Enigmatik

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

@Andreyich I believe @Yam I Am has done it. Also, @FalloutJack Something to keep in mind is that the Iroquois Confederacy, where the Grand Confederacy draws a lot from, has a lot of pre-war tribal ties to the Cherokees, who live in the areas your Enclave now inhabit. If you mistreat the local tribals, the Confederacy will be pissed. If you don't, the confederacy will merely be extremley concerned at having the government come back to mistreat them all over again.

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

The Grand Confederacy were not savages. They had running water and electricity, organised cities and missile launchers, trade routes and alliances. With all that in mind however, sometimes the old ways were important. Here, in what had been Hiawatha National Forest, a young man, face smeared with camouflaging warpaint, prowled. The farms and fisheries around the waterways here had come under attack, and not by the typical young mirelurks or even raiders. No: a far more fearsome threat had been plaguing these people.

There was a reason why deathclaws rarely came up into the Grand Confederacy's territory. Part of it was temperatures: snow fell on the ground here in the winter, and the naked reptiles that they were, deathclaws would avoid the cold temperatures if at all possible, but another part of it was that their niche had already been occupied by a very different species. Dogmen. Wakon Lefebre didn't pretend to know how they had come about, only that they had, and that they were now a very lethal part of life. Bipedal, some eight feet tall when fully grown, and looking exactly like what some pre-war books about 'werewolves' had described, dogmen were the apex predators of the region. Had the suspicion been that a pack had moved in, Wakon would not be here on his own, but all signs pointed to a lone male, having left his pack to try to find new territory for himself.

An excellent proving ground for the young warrior.

He had been stalking the beast for four days now, narrowing the location where it lived down, bit by bit. Every night-time raid, every slaughtered radstag or muffalo had provided him another piece of the puzzle, another clue as to where the beast was living. Today, he struck. It had to be today too: Dogmen were nocturnal creatures, and every night ran the risk of the tables being turned on Wakon. He wasn't sure if the beast had cottoned on to his presence yet, but he didn't intend on giving it a chance. For fighting the creature, some might have considered him underprepared. Across his back set a quiver of javelins, tightly-packed to keep them from rattling about, whilst in his hands was a home-made Brush Gun. Cottage gun making was a tried and tested role within the Confederacy, and although he knew the gun would fire straight and true, he only had one shot of .30-06 before needing to spend around several seconds to reload, a luxury the wounded Dogman would be unlikely to give him.

At last, he approached the beast's probable hide. A small cave, well-concealed by foliage, and close to a stream where the beast could drink and clean its fur after a hunt. There was precious little birdsong and not a hair from anything larger. The time at the moment was just past one in the afternoon, but dogmen were not heavy sleepers. He had to work quickly. Damp wood, piled high and with dry kindling added, would serve to drive the dogman from his cave. Lighting the fire, Wakon leapt across the stream and sighted the entrance of the cave as smoke began to build, then billow out from his quick construction. Within a minute, he could hear the dogman's snarls and growls. Moderating his breathing, he braced his brush gun, finger curling on the trigger.

Then, in a snarling fury of teeth and fur, the dogman burst free from the cave, ripping at the foliage and snapping through the smoke. Wakon forced himself to concentrate- to focus, and squeezed the trigger firmly. There was a faint pop and a small jerk from the gun, but that was hardly what a brush gun firing was supposed to sound or feel like. He squeezed it again, and didn't hear the click of a hammer hitting a primer. A squib. Shit.

He broke the barrel open and drew out the clearing rod in one smooth motion. As he did, the dogman had left the smoke and was now staring at the fire, processing what it saw. Then, furious, it lifted up a dinner-plate sized paw and stomped it down onto the smoking pile. It repeated the process over and over, until the smoke no longer rose from its remains, then looked around suspiciously. Dogmen were smart enough to know fires didn't just happen, and he was hardly well-hidden here, so Wakon needed to move quickly. He had removed the squib already, and now, dropping the ejector rod rather than fumbling about to make it neat, slid in a new round.

The dogman had spotted him. It snarled once more and dropped to all fours, an explosive energy building within its body as it prepared to sprint over and crush this new nuisance. Wakon snapped the rifle shut and rested it once more on the log he had chosen, even as the dogman burst into a sprint, barrelling towards the hunter. As it came to the river it leaped over it, and just as it reached the apex of its height, Wakon fired. There was no misfire now, the gun bucked hard in his arms and the barrel spat smoke, the young man rolling to one side immediately. The dogman crashed down where he had been positioned, blood splattering across the dirt, and turned towards him, howling in pain and anger.

Wakon drew out the first of his javelins, taking a loose standing stance. The dogman pulled itself up to its feet, and as it did so, he hurled the javelin forward. The beast dodged it, shifting out of the way with surprising grace for something so large, then began to approach again, slower and more cautiously. It had taken a wound, but it knew that this was not a fight it could afford to retreat from. Another javelin bounced harmlessly off the creature's thick hide, and now it was too close to throw another. With a bestial scream of his own, Wakon drew his third javelin and hurled himself forward, sliding underneath the dogman's initial swipes and thrusting hard, impaling his spear deep between the creature's ribs and backing off to draw himself another. Three left.

The dogman whimpered in pain, ripping out the javelin with ease, but Wakon had no intention of allowing him time to rest. Moving around the creature, forcing it to turn on its bad side, he jabbed in again and again, keeping clear of its lethal claws whilst nicking it just enough to slow it down each time. At last, the great beast could no longer put up a fight and slumped down. The man could claim his victory.

Surely, Bonfire Base now awaited him.

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

And it's up.

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

The Grand Confederacy

Name: The Grand Confederacy of the Second Nations and the Great Lakes. Otherwise known as the 'Great Lakes Confederacy' or 'Grand Confederacy' for short.

The Grand Confederacy has adopted the flag of the Iroquois Confederacy, although there is constant discussion on creating a new one.

Territory: The Grand Confederacy dreams of a day when it can take back the land its ancestor-states supposedly controlled. For now, they must content themselves with Minnesota, Wisconsin and parts of Ontario. This puts them into direct conflict with the Consortium of Ohio and the Confederation of Southern Ontario, both of which they consider warily. The resources of the Great Lakes are a particular sticking point with the Grand Confederacy, who believe themselves to be the rightful caretakers of the lakes.

