NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This follows on from this (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=323630) thread. Now even Earthlings can participate!

Entering atmosphere was something that Kazimir Akisenov had never really done before - there were no opportunities to do so between the stars, after all. He had, however, been practicing frantically in simulations, preparing for this mission. He wasn't the only pilot to be doing that, now that Earth hung just a stone's throw from the Kinva.

But despite the simulations he'd practiced, it was strange to see the sensors report friction heating along the spaceplane's flight surfaces, to see the curve of the Earth growing straighter below him. Space was supposed to be empty, with only the ship and the sail for reference points! Certainly it wasn't meant to be as crowded as Earth's orbital space.

Time to release the parachutes. Akisenov's fingers stabbed the appropriate buttons. There weren't many, on a Rhiadin spaceplane - most of the piloting was done through the netlink, making it much easier for the pilots - but then most spaceplanes would land on a prebuilt landing strip, and didn't need the extra braking given by the parachutes. For this first landing, there was no landing strip, and Akisenov would be bringing the spaceplane down on a much shorter area.

The computers reported correct release of the 'chutes, and a rapid check of the rear-view optical sensors confirmed that. The 'chutes were made of smart-shape fabric, similar to lightsail material or (distantly) to nara psuedoceramics, and could alter their shape to provide maximum braking without spilling air, which could collapse the parachutes.

Now the curvature of the Earth wasn't visible at all - at least, not to the good old Mk.1 Eyeball - and the spaceplane was coming down over rough coastal land, a jagged peninsula between a large gulf and a smaller inland sea. There were three such inland seas on the Western border of the C'tan territory, and this Southernmost one (the only one connected to the ocean itself) was Akisenov's target. To be precise, the landing site decided on by the Enra was near an estuary on the inland sea's Northern coast, only a degree or two almost due South of the mountain over which the Kinva hung in geostationary orbit.

(Someone needs to come up with some names for all this land, Kazimir thought. I wonder what the C'tan call it?)

But there was little time for pondering cartography as the spaceplane descended, except the empirical cartography of checking the ground ahead for obstacles. The Kinva's sensors could resolve objects down to a meter across, but a boulder under a meter across might still damage the spaceplane, given a heavy dose of bad luck.

Here and there there were large treestumps - this area had once been rainforest, apparently - but the landing site itself looked safe, cleared at one point for cultivation. What some farmer hadn't removed, the heavy erosion once the rainforest was gone had washed away. This wasn't very good farming soil, but it had been selected for it's location close to the geostationary point, not it's long-term suitability for habitation. Once the infrastructure was in place down here, maglev lines could be laid, and they could cultivate the more fertile soils of the North.

Behind the spaceplane, the parachutes folded, presenting a smaller area, to avoid tangling in anything Akisenov might have missed. They were flying very low now, time in fact to drop the landing gear for landing.

(He was having some trouble thinking landing and not impact)

But the landing gear unfolded properly, and though the landing gave him a teeth-jarring jolt as the spaceplane hit ground, it did in fact come down safely, and taxi to a stop in the overgrown remnants of a field. After that it was important to not immediately open the hatches - the spaceplane had to cool off first, or they'd all cook upon exiting.

Finally, after a wait that seemed like hours (only minutes, the display told him) the exit light went green. It seemed odd to be going out of the craft without an EVA suit, despite the atmosphere he could see outside the little viewports.

The gravity was heavier than Kazimir was used to - twenty-five percent higher than standard Rhiadh gravity - and it was very strange to stand in an environment with a definite up and a definite down but no definite sides. Off to the East was a line of low hills, to the South was the blue of the inland sea, to the West - on the other side of the spaceplane - was the river and estuary, and to the North was the bulk of the tall mountain that marked the geostationary point, but there were no walls in any direction until the bright blue bowl of the sky touched the horizon.

The Enra, dismissing such things as unecessary, had given Akisenov no speech to say, no flag to wave, which was rather a good thing as he was lost for words.

"...Wow."

Unconciously, he was echoing the words of the Abatoiran captain, eighty years ago, upon the first sighting of the Ekizi Holding in the home system. There wasn't much else one could say.

Tag for future post.

[Tag]

taggishness for OMG PSYCHIC ALIEN interests

OOC: Over the past few weeks, I wrote up some stuff to stave off the withdrawl pains. Here they are, four posts in rapid sucession. None of them are really anything major, so I feel justified in not leaving between each one to reply.

Stripped of their cables and switched to their "rigid" settings, the spaceplane's descent parachutes made admirable bubble tents, erected alongside the spaceplane on ground cleared with a few minute's work by a ground-breaking machine. Some of the machinery was parked in the other two domes; just one of them would easily hold several dozen people, far more than the seven, including Akisenov, who'd come down on the spaceplane.

Though one of those seven looked to be useless.

"I'm sorry, Pilot Akisenov," Girigori Korolev repeated, "But I can't go out there again. I just can't!"

"Weren't you tested for agoraphobia before you got assigned to this drop?" Kazimir asked. It would not be a Good Thing to inform Command that the first drop's medic couldn't function due to someone's oversight.

"I thought I could handle it," Korolev replied sheepishly. So it was his own fault. Not that that excused it, but at least the blame wouldn't descend upon Kazimir.

"You thought you could handle it." Kazimir sighed. "Well, Girigori, we have a problem here. Ivanov may be qualified to roll bandages and apply biogel to wounds, but if someone were to stick their foot under the sealer, or break an arm, or something, he will have as little idea as I do of how to repair that. Like it or not, you are First Drop's medic. I know enough to know you're not supposed to move someone with internal injuries; if one of the work crew gets hurt, you will have to go out there."

And I will get you out there at gunpoint, if I have to.

"Look," he continued, "Have you ever done EVA work?"

Korolev nodded. "Once. They took me off because I couldn't handle it."

And yet this idiot still thought he could handle it dirtside? Some people... "Think of it this way, then. It's like EVA, but you can't run out of air, and there's gravity holding you down so you can't fall off." Too much gravity, actually. "And it doesn't matter how big it is, because the landing strip is being put down just the other side of the hill, so you don't actually have to think about the far-off bits."

"I know all that!" Korolev protested. "It's just..."

All right, then. It seems my little pep talk didn't work. "Then look at it this way. If you don't get out there right now, Girigori, I'm going to shoot you in the foot. Then I'm going to shift your medical gear outside the tent, so you have to go out there to fix it anyway. Understand?"

