NationStates Jolt Archive

The horizon did not stretch peacefully along the very limit of vision, instead broken up against towering and splintered rock which long ago had lost uniform appearance- Shattered into myriad fragments that competed to breach the heavens but failed even to assault the pseudo-barrier of clouds. Giving birth to the haphazard chain of mountains a desert of gravel stretched to infinity. Grey and without the welcome stirrings of life it seemed an inhospitable carpet of silence and monotony that could promise little and deliver on nothing.

Above the repetition seemed mirrored- A sea of stars burned dimly as if this world found itself so isolated terribly from the warming embrace of life that it owed the very nature of its barren surface to the overwhelming loneliness. For none now stood to imprint their mark upon the sliding gravel or cast their shielded gaze upwards to the brilliant points of shimmering light that marked other, more teeming worlds.

Even her name had passed from surviving memory so that only a designation equally as hostile as that which it described passed from the lips of those that occasionally passed this world to neighbours of more promise, or interest- Recognised in any capacity as a nowhere only because it lay upon a path to somewhere.

It was in this afore mentioned capacity as a cold receptacle for inactivity that the opposite became reality for a brief time as the furthest tendrils of a civilisation reached blindly, but with purpose. It descended through the almost non-existent atmosphere free from the normally scalding heat of orbital re-entry as a shining, elongated capsule of purest silver.

Further downwards it plunged, so that the extending flats of grey loomed for imminent collision- Without reflection for the dullness that blanketed below would not stand to gaze upon its own mediocrity. It impacted almost silently, the thick cloud of dust thrown upwards returning from whence it came with painful hesitation as the thin atmosphere surrounding scarcely conjured the ability to mimic Earth. Robbed of any sonic emission the landing seemed less impressive, and more in tune with the unchanging surroundings.

The silver-like dart was barely visible, with only its rearmost quarter remaining above the grit and gravel so that an observer might from a distance see the glint of metal. This glint was short lived as the bulbous rear opened as a flower might expand in bloom to reveal an inner vehicle. Given little in the way of encouragement a faint green hue from its undercarriage heralded the shunning of gravity, as the smaller unit levitated clear of the remains which were once its protective capsule.

It appeared a curious contraption- Resembling its landing method only by reproducing the brilliant surface sheen. It was composed of a vertically hovering tear drop shaped shield of metal whose edges curled round to stand parallel to the each other, as though a vastly larger tribal mask of sorts from ritualistic Earth past. Extending from the surface probes of various lengths stood, some terminating in beacons of alternating colour. From behind this ‘mask’ the machinery of the unit was visible- The anti-gravitic drive below and the sensitive sensor suite and associated equipment above.

Quickly it moved form the site of dishevelment, so that it stood the only true landmark for many miles in all directions. From the longest sensor rod a fierce blue wave of energy emerged, sweeping the uninteresting gravel ahead in a tumulus, rolling crescendo that oddly enough caused no visible disturbance to the ground. Clearly unable to ascertain anything of particular relevancy, a high-pitched whine muted by the virtual vacuum heralded the unit’s climb to higher altitudes.

Towards the miss-matched mountain ranges the foreign implement made steady, if accelerating progress. At regular intervals from its newfound height identical beams of searching energy raked the land both ahead and behind, though again nothing garnered its attention sufficiently to warrant closer attention. Such close scrutiny with pyrotechnical colouring challenged the stars themselves to outshine the alien activity, however brief and impudent next to the millennia spanning domination of the burning points of light.

Silent since the beginning of all things, they had no intention of taking up such challenge and so the contraption continued its methodical analysis- All the while closing on the broken mountains that so fractured the horizon but at the same time provided welcome respite from the sameness around. Still the metal invader gave no hint to origins or purpose and remained decidedly mute, in that respect oddly similar to the atmosphere surrounding.

The system’s harsh sun cast its violent gaze downwards upon the sloping mountains- Piercing yellow rays that attacked the once prevailing shadows cast from towering summit and banished them so that even an observer of poor eyesight could not fail to identify ever nuance and curve of the rocky terrain. A sun whose glare raised the surface temperature to searing levels which liquefied flesh and forced lesser metals to bubble impotently and melt.

Across the now brightly lit plains, a single new shadow staked a brave and impetuous claim to existence- Generated by that which did not belong on the surface and whose shining progenitor mocked the burning sun, utterly ignoring the fearsome rays it consequently fanned against the gravel below. Not content with simply providing sole resistance against the orchestrating star the descending device emitted once more coruscating arcs of inquisitive energy that rolled against the southern slopes of the rising mountains, dissipating as they spread outwards upon the flats aside the blistering peaks.

It rotated slowly, so that the southern mountain range now fell within its encompassing view. Sweeping ahead with senses as alien to a humanoid creature as to the world which was subject to such analysis, it suddenly halted the lazily rolling wave- Accelerating forwards sharply as it found something to finally pique its curiosity. With speed possible only with the gift of technology it quickly ascended upwards until the flat stretch of terrain rose sharply as the mountain gathered height alarmingly quickly for distance travelled towards the sky.

The sides of the mountain were not smooth but littered with protrusions of rock and massive boulders in turn split from larger still masses and having been freed tumbled downwards until sufficient friction brought them to a precarious rest, overlooking many jutting ledges and unassailable cliff faces. It seemed the very picture of chaotic nature- Given overall form from distance but upon closer inspection found to be a complex amalgamation of many different facets.

From one such slope however jutted not the unstable medium above, but a carved doorway standing many times the height of a Man. As though a great blade had simply sliced a passageway into the heart of the surrounding rock it remained closed to curious eyes by two equally massive doors, though such precautions were merely delaying tactic- The machine quickly negated the distance between and lowered its anti-gravitic momentum sufficiently to induce a controlled fall, until it hovered but scant few metres from the sealed doorway and whatever reality lay behind.

The gloom beyond this unnatural barrier was total, not even the accumulated dust of ages passed remained visible amongst the all-reaching blackness that stretched forwards. For all the furious energies of the blazing sun beyond it remained impotent and foolish, for it could no more penetrate the dark than a lion might scratch away the bars of its constrictive cage with nothing more than claw and will. For a time unmeasured the world beyond had known not even of this structure, let alone what the corridor within led to and revealed.

That time however, had now come to an end.

Through the void, a single spot became visible. As a minute circle of flaming red it quickly expanded until it boasted a size twice that of moments passed, three times and four. The colour intensified from a crimson to white as wisps of smoke began to emanate from the point of assault. Without warning a beam of equal colouration tore through the spot and continued onwards into the darkness- It no longer mattered for the point of entry was the focus of activity.

With almost painful progress the beam began to edge upwards, the circle quick to greedily encompass more of the once-impenetrable barrier. As before the area under fresh attack glowed red before reaching a searing white that saw the thick metal twist and droop into molten slag that did little more than fall to the smooth stone floor. Even with seemingly no motivation to accelerate the true end result was tangible- Already the cutting, which had begun at a halfway point had reached the first corner of the target door and begun to traverse to the horizontal.

After much delay, the beam drew close to the point of origin and completion of the act of entry. A flawless rectangle whose dimensions were precise enough to ensure only a thin corridor of surviving metal continued to maintain the structure and shape of the door. The furious burning began to subside as the beam itself flickered between oblivion and activation, eventually shimmering from existence and leaving the gloom once more unperturbed.

Frustrated for an eternity, the sun took gleeful pleasure in flooding the corridor with painful illumination as the thick, sliced section of door fell inwards and silently impacted upon the stone floor. Tendril-like cracks spread outwards from beneath the fallen obstacle and quickly widened into fissures that would force any would-be explorer to sidestep precariously. Fortunately the mechanical likeness would at will deny the demands of gravity to yield, and simply continued inside unfazed.

From small openings upon the primary chassis of the prying vehicle the familiar fluctuating waves of blue began to shimmer against the smooth walls, highlighting the impeccable carving carried out. Still the machine pressed onwards, rounding sharp corners until the light supplied generously by the over eager star began to fade- Unable to penetrate with any depth into the twisting catacombs. Aware of this in some capacity, two shafts of brilliant white light erupted from cylinders attached to either side of the primary carapace of the exploring vehicle and aided it well in navigation.


The tunnel widened as it progressed, enlarging into a chamber of considerable height and width which surely would generate a considerable echo if atmosphere had been present to facilitate it. Such was the cavernous size the darkness proved too strong to be repelled by the piercing lights cast from the machine creation- The rays of illumination simply diminishing into nothingness. Seemingly unfazed the intruding device pushed onwards through the dark, as though seeing that which remained invisible to any natural eye.

Slowing to a halt, the unit remained silent for many minutes, before extending a sensor rod many inches beyond the previous longest so that it led considerably into the darkness. Without warning the familiar rolling energies of blue erupted, yet with far larger radius than previously- Spreading forth from such tiny origin to encompass the entire frontal angle.

It was then it became illuminated, against a backdrop of intense fluctuating light- A structure quite bizarre in appearance and composition which in no true way boasted similarity to the architecture surrounding. At first glance a simple geometric shape of considerable size, yet on closer inspection possessing a complex construction whose purpose could only be guessed at.

It stood a circle of metal, over twice the height of a man and the same in breadth. The shape was buried partially within a dais of stone so that it appeared almost a curving arch, a gateway or monument though to what it marked the path to or stood in memorial was utterly unknown. As the examining contraption moved closer the rippling beams of energy pouring forth revealed the circle was in fact a combination of three- A large outer collar of smooth, dark metal guarding a smaller cousin whose surface was divided into many different segments. Each of these segments bore inscribed symbols of bizarre shape and utterly alien form, lines that intersected in relatively simple but varied permutations which ruled out simple written language.

The third circle acted much the same as the first, though of proportionally smaller dimensions and ensured the second disc retained its place solidly. Though the unison between all three circles was absolute, nine triangular shaped vices were attached to the outer collar and formed a series of arrow-like points that seemed to gesture to the inscribed second disc. Upon each of these nine triangles a smaller, bevelled shape sat within and seemed constructed of a more opaque material than the surrounding material.

The distribution of these nine indicators around the outer collar was not even- One stood as the number twelve did upon the face of a clock, with the remaining eight being found at the positions of two, four, eight and ten on a standard clock face.

As suddenly as the blue fields of energy had begun, they dissipated into nothingness. The immense structure disappeared as the illuminating light failed and once more, darkness reigned. However the alien device did not move or seek a new target and instead renewed its examination with a new method for the first time- A wide beam of crimson red a sharp contrast to the traditionally utilised blue but now focused on the entirety of the fascinating monument.

From the top of the unit, a small metallic spire rose until it had cleared the structure of the contraption by a clear metre. For here amongst the barren gravel and splintered mountain the unusual had nestled amongst the mundane, the curious with the monotonous. Such a peculiarity where one would expect that which was uniform could not go unnoticed.

Such notice would be roused, and they would descend with an interest more befitting this curiosity than the simple analysis of a mechanical explorer.


Farri Metrasci, Supreme-Overseer of the Department Scientia stalked the corridor with a pace that ensured she was not interrupted by any whom passed the clearly dishevelled Kaeneian. The hour was early and still Sol had yet to rise over the expansive fields of ice and rock which constituted much of the land of the Serene^Union. Such was the urgency of the request for her immediate presence Farri had not even the time to change from her sleeping fatigues fully- Simply pulling a plain overcoat about her shoulders and relying on her irked demeanour to encourage none to question.

The laboratory doors opened efficiently to admit her, and she did not lessen pace until she had reached the site of a multitude of data monitors. The majority simply scrolled with coordinates and code, for the most part indecipherable, but a select few contained curious symbols with an analysis grid superimposed over the original image. At her side, the cause of her wakefulness stood.

“I apologise for the earliness of the hour, Supreme-Overseer.” He began, consulting a monitor as it displayed a new and peculiar symbol in line with the other units beside.

“Apologies are irrelevant Adept, I simply wish to know what could not wait until proper morning without my attentions.”

Turning back from the confronted data the adept nodded. “You are familiar with our long-range planetary survey probes?”

The Supreme-Overseer nodded, she herself having been a vocal opponent of further exploration beyond the immediate vicinity of the Sol system. For in her opinion the Serene^Union risked conflict and further involvement in foreign affairs, and having watched the once-vehement policy of isolation dilute Farri felt such an opinion well justified.

“Against my better judgement, I do.”

Nodding, the adept continued. “We have a number of long-range probe units currently examining systems not already mapped by Triumvirate forces. For the majority nothing of incidence or interest has arisen and they have consequently continued in their analysis. However one such probe, examining an unremarkable seven planet system approximately nine hundred light years to the galactic east has located something of somewhat relevant interest to the Serene^Union.”

“Proceed.” She ordered sharply, hopeful that this entire impromptu meeting might at last come to a point which deserved her attention.

“Upon a world which has been catalogued as Phariai, barren and without life, a somewhat unusual discovery has been made. The planet itself consists of little more than open flats of gravel and boulder, with the occasional towering range of splintered mountains. It possesses no appreciable atmosphere and as a consequence is utterly without life- Both at an advanced or plant level.”

“This is a normal consequence of the Phariai classification.” The Supreme-Overseer interrupted, “I see no relevancy.”

Not allowing himself to be distracted by the obvious cynicism, the adept continued- “You are quite correct, however what is more startling is the presence of an artificial structure, a tunnelled chamber to be precise, present within the heart of a particular mountain. It does not carry any discerning markings or recognisable styling though it is not the chamber alone which is so intriguing, but what is contained within it.”

Crossing to the monitors once more, he entered a sequence of commands upon the control runes situated beside- The screens flickering before then displaying the very same images captured by the mechanical explorer that had come upon the barren, rocky world. The circular monument, familiar only to the probe that had detected it originally sat silently within these pictures and did not elaborate anymore than it had originally on purpose or architect.

“The monument you look upon Supreme-Overseer is why I have awoken you; it is of a nature entirely unlike anything previously seen by my eyes or that of my colleagues.”

Farri stared for several moments, her facial expression remaining impassive. “I see nothing unusual adept, and nothing worthy of my presence. I see a monument constructed to remember an event long forgotten on a planet longer since dead.”

The adept seemed to have almost pre-empted the question and was already altering the monitor’s display when his Kaeneian superior uttered her barbed retort. With a second flicker, a new image appeared- Seemingly a vastly closer section of the monument, a segment of the second disc which was inscribed with a curious symbol.

A curious symbol that was instantly recognised by the Supreme-Overseer.

“How is this possible?” She asked, in a tone that leaned far more upon demand than request.

The adept chose to address the symbol first. “What you see is undoubtedly Baroque-Kaeneian in language base, the linguistic capabilities of The Spire’s central intellect translating it more or less directly as ‘Elanderii^Solarri’. In the English tongue ‘Beauty of home’, the word home is referring to our world of origin, Solarri.”

“Curiously, the other symbols do not translate to Baroque-Kaeneian or any known language or dialect within the repository of linguistic information. The Spire’s intellect further informs me none of its brethren have come upon further successful translations. I do not need to stress that finding an artefact such as this, within an enclosure clearly differing in original constructor upon a world which is essentially dead cannot be viewed as anything other than highly suspicious.”

“Where is the nearest vessel?”

Pausing only long enough to access the information needed to answer the Supreme-Overseer’s question, the adept returned to face her. “The Elora-Khandrii is currently fourteen light years from the planet containing the artefact, and is sufficiently free of burden to secure it within twenty four hours.”

Farri turned once more to stare at the symbol- The scientist within her, though starved of the opportunity to study still burned brightly and was utterly enthralled by the bizarre sight. Addressing the adept, whom had forced her new day to take a most unusual turn, she stated simply.

“Proceed.”




The cargo bay was expansive, the roof curving slightly at a height that allowed for two full storeys whilst still forcing the neck to crane in order to stare at the reinforced ceiling. Dominated by the immensely strong pressure doors that stood as the only barrier to the freezing caress of the void, the bay was utterly silent. The expected contents of storage containers, surplus equipment and shipboard supplies eschewed in favour of an altogether more foreign influence.

The artefact was hardly unnoticeable in size itself; standing fully upwards with the assistance of specifically placed anti-gravitic pads which though sparse allowed unsurpassed visual analysis. Clearly a complete circle now that the curiosity had been liberated from its partially obscuring stone dais, and in the superior if harsh lighting of the cargo bay revealed to be far less primitive than first thought.

Commander Viera stood but a few metres from the now captured relic, freely allowing his head to cock to the side in puzzlement. Not simply at precisely what stood in front of him, but also in the very nature of the entire order to take possession and transport it aboard this vessel. By accident or design Kaeneians were not inherently curious, and rarely took such blatantly indulging action as to plunder the universe for rare and interesting antiques, despite their uniqueness.

He was joined at his side by the crimson-garbed adepts of the Department Scientia, on whose orders Viera acted upon in a rare if perfectly allowable secondment of a military vessel to civilian use. Turning to the superior amongst the newly arrived horde, he gestured ahead.

“I must admit I cannot fathom the interest in this item.” He said simply, though in reality the truth was somewhat different- Having realised that a particular portion of the artefact boasted text written in the almost lost language of the Serene^Union, Baroque-Kaeneian. Such a veritable surviving link to the past of Kaenei was tenaciously hunted down, for the long-lost history of their journey from one world to another would reap glorious rewards were they resurrected.

The Commander did not receive a reply immediately- Instead the Kaeneian opposite seemed lost in thought, occasionally consulting a handheld sensor device before eventually sparing the mental facilities to engage in conversation.

“This is unlike any ‘item’ you have encountered, Commander.”

Viera stopped short of questioning the meaning of the deliberately belittling intonation of the word item, instead accepting the rather well known lack of social abilities inherent seemingly to life as a scientist. Remaining silent for a few moments, he retorted-

“I was not aware the Department Scientia felt obliged to include the Defence Solarri in matters of such grace and wonder.”

His answer was far quicker. “It is not normally our policy to include those trained to do little more than kill or be killed; however there was not a vessel of direct Department Scientia administration within acceptable range of the Phariai world below and Supreme-Overseer Metrasci felt it sufficiently important to utilise her prerogative.”

The Commander would have smiled, if such an expression had not been more alien than the artefact they now stood aside. “I am glad I could be of some assistance.”


“Minimal assistance and usefulness, though that can be addressed somewhat.” The science adept admonished, “We are to return to Earth with all possible haste, and whilst the world below bares some relevance in that it housed that which we now possess, detailed probing has failed to unearth further treasures or areas of interest and consequently we shall stake no claim- Take no action in that respect.”

Viera nodded, replying with cynicism- “I shall endeavour to carry out such orders to the best my ability allows, though I am curious to know when the mandate of the Department Scientia extended to superseding my authority over this ship with your own.”

On this occasion, a simple look of distaste was his only reply. Realising there existed little hope of further elaboration on the exact nature of what the stomach of his vessel carried, or indeed conversation in any capacity, Commander Viera turned and left for matters more within his immediate influence- Returning to Terra with this seemingly important find and arriving with as little related information as when he first gazed upon it.



A loud clatter erupted as the tabletop was assaulted by the multitude of data nodes falling upon its surface, followed into the chaotic mix by hands that quickly sorted them into efficient piles for examination and dissemination. From the table’s edges seven sets of eyes regarded the originator of the mess, and with interest what could so quickly demand their relatively rare time.

The adept did not feel nervousness in the true sense, though a wish to see his work credited with the backing of the Aengelistoria Dominica drove his perseverance. Finally having arranged the information in such a way as to be reasonably accessible by all present he raised his head, signalling he was ready to proceed at the leisure of the Council.

“Supreme-Overseer Metrasci informs me of an interesting discovery, which you are responsible for bringing to her attention. Consequently she has deemed it of sufficient importance to bring it before the Aengelistoria Dominica- Please proceed with your presentation adept Nioni.”

The words of Sophia Byzainti, Governor-General of the Serene^Union would not be wasted on this somewhat inexperienced, but talented scientist. Quickly ascertaining he had the correct starting data Nioni began-

“As I address the Council the Elora-Khandrii is but a few hours from Earth orbit, carrying an artefact of considerable interest to the Department Scientia, and the Serene^Union in general.”

Ensuring each Supreme-Overseer had the relevant data node, he continued- “As the nodes each of you hold shows, the curiosity is a geometric shape of unknown material and composition. It was uncovered upon a Phariai world some nine hundred light years from Terra, a planet which at this time is not known to have previously been charted by any information source accessible by us. The world is without an atmosphere capable of supporting life, yet is clearly home to artificial structures that are not sealed against the vacuum of space and consequently raise further questions.”

“However this is not truly what separates the interesting from the fascinating, or the trinket from the treasure. The artefact carries text that has been verified beyond doubt of validity as Baroque-Kaeneian in linguistic base.”

“You have done well to bring this to our attention.” Praised the Governor-General. “Can you foretell the purpose or implementation of this artefact?”

Nioni shook his head, “Currently we can find no other translations of the various unknown languages that are inscribed upon the second disc. Without further information I cannot say with any certainty it is simply a monument or perhaps something altogether more.”

“The question must be asked, how Baroque-Kaeneian came to be inscribed upon the artefact.” Mused Christiansen Meridiaa, Supreme-Overseer of the Defence Solarri.

Adept Nioni paused, seemingly hesitating. “I have concocted a theory Supreme-Overseer, and having had the central intellect of The Spire examine it also concluded it is reasonable considering our lack of anything further than circumstantial information.”

“Continue.” Meridiaa urged.

“There exists many tales of Kaenei before our Earth Ascension, before the great displacement that took us from Solarri. Entire libraries many miles in size contain the most ancient recordings of our feats and achievements in these millennia passed. However little survives that charts precisely our journey itself- The one hundred thousand light years spent upon the sea of stars has passed to legend and few damaged and oft-duplicated data nodes remain intact.”

“If one considers the position of the Phariai world, it is not out with the realms of feasibility that the planet was chosen for a reason now lost to deposit information from our ancestors. It is entirely possible that we have stumbled upon one point in the path from Solarri to Earth- I cannot stress the importance of this find, consequently I must ask that the Aengelistoria Dominica grant full access to the vaults beneath The Spire to corroborate what I have discussed.”

A silence followed, as each Council member examined their own feelings to such an act. Eventually it was their overall voice that spoke, echoing the majority decision.

“The vaults of The Spire have rarely been disturbed these last centuries, and I cannot recall a time of their accessing in my tenure as a senior official of the Serene^Union. They are priceless collections of knowledge that even at our stage of civilisation exist in a state too advanced to be dared unleashed, for their terrible secrets are best believed imagined, rather than lived.”

“However, I realise that this enigma cannot be solved through mere supposition and rudimentary analysis- As such you are hereby granted under authority of the Governor-General of the Serene^Union, access to the entirety of the vaults. Limit your delving however to matters pertaining to the artefact unless you feel strongly that some other facet can aid you.”

Nioni nodded, having accomplished precisely what he had set out to achieve. With access to the information contained almost the entire length of The Spire itself below the snow the adept was confident some shred of data relating to the bizarre device could be unearthed and that finally purpose would be revealed. Respectfully excusing himself he left the presence of the Council- Time was of the essence.




Viera threw himself sharply against the corridor wall as a veritable horde of Department Scientia adepts charged past, almost throwing him off his feet in their fever to reach that which had scarcely left the sterile sanctity of orbit. Turning he saw no apologetic looks or indeed even a second glance from the retreating group and this served only to reinforce his belief that those whom served the scientific wing of the Serene^Union were of a dedication that bordered on the unhealthy.

In a secondary aspect the Commander found himself somewhat placated with his return to Earth ahead of planned schedule and here within the gargantuan structure of The Spire. It had been long in excess of six Terran months since last he had felt the cold winds of the sub-arctic sting his flesh with the freezing droplets of snow blown into a flurry by the unforgiving harshness of the natural world- Longer still since he had walked the hallowed halls of the seat of the Aengelistoria Dominica and the heart of the Serene^Union.

His nostalgia placed aside he arrived within the chamber now to serve as home to his odd cargo. In some respects it resembled the cargo bay of the Elora-Khandrii, being in possession of a high ceiling which accommodated two stories and having a liberal quantity of conduit and piping entering through sections of the walls and disappearing likewise.

Currently in a horizontal position, but three or so feet from the concrete floor the artefact seemed suspended from gravity magically- Not as a puppet with strings dictating all movements or as a structure held in place through support beams or tresses. Only the soft glow of strategically placed anti-gravitic pads betrayed that it was not under own power that such levitation was achieved. Gazing down at the circular monument from his own six foot height Viera appreciated more its interesting secrets, and admitted to being far more entranced by it as he had been a board his vessel.

From somewhere behind his field of vision, a control was manipulated and with an audible whine the artefact began to rotate towards its familiar vertical standing. At the same moment he was joined by the petite form of Supreme-Overseer Farri Metrasci, whom had been the architect of his entire journey to Earth.

“What are your thoughts, Commander?”

Viera turned, and immediately lowered his head briefly in respect. Through his considerably senior rank he was permitted to end the show of respect himself, rather than having to wait in any capacity. Having completed the formality he took a moment to fix his eyes upon the now upright device, before answering the question posed.

“It is not my place to question science, Supreme-Overseer.” He stated simply.

Farri turned, her eyebrow raised to form a quizzical expression overall. “I did not ask your opinion Commander, I asked for your thoughts.”

Viera nodded again curtly. "Considerable resources have been expended on something that does not apparently desire its secrets revealed for mere mortals to ponder, and I cannot say I am certain we will be rewarded for our efforts.”

“A valid concern.” Agreed Farri, taking a step forwards. “Yet if it can indeed lead us to learn more of the history of our journey after the great displacement then it shall surely be worth the expenditure.”

He felt no need to respond, his superior having posed the consideration eloquently. Viera watched her walk forwards until she was within reach to lay a hand upon the surface of the suspended artefact, eyes closed as her intellect pondered the feeling.

“It is totally unlike any material I have ever seen.” She uttered.

“The electronic intellect aboard the Elora-Khandrii was unable to ascertain the precise nature of the metallurgical composition, though it did identify a curious thirty percent structure similarity to existing Kaeneian alloys.”