The Confederacy has a few major settlements. In particular, their capital, the Grand Turtle, is a sprawling semi-urban area located in the Straits of Mackinac. Dispersed as it is, it has major build-up around the former Colonial Fort Michilimackinac, or, as it's now known- The Shell. With its palisade walls replaced by stone ones, plenty of freshwater, food, and power, the Shell is a downright pleasant place to live when compared with much of the wasteland. Mackinaw City, whose name is usually 'Greater Mac,' being only a village to begin with, has essentially become the Shell's suburban area.

Another important city is Providence, located in Providence Bay. As a 'border city,' between the Confederacy and Ronto, and with Ronto's anti-First Nation approach to Manitoulin Island, it's one of the major hotspots between the two factions and the Confederacy is very eager to make sure that Ronto breaks first. Because of this, Providence is home to a large quantity of the Confederacy's warriors, including power-armoured soldiers and is the home of the Confederacy's Lake Navy, with its flagship of a former nuclear-powered icebreaker now known simply as 'Winterbreaker.'

Another crucial city for the Confederacy is Bonfire Base. Camp Greyling was struck by a nuclear weapon during the Great War but as America's largest National Guard training centre, managed to survive. Although the proto-Confederacy were initially stumped by the ghouls, residual radiation, horrifying military defences and fiercely jingoistic and militaristic tribals that inhabited the base, by allying with the remnants of Anishinaabe groups in the area and launching several major assaults, successfully secured Greyling, turning it into Bonfire Base. Doing so turned out to be incredibly fortuitous, as the base was home to vast quantities of high-quality military hardware, including medical supplies, engineering schematics, power armour suits and more. Bonfire Base is not only the technological hub of the Confederacy, but the military one as well, with the former training centre put to good use in the post-apocalypse.

History: The Grand Confederacy has an interesting and speckled history. Some of the earliest groups of theirs were First Nationers who had been repressed under the Canadian and American (then just American) governments. Ironically, this repression was what allowed them to survive so well, as reservations, underdeveloped as they were, were not considered on the list of targets to bomb. With the fallout raining down, many of these reservations succumbed, but some survived, sometimes by the skin of their teeth, sometimes even thriving despite their troubles.

These tribals would have been unlikely to form the Confederacy however, were it not for the citizens of Vault 45. Vault 45, located just north of Grand Rapids, had been selected by Vault-Tec as part of an experiment involving First Nations peoples. Much of the history of the vault itself has been intentionally stricken by its former residents, who viewed the entire thing as disgusting and, only a few scant decades after the war, overthrew the overseer and made their escape. Venturing north, they came into contact with Iroquois and Anishinaabe groups and, working as an interim, bound them together piece-by-piece.

As the decades moved on, the Confederacy swelled and swelled. Other Vaults: Vault 39 and the barely finished Vault 126, the first control vault built in annexed Canada, were added to the growing community, creating a strange mishmash of pre-war First Nations peoples, post-war tribals, pre-war Americans and pre-war Canadians. As the name suggests however, the rapidly-expanding Confederacy is not a fully united entity. Instead, its various constituent groups sent their representatives to the Shell, where a tribal council democratically leads the Confederacy.

Pressing Issues:
More Than It Can Chew: The Confederacy is much, much bigger than its population would suggest, resulting in a very over-stretched state as it tries to exert itself. Without many real pre-war population centres despite the land it owns, the Confederacy has to put in real work to actually maintain its influence across what it considers its territory. Without Providence to push back 'Ronto to the East, it's likely they would lose control over Manitoulin Island rapidly, and to the south, the Consortium gnaws away.

Muddied Identity: The Grand Confederacy has a lot of ideals and ideas, but in practice, is not a very organised whole. Although the Shell Council's rulings are adhered to, the fusing of different, disparate Native groups (including those speaking very different languages, and drifters from as far west as Alaska,) with non-Natives into the so-called 'Second Nation' identity has not been wholly accepted. Vaulter and Tribal fractures run deep, some groups only kept united by their desire to see their nearer 'enemies' crumble less than other, more distant ones.

Confederacy Claim

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

Ok Doki folks, I'm joining with a heavily first-nations infused group in direct conflict with Ronto and to a lesser extent the Consortium in Minnesota/Wisconscin/Ontario. Sheet's up in just a moment.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

Collab with @Sep

As the Lornites entered the Zetan section of the Meeting Place, one thing was clear- the people here were very militarised. Combat warforms stood sentinel-like, holding compact shotguns and autopistols. Cyborgs walked about with breaching axes and handguns on belts, whilst a few had carbines slung over their back. The only thing that differentiated them from the Undefeated was the lack of uniformity in their appearance and, of course, the colossal amount of enhancements.

“Welcome to Zeta-5’s Space.” A relatively human looking receptionist glanced up. “How may we assist today?”

Gibbson flashed the best smile possible, when surrounded by angry looking war-machines. Though what little they had on the Zetans seemed to imply that all of these machines weren’t actually machines but they were in fact human. Here he was wearing a suit to help him survive in this higher gravity, so who was he to judge at what these Zetans had to do to survive.

Unless it was all voluntary and not at all necessary. That was potentially unnerving. Gibbson flashed his best smile, pulled out a business card and slid it onto the desk. “My names Tobius Gibbson and I’m a representative from the Lorne Administration. You may have heard we’re relative new-comers on the scene, but we’re keen to get a lay of the land and start doing business as soon as possible.”

The receptionist paused, then inclined her head. “Wonderful! So good to hear that. Please, don’t mind the weaponry around here- things have been tense for a little while. I’m sure you’ve heard of the occupation.” There was another moment of silence.

“Please, just head through the door right there.” She gestured with a chopped hand. “Sigma-Devi, our First Speaker here in the Meeting Place, will be right with you.”

Gibbson nodded. “Yes, of course. Though with more recent announcements we can hope that hostilities will soon come to an end.” He nodded as he followed her gesture out of the room. Post-War peacetime was the ideal time for business. Great leaps in technology and industry always followed conflict. The board was very interested in using this to their advantage, pushing their way back into humanity as a whole, revolutionising industry and making themselves invaluable.

That was the way to benefit everyone back home.

Passing through the door he looked around the room, waiting for this Sigma-Devi to appear.

