the monster-thing.

Rock watched it through his sights as it gnawed upon the head of the last gorilla in his squad, bending its back to rip the skull and spine out of the simian’s body. He fired in its moment of seeming delacent worship of its meal, slamming a three-round burst into its arm.

It roared, louder this time, so loud it shook the ground underneath him. His ears bled, eyes shut as the light only grew stronger. He would not feel it bound towards him, jaw opened as it leapt over the humans.

---

The scientists understood that they would be facing creatures that were not entirely human which only brought fascination to them and made them even more curious. They did see that they were not very welcomed among them but they paid little mind to their personal feelings as they knew that this was done on high and if anything happened they would end up causing much bigger problems. They had explored this land and soon enough were able to witness the first of the creatures that they would be studying. It was large and threatening but to the Mahre this was of little consequence they had their own creatures that may not look in such horrific states but they felt the precense of this beast meant it was protecting this land from their invasion. As they started to attack the creature the warriors got into a defnesive stand making sure to keep their well trained eyes on the surroundings rather then the creature it was fast but they knew that creatures such as this would create a faint movement of the surrounding brush before they would even see it come.

In the mean time the scientists were singing, or at least it seemed that way to the simian allies that were still firing on the creature. However what they were doing was finding the frequency that the beast understood, creatures have a language even if not spoken verbally and the Mahre understood all creatures had a voice it was simply a matter of finding it. As the creature seemed intent on attacking them next the warriors stood in a line and braced as they dug their heels into the dirt and extended their bone blades they were able to catch the bottom half of the creatures mouth before tossing it over them with their strength. Before the creature could get back up and attack them again from behind it cried out as the singing finally hit a frequency that made it hear their voice. They spoke to it trying to be peaceful but of course this creature couldn't allow them passage but neither could it keep attacking under this freuqency. It gave one last roar before the creature would flee. When the creature left the scientists would excitedly talk amongst themselves discussing the creature and how it related to their own planet and the frequency of their song that broke past the language barrier. They could speak to these creatures however their songs were alien and unknown they would still be seen as a threat but they were already thinking of solutions to combat this while the warriors looked none the worse for wear.

---

The combined forces continued without much fuss afterwards, the Expeditionaries shrugging off the weirdness of their allies (keeping a healthy distance away of course) while the Conservationists hurriedly questioned the Mahre on what just occured. Dings would be heard frequently over the next hour, INFOWAR tracking and spotting several possibly hostile creatures circling around them. Strangely, none of them would inch any closer than a 50 meter radius around the Mahre. This would give them the breathing space to make large tracts of progress through the jungle.

Rock would hear one of the Convservationists cry out in joy as they reached a small clearing in the thick undergrowth and greenery. "What is it?" He asked, glancing around the clearing. These were the worst places for them

"This should be it!" The excited chimpanzee exlclaimed, smiling widely while somehow ignoring the near-death experience they had just gone through. That's just how Conservationists are. "We should be at the center of the jungle now!" He pointed towards a strange contraption in his hands, beeping frequently and loudly.

The Sergeant would snort, shaking his head. "That thing is broken young chimp, there's no way we're in the center of the jungle right now. We have another three days until we would get there-"

>Hostile detected - 1
>Species: UNKNOWN
>WARNING UNKNOWN HOSTILE APPROACHING
>SENSOR JAMMERS DETECTED, ETA 40 SECONDS

The group tightened as one, coming closer together around the clearing with the scientists and Conservationists in the middle, warriors up front. It was a quick, efficient and coordinated move to protect the important assets within the group, the circle only completing as the jungle split in twain.

It was as if it parted for the creature coming, a droning sound filling the air, the sky darkening ominously. Two lines trees flattened against the ground, the rest of the jungle becoming silent. And from this dark corridor came a creature of horrific appearance.