She stepped back, wiping her hand upon a plain-patterned handkerchief- “Intriguing, this entire situation seems to be growing in stature.”

The moment of tranquillity was shattered by the pounding echo of harried feet, as a third individual entered the cavernous chamber without regard for subtle introduction. Viera turned in time to almost collide with the blur as it struggled to stop from such acceleration. His opposite number was not so fortunate and impacted the floor with painful abandonment of personal safety.

“Adept Nioni.” Greeted the Supreme-Overseer nonchalantly.

Picking himself up quickly and pausing only to check on the data node clasped tightly between rigid fingers he resumed his stance, nodding to Viera whom had simply regarded the youngster with a mixture of puzzlement and confusion.

“Supreme-Overseer, I have vital information that must reach your ears.”

Farri cocked her head to the side slightly, nodding. “Continue.”

Handing the data node to his superior, he began- “My analysis of the relevant linguistics vault underneath The Spire has uncovered several translations of the other languages we had deemed unknown. The words in English tongue heralded a truth that I can scarcely believe possible.”

“The vault identified this artefact as constructed by the Serene^Union, or more accurately that which predated our Union by some one hundred and eighty years.”

Farri looked up from the node to intersect- “Which would place time of construction within that of the great displacement.”

Nioni continued. “Precisely, however more relevant still is the language predominant on the device. From what I can discern, it is the dialect of the Caelistis Gens Empire and consequently the technology itself is liable to be far older, a conservative estimate being five hundred to seven hundred years.”

“You are positive?” She replied.

“I cannot believe any other possibility Supreme-Overseer; we have obtained a piece of technology from our most wondrous era. Yet to understand what it seems apparently able to achieve is to force yourself to ask again- It is truly a gift.”

Viera chose this moment to speak. “It is not simply a static monument? It is a functional piece of equipment?”

If Kaeneians were disposed to venting feeling, Nioni would have jumped upon the spot like an over-excited child. “It is a technology unrivalled in our sphere of existence, a revolution that allowed those in possession of it to negate the sea between stars and travel without the need of starships or other vessels. A network of interlinked devices which once ensured even the most isolated world of the Empire was as easy to reach as the Anithican system, and Solarri.”

The Commander looked sceptical. "Would you have me believe this is some variety of teleportation apparatus? It looks fit for little more than backwater, ritualistic worship to some dark god.”

“The abilities of an Empire now dust is not to be confused with legend and hear say, though I believe the technology operates utilising a wormhole generation principle rather than the almost fantastical dream of total molecular teleportation. From what is known of our original history as a part of it such a miracle was no rarer than the anti-gravitic systems we employ this very day, and because of this considerably less effort was made to safeguard the secrets of their construction or utilisation.”

“Yet the distance between the very farthest colonies of the Empire and the cradle of Terra is no less than one hundred thousand light years.” Retorted Farri, “How is it possible that one of these portals could exist so closely to us and escape detection by not only the Serene^Union, but any other force?”

Nioni pondered this conundrum. “The Phariai world is as the classification states, utterly barren and without life. Additionally its system is resource poor and without a single planet capable of providing a satisfactory Base of operations- I would hypothesise the only vessels to have paid heed to it were simply by chance passing through and unlikely to have dedicated more than a passive scan to confirm its lack of worth.”

“Our own probe identified the structure only after visual reconnaissance, for there was no electromagnetic radiation or other anomalous readings to give any indication of structure. It is entirely possible it went undiscovered since its construction.”

“The closeness in itself is another question.” Viera pointed out.

“I must admit I cannot so easily explain the reasons for a portal device being so close. It is possible that the world in question was selected as distant enough to end the network with a final access point that one day might grant a return. It would be utter assumption to take this as reality- For not even the vaults of The Spire contain any detailed record of the activities undertaken during the journey from Solarri to Earth.”

The Supreme-Overseer turned to address the portal device itself. “Such a technology cannot be allowed to remain in the shadows of the barely understood techno-arcane.”

She then turned to Nioni- “Make this your priority, utilise any resources required.”

The adept seemed to hesitate, his eyes wavering between Viera and Farri. “We may not be able to utilise this equipment without external assistance.”

“Explain.” She said quietly, her eyes narrowing.

"The Serene^Union has no expertise in the areas of technology involving wormhole principle- Even the superluminal Verteron Fold Drives do not operate in a much related manner and to delay valuable time that could better be spent in examination attempting to learn what others already know as fact strikes me as inefficient in the extreme. Allies in the Triumvirate of Yut are far better placed to render assistance in the name of scientific progress.”

“I must point out the last attempt involving foreign assistance ended in tragedy.” Retorted Viera.

“I assume you are referring to the temporal displacement drive and the starship Scoperta- Such an event though tragic was hardly directly caused by the inclusion of foreign powers. One of the principle aims of the Triumvirate is to facilitate such exchanges and to deny this in the name of isolationism is a political and not scientifically motivated attitude.”

“Be respectful adept.” Admonished Farri, “It is not your place to question the Aengelistoria Dominica.”

“I meant no disrespect, Supreme-Overseer.” He acquiesced.

“I do however, understand your concerns. Whilst it has always been our way to deal seldom with others I do not feel able to take such a risk on prestigious technology. As such I authorise you to contact those you feel may be of assistance and at the same time make history, for any who accept will be the first to visit The Spire and see that which has not been seen by anyone beyond our borders.”

Already turning to accelerate in a fashion becoming dangerously regular, adept Nioni paused only long enough to state his acknowledgement before disappearing at relatively high speed.

Viera, whom had remained silent for a considerable time used these moments to stare at the portal which had predictably remained utterly quiet as those around puzzled and pondered its origins and purpose. Likely not a great deal below a thousand years of age and having spent a sizable percentage of its life hidden beneath rock from all viewing it now stood in the hands of those that had apparently built it. Though for all the safety it now boasted it seemed as likely to function without interference on that dead world as here, surrounded by the most advanced abilities the Serene^Union possessed.

He sighed, imperceptibly shrugging. As one member of the Department Scientia had so eloquently stated, he was a soldier- Trained to kill or be killed. In matters of science he could claim no lordship or knowledge over another, yet he felt some bizarre equalisation that in this particular situation the most intelligent scientific minds of Kaenei were as ignorant as he.

It remained to see if any beyond these borders would educate.




>>>Transmission to: [Triumvirate of Yut/NDA diplomatic channels] VIA {Trium DataNetwork[s]} <<<
||From: Administration One [The Spire], Diplomatic Juncture C/o WorldDisc Transmission Redundencies||
||Re: Technological study || [Highest Level Security Clearance Required] ||



Acting upon the wishes of Supreme-Overseer of the Department Scientia Farri Metrasci, I hereby extend an invitation to those whom deem it of benefit to assemble a team of scientifically motivated individuals to participate with the examination and reverse-engineering of a possible wormhole-principle transport device. The program will take place within The Spire, seat of the Aengelistoria Dominica whom will oversee the project indirectly.

I must stress that any individuals travelling to the Serene^Union must be willing to tolerate extended periods of habitation within our borders to better faciliate integration of themselves into the project group. The benefits of success for this endevour will sate the curiosity of those that accept.

Existng information shall be transferred to your Jurisdiction on confirmation of involvement.

Acting on behalf of the Aengelistoria Dominica Council, divine and true.



Science-Adept Nioni Resius.
Department Scientia, First assistant to Supreme-Overseer Fari Metrasci.
The Serene^Union of Kaenei. (http://www.nationstates.net/cgi-bin/index.cgi/page=display_nation/nation=kaenei)

"Riiiight...thank you, Lord Vorsythe. I hope your scorpions get better soon. So, um, let's just move on to the next thing on the agenda." Gregor's suggestion is met with looks of relief from other sitting around the table at the weekly meeting of the heads of the imperial directorates. "Let's see... the Kaeneians have sent out an invitation to the Triumvirate, inviting us to all to send people to some sort of expedition. It seems they have found some kind of molehole transporter and want help finding out how to use it and seeing what's on the other side."

This was met with a snort from oldest one at the table. "Oh, yes, by all means, let's help them out. After all, look at how well things went the last time we did."

"Oh, stop being such a pessimist, Vorsythe," snipes Kyle Sadiason from the other end of the table. "Things don't always work out according to plan."

"I don't see why you're so happy, considering you lost one of your little wizards," grumbles the old man. The Archmage only smiles in return, saying, "That's what you think, you horrible old codger."

Gregor rolls his eyes and interrupts before Vorsythe can respond. "Does anyone have anything even remotely constructive to say?"

"I don't see why we shouldn't help," says Lady Ingolfson, of the newly reformed Science Directorate. "If anything, what we learn from this device could help us with our own research."

"I don't really have an opinion at this point. It could give us interesting military technology or information, or it could cause nothing but trouble," says Lady Martial Mallory. "Without more information, I can't make a recommendation."

"If we do send assistance, who should we send? And should it be a large team, or just a few people?" asks Gregor.

"I would suggest some Contact personnel, along with at least a SurTac squad, or maybe a platoon," replies Mallory.

This time Masterhealer Warrick laughs. "What, so you can blow up anything you find?"

"It seemed to work fine with the giant spacedy-ants, didn't it?"

"I'd say that we're better off not committing too many people or resources until we have evidence this will give us something worthwhile. Besides, as I'm sure Lord Alton would agree, I doubt the Kaeneians would agree to a large military force from us."

Alton nods. "They do tend to be touchy at times about things like that, especially after their expensive time machine went poof. I'd say one or two people. Let them or someone else handle security and shear firepower."

Lady Ingolfson taps the table thoughtfully. "I may have just the person for the job. We've recently found a young man who's turning out to be very good at creating advanced technology, especially multi-d tech. Lieutenant Turino is currently stationed at Camp Restricted, but my niece thinks it would be good for him to get some more experience in the real world."

"Niece?" says Gregor, snickering. "Already looking to sink your dynastic claws into new blood, Antonia?"

"Pff. As if the Vetinaris and everyone else at this table doesn't do the same thing," she replies smoothly. "And I really do think he'd be good for the job. Send him and his Igor, and maybe a bodyguard."

"A stealth bodyguard, perhaps," says High Inquisitor Savanche, director of the Special Circumstances Directorate, quietly. She leans forward and says, "Someone less likely to look like an insult like a Marine would."

"Let me guess - one of your people?" says Mallory.

"Exactly, my friend. Have him or her go officially as some sort of scientist - perhaps a biologist or linguist. The agent could watch over our young pup, keep him out of trouble, and if things get hairy, keep him alive."

"I don't know if it would be wise to be quite so secretive in this kind of situation," says Gregor. "I realize we have various agents in many allied nations, just as they undoubtedly have a few here, but we need to have the others at this project know they can trust whoever we send to make good calls in a combat situation. It'd be hard to do that if we send a mild-mannered geek."

"I have a suggestion," says Sadiason. "Say whoever it is is former special ops - they'd just be a little less former than we say. Officially, they're there as a biology specialist and also to watch over Lt. Turino in his first field assignment. And, if I may present another idea, the phrase 'hairy' makes me think of-"

Savanche finished his sentence, "Sending in a shifter. A good idea. We don't know what kind of situation they may find themselves in, and that kind of talent can be useful."

"It seems like a sound plan. We'll go with it. Choose whoever you think would work best," says Gregor. "Signy, see to the lieutenant's transfer and that he gets whatever special training and augments the Contact division usually gets for first-contact field work. Anyone else have anything to say? No? Good. Next on the agenda, we've got a report from the Rayverr observers..."

-----

"I'm being transferred where?"

-----

{Secure YutLink Communications; m16 Security Protocols}
x Lady Antonia Ingolfson (Science Directorate, IUoCetaganda)
o Science-Adept Nioni Resius (Department Scientia, SUoKaenei)

Science-Adept, I am happy to comply with the invitation that you have extended to us. Cetaganda will be sending a pair of scientists. One is one of our formost experts on applied mulit-dimensional physics, the other is a biologist and ecologist formerly attached to our exploration organization, who also has considerable experience in military special field operations. I think that both will prove very helpful. Should this program prove fruitful, or should you require any additional assistance, we may send more individuals at a later date.

Lady Director Antonia Ingolfson
Science Directorate, Imperial Union of Cetaganda

"Jesus Christ. Are you sure you weren't adopted from abroad or something? Begin again." A flash of metal, a series of sharp clangs of blade on blade, a meaty thunk, a yelp of pain, and a sigh. "Ok, time for a break. I don't think we're getting anywhere anyways."

"I...wholeheartedly...agree...sergeant," comes a reply from a man laying on the floor mats.

"Of course you do, sir. That's what lieutenants do when an NCO suggests something."

"So, my dear Master Sergeant Simmons, do you have any suggestions that won't leave me covered with bruises?"

"Actually, sir, I do," replies the huge man looming over the poor officer. "I'm giving up on blades entirely. You're decent with a combat knife, and with those reflexes I think you could be good with daggers and swords, but we don't have time for the kind of training you need."

"Oh, I say, excellent suggestion. I'd promote you if I could. I told you, I'm perfectly fine with my pistol and flashlight laser," replies Brian Turino, engineer extraordinaire (almost the late engineer, in his mind).

"Oh, yes. As I said, your reflexes were remarkable even before the bridge officer augs, and it's obvious you've spent time practicing with that laser of yours. I suspect you could outdraw me." The former SurTac recon marine chuckles and bends down to help the lieutenant up, and then flashes a wide, evil grin. "I did not say, however, that we're giving up completely on close combat." The grin causes Turino to experience a flashback to the horror that was the previous week's review of hand-to-hand fighting. "I'm thinking variable sword."

"Variable sword," Turino's eyes glaze over a bit as he recites, "A wire of variable length, kept straight and protected by a variant of the standard stasis field. Because of the single-molecule thickness and absolute rigidness, the wire can be used as cutting instrument capable of slicing through must anything short of a general-purpose hull, a strong forcefield capable of molecular-level interdiction, or another stasis field." Blinks, and continues, "I've never had a chance to use one. They're not very common, despite the fact that these days they're no more expensive than a well-made blade without any enchantments."

"Most people prefer the solidness of a real blade, not even mentioning tradition. Varible swords aren't any more showy than a flashlight laser is. Just a hilt and a little red ball marking the end of the wire," replies Simmons. "Also, the fighting style is very different and difficult for a traditionally-trained swordsman to adapt to. There's little muscle required, just swish and flick movements with the wrist. You can't block an opponent's blade in the normal manner because you'll cut through the blade, leaving a chunk of metal flying at you - that is, unless your opponent also uses a variable sword. There's no mass to the blade beyond the hilt, which imposes even more changes. Also, it's much harder to avoid cutting yourself up, and to truly master the weapon you have to learn to alter blade length of the fly."

Turino watches his companion suspiciously. "So...I take it there's some reason for wanting me to use a variable sword, beyond some sadistic glee at seeing chopped newbie?"

"Yes." No denial of sadism - this is a marine sergeant, after all. "Fighting with a variable sword isn't much different than with a flashlight laser. In fact, the two can go together very well. Your reflexes are good enough to handle it, your implants can help control the blade, and you're so horrible with real swords that I won't have to completely retrain you."

"Thanks, I think," replies the lieutenant. "Do you really think this is necessary?"

"I'm not an expert at this sort of thing. However, just think about this - have you ever heard of some kind of dimensional portal that didn't start spewing out hellcritters, alien armies, Dark Ones From Beyond, or the like at some point?"

OCC: This looks very fun. Could I get involved?

=Never a dull moment?=

Janice finishes tying off the laces to her combat boot, chuckling slightly to herself as she shakes her head and switches legs, starting on the next boot. The years of freelance adventuring haven't done poorly by her--despite her greying black hair, her short frame is just as fit as it was twenty years ago on Rime. Her face shows signs of repeated sunburn and harsh winds, which works in a sort of handsome way... but, then again, she was never too concerned about her appearance. "Of course not, Kay. I don't think I need to remind you that it was adventuring that got us together seventeen years ago."

K'grrthhaa, the worm-like thing coiled in her stomach, does the Gasu equivalent of a chuckle, which causes a sort of mildly euphoric shiver through Janice's spine. Makes sense, given that's where its tendrils go. =Of course not, One-Who-Calls-Herself-Janice. We have never ceased thanking you for that, both this one and the rest of us.= "The rest of us" means the Trilats, who are now mostly happy citizens of Sunset.

"Besides," the short ex-M.I. sergeant says to the empty room, "this sounds like something new. 'Wormhole-principle transport device,' eh? Can't be any worse than crawling through burnbrush on Cinder."

=But we enjoyed that, her Gasu replies, it supplied a sense of danger.=

"Right, right." Janice finishes with her other boot and then straps a rather hefty combat knife to her leg, stepping back with an oddly expectant feeling. She's going to go out, like she always has, and this time she's going to do something new and decidedly on the cutting edge of weird, which she hasn't done so much. "Janice Kiri Depaulto, professional explorer, is on the case."

Francis Igomo walks down the polished corridors of the Robotstani Institute, one of the most prestigious (well, more or less) educational establishments in the entire galaxy.

Francis, a robot, makes for the University's exit. Back from visiting the miles-deep archives, he heads for a transport in order to reach his ship, docked above the planet Nathaliala. A student, however, stops Igomo just as he puts a foot out the door.

"Mr. Igomo! Something that might interest you," says one of the Institute's few actual students, vaguely resembling a human. Igomo reads over the transcript, and decides that it is time for a trip.

"Ah, an adventure. Mr. Clifford, if you would be so kind to assemble the kits, and gather the research team, please meet me on the landing pad upon the completion of said tasks."

Francis Igomo's ship is a saucer-shaped affair, ideally suited to a robot of Igomo's occupation. While it has galactic range and endurance, it is a research ship, designed to flee if even the slightest problem should be encountered, much different from the independent cruisers that Robotstan relies on for everything from exploration to battle to trade missions, and the freighter/escorts. But Igomo uses it pretty well.

<Snip>

{OOC} Eh, sorry to say the transmission was, as my initial post suggested only to Triumvirate or Non-Democratic Alliance nations. The whole discovery is definitely not one to be broadcast to those we don't know in the slightest- Whoever they may be.

LRR, though I appreciate your post it's really not at all likely IC at least, you'd be entertained. Just the way we are, unfortunately.

OCC: Oh, sorry.

Please forgive my intrusion.

The snowflakes did not seem motivated by the harsh winds that bore their travels across the lands of the Serene^Union, electing to remain together as though invisible strands of fate took gentle hold of each and laid them a coruscating blanket of white. A barrier which occasionally twisted and granted an observer the slightest flicker of civilisation beyond the frozen tundra surrounding- The merest glimpse of the technological here, where Nature herself ruled supreme in fury and vengeance over the manipulation of all other lands under her jurisdiction.

It towered clearly above, the titanic mountains aside forced to respect and stand sentry to glory not entirely of this world, though intrinsically bound to its fate. From distance as cragged and piercing as any mass born from the tectonic, yet upon closer inspection possessing as many separated and wavering points of piercing termination. Acting as the spines of a porcupine might, though commonly arranged in size to allow a gradual curve towards a supreme and upward point.

Clustered about base and stretching as a second blanket of metal and glimmering light, the city of Solarri presented itself for those exceptionally few who found duty to observe it from afar. For here one would find the very seat of the Serene^Union, where power was collectively pooled and decision made by those select few self-determined to have ascended sufficiently to handle such complex and heavy burdens.

Sophia stepped from the lit doorway, distracted. Without hesitation the elements struck upon her and stinging flakes of cold impacted upon her pale features, mimicking the tracks of tears as they slid downwards upon cheeks and seemed to indicate sadness where no such feeling at all existed. About her slender neck a high collar shuffled to attention, absorbing the snowflakes in their futile attack upon any exposed flesh.

Azure orbs observed the shape forming in the storming clouds above, enlarging the forces of those that would ignore the cold fury of this weather, and Nature as an extension. A loud roar quickly asserted itself dominant over banshee wailing winds and dropped into obvious view- Sophia moved so that she stood upon the invisible cordon created by the navigational beacons so arranged in formation.

As though realising defeat, wind became whisper and the craft touched downwards upon the exposed platform with a relieved hiss.

Alone, having dispensed with company the most senior Kaeneian within the United Provinces of the Union moved to meet with the approaching figures for both the mundane and the monumental- A true day of recognition even if their endeavours came to nothing and all remained as it had been before.

The younger, seemingly fresher gentleman introduced himself as Lieutenant Brian Turino; representing the Cetagandan scientific contribution to their enigma contained so many levels beneath collective feet. Accompanying him a considerably more aged man, known as one Master Sergeant Kevin Simmons complimented youthfulness and struck a pleasant balance, at least to the Kaeneian psyche.

“Gentleman of Cetaganda, I am Sophia Byzainti, Governor-General of the Serene^Union. I welcome you to the capital, Solarri and wish you a swift recovery from the arduous journey undertaken to rendezvous here.”

Turning, she began to retreat, beckoning they should follow. “Whilst perhaps it is not common for one involved in scientific research to find themselves encountering an absolute national leader, I felt it necessary to interject at this being the first time such co-operation has been initiated within our own territory. You are quite literally making history with each footfall, gentleman.”

“The Scolopendran delegate arrived quite some time ago, yet I assume the Department Scientia has no more briefed her than yourselves to ensure an even discussion. I must admit I know little more of this situation than you, for it is not the method of the Aengelistoria Dominica to take interest until hard fact and reality present themselves.”

Slowing, she nodded to another Kaeneian whom had made appearance from a sharp corner.

“May I take this moment now to introduce you to Science-Adept Nioni Resius, whom instigated this project initially underneath the supervision of Supreme-Overseer Farri Metrasci.”

The Governor-General stood back, as pleasantries were exchanged.

“Please excuse me, I shall invariably seek your company once more when progress has been made, a productive day to you both.”



Supreme Overseer of the Department Scientia Farri Metrasci observed the Scolopendran with intrigue, as she analysed rudimentary reports which truly required little in the way of prompt response, yet were consistently interrupted by her inability to concentrate with such a character in company.

Truly, it was no fault of the foreigner, or Janice Kiri Depaulto to be precise. Impeccably behaved it would have made little difference if she had instead been a statue of the stoutest stone, Farri would still have felt unease. Never before had someone of her position contemplated company outside a Kaeneian and even then, to go from contemplation to reality in so short a time was unsettling in the extreme.

“I apologise once more for the time spent idly, I prefer to await the arrival of the Cetagandan party before expanding upon our dual interest- I mean no disrespect, and am impressed by the punctuality you have displayed.”

Farri preferred not to acknowledge consciously she had uttered small-talk, such an admission would be to consider her own mind open to foreign influence, and pride could not, indeed would not allow such a compromise. Glancing towards the doorway, she willed the appearance of the Cetagandans- Diplomacy was not a Kaeneian strong point, doubly so for those that acted as scientists, rather than ambassadors.

“I apologise once more for the time spent idly, I prefer to await the arrival of the Cetagandan party before expanding upon our dual interest- I mean no disrespect, and am impressed by the punctuality you have displayed.”Janice sighs with a grumble, tapping her fingers against her knee as she looks at the door and quietly cursing herself that she only brought along her battered black t-shirt and khaki utility vest, and thinking about how she could kill for a decent sweater.

=We suggested that you dress warmly...=

Look, Kay, you are in me and therefore I make the decisions about what gets worn. Remember that time you decided to experiment with fashion?

=We had hoped you could assist...=

I was asleep. Janice sighs again and draws her arms around her some more, suddenly realizing that the human-looking nonhuman is talking to her. Or, more accurately, K'grrthhaa's read-only line-of-sight telepathy piped into Janice's central nervous system picks up the signals emanating from Farri's brain. "Oh. Yeah. No problem. Hey, do you have a blanket or a sweater or something I can borrow?

"A honor to meet you, governor-general, science-adept," says Turino with a bow, Simmons standing silent behind him. The young man looks about the bleak landscape and shivers despite the snug warmth of the standard Fleet shipsuit that he wears. "Well, why don't we head on? I'm sure that the others are waiting to begin. The shuttle crew can unload our equipment without us."

The trio trudge across the landing field and inside. A short time later they reach the meeting room where the Overseer and Scolopendran await. Turnino bows first to the overseer, and then gives a slightly less deep one to Janice. "Lieutenant Brian Turino, Fleet R&D, and Sergeant Kevin Simmons, SurTac Marine Recon. It's a honor to be working with you. I hope you haven't been waiting long." Behind him, the sergeant nods to the others, not quite rolling his eyes at the overly-formal introductions of his young charge.

Farri’s expression would have twisted into visible surprise at the Scolopendran’s request, had such things not been a shameless and utter wasted expression of emotion. Taking a moment to ponder the curious she was finally motivated into action; standing so that she might circumvent the desk and panning her gaze about the obviously scarcely used meeting chamber.

Above collective heads, electro-chemically treated liquid swam lazily within opaque tubing, stretching the dimensions of the four walls. Stimulated through unusual processes it emitted an intense blue which cast a curiously dark pallor upon the surroundings; augmented only scarcely by the occasional outcrop of traditional white light. After many moments of fruitless searching, The Supreme-Overseer took a quizzical expression upon her face.

“It had not occurred to me that you would experience discomfort in relation to the temperature, a failing on my part in preparation. We find this comfortable, yet I can understand that for those whose biology is not fond of such arctic extremities, a loss of efficiency would be expected.”

Having ascertained that there were no suitable methods of warming within the chamber, Farri resigned herself to the unorthodox. Removing the small, ceremonial clasp of office from her lapel recognising her as a Supreme-Overseer of the Serene^Union, the Kaeneian efficiently removed her three-quarter length overcoat and handed it to Janice.

It was of unremarkable colour- An uninteresting black which acted simply to highlight even more so the paleness of the Kaeneian flesh that upon another might look drained, almost of illness or extreme fatigue. It stood a considerable distance from the floor, yet continued well after the waist and sported thin, almost veil-like sleeves which ended scant inches past the elbows.

“I shall endeavour to improve upon this at my earliest convenience.”

A momentary silence brought the arrival of the Cetagandan envoy and company, and the completion of the small group. Farri nodded in acknowledgement as formal introductions were made and the initial bonds of productivity were wrought; each conversation passing becoming a new chapter in the history of The Spire.