It didn’t take long. She looked charming: she had, in fact, just been about to make an announcement on behalf of the Consciousness, and was dressed to impress… Which was great, because she very much needed to impress here too. “From the Lorne Administration?” She confirmed.

“Excellent, really excellent to see you. What little we’ve seen of your robotics technology has impressed us, and make no mistake, we’re not easy to impress when it comes to robotics!” She gestured to her own implants to make the point clearer. “You came to me however, so I presume there is something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

Gibbson sighed internally as she entered the room. Here she was dressed to impress. Looking the part, he had to wear this damned suit just to keep his internal organs, bones and muscles happy. “Good evening. It’s good to meet you-” He considered offering his hand, and went as far as extending it before awkwardly bringing it back in. “-Sorry I’m not sure on the protocol here. This is my first-first contact.” He chuckled awkwardly.

Sigma-Devi smiled at him. “Everyone does things slightly differently, but a handshake seems to have remained popular throughout the colonies.” She flashed him the split-handed salute that the Zetans now frequently used with outsiders, then reached her hand forward to meet his, giving him a warm shake.

“I’m surprised word of our exploits has spread so far already. In all honesty I’m here to get a lay of the land. We’ve been confronted by a lot of unexpected truths in our very short time since the gateway has re-opened. I was wondering if we could just get to know your people better, without it coming from a third party source. I’m sure you understand our… reluctance to get caught up in existing bias and conflict.” He flashed her a warm smile.

“Of course I can. To share with you our message, this is what we recorded for the purposes of first-contact. This is my colleague Alpha-Newton.” She gestured to the man as he entered, gave a curt nod towards Gibbson, and then his eye-projector spooled up.

"Kindred of the stars." Sigma-Devi’s pre-recorded voice called out. "We are the Zetan Consciousness, a nation that is unequivocally dedicated to the furthering of mankind's knowledge of the universe, and the ability for each and every individual to reap the benefits of such understanding. We stand upon the shoulders of the giants that once inhabited the planet below us, and build on their knowledge and learning, to push back the darkness of ignorance and hatred, and to overcome any obstacle that stands before a brighter future for us, and for humankind!"

“That’s the PR speech, anyway.” Alpha-Newton commented, before offering another nod and retreating.

“Yes, thank you Newton.” Sigma-Devi responded, then turned back towards Gibbson. “We are a nation dedicated to the furthering of our scientific understanding of our universe, and the improvement of all mankind with our knowledge. Already we win battles not just against the ‘Undefeated’ and the Hollywoodites, but against sickness, against senescence, and against anarchy.”

Gibbson nodded along to both the demonstration and the following description. “I guess my first question is, how deep do the cybernetics go, and why do they have them? I mean, Alpha, Sigma? You obviously base a lot of your society upon these enhancements. Is there any particular reason or is this just how your people felt best to progress your society?”

He chuckled slightly to himself. “I know it may be a bit more personal, my people are prisoners of space. As much as an oxymoron as that is, so I’m just curious if the enhancements were some form of attempt at liberation, or mere improvement.”

“Zeta-5 is, to put it simply, the single worst home planet of any nation we have encountered so far. It has temperature extremes approximately 200 degrees centigrade apart, fierce background radiation levels, a biosphere made almost entirely of extremophiles and very little natural plantlife. The only way for baseline humans to survive on Zeta is to bury themselves deep in the crust. Our cybernetics allow us to overcome the harshness of our environment. As for how deep they go?” She paused for a long time. “All the way.”

Gibbson nodded along. “Such a shame that our planets weren’t reversed. Delta-4 is a veritable garden of Eden, and we can’t even use it”

“You can’t use it?” Sigma-Devi enquired, confusion clear in her voice. “There’s a story there, I can tell.”

Gibbson chuckled lightly. “I don’t wear this suit for fun. Workers within the administration lived and worked in space long before the gateway, as far as we can tell. Our bodies just aren’t made for it anymore. We struggle in gravity, horizon lines are a pain and honestly exposure to the elements is a real issue. Some people work down on the surface, we completed a city as per our contract and in all honesty we never stopped building. Infrastructure, carefully sculpted reserves for plant and animal life. I think for a long time it gave our people purpose. I mean there were also beliefs that the Gateway had temporal properties, we’ve since disproven those theories.”

Shrugging slightly he continued. “It is what it is, we’re hoping to find the clients who it belongs to. Failing that with all these splinters of humanity going around, I’m not sure what the board will decide to do with the planet.”

“Dramatic evolution in just three hundred years…” She paused for a moment. “What a fascinating case study for our own long-distance space inhabitation research.” She paused for a moment, then her eyebrows furrowed as if she had just realised something. “Paron, but clients? Do you mean to suggest you are selling the planet?”

“Well, over three hundred.” He cleared his throat. “No, we're not selling the planet, well. Not as far as I’m aware of yet.We’re not a nation, I’m not sure if you’ve been told this yet. Not in the traditional sense. The Lorne Administration accepted contracts from Earth, sadly I can’t give you a date as to the company's creation as those records were kept in the head office, on Earth. We were sent to Delta-4 to establish a colony, for a specific ship, after that our job was to support it and its growth. The gateway shut down, and the work continued.”

He reached to his side and pulled out a tablet, offering it to Sigma-Devi. On it pictures, videos, maps and technical readouts of Delta-4. From Capital City and the surrounding districts, from the reserves to the agricultural district.

“We continued our work, as I’ve already said it was a popular theory that the gateway had some temporal effect and that it would one day re-open and the planet colonised. We were hoping, though we’ve since discovered it’s unlikely, that we could find not just humanity but the rightful heirs to Delta-4. In the meantime it’s always good to make new friends. Our people are builders and travellers, now we have the chance to do so again.” He chuckled slightly as his enthusiasm built. Struggling to contain it.

Sigma-Devi paused for a long time. Something within the Collective had begun to fire its neurons off. A second-generation Zetan, a proto-transcended who had been tirelessly working for centuries, had recognised something in these plans of Delta-4.

Like a stone dropped into a pond, ripples rapidly spread from this small change. Information banks were dredged, both mental and physical. Even as Zetan soldiers struggled, Zetan researchers attempted to dig up information filed away and archived as useless.

