[center][h2][color=darkturquoise]One Small Step in[/color][color=chocolate]to a Giant's Bootprint[/color][/h2] [i][color=darkturquoise]The Accord have an unusual encounter[/color] [colour=chocolate]with the Khaganate on Luna's surface.[/colour] [color=darkturquoise]Featuring Cog-Ace Guan Liang[/color][color=chocolate] and Zenith Shamanka[/color][/i][/center] Although they were idle, Liang had not been left out of the loop, a fact they had anticipated, but appreciated nontheless. Briefing after briefing, update after update- one of the Coordinator-Cogs had even set up a dedicated implant feed featuring scrolling marquees of the latest developments - they all coalesced together into a single vivid tapestry. Sol was abuzz with different vessels. Fleets of them, in fact, of a variety of shapes, sized and suspected roles that spanned the spectrum from dedicated warships to industrial behemoths and smaller, more intimate craft. Humanity had survived despite CoB Day and as life was wont to do, had diversified and specialised to fill every niche available to it... And now, with the Gateways open for everyone once more, hurried to see what had become of humanity's home. A shame that all that was left on Sol was sorrow. They had seen Earth with their own eyes - stared out of a porthole at the 'pale blue dot' they knew so much about academically, but never before beheld. At this distance it was hardly a dot, nor was it particularly blue either - if planets were plants, Earth had passed beyond wilted and long past the point of no return. They recalled the pictures from the creche - the continents that Qinyuan's transplanted wildlife once roamed. Brown earth, off-colour clouds and what had first stood out to Liang - not a single artificial light. Even Wuhua had a few small pinpricks on its surface, but Earth- [i]Earth[/i] was as dark as the void around it. In truth, the veteran hadn't known how to react to the information. It was unquestionably a loss- Earth was the birthplace of humanity, the origin point for every single human in the Qinglong system, but with half a millennium separating them, what hold did it have over the old pilot? Indeed, what hold did it have over the Accord? The Voice of the People had been dispatched to Sol after all, even though the Front despised the old Qinglong Megaconglomerate. Earth's rack and ruin was a dire warning of why the old systems did not and [i]could[/i] not work. Rebuilding them in Qinglong, as they had tried time and time again were nothing more than attempting to revive a legacy of failure. Even so, Liang had lingered by the porthole. As still as a statue they'd stood, watching the sun rise across Eurasia, eyes playing across a stormfront sweeping over the Atlantic and then, alarmingly, realising that the Americas were no longer connected together. It had coalesced into a maelstrom of thoughts they hadn't quite expected to still be vulnerable to in their ninth decade. Perhaps part of it was that they hadn't been very busy these past few days. It was odd- unsettling, almost, for someone who had spent so much time keeping themselves active and busy, to now be thrust into a position of symbolic importance, disconnected from decision making but anticipating action all the while. In some ways, it felt like being a battlesuit pilot again - the days spent in transit, the long moments of pensive pause as they approached an uncertain fate... And just like when they'd been a battlesuit pilot, they were now called upon for a momentous moment. This time though, the only thing that would be shooting was a camera. While the NCMs, the diplomats and the officers aboard all had their role in what was going on in Sol, from analysing vessels and planets to attempting to establish communications with these foreign ships or monitoring what had apparently been some alarming developments (they hadn't received the full picture, but there was apparently a notable presence above Ceres, of all places,) they'd yet to invite anyone aboard the Voice of the People, and there was no need to leave so many parts idle while the rest of the cogs span. So, a plan had been drafted up. Earth's Moon, Luna, was both closer and easier to land on than the planet itself could ever be, and there was still plenty that could be done on the surface itself... Such as an expedition that to Liang was more public stunt than it was genuine exploration, but they weren't going to turn down the position they'd been offered on the away team, because they were going to the Sea of Tranquillity. The site where, if the old archives were correct, mankind had taken their first ever steps off the surface of Earth. And a site which they had been beaten to the punch to it seemed. Three small shuttlecraft had touched down only an hour before their expedition was planned, emerging out from the chaotic tangle of smaller ships the diplomats had categorised as belonging to the Khaganate. If anything, that perhaps made it a more momentous event- clearly history's gravity didn't just draw in the Accord. Despite the slight disappointment in the air though, the away team with Liang included, had gone through one last briefing. The team filtered out towards the airlock, clambered into their softsuits, then took their seats inside the VotP's spacefaring shuttles and strapped in. The presence of others had necessitated a marine contingent just in case, but if everything went amiably, they'd never even need to unclip their seatbelts. Unlike leaving Qingyuan, the trip to Luna was smooth the entire way. There was no atmosphere, not even the growing tug of the surface pulling you down, the only inclination they'd arrived at all coming from the craft's engines slowly reducing their power to come down to a gentle landing. [center]---[/center] It hadn't been so long ago that Zenith had just been another Shamanka in training - another teenage girl fasting and desperately memorising the chants and rituals of her people, waiting, [i]anticipating[/i] for the moment she would step