It stood as tall as the trees once were, towering over the group in a mystic horror. Its front hands grasped and reached, movements of hunger and want as clear as day. Its upper torso "twitched", like a still-moving corpse stuck atop an irradiated deer. The droning sound became louder, deeper, as if the whole jungle was singing as one. The Cervus Ursinus paled in comparison, causing the simians within the group to fall on one knee, pass out or in some cases, die on the spot. It was a thrumming, infernal and living sound. The creature's haunted eyes gazed at the still standing Mahre, defiant even to this terrifying beast.

The hands spread in a showy gesture, as if the creature mockingly bowed. "Why do you, Outsiders One With Their Mother, stand among these ingrates which defile their own?"

---

They traveled along with their allies down deeper to find the center of this planet and soon enough the sergeant would speak up at the young ape saying that they weren't anywhere near the center but the Mahre could tell from the formation of this area that this was going to be an area where those that wished to find the center would meet a guardian. Similar to a checkpoint in some ways and they would soon be proven right as a large creature came out of the forest standing as tall as the trees themselves. They heard the song of the creature and could feel its intention of hunger and want however this creature also understood that the Mahre were different, as it sang the Mahre didn't falter and in fact welcomed the new and strange song. The creature then came to them and bowed while it may seem like it was mocking the gesture the Mahre didn't see it that way.

They then stood forward before giving a deep and sincere bow showing respect to this guardian. They were in his home after all it would be rude to do anything else. Then the leader Gorgmus stood up and said "Guardian we apologize for coming to your land unnanounced, We are known as the Mahre. It is true we are one with our mother however we grew curious and wanted to know if other planets shared the same strength as our own planet. We search trying to understand if our planet is truly unique and if it isn't then what would it take for planets to gain such a strength. We wish to learn more about you and your mother, we are here with these ingrates as you call them because they wish to follow our path. They think that weapons an technology will keep them safe but we know better, for your mother is a being that deserves respect and reverance. A group of their kind understand this and wish to understand how to achieve what we have. We understand if you don't believe them in their intention as they have already attacked the land but they do not speak for this group alone. If you would allow us we would like to reach the mother and speak to her and learn from her children. We swear on our true mother that we do not wish to harm you or your mother in any way. If need be we will venture alone if you do not wish for these ingrates to move further" he explained to the creature. However while to them it was a normal conversation to their allies it would sound like the singing of birds with various tones and musical notes being sung at the creature.

---

It stood there, watching, for what felt like an eternity to the sentients on the ground. And all of a sudden, the thrumming stopped. The jungle returned to peaceful life, birds chirping in the air, critters running across the clearing. Their vision cleared and the pain stopped.

The creature beckoned them forward. The apes were hesitant, some still clearing their heads while others reached for fallen comrades. It's eyes pierced those who went to move the fallen. "Do not wake them, they were too weak to hear my Voice, they will die hearing the Mother's. Raggedy intruders, you must learn your place here. If you are too weak to hear Mother's voice, shoot yourself now and make death come quickly."

The Sergeant flared his nostrils, heavy breaths and bared teeth to show the anger which coursed in his veins. "Who the FUCK are you to tell us what to do, you ugly bastard!" He gripped the young chimpanzee in his arms, crimson coating his fur.

While others stood aghast, the Expeditionaries stood with their leader, weapons armed and ready. They spaced themselves out from the strange Mahre and their foreign tongues, untrusting of the unknown. They had trained for this, fear gripping at them but their willpower holding even stronger. Weak vines do not survive long in this jungle. But with this defiance, the beast only loomed closer and closer to the group, its features becoming clearer yet more confusing as it stepped more into the light.

Its crown antlers, which would have looked majestic atop any normal beast, had flesh molting off the bone, blood red veins pulsing with life as it spread itself across the ivory peaks. Its "torso" was grotesque, the "twitching" revealing itself to be breath and a pulsing heart, like a beheaded man straddling a deer. Its skin was tight to its body like a sign of malnourishment yet the muscles, tight and packed together, spoke of otherworldly strength. Atop this all was a green-ish mucous which coated the beast's thick, draping fur and with each droplet's landfall, a sizzling would fill the air as it ate at the earth. And its eyes, oh dear Spirits its eyes.

