---

Huffing and hurrying, the sound of steam and heavy machinery moving, twisting and thumping drowned half of the sound of gunshots and machine guns that echoed through the flagship of the warqueen, Pane crawled through the events trying to get away from most of the action. He was scared his mom said she would meet her in the upper decks where a defence was being mounted as both split up. But for him it seemed like the entire ship was a war zone instead as he huffed for air as he passed another illumination the sound of swords could also be heard he stopped for a moment to catch air it felt hot in the lungs, and to breathe it also felt hot his eyes illuminated the hallways with gold shimmer as he relaxed his body he soon felt an arm grab his back and soon he was lifted up from the vent access screaming he soon saw a fire and a buff man wearing armour saying. “I found a vent rat here!” 

Pane squirmed while being held up in the air he quickly soon picked up a shiv he hid on his pants and stabbed the soldier in a weak joint of the armour. With a shout of pain, he let go of the boy, and as his bare feet covered by bandages hit the metal tiling, he soon began to run away. The industrial access areas were rather tight, but for Pane, it was quite easy to transfer behind the soldiers seemed to be following him they were slow he noticed, but still could catch him up. His heart pounded, rushing forward, turning into corners, hoping to lose them, until he stopped seeing a deep fall chain hanging from the ceiling; this was an access vent system; the air was a bit more difficult to breathe. Looking around, there seemed to be no way to go besides climbing down or up the ledges. 

As he looked back, he soon saw the soldiers turning around a corner and beginning to get close to him. Seconds were all he had, and his heart decided for him as he rushed forward and jumped, aiming to grab one of the chains used for transporting heavy machinery through the area. Holding the rope, he managed to maintain his strength and quickly climbed up with all the strength he could muster. Looking down, the soldiers seemed to give up chasing him, returning to their tunnel as he looked around, he saw another access tunnel just 2 floors above the one he left. With enough strength, he jumped through the gap grabbed onto the ledge, and soon raised himself up the ledge he then collapsed onto the floor breathing heavily as his arms felt sore.

He took deep breaths before rising up and continuing his way through the industrial access tunnels, leaving then into a regular hallway he noticed the blood splatter on the walls. The smoke of gunpowder could be felt in the air Pane looked around seeing dead soldiers on the floor, bullet casings, and holes in the walls by said gunfire. He soon picked up a pistol from a fallen soldier. His heart pounded as he moved carefully through the hallways, the lights still illuminated. He soon froze as he saw a gun being pointed at him by a soldier turning a corner and seeing him. The woman then said. “Come in kid.” Lowering her firearm, he looked on in shock but soon relaxed when he saw the badge of a woman holding a spear charging into the stars. 

They were on his side, he realised quickly and moved on when seeing other soldiers behind the woman setting up barricades as he left the hallway. He could see an opening, a large hall with several entrances one leading to the bridge he soon began to look around for his mom saying. “M-mom?” He felt disoriented by the number of people around looking for his mom after a moment of searching, he soon could see her. She was black-haired with scars on her face, and bright gold eyes glowed towards him seeing her, he shouted. “Mom!” As he rushed carrying his gun his mom seemed to notice him beginning to move towards him as he rushed, and he soon stopped seeing a man remove from a cloak a metallic sphere that seemed strange and rather advanced activating it, he soon saw the glow increase, illuminating the room he soon jumped as an explosion rocked the entire area the ringing of his ears deafening the screams and the sound of gunfire. Rising up he soon saw soldiers beginning to enter through the hole made by the explosion as the world returned to him he could see soldiers wearing their black armour and carrying a blood-red star insignia. The gunshots made him begin to crawl as his ears ringed several people running and soldiers that he was with picking covering positions as he hid behind a piece of debris. Looking up he saw a soldier begin to approach him, gun in hand, aiming at others further along looking down, he began to fondle the revolver he had. A revolver yet he never operated a gun before as he cocked up the pistol, he felt someone step behind him.

Looking behind, he saw the soldier look at him and began to point his arm at him his heart raced until he saw the head of the soldier being shot and collapse on the floor looking in the opposite direction, he could see Nis, she wielded a rifle and fired shots with extreme precision taking down several other soldiers she looked like a monolith of power her red eyes glowing like fire. Behind her several guards continued marching behind her, guns in hand helping in repelling the enemy soldiers. Spanning away from the awe Pane soon realised there were still threats around finally cocking the revolver, he aimed the heavy gun at the first soldier and opening fire the gun flew off his hand with him letting out a. “Yelp!” of surprise the shot seemed to miss he realised, as he soon hid from the gunfire going his way as he cowered he soon saw Nis walk past him looking to him she seemed to be without fear to his eyes returning to shooting as he rose up he saw the guards of her and herself together with a few other soldiers begin to drive back the attack. The bullets seemed to not even hit her or they seemed to ricochet when hitting her armour. After the loud bangs finally stopped he breathed easily as the violence finally ended.

He stared at her for a moment as she seemed amazing to himself, barely hearing a word she said as she talked with her second officer and began to walk back to the centre of the room past him. As they walked past him he soon shook his head realising, he needed to focus beginning to look for his mother again and walk around whispering for her mother in the returning crowds to work. Taking a look around he noticed the corpses and one seemed familiar a shiver ran down his spine as he began to approach some of the bodies being dragged until he saw her black her face covered in blood and gunshots he kneeled not being able to think straight. His heart felt like it had sunk into an abyss, and his eyes were heavy, barely able to be contained as tears began to fall down. He touched her arm holding it up like saying. “m-m-mooom!” He soon felt the world dissolve itself for a moment as he felt himself alone despite being surrounded by people his heart was like a boulder dragging him into an abyss. His soul felt hurt, and he raised his chin, sniffing and trying to find something else to focus on. 

His eyes focused on the war queen. Nis seemed busy making orders, and most of her guard had dispersed; she seemed close by as he swallowed tears he began cleaning his eyes and looking back again. His eyes widened as he could see a man standing next to her pulling from a coat another spherical weapon that seemed visible. He soon began to rush forward shouting. “Watch out!” Closing distance quite quickly either due to adrenaline or luck pushed the large man. The sphere seemed ancient technology as it bounced off the floor it soon began to glow as people began to run. Pane also ran as he heard the man shout in what seemed like a mechanical voice. “GLORY TO THE COUNCIL!”

Pane soon felt himself caught in the blast launching himself in the air and landing on the floor his ears ringing and his body aching in pain as soon as he recovered most of his senses, he felt tremendous pain looking down at his arm, he saw only it was torn off together with his right leg he soon screamed in pain. Laying down his head feeling weak and in pain as he looked up he saw the silhouette of Nis she looked at him shocked, and quickly unbuckled a belt shouting. “GRAB ME A SURGEON!” He soon felt the tourniquet pressure in his leg. “It hurts!” He screamed at her. “I know, stay with me, you are fine. Understood?” She replied holding his head, and a surgeon soon arrived saying. “Loss of blood, severe possible broken bones besides the missing limbs, I will try my best.” He soon began to apply a tourniquet to his arm as she looked at the boy feeling his heart being pressured, she soon heard a clicking sound with a small sigh, she turned around and grabbed the man’s arm, her mechanical arm breaking the arm on his hand before turning to a shotgun and pointing to his chest and firing sending the man back with the fire.

She panted with the adrenaline coursing through her veins she then said. “Check anyone else for traitors!” The guards saluted and began checking Pane looked in awe still holding to life, but soon he heard a voice mechanical yet deep and scary it laughed. “ha ha… What a nice show huh Nis?” Nis looked shocked, turning around to see the body was actually a robot she mumbled. “Impossible…” “Ah everything is possible…” The voice replied as a screen turned on and the silhouette of a man wearing cybernetics appeared, he soon said. “This little boarding action may have failed, but several more are coming. Time is gonna run out honey, and your resources are beginning to run out.” She seemed to chuckle at the comment. “Can’t believe I once slept with you…” “Ah please… under the bridge, I like our friendly games, but my co-workers in the council are becoming more irritated at this game of cat and mouse of ours. Especially as we consolidate the system.” Pane soon saw the man’s face as he leaned closer to the camera; he seemed as young as Nis, his eyes were green, his face had a bionic jaw, and one eye was cybernetic, leaving him looking well.

“So you wanna say a final goodbye?” She replied to him saying. “Yes a game ends well… you are the only one to survive the battle, and even with one-fourth of your forces, you are holding well. Well, good luck my love you were amazing.” He smiled and seemed about to reply. She soon shouted. “WAIT!” Pane looked, and she seemed to hesitate as he took a second look she sighed and said. “What… are your coworker's conditions for my surrender? If I am allowed to still reign in some of my lands.” “Are you willing to surrender after all this time?” He replied, rather shocked by his looks. Nis seemed to take a deep breath before saying. “Does it look like I have another choice, love?” He seemed to stare before typing something in a console as time held, the room still felt silent despite the crowd. Soon several other screens turned on nine in total, Pane could not see the others as a woman seemed to say as his consciousness seemed to fade in and out, the doctor attaching a blood bag to him. “So… you are willing to bow down to us, Winner of one hundred battles?” He heard before going to sleep.

Pane soon awoke feeling a bit dizzy. Yet he felt comfortable, something he never experienced much, his head resting on a pillow and his body on a bed. As he looked around, he soon saw Nis his eyes widened, and he took a deep breath that seemed to be heard as Nis turned to him. “You are awake…” She replied with a light smile her red eyes glowed as he stared, and the only words he could say were. “My queen… I…” “Don’t call me that where your parents are?” She replied, curious he looked down saying. “They are dead…” His heart felt pressed by a boulder as he remembered once again of the events that led him here, Nis meanwhile looked sad saying. “I failed you… I am sorry…” “You did not fail me…” He replied with a weak tone. She looked at him with a soft smile yet her face still looked sad, she then said to him. “I did… Don’t worry I... you will be in good hands.” She said tenderly, running her fingers through his hair. Pane felt comfortable for the moment, falling asleep again.

---

45 years later.

The elevator stopped as Pane stepped out, adjusting the clothes around his cybernetic right arm. His cybernetical leg felt tight, but it did not bother him much. He wore a suit that was well made, his hair was cut short and his beard was trimmed and grey due to his age. Walking towards the chamber, the guards saluted him entering the chamber, he could hear the humming of Nis saying. “My lady… I got the reports of the recent riots in Teyin colony.” As the doors closed, he approached, seeing Nis lose a lot of her age despite having the ancient tech to boost her vitality, she began to quickly age. The flower of her youth departed quite quickly almost 10 years ago as well, her skin had gained more wrinkles and her hair had lost all its colouration, her muscles withered from the days she used to be quite strong, her mechanical arm being the only thing that stayed the same, looking at him she sighed. “Anything bad son?” she asked him. “The reliance of the local governor on a few priests who believed the gate opening was a sign of the king's return caused severe unrest. But we managed to pacify it after approaching them with our guard.” he replied to her reading the report. She sighed sliding in her chair saying. “These days I just sit here… I feel choked…” “I think losing three-fourths of what you had to the council and managing to recover things so you kept two-fourths of the original deal is a good thing.” He replied with her chuckling saying. “Please don’t try to make it seem like settling into this new life is good.”