Kazimir's hand dropped to his gun, and Korolev nodded, white-faced, and scrambled to his feet. At least he didn't protest.

Girigori made it to the doorway of the bubble tent and paused, evidently trying to muster whatever reserves of courage he possessed. Kazimir didn't suspect there was much there to call upon.

But no, the medic did actually step out onto the grass, though he looked rather "green about the gills", as the old saying went. Kazimir had never seen someone actually look green, but Korolev managed it.

Evidently the shock therapy worked, anyway. "You see?" Kazimir asked. "It's not so hard."

Girigori gave him a look of utter misery mixed with rage, and threw up on his boots.

It rained during the night, a heavy, sullen downpour that hammered on the tents like the fists of God. The bubble-tents shed the water easily, of course, but the dirt underneath was less solid.

Once there had been rainforest here, and the rain had been filtered through the canopy until what reached the forest floor faded quietly into the ground. Now, of course, there were no trees, and the grass clung loosely to the soil. The rains saturated the ground, and when the dirt could hold no more, it began running down the hillsides.

Since the tents had been erected on cleared ground, this meant that the First Drop team had the unpleasant experience of waking up in the mud. "Back to the shuttle," Kazimir said, and the rest followed his direction gladly.

There they huddled, gradually drying out, until the sky began to lighten (though it didn't stop raining).

"Water falling out of the sky!" Ivanov proclaimed. "It's not natural."

"It's perfectly natural," Kazimir replied. "We should have expected it."

That they hadn't, and that the Enra also hadn't (or at least had not expected the severity of the downpour), was apparent to everyone.

At mid-morning there came orders from the Kinva to pack the camp and depart; the Enra had decided that the overall climate and position of the landing site were too detrimental to balance an eventual closeness to the Geostationary Point. A new landing site had been selected.

So they drove the ground-clearer and the leveller and the sealer and all the other machines back into the spaceplane's cargo bay, and collapsed the parachute-tents, and prepared everything for departure. Thankfully, they'd finished the strip yesterday, so it wasn't necessary to work on it in the pouring rain.

Kazimir worried about landing again - without the 'chutes, they'd need a longer landing space, and preferably a full strip - but Command had apparently thought of that, and had found an eight-lane highway near the new landing site that should do nicely. After landing they might not have enough fuel to get back to the Kinva in an emergency, but they could make it down safely enough.

The new landing site was on the Southern shore of a large bay pocking the Western coast of the larger inland sea the C'tan lands were wrapped around, just by the mouth of a short river. Shallow fluvial waters would become necessary later in the landing.

An aerial vessel could have flown through the atmosphere to get there, but the spaceplane wasn't one, and Kazimir had to bring it up out of atmosphere, do a low orbit around the Earth to get them back to the right spot, and aerobrake down to the new landing site.

Reality had more potholes, he found, great gaping things large enough to swallow the Kinva whole. Well, maybe not quite, but large nonetheless. Through a combination of luck and skill, however, they managed to avoid coming to grief (barely).

Kazimir parked the spaceplane a short distance off the highway, on the far side of the road from the nearby coast. He didn't want to experience any more unruly weather coming in off the sea.

With that done, they erected the bubble-tents again, in what had once been a small cleared area near the bridge over the river. Judging from a discoloured plastic sign he found, Ivanov decided that it had once been a picnic area; he couldn't read Necrontyr, of course, but the table and seats depicted on the sign suggested it.

Later, Girigori found just such a table, and they moved the personell tent to cover it before unloading the machinery and going to turn the highway into a proper landing strip. All in all, it was rather pleasant - a bit more humid than Kazimir would have liked, but at least that humidity wasn't falling out of the sky on them.

When the landing strip was finished Second Drop came down, carrying another eight personell and more machinery for the tasks ahead. Sharing fuel brought Kazimir's spaceplane up to the minimum required for return to the Kinva, and then there was work to do.

Down by the river, a kilometer or so from the landing strip and campsite, was a gravelled area sloping gently into the water; the presence of a few mouldering fiberglass hulls identified it as a simple boat slip, and the Enra had decided that it would make an acceptable site for future drops requiring a wet landing.

The access road, however, was a simple dirt rut, hardly wide enough for any landing craft. Using the same ground-clearer which had been used to cut ground for the original landing strip (they hadn't needed it for the second, which was clear of dirt and vegetation thanks to the tarseal on the highway), they cut a pair of firebreaks, each six meters wide, thirty meters from either side of the original road, running in a more-or-less straight line from highway to boat slip.

Then they burnt the land between, and hoped desperately that the wind wouldn't change. They were amateurs at everything, but so far nothing had gone wrong. The fires blazed rapidly down between the firebreaks despite the humidity, and by morning there was nothing between the firebreaks but ash and charcoal.

That cleared the way for Ivanov and the ground-clearer to go back and forth, back and forth between the firebreaks, carving off the topsoil and burnt plant matter and piling it in two long mounds along the firebreaks. They offered to do the work in shifts, but Ivanov seemed happy enough to clear it himself, despite the heat and humidity of the day.

It was perhaps a mistake to have brought only one ground-clearer down - there must surely be many more, vacuum-packed in the space inside the Kinva's habitation cylinder - for it meant that this phase of the task took the longest.

One of the men from Second Drop, a Serigei Belov, followed Ivanov on the sealer, fusing the ground he cut away into a hard, solid coating. Once Ivanov and Belov extended the strip to the riverside, they'd have a fairly decent area capable of carrying landers many hundreds of tons in weight.

When the Enrai of the Tianis Aggregate had planned the voyage of the Kinva, they had soon realised that any number of spaceplanes would not suffice in the colossal task of bringing a million humans, a quarter million gikuroi, and all the equipment and infrastructure of the new colony from the ship to the surface.

Though many solutions had been proposed, only two were put into practice, and one of those must wait until the infrastructure to create it had been ferried to the ground.

Kazimir Akisenov and the rest of the First and Second Drops watched from the camp as the first installment of the other solution came down.

"Look!" Ivanov exclaimed, pointing at the blazing dot which had appeared in the bright blue sky. "There it is!"

The white dot became a red dot as the ceramic hull dropped through the atmosphere, friction heating it's surface. The red dot splurted gouts of flame as it's chemical manoevering rockets fired, adjusting it's descent.

Kazimir saw it expand suddenly - that must be the parachute release, catching the air and snapping open as smart-cloth fibres reacted to the electric charge sent through them. That parachute, Kazimir knew, was several hundred meters across, as it had to be to slow something as heavy as the craft below it.