"I am Supreme Overseer Metrasci, of the Department Scientia and the Aengelistoria Dominica. I welcome you once more to the Spire and can only hope your journey through our lands was not uncomfortable or unpleasent, for I have recently learned our climate is not to the liking of many beyond our borders."

Pausing to adjust the straps of the plain dress upon her now exposed shoulders, she gestured first to Lieutenant Turino, then Janice and then finally the chamber exit.

“I do not believe there is reason to delay further, please accompany me.”



The examination bay was a cavernous affair; boasting a ceiling easily three stories in height and disappearing into the distance above where even the merest details were rendered invisible. Grouped relatively close to the entrance banks of computational systems stood, their monitors scrolling with unintelligible figures and search algorithms whose purpose could merely be guessed at. Dominating however, was the impassive artefact itself, held aloft as it was the barely audible hum of the anti-gravitic pads providing perfect suspension- A ring of smooth metal whose dark blue colouring contrasted starkly with the sterile white surrounding, a construct of mysterious intent and origin.

Farri stood at the forefront of the small group, her face as impassive as the glaciers the city of Solarri itself nestled between. “Esteemed representatives of the Triumvirate, may I present to you The Ring of Solarri.”

Tech-Adept Resius crossed to the nearest display, his attention partially absorbed in noting any change in status during his absence. “We have only recently discovered the term for the device, referring as it does to the planetary ring of dust and fragments which formed around our home world. Whilst we are now certain that this artefact is part of a network of such gateways covering the expanse of the space Kaenei left behind centuries ago, only the most fundamental elements of its operation are understood to us. Consequently we have requested your assistance.”

“You have of course already reviewed all the pertinent information we possess, but I cannot stress enough the importance of this discovery. Should it be feasible to reconnect to this network in some capacity an utterly priceless link to our past shall have been discovered- Such a debt could never be repaid, and we would be eternally grateful.”

Metrasci did not allow a moment to sit upon laurels and ponder, instigating progress constantly in the same fashion that had seen her achieve the office of Supreme-Overseer.

“The full technological abilities of the Serene^Union are yours to utilise, as you see fit. However it shall take every ounce of knowledge and collaborative thinking I suspect, to achieve anything of note or importance. Yet we shall try, for even in a failed attempt is there the success of a path not left unexplored- A small comfort at least.”

The artefact itself watched silently, unable or unwilling to divulge its secrets so easily after a thousand years in which the sanctity of its purpose remained unspoiled by any race; Kaeneian, Human or otherwise. Now those whom once had lorded as masters and builders, architects of travel across distances unimaginable and of other such arcane matters returned, ignorant and with the assistance of those once lesser and now equals. Such partnerships would be vital, if the far-fetched dream of such a gateway were to emerge from the gloom of folklore and embrace the shining light of scientific fact and reality.

Depaulto accepts the overcoat with an unusually polite bow, slipping it over her tanned shoulders. She follows along, obviously seeing the introductions as simply additional motions to go through before the real fun starts. Another expedition, another spacer lieutenant--the bane of M.I. sergeants everywhere--and even this she takes in stride, her ingrained animosity for the breed almost not making it to the surface.

Her disposition changes completely in the gateroom... er... experimental laboratory containing the annular artifact. Looking it over with an appraising eye, she puts it on the lower end of her personal scale of Weird Things. "So... I guess you guys know what it does. Has anyone had any luck turning it on?"

While he gives Depaulto a few curious glances as they travel to the lab, Turino forgets any questions about the not-quite-animosity she seems to have when he sees the object. "Wow." He looks at Depaulto as she speaks, then adds questions of his own. "For that matter, have you worked up any kind of interface for the controls? Is it powered internally or externally? Do you have any idea what it's made of, or of what the internal structure looks like? And...I'm babbling, aren't I?" The sergeant, for his part, looks only barely interested and his only comment is a "Yes, sir," at the end of Turino's outburst.

Her brow furrowing, Farri pondered the Scolopendran’s rather straightforward point. “The march of technology cannot always move forwards,” She began. “The Ring of Solarri’s precise methods of function are beyond the capabilities of the Department Scientia, and by extension the Serene^Union. Many years of your life might be surrendered to peruse the labyrinth-like catacombs beneath the Spire, which are home to the accumulated texts of our surviving history and within them read tales of fantastical, near-mythical manipulation of the very reality surrounding us. I could not tell you in a century of conversation which tales are simple fiction and which are built upon a foundation of truth, though I shall admit before this discovery the very notion of a cross-system gateway to myself was nothing more than fantasy.”

Returning from his analysis, Tech-Adept Resius elected to answer Lieutenant Turino’s question. “The device appears to lack any internal capacity for power generation, and whilst we have succeeded in interfacing energy transfer systems with the artefact our attempts to elicit any response has failed. It must however be said that we are not channelling considerable levels of energy, which may be necessary given the intended function to activate any subsidiary systems.”

“We have however, completed the translation of the symbols upon the inner disc.” Farri noted, stepping forwards to indicate her point further. “The inner wheel is divided into twelve segments, each containing a symbol of Baroque-Kaeneian origins— the ancient tongue of the Serene^Union and all but defunct in modern society. Analysis has indicated each of these corresponds to a world of the former Caelistis Gens Empire; however without extensive astronomical charts we are unable to ascertain the condition of said planets or their precise locations.”

She turned, ensuring all were addressed; “Consequently it is for you now to ascertain the best way to revive this technology. The resources of the Department Scientia are yours to command and utilise—whatever assistance you require will be supplied post-haste. In repatriation for your services, I am authorised to offer both the envoys membership of the first exploration group to explore the network, should we succeed in reactivating The Ring of Solarri.”

“There is far more to be done than simple reactivation,” Began Resius. “Preparations must be made if such a venture seems likely—Coordinates chosen that signify the likelihood of successful return and paramount to all, a realisation that this marks the possible first return to out home systems in some thousand years, an event with ramifications dependant on what we shall find there.”

“However the day grows late and we cannot be expected to work tirelessly,” Supreme-Overseer Metrasci summarised, turning to leave. “I shall have an appropriate guide summoned so that you might return to your respective quarters or, if the desire is present further explore The Spire as you see fit. I shall set a date of resumption for our endeavours at zero-nine hundred hours tomorrow morning, Earth time.”

Pausing before the expansive doorway, Farri bade farewell. “Good evening gentleman, Miss Depaulto, and again I welcome you to the Serene^Union—your presence is very much appreciated.”

"Well," says Turnio, blinking, "that was, um, quick. I'm not terribly tired, myself, but I suppose there's a time difference or something. Although I think I could do with so food."

"May as well take advantage of some rest while we have time, sir. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to play with the toys later," says Simmons. He gives Depaulto a slightly pained look, then asks her, "So what brings you here? Are you an scientist or do you work out in the field?"

"Fieldwork," the hard gray-and-black-haired woman replies without hesitation; "it came naturally from a background in babysitting junior officers. Hafta admit, I do side with the lieutenant in wanting to get this thing working as soon as possible, but that's just because I want to go through it. No need to overexert... 'sides, I'd rather work on this once I have warmer things on. Anything other than the obvious bringing you here?"

"Nothing quite like fresh lieutenant. I can only imagine what it's like in places without a thousand years of, ahem, evolutionary selection for the ability to listen to wiser heads," says Simmons quietly with a wink. "As for why I'm here, mainly just orders. Way back in the day when I joined up, I filled out an application for exploratory work. There weren't nearly so many openings as there are now, so I was shunted off into recon. Turned out great, though I can't say anything without doing the old 'I'd have to kill you' cliche. Apparently it came up when they did a computer search for a minder for yonder boffin, and next thing I know I'm trying to get him in something close to fighting shape and being shipped off to this frozen hell." He says all this with a grin and a long-suffering tone of someone experienced with the oddities inherent in even the best military bureaucracy.

"I don't know about breeding and the military... not my particular concentration in the biological sciences." She smirks slightly, studying the gate. "M.I. bloodspots aren't bad, but they're always blooded troopers and so it works. Naval junior officers, on the other hand... give a guy a university education, four years of marching, and some Basic and call him a combat officer. It's amazing that the spacers get anything done."

Janice matches the 'been there, done that' tone that comes naturally to senior noncoms of all services. "As for me, I'm the Segments' first professional weird-shit-kicker. If it needs exploring and looks alien or ancient, apparently I'm the go-to woman... getting it working on the other hand..." Her face just barely distorts in a grimace. "I'll do what I can. Never was the best tech in the world, tho' I can put two and two together to get three for extremely low values of two."

Pausing sufficiently long so that the foreign delegates conversing before them might complete their exchange, and aiming to complete their impromptu assignment with as little delay as possible, the Kaeneians so charged with accompanying the Cetagandans and Scolopendran announced their presence matter-of-factly as the opportunity to interject presented itself.

“Lieutenant Turino and Miss Depaulto; I am tech-adept Elian, this is technical-adjunct Leysia.” Began the introduction from the Kaeneian closest to the ambassadors, before gesturing to his companion behind as she stepped out to greet with solemn nod the foreigners.

“Supreme-Overseer Metrasci made us aware that she has ended your productivity session,” continued Leysia, before focusing her attention on Depaulto. “I shall act as your guide during your tenure at the Spire, providing you with any variance of information required; scientific, cultural or local.”

Elian nodded, his focus the Cetagandan duo, “I shall endeavour to deliver a similar service.”

Retrieving their respective charges, the expansive artefact was once more left alone in indignant refusal to yield any secret or function not plied from stubborn grasp with great expenditure and effort. Once more as it had been for many hundreds of years previously, though temporarily, abandoned by those not with the capacity to simply demand it yield to use and exploration.

But those not with such capacity did hold ability to learn, and they would not be foiled by something so pitiless as time.


“Do you desire to be directed to your quarters, or would you prefer something alternative?” Questioned Elian as he rounded a corner briskly, accompanied by the young and eager Turino and the seasoned, experienced Simmons. “You may choose to dine in your habitation, or utilise the numerous facilities at your disposal. For example, you may eat with others if you desire socialisation.”

The corridor they passed through was a winding tunnel that spiralled around the entire width of the Spire itself; left hand wall providing doorways into the superstructure whilst the opposing right was composed of transparent sections allowing for an impressive panoramic view of the sprawling towers of Solarri, a great distance beneath their suspended feet. Such a view was often obscured however by the intense flurry of freezing snow that impacted relentlessly, if harmlessly and threatened to deny visibility to nothing more than the pulsing aero beacons of the tallest reaching structures.

The Kaeneian paused, his gaze drifting to the weather outside. “You are fortunate; this period was expected to be considerably less stable and it is fortunate you arrived when you did. Perhaps at some juncture you will seek to leave the Spire? I find the low temperature particularly sobering.”


Leysia had taken far more of an interest in the delegate assigned to her care; not in the least because she appeared to be wearing apparel sported by no less than a Supreme-Overseer—considerably higher in rank and status than the technical-adjunct herself. They had not descended the same spiral venture as the Cetagandans but instead had travelled deeper into the core of the Spire and climbed, so that the air gradually became colder as the Kaeneian-favouring temperature regulators allowed the freezing winds outside to naturally cool the structure.

“Would you prefer to retire to your quarters immediately, Lady Depaulto? If you request so I can have a meal delivered to you there, or alternatively you may dine with myself in more public facilities. If again such an option does not appeal, perhaps you would care to see more of Solarri?”

Depaulto surreptitiously draws the overcoat closer around herself as it gets progressively colder; her internal monologue is a string of subtle curses and blasphemy in several languages concerning the climate, the locals' enjoyment of the climate, and quite a few things relating the two via what she likes to call 'blue balls syndrome.' Leysia's interested speech pulls her halfway out of this.

What's with this "Lady" stuff? Eh, probably just an honorific, she muses, completely forgetting the coat she wears and where she got it from. "Thank you, Technical-adjunct Leysia"--and with that bit of diplomacy out of the way--"I'd like to stop by my quarters, y'know, just to see where they are and such and perhaps pick up a few things out of my luggage. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes, and after that, I'd be glad to dine with you. I'm sure we can see more of the town after that--no need to plan farther ahead than we absolutely have to."

She returns to thinking about the field jacket she packed, just in case. This will really need the cold-weather liner.

(OOC: Many, many apologies for this very short and very late post.)

The Cetagandans thank the Science-Adept for her offer, and request to be shown to their quarter and for the delivery of a light dinner. They also request a summary of the history of the transportation network, the potential target destination, and any speculation that the Kaeneians might have on what will be found on the other side. Turino also requests that some equipment be unloaded from their shuttle and delivered to the lab so that everything will be ready for the startup attempts the next day.

Leysia did not break her stride as the Scolopendran made her next destination and subsequent wishes known, leading the athletic women higher still towards the ultimate reach of the Spire itself, where even the clouds no longer enjoyed a basking view over the structures of the Serene^Union and were instead forced to act as neighbours and not overseers. After a time, the Kaeneian paused before an unremarkable entryway, distinguished only by the hazy blue glow of photo-fluorescent liquid contained within the stimulated tubing surrounding the door frame.

“Your quarters Lady Depaulto, within which you shall find your luggage previously delivered and the various chambers furnished as to a standard we believe you shall find comfortable. I have chosen a habitation module at the outermost structure of the Spire, which will contains a view I am informed is quite breathtaking. I understand this is probably of little concern directly, but we have been instructed to be as accommodating as possible.”

Leysia took a few moments to illustrate the dermal sensor pad which once programmed to accept the foreigner’s print, would be locked as such until her eventual departure. With security ensured and the disappearance of the guest to make good her interest in inspecting her quarters, the Kaeneian tech-adept satisfied herself with waiting within the corridor, attempting to ponder a suitable area of Solarri to visit and which would interest the Scolopendran.


Elian completed his authorisation input upon the data node held within his hands, handing it to an adjacent officer before taking hold of the small manipulator handle set upon the rear of the anti-gravitic sledge. Strapped securely upon the levitating transporter the scientific equipment transferred for the use of the Cetagandans, as well as a rather secure case containing the classified information also requested. Dismissing the logistics-adept, Elian applied the minimal pressure required to initiate forward motion, and began to descend towards the quarters in question.

For the first time, he found himself almost worrying over whether his ‘guests’ would find fault with any of the preparation he had performed, the very reputation of the Serene^Union outside of its own borders resting upon his shoulders, and his ability to cater for those he was duly responsible for. It had been difficult indeed to attempt to accurately foretell the requirements of the Cetagandans and consequently ensure they had no fault to complain at.

The information on the Gateway had been of particular difficulty, with what he carried to them little more than second-hand accounts and poorly verified testimony. The vaults beneath the Spire were labyrinth-like indeed and there were no spare decades to donate for more meticulous searching amidst the ancient shelves and catacombs. However basic facts were tangible; the unit in their possession was the furthest link from the network over a hundred thousand light years to the galactic east, with grave doubts over the ability of the gate to function having been removed from its position and undoubtedly at the very threshold of its operational limit.

The condition of the equipment was conflicting; though many thousands of years in age the total vacuum and geological as well as tectonic stability of the asteroid-like world would suggest an intact status. Furthermore the unfortunate degeneration of knowledge from that former era meant that repairs were virtually impossible save for accidental or fortunate discovery. Elian knew that in this case, the alternative viewpoint and rather more flexible approach of the Cetagandans would prove well worth the difficulty in dealing with them compared to what was the Kaeneian norm.

Slowing the pace of the transport sledge to nothing, the adept pressed his index finger upon the entry rune, the soft tone from beyond the doors triggered by the Spire’s resident intelligence deducing the fingerprint was not that of the resident Cetagandans and following out the only other recourse. Elian took a final look upon the contents, and satisfied they were ready for use, awaited the attention his action had warranted.

Janice Kiri Depaulto, the greying M.I. sergeant, lives true to her trooper roots. She walks into the room, gives it a quick once-over with steel-grey eyes, then rates it. Anything consisting of a cot and above is passable, rack-beds are standard, and the number of stars allocated to its rating are inversely proportional to the number of people that are supposed to be stuffed into a given volume of space.

Ritzy, she thinks to herself as she identifies her undefinably ugly feldgrau duffel bag and pops it open to reveal the tools of the trade: entrenching tools, foil-wrapped freeze-dried Y-rations (in kzin-issue liver flavor), magnesium flares like the one responsible for the nasty scar on her right calf, microkits for chemistry, biology, and toxicology, and a few scraps of fabric that relate to those hobbies she doesn't brag about. Rooting through it for a few minutes, she pulls out a thick but not puffy field jacket in the digitized smoke-cloud camouflage pattern traditional to the Scolopendran armed forces; she quickly puts that on and follows it up with some thinsulation gloves and a white thinsulation headband she painted to resemble a hachimaki to cover her ears. Rather than the traditional kanji for "Success" or "Victory," however, hers has the uniquely personal touch of saying "Get The Fuck Out Of My Way!" in bold, black strokes of kanji script.

She settles the Supreme-Overseer's cloak back on her field-jacketed shoulders--I may as well keep this around until I can return it--and steps out of her quarters, not wanting to keep Leysia waiting too long. "So, where's the grub?"

Leysia regarded the Scolpendran with a curiosity smothered externally by her impeccable demeanour, and stoked viciously by her inherently inquisitive nature. Almost every facet of her appearance, attitude and body language proved so incomprehensibly alien to the Kaeneian that she found herself struggling to relate in anything other than a monotonous and uninteresting drone.

Plain garment of black broken as it seemed a sheet of night only by the occasional splash of equally neutral white, tightened in only the areas required to maintain the barest hint of form alongside function. Alabaster flesh which seemed more likely upon the frozen and unforgiving grounds of Solarri than adorning a creature warmed by the endlessly dutiful pumping of crimson warmed previously.

“The weather currently does not favour extensive travelling; I suggest instead we remain within the Spire and dine in the communal facilities reserved for governmental employees stationed here.”

Turning to lead the foreigner slightly further onwards into the techno-metropolis of winding corridors and merging levels that passed as the centre of the Serene^Union both logistically, and politically Leysia could not help but ponder the significance of her every action. Never before had even as close an ally as a Triumvirate signatory been entertained in such intimate circumstances, at least for those of Kaeneian descent.

An arm’s distance was simply insufficient for the majority of business conducted -- Indeed the very apex of the Aengelistoria Dominica, the Governor-General Sophia Byzainti, had until her ascension to the senior office of the Union actively portrayed such frosty relations as the only true path to safety. However it had been this ironically conservative individual who had instituted the reforms that had polarized even a society as easily unified as Kaeneian civilisation.

For the first time in a century remembered or otherwise, discussion after a decision made could be heard throughout these corridors. Hardly dissenting, or even mildly critical -- Simply repeating what to this society at least, was groundbreaking if slightly amusing in its simplicity; Logic and its aloofness apparently no longer sufficient.

“I believe many of your Earth dishes have found popularity in the Union,” She began. “Specifically Chicken I believe, which is readily available here if you so desire it. Unfortunately and as you may be aware, our palette is considerably less stimulating than your own, and you may find our meals bland and uninspiring, though perfectly nutritious.”

She paused momentarily, almost biting her lip at the thought of being forced to “sell” Kaeneian culture as though it required validation or external analysis. Unfortunately however, such an exchange as had occurred on the Gateway project required openness and discussion.

“If any questions remain that I can answer on your surroundings, The Serene^Union as a whole or any facet of your time here I am willing to accommodate; this is somewhat of a ground-breaking event in itself.”

Entering into the lift at the end of the corridor, and entering the sequence, the Kaeneian turned to address Depaulto. “I am curious, and I find myself pondering a question not related to our purpose of being here. Are all Scolopendrans as … ideological as I might have heard truth? Despite not traditionally an avenue of leisure an increasing number of my people explore the world beyond borders, and I myself in preparation for your arrival carried out research in small amount.”

“Am I correct to say, that even those of you who have yet to complete a senior education, devoid of experience or dare I say wisdom, are as passionate in cause as the most thoroughly versed of an older generation in application of spirit? I have heard tales of students stirring in nations that are not as forgiving or tolerant of free speech as the Segments grant; indeed here is one such nation where the right to criticise is not granted, and none ask for it because the inclination to question is not present.”

“I apologise if I ramble, for these questions have been many months in coming and have virtually exhausted their welcome in mere minutes.”

A minute after Elian sounds the bell, the door is opened by Turnio. "Oh, Science-Adept. Please, come in, come in." He leads Elian into the suite. It is obvious that the young lieutenant has been studing the technical data provided by the Kaeneians from the way a tablet computer and two thin screens full of information sit on a nearby table. The sergeant, on the other hand, is laying asleep on a couch, arms folded across his chest. Before Elian can say a word, Turino says, "Thank you for all the data, it's been quite helpful. Hopefully we can get everything up and running reasonably quickly. Oh, and the accomodations. They're very comfortable, you have our compliments on your hospitality." What may have been either a snort or a snore comes from the other man.

"Thank you, lieutenant," replies the Kaeneian. "I was wondering what you had decided with regards to supper?"

"Well, I was thinking that I'd like something to eat. What does the city have to offer?"

"Can't be any worse than lutefisk," Depaulto replies to Leysia's commentary on the local grub, "and don't worry, any old trooper like me is sure to pack hot sauce. Lack of 'inspiration' is not an issue." She looks much more comfortable in her grey field jacket, one of those simple yet very effective things that highlight the Scolopendran penchant for utility. Its layers are designed so that, without any application of energy from a power source, they respond both to the external conditions and the conditions of the wearer; a cunning blend of natural materials (quite a few gengineered) that keep the wearer equally dry and warm in conditions ranging from a slightly nippy sea breeze to moderate Arctic conditions.

The deathly pale Kaeneian's question makes the ex-sergeant raise one greying eyebrow, having never been one for masking exactly what she feels at any given time. From in her stomach, K'grrthhaa helps provide context in its androgynous not-within-her-ears voice. =She is curious, is all. We are outsiders in an insular culture; we are alien and therefore interesting. You understand the feeling.=

"Indeed I do," Janice intentionally says aloud, then thinks a moment on Leysia's question. "I 'pose that's a fair estimation. We're not all hot for a cause, sure, but I get the feeling that our national enthusiasm is definitely far above average. The great lion's share is in line with our official idealistic ideology, but you'll find all kinds. It's an even bigger thing now with the knights-errant; every crackpot opinion and its dog has at least a handful of people willing to go out and fight for it. Me, I've never been much for politics. I just love explorin'." She smiles genuinely without a touch of wryness or sarcasm about it, something her face seems unaccustomed to. "It's how I've found my best friends and it's why I'm here. Thrill of the unknown, y'know?"

Janice thinks some more, and comes across a previous statement that makes her curious. "No 'inclination to question,' eh? Why is that? I always heard the Kaeneians were something of a cool people, but I thought it was just the climate rubbing off on ya or something." She smirks at her attempt at a joke. "I mean, it's definitely curious to someone like me who grew up in a country where everything is respected but always questioned. I just tended to question too much, which is why the M.I. really wasn't the place for me."

Elian stepped aside from the open doorway, and gestured to the levitating cart previously obstructed but now free to view. Laying his hand upon one such crate atop the unit, the Kaeneian nodded as Turino spoke, his intellect already calculating possible venues for dining as well as remembering to utter the necessary acknowledgements of the compliments issued -- Not a tradition he was familiar with, but cultural accommodation was required.

“Upon this sled you shall find every final paragraph upon the Gateway that our Archive-Adepts have transcribed from the vaults of the Spire to this very hour, though it remains largely hearsay and scarcely substantiated rumour I believed it prudent to present you with any discernable information, and leave you to your own conclusions.”

Manoeuvring the unit into the quarters assigned, the Kaeneian pondered locations for dining. “The current weather conditions outside of the structure are not lenient in their capacity as background for sightseeing; I suggest respectfully we remain in the Spire and choose to dine in any number of the communal facilities utilised by governmental personnel stationed here.”

“Unfortunately however, the Kaeneian palette has been variously described by foreigners as bland, uninteresting and entirely boring. It is though extremely nutritious and entirely healthy; which it must be said would seem the primary purpose of sustenance, no?”

Elian paused to cast a glance towards the sleeping Cetagandan -- “If you prefer, I can have whatever you choose to consume delivered to your weary companion without the need to rouse him; or if you so wish we may explore more of the Spire and then return when you feel it is suitable to disturb.”

The Kaeneian chose to cringe internally, believing himself to be over-compensating in his relatively unenthusiastic catering. It was hardly an established part of the curriculum for those within the Department Scientia and secondly, even the most diplomatically experienced of his civilisation struggled daily to combat the exhaustion more excitable and capricious races inflicted. This was not to say Elian disliked the task demanded of him, merely that it seemed far more difficult in reality than theory had hinted upon.

As if to provide a possibility of new conversation, the corridor lighting as peculiar as it stood in the form of stimulated chemicals winding lazily through transparent tubing, dimmed visibly as if to reproduce the effects of a circadian rhythm or daily cycle. The occasional sweeping window upon the wall opposite which looked outwards over Solarri itself, remained a virtual impasse of frosted glass and whipping, violent wind dispatching a hardly-comforting blanket of snow.

“The City of Solarri endures quasi-permanent snowstorms of traditionally severe impact; the light of Sol struggles to reach us through such ferocity and the burden of mimicking daylight as well as the nocturnal falls upon the shoulders of the Department Scientia, and the Tech-Adepts of Internal Administration.”

“As you may be aware,” Elian began again, “The Capital of the Serene^Union is hardly granted respite from the harshest elements of your Earth; it is a common jest that this planet still has not grown accustomed to our alien presence even in five hundred and twenty nine years. Other cities such as Byzainti, Khandrisii and Xirithias are similarly assailed and it is not until one ventures to the comparatively temperate reaches of Xiana and Fortuna that walking the glaciers becomes a mere matter of intense preparation, rather than a certain and almost suicidal venture.”

Satisfied he had surely fulfilled the trivia allocation for that day, the Kaeneian stepped from the quarters, and awaited the senior Cetagandan to make a decision on their next destination. As after-dinner speakers, the people of the Union did not make excellent purchases; quick to the point, unwilling to ramble and more than capable of extrapolating a point in minutes where a half hour’s worth of wit was expected. As tour guides and hospitality caterers the fared considerably worse -- So inexperienced in social nuances that even gruff veterans and the tight-lipped baulked at spending any length of time in company.