It were these eyes, abominable and glowing, set into deep cavernous sockets, which stared down the ape leader. The shadows flickered in the light, revealing what lay underneath the darkness. Throbbing skin and flesh on which two glowing orbs clung to with no obvious anchor, crimson bleeding from every pour like a waterfall down to into the mouth below. An infinite stream of blood drink for the creature, a creature of too many teeth and a serpentine tongue now that Rock could see it closer.

But as a testament to his name, the ape stood between it and his young charge, staring at the beast with a rage only a simian could muster in front of such horror. But then it spoke once again.

It rumbled and tore against the eardrums, making the simian sergeant flinch. "Oh to be so young again, to be foolish and unknowing of my place." It was close enough that its breath hung in the air, as putrid as its appearance, yet the voice came from no mouth, like it emanated from the creature. A pale hand reached out, carressing the ape's cheek slowly like a tender mother. "You are brave, as is the rest of your kind. Each of you who wander in the jungles have a pride and courage which seem unmatched."

It grabbed his throat in a vice-like grip, unbothered by the shouting apes surrounding it, by the knife which was now embedded into its arms. If anything, the metal wriggled in the flesh before being spat out, like an unwanted meal. The mucuous sizzled louder as more gently draped itself off its body as the beast's hackles raised, staring at the simian with ill intent. "𝖄𝕰𝕿 𝖄𝕺𝖀 𝕬𝕽𝕰 𝖂𝕰𝕬𝕶. 𝖄𝕰𝕿 𝖄𝕺𝖀 𝕶𝕹𝕺𝖂 𝕹𝕺𝕿 𝕺𝕱 𝕿𝕳𝕰 𝕸𝕺𝕿𝕳𝕰𝕽. 𝖄𝕰𝕿 𝖄𝕺𝖀 𝕮𝕺𝕹𝕿𝕴𝕹𝖀𝕰 𝕿𝕺 𝕯𝕰𝕷𝖁𝕰 𝕴𝕹𝕿𝕺 𝕾𝕰𝕮𝕽𝕰𝕿𝕾 𝖄𝕺𝖀 𝕶𝕹𝕺𝖂 𝕹𝕺𝕿𝕳𝕴𝕹𝕲 𝕬𝕭𝕺𝖀𝕿. 𝕯𝕰𝕬𝕿𝕳 𝕮𝕺𝕸𝕰𝕾 𝕿𝕺 𝖄𝕺𝖀 𝕬𝕷𝕷 𝕬𝕹𝕯 𝕬𝕷𝕷 𝖂𝕳𝕴𝕮𝕳 𝕿𝕽𝕰𝕬𝕯 𝕴𝕹 𝕿𝕳𝕴𝕾 𝕵𝖀𝕹𝕲𝕷𝕰."

It let go, the Sergeant landing on all fours, sputtering on the ground. The creature turned around back the way it came. "I am the Messenger, third child of the Mother. The fleshy ones and the beast on the ground will stay with me. The rest of you must 𝕷𝕰𝕬𝖁𝕰."

As one, everyone else in the party fell to the ground at the final command, laying at the feet of the giant. With the Mahre watching passively, and the Sergeant clutching his throat on the ground, the Mother was summoned. The Messenger split in twain, two halves of a suddenly and violently lifeless body ripped apart by unknown forces. And from this gory bloodshed rose a strange, pale "human" woman, of too many arms and too many legs protruding from her body. Blonde curly hair and beautiful blue eyes yet a nose which curled upwards too much and canine teeth which hung out of red lips. Her ears were on either side of her neck and her body was covered in red dress, which seemed fitted to her too many limbs. She smiled and spread her many arms, ignoring the grotesque stink of an already decaying body around her.