And then the blue-and-white stripes of the parachute crumpled - parachute deattachment - and the pod was coming down fast and horribly near, splashing into the shallow river with a splash and sudden roar of steam.

"Command says the 'chute's come down a couple of kays up the river." That was Alekisandir Levanov, the Second Drop pilot, ready with the data as always. Kazimir dispatched Sergei and Ivanov with a maglev lifter to retrieve it, and the rest of them rushed down the strip to the river, to see the equipment drop pod.

The thing was, as Girigori described it, "Pretty damn big" - at fifty-five meters across, the discus-shaped drop pod was near the upper size limit of anything meant to descend through atmosphere sensibly. At several hundred tons in weight (including the cargo on board), it was well above the upper limit of anything meant to go back up a gravity well on chemical rockets.

Around the flat top (open, now that the parachute had been released) was a ring of eight such rockets, little things meant to push the pod about in vacuum and keep it on course in atmosphere. Probably there was some plan to recycle those too.

Second Drop had brought down the tower, a maglev lifter designed specifically for this one task of pulling drop pods from the river. Repelling against the planetary magnetic field, the lifter floated about a meter above the ground - any higher and it would take a massive fusion tokamak, like the one on the Kinva, to power it, Kazimir knew. Jet engines, covered by fine mesh to stop things getting sucked into them, provided propulsion, at a top speed of 225kph.

Not, however, when the lifter was towing several hundred tons of drop pod - though the howl of the engines rose to a high-pitched whine, and the whole thing was juddering horribly, the pace of it's forward movement didn't rise above a slow walk.

But even a slow walk could drag the drop pod from the water and up the strip to the camp (although Sergei and Ivanov beat them back with the parachute), and they stopped the thing over by the landing strip. It was a relief to be able to take one's fingers from one's ears again as the lifter's jets spun to a standstill - why hadn't they been issued earplugs? Kazimir would have to take that problem up with Command.

Pacing out the distance, they found that there wasn't enough room on this side of the highway to erect the big parachute, and they had to put it on the far side of the highway, between road and shore, where the ground was alternatively sandy or stony, the grass cover was sparser, and the parachute was more exposed to the winds.

But once the parachute had been stretched out on the ground, and current had been supplied from the portable generator to pop it into it's bubble-form, it was two hundred meters of shelter, big enough to park both spaceplanes inside (which they did), and still have room left over for the drop pod.

The drop pod, once the two halves of the disc had been popped open, provided a cornucopia of equipment - more camp beds, portable electric stoves, rations, and the like, enough for several hundred more people. Girigori declared that this was a sure sign they'd be getting more hands down soon. Kazimir, who'd read the drop schedule and already knew that this was true, said nothing.

Without announcement or warning the vast transport, the largest currently in service, weighing in at over two kilometres long and wide and five hundred meters high, appeared over the C’tan earth territories. In its bridge, three men sat, watching the holographic display all around them. On a raised dais, the captain watched with interest as his underlings went about their jobs.

“Vessel identified, it’s the Kinva.”

“Matching orbit.”

He nodded, “Attempt to raise them,” he ordered, and they obeyed, attempting to do so with audio and visual means, another holographic screen shimmering into existence near him, “This is Captain Iysasírë of the C’tan Merchant Vessel Red Dwarf to the Riadhin Vessel Kinva,” the elf-captain said.

The Tianis Aggregate was an Outer Belt Aggregate, and in the outer darkness of the home system the distances between Holdings was vast. Over such distances, a signal could easily become distorted; thus, the Enrai of the Outer Belt communicated almost entirely in text, a kind of morse code.

This meant that the Kinva's communications systems couldn't interpret the visual data in the C'tan message; they stripped the audio (which certain of the Aggregates and batchelors of the Zhainin planetary system did use) from what the programs perceived as waste data, and offered that up to Siannon and it's translators.

By now back on board, Nataliya Ivanova translated the message (OOC: I assume it's in English or whatever other Lingua Franca was established last time they spoke) for the Enra, and transmitted it's reply.

"The Enra Siannon receives your hail, Captain Iysasirë(OOC: Whoa, a name which translates into the Rhiadin almost perfectly!). You have come for the sail?"

"Captain, text message," said one of the crewers, hitting a few buttons and bringing up a holographic keyboard to respond in kind, "Reads, The Enra Siannon receives your hail, Captain Iysasirë. You have come for the sail?"

The captain relised they were probably disgarding the visual aspect of the transmission, and sat down again, "Send back; 'That is correct. We are unsure of the space required to transport it though, and we may require additional ships to assist us.'"

A moment later the crewer nodded, "Signal sent Sir."

#tagged...

OOC: Don't tag. There's no point in tagging.

"Conn, Tac! We have unidentified craft entering the atmosphere! Craft is of UNKNOWN ORIGIN! I say again, Craft is of UNKNOWN ORIGIN!"

Colonel Dmitri Valenski, commanding officer of the BAST Orbital Tracking Center sat up in shock. It took him a moment to remember the protocals he and the General had written for just this occasion, and another few moments to force his mouth to make the words.

"Tac, Conn! CONFIRM unknown! I say again, CONFIRM!"

The current watch's Tracking Operator, Specialist Tony Evans, a native of the Order, adjusted his instruments and looked over at his partner at the Signals station. His partner, Private Derek Band, returned the glance and shook his head. SPC Evans darted his eyes back to his board and then reactivated the comm, stuttering. "Conn, Tac! Uh, sir, we cant get a config on anything in the databases we've got. This thing is totally new, and the readings I'm getting off of it say its definately NOT something built on Earth."

Dmitri stroked his goatee and stood. "Tac, Conn. I am coming down there, I want to see this for myself. Conn, out." Dmitri looked to Major Barnes, who was at the station next to him, running several system tests. "Major, you've got the Conn."

The Major looked up from his work and noded. "Roger that, Colonel, I have the Conn."

When Dmitri reached the Tracking Center, it was only another minute before he had the General on the line.......

Just as an OOC note, The Riadhans are coming down in my former Earth Territories, so they're not actually going to occupy anyone's land.

Alric frowned as he scanned the reports from the probe. His office was the definition of luxury, which was only fitting, considering the fact that he was the one all Abatorians refered to as 'He Who Is'. Abatoir was his nation, his vision, his toy. Setting the reports aside, he stood and walked over to the wet bar and pouring himself a glass of scotch. "Just as I thought..."

