NationStates Jolt Archive


Status of the Vesh

Rayverr
31-12-2004, 05:58
Time: Six months following the Rayverr/ClemsonTigers War (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=381982)
Place: Occupation Central Command (OCC) building in České, Cvechiokal

Hieronymus Styger is not a leader among men; he merely looks like one. Tall, standing five centimeters short of two meters--demanding a tailored, well-made dark suit--with fair complexion and orderly, straight dark brown hair parted down one side of the solid yet not angular face, he looks around with a quiet awe, between the two Rayverr warriors larger than he who act as his escort throughout this building. All throughout Cvechiokal, the growing symbiosis with these alien tripeds could be seen--human engineers and technical workers working with the yellow cakjonlo, laborers... oddly few laborers, all things considered... straining together and leading teams of the lovably dense grrjonlo, even the reemergence of local, human police serving together with the changjonlo. The Rayverr, somehow, already knew English as if it were their first language and now their tongue, masfie was slowly beginning to spread its tendrils into the local dialect, mostly to describe the addition of the Rayverr into everyday life. A changjon is not truly the same as a warrior or a soldier, admittedly, and the ruddy grrjonlo are not exactly workers in the human sense. Perhaps 'servitor' was more accurate. Nevertheless, the ex-colonials of the Sean Empire were coming together again, united quietly and peacefully under the gentle hand of the Rayverr. Clean, healthy populations were constantly being moved into České, shielded from the irradiated areas by the Šumava Mountains, and people were spreading out too, as the Rayverrs found land safe from the radiation of the ClemsonTiger bombs. Life had not been easy, but there was a quiet, honest... happiness about the current struggle. There is simply something more honest and appealing about living and working to survive, to grow, than how it was before the Rayverr came. Working for what, money? Just so I could buy things I didn't need to appease avarice stoked by a braindead popular culture? That was then... this is now, and now has no time for such foolishness. Not that there isn't a popular culture now... it's simply... better. More honest.

He runs this through his mind as he walks down the broad, arched hallway. The OCC was a completely new building, built by the Rayverr next to České International Airport. He watched them build it from the ground up from the office building he worked in, and he was always struck by how quickly and efficiently it went up. It was certainly a Rayverr stronghold, though; the only writing and labels were the scratch-like brushmarks of masfie. Suddenly, Styger feels a momentary twinge of animal fear. I hope I'm not in trouble. The Rayverr don't like troublemakers. Indeed, they don't. Troublemakers have a tendency of disappearing for a short time, and then either reappearing to be a bit more civil than previous or else not reappearing at all. Hieronymus quickly runs through his mind things that they could possibly be bringing him in for, even the pettiest things, like jaywalking. Is that still even a crime?

The party stops just short of the too-large double doors, which stand at least four, maybe five meters tall and wide. The Warriors' eyes seem to flicker momentarily, and then the doors open outward, revealing themselves to be of thick metal construction with wide steel cylindrical bolts, like a bank lock. Through the door is a large room filled with oversize cushions and other items, and the Reaver to Styger's right steps back momentarily, gesturing for the human to enter in a sweeping motion of one chitinous blue-plated arm, the gravpulse rifle stowed over his shoulder tapping lightly against his metal plates of armor.

Swallowing silently, Styger tries to steel himself before walking in, the other Warrior close behind. The room is revealed to be a massive, circular room with a few relatively small cubicles blocked off, similar massive doors on the cardinal points, the top of the dome dominated by a huge geodesic window and skylight, slightly tinted in order to dim the otherwise painfully bright noonday sun. He doesn't know what registers first, the memory or the evidence, but Hieronymus suddenly realizes that he's in the primary dome of the OCC, the residence of the Daughter. He doesn't notice the door closing silently behind him or the guard posting himself in front of it as the evidence of his realization stands to her full height of three and a half meters, her muscular frame rippling slightly under royal purple-tinted scales and her slightly iridescent garments of green and black. "Thahnk youh fohr meehtihng me, Mihstehr Sstygehr," she quietly booms, voice bass from her size and heavily aspirated from the construction of the Rayverr palate.

The address human freezes stock still, simply awestruck. I knew that lisgahnjonlo were large, but... the images on the TV simply don't do her justice. His stage training takes over as he smiles diplomatically, nodding respectfully. "I only thought it was the most proper thing to do, Your Highness, seeing how polite these fine gentlemen"--he looks over his shoulder at the Warrior--"well, this fine gentleman and his comrade was."