He soon shook his head saying. “On other news, remember your son?” “Which one of my twelve, excluding you of course.” She replied, he let out a small grunt before saying. “The one who wanted to prove himself to you and became a mercenary despite being your youngest.” She seemed unsurprised asking. “Urukatan? The boy? Let me guess, he got himself in trouble against someone he was hired that was too much to chew?” “Not quite but I believe it's close…” He replied with a light saying. “He has crossed the gate into another system from what I know he has accumulated a small bounty, including captives.” She seemed shocked. “Foolish boy… Why does he do that?” she looked annoyed asking it. “Well, it's hard to live under the shadow of a person of reputation, not only that but the tension between you and your children is a bit high so he wanting to do something that you would find pride in is probably something he wishes.” He replied to her with a scoff being uttered by her. “They still envy you?” She asked. “Sometimes.” he replied, with her rolling her eyes at the answer she then said. “Of course… Why do they always seem distant… Prepare to send a message to him. I don't want him to risk his life pursuing something foolish mission.” He gave a nod heading out she then said. “Oh and Pane…” “Yes?” he replied, turning around with her soon shaking her head saying. “Nothing, go ahead please…” He gave a nod leaving the room thinking. “Still a closed book, despite needing to be open.” The doors opened for him, and soon they closed behind him as he went to work.

---

Part III with @Sep
New Gift

---

Everything changed in pitch and fervour quickly, as everyone stood up and started rushing about packing everything away. The creature had called the ‘hoomans’ a bluff. Spoke of humanity, Disobedient Runt’s arm hung near the plasma pistol nervously, a bluff. The word was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.

Pathetically Lame, while physically limited. Was not limited mentally, and he figured it out first. He hissed as his mandibles flared and curled, showing his fangs, most of the guards that had been present were now gone. At the centre of the field where only moments ago there had been many different diplomats and the one Tainted. His hand twitched by his side, near his own pistol. ”You, lie?” Pathetically Lame practically spat the accusation.

The Tainted were many things, one thing they were not was liars. Among the many sins listed by their gods, lying was one of the worst. Not only was it a sin, it was dishonourable. Even with his one limp arm, he pulled the pistol from its holster and tossed it aside, as he drew out a smaller knife.

”Perhaps you are an inheritor of the Demons dishonour.”

The Shogun snatched the book back in haste, grunting in surprise as he grabbed hold of his mare’s hair at the sudden threat. The ever-loyal steed went on its hind legs and sent a ferocious kick towards Pathetically Lame, sending him to the ground in a heap.

“Fool.” Todayashi muttered, taking a glance at Disobedient Runt who was getting ready to start something equally as foolish as his superior. He let out a keen whistle and his samurai, already positioned on their steeds and making haste towards their lord, diverted a part of his guard to apprehend the other alien. A chimpanzee leapt off his bareback steed and made to grapple with the reptile.

Disobedient Runt, while smaller in stature, had a distinct advantage in combat over Pathetically Lame. All his limbs were fully functional, he managed to get a stray shot off before he was jumped. The bolt of plasma went wide off the mark, striking one of the aliens in the side. Searing flesh and burning hair was likely a non-fatal blow, especially under treatment. Though the creature would likely always sport a scar. Disobedient Runt grunted as the creature landed atop him, their limbs flailing and twisting as they crossed each other.

Disobedient Runt had the raw strength, however he lacked combat training and military discipline and was soon overwhelmed.

The first Legion outriders started to arrive with the commotion, APCs and tanks surrounding Neo Nippon as the first landship came into view, cannons bristling and drones deploying into the air. The shadow of the purple ship hovered resolute above them.

The Shogun needed to take quick actions to save his face. He bellowed over the engines and stamping hooves. “BROTHERS! WATCH THE SKIES AND THE VESSEL ABOVE! WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT THESE INTRUDERS WANT YET!”

The Legionnaires, unaware of the context of the scenario, deferred their questions for later and turned their attention to the ship above.

The Shogun pointed at Pathetically Lame, who was wheezing himself to a stand. Two more of his samurai went to pin him down, the flat-side of their blades drawn to his neck.

The engines of Neo Nippon roared in the background, tracks starting to roll backward in retreat from the chaos on its doorsteps. Would diplomacy win the day or will fire come to his city? The Shogun merely peered at the alien in front of him, the one who would decide the next moments.

“Your path forward means destruction, friend.” Todayashi explains, soothing his mare with gentle pats. “I apologise once again for the deception but please, realise the situation. In the far reaches of the cosmos, you may have had an advantage but your ship is within reach of cannon and missile here. Calm yourself, think with your head, or you will only live up to your name Pathetically Lame.”

Pathetically Lame wheezed as he tried to push himself to his feet, aliens jumped and grabbed at him as he snarled, the knife knocked out of his hand as he strained against the two beings holding him down. “Demon-Spawn!” He snarled and spat. ”You truly have no honour, you invite us here to lie, then when challenged you have your underlings fight your battles!” The chimps felt secure in holding the Alien.

That was until Pathetically Lame bent his neck over, and clamped down all of his mandibles on one of the creatures’ hairy arms. The chimp roared in pain, as he tore through flesh and sinew till he met bone. Twisting his head, he spat out hair, blood and flesh. Swinging his now free arm towards the jaw of the other chimp roaring in frustration and anger.

It wasn’t long before a new alien took the place of his wounded brother, a third held his head still to prevent him from taking another bite. ”Do you fear facing me yourself Demon-Spawn? Without your lies and deceit to save you.”

“Honour?” The Shogun muttered, as if to no one in particular. If he was the fiery sort, an ape who charged blindly and yelled “banzai” with a sword in paw, he may have answered this challenge. If this was any other Shogunate on New Gift, the Nameless’ response would have been met with fist and rabid teeth. But this Shogun, labelled overcautious by many of his equals, cowardly when out of earshot, could not see himself stoop to such a disgracefully overdone response.

“Friend.” Todayashi started, continuing to stroke his braying mare. “There is no honour in slaying innocent men, women and children. I can claim the same dishonour on your race hundreds of times over. ‘They all lay dead’, you said. Those are a murderer’s words, not that of an honourable warrior. My friend, I am merely attempting to save you and yours from the same fate.”

He raised and closed a paw. The samurai sent curled fists to the top of the Nameless’ heads, repeatedly, till their struggling halted.

While his guards secured their charges to their own steeds, the Shogun raised his gaze to the ship overhead. His other samurai had returned by now, a half-battalion of soldiers armed and ready. If he was anything like his predecessors, he would be charging into the fray, into the heat of the battle he sensed would come.

Instead, the cautious Shogun raised his voice to the Legionnaires around him. “Delay that ship at all cost, we have detainees for the Khan.”

The gorilla started his way in a gallop to the rumbling, retreating safety of Neo Nippon, followed by a stream of his personal guard and two helpless aliens.

---

A Legion captain stared incredulously at the fleeing warriors before snapping back to reality, sending out orders to his patrol.

“You heard the Shogun! C’mon baboons, secure a perimeter on the purple dildo in the sky lest the holy spirits decide to pierce your arses with it!”

Though the vessel resembled nothing like a human pleasure toy, this still elicited a few chuckles from the surrounding Legionnaires.The patrol vehicles went to a frenzied overdrive. They spread in a circle around the vessel, turrets pointed to the sky as armoured personnel carriers deposited Legionnaires bearing their own guns to the still purple ship.

The landship from which they deposited, officially termed a Cairo-class Mobile Drone Carrier, ran in a circle of a radius of two clicks around the vessel in the sky, a full broadside available at a moment’s notice. The dust kicked into the air by landships further afield signalled that backup was on the way. Its complement of Air Support Drones had already been deployed, its two squadrons split with one guarding the Shogun and the other zipping to Neo Nippon. Carnage could be wrought at any moment but under strict orders, they were not to fire first.

The spirits would look kindly upon their stayed paws and with the numerous cameras now pointed over the savannahs, it cannot be said that the Khanate did not try the laurels of diplomacy first.

For good measure, the Cairo-class beamed several quick communications to the ship above. To stand down, explain their underling’s hostility and to come talk as civilised peoples.

---

Relentlessly Reckless sat alone in the flight deck of the small scout ship. He didn’t panic when the audio feed from the planet surface started to change in pitch and tone. He wasn’t entirely sure what this ‘Shogun’ had offered Pathetically Lame, but it had earned him the name Demon Spawn. Before his spiritual ancestors had redeemed themselves by destroying the Demon city on the surface of their planet, that is what the Chosen had called the Tainted. That could only mean one thing, they were in league with humans.

He watched as best he could, as the fight progressively got worse. The Tainted weren’t warriors, and never got combat training. Pathetically Lame had done his duty in attempting to fight the beasts though ultimately it was a futile gesture. More demon spawn arrived, small craft surrounded the ship. He felt it quake in anticipation for whatever was going to happen next. He put a hand on the controls trying to sooth it, as various voices in various languages came through the communications station.

Relentlessly Reckless ignored it all, watching as his two comrades were rendered unconscious and dragged away unceremoniously. A low grumble came forth from his throat, to die at the hands of demons, he shuddered. There was no worse fate.

Slapping a hand on the communications he opened a frequency to all the local craft. ”On the final day, the Daughters and Sons of the Chosen realised their true purpose-” He moved his hand over to the weapons console, his long fingers playing over it as systems heated up and became live. ”-Long had they waded through the dark and murky waters-” He selected his targets. The cluster of aliens who surrounded his comrades primarily, though he threw in a couple of extra for the guns that couldn’t make that shot. ”-uniting together, they brought the light back to the world-”

Plasma spewed from points all over the ship. Multiple shots, roaring as it shot alone. It tore through his brothers and the apes surrounding them, turning them to ash. The shots splashed up, catching others who unluckily were standing nearby. The targeted vehicles he hit found their outer metal hulls molten and red hot, as the plasma burned through.

Frustratingly, these infernal Demon Spawn had spread themselves from a clustered mass of filth to a loosely arranged formation. His comrades were struck down, their captors melting in heaps of plasma-sizzling flesh but the rest of the entourage fled away to the safety of their moving habitation. He swore that the lead Demon Spawn gazed back at him through the console with a hatred that only a Demon could summon.

Before Relentlessly Reckless could shut those anger-filled eyes forever, his vessel came under cannon and missile fire. Those pesky drones strafed the bio-ship, opening up bleeding chasms in the ship’s structural body. The far-away landship spewed massive shells which brought deep scars, one of these striking through to the engines. The vessel began to spin slowly to the ground as the smaller vehicles scrambled out of the path of the listless craft, still firing their incessant guns to carve more canyons through the flesh of his vessel.

Relentlessly Reckless selected as many targets as he could, the vessel began to shake under incoming fire. It screamed in his mind, the pain intolerable. Yet its will stood resolute, as did his own. -”and Honour back unto themselves”

Flesh bubbling from the sheer heat, the Nameless pilot experienced severe agony for mere moments till he lost his senses. The overwhelming firepower of the Demon Spawn had brought the ship into a simmering, unrecognisable pile on the savannah floor.

And thus, here laid Relentlessly Reckless, in a flesh-coffin made by his betters, content that he made appropriate sacrifice. Having brought death to the Demon underlings, he allowed himself, for once in his pathetically short life, to smile in pure joy. Pure, unfiltered, unadulterated joy.

---

Great Ulaanbaatar

---

”Replay that message once more.”

The Shogun kept his eyes planted firmly on the jade before him. Though no one but him, his liege and his enormous guards were present, he had to follow proper procedure. He ignored his trembling hearts, nearly going into cardiac arrest with the terror flowing through his veins. He had to repress the pool of anger welling in his stomach, listening to the alien prayer echoing through the chambers.

He had been so close to reaching his pinnacle, to experience the relief of finally proving his naysayers wrong. Instead, all Todayashi could foresee from here was exile or death. If this had ended in any other way, he could have spun these events in his favour. Alas, it was not to be.