---

The workers in the Docking Dome didn't understand their orders, but that had never stopped them before. When He Who Is gave an order, it was followed without question or comment. Questioning orders, like failing tasks, tended to result in the questioner being sent to 'inspect the exterior of the dome'. Generally without benifit of a pressure suit. The orders were to prep the special luxury craft that had been won in auction from the Shogunate of Reploid Productions. Once prepped (ahead of schedule, of course), they let sent word up the line.

A few minutes later, a group of five came into the room to board the craft. Four of the five were members of the little used Foreign Relations Agency, the fifth was a man in his forties in a deep black suit, black shirt and a black tie. The tie tack was a small number 5 in platinum. The workers were a little surprized. Every citizen knew that He Who Is sent clones for public appearances, but to see one this close was a rare event. Number 5 looked over the workers, nodding slowly, "Good work. We will leave immediately for the surface."

General Vance R. Kaerion, former Lord-Commander of the Order, was standing in the Tactical Center of BAST Oribital Tracking Center inside of a few hours of the alert. Watching the screens, he frowned, lost in thought.

"And our database has absolutely nothing that matches, Specialist? Do you have any ideas of your own?" He said, eyes not moving from the image of the unknown ship.

"uhh, We-" The specialist stuttered and was cut off by the Colonel.

"No, Sir, we don--" Dmitri said before he was silenced by the upraised hand of the General and a click of the Mercenary's tounge.

"I was asking the specialist for his thoughts, Dmitri. I've already heard your reports." Vance said quietly, with only the mildest sense of reproof in his voice. "Now, Specialist, in your own words, what do YOU think it is?"

Specialist Evans was silent for a moment, watching the unknown vessel. "Well, uh, sir, uh, General-Sir, I'm thinking its an alien ship of some sort. Not sure what kinda alien ship, dont know anything about it, but its gotta be something from out-system."

Vance nodded. "And why, praytell, did we never get a track on it moving in system?"

"Well, Uh General, I'm not sure really..but its mother-craft, I've found. Or at least, I think I've found. Its got some sorta stealth effect goin, thats why we didn't catch anything further out. In fact, the only reason I caught track of it is 'cause there was some relays going back and forth, not to mention I caught the entry-track of the first ship we found. Once I was able to backtrack that, it was only a little bit of work to figure out where the Mothership was." Evans sat up, his confidence growing as he continued speaking. "I've also noticed some traffic between the surface in multiple areas and, well, it seems they're setting up shop somewhere."

Vance nodded and then looked to Dmitri. "Alright, Colonel, I've got what I need. I want Specialist Evans and his partner here, Private Band to come with me. They found this thing, and from the sound of it all, Evans knows his Tac Board and Band knows his Sigs."

"Uh, yes sir. And the rest of us?"

"Keep watching it." Kaerion turned to the two junior enlisted soldiers. "Alright, boys. Go grab your basic gear, but leave your Armor. You're both getting issued STARMOR, and we're all gonna go have a look at this thing."

OOC: Eeep ... sorry about that. Couldn't log in for a while there. Anyhows, I'd like to take the opportunity to point out that the Kinva was hardly using any sort of "stealth effect"; it came into the Solar system reflecting the sunlight with a mirror 10,000km across, and made course adjustments in Earth orbit with an Orion drive - giant fission-fusion bombs, essentially. It'd be very, very hard indeed to miss. Have you read the preceding thread? I suppose the link needs fixing... Here's some IC stuff to make up for that long bit of OOC.

Aboard the Kinva, the comms officers recieved the C'tan reply (this time conveniently sent as text), and went through the process of passing it to Nataliya, who read it to Siannon, who informed her of it's response, which Nataliya took back to be transmitted to the Red Dwarf.

The sail, inclusive of rigging, masts, and repair systems, may be considered when furled a cylinder of one hundred meters in diameter and a kilometer in length. Fully unfurled, it is a disc 10,000 kilometers across. It may be transported on the exterior of your vessel, as it is currently located aboard ours, but you may wish to stow it within your hull to prevent micrometeorite damage (which cannot be repaired while the sail is furled) while in transit.

OOC: Actually, I did that little 'stealthing effect' on purpose. I'm laying the groundwork for something else entirely (in a totally different storyline of my own, that is)......something much darker than an alien ship doing a bit of exploration....but thank you for pointing that out, just to make sure no one's confused.

The roof of the dome slowly retracted, a shimmering shield of light the only thing protecting the heavily modified Shogunate luxury ship from the crushing weight of the ocean. The shield slowly lowered itself towards the ship until it was a mere molecular distance from the skin of the vessel. It hovered at that distance momentarily before shimmering out of existance, causing the ship to shudder slightly, however, the craft's integrity held up just fine, much like it always did. The engines humming to life, the craft shot upwards for the long journey to the surface.

---

The craft slowly surfaced, water rolling off its wings as the five diplomats and the two pilots looked over the island that used to belong to the C'tan, and now was owned by the strange beings from outer space. Nobody was quite sure the signifigance of these vistors. #5 had an idea, but even he wasn't positive. After all, he was a level 5 clone, the lowest level. He usually went to mildly important places, or highly dangerous ones. He hoped it was the former. The craft slowly raised itself into the air, and began a flyby of the nascant Rhiadhian continent, taking pictures and gathering GPS data.

Number 5 glanced at the pilot, "Keep it nice friendly, don't harass them."

ooc: Brief note: This is a civilian craft (no weapons, no armor, minimal shields), won from Reploid Productions in an auction. It was designed for air/space travel, and was heavily modified for underwater/air/sub-orbital travel.

The Kinva's sensors, although perfectly adequate for the task they'd been designed to do - identifying everything and everything in an orbital situation - were lacking when it came to live updates over several million square kilometers of planetary surface. Which was why Siannon had had a series of sattelites manufactured and deployed.

Granted, they weren't the best they could have been, but they worked well enough when it came to spotting a large aerial source outputting energy throughout most of the artificial-source parts of the electromagnetic spectrum.

This they did, and the data was forwarded to the Kinva's computers, entering Siannon's logosphere alongside the other multitudes of data involved in the upkeep of a starship and it's occupants.

The Enra noted the craft heading South along the Western side of the inland sea, and set several of it's satellites to actively monitoring it.

After that, there was little to do but wait and see...