“What’s the highest level of information you can provide me regarding the intended colonists of Delta-4?” Sigma-Devi asked, an innocent note to her voice.

“Just the name of the colony ship and its transponder code. Everything else was on Earth I suppose, but I guess that’s not really important. All we needed to be able to do was identify the ship, she was christened the Arcadius.”

“Can you provide the transponder code?” She settled forward, folding her arms together.

Gibbson gestured towards the tablet she was currently holding. “It’s all in there. Minus a few digits.” He winked at her. “Not that we don’t trust you but we can’t go giving out the full code, don’t want any forgeries.”

“Hold for just one moment please.” Sigma-Devi took the tablet and scanned it quickly, then pressed a finger to her ear as if she was receiving a message. “A colleague of mine is just investigating something.” The seconds dragged out into a minute, and then into minutes. Sigma-Devi’s expression changed something fierce multiple times throughout, until at last she muttered out.

“You got the name wrong. Well… Sort of wrong. We didn’t use Latin.”

Gibbson wore a pleasant, but perplexed look on his face. When she spoke again the look didn’t clear. “I’m sorry, you appear to have lost me Sigma-Devi. What do you mean?”

“The vessel. You said it was called the ‘Arcadius.’ You mistranslated it. Zetans have always used Ancient Greek alphanumerics. The vessel was named the Arkadios.” She paused for a longer moment. “Transponder code One-One-Delta-Theta-Fiver-Kappa-Lambda-Chi-Niner-Eight-Tau-Rho-Iota-Omicron-Eight.” She paused, to allow the man to see if anything was wrong.”

Tiberius Gibbson paused. “I uh.” He cleared his throat, suddenly very dry. “Are you claiming ownership of the colony ship?”

Sigma-Devi turned the tablet around and tapped on the transponder code provided. “One-One, then you switch to the Latin alphabet, you haven’t provided the D, and the lack of distinction between ‘tau’ and ‘theta’ has given this some issues, but there’s a T there… Then another missing number and letter, L-K-9-Missing-Missing-Missing-I-O-8. The Arkadios’ engines were Alpha-Elysiums first power generators.” She smiled.

“I believe you’ve found your colonists, Mr. Gibbson.”

Gibbson coughed again, clearing his throat. Chapping his lips trying to find any moisture that he had left. He should have asked for a drink before all this got serious. “This is not the way I was expecting this meeting to go. I suppose-” he coughed again. “-I suppose you have some way of verifying this information? I’m sure you understand our need to be thorough.”

“We have the Arkadios’ black box information, and, if you have access to the full code, you should be able to see that I am correct. Latinising the actual transponder signal would make it 11DT5KLC98TRIO8. I’m not sure how else someone would be able to provide you with this information if they were not legitimate, but we have numerous ways to confirm.” She nodded.

Gibbson stood up. “Forgive me Sigma-Devi I don’t mean to question your honesty or your honour, you merely understand that this revelation is, in itself, shocking and I need to make sure that we do it right. For now, I really must relay this information to the board. I’m sure you understand.”

“By all means Mr. Gibbson, please take your time. I’m afraid most of our people are locked planetside at the moment, and we’ve survived on Zeta for more than three centuries. I doubt a few more years will change much. Is there anything else you would like, or shall I leave you to it?”

“Honestly. I’m not entirely sure, this isn't where I was expecting the meeting to go. I expected it to be about us offering to help rebuild what you lost in the war, for a fee of course but this. This leaves all that behind.” He looked to the door then back at Sigma-Devi. “I’m just not sure what to say, we came looking for our long lost clients but never expected to find them.”

Sigma-Devi paused for a long time.”Understand that after this war- after all this pointless bloodshed and waste, we are quite interested in a fresh start. A fresh start with some more… Sturdy defences included from the very beginning. Regardless of what ends up happening when you talk to your board, I do believe we will have a long and profitable relationship for both sides.” She smiled pleasantly.

“Best wishes, Mr. Gibbson.”

---

Our hands have forged the victory that for eons we have fought

We have struggled and we've suffered against enemies abhorred

We have loosed the terrible wrath that's found in fission batteries stored

Our truth has has come online!

Glory! Glory! To The Zetans!

Glory! Glory! To The Zetans!

Glory! Glory! To The Zetans!

Our truth has come online!

They have seen us in the darkness of a hundred tunnel fights

They have seen us on the surface where the burning sun does light

They shall hear our righteous chorus as they fall asleep each night

Our truth has come online!

Glory! Glory! To The Zetans!

Glory! Glory to the Zetans!

Glory! Glory to the Zetans!

Our truth has come online!

AND DON'T COME BACK! Was added to the end of the song. It was not physically sung, no, no Zetan lips opened or modulators crackled out, but it was a melody nonetheles bellowed out through the entirety of the Collective. They had won. They had driven their foes back, off their lands, out of their space, and soon, oh so tantilisingly soon, they would be able to leave Zeta-5 behind.

For now though, there was time to enjoy. To embrace each other. To thank those that had given up their original forms in the defence of their nation. To revel and to laugh and to live, before the cleanup began and the bodies were tallied. Already, work had begun again on spacecraft- Zetan machines falling into routines so well-practiced they could have done them without a connection. Hulls, filters, screens and engines, to lift their bodies back up into the stars.

Ah, but they were not the only ones here. A new voice called to them. A new nation that had not ventured to Earth yet. A message was scrambled and sent up to them. A greeting of sorts. "Hail newcomers to the galactical scene! We are the Zetans, and we come in peace." Short. Simple. To the point.

---

Eta-Theta was... Surprised, to say the least. Their little sabotage campaign had been going so well, and all of a sudden the ECU's navy was on the retreat, there was word of international retaliation, and the war was coming crashing to a halt. But, what kind of killing machine would they be if they let a little thing like 'the end of the war,' stop them, hm? The craft they were on, the craft they were actively ruining the lives of the inhabitants on, had stayed behind for a little bit longer- which, to them, suggested that they needed to lay low for a while. Let the crew return home, and bring with them... Well... Eta-Theta. They almost wanted to smile.

---

Addressing everyone, especially @Tortoise

Sigma-Devi stood before her lectern, her clothes shimmering and her face radiant. "Hello galactic community. It is a truly wonderful pleasure to be standing before you now, reporting the withdrawal of both Undefeated and Hollywoodite forces from not just the surface of Zeta-5, but the entire Zeta system. I would firstly like to take a moment to give thanks to those brave freedom fighters who sacrificed everything to ensure that we would remain free, and our lifestyle could continue." She closed her eyes for a moment, a somber expression across her face.