The only comfort to Elian lay in the fact that his direct superior on this matter, Supreme Overseer of the Department Scientia itself Farii Metrasci , was now merely half as experienced in relations with foreigners as he, and in absolutely no position to pass anything more than the most fortunately generic admonishment and harshly enough, praise.

“Your wit is not entirely displaced from the reality you believe it left behind,” she said almost musingly. The silence punctuated only by the repetitive thrum of level upon level of the Spire disappearing upwards was to continue for some time, and Leysia decided to allow a moment or two passage before elaborating on the somewhat mystical opener.

“Would it be accurate to say Lady, that you find this environment unpleasant? The stinging and incessant caress of an ever-present and utterly supreme winter, which were it not for the hardly simplistic design of your covering field jacket, would take great if mindless pleasure in sending a shiver through flesh and a surge through your spine?”

“I do not believe I am far from any mark, if I suggest that perhaps you did not enjoy journeying to such an extreme elevation? That the thought, even for a moment, crossed your mind as to why any nation able to choose a locale would submit that they best suited the isolationism of the North Polar Region? It is neither an enigma nor surprising story, but one I shall retell of your benefit and perhaps, to pass this knowledge on somehow.”

“The name of the city the Spire stands within the centre of, is not merely plucked from the murkiness and obscurity of a history past, nor is it to honour some semi-memorable person or accomplishment. Solarri is that which birthed as Earth did you; our home between stars and the cradle from which our civilisation blossomed and grew.”

As the lift slowed finally to a halt, Leysia led her charge through, pausing to gesture through a bay window aside the virtually blanketed city beneath; the barest hint of navigational beacons illumining the very highest reach of towers. “It cannot have escaped your notice that my garb exists as a fundamental opponent to your own -- hardly capable of retaining its own structure, let alone any hint of warmth upon my skin. So it was with our world, that whilst these polar regions occupy relatively small tracts of Earth, did the snow and hail sweep without restraint across Solarri and thusly render to the storms a never-ending domain to bury underneath.”

Rolling a sleeve upwards, Leysia turned her wrist over to expose flesh boasting little impurities to discern it from sheet white, marked only by the milky-pal of virtually translucent veins snaking their way from vessel to cell. Eliminating the short gap between herself and the window, the Kaeneian pressed the wrist against the glass.

“See how against the furious snow storms, my arm may as well be buried within? The discernable and the invisible merge truly, and it becomes difficult to tell truly where sleight-of-hand is employed and where the eyes may be trusted. Lady Depaulto, though we share similarities, perhaps you now understand the fundamental differences between our people so that you realise your joke was truly not far from truth.”

“As for the concept of asking questions …” She began hesitantly, “It again is for difference, and not myself personally to elaborate. For Solarri, her eternal frost was the cause of such enormous distance from the star which bore her any chance of life and vital energy; an insignificant blue orb whose size ranked amongst the smallest bodies of the surrounding system, and whose stature was surely never designed to impose upon anyone the merest hint or possibility of something more.”

“Compare her Lady, to Earth. For is Terra truly not simply a planet, but a Mother and carer of proportions staggering? Trillions call this world home from a perspective purely native whilst possessing of differences that might beyond a simple genetic analysis convince a neutral observer two examples from continents apart originated from galaxies separated. Her oceans teem alternatively with brightly coloured shoals water near equator, and thrashing shark near those masses furthest from attention.”

“Basking as it does, a stone’s throw from the indomitable power of Sol; ever-shining and immovable for the purpose of continuing to bring new life and civilisation to its terrestrial charges. Truly would any calamitous event to Earth be devastating and remembered by countless billions for a thousand years to come and pass -- For a planet as richly diverse and populated could live onward even through total destruction in the memories of a dozen individual races.”

Leysia finally began to walk onwards, remembering a destination still outstanding. “Yet of our world what remains? That which is the capital city of the Serene^Union, a name merely and without the connotations most desired by us. The most aged of the data-nodes deep beneath the surface and interred within the stretching catacombs of the vaults of the Spire, carrying whispers of a time long forgotten when the sole product of an icy orb scarcely capable of stretching to the immense task of raising sentience, was populated gratefully by her people.”

“I do not presume to know infinite and complete knowledge of our history on your part, Lady Depaulto, but I do make the assumption you have in the very least reviewed the information available through any number of Triumvirate links and services. You know of what befell our home and I cannot discuss with you it, for I do not wish to bring such distress upon myself which I shall relive as all of my people do in dreams, and nightmares. That the greatest tragedy is not its loss, but that none save ourselves remember it as it should be recalled. Perhaps in time a Scolopendran child might take read of a new and well-researched textbook on international relations; detailing not only the Federated Segments internationally, but her groundbreaking alliance and allies in great depth.”

Entering the dining hall, the Kaeneian lead the tiny part to a satisfactory table with two supporting chairs, pausing only long enough to be seated comfortably before continuing. "Such a book might detail the Serene^Union, and the circumstances that saw Kaeneian arrival in the Sol System and indeed any such occurring events. Perhaps a tale of a homeworld ended might be told, and that Scolopendran pre-adult might wonder for a moment, or an hour, of what it would feel like to be so cruelly injured.”

“Yet save for a people so intrinsically, and biologically linked to their departed cradle that they cannot comfortably endure conditions outside of the limited arctic of Earth, such an educational tool would stand alone in recording Solarri -- For what end is more rending than to be relegated to a paragraph? Unworthy even of a sole chapter because conditions and fate conspired to ensure that of the only fruit of effort borne forth would in itself be virtually wiped out so that only a handful of what once numbered trillions would recall even your actual existence?”

“You wonder why we ask no questions, Lady? I can finally now tell you forth; the answers we would receive are for those of Earth, her people and her history. It is not for the remains of a distant speck of light that now no longer resides in the night sky save the light that has yet to complete its mammoth journey from one end of the galaxy to the other. You wonder perhaps our inflexible leadership? Because the burden of assuming government over a civilisation eternally in sorrow and knowing of their lost place amongst achievement is heavy and eternal. To merely keep us upon the track of survival, to continue to prevent the apathy of a world we have no right or truly, a wish to be part of is a Herculean effort for which there is never a reward or hope.”

“Truly, you sit within a nation of some five billion mourners; where our children shall be borne wearing the black of the bereaved, and shall before they learn language and mathematics, grow weary under the weight of acceptance -- Forever dreamed of, and never granted.”

Janice nods quietly. She knows full well that, despite appearances, the Kaeneians are a completely different species, and she does get the feeling that any mentions of discomfort are entirely rhetorical. From an explorer's context, it's their climate and she should have been better prepared; still, she does have to admit to herself that she did selfishly wonder once or twice how anyone could tolerate this climate. In the end, she does politely repress a shiver, something she's accustomed to doing but not for that reason.

The fact that 'her' Gasu simply confirms the sense of mourning in everyone around her doesn't help any. "There's really not much one can say after that, eh?" she offers with a wry but delicate smirk after a respectful pause. "I 'pose it's an accurate comparison our differing cultures... but it's not like I can commisserate without sounding hollow 'bout it. An entire culture in eternal mourning? Not to sound completely unsympathetic, but it's honestly out of my ken... which probably means I'm in the right place."

“You see now, Lady Depaulto why precisely this project, the Gateway itself, is of such paramount importance to us? For if indeed this is as the faded date-nodes and decaying second-hand accounts report, the system of trans-galactic passages which held tied the Empire of many millennia passed together, it represents a chance unrivalled to return to that which we abandoned so painfully.”

Leysia leaned back slightly, allowing her rapidly tiring lungs to draw a quiet gulp of air by which to facilitate further explanation. She was entirely unused to covering such a sensitive topic, and with one who through no fault of their own did not originally know, and it took a toll upon her stamina and reserves. Further respite was garnered as a waiter approached the table, nodding respectfully at Leysia and also to Depaulto, though to the latter only after a few moments of staring.

“How can I be of service to you this sunset, Lady Leysia?”

The Kaeneian woman pondered for a moment, addressing the Scolopendran. “I would recommend a dish known as ‘Tiratani’ in our native tongue and as I touched upon earlier, similar to chicken in your Terran sphere of experience.”

Receiving a nod from the women sat opposite, Leysia turned once more to the waiter and ensured he would bring two such dishes to the table. Taking a slight liberty and assuming it would be acceptable, a pitcher of water was added though a subtle difference would be in the Kaeneian preference for warmed water -- A peculiarity to the supposed refreshing nature of such a product chilled.

“From what I have been able to gather, it seems there are three classes of gateway we can identify, and whose function we have ascertained. It was vitally important that such a categorisation was undertaken, as any prospective mission through such a unit would be dictated by the class in our possession. The first such unit is a master gateway; capable of both receiving and transmitting a signal and requiring no clearance or security acknowledgement to contact another gate as well as having supremacy over the remaining two types of gate. The master gateways are known to have been relatively few in number, and based on the largest worlds.”

“The second unit is a standard gateway, which whilst capable of receiving and transmitting a signal, cannot link to a master gateway and can only receive such a signal from the former. Fortunately for us and as an extension you, the gate in our possession is one such ‘standard’ model, and at least ensures we are not immediately barred from conducting an excursion.”

Leysia paused to stretch her neck somewhat, feeling an uncomfortable cramp underneath her jaw at such prolonged discussion. Satisfied it was bearable and temporary in condition, she resumed her place and described the third such gate in the network.

“The final type is a slave gateway, and the most meaningless in terms of function -- It can receive only, being incapable of transmitting to another gate and thusly is extremely limited in function. It is of imperative importance we avoid such a gate, as it would be impossible to return without direct contact with this facility’s unit and thusly improbable.”

Returning from whence he had disappeared to, the waiter set first two small plates within the easy reach of the two women, and now free to remove the jug nestled underneath his arm, added this to the tabletop whilst removing the lid. Setting forth the minimal of cutlery; one knife, one fork and a spoon for sake of completeness he turned to Leysia -- "Will there be anything further Lady?”

“That is all,” she responded, as the subordinate nodded and moved to a newly seated quartet at the far side of the chamber.

“Whilst we have no surviving maps to tell us of the network layout, it is probable that though we have moved the unit beyond its intended operational radius it is still of sufficient range to find the final connection point beyond. Further analysis has also revealed a high degree of automation -- Once integration with our own computational system is complete, a rudimentary Electronic Intelligence should be able to operate, and access a suitable destination.”

“We must however turn to vigilance -- You have heard the tale of rebellion deep within our past, Lady Depaulto, and know of the fate which our own world Solarri endured. This fate was not limited to a planet, but impressed upon countless hundreds of systems and their charges within. We know not and cannot foretell the condition of those planets at the very periphery of the Caelistis Gens Empire, whom perhaps escaped the majority devastation in lieu of their tactical insignificance. They yet herald live which may further be related genetically to ourselves…”

She hesitated, clearly pondering how to phrase. “It may however be a scene of carnage -- Of a world burned to ash and left to decompose in silence. Perhaps the gateway shall open forth unto fields of scorched rock and crumbling habitat; without support and those whom reigned within as architects, artists or dwellers. Such is the agony of our new found technology you take part in, that we cannot know what horror, or joy might await and only once we undertake, can we understand.”

"Yes..." Janice nods, eating politely but enthusiastically whatever is set in front of her, but there always comes a point where all you can do is turn the thing on. Sure we don't know what's on the other side, but that's the thrill and the point. As you say, we'll understand when we go through them. I've found in my years of doing this sort of thing that it's best if ya don't get set on any preconcieved notions.

"Uh, I think he'll be fine," Turino says, peering back at the sleeping man. He smiles at Elian and gestures towards the door. "I'm sure the communal dining you mentioned will be excellent. If you really want to, you can show me the interesting bits of the Spire after that."

Leysia nodded, though now her attention had transferred to the growing lateness of the hour. She had been expressively ordered by the Supreme-Overseer of the Department Scientia, Farri Metrasci, not to overtire or overwhelm their guests with cultural nuances and information bombardment. She pondered the likelihood of retiring as she consumed the meal before her; adequate, and nothing more exciting than that.

“Perhaps you would prefer to retire at the conclusion of your meal, Lady Depaulto? I have discussed at length for a considerable time and my superior gave express order not to prolong any discomfort you may have adapting to your environment, namely the Spire this evening. I am also available to correct any concerns you may have regarding your accommodation…”

She hesitated, “I do not presume to know your needs but perhaps you would be more comfortable with an increase in the ambient temperature of your quarters? I cannot make this change to affect the entirety of the Spire you shall spend your time within, but it may make your rest easier and more fruitful?”

“I admit to weariness myself,” she added as an afterthought. “I have expended considerable energies in hoping to be the ideal ‘hostess’ so to speak, and not to embarrass or bring scorn upon myself. As such I have lost perhaps the stamina I normally possess and feel obliged to bring the evening to a close for my sake also.”

Liberating a chunk of the meal from her fork, the Kaeneian chewed it thoroughly, allowing the Scolopendran the time to consider her options which were as truthfully limited as the variety on offer to any prospective pallet or diner. On the latter concern, only Depaulto might find cause to complain, the natives present almost cheerful in their acceptance of the mundane, and average.


Elian returned his gaze to the sleeping Cetagandan, and noting that the hour had indeed apparently escaped him, suggested a new course of action in order to ensure the Lieutenant and his accompaniment had suitable supplies whilst also the inclination to look over the material the Kaeneian had delivered.

“Perhaps, it would be prudent for me to deliver meals with haste to you now? There are facilities within your quarters for keeping the meal at a warm temperature, and additionally, it is a relatively hardy foodstuff which does not diminish in taste if not eaten immediately. Further, you shall be able to look over the copious notes I have furnished you with before our early beginning on tomorrow’s sunrise.”

Turino blinked, and considered this whilst also casting a glance at his snoozing companion. “Yeah,” he began after hesitation. “Seems a better idea -- What exactly is on the menu?”

“I believe it is similar to ‘Chicken’,” Elian replied. “Perhaps possessing a rougher texture. We have access to much the same vegetables available elsewhere on the Earth; are potatoes and a standard selection of other fresh vegetables acceptable?”

The Lieutenant nodded, “That’s fine.”

Turning to leave the Kaeneian pondered how his counterpart had fared, feeling she had been assigned a more difficult guest in the Scolopendran. This was not at all to say he felt they were intrinsically hard to please -- Merely that Lady Depaulto seemed in probability a rather seasoned military server and as such, less inclined to state or indeed have serviceable needs and thusly make the role of host far more difficult.

The irony of a race until recently absolute in their shunning of any foreigners, now attempting to play perfect receptionists, was hardly lost on Elian. The Cetagandans seemed amiable though akin to Depaulto the older and more experienced accompaniment to Turino did not share much in conversation, or like.

The true test of their working relationships would however, fall on the dawn of a new day. The Gateway still stood as mysteriously as it had hours before -- Stubborn in its refusal to yield the secrets to operation and understanding. The true wonders which might very well await an intrepid team journeying through were scarcely believable; the scant but real possibility of once more stepping foot on soil of Kaeneian origin for the first time in ten thousand years was neither frivolous nor without danger. To the foreigners an interesting scientific venture, to the hosts a vital link to a past most unhappy and hurtful.

Could it further be they might find friends amongst these worlds? For ten thousand years though hardly trivial was not insurmountable for a sentient race and possibly, some had endured after the terrible events of a fall most despicable. Elian shivered -- Even recalling the history of the displacement was to invite a twisting of the stomach, and a poisoning of the soul; both unforgettable and searing.

Ensuring the Culinary-Adepts had received the orders precisely, the Kaeneian took a seat aside the counter within the vast hall which served as a communal eating facility. Surprisingly he caught sight of Leysia and her charge, apparently in the process of preparing to leave. He nodded her head in greeting and she returned the gesture likewise -- Apparently she had neither been eviscerated by a grizzled veteran, nor thrown from the lofty heights of the Spire by an enraged service woman. Unlikely, but Elian hardly had an exhaustive library on the myriad reactions of foreigners to various stimuli.

If he hadn’t been Kaeneian in birth, manner and being, he might have cracked a small smile at what he personally thought a rather witty series of thoughts. He acknowledged the superior decision in remaining apart from humour -- Kaeneian comics were extremely few and far between, and known for operating in extremely small circles.

"Sure. I'm just fine with whatever you guys got planned," Janice replies with a smile, her 'chicken' already showing major damage from the typical voraciousness of a hungry noncom. She was taught well in Basic, though; her attempts at conversation only come between quick yet not messy attempts to assimilate the proffered CHON into her own metabolism. "but if y'all say sack time after dinner... then sack time will indeed be after dinner."

Another smile... which turns rather wry. "And yeah, I'm going to take you up on that offer to up the temp in my rack... but not too much. Cold actually makes one sleep better."

Farri Metrasci, Supreme-Overseer for the Department Scientia and holder of a place on the most supreme council of the Aengelistoria Dominica, felt oddly insignificant whilst stood in front of the colossal artefact occupying the majority of the examination chamber before her. The gateway possessed no titles of grandeur or rank; even an original name long since lost and instead something altogether more contemporary assigned.

Her fingertips grazed the smooth metal of the outer ring, intrigued by the change in her perception of the object simply by adding tactile contact to her experiences. For she now shared a link to the past directly, in physical contact with a veritable relic of millennia passed and ancient Kaeneian civilisation. She found her attention more and more snatched to this project with each passing hour, the mind of a scientist forever indulging in flights of scarcely restrained fancy against the feasibility of the real world.

Her eyes squinted as the overhead lighting raised, turning to address whomever disturbed her silent machinations. Setting eyes upon the first of a number of tech-adepts whose difficult task in awakening this gateway device began what must now be this very morning, Farri realised time had escaped her during this impromptu meeting between the inanimate and the frustrated.

“I apologise for disturbing you,” acquiesced the subordinate Kaeneian. “I had not expected the Supreme-Overseer to be in attendance save for an occasional status report. I see further I am early - too eager perhaps to unearth the secrets of the past brought forth into the present.”

Metrasci nodded, once more addressing the gateway with her eyes. “It is difficult to remove this from your dreams and thought, is it not? To have not only an artefact or relic but an actual functional path back to that which we lost so long ago … It is refreshing, worrying and invigorating at once - This conversation serves as official validation that even those most senior can scarcely obey assignment commencement times.”

As they exchanged words of encouragement, pondering and deliberation the chamber began to fill with a myriad Kaeneians of varying rank, expertise and field of study. With the rising of Sol upon the ever-stretching ice fields of Solarri and the territory of the Serene^Union as a whole, they began their work diligently if slowly; such ancient legacies of the past did not survive such intolerable periods of time by surrendering their secrets quickly.

Leysia ensured the towel was firmly secured around her drying body, seating herself at the modest and rather bare dresser occupying the wall opposite the bed she had risen from a half hour previously. Procuring a brush from the top drawer, she set about working through the wet black tresses which shortly thereafter would be confined in a severe, if efficient coil that met acceptable dress parameters. She had been unable to deny considerable weariness upon her rising that morning; surmising playing host was a great deal more tiresome than being guest.

Relegating the brush to tabletop, and obtaining some hairpins, she set about curling her shoulder-length hair upwards until such time as she pinned it utterly to the back of her head and nodded in satisfaction at the abrupt change from billowing mane to severe restriction. Once garbed in a suitable tunic she would visit Lady Depaulto and playing the role of chaperone to the best of ability, take her to the gateway to begin this days attempts to reawaken the slumbering treasure.

Crossing to the small observation window imbedded within the wall, she pressed her forehead upon the glass, and felt the unregulated pane cool her flesh pleasantly. Outside the relatively silent night gave way to the first day’s snow shower, a new blanket of white would soon settle over the spires and towers of the city of Solarri stretching beneath -- Identifiable by the maze of glimmering navigational beacons and guidance lights.

Perhaps if time allowed, and the Scolopendran could be safeguarded from the cold, Leysia might tour the world outside of the Spire. Amongst the snow and ice and the city beyond the limits of the ultimate seat of the Aengelistoria Dominica’s power; where teeming billions resided amidst an ever-changing and carved landscape of splintered black rock, and furious whipping winds.


Elian traversed the corridor briskly, identifying a minor crease upon his cuff and smoothing it with practised ease and dedication to perfection. Nodding greeting to each Kaeneian, irrespective of rank he met upon his journey, the adept hoped sorely his Cetagandan charges had endured the night pleasantly. Having delivered the meal the previous sunset and left the foreigners to their own evening devices, Elian had spent his remaining waking time pouring over diagrams, second-hand accounts and analysis of the gateway in the hope of any inspiration - unlikely admittedly at such an early stage, but a relevant distraction.

His internal monologue shattered as she spied Supreme-Overseer Metrasci approaching him. Stopping, he bowed slightly in acknowledgement, which was countered by the Overseer’s shallow nod. Pleasantries exchanged, the Kaeneian woman wasted little time in reaching the point of the coming together. “Have you taken the Cetagandans to the gateway?”

“I am en-route to their quarters,” Elian replied. “I expect Leysia shall be endeavouring to accompany Lady Depaulto to the examination chamber within much the same timeframe as myself. I did not anticipate your presence at such an early hour, Supreme-Overseer.”

Farri nodded, “The call of the unknown does not diminish with rank, Elian. Were I merely an adjunct to an adept such as yourself, I would still feel the need to rise before Sol and begin work - With the importance of that which awaits our analysis, I truly cannot fathom wasting a moment’s wakefulness on any activity more meaningful or relevant to the Department Scientia, and as an extension, Kaeneian society as a whole.”

“Do you foresee a gargantuan effort to restore the device? Whilst it is of our own construction, the two technologies are separated by a thousand years of existence and still more years of understanding in division. We have yet even to successfully calibrate our computational devices to access correctly the artefact.”

“Time is merely the unit by which we measure progress; yet with the gateway every moment it spends within the Spire is in itself a testament to the achievements of our ancestors - Having built that which knows no decay, nor damage nor even age. Whilst the simpler facets of its operation may elude us currently, our resources are not so easily dismissible and I am confident, especially with foreign intervention in the shape of the Scolopendran and Cetagandans, that we shall see success.”

“Have you given thought to its activation?” Elian asked. He had long since pondered the consequences of achieving a tangible and usable link between the present and that which co-existed but at such terrible distances as to be rendered a mere technicality of existence.

“If the gateway proves as its name suggests, then I cannot orchestrate any such expedition solely. The Aengelistoria Dominica would then be called upon to make decision - For so many other concerns including security, mean it is not simply a scientific expedition, but one of shattering importance across the departments of the facet of governance.”

“I must attend a meeting of the council,” Farri added quickly afterwards. “Collect the Cetagandans, and advise them any sustenance they require can be provided within the examination chamber. Ensure Leysia has done likewise and begin immediate analysis of the artefact, for time does not exist to waste frivolously. Governor-General Byzainti has bid me to indulge her fully in our progress at the termination of each day, and I intend to have something to report anew.”

Pausing only long enough to reciprocate the acceptance of orders with a nod, Farri moved away, towards the higher levels of the Spire whereupon the Council would meet near the very tallest reach and debate, decide and instil order upon the billions of citizens of the union beneath. For Elian, it remained only to collect his charges and with as much vigour as possible, delve into the mysteries of the gateway.

Leysia impressed her palm upon the entry rune, satisfied in its functionality as an audible tone reverberated beyond the sealed doors. She was hopeful the Scolopendran had found the quarters comfortable, especially after the temperature increase so that she might find more pleasantness out with the icy cold of the Kaeneian norm.

Further concern was whether Lady Depaulto had prior knowledge of such an early start. Leysia had been sure to leave with the foreigner an itinerary of the day ahead and indeed weeks planned forth - However it could not be the personal mission of every guest in any nation to thoroughly read every data node so supplied by diligent, if uninteresting hosts. Leysia had felt a considerable will behind the well-meaning words of Depaulto and was further sure any temper she possessed would hardly be sated with a rude and early awakening, and further unpleasant to garner exposure to.

Whilst she waited for the delegate, the Kaeneian occupied herself with ensuring her dark blue tunic, possessing equally unvarying three-quarter sleeves and the accompanying skirt terminating a scant few inches from the floor, were smooth and wrinkle-free. It was best to start the day as one would start a speech or start a memorable escapade; looking pristine and well groomed.

Elian pondered whether the older Cetagandan slept continuously from the point he had interjected last night until the moment he had pressed the entry rune moments ago, as the Kaeneian awaited a response. No issue of the cold had been brought forth by either Turino or his compatriot, and Elian further pondered whether any discomfort had been felt - Though to any Kaeneian the thought of spending time in an atmosphere not without withering snow, or chilling ice was one of suppressed unhappiness and disguised annoyance.

Shuffling and a possible curse beyond alerted him to movement, and he checked once more the contents of the data node contained within his palm. Breakfast, if required by the guests could be made available whilst they worked - The pace of the Serene^Union whilst slower than many of her Earthen counterparts was considerably more relenting in terms of duration, and they would find their sleep much needed at the termination of what would prove a long, and interesting day.

After retiring to her room, Janice Kiri Depaulto--explorer-extraordinaire of the Segments and idol to perhaps more adolescents than she'd care to know yearning for a chance to make a living discovering the multifaceted secrets of known space--finds herself with the mundane but certainly not academic task of finding a way to camp out without falling victim to hypothermia. Her room certainly was warmer than the corridor, certainly, but that doesn't say much; frowning idly to herself as she watches the moisture in her breath condense in the air, she putters about the room like a human steam engine, puffing clouds behind her as she goes while she idly reads the material set out for her. Well, isn't this great. Let's see what the locals have in the way of bedding.

She picks at the bed experimentally, the black sheets going with the dark hardwood floors and the gray walls. At least it isn't Goth. The material isn't fancy, but it's comfortable enough; unfortunately for Janice, that's not what she's looking for. Picking up the thin, too thin sheets, she frowns a little deeper, the creases in her face standing out a bit more at that. What I wouldn't give for some of those fuzzy scratchy wool winterweight army blankets right about now. Fool that I am just brought summerweight because it's better for carrying things.