"Well, what do you think, Specialist?" Kaerion said, sitting back in the SPC's command chair. They'd been in the air for an hour now, riding in the Vindicator, one of the Order's only System Patrol Craft. It's sensors were not as strong as BAST, however, they were powerful enough to do the job. Unfortunately, considering the weakness of the traces BAST was recieving, Vance wasn't sure if they'd be able to track it, or if BAST would have to guide them to the landing party.

"Well, General, Sir, I'm picking up the signal perfectly fine out here. None of the distortions or interference I was recieving in BAST. I've got a perfect lock." The specialist said, adding confusion to the issue. "BAST's sensors might need repairs, sir, or there might be a bug in the system. I'm not really sure, just that everything's fine out here."

Vance nodded, "That's almost disturbing....Helm, keep us on track, suborbital flight please. Make for the landing party. Specialist Evans, I want you to turn your station over to Private Band." He looked over at Private Band, who was not eying the board with what one would call fondness. "No fear, Private, the board combines Sigs with Sensors. You'll find it easy." Looking back at the Specialist; "Evans, I want you to start running an analysis on the readings you got back in BAST. Filter out all the distortions and interference, and save them to the side on their own. I want the clutter, I'd like to check something."

The specialist nodded and moved to the rear of the bridge, to the open computer station there.

Aliens, BAST not working right...what next? Karhaa infestations springing back up, despite having been microwaved into extinction?

....Vance was sure glad he had placed a small wood block on the underside of his chair's armrest as he quietly rapped his knuckles against it.

The HMS Gunther, a stealth submarine in service of Magnus Valerius, was en route to home port from a mission involving monitoring waters that the Holy Empire of Water Cooler, or some nation like that says the captain of the sub Captain Lothian. However, as the sub surfaced near the coast of an island that was off the shores of The C'tan, a strange object fell from the sky that the crew had never seen the likes before. This craft from the skies might be what the Emperor of Magnus Valerius deems as a "spacecraft". That crazy emperor and his ideas of 'space colonies'.

Captain Lothian rushed up and outside of the sub to view the scene. Apparently a spacecraft was indeed a true thing, and not something that his commander-in-chief had thought up in a dream. "My God... it is a reality. People from space... Space travel... my emperor wasn't so crazy after all!" Either it was that or that Captain Lothian was extremely ignorant. He rushed below and came across his crew, changing coordinates for the island. "Let us go and land on the island. I want to see what people from space look like and act like." The captain hopped up and down twice like an excited child. The crew was less than enthusiastic, to the captain's dismay. "Sir, we'll run aground if we don't have a dock... that means we'll be stuck on the island until the Imperial Fleet sends a recovery fleet to rescue us," retorted the second-in-command Oswald Peregrin.

"Do you think I give a damn? This is a chance of a lifetime!" the captain replied vigorously. "If you don't turn this sub towards that island, maybe I'll be the first to experiment with human torpedoes!"

The captain's overwhelming passion seemed to have forced Peregrin into changing course. The sub was headed towards the shore that was several miles from where the crew of the Kinva had established a landing strip.

The craft slowly banked during its almost casual flight over the former C'tani island, scanning the area of the inner bay. It was cruising at a comfortable altitude of ten thousand feet; high enough to keep from seeming particularly hostile, low enough to get proper readings of the terrian below. As they cruised over the Rhiadhian outpost, Number Five smiled, "That should be them... move in for a closer look; He Who Is wants photographs."

Without a word, the pilot pitched the craft forward, and it made lazy circles over the growing complex, gently drifting lower and lower, the camera powering up a thousand feet or so overhead. It made several passes over the complex, before climbing again and holding its position over the complex.

The craft circled for almost and hour, taking pictures of the settlement, and likely drawing more than a few curious looks. In the back of the craft, Number Five was getting the latest word from He Who Is back under the ocean. After a few minutes he walked back towards the cabin, frowning slightly, "It seems that we are to land and present ourselves as..." he smirked a little, "good will ambassadors."

The pilot nodded, "Whatever He wants, ya know?" Looking over to the holographic topo-map, he found a suitable location. One within walking distance, but not on top of the settlement, either.

The five passengers stepped out of the craft, blinking several times and taking deep breaths. It was a rare thing to breathe fresh air, and see the real sun. Number Five smiled at his four companions, "Enjoy it, friends... it's a rare honor."

OOC: Magnus Valerius, while I do appreciate your post - the more the merrier - it's pretty much impossible, due to the geography of the C'tanni territories. Suffice to say it's like a ship going from England to China by way of Panama making a landfall on the southern coast of Hudson Bay.

Ground Commander, this is Mission Command. We're reading some kind of large craft landing several kilometers to the west; best to be prepared. Investigate and report back.

A "large craft", Kazimir wondered. What could that be? Maybe it's the C'tan - after all, there's supposed to be nobody else on this continent.

Investigating was easy enough, although investigating without being seen by whoever it was would be nearly impossible. Kazimir called Ivanov on the short-range radios they used for communication groundside, and the worker appeared almost immediately; he'd just finished dragging up the latest drop pod from the landing site.

"Ivanov, Mission Command says there's some kind of foreign craft landed off to the west a bit. I'd like you to take one of the scout 'lifters and have a look - discreetly, mind. Have you got a map?"

"Yes, Commander - I have a map. But the work! Who's going to put the pod into position and erect the 'chutes?"

"Volikiv or one of the other 'lifter pilots from Third Drop can do that, Ivanov. But you've got the most hours logged on those things, so you're the logical choice. Right?"

"Right, Commander. I'll go immediately."

OOC:

Hmm... that's a problem.

Is there another way I might participate in this thread?

Number Five and his companions found themselves largely just slacking off for a good five minutes. Had they been at the complex proper, they likely would have been "re-educated" for such slothfulness. But, since they were on their own, they could spend a minute or three basking in the glow of nature. They were tempted to take photographs, but evidence of such laziness wouldn't be a good idea.

After enjoying their first breathes of fresh, natural air in, well, in forever, they slowly made their way to the encampment. Normally they'd ride in the hover-tram, but they enjoyed the air, and figured that someone would notice and pick them up anyway. Besides, walking a couple klicks never hurt anybody.

Ivanov was not the smartest human of the Kinva's contingent, nor the strongest, but what he did he did well (and it didn't hurt that he enjoyed what he did a great deal).

Now he sped west down the highway at a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, the wind sharp and cool in his face, grinning like a loon. The Kinva might have gone as fast as half light, but you couldn't feel that.