Yellow-Star lets a ululating hiss escape her teeth, edges of her thin-lipped mouth curling up in a sly-looking smile to slightly expose a few molars as Rayverr physiology demands while she opens one yellow-orange eye slightly wider than the other, simulating a human's raised eyebrow. "Indeed. You carry yourself well, Mister Styger." She muses momentarily over his choice of style, smiling internally to herself as she folds her two brawny manipulator hands in front of her. "That is one of the reasons I wished to speak with you. What do you think of us, Mister Styger?"

Hieronymus ponders for a moment and answers truthfully. "I think you're the best thing to happen to Cvechiokal in a long time, Your Highness, as does everyone else I know."

She nods slowly, beginning to pace to the left. "Good, good. Please," she motions towards the cushions with one hand, "sit down, Mister Styger. I understand such things are customary here."

"They are," he replies momentarily as he walks up to sit carefully on the cushion indicated although he'd rather remain standing. He already feels very, very small around the huge creature, and this doesn't help that feeling at all. She does retreat a few paces, however to keep him from having to strain his neck. "Now, think about how when we first arrived. What did you think of us then? I speak of 'you' as you and your human family."

Odd way to talk about countrymen, Styger thinks momentarily as he remembers six months ago, the events clear yet jumbled because it all happened so fast. The emotions he remember feel oddly... alien, almost out of place given what he knew and felt now. "I was scared, admittedly--so was everyone else. We didn't know who you were, and... even though we hated the colonial yoke, you were even more different. Frighteningly... alien."

"As I thought." The Third-Daughter rolls her shoulders to herself. "You are a... marketing executive?"

Hieronymus raises an eyebrow. "Yes, Your Highness. A good one too, if I may say so myself."

"So I have heard. Do you have any experience in politics?"

"Errr... I have worked on several campaigns, yes, Your Highness. I've also kept in contact with friends from multinational sales conferences and learned a bit about them that way. So... yes and no?"

Another ululating hiss. "It is sufficient." The Rayverr Queen squats down on her haunches, her simple robes billowing out slightly as her slitted pupils lock onto the human's eyes. "As you can understand, people tend to believe what they see. They form opinions on sight alone, and in sight, we are alien. This is, you understand, a disadvantage."

Styger nods quietly.

"So," she continues with another sly smile, "what we have is, essentially, a problem of image. How would you like to have a new client?"

Hieronymus blinks slowly. "What... you? The Rayverr? Your Highness."

"Yes. I would like you to represent the vesh pij verr," Yellow-Star replies with a look sly by physiology, "and essentially be our spokesman in affairs here. You know as well as I do that people are more comfortable among their own, and we are not so proud as to not cater to others and ease them closer to us. We believe you are the best for the job. Do you accept?"

The human pauses, slowly being filled by a quick excitement. It's a fascinating idea. It's the biggest job I've ever had. The best too, eh? Styger smiles slyly. "I'll take it, your Highness. It isn't often I get such lucrative offers."

"Excellent, Mister Styger." The Second-Daughter's smile somehow grows broader, exposing more teeth. "Most excellent."
Rayverr
04-03-2005, 05:51
Time: Concurrent with the Machiavelli Station negotiations (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=8343057#post8343057)
Place: Office of the Speaker, Cvechiokal

() How goes your work, my masjon?

Hieronymus Styger shivers as he always does when addressed. It isn't the feeling of something creeping up his spine or hairs standing on end, it's not like that at all. Not a chill, and not pent up emotion... it's a feeling of release, a sort of quietly blissful microenlightenment each time the voice that no mouth ever uttered resounds in his mind.

() Very well, honored Mater. They have agreed to house our businessmen, with plans for future expansion with a consulate. It had taken practice, but Mater had taught him, helped shape his mind to the task of sending as well of receiving. He too can address; he is the masjon, the link between the glorious Empress and her loyal human subjects, the translator of her will, her singular Prophet. Third-Daughter Green-Stone had chosen him, and Mater had accepted him, above all other candidates, bringing him higher to them and making him greater than any other of his unfortunate species, unfortunate not to be of the continually self-perfecting genome of the Rayverr.

This makes him proud of his duty, his station.

() Excellent, my masjon. Most excellent indeed.

Styger feels himself filled with a warm, pleasant sensation, a simple feeling of well-being, safety, and happiness--Mater's benificent reward for his service. In it, there is a promise--a promise that if he continues to do the work of the vesh pij verr, he will not be alone in its enlightenment, in its happy state. () I live to serve, honored Mater. The trading station will serve well to spread our name and our good association to others.

A momentary pause that brings with it a roll of the shoulders, a gentle nod. () Yes, those are my thoughts. We of the vesh serve all, my masjon; we are a Gift. Remember that, and your service will never fail me.