=We told you that Kaenei was cold. We remembered hearing it through your ears on a documentary you weren't paying attention to.= The wormlike Gasu's voice-not-within-Janice's-ears has a slight tone of chiding to it.

"Guns don't clean themselves, Kay," the short mostly-Asian woman says aloud. "You know I turn those things on just for noise."

=Not debated. What we merely ask is that you listen to us when we suggest something. We are cold too, albeit vicariously. Your core temperature is still quite comfortable.=

"So sad to hear your troubles," Depaulto grumbles as she pulls her green blanket from her duffel and tosses it without a concern for order onto a chair, where it settles haphazardly. Teasing her hand from one glove, she sneaks it under the covers of the bed. "Aiya!" Janice snarls in a high-pitched yip, "cold! I'll have to insulate myself from the goram bed too!"

=Pity.= K'grrthhaa, normally quiescent in Janice's stomach, shifts slightly where it is, a decidedly strange feeling as her internal organs shift a few millimeters to accomodate it. =Quite comfortable in here.=

"That's it. I have been wearing off on you." Grinning in only a half-threatening way, Janice rummages through her large duffel some more until she comes across a stashed relic from adventures past. "Eureka." A few moments later, she wriggles the red thinsuit from the pack, ignoring it when a few of its unattached hard plates clatter out onto the hard floor. "Hiya, Oscar," she says with a nostalgic little smile wholly out of place on someone wearing a "Get The Fuck Out Of My Way!" hachimaki.

=Hello, Oscar,= the Gasu echoes for a similar reason. Its first introduction to 'Oscar' wasn't much enjoyable, but it's gotten used to the completely irrational attachment humans can have towards simple machines that do their jobs exceptionally well.

Without further comment or thought Janice strips down to shorts and sports bra to fit inside the Sunset-made suit from Columbia so long ago. Not nearly form fitting, it is nearly skintight and doesn't suffer much in the way of inflation-derived motion resistance... even less when the hard plates are attached. Quelling her shivering long enough to close all the seals and dog the helmet latches, she toggles the suit controls to a nicely warm temperature, opening the small pack's vents so she's not running on a closed system. Relaxing in the soft sound of whirring fans, the warm breath of heated air on her shoulders after passing through the suit's induction heater, and the oddly comforting old-gym-sock smell, Janice makes herself comfortable on the Kaeneian bed. "G'night, Kay."

* - * - *

A soft yawn later, and it's tomorrow morning about an hour before she's needed anywhere. Exploring for years teaches one to sleep comfortably light and get up automatically on a schedule. Rolling into a sitting position and then stretching out in the dingy red spacesuit, Janice works out the slept-in-a-suit kinks before standing up. I wonder how they'd take it if I just wore Oscar throughout this whole thing.

That does give her something to think about for almost a full minute, but then she decides it'd be troublesome when she tries to eat. Sighing, she turns off Oscar's systems and then cracks the seal. Grimacing against the first burst of cold air, she quickly doffs the suit with the speed that a decade or two of familiarity brings. Then she steps from the still warm insteps of Oscar's boots onto the floor.

"Nek ni!" A hiss, then a parody of someone walking across hot sand as she scrambles to get to her socks and combat boots, every step eliciting some sort of curse. Obtaining such things for her feet, she absent-mindedly plops herself onto corner of the bed so she can get them on. Needless to say, the shorts don't proffer much protection.

"Kuso shite shinezo!" Spurring herself to more speed, she throws on her socks and cargo trousers (snatched hastily from where they were strewn on the bedside table) faster than she ever did in the Infantry and then stops into her boots, leaving them untied for now. Clomping over to her shirts, she puts on two black tank tops, two grey undershirts, a long-sleeve black shirt and a fuzzy grey M.I. wool sweater before wedging her now-thicker arms through the insulated sleeves of her field jacket. Looking a little puffier than she did yesterday, she dons a knit black watchcap and covers that with her impromptu hachimaki earmuff-band before tying her boots standing up and easing jamming her hands into leather work gloves with insulated liners.

Still cursing quietly and breathing heavily, she drops and pounds out a few pushups and situps just to get herself warm on the inside. Once all that's done, there's nothing else to do but get on with another day of exciting exploration.

On her way out the door Janice peeks inside the bathroom. Hm, shower. Cold and frigid running water. No, not now. Shivering just at the thought, she leaves.

Technology served as one’s means of bringing ability to bear upon dreams—overcoming the inherent limits of the physicality of the humanoid form which could neither soar above the clouds nor travel upon the seas that separated the continents, limited only to dreaming of the freedom such actions could bring and biding time until knowledge matched imagination.

The light of the sun above did not relinquish its blinding sheen willingly, becoming dimmed only by the triumvirate of narrowing masts which passed before any onlooker’s gaze upwards, and whose edges themselves seemed to blur as the leaching brightness infringed upon the blockage to the eye line. Each of the three wooden spires flexed almost imperceptibly in the open air, the taller centre mast bound to its lesser charges by webbing interspersed and reinforced with metallic bands, refracting the sunlight and in turn blazing as if mockeries or siblings of the larger star shining above.

Fastened tightly to these wooden towers rising forth, billowed immense sails coloured so lightly as to seem little more than clouds plucked from the very sky who supplied their precious motive wind, and simply strapped securely and directionally. Shaped not unlike the bow of the craft she flew above, the fore-mast sail rippled, set upon the bowspirit and tied loosely at its rear to the rigging of the main mast.

Behind, the mainsail held no such flutter, taut with the applied pressure of the surrounding pulleys and ropes which together ensured that the massive surface area of the largest canvas was maximised to the wind. Though the top and bottom of the sail matched each other in length the sides were not vertically straight, but curved so that it seemed to reflect the silhouette of an hourglass. The rearmost of the sails mimicked much the same style in rigging and shape as the fore-mast, though markedly larger and set so that its point rose upwards to be tied to the quarterdeck.

Along the bulwarks and inset within frames of polished metal, frosted glass stood decorated in a dark blue, highlighted by the occasional inset yellow pane so as to appear to an observer to be a recreation of the night sky, and the many constellations and star formations contained therein. Beginning from beneath the bottom of the closest windows to the bow, curved silver tendrils emanated, two snaking tracks of metal both port and starboard spreading forth until they ran two-thirds of the length of the hull, matching its smooth contours flawlessly. As their width diminished they split forth into curving, serpentine-like tentacles which spread upwards and downwards upon their respective sides, so that it seemed the wooden hull was merged with the metal rather than simply bolted beneath.

The same metal adorned the bow but found radically different form, sculpted as it was to form part of the jutting spar above. From beneath the bowspirit, the outstretched head of an ornamental bird was obvious—the silver surpassing the sculpture to include bands wound tightly to secure it to the spar. Flowing backwards and merging with the very spine of the bow, the body of the bird melded, stretching out to form sleek wings whose top-most feathers followed the counters of the handrails upon the deck. Beyond the feathers the metal formed the licking flames of fire and intense heat, revealing the avian to be that which rose from the ashes of destruction—a firebird.

The water which was split forth from the endless width of the ocean vast upon the bow, to form two streaming and tumulus paths, lessened so that its relentless assault upon the hull mellowed to a merely considerable lapping of the water, as the sails above were loosened to lesson the speed gatherable. Only now would the eyes, who had previously enjoyed nothing bar the ocean in all directions the compass could provide for, set their gaze upon the breaking form of land; rocky, eroded, thrusting upwards from beneath the foamy brine.

The outcropping of rock was visible from the decking, weathered so that their sharpened points as products of shattering from decades past were worn away until smoothened bumps and the dissolved channels created by the ebb and flow of the sea stood as all that remained. The land rose upwards from that small point surrounded by sea, so that the small outcropping was connected upon a spindling, mountainous arm submerged at the latter end only barely sufficiently to allow the term island to be used with any conviction.

The chain of mountains, so lonesome that their steep sides descended beneath the depths without the accompanying floor of habitable land, continued in a curved fashion, so that they might resemble a horseshoe in shape interspersed with clumps of thrusting rock about their ends. Yet the natural sculpture of grey, inhospitable rock was not alone in its towering height, for beginning two-thirds upwards upon the slopes of the taller peaks the off-set colour of shaped stone climbed from burrowing within the mountainside.

Rising upwards to form buttresses against the bulk constructions centred off-centre to the uppermost peak, the buildings were grouped together in towers of varying height, themselves subservient to the highest of the group, from which single-span stone bridges passed horizontally to the lesser spires and further afar to neighbouring mountaintops.

Descending from the foundations of the lowest tower, carved directly from the rock which formed the mountain itself, a staircase of immense length and height spiralled about the ascending width and disappearing only so long as the rest of the presiding chain came into view to block. The entire structure was bizarre in its design, surpassed in that facet only by location—utterly isolated so that one might question not simply construction techniques but the need for civilisation amidst that which divided civilisations and the continents they were centred upon.

Eventually, the war ceased even its lapping gentleness upon the bow and the hull as the ship came to slow, coming alongside one such part of the mountain chain which had been fashioned from a natural slope to a semi-rectangular harbour side from which a vessel might moor, and make port safe from the more reckless waves beyond the welcoming arms of rock.

Armelia leaned upon the starboard handrail, regarding the curious hybrid of the natural and artificial which greeted her ship as it nestled within the carved harbour, as unique in its lack of traffic or any appreciable vessel other than her own, as it was in construction technique. To the stern and within her private cabin, the entirety of the ship’s considerable navigational charts and records lay strewn in the lantern light, ignorant in their failure to include their unscheduled stop in knowledgeable form.

She directed her attention away from the silent harbour side, to the crewmen upon various parts of the rigging, traversing their way across the lines holding mast to mast upside down with legs wrapped tightly around the ropes, as their arms furiously hauled on the pulleys which would bring the now useless sails upwards to secure beneath their respective spars.

Securing the line from the mast above her to the iron hook upon the rail, she wiped the grime from soiled hands and ventured further towards mid-ship, as the gangways and mooring lines were pulled taught to secure the ship to the dock. Pausing before the prospective exit ramp, Armelia looked upon the harbour itself, and the stonework which betrayed a complex master plan.

“It certainly puts your ship to shame, Freeheart Armelia—perhaps we could turn to fishing to fill the coffers; nets, de-mast, it wouldn’t be too difficult to turn the Adria into a trawler. She might very well be the most beautiful, elegant and sophisticated trawler anyone has ever known.”

Armelia did not bother to turn to address the source of the comment, instead electing to continue her observation of the port. “Then it would do you well to begin looking for another employer, Mister Magnioc. For surely a simple trawler will have no need for a first officer to assist the commanding Freeheart.”

He allowed a smile, tinged with the merest hint of musing behind twinkling eyes, “Perhaps you are correct,” he began. “Though I have served under many Freehearts aboard many of their vessels, and you are undoubtedly the laziest—could you face the tower of work a trawler would demand?”

“With your earnings added to my own?” Armelia retorted, testing the gangplank as she placed her full weight on her right foot. “I believe I could adapt, especially if one removed the dividing wall between our cabins and increased my already leisurely floor space by an additional third.”

This seemed to stimulate further pondering on behalf of the first officer, as he followed his commanding superior on to the gangplank. “When you list the benefits and true career prospects I face aboard the Adria, I cannot bear to leave any of it behind.”

Magnioc found himself raising his voice to make sure his final words were heard, as the figure of Armelia rapidly disappeared across the dock, apparently unwilling to complete the latest round of banter which ultimately ended, traditionally, in defeat for the first officer, and his endless pool of witty retorts.




Armelia’s gaze travelled across the stone arches which formed the ceiling over what appeared to be storage cellars, carved beneath the winding staircase which climbed above all heads and encircled the towering mountain peak. Her eyes sought flags, symbols, signs of habitation which would reveal the inhabitants of this curious point of civilisation amidst the open sea. Despite her deepest analysis, the harbour area seemed scoured of inhabitation—a sound superstructure untainted by the wear and tear of the living.

Gazing upwards, her eyes followed the staircase until it disappeared from view, melding into the jutting towers which formed the stone crown atop the mountain’s shoulders. Following up from the rear, a half dozen of the Aria’s crew led by the first officer, came upon their commander’s position whilst similarly regarding their surroundings with suspicion.

“One might have expected a welcoming, for they cannot enjoy much hospitality from their neighbours—the ocean is not a kind mistress to regard those who traverse her with sweet words and sweeter tonics; likely to smite as often as she smiles.”

Armelia nodded, gesturing to the staircase which began a scant few metres ahead. “Certainly these walls have seen little to no visitors in many years—only their spiders tenants, and the captured flies unwitting and terrified houseguests. I would herald a thought however that rather more detail may await us at the peak, perhaps at least worthy enough to see an entry in the Continental Navy’s navigational maps, and find yet another land unclaimed to name after Her Serene Highness.”

“I doubt she will find interest in this island,” Magnioc mused as he too came to regard the path disappearing into the cloud-laden sky above. “I see no beaches by which she might complain of the terrible heat, nor frozen tundra which her Highness might regard as unpleasantly sparse whilst traversing them in furs and accompanied sleds.”

Armelia directed the storage boxes being assembled around the staircase, “I believe that constitutes treason against the state mister Magnioc. Perhaps I shall take you into custody, whereupon you can spend the remainder of our trip back to port with the ship’s brig as your sole companion.”

Magnioc’s lips flittered upwards, though the barest hint of seriousness in his superior’s voice prevented a full blown smile. Assisting one of the deckhands with a larger supply crate he acquiesced beneath the Freeheart’s semi-serious threat.

“The sun will not give us respite much longer—set up a base camp here, and ensure our immediate perimeter is secure, whereupon at first light we shall climb the staircase upwards to the fortress atop the mountain peak and examine it at length.”

Armelia subconsciously placed a hand upon the grip of the sheathed sabre strapped to her waist and thigh, as her eyes settled upon the spires of stone which were to be the focus of their efforts in the coming morning. With her attentions diverted the Freeheart of the Continental Navy’s ship Adria failed to take note of the look of familiarity forming on her first officer’s face.

“We are well equipped for exploration,” he began, realising the subconscious hand upon weapon signalled tension within his superior. “We include a full detachment of Adversity Guardians in our ship’s company, and judging by the distinct lack of opposition to a military ship entering harbour I do not foresee a difficult welcome, if indeed there is a welcome to speak of.”

Though she nodded her head in agreement, Armelia’s focus had returned to regard the sleek form of her ship, the Adria, as the sails which provided it with such motive power disappeared from sight to remain rolled tightly beneath the high-rising masts which acted to relief the monotony of the rolling oceans—food to the eyes as only scenery can fulfil.






The chamber was cavernous in its distant relation between stone floor and ceiling, where an observer might stand from one end and despite the up most scrutiny fail to set upon the opposite side and realise the true dimensions of his surroundings. The stone which stood all around remained without highlight; cracks, perforations and missing elements impossible to separate without the meaningful glint of illumination.

From windows which resembled vertically stretched diamonds, as precious in their scarce appearance amidst the uniform stone as the valuable crystal itself, the occasional twinkle of stars shone, whose light most likely outlived their existence in the arduous journey across the sea between worlds to the sky above. So ended a journey of many lifetimes simply to be expunged without purpose against the floor immediately surrounding, allowing the barest cracks or outlines to be identified yet revealing nothing of the scheme of design overall.

As though a single star having grown bored of its lofty, isolated stance from kin and the world whose light it received decided upon a visit, so the desertion of clarity vanished in a sequence of blinding flashes—illuminating the chamber and the immense circle of metal which lay in the darkness previously and remained an unknown quantity.

These bursts of light would not remain confined to a single spectacular flash, repeating with a frequency of seconds until the previously overwhelming darkness became only a moment’s respite between the white light, which betrayed even the cobwebs set high between roof supports and buttresses.

From above the expansive circle of shining metal, a stream of dust fell loose, drifting lazily downwards until such point as it passed within the diameter of the chamber’s dominating form. Yet where the lack of anything tangible within the circle would lead to the assumption of a simple transference, the dust particles failed to pass beyond; the only record of their passing being a distortion of the scene beyond, as the reflection of the world at large upon a still pool might be gently disrupted by ripples.

After a time, these ripples dissipated and the view beyond the interior circumference of the circle was as it should be for a simple hole—unobtrusive and adding nothing of importance or relevance to the overall chamber beyond, highlighted as it was the now near-constant cycling of intense flashing.

The silence, which had included the flashes in its totality, became punctured as a high-pitched whine filled the air; whirring, grinding, humming in an increasing crescendo. As this reverberated, a ripple formed upon the monument’s inner space, a small circle of displacement waves which rapidly began to spread with further haste.

From nothingness, a single cylindrical needle emerged, whose end terminated in a black point and whose base seemed to appear from the air itself—only the distortions themselves preventing what appeared from being truly sudden, were any there to observe the events unfolding. The needle continued forwards until apparatus beyond became visible, a smooth and curved armour plate shaped not unlike the canoes of civilisations of ages past; shortened and adorned with various probes and antennae for which to gather and disseminate.

Behind the plate sensitive equipment nestled between the upper and lower carapace, Extending downwards to form a cone from which no obvious means of locomotion existed; levitating as the appearing device did several feet above ground level. With a final wave-like ripple, the disturbance occupying the inner circle resumed appearing inconspicuous and for all intents invisible whilst the emergent construct moved forwards several metres.

Seemingly satisfied—whatever stood on the influencing end—the cycling flashes ended and the powerful light making every detail of the cavernous chamber apparent surrendered to the cloying black, awaiting only the merest chance to resume night’s reign, watched only by the Moon and her stars.

Continuing forwards under a power not obvious by visible design alone, two shafts of brilliant white light erupted forth from recesses upon the armoured carapace; divergent beams which swept across first the floor and ceiling respectively before widening their remit to walls. After a moment the colour of the beams began to fluctuate, first to cyan and then purple with the space between alternations ever-increasing until the light itself seemed to disappear from view—despite the hum which had preceded the beams’ generation continuing.

Hovering ahead once more, the construction deployed further needle-like probes from gaps within the top of the sloping, bulbous, armoured top. Rotating the entirety of its mass about as though a person might turn their head to acknowledge surroundings, the unit seemed satisfied with all it had observed. Deployed sensor arms retracted into the relatively protected sanctuary of armour, whilst the two present beams of light terminated as abruptly as they had begun, departing whilst accompanied by the few internal beacons which shone duly within. Now only the rolling sea so scarcely audible beyond the stone shattered an otherwise perfect silence, the equilibrium of the night once more reasserting itself.

Had the realm of the nocturnal any recourse to display further displeasure at being displaced, it would surely have acted as the flashes which had so overcome the darkness with the arrival of the now dormant device returned, rapidly fluctuating in speed.

The ripples which had flittered across the face of the circle as though interacting with the air itself returned though were far more expressive, emerging from one segment of the ring and crossing to its diagonal relation, or merging with one another in the centre. From the stone floor a series of waves short upwards, rapidly turning and climbing until the barest outline of a group of figures seemed to permeate the shadows that fell behind the monument.

The rifle’s tapering barrel was raised crisply and with the intent to use even before the firing chamber, and the constituent atoms of the weapon’s wearer, had re-materialised. The blackness which was currently held back by the flashes generated were further prevented by a triumvirate of light beams which emerged from beacons mounted either side and beneath the discharge muzzle.

Five further barrels joined their leader, quickly increasing to form six complete weapons and their wielders stepping forth from nothingness. Four figures immediately split forth to right and left in parties of two, crouching and surveying the scene as though their weapons were sensors. What such metaphors told them were impossible to discern, through the completely sealed armour and helmet-assemblies each wore.

Standing apart from the five-point star positions the squad had assembled into, clad in armour for which the red stripes upon the upper shoulder indicated higher authority, a solitary figure reduced his hold on the rifle to one-handed grip; reaching upwards to manipulate the pressure controls upon the seal of the helmet-carapace.

Allowing the retractable cord built into the butt of the rifle to take the place of both arms, the senior-apparent removed the entirety of his re-breather assembly, placing it snugly beneath and taking a cautious breath of the surrounding air.

“No perceptible contaminants,” He announced before placing the helmet upon the floor to the side. “Adopt standard environmental procedures.”

Janice Depaulto gazes into the dark hole-ness of the Kaeneian side of the artifact with an appraising look. Oscar set aside due to a lack of need--the old guy needs a break, after all--she's in the military-utilitarian chic mufti common to 'Pendrans previously described: more pockets make more useful. Hands resting lightly on the decently bricklike submachine gun clipped to her utility vest, she glances over at some of the Tech-Adepts inevitably fiddling knobs or perhaps waving their hands to direct an invisible philharmonic orchestra if any of the controls are more akin to theremins than mixing tables. "I thought it would've been more blue, but this works too."

The go code from the other side comes out over the public address system, and Janice does her final checks. Radio handset secure in its little pouch on the vest, throatmic taped to her larynx, earbuds snug and the leads taped to the sides of her neck as a precaution, for as the adage goes one can take the trooper out of the Mobile Infantry but... Packframe suitably equipped for adventuring, emergency supplies stashed in various pockets, extra ammunition for both the SMG and the powergun pistol on her hip in their little loops of fabric on her vest. Everything in its place, and nowhere to go but through.

It's times like these she allows herself some introspection. So, K, what do you think? Stately or 'enthusiastic?'

=We do not think 'enthusiasm' would quite match the appearance you have always attempted to portray, One-Who-Calls-Herself-Janice, no matter how exciting the situation.=

Depaulto snickers to no one in particular. Bah. Right, as you often are. Maybe enthusiastically professional, then?

=How is it you say?= Seventeen years of living in a Mobile Infantrywoman will teach any alien symbiote the meaning and usefulness of rhetorical questions. ='On the bounce?'= And enthusiastic cheers.

The salt-and-pepper haired woman smirks then propels herself forward, rubber soles of her combat boots causing a subdued tromping noise as she guides herself up the metal ramp to the Ring. "Over the top, boys," she says, not even bothering to look back over her shoulder, "whaddya wanna do, live forever?"

And then she's through. She forces herself not to blink.

"Personally, I wouldn't mind it, if that's not too much to ask," mutters Sergeant Simmons under his breath. He shifts from foot to foot in front of the portal under the weight of his equipment. Much like Depaulto, his pack and suit are loaded down with all the necessities and he has a heavy pulse rifle ready across his chest. He glances backwards and shouts, "You ready yet, sir?"

Back towards the technicians, Turino is pulling on his own pack, which is filled with rather less weaponry and a number of esoteric devices that might be needed to operate the Ring from the other side. Finally getting it into postion, he picks up his own weapon, a midsized needler rather smaller than the monster the marine carries, and all but skips over to the ramp in a manner that seems to the sergeant to be painfully reminiscent of a eager puppy. "Whenever you are." As the two start up the ramp, the lieutenant adds, "Just had to run a final check to make sure it wouldn't spaghettify us or something."

Simmons glares at the younger man, who cheerfully goes on, "Don't worry, the chances of something going wrong once a wormhole is established is practically nil. Of course-" Whatever 'of course' was going to be is cut off as he steps through. The marine spares one last glance at the Ring before stepping into the black.

The instincts of a decade spent at the forefront of civilisation, where the etiquette and manners of society lay behind and the unpleasant truths of conflict companion ahead overrode the mental fog of weariness as Armelia’s sabre swiftly rose from its resting place upon the thick ground sheet. Before eyes had blinked open interrupted in their sleep, an arm stretched out in blind challenge to any assailant, though as the full powers of the intellect responded to the biological wail to awake, the stance lessened to crouching.

Running a free hand through the locks of blonde which had escaped their binding in a much-tussled rest and fallen over her features, the Freeheart overcame defensive reactions and dropped the sabre to the ground. Rising to a crouch, eyes fell first to the dying embers of the fire which dominated the centre of the sleeping sacks arranged in a circular fashion surrounding, and then to the crew of her ship which occupied each. None stirred or gave reason for the oddness that had awoken her suddenly.

Climbing to full height, the stars overhead offered nothing in revelation, continuing as they did in the nocturnal to shine stubbornly, and silently. It was as she watched the all-encompassing void-between-worlds above that the piercing flash of the unnatural permeated all vision. Head snapping left to address the phenomenon Almeria’s eyes settled on the stone tower jutting upwards from its lesser brethren on the peak of the mountain whose base they camped aside.

“Mister Magnioc,” She hissed as her reach found the sabre discarded a moment before. “Assemble a party immediately—we’re not alone on this apparently desolate spot.”

Apparently devoid of any sense of humour at such a twilight hour, the first officer’s blade was to bear before the thick covers of his sack were thrown back. Standing he aimed a subtle kick to the gut of the two deck hands nearest, motioning for them to bear arms before sluggishly joining his Freeheart at the edge of the flickering campfire embers.

“A flash, as lightning but without the rumble of the heavens, or as natural; an all-encompassing blanket of white which blinded and disoriented utterly—emanating from the highest spire of the fortress atop the peak which stands before us.”

The second-in-command raised his head to observe the building, “The night will not favour us but I agree we cannot delay. We have already mistakenly believed ourselves the only visitors and I for one am prepared to be corrected only once this day.”

“Assemble the men-at-arms,” Armelia ordered. “I will see your statement true.”





The darkness of the gate chamber remained near-absolute, as the traditional practice of setting independent lighting in place was eschewed in favour of remaining stealthy given the lack of knowledge regarding natives or other troubles. The cavernous volume of the enormous hall had been somewhat lessened by the supplies transported an unimaginable distance through the mysterious device at hand, stacked as they were and awaiting verification.

To the far side the anti-gravitic probe which had braved the unknown before a single soul had braved the trans-solar journey lay partially dismantled before the thorough procedures of a tech-adept of the Department Scientia; each component meticulously analysed for changes in molecular structure which might give evidence of a danger unknown, and the brief though invaluable mission files recorded essential to refining further movements.

The original Kaeneian Guardians who had entered moved slightly more freely, for the hospitality of the atmosphere lent them permission to dispense with their enclosed armour which though the finest available to the Armed Forces of the Serene^Union, could not compete with the movement offered by being unencumbered.