"Hello child." It was a melodic yet powerful voice, one which sung in many languages, known and unknown. The Sergeant stayed on the ground, almost crushed by the power. She snatched her gaze from the ape to the humans still standing. "Hello children. I have not met another Mother and her flock in quite some time. How did you find the peace with your Mother?"

---

The Mahre soon smiled as they heard the guardians singing stop and allow the rest to live and continue forward despite the obvious reservations of doing this with the ingrates. They were saddened to see such anger come from their allies and although they understood they should know that it was because of their stuborness and unwilliness to understand that they were in this position of needing their help in the first place. They wish that their allies understood that this was necessary if they wanted peace with their planet and to stop dying as a result. They walked forward and didn't mind the distance that their allies kept from them as they instead took the time to examine their guardian who was leading them to the mother of the planet. They spoke among themselves wondering how such creatures came into being and if it was a similiar process to their own planets guardians simply in a different form from what they know. Could their mother simply decided that forms like these that would cause nightmares to normal minds be the reason they were shaped this way or was their some deeper meaning behind it.

They then watched as the guardian spoke again but this time directed it at the commanding officer of their allies and for a moment the Mahre were hopeful until they heard what the guardian said. It only made the Mahre shake their heads knowing that the guardian was right. The secrets they seek are ones that could change the world and maybe even the galaxy at large. They knew that the guardian wouldn't kill the commander because if it wanted to it would have done so before they got this far. They then heard of the command to the others of the group and the fellow guards of their commander had been forced to leave.

Soon they watched as the guardian split in such a grand display that even the Mahre took a step back from surprise as the blood flowed so suddenly. Soon though a figure appeared and soon they were greeted by a beautiful woman wearing a fitting red dress despite the fact that she had more limbs then were necessary and canines that looked ready to snap their necks in half the Mahre were anything but afraid. They were meeting a mother of another planet for the first time. They were seeing living proof that their planet wasn't the only one with a strong connection to its mother. If anything they were in awe and when she spoke they looked ready to cry, they were so moved to hear the song of a mother again so far from home. After the inital moment of awe and reverance they composed themselves and bowed to her one more deeply before Gorgmus spoke again "It is truly an honor to find another mother so far from our own home. Thank you for seeing us and if you like I would be honored to speak fo the tale that has been taught to everyone back on our planet. We call it "the journey of the first flower." Long ago in our most ancient history we were much like these Simian's not in our looks mind you but in our ignorance, we tried fire and blade trying to carve our way into making a home but our mother was much stronger. No matter what she destroyed what little was made as quickly as it was built. Through her children that chased and ate us or through her own will as the flora and fauna encroached and killed us. It would have surely been the end of us however one day a girl went missing in what passed for a colony back then, everyone assumed she died of course. However she said she heard the song of a creature telling her to find her. An innocent child being told to come and find her she did so and instead of being killed she was allowed to explore, she was given food on journey by the mother. Our mother saw the kindness the girl showed she was happy as they spoke through the trees and was remorseful about hurting a stray plant or seed. She met a guardian after her week long journey and would have been killed if she had ran. For the guardian that greeted her towered much like yours did. However the first thing the girl did was greet the guardian and hug them as if meeting a parent. This caused the Guardian to soften. Soon she saw the mother as she revealed herself. The guardian shrank down their vines and leaves spreading out under it and soon it was the size of a woman. Wearing a beautiful floral dress with antlers and wide eyes. She hugged the child and they spoke, to this day we haven't discovered how it was possible. However the child came back and looked much like we do now. Different skin and different body but the same child. If not for her words in saying to our leaders back then that the mother didn't wish to kill us we may not be here today. The child explained to everyone that we must live in harmony with our mother and she will take care of us. Not to destroy but to adapt. To become her children or we would not be able to live at all. Our leaders were wise and took the childs words to heart. No machines remain on our planet save for the ones that allowed us to change our bodies and allow us to be as strong as our siblings back home. Dear mother, please understand we came here because unlike us none of the simian's that live here have a child of purity, of such innoncence to see the world in a way that the planet was family. We spoke to a group among them that wish to achieve what we have, to see harmony and peace in simply walking on the same soil as their true mother. In seeing you today we have discovered that our mother isn't alone. Knowing this is enough to bring us to tears" he said wiping his eyes as he admitted that after their story and reliving the same moment that their first flower achieved so long ago was someting that was beyond words. Something they could have never hoped to feel before.