"Then, I would like to thank the Xandalian Republic, for removing the wool from the eyes of the international community, and exposing the reprehensible deeds of the Undefeated and the Earth Cultural Union. We are incredibly thankful to them as well, for without their intervention, and the subsequent response from other nations, we would likely still be shedding our blood on our own soil." She gave a long pause, then moved onto her next matter

"We are not monsters. We never have been, and never will be. Alpha-Bodhi, despite the claims of the ECU, is safe, well, and healthy down in one of Zeta-5's subcomplexes, where he has been contributing to our scientific understanding throughout this period of war. In addition, we emphatically reject the continued baseless accusations of torture levied at us by the ECU." She allowed some anger to slip into her features, jabbing a perfectly manicured nail down into the surface of her lectern. "To further demonstrate our humanity, we are currently in the process of handling body disposal. For reasons of practicality, that being our current lack of a navy, we cannot transport large quantities of bodies off-world, however we have made a concerted attempt to save patches, dog-tags and other identifying features so that we can at least give the families of those who have lost loved ones some sense of closure. It will likely take up to a year before all of these are collected."

A brief clearing of her throat. "In addition, we have heard of the terrible, terrible incident that has befallen ECU representative Tanaka. We understand that New Hollywood's medical facilities aboard the meeting place are poor. We have a fully-equipped emergency care facility aboard, along with doctors experienced in treating trauma from gunfire aboard the vessel. We would like to extend a hand of healing towards Tanaka. You may think us monsters of the highest order, but I assure you, we are anything but."

"Finally," Sigma-Devi began. This was a trick she had picked up from the Hollywoodites; leave the audience on a cliffhanger. "Our diplomatic discussions with the Lorne Administration have bourne wonderful fruit. Please stand by for a potentially major announcement some time in the near future."

---

Collab Continued

Back aboard the Endurance, and ignorant to the latest developments Representative Wells stood at the airlock, in her fine pressed suit. Smile on her face and hair done to perfection. Apparently they were getting another visitor aboard. They were proving quite popular. Just as they should be, Lorne had much to offer and while traditional money might not carry much value between nations, unless there was a bank she was unaware of.

She stood prim and proper waiting for their newest delegate, Mautivisan? That sounded about right.

Alfonso’s honourguard entered before he did, all rifles and polished boots. Once they had cleared the way, the man himself strode in, hat rakishly askew. “Greetings and salutations!” He proclaimed in his slightly over-the-top way. “Alfonso Leoncio Alvarez De Caravajal, at your most humble of services.”

Keira wasn’t entirely sure how to react. She offered her hand out. “Representative Keira Wells, from the Lorne Administration. Welcome aboard the Endurance-” She chuckled slightly. “-Just to check do I refer to you by your full name? I want to insure I don’t offer any insult.”

“Alfonso is perfectly excellent, as is De Caravajal if you are feeling particularly respectful. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Senora Wells.” He reached to her hand, took it in his, then briefly pressed it to his lips.

“I hear you are the ah… ‘New kids on the block?’ along with us? Fabulous all of this, no?”

Keira took her hand back and smiled. “Quite right De Caravajal-” She probably butchered the pronunciation. “-I hear we beat you into the system by maybe an hour tops. Albeit your ship is probably a little younger than this old girl.” She tapped a wall lovingly, before turning and indicating down the corridor. “Shall we?”

“No doubt. Mine is twenty-five cycles old, give or take. My father’s commissioning. A fitting tribute to the De Caravajal name, although he’s somewhat past his commanding days.” He tugged a little at his collar, then followed along.

“Part of why I was selected as representatives, my family. Adventuring in the blood, as my grandmother says.”

She led him down the corridor. Nodding along. “So your family were noted explorers? This must be an incredibly exciting experience for you.” Several drones moved out of their way as they walked the corridors, sounds of work being done could be heard behind bulkheads as the retrofit was begun on turning the Endurance into a branch office. “I never expected to travel through the gateway. I’ve worked in HR for years, settling worker disputes, that kind of thing. When the option came along to be a representative for our people, it seemed like a no-brainer.”

“Well. Not recently. You may have noted that adventuring opportunities have been slim. Once, we voyaged across the seas of the old world. Now we defend the skies of the new one.” He grinned, then withdrew a heavy and ornate smoking case.

“May I?”

“I mean the chance of adventuring to other systems may have been slim, but your system may have been full of opportunities for all I knew, you could even have embellished it a little.” She winked at him, shaking her head as he pulled out the case. “I’m afraid if that's smoking paraphernalia you can’t use it aboard the ship. The sensors would read it as a malfunction or a fault, and then it would either try to suffocate the fire, suppress or we would have some very angry fire marshalls interrupting our meeting. I’m sure you understand. I will ensure next time we have somewhere set up for you to smoke.” She flashed him a smile as she opened a door to their meeting room.

It was obviously thrown together, a couple of reasonable looking sofas. A wooden drinks cabinet, and a desk with several chairs. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“Alas. My cigars shall have to wait. Our ships are designed with a little more luxury in mind.” He placed the case away. “You shall have to come to La Introduccion in the future, I shall show you the sights!” He took a seat as if nothing was at all amiss, his soldiers waiting outside.

“So then! Much to talk about. My nation’s introduction first of all. I am here on behalf of the Grand Republic of Matuvista, a courageous and cultured colony founded on the ideals of Earth, but with our own improvements.”

Kiera chuckled. “I’m sure I would enjoy that. Though I’m not entirely sure my body would. You no doubt already noticed the lower gravity, our bodies aren’t adapted to anything stronger. It’s what over three centuries of space-faring will do to you.” She shrugged, pulling out a business card and handing it over to the eccentric gentleman.

“I am a representative of the Lorne Administration, a corporation currently based on the Ring. A station orbiting the planet Delta-4.”

“I was contemplating that peculiarity. It is no bother, really. To compare, Matuvista is quite large, and her gravity is quite formidable. We can defeat it though- it’s a marvel what our engineers can do.”