The silence after the recording played was so thick you could cut it with a knife. It near-strangled him, before his liege’s voice cut through it like butter.

”You greatly erred in not relaying these events directly to me, Tokugawa. When your father picked you from the trees, he told me he saw in you a worthy successor. You have only proven how wrong he was.”

All because of him, his father’s reputation lay in the dirt. Todayashi merely bowed further, forehead touching the cool ground.

“I am yours to use as you see fit, my Khan. Please, oh benevolent Khan, forgive this one’s errors. Let me restore my honour and festoon the ground in my useless entrails.”

All because of him, he had to beg for forgiveness, for light sentences given to his subjects and soldiers. There was a shifting in the cloth pillows, a cackle resounding through the air as the Herald danced over his would-be grave.

”Alas, it seems, that despite all the mistakes you made that day, that this can still be spun in our favour. Your city-state will be dismantled, your subjects sent to other Shogunates further afield. But you, Caesar-kin, will encounter these beings once more and you will use their blind hatred of the humans to our advantage.”

All because of him, his lineage would be struck down and made anew. His subjects would be spread across the Khanate and have to, under threat of death, make do in other inferior realms.

There was a clutter of an object falling and rolling on the ground. A scroll knocked against his forehead, never rising from the ground it was glued to.

”Rise, foolish ape, and read your new mission. This will be your new fate. Let these intruders come once more and treat them. Do not reveal our connection with the Demons they hate so much. Instead, send their hatred elsewhere, where enemies can strike each other down without realising the tune they are being played to.”

All because of him, he had to endure this eternal shame. Todayashi unrolled the scroll on the ground, eyes scanning the document. His twin hearts beat like drums in his ears.

”Send them to the jungles. There, they will meet Demons and their Demon Spawn that they hate so much. I want the fires in their bellies to direct themselves to our enemies and you, and your ashamed samurai, will guide them to the pits of hell. To your original home.”

A map stared back at him. All because of him, he and his loyal samurai had been given their final resting place. Todayashi knew it in his bones. The equatorial jungles, where Caesar and his ilk remain. Where, to the Khanate’s eternal shame, unguided humans frolicked in their own inadequacy, under the guise of supposed freedom. A place which would burn in plasma and hellfire, an inferno which he knew would grow into a full-on war not seen on New Gift since ages past.

All because of him, death and destruction would begin once more in the grounds of his forsworn homeland. Tears flowed and stained the scroll he clutched tightly in his paws, even as he was dragged away from the inner sanctum.

All because of him, a long forgotten, prospering community would be brought under heel. Led by none other than an orphaned ape, taken from the clutches of his mother much too soon. Foggy memories flooded through his brain, of trees and intelligent reptiles, of free apes, of happy misshapen humans, of times past.

All because of him, these memories would be replaced by bloodstained blades and raining plasma.

All because of him.

Alexander walks through the meandering, close-knit streets of Acerbus' capital, a veritable ghost, dressed in a dark robe and a polished bone-and-shell mask that makes him featureless. He tries to avoid the groups of other pedestrians, keeping himself close to the walls of the high, heavy stone buildings that tower up on either side of the path. He strains his neck to look at the sky, dark yellow in the glory of an evening that never ends, searching for something. His astronomy fails him; he can't quite locate it. He sighs and reminds himself that this is not a place for star-gazing. The City of Walking Earth is a place for getting lost.

Before he gets lost himself, he stops at a familiar corner and waits.

"Hey," says a voice behind him at last.
"Seraphine," says Alexander, looking stubbornly back up at the sky rather than turning around.
"We're not close enough to Night to see the Gateway," Seraphine says, correctly.

Alexander points up at a narrow patch of sky, choked between two competing circulus towers.

"Do you think that's it?" he asks. "It kind of looks like there's a light there. See it?"

Seraphine never wears a mask or a veil if she can help it, and has the splotches on her face to show for it. He can see her squint at the yellow with impatience. "No," she answers, "I think you just pointed at a random spot."

"Yeah," lies Alexander, who had really convinced himself there was a light.

They walk together under a shared umbrella, even though both of them are wearing waterproofed clothes and the rain is light this hour. All the oversized drains dug into the cobblestone, made by city-planners who were thinking of the kind of abusive downpours and flash floods that can wash a child away, swallow it up easily. It seems to become later in the day as they approach Ombra Town, a squat little neighborhood that lives in a false night created by the shadows that cast down from larger buildings. It was purely residential until the asteroid rush shook everything up, and now it is halfway transformed into a mess of local, struggling business run out of badly renovated houses. The owners sell out of their dining rooms and sleep in rooms full of stock.

"You're from here?" Seraphine asks, in the same tone she would use to ask if he was sick.
"I'm from what this place was," says Alexander. "Remember, you came by a few times and saw me. The little blue house."
"Is she still around?"
"Only as an ancestor. I spoke to her digitized spirit today."

They are descending into Ombra, the cobblestones are becoming rough and weary under their boots.

"Any luck?"
"None, cousin," answers Alexander. "She's still the same. Dying didn't make her kinder."
"I'm sorry. We would've taken you into our circulus, but-" says Seraphine, and Alexander interrupts:
"It's okay. Mother made sure I was alright here." He is lying again.
"I'm a seer," she offers, awkwardly shifting the heavy bag at her shoulder. "I could try to reach her soul for you, on the other side of the veil, if her spirit is still unchanged on this side."
"No." He says it flatly.

It looks to be very late in the evening as they walk into the shade of dirty buildings. From somewhere, a waft of incense. The grandest lights here are spotlights drilled into the cobblestone by low-class entrepreneurs, pointed at their signage. Ada's Nursery and Giftshop or Golden Fleece Allocated Here - Certified Diako! But most of the buildings are still homes, and most of them are in bad shape.

"It'd be so weird not to have a circulus," says Seraphine, without thinking.
"This is where we live when we don't," says Alexander.
"They can't afford anything better?"
"When was the last time you could buy anything good without your family treasury backing it up?"
Never ever is the answer, but she doesn't confess it.

The have arrived at their destination. A dilapidation among dilapidations, a crumbling home that smells like Acerbian Mold even from the outside. It chokes the air. There is no wood to rot in the rain on Acerbus, but a creeping, sticky, wet purple moss has filled up every crack in the home's dark bricks and shattered stones and crumbling bone and grotesque shell. The windows are broken in and shattered glass reflects the little light there is. Within, it is completely dark; it is midnight. It's a little blue house.

"You have everything with you?" asks Alexander, looking for the first time directly at the bag Seraphine carried.
"Yes," she says. "I can cleanse this place. You'll feel better after, cousin. You'll forget."
"I'll do it myself," he says. "I looked up how."
Her eyebrows are two marks of disbelief. "You're not allowed. I mean, legally, you can't. You're not a seer."
"And I'm not in your circulus, either," Alexander says.
"You don't need to be in my circulus for me to cleanse a house for you..."

Through the holes of his featureless mask, he stares at her.

"Oh," says Seraphine. "Oh." She frowns but she doesn't argue. The bag is passed into Alexander's hands. Inside: sage, a mirror, a statue of Christ the Healer to leave behind. Each of them tools to kill the memory.

Seraphine stands outside as Alexander goes into the house alone. He told her she could go, he'd give the stuff back to her when he comes by in a few days, but she's waiting for him until he's finished. Standing in the Ombra Town street by herself, now she can feel the stinging pollen on her face, and the dampness that works its way into your clothes no matter what you wear, and how uneven and awkward the stones are beneath her feet. All things you never seem to notice when you're in company.





The Acerbian dome is a strange place.

Acerbians touched down on Mars at the recommendation of Hallowed Oscaro, fidel and first Acerbian diplomat through the Gateway. And then he watched. While ships crashed at the Moon and Ceres was colonized and Earth was harassed, the people of Acerbus had taken it in silently, observing without speaking. A raider up in the trees or a submarine under the ocean- take your pick of metaphor.

But Acerbian warriors and clergy alike know that patience becomes foolishness when practiced for too long. When the message broadcasted from the newly-founded "Meeting Place," Hallowed Oscaro was able to persuade the Temple Gathering (they were in regular, if time-delayed contact) to approve his plan. If he'd been under a particular domain, he might have been able to talk his executor or revelator into action much sooner; but to Oscaro's constant frustration, he was under the clergy-bureaucracy of the Temple itself, and that meant slow, ponderous decisions. A domain, an isle, could act rashly, send its ships to raid or trade. The Temple Gathering acted slowly. A wise man cautiously considering his ways or a confused old priest- take your pick of metaphor.

The Acerbian transports landed drunkenly in the low gravity. Awkward, never equipped for a terrestrial world other than Acerbus or its moons. The necessary thruster output of the first transport proved to be just a little underestimated, and touchdown was rough. Clouds of cold red dust and the swearing of engineers signaled their arrival.

They were shocked to see the appearance of their hosts, but less so than one might have expected. Few of them knew what a monkey looked like. The moonsuited Acerbian warriors who helped bring in equipment, assisted somewhat by automation, readily assumed the apes they saw were mutated humans, not unlike like themselves. "Some have fur and some have fins, eh?" was the comment one former raider, a Marinus, made to a passing ape. Only Oscaro and a very small handful of others had really began to guess at what the Khanate's message had meant by "apes and humans alike." Only the most educated knew what apes were, after all. But they would cross that bridge when they got to it.

For now, the Acerbians have established themselves in one of the domes of the Meeting Place. Though it is an environment nothing like their homeworld, they have brought home along with them. Aquatic lifeforms native to Acerbus, so often shelled and tentacled, and disturbingly intelligent for animals, live in tall tanks which decorate the walls. The lighting is behind them, so it distorts through the water and washes out the dome in an "underwater" atmosphere. A deep and fairly large meditation pool, hastily constructed, sits proudly in the center area of the dome, open to foreigners. Acerbus may well take credit for the first public pool on Mars. Their gray and orange banner has been moved into the central dome, placed just to the right of the Khanate's.

A soft colonization of the prayer rooms has already been attempted. There is, of course, just one alcove which has clearly been claimed for Revelationism: three small statues of the Mothers are shoved awkwardly into the place and tapestry has been hung with images of the Brothers. But they have also stationed a missionary to remain there and interact with those of other faiths entering or leaving the rooms, and especially to seek out those who look to be in an emotionally distressed state. With hope, they may be brought into the Unflinching Starlight- and made to see.





Information flying through the void. A message sent between two worlds which have never spoken. Technology to make five centuries of separation a gap crossed in a few electronic pings. Beatrice will never cease to be amazed by these things.

She stands in a smoothly metallic but furnished room aboard the transport vessel, a little alcove where a foreign transmission they have just received was routed to. The code-speakers asked her where she wanted them to send "the message," and she chose this place. The quietest spot on the ship. Two other missionaries are crammed in with her, eyes all staring expectantly at the place where they were told the hologram would be projected. It's a little iron dais, a foot in diameter, decorated with carvings of phantasms and trickster gods. They've all seen devices like that before. Certainly, none of them have seen a foreigner.

It takes a moment for the signal to come through. Over comms in her earpieces, she hears code-speakers chatter about making it "talk" to their technology, though Beatrice does not know what they mean. Seconds pass. A minute passes. Tension. And then, slowly-

A flicker of light above the dais is joined by more flickers of light, seeming to move, twist and intertwine with one another, gaining color and form as they mingle until they have created...