First-Guardian Sarri surveyed the state of preparations from his vantage point atop a recently emptied cargo container, scrutinising the structure of the chamber which accommodated them without complaint. A relatively speedy search had revealed only one entrance to the hall, located directly at the other end from where the gate itself stood and quite capably guarded by two of his now enlarged squad of eighteen Guardians.

To his immediate left a pair of tech-adepts scrutinised the immediate surroundings of the ring in an effort to locate a control device which had obviously been missing from the original, finding nothing but the smooth stone floor which yielded no clues. Turning to face the artefact Sarri met the Scolopendran and Cetagandan parties as they completed their journey through the ethereal.

“We have secured the immediate hall and entryway,” he began. “Astronomical examination by the Department Scientia as well as analysis from the instruments taken through the gateway has given us a preliminary distance travelled; we stand now at least fifty thousand light years from the galactic west and Earth.”

“With the lack of an immediately apparent control device the gate will remain open until such time as we can effect control or return from whence we came. In the meantime I have composed a small team of four which will spread forward and scour the surrounding area for signs of habitation or civilisation. The expansive windows to your left and right clearly confirm we are relatively isolated within a great ocean, limiting perhaps the scope of possible exploration in the immediate future.”

Stepping away from the new arrivals, he gestured with his left hand at a group of Guardians formed into a loose rank. Nodding imperceptibly each took their rifle in both hands and turned, heading towards the lone entrance flanked by the guarding Kaeneians. None took a final look at the mysterious device which had brought them there, and none amidst their number lingered a gaze on the two bright moons which hung silently in the black sky overhead.



Armelia crept up the staircase carved from the mountainous rock; more careful now as the wide and accommodating steps at the base of the peak narrowed with each step almost imperceptibly until at mid-point it was no longer possible to walk anymore than one abreast. Sabre held prone it was complimented by the left hand’s hold on a long-muzzled pistol, whose case was carved with elegant floral patterns erupting from the grip and surrounding the chamber and barrel.

Behind Magnioc carried his rifle in a single hand, modified far beyond its original design by the removal of a third of the muzzle length and the addition of a shining brass scope which glinted duly in the double moonlight. Falling into line the elected and most able men-at-arms of the ship’s crew carried an eclectic mix of custom-designed weaponry and family heirlooms old but maintained well and trusted.

The Freeheart raised her hand abruptly and silently, beckoning those following to stop. Magnioc skipped the single step dividing them and raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

“Do you hear that in the air?” She replied with a whisper. “Energetic, almost singing with the promise of something—something unnatural and not of this place.”

Magnioc nodded, though it was doubtful as to whether he would admit even if he could not hear the cause of their stopping. Taking his rifle in both hands he unconsciously clicked the firing pin back. Behind the men-at-arms did likewise, preparing themselves for some reaction to the unnatural.




Second-Guardian Fesias regarded each step with veiled suspicion, though the indentations in the rock which formed the stairs were perfectly illuminated by the tri-beams on each rifle with his being no exception. A scant foot to the left would see all scenery plummet to sea level a great height beneath the mountain, calling for concentration as one descended the narrow path. Behind and with only the scarcely audible whisper of the internal communications net to break up the faint lapping of tumulus waves below, the remainder of the squad followed silently.

“Motion detected,” confirmed Fesias redundantly as the head-mounted displays already informed the Guardians present. “Approaching rapidly, negligible energy signatures—range inconclusive.”

The speed of the descent slowed as the possible threat was fully realised, and unconsciously the grip upon weapon barrels tightened in anticipation of conflict. Realising his squad were dangerously close to a bend which rendered the path after invisible and the folly of single-breadth backwards retreat considered the Second-Guardian motioned for his unit to push forwards.

The Kaeneians travelling downwards did not require the sophisticated tactical systems built into their armour to hear the soft thud of footsteps on their own, gradually growing louder. Thoughts of what to expect were put aside in view of the poor visibility granted by the winding staircase, the apparent isolation of the gate within the vast surrounding ocean lending nothing to the imagination which might otherwise succeed in guessing what came to face.


Freeheart Armelia had scarcely negotiated the short distance to the next sharp turn which took the stairway out of sight when the barest outline of a dark grey blotted the star assigned previously behind it. Scrutinising the shape which peered slightly beyond the towering rock the familiar and chilling touch of excitement coursed through her veins, as recognition empowered the sinister shape similarity with a gun barrel of sorts, though none she recalled were as difficult to see and utilitarian as this.

Allowing instincts to bypass slow and indecisive intellect she duly squeezed the cast-metal trigger of her side pistol—a loud crack assaulting the air surrounding as the combustive gun powder ignited and accelerated a bullet to speed whereupon it tore a chunk of the mountainous wall away and quickly saw the sinister weapon withdrawn beyond sight.



Sarri immediately threw himself against the wall so that his back met rock harshly, though cushioned by the armour plating fastened there. Tapping a rune set upon the small control unit wrapped about his wrist, the Second-Guardian switched his visual display to the infra-red spectrum, brow furrowing as only the scarcest and virtually useless outlines of the attacking group made themselves clear.

Returning to traditional sight the commanding Kaeneian extended his rifle muzzle around the remains of the corner which had taken the opening salvo a moment earlier and squeezed the trigger blindly, seeking to open hesitation and doubt in the minds of whomever faced them as surely blindly.


The beam was a screeching burst of light which quickly forced Armelia’s eyes partially closed in acquiescence to the intense energy onrushing, drowning out peripheral vision and replacing the mountain and night sky with a painful semi-blindness. In unguided reaction she raised her sabre—to challenge the ethereal as if a man and therefore fallible.

Though unable to grasp any concept of metaphor the blade held aloft mimicked the bow of the ship it had sailed upon for so many years, cleaving the onrushing beam so that it frothed and swirled furiously in two channels across its leading edge and thundering into the ground to be absorbed by rock and into the sky to journey forever until interrupted.

Magnioc snapped a shot from his rifle in reply; striking nothing but ensuring the offending attacker withdrew his weapon from sight. Returning to the relative safety placing back against ledge, he quickly began the semi-arduous process of reloading. “I think you were right—definitely not natural.”

Armelia examined the blade of her sabre, scarcely able to believe it remained intact before the furious power of that which defied her reason alone. Striking it upon the ledge and staring at it as though the weapon might shatter and finally reveal the toil which had saw it turn aside the energetic wave, the young leader seemed satisfied of its integrity.

“Yet it is finite,” she retorted whilst illustrating her point with a gesture to the blade. “Unnatural or not it stands between us and something worth our examination.”

Depaulto nods even as she nearly runs into the First-Guardian, dodging the sound of his voice in the darkness. "Understood, soldier. God damn, but why is it still pitch black in here?" Stepping off to the side, she flips open a pocket on her leg, pulls out a set of snoopershades from it, and puts them on in one deft motion, buckled elastic band going easily over her head. One tap to light amplification and she shakes her head at the scene in green. "Well, at least everyone's being industrious..."

Pop! comes wandering in through the window, then a fwizzzzz and another few pop poppoppop pops. "Hm," Janice mutters as she checks the safety on her weapon--still on semiautomatic. "I suppose we're not alone, unless you guys brought slugthrowers and are in the habit of practicing shooting at each other." Gun goes to shoulder, but still tilted down fourty-five degrees at low ready. "Which way did you send them?" After getting pointed in the right direction she pads off in her thick-soled combat boots, dropping down to one knee before clearing the archway with her weapon, then continuing on.

Going down the steps carefully, she moves until she can get eyes on the pinned down squad, then huddles behind cover, weapon out and braced against the wall. Looking around, she makes sure that no one is popping out of the water or scaling the cliffs, then toggles her walkie-talkie. "Hey, soldiers, Depaulto here on the landing above you. How many are there?"

After nodding to Sarri, Simmons takes a stroll around the perimeter of the room while Turino converses with the tech-adepts regarding the portal. A glance out the windows only reveals a shear drop to waves hundreds of feet below. Good – with only one entrance, it was easily defensible. Bad – with only one entrance and a currently one-way portal, it had no escape route. He glances over at the lieutenant, who's fiddling with the probe. “Looks like an ocean out there, sir. I'm hoping this doesn't mean your toy has lead us to anything squidlike.”

Both duck at the sound of the gunfire, and after a moment, Turino gives a half-hearted grin and says, “Well, if I have, they're apparently armed. How about you check it out and I try to make this go in reverse?”

The sergeant heads for the entrance, while behind him Turino calls to the adepts, “Has anyone seen the surface-penetrating scanner? We need to check for any conduits or wiring below us. I'll check for any sign of a wireless signal.”

Carefully slipping out of the hall, he catches a glimpse of Depaulto heading downwards around the spiral stair, and then looks up the other way. Turning to look back inside, he asks, “Has anyone checked to see what's up that way?”

Fesias’ gaze did not wonder even as the decidedly unusual accent of one locally based Scolopendran punctured the internal communications network; “Heat signature analysis is inconclusive—their body temperatures appear significantly lower than the Human norm and on a par with our own. I must estimate a party of no more than twelve and no less than eight.”

“Set particle weapons to maximum non-lethality,” The second-Guardian ordered as a loud chain of ear-assaulting cracks heralded another volley of lead shot. “Their weapons appear to be one-shot loading, employing gunpowder charges and of considerably inferior technological construction to even modern ballistic rifles. We require a distraction so that we might put an end to this and prevent our positions becoming entrenched.”

Behind the squad leader the Kaeneian next closest to the furious fire fight nodded in silent understanding, before taking careful aim at an outcropping of rock visible only barely in front of the abrupt turn the staircase took beyond view, and almost directly to the front and right of the mysterious attackers therein.



Armelia’s eyes widened in surprise as a brilliant beam of a ferocity equalling a sun’s midday rays leapt from beyond the rocky corner a scant few metres in front of their position. With a speed beyond the capacity of a mind to comprehend, it struck a small outcrop of stone which already teetered on the verge of a long drop to the furious ocean beneath and tore it asunder; splintering and shattering so that shards of sharp rock span outwards and caused the Freeheart and her party to shield themselves from injury.

Fesias acted quickly, wheeling around the ledge until such time as he stood directly in front of the recovering attackers and without a hesitation or true glance at that which he faced the Guardian discharged his weapon; bathing the ten-strong party beneath in a seething pulse of angry yellow which sapped their strength, and saw every one collapse to the stone stairs without protest nor sound beyond gentle impact.

“Enemy neutralised,” The Second-Guardian reported through the communications net and thusly sounding the all-clear for his squad to join him. Allowing the retractable cable to bear the weight of his rifle the Kaeneian stepped forward to examine for the first time in any depth the foe which had suddenly shattered their arrival’s tranquillity.


Dropping to a crouch in front of the female furthest forward and by whose choice of armaments—blade and pistol—he deduced was leader, brushing a gloved hand across errant hair to reveal a face he felt a quite unusual sense of disturbance at what greeted him; the alabaster, almost translucent whiteness of the flesh; the forearms which seemed slightly longer than Humankind proportions demanded and the dark blue orbs which though covered by the veil of unconsciousness betrayed a colouring beyond simple retina.

“They are Kaeneian,” Fesias announced though the tone in which the statement was made could not be tied to definitive knowledge or question.

"Is she now?" Depaulto safeties her weapon and clips its butt to the reinforced strap on her utility vest before making her way down the steps, leaning out as she can to see past the taller Guardians. Said leaning is done quite carefully, though, as it's a long way down. "I guess that confirms the theory that the Ring leads to worlds of the old Empire." Reaching the platform below--after making her way through the Guardsmen--she kneels next to Fesias. "I suppose I should get a stunner too, in that case. Got an extra one handy?"

Looking over the stunned landing party, she whistles low. "Huh. Flintlocks and cutlasses. Robert Louis Stevenson would be impressed. Now they're either from here or they're from somewhere else; either way, we can probably expect more company. Kay, tell me if you hear anything."

'Kay' is not present in the group, nor does it really need a verbal command. Nevertheless, the alien symbiote murmurs in Janice's mind. =We will do that. We are searching right now for thought patterns; those in front of us are disrupted but we will try to use their basic patterns and those of the Kaeneians as a baseline.=

"Right now, that's a bit too specific," Janice replies, grumbling quietly to herself. "I'd just prefer signs of movement before they get the jump on us."

=And we are sure the-one-who-calls-herself-Janice would prefer that she know if said 'movement' were Kaeneian or some other creature. If our party is multispecies, theirs may be just as well.=

"Fine. Report back when you're done." Looking down at Armelia, Janice sighs and starts pulling some Imnsvali stretchtwine from one of her vest pockets. "In the meantime, we'd best tie these people up before they come to and decide they don't much like being stunned." A few loops around the wrists and a strong knot later the stretchtwine tightens up for a firm bond.

Armelia had begun to struggle against the impossibly tight bindings upon her wrist many moments before she had opened clenched eyes, upon accepting the strange material was as strong as the thickest coiled rope yet impossibly light to be so. The stone floor beneath her outstretched legs was as unremarkable as the harbour she had arrived at earlier and the stairs she had both climbed and apparently been vanquished upon.

With only slight indignation she noticed the lack of belt and accompanying sabre which had deflected arcane magic only minutes ago to her recollection, but may have been hours as the weariness in her muscles suggested. Turning her gaze left and right the Freeheart saw the slumped and unconscious form of Mister Magnioc and the assembled men-at-arms in varying states of silence.

Armelia’s wider view of the apparently massive chamber they now found themselves in was obscured by a figure clad almost entirely in polished white body armour, far more form-fitting and precisely engineered than anything she had seen even the best artificers of the Continental Navy craft. His face—or indeed her face for the armour seemed generic enough that it might be adjusted to fit either sex—was obscured behind a helmet which left nothing outside the domain of the imagination, and was essentially featureless, bar an opaque strip across where one would expect the eyes to lay.

“Would I be incorrect if I assumed you are not bound by the treaties governing treatment of prisoners signed by Her Serene Highness’ government?”

The hiss of atmospheric recyclers disengaging heralded the imposing figure removing its helmet, holding it a scant few inches upwards so only the barest hint of neck was visible as clouds of vapour poured from the hissing breathing assembly. Raising it entirely so that two sets of cobalt orbs regarded each other directly, First-Guardian Sarri realised the sheer similarity between their physiologies which was unmistakable now.

“You would be correct,” The Guardian began. “The Aengelistoria Dominica has no diplomatic contact with your government and consequently no standing treaties.”

Armelia’s eyebrow rose to meet forehead—the resemblance between herself and the stranger, barring the normal differences once might expect between any two people, were unsettling. His flesh was pale, cold so that it stood only as the slightest barrier to the translucent though the unwillingness of the veins to show themselves tempered the tone.

The male—for the shadows of regular shaving and the obvious masculine bone structure betrayed him as such—stood as tall as her, with forearms elongated slightly so that they stood longer beneath the elbow than the arm above. All this was complimented in oddness by the peculiar tongue of the stranger which though thick on certain intonations and of an accent unrecognised by her was nonetheless a language shared.

“I do not recognise your accent or the nature of your attire but we share a common tongue, is the Aengelistoria Dominica your country of origin? I do not pretend to have visited every single corner of the world but never before have I heard of it.”

The First-Guardian’s responses were guarded, for it was not yet the time to reveal fully the circumstances which unified them so unwillingly. “The nation whose authority I act upon is beyond your capacity to reach.”

“The ships of the Continental Navy are the finest on the planet,” Armelia replied defensively. “The scribes of the Navy have created the most accurate maps of the seas and coasts any country can boast today. If it lies on our sphere we have not only seen it but made our presence known.”

Sarri said nothing on that subject. “You will remain in bindings until we can be sure of our safety and your own. Any nutritional or hygiene requirements will be fulfilled to the best of our ability should you require it.”

The bound captive shook her head, “My ship is moored in the harbour below and my crew will not remain their awaiting my return indefinitely. They will come for me, and when word of our capture reaches home the nation “Aengelistoria Dominica” may find itself at war.”




Second-Guardian Fesias replaced the power cell of the rifle he held prone, before locking the stock and handing the weapon to the Scolopendran woman aside him. They stood just ahead of the corner of rock which had seen the firelight earlier, the optical enhancers built into the Kaeneian’s helmet allowing for the negation of the huge distances from where they stood to the harbour far below.

“It is almost identical to the historical records of sailing vessels in our own databases; a warship which if I recall correctly was designed to operate far from home ports for many months at a time. This reinforces the chances of our location being far from the standard trade lanes or mainland settlements.”

“I estimate a crew fifty to sixty-strong; some appear to be armed with rudimentary blade-weapons and single-shot black powder weapons. They have formed a camp on the harbour-side and appear to be in the stage of transferring supplies—they may have or still intend to leave behind a small garrison to secure this island.”

Fesias cocked his head, “It is curious to think that we have spent over five hundred years surrounded by teeming billions; Humans, Elves and a myriad other races bar ourselves whom have remained alone. For the first time we lay eyes upon our kin thousands of light-years from our foster-home, here within the star systems of our once-home … It is both unsettling and welcoming.”


Sarri turned away from the Tech-Adepts he had consulted with moments earlier—the Kaeneians of the Department Scientia confirming that the power required to maintain the gateway with Earth had long exhausted the reserves of the gate on this end and was now drawing mammoth energies from home. The need to discover the control mechanisms for their own device pressing, upon the revelation from Earth that their own gate was beginning to overheat under the strain of running two simultaneous systems and whose safeguards would terminate the link in only a few hours.

The First-Guardian observed two Kaeneians to the right of the gateway, apparently testing the stone floor for signs of weakness. He was mildly interested then when one of the large slabs which made up said floor was pulled upwards with some necessary grunting. Beneath lay not dried mortar but the glinting of metallic elements; circuit pathways crossing each other over and making way only for obvious input modules.

“A control interface junction,” One of the technicians said studying the discovery whilst his partner opened a nearby storage box and peered likewise, “Though it appears to be missing the actual interface assembly. We will have to construct a replacement in order to use this gate independently.”

Sarri continued outside to the small balcony which served as an intermediate point between the long and winding staircase down to the harbour beneath, and the towers above. To his left the Cetagandan duo stood with their heads craned upwards towards the climbing towers. “Any indication of what lay upwards?”

Janice folds up her armored field glasses--part binoculars and part makeshift bludgeon like anything else approaching 'Pendran milspec--and stashes them in the durable canvas pocket expressly made for them on her black utility vest. "Yup." If she knew anything about watercraft she would go on to comment it looks like an old sailing frigate, back when frigates weren't ships of the line (or maybe the Segments were just crazy that way).

She doesn't. She's an old Mobile Infantryman and an old explorer and never in all her days did she ever have an interest in sailing ships. Never read any Forester, nor watched any of the sailing dramas on the era of wooden ships and iron men. She much preferred explorer serials and war movies concentrating on mudfeet. "Still, we got some of theirs and if they're setting up a garrison they don't plan on leaving anytime soon. Too bad we can't just waltz in and say 'hi.'

"As it stands we have a defensible position here. Natural bottleneck." She indicates the sloping stairway with one hand. "Two fireteams should be able to hold off well enough; start at the first turn, and fall back by fire team. One goes back whilst the second continues holding the corner, then the second falls back under the support fire of the first. What would be problematic is if they used that ship to cover their advance. I think I saw gunports on it." She frowns slightly. "I doubt you brought any anti-vehicle ordnance, and I don't like planning a battle when we're just coming in peace."

She looks up the staircase as she idly thumbs the butt of her rifle, standing rock steady in the occasional salty gusts; her spiked salt-and-pepper hair is too short and too stiff for the winds to register on it. "If we talk with our prisoners, maybe they'd be be reasonable."

Tapping her radio, she turns back around to peer at the ship in the distance. "Depaulto, Sarri. Have those natives come to, and can we grok them?"

Sarri pushed the response rune on his gauntlet, completing the link. “Affirmative, the leader of the group is conscious and responsive, though only in the strictest medical terms for the latter. She has informed me we are in conflict with Her Serene Highness’ Continental Navy, and can expect to be crushed.”

Turning his narrowed gaze towards the captives he continued, “I believe whilst their technology cannot compare it is in our best interests to avoid conflict where possible considering the nature of our mission here. I am hopeful that a solution can be found to our mutual satisfaction.”

Crossing back over to the “Freeheart”—which he had learned was equitable to the rank of Captain in most navies—he observed a few more of the captured crew had awoken, regarding him with the same bright blue Kaeneian eyes he had seen almost every day for the entirety of his life, but filled with mistrust and the raw emotion disturbingly alien in concept.

“Who are you?”asked the Kaeneian-apparent to the left of Armelia, his cotton-uniform’s intricacy seemingly announcing considerable importance. “Is there a reason we’re being treated like the bad grain thrown overboard?”

“I am the First-Guardian,” Sarri replied. “You are here because you approached us initially; you are bound because you fired upon us without apparent provocation. Fortunately our weapons have the capacity to incapacitate, rather than deal serious injury or death.”

Turning and walking to a storage container whose small dimensions did not hide the impression of sturdiness, Sarri bypassed the locking mechanism and from its innards produced an old-fashioned silver-plated pistol—the grip baring images of flames and writhing ribbons carved masterfully, betraying a great care taken in construction.

“This weapon appears to be quite dangerous,” The First-Guardian continued. “Even a flesh wound from a projectile-based pistol such as this could lead to serious injury or death. Fortunately for my Expeditionary Force we were able to subdue you without the use of lethal force.”

Armelia watched the exchange between her First Officer and the apparent leader of the bizarre group, doing here up most to quell the unpleasant feeling which gnawed at the distinctions between the two peoples. As time passed the differences between her own crew and the strangers seemed to diminish to nothing more than upbringing or perhaps outlook—they seemed conservative, unwilling to place the passion of life in their deeds.

“You are not from our world,” She said aloud more as a statement than question.

Sarri did not obey the deep-seated yearning to be surprised, instead silently complimenting his brethren-apparent on a deduction that would be difficult to accept given their current technological level. “We came to this place through the artefact dominating this chamber.”

“I have never seen it before,” Magnioc added to the conversation. “This entire island and its structure appear on no maps nor navigational charts. Certainly the builders have never boasted of it in our lands and given its grandiose design, I find it hard to believe if anyone knew of it they would not take credit for its glory.”

Armelia’s gaze passed over the enormous stone circle, “Such a simple carving is capable of moving between stars and their worlds?”

The First-Guardian’s eyebrow rose upwards and he very nearly succumbed to the temptation to widen his eyes and betray the coolness which permeated his usual being. "What do you know of the universe beyond your world? Forgive me if I assumed those in the age of sail could have no true understanding of the void.”

For the first in his presence and also the first time Sarri had seen a Kaeneian do so Armelia smiled, a wide and powerful grin which seemed evaporate the slight tension which had filled the atmosphere between all individuals. “There are stories of our past that our home was once amidst the Stars but that we lost our place in a great group, and that we once sailed between worlds as we do now on the seas. There are Kaeneians more versed in what I speak of.”

Though he had long knew it the mention of the name of their people was a powerful statement, and he turned even as the preliminary Guardian squad led by Fesias re-entered the chamber. “I believe we will shortly be able to release you from your restraints if you can guarantee within reason the safety of my expedition, and also if you would provide a sample of your blood.”

“I don’t think we are necessarily enemies, and as such I think we can reach agreement but … what possible use could you have for my blood?”

Silently understanding the request made through a question, Fesias came to the side of his superior with an Apothecary in tow and suitably equipped to comply. “A sample of your blood will allow us to verify the truth.”

Seeing a frown and retort forming, Sarri pre-empted the question. “That we are stranger only in spirit, and that we are one; Kaeneian brother and sister divided only by the void and the incalculably vast distances and tragedies it contains.”

Janice pulls out her binoculars again, reassures herself that sails folded up means the boat isn't going to go anywhere, then returns them to their pouch. "Well, I'm something of a third wheel here. Good hunting, Guardian."

Turning around, she jogs carefully back up the steps. Even if this is a delicate situation that probably calls for delicate diplomacy and she knows she's not exactly delicate, such is life. She'll be more useful up at the local Ring than down looking at floatyboats. She looks towards the sea, the endless flat expanse of blue, and shudders a little. Even Rime had more interesting skylines than this, and it just isn't right how she can see what have to be huge breakers off in the distance and massive ocean waves beyond and yet the horizon is still flat. Just not right.

And so, face glowing just a touch from the exertion of jogging up the stairs, she stalks back into the dark coolness of the Ring chamber. Not only glowing, but yellowish by descent and bronzed by several different stars, and a complexion--while still clear--probably closer to linen than alabaster. She's also short and decidedly on the muscular side whilst not taking it to an extreme. She thinks that for a fifty-sixty-whateverthehell woman she looks healthy and naturally so; then again, she's never really cared what she looks like to space aliens.

"So, what have we got here?" Not a single word in it is in Kaeneian.

First-Guardian Sarri ignored the wide-eyed expressions dawning on the faces of the captives not only at the appearance of a decidedly unique-looking stranger, but the utter gibberish that seemed to flow where words and ordered language should be. Moving flawlessly into the de-facto language of life of the Serene^Union he turned to address Depaulto


“I have extracted a blood sample from the group’s leader and am awaiting the results of the analysis in order to discern formally whether we are one and the same. Furthermore,”—his tone changing to reflect distaste and a lack of true fear for that which he spoke of—“We should be safe from the reach of Her Serene Highness’ Navy.”


“They are unable to speak Standard, which is of no surprise considering their lack of contact with Earth or her descendant species. From what I have discerned their knowledge of their surroundings and their world is advanced beyond that which would be expected for a sea-borne civilisation of wind and sail. A basic understanding of astronomical arrangement is obvious and they talk of a united nation-state of sorts between stars.”


Taking a few short steps, so that the Scolopendran understood the movement away from the prisoners and followed the Guardian lowered his voice considerably. “Though it is nothing more than a hypothesis at this stage I am tempted to believe this is a reference to the Caelistis Gens Empire; the predecessor of the Serene^Union and indeed, the collective minds of Angelus.”


Gesturing to the Tech-Adepts aside the Gateway, who by now had assembled a short scaffolding of some six feet in height and were now in the process of snaking conduits and electrical cabling around its superstructure, Sarri continued.