outside of an airlock and gain true insight into the world around her. But ever since she had been reeled back in and hurried to her ship's small, cramped medical bay, everything had changed. One didn't simply [i]witness[/i] Uzay peeling back the curtain and revealing something as all-encompassing, as revelatory, as once-in-a-millennia as the rebirth of the Gateway and then simply return to your small kinship. Within a day of the opening, after his Imperial Majesty rumbled out his decrees and Khatun Cota rallied her fleets to join with those of Khulan, Zenith had been hurried about by her mentor, bandied between vessels and poked at and examined by shamans and priests of what felt like dozens of different groups. In her first eighteen years, never once had she stepped foot inside a chiefship, but the past two weeks had seen her shuffled between so many that she had genuinely forgotten all of their names almost as soon as they had been introduced to her. She had told her revelation so many times to so many people that she had it down to an exact script at this point, and even when she'd been thrust before a Shamanic khural, surrounded by men and women decades her senior determined to poke as many holes in her story as they could find, her first reaction had been to stifle a sigh. Even when that was done - when she was deemed to be sincere and her experiences confirmed beyond reasonable doubt and she had been granted the panoply that most shamans only received after a decade of spiritual service... She'd gotten back to her berth, slammed the door shut and hurled herself across the room to slam into her bed, where she'd promptly shoved her face into her pillow and screamed. The truth was she was just tired. She was tired, her legs hurt, she had had to sit through [i]so many[/i] different talks and speeches and examinations and questionings that her brain just [i]didn't want[/i] to deal with. She missed her mum, she missed her cousins in the kinship and to be completely honest, she missed Tengri system too. There, she had [i]known[/i] things. What it meant when Erleg was retrograde to Itügen (nothing good,) how the shifts in the Elbis field should be treated (without much reverence...) even the stars had been understandable - the comforting presence of the Great Khulgar, the bright glow of the Eye of Chinggis, the dim collection that made up the Sand-Snake. Here in Sol, everything was different, and she was an idiot again. She didn't know the orbital patterns. She didn't know the constellations - in fact, she barely knew what half the stars were or if any of them were the same as those you could see in Tengri, and she certainly hadn't known how she should have interpreted the signs of Ceres as the Iron Horde made their way to the ancient home of the Belters. For a while she had just... Floated there. Above her bed. Trying to silence the thoughts that never quite seemed to stop buzzing about. She spun herself about in the cramped berth, stared out the window at the system unfolding around her for all of about thirty seconds, then promptly lowered the flimsy blind back down and continued to slowly rotate. A quiet knock came at the door. "Oracle Zenith?" She barely refrained from screaming back [i]WHAT[/i] at full volume, and instead settled for the much more restrained 'Yes?' 'A Khural is departing to Luna. Our sensors have found the structure we were looking for on its surface, and those of appropriate rank have been invited to participate. If you wish to join Oracle, please make your way to the shuttle bay soon." "...Yeah. Ok." [center]---[/center] The shuttle had touched down smoothly, and now a crowd of almost a dozen different figures, all in appropriate microgravity wear, all filtered out of the door. Zenith had expected jostling, maybe even some arguing, but instead it was like the Khural simply [i]knew[/i] where their positions were, and where each one had meant to go, no discussion required. Somewhat glad to find that her initial instinct to take up the second-to-last position was correct, she had emerged out, boot crunching against the regolith, and then simply... Stared. She wasn't sure what she had expected - she'd known they were coming here for [i]something,[/i] but what was this? A crumpled, spindly thing, thermal foil ripped and punctured, a ladder leading to nowhere. Bootprints led away from it and across the lunar soil, towards a collection of flags that were near-pristine, albeit bleached white by centuries of sunlight. There was more here too - not just that one site, but a half-dozen other remnants cast about, their bootprints all leading to the same collection of now-meaningless flags. And slightly away from the flags, framed in front of an ancient, disused hab had been constructed a semicircular structure, five podiums reaching up into the air, each one with a symbol stamped near their peaks. In the low gravity of Luna, she pushed herself off and forward - radio crackling with startled remarks from others in the Khural, but she pressed on despite them, even if the High Shamanka did [i]not[/i] seem to like what she was doing. [i]Shouldn't have invited me then,[/i] she thought to herself as she approached the peculiar structure she'd first seen. She still had no clue what it could be, but 'crude' was definitely the word that came to mind as she examined it. Clearly, whoever had come here in this thing hadn't been very experienced with the concept of spaceflight. Carefully avoiding the bootprints that strode to and away from the lander itself, she spotted a small plaque on the ladder, and leaned in close, trying to make out what it said. Four lines of text in a language she couldn't understand. Four... Scribbles? Three across one line, one underneath them... And then, at the top of the plaque, two pictograms that she didn't remotely have to guess at to understand, because all she had to do was lift her head up by a few inches to see them brought to life before her. [i]Earth.