He saw the Abatoirans before he heard them (after all, the 'lifter's jets were howling nicely - how could he hear *anything* outside his earmuffs?), and slowed in perplexity.

He knew, more or less, where everyone was in the little Rhiadin colony (a hundred or so people by now). He'd also heard that there were no other people on the continent; the C'tan had taken them all to some other planet. So these five people must be from the foreign craft Akisenov had told him to go look at. Ivanov might be a bit simple, but he worked it out just fine.

Pulling the 'lifter to a stop, he turned off the jets - the foreigners were wincing in pain at the high-pitched whine - and waved cheerily. His mother had taught him to always be polite, after all.

What if they didn't speak the Common Tongue? he wondered, and decided to try it anyway.

"Hello!" he said, "Who're you? I got sent to look at a foreign ship that landed - are you from it?"

Number Five and the others looked at each other, the shock clearly visible on their faces. Abatoir had been submerged and had minimal contact with other nations for over one hundred years. Even those limited dealings were usually conducted in English, and yet, here was this person speaking in Abatoirian. A horribly mangled and bastardized version, but still, the root was there.

Number Five stepped forward, glancing at the man curiously, before speaking slowly, "Greetings. Yes, we're from the craft you mentioned." He smirked a little, "Er, take me to your leader, please."

Ivanov was somewhat suprised - they did speak the Common Speech, of a sort! It might be strangely altered, but he could understand them.

"Uh, the Enra Siannon is up in space," he told them. ""Ground Commander Akisenov is in charge down here, though, I can take you to him if you'd like..."

He looked down at the 'lifter, which certainly didn't have seats for five extra people.

"You're still going to have to walk, though."

Number Five paused, 'Enra Siannon' not having anything remotely similar in his dialect. Glancing back at his companions, he could see that they weren't familiar with it either. Going by context, he assumed that it was somewhat similar to He Who Is, and so he let it go at that. The Ground Commander should suffice for now anyway.

"Ah. Well, the Ground Commander should suffice. We're more than a little curious, especially considering the unexpected parallels between our native tongues." He paused a moment, thinking; they hadn't come very far and could easily get their hovercar. And this wasn't a recreational trip. He'd rather walk, but... "We have a hovercar that will suffice back at our ship. If you like, we can retreive it and then follow you to your landbase."

Hovercar bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Enrain-derived word for magnetic field repulsion vehicle - the 'lifter - but the verb to hover* remained similar in both the Abatoiran Russian and it's Rhiadin derivative.

"That's good!" Ivanov said, "Akisenov sent me to see it, so I suppose I should, even if you're coming with me."

OOC:
I looked for the Russian word for "hover" but all I got was a bunch of Cyrillic, which shows up as question marks on my browser and I can't read even if it would show up properly.

ooc: "заколебаться", Heh. Looks like: "3akone6atbcr" (sort of)

ic: Number Five nodded, "That will work as well. I can't allow you access to the ship right now, but I can let you see the exterior, of course." He grined, "Hope you're in no rush. We're about a 15 minute walk away."

The walk was pretty uneventful, of course, but Number 5 and his largely silent companions led Ivanov to the Shogunate designed craft, which was sitting placidly in a small clearing. One of the companions placed his hand on a biometric lock, causing the back of the craft to slowly open. He quickly darted in, fetching the hovercar.

The hovercar looked something like an airport tram. Boxy, but with room for six people, eight if they squeezed in in the back. It hovered just above the ground as it was pulled out of the ship. Once the back of the ship was secured, everyone piled in, Number Five riding shotgun. He glanced at Ivanov, "Lead on, we should be able to keep up."

Ivanov took a good look at the foreign craft - Akisenov had told him to, after all. It was an odd collection of ovoids and sharp lines, looking more like a watercraft than an aircraft (OOC: Assuming it still looks like the Sirithil-class luxury ship it started out life as...).

The "hovercar", too, looked nothing like he thought it ought - how did it propel itself, with no jets? But it would be impolite to ask...

In stark contrast to the walk back to the foreign ship, it took a minute or so to travel by hovercar (and 'lifter, in Ivanov's case) back to the base.

It was, as always, hard to miss the sound of a 'lifter's jets, and Akisenov was waiting for them outside the small 'chute (one of the three that had been used on the First Drop spaceplane) that formed his office.

"Akisenov!" Ivanov exclaimed, slipping out of the 'lifter's seat while the foreigners were still squeezing out of their box of a vehicle, "These foreigners came in the foreign ship, and they speak the Common Speech! Really badly, but they do!"

Akisenov nodded and smiled, thin lips turning upwards to crease his face into a V.

"Excellent work, Ivanov! Excellent!" While Ivanov beamed - praise was scarce from Akisenov - the Ground Commander turned to the foreigners. "I'm Kazimir Akisenov, Ground Commander, and this is Base Camp. Who might you be?"

Number 5 smiled thinly, "Pleased to meet you. You can just call me Jakob. I'm just here to observe, largely. My associates will likely have much more to say than I in the future. First we have Goran Ivanlic, who is in charge of security," The shorter of the two men, who was build like a brick house nodded slightly. "Next is Goran's assistant, Marijan Molnar," the other man, taller and slimmer than Goran offered a simple 'hello'. "To my left is Sanja Djukanovic, linguist. It seems that her services may not be needed, however." Sanja smiled brightly, she was about as tall as Marijan and wore a delicate pair of glasses. "Finally, I would like to introduce one of our senior diplomats, Navenka Ivanova."

Navenka smiled at the Rhaidhans, her green eyes sparkling, "Thank you, 'Jakob'." She turned to Akisenov, "I am pleased to meet you, and look forward to our dealings."


ooc: Good lord, that's a lot of color tags. Oh, and yes, Navenka's surname was intentional.

"Well, I am assuredly most pleased to meet you," Akisenov said, "But who is it that you represent? Why are you here?"

OOC: Short. I suppose I can make that look good if I call it "succinct"...

Navenka paused a moment before responding, "We represent the Underwater Demesne of Abatoir. Races and peoples leaving the planet are not an especially unique event, people coming down, on the other hand, is a slightly rarer event. We noticed your craft as it swung past, and it raised a bit of interest from the higher eschalons. Essentially, we are interested in opening relations between our nations."

At this point Sanja stepped forward, pushing her glasses up her nose a little, and speaking in a soft, carefully measured voice, her dialect already slipping towards that of the Rhiadin, "Um... personally, I'm just really curious about the similarities between our languages... highly uncommon for two peoples to have such similar development, especially..." She started to verbally meander before being cut off by Navenka, "Yes, the language issue is also curious."