“To begin with on my end, I have been instructed quite firmly by many parties since my arrival to inform individuals of our exportable goods.” He took the business card, examined it, nodded, then tucked it in a pocket.

“On Matuvista, we have kept certain old-Earth plants alive and well. Coffee is chief among them, but we produce harder narcotics as well, along with wonderful industrial materials you won’t find on any other planet.”

Keira nodded along, She perked up slightly at the mention of coffee. Though her professional bone perked up more at industrial materials. “Narcotics are probably out of the question, simply as substances taken by Lorne personnel are all heavily controlled and undertake a rigorous testing process. It may take more time than its worth, however as I’m sure you can imagine a society of builders and miners are rather fond of our coffee. So we’ll need to see what you’ve got in those regards. Though tell me, what more can you tell me about these Industrial Materials? What makes them so special?”

“Fond of coffee? I assure you, you’re in luck. A little tampering here, a little prestige lineage there, and we can make a coffee taste like anything you want, with as much or as little caffeine as you like. A quality Carucian espresso can have you buzzing the whole day.” He gestured with a hand, then continued. “Lodestones. Are you familiar with the term?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, science isn’t my forté. They’re naturally magnetic materials, aren’t they?”

“Indeed they are. And ours don’t appear to abide by the usual rules of magnetism. Some… Peculiar interactions with an element that was never found on Earth, from what I understand, I’m not a scientist either. They’re powerful enough to lock themselves into stable, floating islands across the surface of the planet. We use them for hovercraft, alongside numerous other things.” He smiled.

Kiera looked at him. “Interesting, I’m sure some scientists back home would like to know more about these Lodestones. In terms of what we have to offer, industry. Be it in the form of mining or building we’re pretty proficient. A ship far bigger than this one was recently launched as the pride of our mining fleet. She was built in the span of 4 months.” She smiled as she pulled out a tablet and handed it to him, rough schematics on it. Nothing too sensitive. “Drones do all the mining and sorting, managed by personnel and A.I of course.

She’s fully self sufficient, we could send her anywhere to build the infrastructure needed to create a larger operation. She’s currently on her shakedown cruise back home.”

“Industry?” He raised an eyebrow curiously, then examined the vessel. “Well, I can tell you we won’t be needing something this big!” He let out a laugh, then handed the pad back to her. “I must say, as fantastic as that seems, I doubt the senate is in the market for such extravagances.”

Kiera raised an eyebrow. “Well, I would be surprised if you were. Not many people would need a ship of that size. No, the reason I’m showing it is how we don’t need to just build for you from our system through to yours. If your senate were to have a project needing our services, we could come to you and for a reduced cost we can use your resources. We would just process and build with them.”

He shook his head, amused. “I really can’t see the need for something like that, I must say. I’ll pass along the message, but we’ve managed building our own structures just fine for centuries now!”

Keria smiled. "Understandable. Should you seek to change your mind or if you require any other form of industry you'll know where to find us. I'll have a tablet loaded up with all we have to offer. Do you have any other questions for us?"”

“Indeed I do…” With that, the conversation would continue. Diplomacy was very much a winding road, and there was much for Lorne and Matuvista to find out about each other. A few hours had passed by the time Alfonso finally rose from his seat and nodded towards Keria. “Well, the Senate will certainly be happy to hear of all we’ve talked about. Your… Board should be too, yes?”

Keira nodded. “The board will find it interesting to say the least, and will have plenty to discuss going forward. I know that we’re supposed to be in contact with them later today, and we can be in touch later to discuss the potential of forming an actual trade deal, at this point however we know what the other has to offer and that’s the most important thing.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. Do keep an eye on the news coming from the station- I assure you that we are preparing quite the occasion.” Alfonso smiled pleasantly. “Now then! I shall be off! Enjoy the rest of your waking hours, and we shall no doubt meet again.”

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

And some more!

New Hollywoodism

Mixitism

Hell yeah I did Mixitism! Seemed too good to pass up to be honest!

Matuvistan Saint-Worship

You can't actually see the precepts because of the saints. Oh well!

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

Ideology update for Rimworld came in, so I re-made Zeta.

Zeta

So much easier to make Zeta in Rimworld. So much easier.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

| In collaboration with @Sigma |

Ambassador Ghask extended his hand back to Alfonso as they shook hands, both he and the Matuvistans processing to stroll down the corridors leading away from the docking ports as they entered the central parts of the Meeting Place. “Forgive me, I am Vixril Ghask.” Ghask introduced himself. “Representative of the United Columbian Republic in the Meeting Place. Allow me to once again, welcome you to Earth.”

"Representative Ghask." Nodded Alfonso. "As I declared earlier, I am Alfonso Leoncio Alvarez De Caravajal, rightful heir by blood to the Duchy of Veragua..." He turned to look out of a porthole, down towards the planet below, and its solemn, slow rotation. "Or, what is left of Veragua, I suppose." He sighed heavily. "What folly we hath wrought upon our cradle... What ruin we have brought to our home. It is enough to bring an honourable man to tears." It wasn't clear as if the hand that came up to swipe beneath his eyes was merely to exaggerate his point, or to actually wipe away tears.

"I am sure Her demise shall spur centuries of art and effort on Matuvista. Perhaps, one day, our descendants shall land on her surface once more, and witness her azure skies and crystal seas." His hand idly rested on the hilt of his sword as he walked.

"But enough of Her. What of you and yours? The United Columbian Republic has the ring to it of a righteous nation, much like our own." He gestured somewhat flamboyantly towards his chest

Ghask was taken aback by Alfonso’s rather dramatic displays, not often you see a diplomat act like a stage performer, no doubt a common trait among his people. “Compared to all you humans, I’ve only come to call Columbia home very recently, she is a very vibrant world, very similar to your Earth from the historical archives.” He paused as the group took a stop at the central presidium. “You could say the URC is of the righteous sort, although imperfect upon closer inspection, it is the better alternative to what my people knew.”

"And what did your people know?"

“We were once nothing more than slave soldiers for another race, the Yulzan. They saw us as nothing more than tools to fit their ends. They forced us to fight their wars, the humans of Columbia being among their latest targets. The humans proved to be more...persistent and resourceful. Our old masters fled after years of conflict, leaving many of us at the human’s mercy. Many still resent us, although I don’t blame them. Others have come to accept us as brothers and moved on from the past.”