“This Gateway lacks a direct control unit to influence actions, just as the device at our journey’s beginning also lacked —the Tech-Adepts inform me that the state of the interface they uncovered suggests it was crudely removed, possibly centuries ago. Duplicating the original controller built within The Spire they assure me an element of influence can be enacted on the Gateway on our terminus. Unfortunately due to the limited nature of the equipment that can be transported in a time frame that would enable us to return within the immediate future, the precision at which it can be manipulated is limited.”


Pausing before an approaching Adept garbed in the white of the Union of Medicine, the two Kaeneians exchanged a limited number of words, and a data-node whose uninspiring case belied its intense importance. Dismissing the Apothecary curtly, Sarri turned back to Janice whilst consulting the node.


“There can be no doubt,” He began whilst handing the node to the Scolopendran. “The cellular analysis has returned a ninety three percent probability of match. They areas Kaeneian as myself or those that accompany us on this expedition. Therefore we must make our peace her and our findings known to the Governor-General immediately.”


Crossing back over to the captive group, the Guardian’s English Standard rotated to the sharp and ancient utterances of Baroque-Kaeneian. “Our Apothecaries have analysed the blood you allowed us to extract and have discovered too many similarities in the genetic markers to arrive at any conclusion other than our shared descent. We are brothers and sisters, divided by the sea between stars and the near-impassable distances of the void.”


Though Armelia’s brow was still slightly furrowed the scrutiny and lines of mistrust around her eyes had flattened to nothing. The similarities were beyond mere coincidence—though speaking Baroque-Kaeneian was neither unusual nor remarkable in her sphere of influence the accent and almost strained accent betrayed the voice as not one of even the most obscure accents she had ever encountered. Being as the Freeheart and commanded ship had visited the six spheres of the sea and witnessed almost the entirety of that which could be seen, it served only to enhance the stranger’s story.


“I cannot accept blindly all you have said,” she replied in slow contemplation. “Neither can I dismiss all you have pointed at in blind faith of the status quo. Therefore I am agreed to call truce to our situation and permit no arms to be fired in anger. Let us be unbound, and you may escort me to my ship whereupon we will return from whence we came and alert our government to what has come to pass here.”


“Be advised we will not leave this place undefended,” Sarri warned sternly. “You have seen our technology, and we have the capacity to fortify this island beyond any hopes you might harbour to take control. We shall return within the month personally and should you choose to return once more we will be ready to enter into dialogue with your government.”


Armelia nodded, along with the rest of her men thusly signifying their acceptance. Motioning other Guardians of lesser rank their First orchestrated a team to free them and return possessions to owners. Satisfied Sarri addressed Depaulto, though his eyes did not leave the scene before him.


“I will accompany the team to the dock below and supervise their departure—might I interest you in joining the assembling party? Otherwise I believe Fesias is quite occupied guarding the island from the ravages of the ocean beyond.”


(OOC: I know the "Baroque-Kaeneian" is actually English, sorry. I didn't have the intellect required to manufacture a pretend language of any convincing quality.)

Janice listens to what Sarri has to say, steel-grey eyes not moving from him while he speaks, then nods. "Only makes sense if they're Kaeneians like you. Same species, same origin." She looks down, thinking for a moment. "If they recall the Caelistis Gens, even in legend, then they shouldn't have a problem dealing with the fact that we're not from around these parts.

"Still... they've backslid a bit, no?" She frowns and things just seem to fit on her face just that much better because of it. It's a focused face. "I'd hook myself up to my translator but I think that having a ventriloquist talking might be stranger than just some alien they can't grok. I also doubt no one wants to take the quality time with Kay and I so we can learn their language. I'll go with the escort team, though. If nothing else I can listen in."

She pulls a cord from her vest and sneaks its magnetic induction head to the base of her skull, the black pad just barely sticking out of her salt-and-pepper hair. Basic transdermal jack technology. "Aren't we lucky they speak a language we know?" she asks rhetorically, smirking as she pulls out the translator's attendant box and scrolling down its little screen to select Baroque-Kaeneian. "Don't worry, I'll be quiet. I can't lip-synch this language so I'd probably just confuse people."

Sophia pressed thumb pad against the signing rune upon the latest data-node held in hand, consigning it to the ever-growing pile of completes that nonetheless remained dwarfed by the continually growing collection of incoming reports, requests and events from the breadth of the Provinces which made up the Union.

Tucking a lock of stray dark hair back behind the ear from which it had escaped, the Governor-General pinched the bridge of her nose and staved off the tide of weariness which had seen her work solidly through mountains of bureaucratic reports for the better part of two days. Sliding the chair backwards to make room for her to turn she stood and turned to regard the expansive bay windows, which formed an impressive observation point for the rest of Solarri beneath.

The assorted towers and piercing constructs of the city were indefinable—their navigational beacons at uppermost points the only constant visible through the intense snowstorms which bathed the capital of Kaenei in tundra of freezing uniformity. The heaving hail made its best attempt to impact the window in a curtain of white, constantly foiled as it was by the heating elements built into the glass to allow a forever-unobstructed view.

From the desk the hum of the entry system announced a visitor for the Governor-General, with the acknowledgement following as soon as Sophia tore herself away from the calming simplicity of the scene below. With the dull reverberation of disengaging locks one of the large double-doors—both standing many times higher than a Kaeneian—swung open to admit the slight frame of one of the Supreme-Overseers of the Aengelistoria Dominica.

“Farri,” She greeted whilst seating herself back behind the desk. “I apologise for the rescheduling of our meeting—a minor incident which could only be solved by the head of state."

Supreme-Overseer Farri Metrasci seated herself at the sole chair available in front of the crescent-shaped desk, the relative friendship between the two Kaeneians negating the etiquette of waiting until being asked to sit. “I’ve bided my time with projects Sophia; many distractions to while away the hours.”

Rummaging about her desk for the data-node she sought, the Governor-General’s eyebrow quirked. “If what I have heard is true, your “project” is hardly a distraction, and more a piece of ground-breaking history.”

Farri nodded, “The contents of this meeting will hopefully assure of the latter. I have received the second report from First-Guardian Sarri, heading the First Solarri Expeditionary Force. He confirms contact with the native peoples of the planet they travelled through the gateway too—confirmed further as indigenous Kaeneians of identical genetic legacy. They are as us, Governor-General though we travelled to Earth after The Great Fall and they were evidently too distant from Solarri to feel fully the effects.”

The silence was palpable and verging on the furious if such quietness could be lent emotion. “Has this statement been verified? There can be no mistake Farri—such an error would be calamitous to the moral of the people should we be forced to rescind.”

“Apothecaries have already travelled back to The Spire with samples of blood which have been exhaustively analysed for the slightest error-inducing quality. There can be no doubt with the technology available to us. We are one and the same separated by the great sea-between-stars.”

The ramifications were obvious to the Kaeneian Head of State—that her own kin might be finally reunited from whence they came and should have been to where they were now, the multitude of history and experiences they retain which the Earth-bound of her race had lost or forgotten over the ages. That the gateway functioned could not be ignored either, promising a way to reach out to the past—to explore the ancient systems of the long-departed Caelistis Gens Empire and perhaps, if fate smiled, to find Solarri itself.

“Initial contact with natives was confrontational, and resulted in an exchange of non-lethal fire. Our technological superiority ensured the misunderstanding did not produce any injury beyond neural disablement. Their own technology base appears to be consistent with Earth-Progress of the late eighteenth Century.”

Farri handed her superior another data node form the collection contained within her hands. “I have ordered Sarri’s team to escort the captives to their ship and release them in an act of good faith. An agreement has been reached that will facilitate another meeting in approximately one month, with time taken for their limited technology to allow them to return home and converse with their government taken into account.”

“This project is no longer simply such,” Sophia replied whilst her eyes analysed the data. “This represents a defining moment after Earth Ascension. This is to receive the highest priority of the Department Scientia aside the development of the Isomorphic Generation System—any resources required are yours within reason and subject to my clearance.”

Farri nodded, extending her hand with the palm facing upwards. “If there is nothing else Governor-General I shall return to the task at hand.”

Sophia nodded, her gaze still to lift from the nodes she now found fascinating. Her hand outstretched with palm facing downwards a short distance from Farri’s opposite gesture. “Productive Sunset, Supreme-Overseer.”

The head of the Department Scientia returned the nod and climbed from the chair, exiting the chamber with renewed optimism that what had started as little more than archaeology would progress to the point where the future and the past found mediation in the present.




Sarri’s rifle remained prone despite the narrow eyes which regarded him with both hostility and suspicion, gathered as many of them were with weapons caught between idleness and readiness to fire in anger. Some were still aboard the ship which remained moored to the harbour wall, whilst others had traversed the gangplank and taken up positions in front.

His professionalism in the situation overrode the deep sense of unease he felt at the blatant emotions playing across the apparently-Kaeneian faces before him. Scowls, grimaces and frowns on equally familiar flesh which seemed to alienate kin from kin. Moderating this with the fact one race divergent in homeland cannot be identical, the First-Guardian concentrated on the task at hand—removing the restraints from the Freeheart of the ship which he stood in the immense shadow of.

Surrounding Sarri the tensed forms of a dozen Guardians as well as the Scolopendran Depaulto stood fanned out and with their weapons not so idly held, their eyes constantly analysing trajectories, positions and possible fire locations if the worst-case scenario came to pass.

Armelia rubbed her wrists more as a psychological comfort than to right any pain caused by the flexible restraints, taking back with an unashamed grab her pistol and blade from the outstretched hand of her previous captor. To the left the rest of the previous hostages-of-sorts were similarly re-armed.

“One month from whence you board your ship, assuming your government takes interest in our presence here and wishes to enter into further dialogue.”

“A month,” Armelia replied slowly. “And they’ll most definitely be interested in learning more about what exactly has come to pass here. You have my word as a Freeheart my ship will not fire upon you or your positions and my crew will stay their hand.”

Sarri nodded in reply, “Fortunate they show restraint then. We may not be known as aggressors but the doctrine of self-defence is practised to its natural conclusion.”


The Guardians did not immediately leave, retreating as they did to the base of the winding staircase which lead to mountainous peak from where they could observe the loading of shore supplies into the great sailing ship and the gradual readiness for her departing. Second-Guardian Fesias observed the living lesson in the historic with interest—something remained refreshing about the relationship between Kaeneian and vessel upon the ocean which was lost when one considered the same between worlds.

The First-Guardian returned to the main group of Kaeneians, which included the Scolopendran, and holstered his weapon. “Orders are scheduled to arrive shortly from Supreme-Overseer Metrasci, whom was making the Governor-General aware of our situation at her earliest convenience. Assuming our kin are not in the habit of gross betrayals, and it being prudent not to expose ourselves to unnecessary risk we shall begin a program of fortification with considerable thought given to the technology and tactical ability of any possible opponent.”

Directing his statement more specifically, Sarri continued with his focus to Depaulto. “Whilst this would technically see the end of your secondment with the next scheduled changing of teams on this world I have been suitably satisfied of your skills and abilities. I will therefore table a suggestion that you remain attached to my Expeditionary Force unless you otherwise wish to discontinue.”

“Less importantly,” He added whilst his eyes regarded the armoured Kaeneians around, “You have not raised operational issues amidst Guardians who are not used to exercises or actions involving those not trained as they were. If nothing else, this has proven the flexibility of the Defence Terra in the needs of the Council of the Aengelistoria Dominica.”

“It is also a compliment to your character and ease of integration. This is as close to a compliment as you are likely to receive from myself. I excel in the arts of defence, war and security of the state. There is little room left for niceties.”

Sarri gestured to the rapidly readying sail ship and her crew with a tone of voice that suggested extremely conservative caution—“Perhaps they will teach me otherwise.”

Janice raises an eyebrow and doesn't exactly smile at what Sarri says. She doesn't exactly glower either. The frown is somewhere inbetween grudging acceptance and mild insult. "Thank you all the same, First-Guardian, but I signed up to explore strange new worlds, not help fill out a garrison. If I may be so bold to suggest that while we make this desolate little castle a fortress we send some small craft through the ring up there so we can reconnoiter at least a little? That also brings me to the next point; wasn't there some worry concerning whether we would be able to go back, something about control circuitry and power overloads?"

She glances over the ocean, clipping her weapon to her vest before folding her tanned arms. "I'm a xenobiologist by trade now, not a soldier. I'll gladly stick around if I can serve a role more professionally fulfilling than just another mook with a gun."

The progress of the shuttle through the gateway was painstakingly slow, for the large mass of the craft very nearly approached the total diameter of the device and only a few short feet on either side of the short atmospheric fins was left to spare. Following the harsh glow of the glow batons held by the directing Kaeneian the shuttle inched forwards until eventually it had cleared the ancient ring-device and hovered a few metres above the floor under its own motive power.


Sarri walked slowly about the exterior of the craft, his eyes passing over the non-descript blue-tinged hull panelling, engine cowlings and observation windows and looking for any sign of damage which could stand as a symptom of a flaw with gateway travel. After several minutes of examination and satisfied at least visually, the First-Guardian walked until he could see through the wide tunnel which travelled to the stairwells both up and down and an expansive view of the ocean below.

The request for the long-range exploratory vehicle had almost raised eyebrows—compared to normal regulations this high-paced advancement of frontiers went quite against the usual deliberations. Supreme-Overseer Metrasci had duly authorised however, citing one must be flexible when conducting missions with foreign influence.


Where previously a stone barrier had guarded the difference between staircase and a long fall to the rocks below, all in view stood open to the sea. The odd outcrop of uneven stone revealed careful if accelerated removal of bricks and mortar. Nodding his approval at the impromptu clearing of obstacles to take off Sarri motioned for the shuttle to move forward until such point as it had lined up perfectly with the tunnel.

Janice watches the operation as she sits cross-legged against the wall on the other side of the room across the galaxy, gnawing with distracted purpose on a civilian ration-bar. Being made for the civil market rather than the military, the ration-bar actually has to succeed on its own merits and therefore actually tastes rather good, a mixture of oh'ts and rayzins and piknut (said with short 'i' and soft 'kn' phonemes) butter and other such things, put together by a small family-run business aligned with GIC back home. Being a friend of the family and a sort of advertising sponsor--"When Doctor Janice Kiri Depaulto goes exploring alien ruins, she brings along Knutty Oh't-brand meal replacement bars"--she gets them for a song. Cheap and tasty? Sign her up.

Salt air, flying, and exploration; things were shaping up to be a good day--not as if she'd ever show it to anyone else except by softening her generic 'hard and unamused' expression a bit. She seems to brighten to the point of cheerfulness when Sarri shows up. "So, that's our ride, eh? Nice. Can't wait to go Jane Goodall on the locals." After a few months with the nearly emotionless Kaeneians, she's countered by letting her emotional control go a bit when it wasn't necessary as compensation.

Catastrophe Box interface requested … granted.

Ascertaining shipboard status …

• Electronic Intelligence run-time failure…

• Autonomic shipboard network failure….

• Drive systems inoperative…

• Atmospheric integrity negative …

• Hull integrity negative …

• Certainty factor of catastrophe-level event: 99.4%

• Likelihood of technology imprint of current user matching safety release parameters … 91.8%


Negotiating audio channel interface with pressure suits … access granted. Organising crew neural records with recorded events. Beginning with first recorded entry …




“With all due respect Commandant, we’ve reached the maximum output of the settlement’s existing generators. Construction is continuing but unless we institute strict energy rationing or otherwise augment the network the new habitation centres will be unusable when finished.”

Slightly wrinkled skin surrounding deep and powerful cobalt eyes tightened, as Commandant Vannar leaned over the flickering console whose innards trailed across the upper level of the Conflict Command Centre. An otherwise pristine navy-blue command uniform was scrunched unceremoniously above the elbows, with the once-immaculately polished silver buttons holding nothing as the breast flap flapped aside and revealed the grey tunic beneath.

“Let me be equally frank,” he replied whilst grunting with the exertion of a stubborn inlet. “My ship has already emptied every cargo hold in an effort to equip the people on the planet below. The remainder of the skeleton crew aboard has only one uniform each to their name in an effort to stockpile thread and fabric so desperately needed to clothe.”

“Over sixty Engagement Fighters have been flown to the surface—two thirds of the Air Group—and either dismantled or cannibalised to provide the raw electronics and mechanical components for basic amenities. All but two of our escorts have made landing and given their hulls to building work. Some of my most skilled technicians, engineers and officers are giving their talents to building a habitable environment, despite their reservations about abandoning their duty.”

Vannar finally hauled the blackened component from its stubborn cradle and regarded it with a mixture of disappointment and fatigue; “Or what remains of our duty. We’ve been in orbit for five hundred and sixty eight days. Nine hundred and eleven days since we fled the loss of Solarri, six hundred days exactly since last contact with a ship of the Caelistis Gens Empire Armada.”

“You’re keeping a steadfast count.”

The Commandant regarded the Governor-General’s aide sharply. “There is little else for us to do here, Adept Daal. We may train with what few fighters and pilots remain us; we might carry out what little maintenance our all but exhausted spares and skills allow but our task is futile. Allow me to regal you with more impressive number-tracking.”

“Five thousand and eighty jumps from the limit of the Solarri system to our current location beyond the Eastern Gate of the Empire, and deep inside the Wild Stars. Four thousand six hundred and four more jumps than the recommended limit between replacement of the FTL spinners.”

“I understand that Commandant but …”

“You understand but you do not agree. That is your prerogative Daal—but the rule of Governor-General Steazias is a weak one. Governor-Generals are the heads of star systems, not colonies. They have no inkling of the logistics involved in such a scale, and Steazias is a bureaucrat without the faceless rank of Adepts and Assistants such a position requires. He is the sole source of government that we know remains of the Empire’s loyalists but he is not a leader.”

Daal shook his head slightly, changing tact. “You once referred to us as the legitimate remnant.”

“Legitimacy is the holding of power and the ability to maintain it. We have neither—we have survival. Through outstanding chance or cruel luck the Canasares survived the overthrowing of Solarri. She rode the wave of rebellion which tore the Caelistis Gens apart system by system, and she carried us here an unimaginable distance from everything we have known and lost.”

“She has endured attack, and tragedy. She has seen her organic charges whittled down by disease, and injury and even suicide. She has known that there exist no facilities to repair her Electronic Essence that eventually her systems will fail and her awareness will be lost.”

Almost to illustrate the Kaeneian’s point the overhead lights flickered momentarily as somewhere beneath deck a power router failed and disrupted the system. “We have survived, but I come to think now that this is no achievement.”

Daal looked for the first time in the conversation almost lost for conversation. “You do not think we will prosper here, beyond the reach of the ruined power we were once party to?”

“There was not the time during our flight from Solarri to realise what awaited us,” Vannar began as he settled into a chair. “We did not pause to realise there would be a need for doctors, for teachers and for scientists. Of our total number on the planet below the overwhelming majority are commissioned officers of the Caelistis Gens Armada. They do not know how to sow fields, or teach young children—they know the arts of war, and the methods of maintaining the art. A few are excelling themselves in unfamiliar roles—Flight Chief Anyia fashioned some spectacularly effective farming tools from several Engagement Fighters while her former repair circle has opened an informal mechanics school.”

“I am further worried that the people below are becoming comfortable. I would not wish for a moment they remain in a society of tension, but they have strong faith in the Canasares to do her duty and keep the world they now call home secure and safe.”

Selecting a clipboard from the wall mounting as if to illustrate the matter the Commandant flicked through the dust-laden pages. “Our critical supply situation grows worse with each passing year Daal. The ship has long passed the minimal point at which its very designed function can be carried out. A third of her Air Group remains in flying condition but barely the number of Pilots to do so.”

“Ammunition reserves for ship to ship, point defence turrets and heavy torpedo tubes are ten percent of maximum with the only plentiful weapons onboard the bombardment tubes which are useless for orbital defence. Only two intact water tanks and the treatment facilities for them remain operational, and the Canasares continues to process clean water for the entirety of the people.”

“Add still to the fact we send all remaining SAMACA shuttles out on constant reconnaissance missions of neighbouring systems in an attempt to find animal life and plant-life which we can import to supplement our dangerously low rations and the meagre ecosystem means inviting discovery if the rebels are still looking for pockets of surviving loyalists.”

“We are simply too far from the established space of the Caelistis Gens Empire to fear marauding war fleets—such fleets were rare whilst the Empire endured before the rebellion and were only a matter of great planning and preparation. I doubt therefore that enough stable and wise Armada Commandants endured on the Rebel side to plan such a bringing together. It is the sole Carrier, or long-range explorator we must fear. For if it is the latter though the Canasares was at her nominal a match we would be dispatched easily and the planet destroyed.”

Adept Daal craned his neck upwards, towards the cluster of screens which hung from the roof above the Master Table dominating the centre of the CCC. Upon the screens the ever-dutiful red sensor field of the CONASYS completed its graphical circulations, showing nothing but the transponders upon the surface and the few orbital assets remaining.

“I’ve noticed you don’t call Noi Solarri by name Commandant.”

Vannar’s concentration remained on the replacement board he now carefully connected to its neighbours. Satisfied his repair was all that was demanded the Kaeneian closed the lid of the console with a firm thud, nodding with satisfaction as the bright blue glow cast upon his hands confirmed system functionality after considerable wrestling.

“It isn’t a home, Daal. It’s the shade of a tree canopy after a day’s tortured struggling through desert—a barren and harsh rock with only the vaguest trappings of hospitability, which we’ve come upon through failure of our means to keep going. This place bares no resemblance to Solarri; the latter a frozen world gripped by her continent-spanning tundra and glaciers, the latter dominated by the grey sky which washes clean rolling dunes of rock raising no more than the height of a Kaeneian save some rare exceptions.”

Mutterings of rock and rain had essentially left Daal behind as his eyes focused on one of the small triangles upon the CONASYS readout. The transponder beneath it identified the ship as one of the Canasares’ SAMACA shuttles, number seven to be precise. It was with more than a rising sense of worry that the triangle flashed a half dozen times before disappearing from the screen, to be followed a second later by the transponder information.

Were the CCC fully manned a dedicated tactical officer normally charged with observing CONASYS information would have immediately raised the commanding officer. With the control centre of the Armada Carrier essentially empty bar himself and the senior Kaeneian onboard the Governor-General’s Aide pointed alarmingly. “Commandant, we have a problem.”







SAMACA = (Support and Multi-Configurable Assistance)

Once it became obvious that there was a derelict Kaeneian... well, what do they call it, Baroque-Kaeneian? Conflict Carrier in orbit, Janice knew that it had to be explored and thought that something odd had just come up, and maybe the Kaeneians weren't telling her everything they knew about the situation. After all, weren't Conflict Management Carriers relatively new to the Defense Solarri arsenal? And here's one, similar yet different to the ones in Jayne's All The Multiverse's Starships, right over a planet that figured gunpowder was a really keen invention and the ship of the battle-line is the next logical step in their strategic thought.

She found that all mightily suspicious until she remembered something, or, more accurately, K reminded her: the Kaeneians don't seem to invent things so much as rediscover them. They were part of that Caelestis Gens Empire thing of eons ago, after all; she had been on some of the expeditions to where the Triumvirate was hiding the now more-or-less derelict WorldDisc and picking it apart to get at its elder-race secrets. It's more than possible that the current upgrades to the Kaeneian fleets are actually older designs rediscovered and reverse-engineered back to feasiblity rather than what she'd call true 'forward progress.' That would mean that this derelict must be an original model, maybe even on a first-run pattern, and thus make it extremely old.

The need to explore it only grew stronger from that point. There wasn't any need for her to hijack the shuttle; an ancient warship was just as high on the Kaeneians' agenda as her own and so all she had to do was hitch a ride. Not exactly the Margaret-Mead-amongst-the-Samoans trip she expected (wait, no, it was to be a look-but-not-interact trip, the Jane Goodall one was better) but sure as hell to be interesting. Donning her trusty Oscar and setting her phaser pistol--both second-hand from the glory days of Sunset, both getting on in years like herself but also in just as fighting trim--to stun, she made ready to venture forth into the unknown just like the derelict on Rime a few decades persref before.

All derelicts, by Depaulto's experience, have several similar qualities. Primarily they all tend to be dark, cold, and dead. It's the differences that make it such an adventure, and it's the differences that kept Janice from reminiscing on the past instead of swinging her headlamp back and forth while float-climbing carefully up an A-shaped corridor, well in the lead of her group of Kaeneian comrades. She murmured constantly to herself so her suit recorder would take notes for her; the writing that make up deck markings and door labels meant nothing to her but the amount of papers, pens, and other randomly assorted detridus she had to float through tell a story all their own. She narrated to no one in particular: "Looks like she met with a bad end--didn't look too bad from the outside, but god damn it looks like they must've left in a hurry."

"This ship has been orbiting for millenia, Depaulto. That would be plenty of time for all this to disperse."

"Not without an atmosphere, no." Janice plucked a ceramic mug out of the air and looks it over: clean, efficient lines, some script on it probably denoting the ship's name and designation, but nothing that hides the fact that it's a cup. There was still a little bit of frozen grit on the bottom, and stains around the rim as if whatever it was holding was spilled suddenly, but not by being tipped over. The nickels and dimes of archaeology; cups are easy to find and tend to tell a surprising amount about the culture. She gently stashed it in the satchel slung under her shoulder for later analysis on the stains. "Tell me, where would the CIC in one of these boats be?"

"Pardon?" was the response over her headset.

"Um, Combat Information Center. Bridge. Wherever they drive the thing from. I think it's traditional to put record modules there, and if we're lucky, time may not have corrupted them."

"The Conflict Management Center should be this way, to port and down. We specifically selected our insertion point to how close it should be to CMC."