() I shall, honored Mater. I will make more friends for the vesh, so our enlightenment may bring light to others.

() Exactly, my masjon. Continue in your work; look to more ways that we can be visible to those who seek our light.

The addressing fades away, echoes in a dark cavern... no. Echoes in a concert hall, not yet complete.

Styger smiles. A concert hall, being refurbished by Mater and her honored Daughters, to truly do justice to the song of the vesh.
Rayverr
18-03-2005, 17:01
Time: concurrent with requests for investment (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=404823) in Cvechiokal
Place: Occupation Central Command (OCC) building in České, Cvechiokal

Sovpik clucks her tongue, looking quite content as she taps the bony claws of her broad fingers together, eyes narrowed in thought. Her face naturally tightens, a result of her physiology, the muscles that need to contract in order to slit her eyes, and yet she smiles in the rayverr parody of the human action, inadvertent slyness and a flash of sharp teeth. To an unbiased observer lacking knowledge of rayverr facial expression and body language, the purple Third-Daughter looks decidedly sinister. Styger knows better, however, and simply lounges nearby, quietly listening for her to spread her thoughts aloud. "An excellent idea, masjon," she says after shifting a little, "one that solves two problems at once."

"Yes," Hieronymus replies, smiling at the compliment as he bows his head respectfully, an exaggerated nod. "The erthkaivesh is reaching its limits, and we cannot forever send our best and brightest to Sh'kai." The Ancient Home! How it filled his mind with joy even to think of it, much less saying it... those once alien phonemes now bring him untold bliss, the key incantation of a magical, holy liturgy. "The vesh must also expand, as it always does, in the spirit of Universal Happiness."

The Rayverr queen, several times the trim ex-businessman's bulk, shifts her muscled frame slightly again in her massive beanbag chair. "Yes. Too few understand our Doctrine, our goal now. Now that we know firsthand that others are filled with sadness and pain, we know that we have the solution. Universal Happiness is a mutually beneficial solution, where we profit from giving and all others profit from taking."

"Indeed," the masjon takes up the role of a congregation of one, "they will profit as I have profited. They will send their emissaries, and those experts will look over the new lands of the vesh and think on how they can improve us... then they will act to improve us. Even then, silently, we will be improving them with the Gift, and they shall return to their nations, and unconciously help us spread our enlightenment to the world."

Yellowstar smiles slyly, eyes narrowing once again. "I can see now that it was a wise decision to make you masjon," she says in a soft undertone, something hidden behind her voice.

------===------

Place: Same building, different room

Big-Gripper looks at the backlit maps that makes up the series of tables in the war room. The vesh is in no wars, but the name was traditional--so say the few human militia commanders on staff.

One table makes up a map of the Solar System, a copy of a strategic map on his flagship. One table is a map of the Earth, but it hurt to look at that for too long for some reason or another. The last is a map of Cvechiokal's region, and this is the one the General-Officer stands beside, scanning with his practiced eyes.

Since the war with ClemsonTigers, the Rayverr army had increased by a third. Ten Colonial Armies, shipped one by one to Cvechiokal to hold it more firmly and to fortify it as a base for further operations on Earth. The thick concentration of unit chits on the map of Cvechiokal reminds Big-Gripper of a few basic numbers. Out of a vesh of 2.1 billion or so, there are exactly 65,434,285 Warriors, or a touch more than three percent. Feeding, equipping, and maintaining that three percent of the vesh absorbed a full thirty percent of the vesh's resources.

Resources wasted if that three percent simply sat around and did nothing. Big-Gripper calls up a small bit of information onto a screen mounted in the wall:
Status of the Rayverr Military

Navy:16 I'jolpikslaxjon Battleships
38 Slaxjon Battlecruisers
55 I'lisslaxjon Cruisers
280 Chikrisschang'e'terr Destroyers
48 Jok-Chumkoachike'terr Corvettes
722 Sokfiejon Auxilliary Cargo

Army: 30 Armies, each consisting of1 General-Officer
15 Company-Officers
240 Field-Officers
3,600 Chief-Enlisted
54,000 Sergeant-Enlisted
810,000 Private-Enlisted

1,356 SokfieTolfiejon-127 Cargo Aircraft
2,260 ChangTolfiejon-58 Fighter Aircraft
1,206 LokChangTolfiejon-92 Bomber Aircraft
30,511 ChangSokfieLokSoovjon-107 Armored Personnel Carriers
43,393 ChangLokSoovjon-83 Main Battle Tanks
With over a million tanks, Big-Gripper finds himself thinking, we will have to find somewhere to use them, again.