"Greetings travelers," says the hologram, which is now of a winged woman. "I am the Angel Miriam, Guide and Protector of the Chosen, speaker for Deacon To'plir. Should you be God-Chosen, you are welcome however, be warned. This system has been cleansed of all Demons before, and we will not hesitate to do so again."

"Angel?" exclaims Beatrice. Her mouth hangs open- until she remembers that the angelic figure represented in the hologram should also be able to see her, wherever it is at, and her composure returns to her. She takes a moment to process the mythology dancing in lights on the dais. "We... are surely god-chosen, as you say, 'Angel Miriam.' Chosen by all the gods. By Woden, by Zeus, by Vishnu, by the Mothers and Brothers. By the wind of all the spirits good and bad, by angels and demons, we have come. So always does one who has Revelation and walks with a foot in the world of spirit. But what are you?"

Cries Relentlessly closed his eyes, he allowed the weightlessness to hold him. He wore a modified version of the combat harness that the warriors wore. This one had propulsion nodes sticking out of his back, magnetic locking boots and gloves and the helmet encased his head, giving him a steady supply of air for about eight hours. Unless he carried a reserve supply or was topped off.

While dismantling a demon temple on the second moon, he had fallen and broken his leg. It had never healed properly, and as such it caused him constant pain and discomfort. Except when he was enjoying the weightlessness of the void. This was why he accepted this post. The lack of gravity agreed with him. He shone his small beacon down through another open panel, his jaws twisting in frustration at the burn marks on the wall.

The warriors who had taken this ship had been overzealous, to say the least. They had damaged many of the useful circuits and pathways that they required to fit their ships with communication and sensor equipment. The information left behind by the Gods, and translated by Miriam was vast and taught them much. They could grow ships and weapons. However, some systems still had a hard time understanding enough to replicate them by themselves. That is why they gathered all the unholy relics and deposited them here, deep in space and far away from the planet.

This was where the Tainted spent their days trawling through the burnt hulks of demon warships, passing racks of both large and small munitions. Despite his training, many of these relics held little significance for him. He turned and shone a light passed the large, open, door behind him. In the centre of this 'safe-room' sat a large pile of what the ship's computer and historical documents had called 'currency' or 'money'. The demons didn't barter for goods, instead, they arbitrarily assigned value to little 'credit chips', which they then exchanged for goods and services.

It sounded truly barbaric. Shaking his head, he pushed himself away from the wall. Closing his eyes as he drifted through the hallways of the ship. This must be how the spirits felt on their way through the void. He never got tired of this feeling, many Tainted came and spent their time here before moving on. Not him. Since he had come here twelve years ago this had been his home. No one else knew these demon relics better than he did.

{Breaker!}

He opened his eyes at the call. Breaker was the name that many here had taken to calling him. A sign of respect, bestowed upon him by the Shipmistress who protected these grounds from those who would hamper their work, as well as managing any combat drills that utilised the alien husks. Before him, in a plain white suit was a younger brother.

{What is it, Enthusiastically Incorrect?}

{I was told to find you straight away, we were searching in the weapons array as you instructed, and we found something}

The youngster didn't wait for a response and turned and fired his jets back the way he came. Cries Relentlessly sighed and fired his own. The young very often had no patience. He had seen many come through the boneyard, and they were always eager to prove themselves. There were no shortcuts to be taken here, the demons technology was tricky and often had traps built into them. The younger brother stopped before a doorway, that looked thicker than the one that held the demons currency. It was interlaced with various hatches and locks, and a large yellow circle sat in the middle of the round door. Three black blades emanated from a central black circle.

The demon sign for radiation. This wasn't the reactor, Cries Relentlessly had been the one to dismantle it personally. No, this was something else. He tried to go over the floorplan of the ship in his mind, based on everything else he had ever come across.

Enthusiastically Incorrect extended a palm towards the door controls.

{Wait!}

The younger turned to face him, flexing his jaws in contemplation, his hand hovered mere centimetres from the control panel. {Why, what is this place?}

Cries Relentlessly sighed, and with some degree of confidence looked the younger creature straight in the eyes. {The weapons battery.}

---

The whole place stank of piss and shit. Anders crawled underneath a half-open door. A ticket on the door said that it had broken four hundred days ago. It was on his to-do list, he grunted as he reached back and pulled his toolbag underneath the door before bringing himself back to his feet. There were more important things to worry about in the meantime, such as contact day. To achieve contact day, he had to go outside and fix the antenna. He only had three days. Dragging his tools along the corridor, others grunted and nodded in greeting as he walked passed towards the end of the hallway.

He felt a tug at his waist, groaning and rolling his eyes slightly he turned to see Jason. "Where you goin' boss?"

Anders voice was hoarse and cracked. He pulled a cigarette out from his top pocket and put it in his mouth, the end was worn and the colour faded from the amount of times he had it in his mouth. He didn't go for his lighter, instead he just held it in his mouth. Unwillingly to lose one of his precious few last cigarettes. "Outside."

Jason nodded his head and went to grab the toolbag. Ready to fill in his usual role as apprentice. Anders just raised the bag higher out of his reach. "No. You stay inside, I'll go." The young boy furrowed his brow.

"Why?"

"Because I said."

"Contact day is important."

"It is, but you're not ready-" Anders pointed towards the door that he had just had to crawl under. "-Go fix that." Jason rolled his eyes and groaned as he threw his head back.

"UGH, a door?"

"Get on with it." Anders turned and didn't pay Jason anymore notice, walking towards the airlock. Contact Day was far too important, he couldn't have a kid messing him up. They only powered up communications once every 305 days, out of fear that the aliens would find them. Not many ships remained, every time contact day came around fewer and fewer ships responded.

They were a dying race, and there was nothing they could do.

---

"We... are surely god-chosen, as you say, 'Angel Miriam.' Chosen by all the gods. By Woden, by Zeus, by Vishnu, by the Mothers and Brothers. By the wind of all the spirits good and bad, by angels and demons, we have come. So always does one who has Revelation and walks with a foot in the world of spirit. But what are you?"

It took a frustratingly long time for Miriam to connect to the alien vessel to get some form of visual telemetry back from the ship. In reality, it was seconds, but for someone with her perception of time that may as well have been years. Woden, Zeus, Vishnu. They were terms she recognised, they were on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't place them. Her holographic wings shuddered and shook as she noticed to whom she was speaking. These beings, these strange visitors to their world were humans. Demons.

The hologram of Miriam shook, glitching out and then split into two. One half of it turned to the other and placed a hand on its chest. Seemingly cause it to freeze.

”You cannot be here. You must leave.”

Meanwhile back on the ship talons curled, as the Deacon watched the screen as the strange vessels continued to push into the system. {Miriam, what is going on?} A copy of the AI avatar of Miriam appeared on the holographic projector, stretching slightly. Looking up directly into the Deacons eyes, not that she had to being a holographic representation of a being without an actual physical body.

{Unclear. I have made contact, however I can no longer communicate with myself.} The Deacon stood up walking closer to the dias, she tried hard to conceal her concern. In all the years she had worked with the Angel, she had never known Miriam to lose contact with herself. Especially with such a small distance between points. She couldn’t allow anyone to steal the angel away from them, but they had never encountered someone with that capability.

{Shipmistress.} The Shipmistress Al’nok turned, her tall frame moving with an elegance one wouldn’t expect from a creature of that size.

{Yes Deacon?”}

{Prepare the boarding craft} Things were now in motion, should Miriam be unable to regain contact with herself, they would go in with their holy wrath and bring her back.

---

Great Ulaanbaatar

---

One might question the bareness of the expansive city, nary a wall seen by observers from the sky. Nothing stood taller than two stories outside the fortress-complex of the Khan. Its dull, monochromatic architecture of beige-brick, solar-panelled squat buildings and featureless plazas were not designed by any creative simian. Metal carts wheeled by merchants from all over the Khanate were the only source of life and noise here, selling wares and textiles coming from every corner of the planet. Aside from these great market-squares, the capital seems barren, a messenger ape here, a guard patrol there. It was a quiet city, one of the few permanent structures in New Gift outside of the monasteries.

And indeed, as gilded eyes gazed across barren concrete, short buildings and vast yet empty streets, Orda Khan-Khuu was very much in the questioning mindset. He, unlike Ögedei, knew the Steppe. He had crushed the Confederacy, shattered the skies of rebelling city-states, razed tribal settlements to the ground. He had walked along Aurag’s thoroughfares, where the skyscrapers shone with colour from apartment blocks and vertical farms, and seen the thousands of faces staring down at a procession centered around the regal might of the Soyulani.

Its residents were equally as strange. Scarred, all of them, born from years of service to the Legion. Armed at all times, quiet and reserved, dressed in sand-coloured fatigues with all the individuality of a rock. They had keen eyes and twitching fingers, seemingly aware of all threats at all times of day. This was a city that never slept but for different reasons.

There were no children here, no laughter echoing between the streets. The joy seemed to have been sucked out of the entire capital. There was nothing else but soldiery and cannon, veterans and batteries, killers and blades. Every intersection is a killzone, every street visible from the high towers of the Khan’s home, a marksman’s dream city. Landships, herculean things of metal and guns, were parked all around the city, the too-wide streets making perfect paths for them to trundle upon.

To the skies pointed cannon and missiles, countless artillery emplacements dotted around the city. Both voidborne and atmospheric drones stood idle both inside and outside the city proper, in airfields kilometers long or landships that acted as drone carriers. Anything without clearance would be shot down or captured without warning.

Great Ulaanbaatar required no walls. Its residents and maze-like architecture were enough to resist the toughest of armies.

It was not a city. It was a hundred kilometer wide fortress and in the middle, stood the only thing worth of note across this featureless, barren place.

The Khan’s halls.

An ancient looking, Mongolic-Chinese castle raised upon a hill in the centre of the city. Resplendent in jade and studded with jewels of all sorts, painted in red and gold, banners of the Khanate flying in the sharp winds of the steppes. A golden horse in a sea of red. A testament to the war that raised the Khan from a mere ape to the greatest power in this land.

It all felt a tad ridiculous. Orda paused for a moment to examine the structure - its parapets and towers, its glittering walls and the banners snapping in the breeze. He snorted but said nothing, instead merely picking up the pace to catch up with Galilei, his followers hurrying to catch up with their liege.

Passing through a labyrinth of guard checkpoints, gardens and menageries, guest houses and armouries, a sea of eyes watching your every step, any incoming guests would then stand in front of the gate to the Khan’s inner sanctum. A domed building, thick concrete and reinforced steel obvious to all, cannons jutting out in regular intervals, a pair of Legion watchmen standing resolute in front of the thick steel gate. Watchmen who, in perfect synchrony, smashed through the silence of the city with bellowing voices.

“WHO STANDS BEFORE THE KHAN? WHO DARES TO SET FOOT IN HIS INNER SANCTUM?”

President Galilei, shifting his eyes to the smirking ever-confident Orda next to him, shuffled to the front of the humans he was escorting. A drip of sweat fell from his forehead, smudging some of the powder on his face. He would later blame the midday sun beating down on him and not the myriad guns directly pointed at his person. He bowed, as is proper, voice filled with confidence and poise he could not claim to be true.