"Ah. I'm afraid I don't have the authority to do that - to negotiate with other states, that is. Nor am I a linguist. However, I can probably have one sent down on the next Drop - a diplomat and a linguist both.

"Until then, my Camp is yours, if you wish it." Kazimir waved around the encampment, with it's white-and-blue striped bubble tents. By now a small crowd had ceased their usual activities to gawk at the foreigners.

Navenka nodded, "That would be fine. We'll just mill about if that's all right with you."

The Enra Siannon, monitoring the reports submitted to it, was quick to note the fact that the Abatoiran emissaries spoke a variant of Russian similar to the Rhiadin one; in fact, it recalled (although it's memories of Aggregation would be strange to any single entity, and were becoming foreign to it now) that when the human colony vessel had arrived in the home system, the tongue the crew had spoken had been that very same one.

Siannon was not inclined to regard that as coincidence.

Thus the Enra roused Nataliya Ivanova from her cramped closet of a room, and ordered her down to the surface on the next spaceplane down.

This was a flight not included in the orderly schedule drawn up decades ago in the home system; the presence of five foreigners in the Base Camp, using Rhiadin supplies, necessitated an extra supply drop, not included in the pre-packed drop pods.

So now Nataliya set foot upon the ground (and her foot was so heavy! Earthgrav was a good twenty-five percent higher than Rhiadhgrav), and stood under the hot blue sky.

"Hello!" the speaker was a smiling giant of a man. "I'm Ivan Ivanov, Akisenov sent me to find you! The foreigners are waiting, you see. They talk funny. But I suppose you know that..."

A little nervous - she'd spoken to elves and any number of aliens, up in orbit and on the journey in, but these humans spoke recognisable pre-Contact Rhiadin, for His sake! - Nataliya followed.

"In here," Ivanov said, indicating a smallish (compared to the others) bubble-tent of white-and-blue smartcloth. Nataliya entered, to see a tall man who must be Ground Commander Akisenov, and five people who must be the foreigners. They were dressed oddly, but they didn't look all that strange.

"Thankyou for coming, Diplomat Ivanova," Akisenov said, "And thankyou for getting her here, Ivanov! My friends of the Underwater Demesne, may I present to you Diplomat Nataliya Ivanova?

"Diplomat Ivanova, these are Diplomat Navenka Ivanova, Linguist Sanja Djukanovic, Security Officers Goran Ivanlic and Marijan Molnar, and ... Observer Jakob, representing the Underwater Demesne of Abatoir."

Jakob, she presumed, was the group's political officer.

"I am very pleased to meet you all," Nataliya said, and saluted them in the Rhiadin fashion, right hand at left shoulder.

Navenka blinked as she heard Nataliya's surname, the gears of her mind turning rapidly, trying to figure out the similarities between the languages, and the names. Number 5, on the other hand, was dealing with a bit more information, and was already putting things together. Sanja, for her part, was largely busy with a notepad and pen, scribbling furiously as she made notes on the similarities and differences.

Navenka smiled at Nataliya, dipping her head slightly before speaking, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, especially with the unexpected similarities we seem to have inadvertantly discovered. As I mentioned to your Ground Commander, we are interested in opening formal relations, while the linguistic similarities have created a bit of interest in your history as well."

Nataliya smiled back. "Formal relations? An embassy, then? I'm afraid that Base Camp isn't exactly at that stage yet..."

Her Abatoiran wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad either - stripping out the words adapted from the True Speech and replacing them with their more archaic alternatives got one pretty close to the original (it was more complex than that, but essentially that was it. Nataliya had studied the original tongue along with a myriad others).

"As for history, I don't know the details, but it's obvious our languages must have some fairly recent common ancestor."

The crews working were quite a sight. They’d considered this vaguely possible, and they had arranged for numerous possible eventualities in transporting the sail. Thus, day-by-day a mammoth construction on the underside of the Red Dwarf appeared, and they proceeded to send another signal to the Riadhin ship, requesting that they send the sail over…

http://www.necrontyr.plus.com/images/Reddwarf1.jpg

On the Rhiadin side of the equation, the work was equally vital but less time-consuming; detatching the furled sail from the hull of the Kinva, attaching simple chemical reaction rockets (less effective but less potentially damaging than the usual nuclear thermal rockets) to send it over.

Escorted by a trio of spaceplanes, the sail made it's way towards the Red Dwarf. In the event of an emergency there would be little the spaceplanes could do, but they might be able to help the C'tan somehow.

Aboard the Kinva, Nikita Kovalev translated for the Enra;

Red Dwarf, this is Translator Kovalev, speaking for the Enra Siannon. The Enra asks; what assistance do you require in docking the sail with your apparatus?

The transmission was relatively quick in its return, “If you could position it stationary relative to this vessel, and with one end facing the vessel, we should be able to manoeuvre around it, and then be able to secure it to the apparatus. Failing this, we could attach a line from the end of the apparatus to the end of the sail, and pull it in that way, attaching the other end to a small sized vessel of some description for guidance…”

Sanja smiled happily, "That's very good! Aside from slight issues with your accent, you seem to have hit on Abatoirian exactly." She looked over her hasitly jotted notes, frowning slightly, "Hm... this doesn't seem right..." She shook her head some more, "Um... can I talk to some of your citizens? Maybe see a copy of your writing? I've got an odd theory brewing here."

Navenka sighed, managing to avoid rolling her eyes, "You'll have to forgive her, she's quite... dedicated." She thought for a moment before continuing, "Hm. We weren't aware that you were in such early stages of getting organized when we were set up. Since that is the case, we'll stay out of your way. I don't suppose there are records of some sort that could be studied for information on your history? If not, well..."

Jakob smiled thinly, "If not, we'll just enjoy the vacation."

"The reaction rockets positioned around the sail should be sufficient to align it with the apparatus and move it into the apparatus - it is a very low-mass mechanism in relation to it's size. Can your apparatus endure the necessary braking burns such a manoeveur (OOC: Darned if I know how to spell that word...) would need?"

OOC: I just realised a rather ugly hole. In the first thread, Nataliya gives the Menelmacari captain a condensed version of the Rhiadin human history, naming Abatoir. Now, she seems to have forgotten all that. Ack. Let's just sidestep around that...