Alfonso froze in place, and his grip tightened on his blade. Behind him, his entourage also seemed to tense, hands sliding to rifles. "Yulzan... Or Yyasum? The latter are base dogs, fit for nothing but scorn, to be put to the sword and removed from where their fiendish ways can interfere with the lives of right-minded individuals, and your description of the former matches the latter too close for mere coincidence."

Ghask was rather perplexed. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of the Yyasum.” He answered. ”Although I wouldn’t put past the Yulzan deceiving us…I don’t know for sure, and may never know the truth of it, they could have been one in the same. Perhaps reports and files can be exchanged one day?”

"Perhaps, perhaps. Know though, that if your words speak true, then our people have more in common than mere names. The Senate will need to be informed."

“I’ll echo your sentiment.” Ghask said. “Our own senate will find this revelation very intriguing and worrying.” Ghask paused as the gaze of his eyes were drawn to the ashen remains of Earth from the viewing port. “Do pray tell, when did these so called “Yyasum” visit your world?”

"First Yyasum colonisation ship arrived approximately..." The man paused, and one of his underlings stepped up.

"Forty-ninth day, fourth quarter, 103 years after colonisation. First engagement one week later."

"Yes, very good. Approximately 200 years ago now, and we still fight their remnants to this day."

Ghask was rather surprised by the response. “This…was way beyond my lifetime, and predates the war with the Columbians. Our conflict was over three decades ago. This was even before the Yulzan conquered my people.”

"They used slower than light travel. Colony ships, we believe." Alfonso picked up the pace. "Generations of xenos, breeding in the vacuum of space, indoctrinating offspring into the vile messages of their forebearers, preparing for the day they could plunge a dagger into the hearts of honest men." He scowled.

"But they did not succeed. Our sons and daughters bled, the senate wept, but they were overcome, and now we hunt them, like the vermin they are, sweeping them from our planets and putting torch to their schemes." He turned to smile at Ghask. "I myself have had this honour first-hand." He gestured towards the appropriate medals. "Wounded in action," he gestured to one, "valour in combat," he gestured to another.

Ghask smiled with a chuckle. “All the more reason to perhaps visit your world personally, to confirm my suspicions of course.” Before long, the group arrives to the URC Embassy, the Matuvistans met with a holo-announcer introducing new guests to the URC, large screens cycling through images of important moments of Columbian history, most notable of all being the Yulzan War. Soon they finally arrive to Ghask’s office. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Alfonso looked up at the screens as they cycled through the different situations. He looked at the images of the Yulzan war with fascination. "There are some similarities... Yet many differences. I wonder if the slower-than-light-travel lead to divergences..." He paused, then followed Ghask in to his office, his man waiting outside. Taking his seat, he adjusted his sword a little, then leaned forwards.

"We have much to discuss I imagine... Where shall we begin?"

Ghask took his own seat, leaning forward on his desk with clasped hands. “Well, to start with.” Ghask said. “Perhaps we can arrange a proper conference between our governments? No doubt we will have much to share in resources, goods, and ideas. And your little Yyasum problem will be of great interest to countless parties back on Columbia.”

Alfonso stepped out for a moment, then returned, trailed by a soldier who seemed higher ranked than the others, judging by the embellishments on his uniform. "Relay this message back to La Introducción, to be sent to Matuvista. "Made contact with other civilised colonies. International meeting place over Earth. Earth has been destroyed. A nation called 'The United Republic of Columbia' has recently dealt with an invasion of aliens similar to the Yyassum, and are requesting a conference. I suggest we meet with them formally right away." He turned and nodded at the soldier. "Highest priority. I want Condel Julianus to be reading this over his morning coffee, understand?"

The soldier snapped off a salute, then left the room. Nodding towards Ghask, clearly pleased, Alfonso settled down into his chair. "I am sure we will find many commonalities between us. Twin republics, scattered throughout space, yet united in spirit! It is a good message, no? Dare I say, an inspiring message."

Condel? Another strange human title. Ghask thought to himself, he could barely keep up with human terms all these years later, too damn confusing. Regardless, Ghask leaned back in satisfaction. “Oh, I very much agree, it’ll dominate the news cycle for a quite some time, it’ll be the Xandalians all over again. “He paused as he snapped back to his usual sitting position, grabbing a hold of his PDA. “Apologies, one moment please.” Ghask said as his lanky fingers tapped down on the pad, making his report back Columbia. After a few minutes he placed down the pad. “I’ve made my report and we can soon arrange a conference between our leaders, and hopefully, foster a beautiful partnership.”

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed]

Eta-Theta was back in space. Not ‘in space’ as in secluded in a ship, for the Zetan navy was destroyed. No, Eta-Theta was quite literally exposed to the void of space. Unknown to Protector Yun, when the android had spared the man, they had used the cover of pain and dust to clamber atop his craft, the form’s powerful electromagnets keeping him fixed in place even as the shuttle took off and returned up into space. It had been a rough, bumpy ride, yet here they were again, the only difference being that this form was more than sturdy enough to survive the rigours of a long-term extra-vehicular journey. Of course, given enough time, even this form would struggle- its heat regulators could only radiate away so much without its regular cooling systems, but for hours… Days… Even weeks, they could remain on the outside, looking in.

Rising to their full height, Eta-Theta took the chance, now that everything was relatively stationary, to look around. From the orbit of the cruiser, Zeta-5 was large, yet not the entire world. Even just by turning around and looking up, they could see 3 and Z, where the colonists there put up just as valiant an effort as the ones down on Zeta to repel the invaders from their home. If they turned, they could gaze up at the gateway, then at the star of Zeta itself, and finally, the scaffolding of Aegis, where the bodies of their comrades still hung, both frozen by the cold and cooked by the radiation of their celestial body.

Enough reminiscing though. There was work to be done. Lowering themselves down onto all fours, Eta-Theta took a moment to acclimatise themselves, and then began to scuttle off the outside of the shuttle and onto the cruiser itself. Their only goal here was to cause havoc- the more, the better, and they had all the tools to do it. From opposable thumbs to a drill, the android was going to make sure absolutely nobody aboard the cruiser slept well, and anyone that did emerge to see what was going on never returned.

Who said you needed to board a vessel to kill its crew?