“It is I, President Galilei of the Freemen, escorting envoys of the White Horde of the Khaganate led by Orda Khan-”

“AND WHO IS ORDA, WHO CLAIMS TO BE KHAN? FOR THERE IS ONLY ONE KHAN UNDER THE RED SUN, ONLY ONE KHAN WHO CONQUERED ALL, ONLY ONE KHAN WHO STOOD VICTORIOUS IN THE WAR TO END ALL WARS, ONLY ONE KHAN WHOSE LINEAGE STRETCHES FIVE CENTURIES! WHO IS THE PRETENDER, THE HUMAN, SUBORDINATE TO ANOTHER, WHO FINDS HIMSELF ON THE KHAN’S DOORSTEP, CLAIMING TO BE KHAN?”

Galilei shuffled awkwardly in his cotton clothes, bringing a paw to his collar to relieve the tightness he felt. What response will Orda give to the bellowing guards, a pair of gorillas that stood taller than any he had ever seen, challenging the human who dared to call himself Khan.

He beckoned him forward.

The Khan-Khuu of the White Horde stepped forward, adorned in a white deel that practically hurt to look at, so unnecessarily bright was it. Spreading his arms wide, long sleeves dramatically swinging to and fro, he offered the barest incline to both his head and waist - a bow with absolutely zero respect behind it. He rose back up to his full height, puffing his lips out to show a flash of pure white teeth… But did not say anything in response.

Instead, a steward who looked legitimately terrified at everything that he had seen so far, nervously unravelled the customary synth-silk scroll and, after one or two coughing false starts (which earned him dagger-like glares from his liege), began to speak.

“HAIL, AND ALL RESPECT TO YOU, WHO SERVE THE KHAN OF NEW GIFT, WHO HAS GENEROUSLY ACCEPTED PARLEY WITH HIS MOST TERRIBLE MAJESTY ORDA KHAN-KHUU, ELDEST SON OF THE LATE KHAGAN TEMÜJIN, THIRD OF HIS NAME, LEADER OF THE WHITE HORDE, SOVEREIGN OF KUARA, CRUSHER OF THE CONFEDERACY OF ITÜGEN, BREAKER OF THOSE WHO FORSWEAR OATHS, SKY-SHATTERER, LORD OF FIRE AND STEEL, SABER OF TENGRI, THE UNVANQUISHED.” He finally let out a small breath, face having turned somewhat pale at having to bellow out the full introduction.

“AS A SIGN OF GOOD WILL, HIS MAJESTY OFFERS YOU GIFTS FROM THE SYSTEM OF TENGRI, FROM THE WHITE HORDE, AND FROM THE KHAN’S OWN BAATAR OGTUR.” Letting the scroll roll itself back up, he took a half-step back and bowed deeply towards first Orda and then the Khan himself, before the various baser servants that had accompanied the group moved forward.

A dizzying variety was on display here. A wooden bowl, intricately carved with galloping horses, filled with dark, glinting bismuth chits. An engraved platinum jug that softly sloshed as it was brought forward, a bolt of synth-silk that even now couldn’t decide on a single colour, shifting and changing with every step, every change in the light that struck it. A traditional saber, handle embedded with diamonds and wrought in gold, the imperial Soyombo itself stamped into the metal just above the hilt.

“THESE ARE BUT THE CHOICEST OF GIFTS, HAND-PICKED BY HIS MAJESTY ORDA HIMSELF, SO THAT THE KHAN MAY SEE THE WEALTH OF TENGRI. MORE AWAITS IN ORBIT, SHOULD THE KHAN ACCEPT THESE.”

Silence followed, broken only by attendants who took the gifts with gentle paws, repeated thanks uttered under their breaths. Their questions unanswered, the two watchmen glanced at each other before breaking out in equally flashing grins. As one, they shouted to the heavens, voice projecting across the entirety of the Khan’s halls, the very ground reverberating from the impossibly loud volumes they projected. Enhanced lungs and larynxes no doubt.

“INDEED HIS MAJESTY ORDA KHAN IS VERY GENEROUS! OPEN THE GATES AND ALL WHO ARE NOT CHOSEN TO BE, NOT DESTINED TO BE, NOT DIVINED TO BE KHAN MUST GROVEL BEFORE HIS FEET OR BE CUT DOWN.”

The gates rumbled, shaking the dust which accumulated on its centuries-old facade and opened to the party in front of them. Galilei motioned at the Khaganate party to come to all-fours, skipping over Orda who seemed to stand with everlasting smugness. He proceeded to rest on his own knuckles, head bowed in deference as he began the slow crawl into the room in front of them.

What greeted them was a dark, circular hall bathed in the red light of the sun, its rays shining through the kaleidoscope glass in its ceiling. An array of large-bore cannon pointed to the party on the walls, statues - no, impossibly large gorilla guards standing resolutely near these cannons, heads taller than the watchmen outside. The President openly gawked at these giants, standing larger than the elephants of his own menageries. As the gleaming red eyes of their visors landed on him, he quickly shifted his gaze to the jade path in front of him.

A murmur from the Tengri delegation followed, Orda’s poor steward going an even paler shade of off-white as his eyes darted between the figures. Orda, for his part, said nothing, even as he tried to take in the size of these behemoths practically.

Golden-inlaid wooden pillars held the roof above, no doubt supported by reinforced steel and other composites. The walls were engraved with gold and jade carvings of numerous tales, centuries old stories from the War to End All Wars, brutal scenes of violence proudly displayed. Surrounding a circular raising in the centre were dozens of kneeling dignitaries and attendants dressed in a myriad of formal costumes. They all had their heads bowed, pointing their gazes to the ground despite the foreign party entering the inner sanctum.

In the centre was a veil of silk and thinly weaved gold, displaying a translucent image of the Khanate’s banner. Behind it was the Khan’s silhouette, a seemingly ordinary orangutan whose own form was masked by the throne. The seat of the Khan extended to the ceiling, a visage of pure gold and myriad jewels, a gaudy, almost offensive facade which rippled in the red light.

It was hardly befitting of a Khan, if Orda was being honest. This preening, this hiding in the shadows and behind veils, keeping oneself buried so deep inside a fortress that only the most able of sycophants could ever see your face… It was not the way of Tengri. It was not the way of the Steppe.

Galilei paused halfway to the throne, lifting his head from the jade path.

“Oh terrible, benevolent Khan, my dearest friend. I have come with guests.” He spared another glance at Orda who remained at the front of his entourage, the only being which dared to stand in this chamber. The red eyes in the dark, towering over them all, did not phase his confidence even as imaginary daggers followed his every step.

The Khan’s silhouette shifted behind the veil, giving the impression of one leaning forward in interest. With privilege given to only a few, Galilei kept his head up and met the gaze of his old partner. A Herald, its cybernetic implants clearly connected to the throne itself, made themself known as they sauntered to the front of the veil. The tube which connected itself to the throne reverberated and shone with a red light. The Khan-son began to speak in a lucid tone, eyes half-lidded, a dull smile on his face.

”Indeed, friend. You have come with interesting guests. Humans, not our own but those from the stars. Claiming to parley and treat with us yet threatening our lands and system all the same. Despite this, in my benevolence, I offer them the airag of my most precious mare.”

The Herald raised his paw and the sea of apes surrounding them shifted as one. One of the red-eyed monstrosities loped forward in heavy steps, each placement of their gargantuan feet accompanied by the very earth shaking as if in fear. In the dark red lighting of the room’s centre, the armoured gorilla-thing became clearer and clearer.

Impossibly large, bedecked in steel-facade armour of unknown style, of pistons and wires, appearing as if an automaton. Except an automaton did not have lungs; the thing’s breaths sounded like drums to Galilei’s ears. It looked gargantuan once it stood before the Khaganate party, red eyes glaring down at all who dared to be in his liege’s inner sanctum. Its muscular form was apparent even through the armour, its thick neck bare to the world, a gothic style STORMBACK, unreadable to Orda, tattooed across its throat.

The tray it held between two fingertips appeared comically small. Unbecoming of such a large beast, the thing gently handed the platter to the President’s awaiting paws before heading back to its place on the walls. The attending apes shifted back to their places, heads bowed the entire time.

On the platter were cups of white airag, alcoholic horse milk, which Galilei distributed to all of the Khaganate humans with haste, beckoning them to stand. For more than a few, especially the shaking steward from before, the ape had to pull them to their feet to take hold of their drink. He gave the final cup to Orda who remained staring at the veil in front of them.

Once he was done, the Herald shook violently in ecstasy, the dull smile spreading across his face to become a full on grin.

”Take a drink humans, and announce your proposals.”

The silhouette raised his own cup in greetings before downing the entire drink in one audible gulp, exaggeratingly slamming the finished cup on the throne’s armrests. The sound echoed in the chamber as, with a final clang, the gate shut behind them.

Orda raised up his own cup of airag, and with a respectful nod towards the silhouetted figure, brought it to his lips, tossing back the whole cup’s content in one go. It was… Thicker, and less creamy than the Khaganate’s own arkhi, with a smooth, mild tang of alcohol that gave a limited but still pleasant warmth as it rolled down. Not bad.

“In return, Khan of New Gift, I hope that you will in turn accept a gift of my own clan’s arkhi, churned to exacting specifications aboard the Batuur Ogtur.” He gestured across to the ape that had taken the platinum mug from his own courtiers, holding out the cup he had just drained for it to be filled.

“Should we drink together, then we can begin.”

The atmosphere tensed, like a muscle straining and ready to release all of its kinetic energy. Galilei stilled and turned, grey eyes burning wildly with incredulity.

“You fool, no mortal has ever seen the Khan since his ascension, let alone drink with him-!”

”Drop the veil.”

It was instantaneous with the shift of obscuring silk falling to the ground. Paws were lifted from the ground and covered unworthy eyes, every sycophant in attendance taking any opportunity possible to not gaze at the Khan. The wall mounted cannons shifted to the crowds, promising to turn any foolish enough to shift their eyes to the Khan into a red paste. As one, the sentinels about-turned with an echoing thump. Even Galilei dropped to the ground, prostrating himself with the unveiling of his liege.

The courtiers surrounding Orda did the same. Prostration before the Great Khagan had waxed and waned as a practice, but all were familiar with the concept. By the time the sentinels had turned, the only person still left standing in the room was Orda, who had planted himself firmly, but not aggressively to his place.

The first thing of notice, and it was hard to ignore, was the sheer magnanimity of the throne. It was just as gaudy and obtuse as it seemed behind the veil, the cushions which made the seat were made of red cloth embroidered with gold and jade. Only the Herald remained standing, still writhing in forced ecstasy, the cylindrical tube revealed to be connected to some contraption to the back of the throne. Every inch was covered in the same gold as the spires which nearly touched the ceiling, rippling in that strange pattern caused by the red sun.

The next feature of note was the extension of four golden pillars out of each side of the throne. Twenty four black-robed and fully hooded smaller primates, the same species as Galilei, came out of the shadows to grasp the pillars, two pairs of hands on each extended pillar. With an audible synchronous grunt, they raised the throne off the ground, turning it into an open palanquin.

Finally, as the throne moved closer, the Khan was revealed.

In the shadows cast by his throne, the Khan appeared as ordinary as his subjects. His rust-coloured fur was braided and adorned with various precious jewels. The silks which were draped over his body were the same fierce red and gold as his palace, rippling in the light just like his throne. He was sitting among the myriad cushions, long arms hanging off his armrests. The attendants to the palanquin had an inky void which filled their eye sockets, ones as black as their robes. But as the palanquin and Herald approached, other features became clear.