---

The story, in which to others sounded like song, sang of life and hope. Of an innocence which saved lives and expanded them. Of limitless potential. The Mother of New Gift, her name unknown for eons and will continue to be, stood silently listening to the Mahren song. Emerald tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at the group then to the simian clutching himself in pain.

"To be a proper Mother, one must learn forgiveness." She whispered, one of her many hands outreching towards the sergeant. The arm convulsed and stretched, bone cracking as the limb lengthened beyond what is natural. Slender fingers carressed the face of the ape, desperately trying to inch away but unable to by the sheer pain which crashed inside him upon the touch. He cried out and she retracted, a visible frown on her face.

Retracting it to normal length, she looked back at the Mahre, ignoring the whimpering sergeant for the moment. "I am moved by your story, children, yet I do not know if I can trust these Supremus yet. One of them came to me, black of fur, one of the short ones, asking for the gifts you have received yourselves from your own Mother. I, being young in the cradle, fell for the sweet words of potential."

The Mother's face hardened, the lightning crackling in the sky as it darkened with her mood. "He betrayed me, and with his betrayal came my weakness. He gave gifts to my other children, gifts which took them away from me and made them ungrateful for all I've done. They continue to intrude upon the lands which I oversee, I control, I love. They are an ungrateful, arrogant, foolish lot who think they know better than the Mother which guided them here, allowed them to be here."

With every word, thunder erupted and the ground shook, howling winds sweeping through the small clearing. It was power incarnate, pain, betrayal, loss, love, strength, weakness. Of a youth led astray, of a being so powerful fooled by the descendant of someone who was betrayed themselves. And then, with a graceful shake of her head, it stopped.

Her features softened, otherworldly body relaxing. On her face was regret, a mourning blue glow appearing around her like a crown. "But alas, as your story shows, to be a proper Mother, one must learn forgiveness. They have been churlish and insubordinate but maybe they can be shown the error of their ways. Both them and those which have left my flock to be with them. I will take the young, the young must show me the error of my ways. Then, I will take those willing to be my Guardians and my children. Thank you, children of a foreign Mother, I wish you fruitful endeavours and a bountiful life."

Her arms, all of them, too many of them, stretched out in a violent cacophany of cracking bones. They reached out like tendrils of malice, reaching for the youngest of the simians in the group. Five would be chosen, all under the age of 20, wrapped in the limbs of a gentle yet twitchingly violent Mother. These five would be taken away, with the Mother and the clearing itself, disappearing with a quickly encroaching undergrowth.

The Mahre would return to the vehicles alone five days later, grimly explaining the attacks which befell their simian comrades by the hands of the Cervus Ursinus. It would be a mournful loss for E Company yet an expectant one. You do not enter the jungle lightly without knowing the risks of such an endeavour, especially with an escort so small. The expedition would be written off as a failure by both the Legion and the Conservation League, both organisations moving on with their lives.

Yet unknown to the parties involved was that even with the Mother's gaze, even she can miss details. Like an eavesdropping, rebellious child, eager to displease her.

The light remained dim in the high trees, barely visible and flickering like a shifting tunnel of light from the sun above. The creature chittered, its long tongue licking the peeling crown atop its head.

"ђє ๓ยรՇ кภ๏ฬ." The light vanished, like the shifting branches covering a hole in the canopy.