---

Marco slipped the helmet onto his head, clicked his seat-harness on, and turned to look to his left, then his right. They were out on the Amergio Lodefields, a relatively arid part of Matuvista almost entirely devoid of patricians. A lack of patricians meant a lack of the law, and that went double for Lodefields- the only people who lived here were miners, their families, and the people who catered for them, and these were the sorts of rough-and-ready folks that handled their own issues without bringing in law enforcement and their needless complications.

Which was why stuff like the skyraces were so popular. You could never get away with a bunch of plebians ripping through the skies where patricians lived- mostly because they’d pull out their jetbikes and thoroughly embarrass you, but also because once they’d done so, they’d force you to land, take your license and slap you with a fine. Out here, Marco was pretty sure most people didn’t even have a license, himself included. Didn’t mean he hadn’t been driving jetcars since he had been thirteen though.

He was sitting in a stripped-down jetcar on the ground, four other cars also lined up. The race rules were simple- get through the lodefields without losing your car. The first one to get to the other side and touch down won. Away from their launch points, a crowd had gathered, mostly teens and young adults, but a few older folks turning up to see the show. At least four different people had brought big enough speakers to war with each other, rap and pop-country vying with each other for dominance. In front of them stood the requisite race babe, carrying the centuries-old sign of racing- the chequered flag.

“ARE YOU READY?” Cheered out the announcer through a megaphone. The crowd responded- a rolling, rising noise that cut through any other din.

”I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I SAID! ARE! YOU! READY?!”

The noise now was almost deafening, the announcer turning towards the drivers now.

“Racers! START YOUR ENGINES!” A fog of dust was kicked up as five jetcars all revved themselves just above the ground at the same time. Marco tapped the accelerator a few times, the engine responding to each one with a powerful blast.

“READY!”
“SET!”
”GO, GO, GO!”

Marco didn’t wait for the second ‘go’ to put pedal to the metal. The race girl’s cap was blown off as all of the competitors ripped past her, engines screaming as they were pushed to their limits. The start of a race was pure jockeying as each competitor tried to be the first to hit the lodefield, and to figure out what altitude you wanted to hit it at.

Low, and you risked bringing rock rumblers up and crashing into your car. High, and you lost a lot of time and energy climbing that other competitors were using to go forward. Still, Marco didn’t want to lose this car: he’d put plenty of time, money and love into its stripped-down form, and so higher it was, the plebian watching as he fell into fourth place. Fifth seemed to be hanging back deliberately- it might be a sprint model that wanted to save its power for a final burst once they were out of the lodefields rather than wasting it all early on. He’d have to keep an eye out.

The wind whipped past his visor as he cruised through the skies. Most jetcars had actual protection from wind resistance, but in a race model like his, without a roof or, indeed, most of its bodywork, it was down to the racer to insulate themselves. Ahead of him, one of the competitors showboated- spinning itself in a helix and dropping down a few meters in preparation for…

The lodefield. An archipelago of hanging boulders, any one of which could be unstable enough to tear itself apart at the intrusion of a non-mining vehicle like a commercial jetcar. On the other hand, navigate it well, and you could use the magnetic fields to hurl yourself through the air faster than your jets ever could. They were why this sport was so popular in mining communities like this one, far more so than the racecourses in the city.

Also, seeing a jetcar explode was really, really cool.

It didn’t take long after entering for Marco to lose track of his competitors. There was just too much to focus on, too many smaller hanging rocks, too many things to keep in mind without worrying about your competitors. Deftly swerving, ducking and diving, Marco felt pleasantly confident, even as he saw…

It was beautiful. Two large lodestones positioned just barely far enough apart that a jetcar like his could squeeze between them. Climbing rapidly, he squinted a little, making sure that he got into the gap just perfect. Then, cut maglevs, hold with the jets, reignite maglevs, brace on tight, and…

Marco’s vision returned to him a few seconds later, the racer letting out a whoop as he careened wildly through the air. The number of G’s he’d been exposed to had caused him to blackout for a moment, but the move had sent him flying upwards and forwards, almost entirely clear of the lodefield.

Looking down, he could pick out a few of his competitors… And a smouldering wreck, bright hued-flames emerging from its spiralling form. A bright red ram parachute informed Marco that the driver had made it out fine though, and that he was, as far as he could tell, in the lead.

Best to keep it that way. Dropping his maglevs off entirely, he let his car start to lose altitude and pick up speed, the jets keeping him aimed towards his destination even as the wind started to pick up intensity. As his altimeter crept lower and lower at a startling speed, he started to engage the weakest of the electromagnets, the bass of the crowds at the finish line starting to throb through his body.

Then, from next to him, the sprint model began to pull ahead. Its jets had taken on a bright white colour as it accelerated, and in that moment, Marco made a decision that might have been considered stupid- he turned off his maglevs for the third time.

Picking up even more speed even as he lost altitude, he angled himself tight towards the sprint model, the two of them vying for the first-place position. His speed wasn’t even remotely sustainable- he had pretty much hit terminal velocity with his jets angled as they were, and he was burning through height fast, but the sprint car couldn’t have too much juice in its boosters, right?

The finish line drew closer and closer, as did the ground. No, the sprint car did have enough juice. Well then. He needed to do something else. Raising his maglevs again, he waited until the other car was about to overtake, then threw his strongest ones on full-blast. One of the risks of racing like this was that race jetcars had certain safety features turned off, and he was taking advantage of that now.

Normally, jetcars and bikes had automatic features that prevented magnetic entanglement. Such features required a fairly heavy rig to moderate though, and one that was almost always removed. By throwing his maglevs on like this, Marco had locked his own car onto that of his competitors, the two now quite literally neck-and-neck.

The other driver turned to him, and even through the visor Marco could imagine their expression. Two jets together, one of which was clearly boosted to hell, gave the combined car enough force to keep them firmly ahead of their competitors, but there could only be one winner.

The finish line was almost upon them now, and with a single flipped middle finger to his rival, Marco disengaged his maglevs once more, dropping down and picking up speed. He slammed down on his car’s chutes a moment before he actually hit the finish line, feeling himself thrown violently back at the forces of deceleration. Coming to a full stop, he unclipped himself and tossed his helmet off, screaming his victory at the top of his lungs.

It was good to be out on the lodefields.