[/i] Something very small and very primitive within Zenith scrabbled up from the depths of her mind and grabbed her entire body like a giant's fist. She could feel the goosebumps spread across her skin, the pricks of tension as empty follicles tried to rise on the back of her neck, a squeeze in her gut and a tremble that stuck in her throat. "ORACLE ZENITH, REPORT." The sudden, directed command knocked her out of the immediate shock, but didn't do anything to make her feel more at ease. She tried to speak - to give a proper response, as the request was owed, but found the only thing coming from her throat to be a faint squeak. Gulping a little, she turned around, then began to 'speak' with her hands. [center]---[/center] "Touching down in thirty seconds." The shuttle pilot's voice came through clear and bright across the softsuits, cutting across the quiet hubbub of conversation that had sprung up during the short trip from the Voice of the People. They were the first members of the Accord to walk on Luna's surface [i]ever,[/i] the first bootprints the Executive Machine would ever leave on a body in Sol system. An honour, a duty and an experience like no other. Even Liang could feel a few twinges of excitement begin to run through them - a faint charge that crackled across their weathered features. There was a soft, gentle thump and a long pause. "The Veined Jay has landed," the pilot quipped, then. "Suit air supplies disconnected. Mission timer has been started. Serve with harmony cogs, we will be returning in three hours." A crackle of 'copy that' and 'confirmed,' in response as those inside the shuttle unclipped themselves and rose from their seats. They formed up, and then, one by one, took their steps out onto Luna's surface - mission lead first. Shuffling forward, Liang looked down, across the grey and blasted ground, then took their first step out, just next to mission lead's, boot sinking a little as it compressed the soil down. [i]One small step,[/i] they thought idly to themselves. They formed up quickly, and even as the cameracog set up the tripod to take the first shots of the crew all assembled on the surface of the Moon, Liang was already raising a hand to point at the group rapidly approaching them. They bounded across the lunar surface, one, slighter figure clearly barely restraining themselves from pushing ahead of the pack. Casting a veteran's eye across the group, Liang was entirely thrown from their usual risk assessments and academic understanding of the systems, instead settling on a single question. [i]Just what where they wearing?[/i] Not the suits themselves - those were bulky but perfectly functional looking, at least from this distance, but every single one of the figures that approached them was clad in what looked like the absolute worst possible choice for EVA clothing imaginable - capes fluttered with each step, tassels framed the edges of polarised faceplates, one of them was even wearing a [i]robe[/i] around their figure by the Machine. "Mission lead, your suggestion?" Liang turned to look at the lead cog. "Hold position, they're still a few minutes out. Let's get the shots done first. After that, we'll shake hands with the locals and see what Earth has left behind. Marines on standby?" "Confirmed, mission lead," came the response. Just like that, the group settled back into their positions, the cameracog hunched down over their device, taking photos for posterity. With the group getting closer and closer, they'd pick the tripod up and subtly reposition themselves off to the side - if there was going to be a handshake [b]here[/b] of all places, it needed to be recorded. The Khural paused, some twenty paces away from the strange group of foreigners that had emerged from a spectacularly shiny looking shuttle, and Zenith craned their head a little. They'd known there were others around Luna - it really wasn't hard to, what with the ships literally visible in orbit, but the sight of thrusters burning through the sky had startled even the High Shamanka a little. Still, if other pilgrims had come to this sacred sight, it wouldn't do for the Khaganate to just ignore them. Even so... What were they meant to make of these strange figures? A dozen of them, in thin, smooth silver suits, an azure band around one arm, marked with... Well it looked a bit like the symbol of the Iron Horde, just without the anvil. They all looked so [i]neat[/i] and proper, every suit the same, a sea of bug-like faceplates all sweeping across the assembled masses of the Khural. "Small question," she muttered across the airwaves. "How are we meant to say hello?" There were a few small, attempted replies, but it seemed like nobody, not even the High Shamanka, had actually thought about this key fact. Their comms were running internally (and it wasn't like they expected anyone else to speak Tengri-Mongol,) their sign language would likely be completely impenetrable and they certainly couldn't just start scrawling on Luna's surface... A few awkward glances were exchanged between the Shamans, and across from them, it seemed like the strangers were having a similar reaction. So, Zenith did the only thing that she could think of that made a lick of sense, and gave a small, slightly self-conscious wave. One of the figures waved back, the action clipped and controlled. Zenith took a half-step forward, and without a moment's hesitation, the figure took a step forward in response. The two approached one another, one step at a time, until at last they were faceplate to faceplate, close enough that the oracle could reach out and touch the stranger. She hadn't actually planned for this point though, and the teenager was left wondering - bow? Was a bow appropriate in this instance? What abo- The figure extended a single arm out towards her, hand outstretched. Without thinking, without even knowing why it felt like such an automatic response, she did the same thing, until with the scrunch of glove meeting glove, two branches of humanity, lost across the ages, shook hands.