Nataliya looked at Kazimir, who nodded slightly.

"Certainly you can talk to our people," she replied, "So long as they're not busy with anything dangerous, of course.

"As for history, I'm sure we have a connection to the databases up on the Kinva down here somewhere ... Commander?"

"We do; there's a constant radio tightbeam up to orbit, and from that there's short-range radio to the various consoles active on the surface. I can get you one."

This was Kazimir's office, after all, and one was at hand on a desk close nearby; he shifted it around to face the Abatoirans, and opened a link to the historical archives for them.

Navenka nodded, "Yes, that would be fine, thank you." She moved over to the terminal, skimming through the information, blinking a few times as the history rolled back further and further, eventually morphing more into myth than fact.

Except that it seemed somehow familiar to her. She frowned slightly as she read the essays that had been written by ancient Rhiadin anthropologists, speculating on what their parent society might have been like. It wasn't exactly accurate, but it was shockingly familiar. She motioned Jakob over, "Ah, sir... perhaps you should read this..." Jakob meandered over, reading the documents, quickly pulling up a picture of the 'Lost Colony Ship' and about fainted. He glanced up, "This is accurate?" Seeing the nod he smiled thinly, "Yes... this answers more than a couple questions. If you'll excuse me, I need to contact home."

After several long minutes of checking the general specifications of such thrusters the answer was sent back, “We believe that this is likely, yes,” it said, “We are ready to begin as and when you are.”

Of course, there was a slight risk, under one percent, that the breaking would ignite stores of chemically reactive propellant aboard the Red Dwarf, and cause a catastrophic explosion in the lower decks. But no one mentioned that to the Rhiadin.

"Excellent. Beginning insertion operation."

The rockets emplaced along the sail flared, pushing it into a stationary position relative to the Red Dwarf. Further slight adjustments brought it in line with the apparatus on the 'Dwarf's underside, and the rockets on the far end fired, pushing it gently into the apparatus.

The ‘Dwarf’s crew watched with interest from one of the small windows on the lower section of the vast and largely automated freighter. Some jokes about phallic imagery were passed around of course, they were quite unavoidable with this procedure. Meanwhile, the ship itself waited for the deceleration burn to come. Meanwhile, elsewhere, other systems prepared to secure the sail properly once it was stopped.

On the end furtherest into the sail-holding apparatus, chemical rockets fired, slowing the insertion of the sail until, finally, it sits perfectly in the apparatus, completely still. All in all, an excellent insertion.

"To assist you in the utilisation of the sail, we have prepared a software package including the control programs necessary to operate the masts and yards, as well as a tutorial, which should be sufficient to instruct your workers in the basics of the operation of the sail."

Jacob returns a few minutes later, looking deep in thought. He ponders for a few minutes before turning to Nataliya, "Hm. What would you say if I said 'He Who Is'?"

"That's an old myth," Nataliya replied, "Of a godlike being who sent the colony ship to the home system. The historians think it's possibly derived from primitive monotheistic religions.

"How odd that you should have the same myth!"

The two security agents and the two diplomats blinked in shock, looking quite surprized and unsure how to respond to such a statement. They'd never dare call the man who controlled their lives a "myth". That was a good way to get yourself killed.

Jakob smiled thinly, "Yes... a myth... curious. Hm. Well, it seems obvious that we have a common lineage, no? Nearly identical language, despite being removed from the world in general for over a century. Similarities in names. The fact that we both know a 'He Who Is'." He grinned to himself, quite tempted to share with his new friends that he was actually a fifth-level clone of He Who Is, but he had a feeling that it wasn't the proper time. "I am curious, however, about this 'colony ship'..."

"The colony ship? There's not much to tell," Nataliya replied, coming around to look at the screen of the console. "As you can see, it's spherical, maybe five hundred meters in diameter.

"It carried a few hundred people - colonists and crew - to the Home System, with some kind of FTL or NAFAL drive; it's still at the Ekizi Holding of the Tianis Aggregate, so maybe they'll figure out how it works someday. They were trying when we left, so you never know; an Aggregate ship might turn up tomorrow."

Jakob grinned, "Yes, FTL, by following extrasolar superstrings that mutilate the laws of physics allowing its C-frac speed to be, effectively, greater than the nominal 'constant' speed of light throughout the universe. Nifty piece of engineering, that.

"Anyway, the gist of this is that the Aggregate caught the colony ship and... subjugated the crew?"

Nataliya blinked, and managed - with difficulty - to avoid dropping her jaw in shock. I wonder if they still have that technology?

"Not subjugated, as such," she assured Jakob quickly, "The Vuimesath Hierarchy had attacked the ship, and the the Aggregate showed up to stop the Hierarchy. From there ... well, there are a lot of Enrai in the home system, and the Aggregate offered our ancestors refuge in Ekizi. I guess the current system just evolved over time."

Jakob nodded a little, "Hmm. Similar end results, however."

Navenka cleared her thought slightly, speaking up, "Still... in a way a success, wasn't it?"

Jakob cut her off, , "Something like that. Still, the fact remains that we are still interested in formal relations... actually, more interested now."

"Yes," Nataliya replied, "It makes sense that we should come to some form of agreement - we may no longer be entirely Abatoiran, but in this system you are the closest relatives we have.

"What would you be looking for in formal relations? I'm afraid we would be hard put to supply military assistance - we have a small number of military vehicles aboard the Kinva, but no great force, and no way to get them down as yet."

Navenka smiled, "No, a mutual defence pact will not be necessary. We are quite secure where we are. This would be more a cultural and technological exchange, as well as placing us on friendly terms. Needless to say we're quite curious about what has happened in the intervening years, and very curious about the Aggregate. In short, we are currently interested in information. After that... we'll see how it goes, I guess."

"Information? That is easily provided," Nataliya replied. "I'm sure we could provide you with access to most levels of our databases aboard the Kinva - via satellite, most likely, as they are quite extensive."

OOC: Very sorry about the loooooong delay there; I wasn't sure how to reply and then I got distracted by shiny stuff.

Eventually, after several hours of intricate work on securing the massive sail into position, it was at last done. Captain Iysasírë looked around at the dispay, and tipped his head toward the distant shape of the Kinva. “Excellent,” he said, “prepare for hyper-speed. But first, hail the Riadhins.”

With a brief nod, he spoke, “It was a pleasure doing business with you, until next time, until next time, good day.”

And with that, the Red Dwarf shot off into the distance, vanishing from view in a few scant moments.