He was missing a jaw. And he was missing so much more than that. The loped features of an orangutan faced Orda with a twinkle in his dark brown eyes, his inner mouth and oesophagus exposed to the elements by a grotesque injury. Breaths came out as wheezes, a keen whistling sound with each exhalation. Disfigurations covered the Khan’s face, a brow missing here, an ear bitten there. An exposed partially furry chest revealed burns, surgical scars and injuries of a foregone time. So injured was he that one could be forgiven for missing that his left arm ended in a stump and that one of his forelegs was missing from his torso.

As the palanquin came to a halt to Orda’s opposite, the Khan’s upper gums lifted to reveal his remaining teeth, the same audacious gold as the rest of his person. The Herald came between the throne and Khan-Khuu, ecstasy and joy ever present in his mannerisms.

”Greetings humans-not-of-our-own. I am Khublai the Scarred, second son to Möngke the Builder, Khan of New Gift, Caretaker of Humanity, Survivor of a Thousand Assassins, Warrior of a Thousand Battles, the Immortal Son. Let us drink.”

Orda’s stance had shifted as the palanquin rumbled towards him, the Khan-Khuu’s eyes seeming to miss nothing as they scanned the throne, the blinded servants, the joyous Herald… And the war-mauled Khan himself. Emotion flickered past his face - first surprise, then curiosity, and then lastly the orichalcum hardened and respect settled across his features.

The Herald shuffled forward, stepping around the prostrating Galilei and retrieved the awaiting cup. He took a sip out as he shuffled backwards to Khublai, sending a mischievous grin to Orda that betrayed the thing’s own self-determination behind half-lidded eyes.

Khublai’s right paw extended to retrieve the cup from his son, raising it to the sky like Orda and tipped the entire thing into his ever-open maw. With obvious years of practice, not a single dribble landed on his clothing despite the lack of a lower lip.

Orda raised a hand, clenched it into a fist, then set it down heavily over his heart, the thump loud enough to be notable in the dead silence of the room. He nudged his own steward with a foot and the man awkwardly shuffled up to his feet, turning around so that he didn’t look upon Khublai’s form.

“The Terrible Orda Khan-Khuu offers deep respect to you, Warrior-King of New Gift, Who Wears His Scars With Honour.” Orda quaffed his arkhi smoothly and set it back down on the proffered tray.

The Khan did not reply immediately, merely staring at Orda with that same twinkle, gums revealing once more in that facsimile of a smile.

”I hear you can offer us much Khan-Khuu and we can offer as much, if not more, in return. But before we draft an agreement between our two peoples, I must share my own curiosity. Who are you, my friends, fellow kin of the old Mongols, the first beholders of the Khan?”

Although he still did not bow, Orda did seem to be treating the meeting more seriously now, nodding slowly at the Khan’s words.

The steward coughed at the beginning of his reply, much to the annoyance of his better.

“We are those who have survived the Cataclysm of Sol, the descendents of the great Chinggis Khagan, who united all of Tengri System to end the Days of Cold and Hunger. We have relit the fires of stars, rebuilt that which was lost for centuries, who now ply the stars like the steppes of old.” Orda began to rumble out his own additions.

<When I first arrived to this system,> he mused in Tengri-Mongol. <I could not expect that such a people as these, who have lost sight of the stars and the ways of our ancestors, would be led by one truly deserving of the title of Khan. I see now that I have underestimated them. This Khublai is worthy of his name.> He reached up to stroke at his beard.

<Tell Khan Khublai what the White Horde has already done, and how we may come to profit from it.> The steward offered a deep bow.

“Your Majesty Khublai Khan. Orda Khan-Khuu recognises your strength and surety. He did not expect such a formidable ruler from those who do not reach into space, but recognises that you are a true and noble Khan, and so shares with you what his White Horde have carried out, far above our heads, in Uzay’s embrace.” The steward paused for a moment, took a shaky breath, and then pressed on.

“Even as we speak, the Horde has begun the most crucial steps of establishing infrastructure and presence. Representatives of the stalwart and industrious Iron Horde have moved to uninhabited bodies and are setting up örtöö, vital outposts to extract and produce the finished goods required to maintain vessels. Our aerostats and atmo-divers have begun to skim for Helium-3, the fuel that thrums through the veins of our kinships and chiefships. Soon, I am assured, the forges and foundries will be lit, so that we may begin truly independent production in Uzay’s embrace.”

The Khan nodded once, contrasting the enthusiastic seizure-like agreement done by the Herald. Once the spasming had subsided into mere dancing, the Khan-son spoke in a calm manner that bore no resemblance to the body’s state of being.

”Indeed, the Khaganate is piercing into space much like the Khanate had spread over New Gift in its early days. A part of our system’s resources will be lent to you and yours for your trip across the stars. In return, some of my aides and a portion of our Legionnaires will provide bodily escort in your vessels stationed in our system, for protection and learning. I assure you that our Legionnaires are not as inconveniently large as the guards around us.”

The Khan’s stump gestured to the wall’s sentinels, letting out a wheeze that could be interpreted as a laugh. Or a man’s last breath. The Herald cackled and writhed in humour, arms bending in biologically impossible ways as he swivelled his torso back and forth.

<The idea of seeing his apes in space is amusing…> Ogedai’s eyes twinkled with faint mirth, but he offered only a half-hearted glance down towards the Heralds.

”Furthermore-” The Herald continued, ignoring its arrhythmic movements ”-we ask our cousins to contribute to our nascent space industry so that we too can trip across the stars alongside you. A trade of resources for ships and the knowledge to build them. This is sure to take you and your Khagan’s fancy, as if your Khaganate is as hungry as our early Khanate, you have yet to fulfill the hunger pangs in your stomachs. Speaking of which.”

<Hmph. Expected.> Orda nodded a few times. <No matter, we will have the advantage even if these strange figures from New Gift do rise above the horizon. Acceptable.>

As if on cue, a side-gate into the inner sanctum opened with a sudden clang, causing many to jolt in surprise. Neither Khan moved an inch.

A great hulking beast was led into the inner sanctum by rope handled by a pair of similarly blinded attendants. Grey leathery skin, fatty yet strong in appearance, as tall as the sentinels near the walls, two ivory tusks and between these a massive trunk holding a tree-sized bat. Its age showed in its eyes, an unnatural cerulean peering at everything in the room. The beast was decorated in gold-adorned armour plating, a sort-of platform sat atop its back festooned with a pair of large man-sized cannons.

Orda’s eyebrows slowly, yet distinctly raised at the sight of the creature. What… Was it? A war machine obviously - one fit for a Khan indeed with those weapons and its… Tacky, but regal armour.

The beast parted the sea of attendants and came to the side of the two Khans, bowing and fluttering its over-sized ears. If one peeked over the platform’s edges, gold and guns could be seen piled in an uncoordinated heap.

”I have arranged for a gift, one you can use to satiate your hunger or use as your own personal steed. You will find it just as fast as a horse but stronger than ten stallions. Tastier too, if you choose it to be a meal. Let it be known that the Khan of New Gift can bestow great gifts. Use it as you want, Khan-Khuu, a Loxodonta africana of your own. I invite you to ride out of my inner sanctum a richer and happier man, lest I be labelled a poor host.”

The beast rumbled and keened. The collar around its neck vibrated out a synthesised female voice in Tengri-Mongol.

<I live to serve my Khan-Khuu.>

---

The Voice of the People Speaks to the Sol

The Qinglongren of the Accord make themselves known to the survivors of CoB Day.

Much had happened in the short time between the Voice of the People's arrival into Sol and its first fully compiled report back to Qinglong system... And a short time that they had already slipped behind in. Exploratory probes had confirmed that Khaganate vessels had already made groundfall on Ceres and begun industrial work, the 'Federal Khanate' had taken to Mars with alarming celerity, and although they had yet to decipher the language of the nation responsible, craft had already unmistakably wound their way down to Earth's surface. In comparison, representatives of the Machine had only taken a short trip down to the surface of Luna, and they hadn't even been the first to do so.

So it was that after several back-and-forth communication packets with the Executive Machine itself, the decision had been made that the current plan simply wasn't accounting for enough of these new and extremely erratic variables. The Voice of the People was recategorised beneath the Machine Line of External Affairs, and with the Shenjian's initial spear-fleet beaten back, more vessels could safely make their way to the Gateway. Chief among them were representatives from the Combine for Aerospace Industrial Development along with several engineering vessels with prefabricated habitat modules and their requisite crew, two Type 005s along with three Type 100s (although the Pillars of Avalon had proven to be reasonable fellows, there was no guarantee that others would be,) and a collection of research vessels, armed with everything they'd need to re-chart humanity's lost home system.

While the AID vessels had made their way to Mars and the research vessels began their long, slow burns out and towards the far system, the Voice of the People had received new instructions: To be the Accord's formal representative in Sol system until and unless an agreement was made with the Federal Khanate and Qinglong could contribute to the ongoing construction of the so-called 'Meeting Place' on Olympus Mons.

Part of that mission involved formally introducing themselves to those who had made the voyage back to Sol - an introduction that Cog-Captain Cao Zhong was empowered to provide. With the ship's translator NBI working around the clock to decipher all the new languages they had observed, the message would go out in as many languages as they could possibly manage.

"Cordial greetings to all who have returned to Sol system after our centuries of isolation on behalf of the Qinglong Accord and the Executive Machine. I am Cog-Captain Cao Zhong, responsible for the IPC Voice of the People, currently orbiting Luna, the formal representative vehicle of our harmonious nation. We would be greatly pleased to make formal contact with all who speak with truth and honesty, to bridge the gap of time and space. Please do not hesitate to make contact with us - we are well-furnished to handle emergencies and looking forward to making many acquaintances."

Xue Bao had been awoken in the middle of her own artificial night by the sudden, sharp jolt of a maximum-priority notification. Still bleary-eyed, she barely had the chance to swing her legs out of her bed before the information poured in.

[Immediate Attention Required: Cog-Envoy Xue Bao]

That was the thumbprint of the Voice’s Biological Management NCM, which meant…

[Status Report Since Cycle End: Luna Away Team Update]

Her mind shifted gears easily. Work called. When she’d headed to sleep the Veined Jay had yet to depart… But what a difference a few hours could make. She processed as she moved - a ping to turn the lights on, a stop in her washroom to get the sleep off of her face. A brief pause to take her medicine, and then the longest of her rising processes - getting dressed.

By the time she had finally gotten out of the door and made it across to the carrier bay of the Voice of the People it was already a hive of activity. Medical staff stood on standby beside wheeled stretchers and honour guard of marines, all assembled in parade stance. Off to one side, awaiting the arrival of the Veined Jay, she would naturally fit herself into a small collection of other cog-envoys that had assembled. She chewed her cheek without thinking, eyes flitting over the empty berth of the Blue Peacock - gone to recover the marines, apparently.

Vasir’s head felt light as vacuum cold had given way to the warmth of bodies, but he couldn’t help a thin, uneven smile from stretching across his face even as he stumbled slightly. With the click of a latch on his neck he removed the clinging, icy plastic of the mask to finally let ‘fresh’ air onto his skin. Blinking away the weariness that settled into his bones, he sat down on an empty seat and watched nervously as they got people on to stretchers and away from the room.

For a moment, his day got a little brighter – he winced slightly as the marine carrying the ship’s neatly bisected hobot set them heavily onto the floor nearby. The hobot beeped at him, giving a soft whirring sound as they waved their right arm excitedly for him to walk over and join them on the ground, which he did dutifully.

“Gesundheit, you made it!” he gasped, breathing an unexpected sigh of relief as the gestalt cyborg retracted the shielding on their domed ‘head’ to reveal a terrarium-like structure filled with soil and an interwoven series of roots, veins, nerves, dark green leaves, and mycelial strands all connected and suspended in some kind of thick green fluid, almost algae-like in its colour and consistency. The marine, who had turned to see if they needed any more help, paused for a moment to stare at the sight.

“Oh,” Varis turned to give the marine a grateful smile, “thank you for bringing Gesundheit with you, they’ve helped keep us all that little bit saner in space for the past few months. The others will be happy to see them when they wake up.”

“Gesundheit?” The marine copy-catted. “What does it mean? That’s not…” They stopped for a moment, searching for the words. “That’s not the language you’re speaking?”

“Oh, uh, heh,” he paused, thinking for a moment, “no, it’s from an old Earth language not many people on Avalon still speak, but… it means ‘Bless You’, like, giving someone a kindness. Silly thing is you’re meant to say it after someone sneezes, not quite sure why. Maybe the guy who built Gesundheit was allergic to them?”

“Oh!” Warmth crept into the marine’s voice. “Baisui.” A nod of understanding. “My implant suggests it’s German originally.” The figure turned towards Gesundheit and offered a nod. “I’m glad to have been able to assist. You are a fascinating intelligence.”

Gesundheit’s torso shifted slightly, and it was apparent that they had a series of small, semi-rotational cameras built around the base of the dome. They wiggled slightly at the marine, before the hobot gave a large thumbs up and a warm, affirmative ‘boop’.

Vasir couldn’t help but feel a little crass about being so relieved to see their loading bay’s hobot still alive, albeit damaged, when he knew that they had already lost some twenty-eight human souls and might lose yet more, but… he couldn’t really help but smile about it all the same. It was not an ‘either/or’ situation, and Gesundheit was as much part of the crew as anyone else.

For a moment he just sat there, before at last letting his mind return to focusing on the ‘now’ – it was not quite yet the time to rest, as much as he would like to. His eyes narrowed, scanning the room for Liang and anyone else in a position of authority – it soon occurred to him a common pattern, of bands around the wrists of people that seemed to indicate their roles. Those who were supporting the injured wore red bands, while the marines were obvious in their rank insignia.

He was approached by someone very different. Compared to the acting-captain she was pristine, her appearance put together as if it were perfectly designed for meeting new people. Stopping before Vasir, she offered him a prompt and respectful bow, then a light tilt of her head. He awkwardly got to his feet, brushing down the very ragged halfway mixture of a uniform and an emergency safesuit that clung to him, the hasty medical patching on the cut across his forehead remaining in place through what felt like sheer force of will before offering an overly deep bow in response – though it was clear from his posture that it was not a motion he was used to.

“Greetings and welcome aboard the IPC Voice of the People, on behalf of myself, Cog-Envoy Xue Bao, and the whole of the Qinglong Accord. I appreciate that this must be a difficult time, so I hope that we can help you as much as possible. We have been in contact with a ‘Captain Aurida’ of the Pillars of Avalon, who was scheduled to meet you?” She spoke with practiced precision - almost like the greeter to a gala.

Vasir couldn’t help but frown at the question, his mind racing.

“Um, yes, we… I believe the last update we had was that Captain Aurida would be in charge of the main envoy fleet and escorts. Though, well… he won’t necessarily be expecting to talk to me. He’s unlikely to even know who I am, I…”

He whistled slightly, deeply inhaling through clenched teeth.

“I am… or was, I suppose, the ‘acting’ captain of the Rite of Passage, only because every other crew member with basic coordinator training is either dead or unconscious. My job up until all of this was, uh…”

He unzipped part of the emergency suit to reveal the stained green uniform jacket underneath it, where a small rectangular badge read simply:

‘Vasir Smith, Gestalt Coordinator’.

Bao’s form subtly shifted as Vasir started to talk, the prim and proper diplomat beginning to fade a little as she settled in to listen. Before she could continue, a familiar figure approached the pair, now having doffed their softsuit to reveal a simple light blue jumpsuit, gloves dangling from their sleeves. The figure’s Avalonian English was the most informal of any Qinglongren to speak so far. “Let the man breathe, Cog-Envoy.” A warmth had spread across Liang’s crow-lined face. “The formal diplomats will be arriving soon, no need to start pressing the man.”

There was a moment of stiffness from the diplomat, and Bao chewed her cheek again. On the one hand, Liang was right - Vasir was a normal cog thrown into an awful situation, but she was here to represent the Accord. Her mind ticked over a few more times as Liang retrieved the handle of their cane, giving it a sharp jolt to send the main body out.

“You are quite correct Cog-Ace. Acting Captain… Would you prefer I just call you Vasir? Before your countrypeople arrive, why don’t we get you something to eat? Do you have any allergies or dietary preferences?”

“Oh,” Vasir sighed, suddenly feeling a bit lighter than before, “Uh, yes. Vasir is fine, sir. And no, I… I would love something to eat, thank you. No restrictions.”

“Wonderful. Please, come with me.” She swept an arm out, towards the halls of the vessel that lay past the cramped shuttle bay. “Will you be joining us Cog-Ace?”

Liang offered an easy smile. “Certainly. They’ll want me in for an AAR on the whole affair no doubt, but I’m sure the Machine will recognise the reality of the situation.” They began to move slowly but steadily forward, cane clicking against the floor with each step they took, making sure to match Vasir’s cautious steps.

“Well,” Bao might have been thrown for a moment, but it seemed like she was back in her element now. A genuine, if diplomatic smile settled across her face as she took the lead. “Well, let me give you a ‘run down’ then Vasir. We’ll be heading to the main Civic Engine aboard the Voice of the People, an innovation we’re very proud of here in the Qinglong Accord. These Engines, colloquially known as ‘zongxin’ form the nexus of communities across Qinglong System. They act as administrative centers, community spaces, factory-kitchens and more, ensuring every cog has universal access to everything required for life, happiness and dignity.”

The bulkhead door swung open with nothing more than the smooth hum of servos at work, revealing… A very normal, very dull looking corridor, the same as any other well-made spaceship. Hex-shaped panels made up the majority of each surface, although the floor had been painted a much darker colour, while straps and handholds were seamlessly integrated for low-gravity movement. Evenly spaced panels, in bright, unmissable yellow-and-black stripes held bright red buttons, while the lighting was bright, sterile, but not painful, even for Vasir’s concussed mind.

“We’ll be heading to this last one now. While our soldiers and essential ship crew have their own galleys, most of the crew rely on the factory-kitchen for-”

“Our three hots,” Liang commented sardonically.

“Exactly, yes.” Bao nodded enthusiastically despite the interruption.

Vasir quietly nodded along as they spoke, his eyes wide with curiosity. In some ways it was all very familiar, though it felt slightly ‘colder’ than he was used to – greenery seemed to be a lot sparser and mostly decorative where it did appear.

We should eat something, son. We missed lunch, whispered a fallen voice, and he could suddenly feel a dryness in his mouth and an aching in his chest. He gave his hosts a smile and inhaled deeply through his nose, gently patting his stomach.

“Smells great, three hot meals huh? I could kill for a pie right now.”

“Pie?” Bao blinked once or twice, clearly unfamiliar with what Vasir was saying. “Well, I’m afraid we might not have exactly what you’re looking for, but hopefully we can give you a proper taste of Qinglong. If I may ask, we’re speaking mmm… ‘English,’ yes? Is this common for Avalon?”

“Oh!” he tried to hide the mixture of disappointment and bemusement creeping at the edges of his voice, focusing on the question, “yeah, uh…”

He looked down briefly, hand to his chin, trying to recall his history classes.

“So, the majority of the initial settlers on Avalon were from… North America, the British Isles, Australia, and parts of India and South Africa, that kind of thing. English was the main consistent language so it’s the official one, but there’s a lot of smaller ones that people prefer. I also speak Portuguese, for example, from my great-grandma teaching me.”

“Fascinating!” Bao folded her hands together, just slow enough so that it wasn’t a clap, but still clearly animated. “The Qinglong Accord was originally settled by a Sinicised majority. I think I’m… I still have an accent, yes? I don’t have the same level of direct translation that our soldiers and veterans do, so you’re hearing my Qinglong Dialect Mandarin come through.”

The conversation slowly wound down as the pair approached a wide-open set of doors, a few other Qinglongren quietly making their way in and out. The air began to fill with scents slowly wafting out - herbs and spices, the stomach-rumbling scent of cooking, and sounds that had united human beings over a simple need for thousands of years - something sizzling in a pan.

“Please, don’t let the rest of the crew disturb you.” Bao offered another reassuring smile. “We’re all professionals here.”

Vasir nodded along increasingly absentmindedly, offering a polite nod and a growing smile as they passed by some of the rest of the crew, his mind more and more just occupied with whatever it was that smelled quite so good. Ginger, definitely, and soy sauce.

---

She hadn’t bitten a nail in three years, and she wasn’t about to start now, on the eve of formal first contact with their siblings across the stars. Instead, she relegated herself to adjusting one of the jade rings on her left hand, a gift from her great-uncle, twisting it around over and over, the familiarity a comfort.

Be careful Mab, you’ll hurt us, said the purple creature that filled the doors beside the docking port.

I know, Archie, Mabelo thought back, pausing long enough to try and focus on what exactly she could control in this absolute mess of a situation.

You did good, Archie rumbled, Aurida would have made things even worse.

She nodded to herself and sighed. She knew it was true, but of course all of this had to go wrong so soon. It was still unclear as to what exactly happened to the Rite of Passage and the Tranquil Watcher, and how many exactly had survived, but the worry extended far beyond the inevitable paperwork or immediate fear of danger.

“You’ll give yourself a rash,” said the captain sat to her right, his uniform pressed and extra buttoned for the occasion, as he read a small book with a plain grey cover. Mabelo’s eyes narrowed as she turned slightly to make eye contact, but he continued to read.

“You’re not nervous at all about meeting them? After almost starting a war?”

Aurida simply continued reading as he spoke, “Scans and deductions by the Hunter’s gestalt indicate their ship is unarmed. Violence is always a last resort, you know that.”

“It felt an awful lot like your posturing was about to make it the first.”

“Well,” his lips curled slightly, the tiniest echo of both a smirk and a sneer crossing the left side of his face before just as quickly settling back into that firm, polite smile, “we can’t rely on laws and civilian pleasantness out here, representative – and statistically, at least one of the gates must hide hostile nations.”

“Captain,” spoke up one of the sub-vessel’s pilots, “we will be docking within the next few hours.”

Aurida gently turned the page.

“But don’t fear. I won’t push it further, at least while we’re dealing with our new friends, okay?”

---

The whole system of the ‘Civil Engine’ was exactly as civilised as everything about the Voice of the People suggested it would be - a large hex-panelled room filled with neat, sleek tables and benches, each seating area equipped with what appeared to be seatbelts - more microgravity adaptations, no doubt. A working kitchen was divided from the eating area through a series of small lockers. A canteen then, no different to the ones that had survived on Avalon… Although not entirely mechanical, it seems.

It was the little things - one of the walls was seemingly entirely blank to Vasir, but several of the crew had stopped before it, quietly talking among themselves. Several encased blocks held bushy green stalks - a pop of colour amidst the bureaucracy, while a large screen set against the furthest wall was unmistakably a newsfeed, with scrolling feeds, an anchor and subtitles.

Liang led the scene, taking a tray and sliding it along. At each block of lockers the veteran paused, opened one up, and then took a small block of food, each dish slotting neatly into a pressed section of the tray. Vasir watched all of this with an almost steely gaze and an eyebrow raised in bafflement from faint memories of childhood block puzzles, that he quickly refocused.

“Lunch today is....” Bao paused, eyes scanning the small lit up Mandarin displays above each bank of lockers. “Yangzhou fried rice with cultured pork and shrimp, xiaolongbao - please, no jokes about my name,” her smile briefly slipped into a more weary front for a moment- the sign of a person who had heard every single possible joke that could be made and thought none of them were very original, “Along with fragrant tofu.”

Vasir nodded at the descriptions, step by step following Liang and Bao’s example as he loaded up each item at a time. The last step of the process was the simplest of all - an untreated paper packet of tea leaves, and a simple hot water dispenser, the cup slotting in to the last empty part of the tray. He could feel the temptation to drool, his weariness and hunger briefly wrestling with basic manners, but took a calming breath and smile as he followed them to sit at one of the available tables. He paused, glancing between them as he wondered how odd it would be to pray in this space.

Keep it brief and quiet. No harm in that.

Fair, he thought, quickly closing his eyes and mumbling to himself,

‘Thank you, heights and home and host and hope, for life, and safety, and this food. Thank you.’

He smiled and nodded at Bao, then… realized there was no cutlery. He glanced around, as people were eating with chopsticks, like it was some kind of historical drama or local tourney.

“Is something the matter?” Bao had kept to herself while Vasir paused, while Liang had already started, chopsticks expertly spooning the rice up.

“Uh,” Vasir glanced at Liang, eyes narrowing as he lifted his own chopsticks and awkwardly tried to mimic the holding position, the stance he was holding them almost giving the impression a duck or shadow puppet, his fingers clearly struggling with the position, “no, um, I think I’m fine, thank you.”

The first attempted scoop lifted no rice.

The second spilled the few grains he’d collected into his other meal portions.

The third, by some miracle, precariously balanced a single grain that he just about managed to reach his mouth.

Bao looked genuinely embarrassed - but not, it seemed, at Vasir. “I am so very sorry, that never even occurred to me. Um… Please, one moment.” In one smooth motion she stood up from her bench, polished clacking across the metal floor as she approached the divider that split the kitchen off from the dining area.

Liang, for his part, simply offered a wry smile. “Welcome to the Accord. The Machine will make the finest diplomatic vessel in half a century, and forget that not everyone might use chopsticks.” A small chuckle. “I suppose it’s only natural though - the Voice has never left Qinglong before.” They offered an incline of the chopsticks, as if they were a fencer accepting a tag. “You still holding in there cog?”

Vasir met Liang’s smile and reached up to tap the chopsticks in turn, though it was clear from his posture that he was embarrassed about Bao having to go and make some kind of adjustment for him. He took a sip of his tea, a reassuring green – lips curling at the bitterness of it – to ease his hunger, when curiosity stuck at the forefront of his mind.

“...sorry, what did you call me?”

Meanwhile something at the back of his mind was itching, slightly, and he was suddenly struck by a memory of watching old war movies about the Fomorian Invasion.

“You mentioned ‘the Machine’, earlier. What’s, uh… is that like a computer? A factory…? Sorry to ask, some of this is all quite new to me.”

Liang blinked a few times, teacup halfway to their mouth. “And there I go, I suppose. Well, I’m sure Bao would love to give you the official line, and no doubt she will, but… Hmm.” They took a small sip, every movement efficient, even the swallowing. “I suppose the best way to describe it is that…” Another long pause as they considered their words. “Sorry, I’ve never had to explain this before. To us,” They gestured across to the room. “We are all cogs in the Accord - we may be human, Canxing Zholou, man, woman, neither,” they tapped their own chest. “But all of us are cogs, working together in the Accord’s great machine, all turning to help in our own ways.” They set the chopsticks down, then performed a gesture Vasir had never seen before - interlocking the fingers of each hand together, thumbs tucked behind their palms. The Executive Machine keeps the state working, it’s our ‘government,’ if you will, but ah.” A slight shake of their head. “We don’t like old Earth here. Qinglong Megaconglomerate left its scars deep.”

Vasir had been listening intently, tea in hand, and his brow furrowed as Liang spoke.

‘Qinglong’ was not a name familiar to him, though he supposed it would explain where their system got its name from, and he remembered enough of his political & social theory classes that ‘corporations’ were basically the devil in a nice suit.

“So cogs are… people…? All people? Even your leaders?”

Liang nodded. “That’s the long and short of it, yes. There are differences - That’s an Executive-Optimiser Cog,” They gestured across towards the newsfeed, where a smartly-dressed man was now speaking before a podium marked with a seal. “Bao,” he gestured across to the door, and almost as if on cue the diplomat emerged, clutching a stainless steel spoon. “Is a Cog-Envoy. I’m a Cog-Ace, although I’m retired from the military. Small ways of honouring those who have served.”

“Huh,” he said, though his attention was quickly taken by eagerly taking the offered spoon from Bao and giving her an overly deep bow that almost resulted in his face fully entering his dinner, “thank you, that’s so kind, uh… sorry to struggle with these,” he wiggled the chopsticks briefly before neatly returning them to the sheath and taking his seat.

“Once again, very sorry,” Bao returned Vasir’s bow - and when she rose, felt tension she hadn't expected leave her system. “Thank you, actually, for bringing this to our attention - we’ll have our printers get to work on some knives and forks as an interim measure.” With that, she settled back into place and took up her chopsticks, the conversation petering out for a moment as both cogs and citizens dug into their food.

Woah, lad, you’ll choke!

The saltiness of the broth, the pork and the richness of the dumplings, it was certainly the best meal he’d ever had purely on its own merits. Sure enough, at one point he had to stop himself from choking, and decided it’d be worth taking a breather before he finished up what was left of the dishes, the last couple of spoonfuls.

“Thank you,” he gasped, trying to resist the temptation to stretch himself out too much, “that was amazing.”

Bao bowed again, a little over-eagerly this time. “Thank you! I’m very glad it was to your liking, utensils aside.”

His attention was drawn briefly to the door, a feeble hope in his mind that the other survivors would be walking through and they would be able to eat something as well, but… his attention was drawn once again to the small crowd that was gathered around one of the wall panels. To his untrained eye it seemed quite ordinary, though there was definitely an ‘outline’ to it that told him there was something special about that specific panel.

Was the colour slightly different? It seemed as plainly clean as everything else.

“Sorry to ask, but… I’m curious, what are they looking at?”

“Wha- Oh!” Bao turned to glance at the wall as well. “It’s a Social Frame. Without an NIS it must just look plain to you, of course. Let’s call it a collaborative display. Members of the crew and cogs back in Qinglong can submit entries to be displayed on it- like art, and people in the room can see what they’d like on it while they eat. One moment.” She rolled one of her sleeves up almost casually, showing what appeared to be the world’s most over-engineered wristwatch. A brief flicker of concentration across her face, and then the device lit up, projecting a small hologram that flickered through different scenes, all clearly taken from the wall.

Eyes wide, Vasir watched the scenes play out. Each individual part of it made sense, he supposed, as did the idea of them being so interconnected, but some of the work being shown was truly fantastic.

“And these are all submissions from people? That’s… wow. Don’t get me wrong,” he shrugged, “we have a lot of plants on our ships and it helps keep everybody’s minds’ clear, but something like this would be a nice snapshot of home. Closest thing we have is more, well…” he gestured to the news report, “occasional video reports or photos, I suppose?”

“We’re getting information through in packet here in Sol,” Liang added. “Transmissions get assembled back in Qinglong, then sent through in bursts - the news feed there isn’t live, and neither are the submissions from home in the Frame.”

“Here, please, I’ll handle the crockery.” Bao smiled and began to slot all the trays and cups together, Liang slowly rising to their feet and picking the cane back up. Before they’d even left the room though, an extremely frazzled looking figure in medical scrubs and with that same red armband that Vasir had noted back in the shuttle bay practically burst into the room, eyes scanning over the crowd quickly until settling on the Avalonian.

They approached swiftly, Liang subtly shifting slightly in front of the man in case he was about to be fully accosted, only for the doctor to offer a half-bow.

“Apologies for the interruptions but it’s… Well. Are you fully human?!”

Columbia
Capital City of Concord
Liberty Avenue
Chancellor's office

Chancellor Matthew Constantine inspected his reflection in the mirror, making a few final touches to his blue suit, the nerves of today's event getting to him. Even if he did this twice already, the thought of addressing to billions across the star system had always given him a severe case of stage freight. He turned to meet the gentle and warm gaze of an older woman a few years younger then him, in a fine white dress, his wife, Alice. "So...How do I look?" He asked her nervously, in a exaggerated pose, putting up an awkward, anxious smile. "Matt, you're just fine." Alice replied, approaching him and placing her gloved hand over his cheek, reassuring him. His expression relaxing from her mere touch, she had that affect on him.

"Relax, you'll do fine!" She said to him, followed by a light kiss on that same cheek. "Just a small speech, and you're done!" She said as she backed away, with a wide smile. "And it won't be a moment too soon, I'm starving!" She half-joked, although in truth, she was eager to get on with dinner already. The Chancellor nodded, his stance and composure straightened out as both he and Alice locked their arms together. "You ready?" She asked.

"Always." He replied as both left the room, the doors sliding open to reveal the Vice Chancellor, both men nodding to each other as the trio made their way to the main event. The journey between his office and the ground level of the main Liberty building felt like hours before they reached the front entrance, the doors pushed open to revealing a large crowd cheering, the Chancellor, First Lady, and Vice Chancellor waving to the people, with their arrival, a booming voice cracked in the air. "And now, please stand for the National Anthem."

A silence fell in the air for a moment as all present waited with baited breath. Screens placed throughout the city, and a few large ones placed around Liberty Avenue lit up, a small figure standing behind a large dark shape, spotlights were shined revealing a young girl and a whole orchestra standing atop a raised platform, the girl the first to begin as she heard several taps from the Conductor.

---

Once it was over, all turned their gaze to the Chancellor as he stood atop the podium. Clearing his throat, grabbing a hold of the mic, tapping on it several times as camera drones begun swarming around the podium, hovering around them as they record. Breathing deeply once more, the Chancellor begun his speech. "First of all, thank you to sweet little Opal and our very own Concord Symphony for that wonderful performance!" He said, followed by clapping and cheers from the audience, continuing once the noise died down. "And as you know, we are gathered today to celebrate a momentous occasion for all the system, and one of heartbreak for many." He paused as took a breath. "Today marks the 20th anniversary since the end of the Mojave War, a war that tore our people in two." The screens began to cycle through images taken from the war, the victories and the defeats, the good times and the bad.

"I come before you to honor those that fought and bled to keep our Republic whole." Matthew said. "They paid a high price, and for that, you and all of Americana have our thanks and admiration." Matthew paused once more, so far so good, he was halfway there, and afterwards he can go about the rest of his day in relative peace.... "I would also-" He was going continue the latter half of his speech...however something rather odd was happening in the afternoon skies. The crowd seeming to all look up in awe. This perplexed the Chancellor, was it the airshow? Wasn't supposed to start until after the speech. He followed their lead and looked to the sky, his jaw dropping at the sight of a bright blue light shining brightly. Alice, concerned, briskly approached Matthew as they both held on to each other, their gaze still glued to the Light.

"Oh my God..." Matthew mumbled, gripping onto Alice tightly, a small thought occurred....was this the fabled Gateway? The one that was long closed since the Dying Dusk? "Could it be..?" He thought to himself, no way this was real but what hung above was very real. Columbia would soon face the New Dawn.

The Gateway was opened.