Janice thought she may hear just the vaguest hint of a superior smirk in the Kaeneian's voice, but disregarded that as quickly as it came up. "Let's get over there, then." She spun easily in the null gravity, bringing her knees up to rotate just right before kicking off of the wall and slipping easily to the other wall. Pushing open the half-ajar door, she gently crawled through and started to climb again. Looking up--in other words, to port-- she saw that the corridor ahead had buckled some time before, the area around the exposed and torn structural members scarred black and frozen into distorted bubbles. In the midst of the blackened scar, there was an anti-shadow of clean metal in a vaguely humanoid shape, stretched like the shadow of a man at evening. Ahead, tumbling on three axes as it had for years immemorial, a freeze-dried corpse slowly floated suspended in the middle of the corridor. Looking past the cracked and chapped freeze-dried face, Janice could tell that he was probably a young man when he died. His uniform was clean except where burnt to crisp tatters near where his left forearm and left thigh do the same; the eyesockets were hollow except for frozen shards of red and white that expand outwards; his entire body was surrounded by tiny white and read crystals.

"No, definitely a bad end," she said with the clinical detachment of a mortician, slowly leaping from one wall to the other to get a closer look. "Plasma fire, probably, seeing how his uniform didn't catch on fire but his limbs still got melted off. Probably survived it, too, assuming shock didn't get to him... eyes are open, could go either way. Explosive decompression, too, looking at how his eyes burst. Slower decompression would've caused fissuring, not bursts. What I figure happened is that a power conduit blew, vaped his friend, and he was almost out of the plasma bloom area. A little faster and he might have made it to that open door." She looked past the long-dead carnage to the end of the passageway. "The other door looks dogged; that explains why the door on our side was pushed open. Air pressure, plenty given the room but not enough to push it open the whole way or drag this guy."

Janice carefully climbed past the corpse to the rent in the wall, tapping one of the metal bubbles with a gentle finger. "Definitely some sort of plasma rupture. Vaped a good portion of the vanity plating and melted the edges to near boiling, but bloomed away before it could properly make good."

Portways and going below, more metal corridors with the occasional suggestion of twisted metal and corpses, occasionally glimpsed through doors, others only seen in part: hands, feet, arms protruding from completely collapsed sections or floating by themselves long since bereft of their original owners. The large Conflict Command Center was the same, yet less so; armored and reinforced it showed wear, but no signs of breaking. Its doors were tightly dogged, but the seals had long since failed from time; all scans showed no pressure on the other side. Depaulto opened the door and peered in, scanning her headlamp over the voluminous room. Stations and galleries high and low empty, headsets still plugged into consoles floating as if frozen in the air, scattered loose paper, clipboards, styluses, and other such things distributed in a cloud of debris. Tractor-fed onionskin billowed from what she could only guess to be some sort of printer, making a strange sort of twisted tail that hung with grim motionlessness, its various momentums and angular velocities long ago dissipated to the rest of the ship.

Moving very slowly into this tomb of sorts, Janice made way for the Kaeneians who immediately got to work checking for the recorder, which was exactly where it should have been. Holding her position against the situation table in the middle of the compartment, Depaulto examined--no, watched--the corpse sitting up against the console station wall immediately across from her, no more than three meters away. Older than the first body, skin still recognizable as such without the parched chapping associated with quick freezing or the gooey blush of arteries and veins rupturing through the skin, eyes closed, a fine red granule cloud around his head in a parody of a halo, red crystals still staining just the edges of his eyelids, lips, and ears. "This one suffered slow decompression," she mused, "and probably froze at the same rate he decompressed, more or less. Both were slow to preserve him this well at the macroscopic level, though I bet his cells are all burst. If I had to say, looking at him, he probably asphixyated first."

She's seen a lot of dead bodies in her time. And then the Kaeneians did something, there was some text scrolling in her head, and now...

Life has returned. The place is the ordered mess that is a warship's bridge, and Janice has her face jammed up against someone's knees. Quickly extricating herself in the new apparent gravity, she lowers her pistol from being ready to shoot either Commandant Vannar or Adept Daal. She toggles on her suit speakers with a jut of her chin against the lever, and holsters her weapon. "Sorry about that... um... hello?"

They keep talking; she wanders into their line of vision and out again. =We believe it is a recording. We still sense no intelligence.= Janice smirks. Yup. Thanks, K. She then looks over to the other space-suited Kaeneians. "I guess you got it working, eh?"

A resounding clang echoed around the cavernous hangar deck, reverberating all the more now that two-thirds of the fighters that should occupy the expansive chamber were gone and the entire compliment of SAMACA shuttles likewise indisposed. A steady and repeating shrill beat tapped against the bulkhead which ended only with the soft thud of metal against flesh.

Flight Chief Anyia’s eyes darted quickly around the hangar, looking for a matching gaze which might have confirmed any saw her lack of concentration and the soon-to-form bruise as a result. Seeing only four other bodies within the bay, all of which were variously buried up to their knees, waists and armpits in Engagement Fighters she felt foolish, if secure.

In front of her propped stool, Engagement Fighter nineteen cast a formidable shadow over its partner launch tube which was not complimented by reality. Her armoured belly broken by the gaps inspection and access panels left in their absence coolant fluid, avionics and hull plating gathered in haphazardly sorted piles upon the deck.

Anyia ran a hand through her tied hair, roughly forcing a lock back behind the ear. The inventory held in the other hand confirmed redlines on almost all avionics components of any importance. The strain of providing for the people on Noi Solarri, coupled with expected maintenance led to a class of fighter designed with multiple redundancies flying as some of her few remaining deckhands had termed in a “Press and pray,” fashion.

“Officer on deck!”

The Flight Chief looked confuse momentarily as her internal musings were disrupted. Ever a guide and present though diminished through years of laxness military protocol urged her to stand and as the familiar form of Canasares’ MAG came into view, a salute followed.

Lieutenant-Major Elisia Zambernardi returned the offered salute with slightly less perfection, though it would have taken an Inspector of the Armada Academy to complain. “Good Sunrise Anyia—any miracles of the Celestial Kingdom to report?”

“Adria has chosen not to bless me yet Lieutenant,” the Chief replied whilst surveying the fighter with a wistful sigh. “It will take nothing short of her intervention to get this out of my hangar bay.”

“I don’t need divine intervention Chief, I need fighters that fly. We’re struggling to make up CAP numbers—I can’t pull anymore Response Fighters or we’ll have nothing but the patrol to fight with should we need to.”

Anyia shrugged her shoulders and was about to launch into the specifics of thruster replacement—the impossibility of appropriating an entire housing from the bare cargo holds and engineering bays—when a piercing alarm washed over the deck.

“Attention attention, priority one condition is now in effect—all stations report combat on readiness. Air Group to full launch status, Reaction Fighters immediate launch.”

Zambernardi’s eyebrow rose to meet hairline. She knew precisely what action was required next, and yet her disbelief that the ship could be called to fight now, many months after her turrets last worked a firing solution in anger seemed overwhelming. Clearing her thoughts as the warbling filtered through the walls and ceiling the Master of the Air Group depressed a small icon upon her wrist, wincing as the communications node implanted directly into her inner ear activated.

Elisia spoke her position and point of contact despite the Canasares’ Electronic Entity being more than capable of working out her requirements via its connection to her neural implant, old habits dying hard. “CCC, MAG—Sitrep.”

-Another CGE Armada Carrier has jumped in-system. CONSYS can’t identify her transponder; most likely it’s been deactivated to better aide evasion. Canasares’ herself finds it probable she is not a friendly—from this range we can’t detect any evidence of battle damage or combat fatigue. It’s highly unlikely any other surviving Loyalist Forces would be in such excellent shape. Commandant orders you into the air immediately, Lieutenant.-

Zambernardi has already begun to sprint towards the nearest fighter nestled into its launch tube. “Anyia! I want every last ship that can leave its tube ready to go now! You’ll have the remainder of the Air Group walking trenches into your decking in five—I need those pilots airborne!”



Vannar gritted his teeth as the large triangle—red now that the CCC had assigned it as a “threat”—crept ever closer to the world below. Any pretence to avoiding a conflict was lost with the destruction of one of the SAMACA shuttles. Even appropriately configured the ships were not capable of operating independently, and his opposite number on the approaching Carrier knew it precisely. Around him stood the dumfounded Daal and a number of officers who had returned from their bunks, breakfasts or boredom to man their stations. Still the CCC rattled with too few voices.

“Captain!” the older Kaeneian barked as a slightly overweight figure stepped from the transport lift, “You’re aware of the situation?”

Jehckler tugged at the insufficient waistband held in place by strained belt and nodded, “I’ve been briefed Commandant.”

“Take a message for immediate dissemination to all ground installations, habitations and the administration of Governor-General Steazias—message begins: Enemy carrier arriving in-system. Canasares will move to intercept. No available resources for orbital cover, all Kaeneian-at-arms left on surface to prepare for possible ground assault. Message ends.”

“I need to get back to the surface, I’m not a soldier …” Daal muttered.

“I’m not a patient listener,” the Commandant bit back. “But if you’re desperate to leave the ship Daal, I’m sure the Chief can find a functional Engagement Fighter.”

Jehckler’s eyes lost focus as his communications implant whirred with activity. “Forward and starboard batteries report combat readiness.”

“This is a disaster,” Vannar added as he watched the CONSYS signature approach the Canasares outer defence line. From that point the ship would be venerable to enemy fighters. “What in Adria’s Fury is taking so long Captain—where’s the Air Group? Our port and aft batteries? Damage & Fire control?”

As if giving birth by obscene electronic reproduction, multiple dots spawned forth from the mother-triangle upon the CONSYS screens; turning red once the ship’s EE had verified their dangerous nature. A bleating warning sounded almost dutifully afterwards—an additional precaution given the critical shortage of personnel in the CCC.

“They’ve launched Engagement Fighters,” the Commandant added with exasperation, sending an inventory data-node crashing to the floor from the Master Table with a sweep of his hand. “Where is my Air Group Commander!”

The portly Executive Officer’s mouth opened without retort, his eyes widening slightly. Sensing the growing frustration he glanced desperately around as if he could force the fighters into the air with his discomfort alone. A whirring beneath his ear granted him amnesty. “Response Fighters are away—Chief Anyia believes she can have thirty in the air Commandant.”

Vannar’s aged face remained grim as he counted sixty enemy fighters to his feeble numbers, “It’ll have to do Captain. Intercept the carrier, and tie me into all stations and outgoing ships.”

“This is the Commandant. For many of you, the Canasares stopped being home months ago. For a good number of this ship’s crew, home and future lies on Noi Solarri, and the families and connections beginning to form now down there stand as our only record of survival.”

“That record and that survival are at stake—if we fail to defend this planet and the remnants of our people then Kaenei, the name free as it should be, will pass from living memory and remain perhaps only in the mind’s eye of those left behind and doomed to iron-fisted oppression. Adria the Star-Mother herself has sent this as a final challenge, for make no mistake there is not the likelihood anywhere but the Celestial Kingdom that the usurpers of our world have tracked us here.”

“Driving them from this system is failure—they must be destroyed utterly if there is to be no return and peace for us to be sorrowful over all that has been lost having lost no more. We have fled from Solarri, and the systems that make up the Caelistis Gens. We have fled through the Empire’s Eastern Gate and delved deep into the Wild Stars of which no Armada ship has explored, and continue to fleet. But today there can be no more. We have drawn our line, here in orbit of this world and we will move no further backwards.”

“Solarri expects every Kaeneian to do their duty for her memory and children’s future.”

Captain Jehckler waited for the communication to end before crossing to his superior’s side. “All stations now report priority one combat readiness Commandant. Response Fighters will engage their counterparts momentarily. All batteries report firing solutions.”

Vannar pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes closed with a heaving breath. “Open fire.”



Reaction control jets fired furiously, having no avenue to protest but through purpose as they span the tri-winged Engagement Fighter three hundred and sixty degrees and compensated for the vacuum-silenced howl of inboard weapon barrels cycling and tearing apart a near identical copy of the firer bar the colour coding upon the uppermost fin.

Lieutenant-Major Zambernardi couldn’t help but allow a smile to settle over her features. The anxiety at taking to live-fire combat after nothing bar training exercises for months had led to nausea as her ship was fired from its launch tube—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since Aeronautics Academy. Obliterating a second contact her ship span once more on command to line up a third contact—proving more elusive this time as raking gunfire span out into the inky blackness of space.

“MAG, all fighters still in the contest—break formation and take to the skies under your own initiative.”

Feeling neglected inklings and instincts return resurgent Zambernardi evaded a weapons lock almost sooner than her onboard systems could issue a visual or audio alert. Neutralising her forward momentum a pursuer tore ahead, scarcely avoiding an atmospheric fin through the canopy. Crashing her palm into the head of the flight stick guided warheads span free from their bay, and left the atmospheric fin and a handful of like-sized components intact and spinning through the void alone.

Her onboard systems were more than a match for her eyes at a distance however, and with a frantic whooping doubled the number of contacts on screen. A quick calculation confirmed the presence of an entire Air Group and reserve—at least a hundred fighters against a brave but diminishing two-dozen.

No amount of instinct or inkling could evade five weapons locks and Zambernardi gritted her teeth even as the number two engine, tilted to avoid an incoming warhead, was raked brutally by cannon fire and shattered into unrecoverable debris. Again faster than the onboard systems could sound the engine out indicator, a warhead travelled neatly through the remains of the shattered starboard side and detonated explosively, cutting short Zambernardi’s resurgence and life.

The flak field generated by Canasares’ batteries drowned the stars from the black, surrounding the carrier in a coruscating halo which tore apart invading fighters and left no mistake as to her purpose. From deep within the hull and intermittent regularity, colossal warheads leapt forth from armoured launchers—some being destroyed by the rebel point-defence turrets, but others were surviving to impact heavily against thick armour plating.

“We’ve lost Zambernardi’s transponder Commandant—she’s gone.”

Vannar dismissed regret, “What’re our numbers?”

Captain Jehckler consulted the displays surrounding, stretching to double-check with the stand-in CONSYS Officer whose young appearance belied many months at his role. “Transponder count shows eleven operational fighters still in the theatre.”

“We need to end this Captain. Starboard batteries are falling below operational thresholds for ammunition and we’re getting reports of bare magazines. We’re bleeding to death …”

The CONSYS screen above stood now as a field of angry red hornets, interspersed by the occasional green dot which heralded the hopes of the apparent-last Kaeneians. The Commandant’s gaze remained fixed on the apparently one-sided exchange. “Instruct the fighters to give us an opening; we need a common point of attack—target their starboard flight pod, aft section: fuel tanks.”

Vannar activated his communication implant, “Weapons—direct all flak turrets, torpedoes and main batteries on the following target.”

Raising his hand the Commandant stalled the rising objection from his Executive Officer. Fighter defence would do them little good against buzzing workers if they couldn’t scratch the queen of the hive.

Armour plating twisted painfully, shearing apart as enemy interceptors preoccupied with dodging torrents of defence fire and the occasional surviving home fighter suddenly found their way clear to strike at the Loyalist Carrier herself. Beneath the disappearing plating thick structural ribs stood as the only barrier between the cold vacuum of space and the fragility of life inside.

A well placed warhead penetrated the sole intact starboard water tank despite a heavy armour presence—the precious liquid of life spilling catastrophically into the void which drank to quench a thirst forever insatiable. A second and third salvo punched a line of holes where the first had begun, radial cracks spreading across the armouring covering the starboard side’s head.

The Canasares however did not suffer alone—her identical other heaved under the unrelenting fury of every last reserve the former possessed. Heavy armouring all about the starboard flight pod looked as sympathetic as possible to the plight of a single section, which quickly vaporised amidst the combined trauma of concussion warheads, close range cannon-turret fire, surviving fighter strafing and forward gun batteries.

Time was not a kind mistress to Commandant Vannar’s ship however, and a canny if reckless run by a lone interceptor ignored by the flak turrets mounted above the port flight pod’s runway saw multiple detonations from within make a mockery of armour plating, which blew off without every suffering an exterior hit. Flight Chief Anyia, her maintenance circle and the bothersome Engagement Fighter Nineteen were torn apart as the hangar deck burned amidst contortions and fractures of the flight pod.

“Everything forward of frame two-three-six is fracturing,” Jehckler reported through gritted teeth. “I’ve lost almost all fighter transponders, three left on the board. Check that—two. EF-13 has rammed target area.”

“Decompression danger—frames two-three-five, two-three-four, two-three-two. Frames one-nine-eight, one-nine-three, and one-six-three.”

The XO’s hands flew over input controls, though their ability to fashion assistance was mute. “She’s coming apart sir!”

“Maintain fire,” was Vannar’s only response.



Having realised the intention, enemy fighters previously picking apart the bones of the Canasares returned to home defence, forming swarms around the target area which billowed with flames fed from oxygen breaches. Seeing no further time to act, the final green dot disappeared from the Commandant’s CONSYS as the final Engagement Fighter rammed the targeted starboard flight pod. In an eruption of sheared support columns and shattered plating the entire pod broke about its aft two-thirds, drifting apart only for as many seconds as it took the detonating hangar bay fuel tanks to catch up.

The defending fighters turned to flee as quickly as they had arrived to assist, though none succeeded in outracing the burning cloud which enveloped, superheated and atomised. Secondary explosions soon blossomed about the superstructure of the enemy carrier, her doom assured as power cells, auxiliary reactors and weapons magazines detonated.

“Decompression danger—frames zero-three-five, zero-five-seven, zero-nine-one.”

Jehckler punched the air, “Enemy target breaking up. We’ve done it Commandant.”

“Decompression danger—frames zero-zero-three, zero-two-nine and two-one-six.”

As the Canasares’ EE reeled off a list of the ever-spiralling shipboard decompressions and breaches, all eyes in the CCC jumped to the starboard entry door and the frame contained outside; two-one-six. A terrible howl almost immediately assaulted the ears of those present—a screeching, whipping wind that seemed to punch the collective lungs of those present.

Captain Jehckler, Executive Officer and portly-if-well-mannered husband and father of three dropped to the deck, his wide eyes joining wide mouth in gasping heaves. Adept Daal joined the second-in-command, hands clawing at a throat that could not be blamed for failing consciousness. Commandant Vannar slumped into a chair, and though his hands rose upwards they clutched his rank pin and not airway. Tearing it from the collar, the aged Kaeneian clutched the pin tightly, even as his head began to droop and hasten towards the top of the Master Table.

“Decompression danger—frame two-one-seven, CCC.”


“Shipboard power levels fluctuating beyond acceptable tolerances, take restorative action.”


“Command-level Officer to CCC, primary system failure event in progress.”


“Shipboard power levels fluctuating beyond acceptable tolerances, take restorative action.”


“Auto-navigation failure, attitude control failure.”


“Command-level Officer to CCC, catastrophe-level event imminent.”




• Electronic Intelligence run-time failure…

• Autonomic shipboard network failure….

• Drive systems inoperative…

• Atmospheric integrity negative …

• Hull integrity negative …

END PLAYBACK.

What's worse than being on a dying ship is being on a dying ship with nothing to do but wait. Certainly it's all a simulation, but that doesn't stop Janice's viscera--and not the symbiote in her stomach, for once--from reminding her that she is in a Very Bad Situation. They've done that before, and she always responds the same way: gritted teeth, firm jaw, firmer stare. She watches the threat indicator board along with the long-dead crew; she knows exactly how this act is going to end.

It's a god damn Greek tragedy, she muses to herself without any cynical humor attached to the thought. The joke goes that the galaxy belongs to the Fleet and the Infantry just dies in it, but the zoomies spill their fair share of blood too.

Skeleton-crewed and fighting to the bitter end, the battle is slow to start and quick to end once the ship's back is broken, keel shattered and frames coming apart. All Depaulto can do is stand like a phantom in the safety of Oscar, watching the command staff put off the inevitable until it finally comes. With poor maintenance, perhaps the seals were already near failure anyway; grimacing, she puts away clinical thoughts like those as inappropriate to the memories of soldiers dead, forgotten, and never properly given their due.

Before she was a scientist she was a soldier, goddammit, and she's going to see these ancestors-in-arms out properly. From habitual respect more than anything else she stands at attention as the bridge depressurizes, teeth set and jaw firm and eyes misting in a plausibly deniable way.

Then it's over. Act Five, Scene Three of Romeo and Juliet just prior to the coming of the watch and its Page; he dies, she dies, everybody dies. No moral to the story, no choir or secondary character to preach the message, just a cold death in a cold reality the same as the pass at Thermopylae, the trenches of the Somme, and the taiga of the Ukraine. At least in this case, if it was painful at least it was mercifully quick.

God damn it all. Depaulto runs through an old, unofficial, and generally unshared prayer of the profession of arms. She only thinks its an original. Fuck war. Amen.

Then words scroll by, and she's once again kneeling up against the console in null-gravity in the dark save for the flash of headlamps on vacuum-polished metal, back in the modern day. Some impulse from some secondary explosion in the ship's final death throes, or maybe an impact with debris, had moved Vannar from his final tableaux on the systems table over to where he now sits against the wall; the gravity must have failed before the pressure dropped below eye-breaking levels given how the ancient crystallized blood floats. Looking room-relative up, Janice catches the recognizably plump form of Captain Jehckler caught up in the rafter-like structural girders of the ceiling, somehow pinned up against the base of the monitor. Lifting herself weightlessly over the rim of the table and scanning further, she finds Adept Daal face down, head down against the wall behind a structural member, hiding him from her first sweep of the room from the door.

Finally, she glances over at the Kaeneians working to extricate the Catastrophe Box. "I don't know if you all have any rituals or ceremonies or what not to pay respects, but I figure these sailors earned them at any rate." Sighing, she folds one of her arms around her hardsuit's torso (the other holding well onto the table) and thinks. "Still, not to sound like a grave robber, but there's probably a wealth of archaelogical evidence on this ship. Books, any memory cores that aren't corrupted with age, all the various paraphanalia of life... assuming there are log cores like that black box we may be able to get real glimpses of everyday life. I'm certain we'll never get this ship operational again, but we may be able to revive the central SMI core. Not my area of expertise, mind, but possibly doable if we could get a Beagle or any sort of mechanoid support out here."

She taps one finger against her chestplate, damping out the changes in angular momentum that causes with her gloved fingers tightening and relaxing out of instinct on the console. "If we could get a fix on this position we may just be able to get a ship to tesseract here; the secondary core would get it back home but the trick would be convincing the Galaxy Exploration Command to take such a risk. That's thinking a bit too far ahead, though; right now we should collect what artifacts that would give us the best insight into ancient Caelistis Gens culture and the reasons it fell. History."

While Janice says all this she watches the millenia-dead corpse of Commandant Vannar, as if waiting for him to look up and give some sort of quiet but adamantly firm refusal. He remains as he has for the past several thousand years. When you get right down to it, Depaulto muses with a frown, all archaeology is either graverobbing or trash-picking.

=True,= K'grrthhaa replies from inside her with the tingly heart-scratching sensation Janice has long since learned to be the Gasu equivalent of a shrug =but how else is one to learn? We and our species would have been doomed to extinction if not for your 'graverobbing' with Columbia so long ago.=

You see death a bit differently than we do, K', you know that. During said graverobbing we found that your people had built a fucking airtight wall of their own damned bodies so the Nameless One could survive. You're much more... ah... utilitarian in that way.

=We would never have thought we would see you sentimental, Janice. A wall of drones to protect the controller made perfect sense in our circumstance... but it still hurt. We still felt the pain of their animal intelligences and calmed it as we could.=

Euthenasia?

=Better a calm drifting than the animal fear of space-death, we believed. We sacrificed parts of ourselves, too--this one was not the only Gasu, and there used to be many more of us before that wall.=

I suppose you can relate to the idea of sacrifice for the race, then, eh? Doesn't change the fact we live in a fucking world of shit that it's at all necessary.

=We understood it differently, and still understand it differently, but also understand it as you do now. To you, to these dead, it was a choice to risk your own lives to protect your beliefs and people. To us, it was only a matter of survival. Grim, maybe, but necessary. This...=

There are very few times when the Gasu makes it obvious in Janice's mind that it's using her eyes. It always sees through them, of course; but generally only acts as a passive actor. Now it focuses on Vannar, as Depaulto's eyes had started to wander with her internal conversation. =Grim, but necessary. He knew his actions would lead to the death of himself and his immediate ship-bondmates so that the greater bond of his culture would survive.=

Survive, yes, but now wandering the high seas pretending to be Horatio Hornblower and Jack Sparrow. There's something between here and there, thousands of years of it, and we need to figure it out.

=Need? "The case is afoot?" The identity of the murderer is without question.=

Yes, but the cause of a technocultural backslide isn't. We heard they were in dire straits, perhaps, but they still had tech manuals and computers and information. Where did that information go? From the recording, they at least had some sort of tech library on the ground. If they didn't, they had the capability of coming up here and getting it. For a starfaring culture to J-curve like this is a frightening thought and yes, we need to solve it just in case we ever find ourselves in a similar bind.

=TYCS War Operations Manual 36-7/b: Regulations for Maintaining Civilization in Case of Civil War and Diaspora?=

Janice frowns. K', never recall you ever being so... cynical.

=We learned it from you.=

"Right," she says aloud, perhaps unexpectedly after being silent for a few minutes, "if we were to pick up archaeological things, we'd want crew quarters, libraries, computer backups, and the like. How would we get to those kinds of places?"

A loud clattering resounded across the Combat Management Centre as one of half a dozen data cores fell from its carrier’s grasp and rolled lazily, taking advantage of the newly restored gravity net to dent its protective case. As quickly as rough hands groped to retrieve it an icy voice cut through the mumbled cursing of the carrier to remind him of his place.



“That core worth far more than any good you’ll do outside of Neural Suspension,” Lieutenant-Colonel Robben hissed. “You’d best show more attention to what you’re doing Essien, or you’ll be sent back to your dreamless slumber until long after this ship’s experienced another ten thousand years.”

The shorter Kaeneian mumbled in reply, snatching the core back into cradled arms and struggling forwards under its not inconsiderable weight. Essien got no more than two metres from his starting position when piercing grey eyes stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You will answer an officer appropriately, Essien. Do you understand?”

“Understood,” he replied with a sigh, knees bending somewhat under the stress of carrying. His superior continued to look unimpressed and narrowed his gaze; “Understood what?”

“Understood sir,” Essien added quickly as he became aware of the pressing need to continue or drop the core again. Having no wish to be sent packing from the mission less than two hours after arriving, and having little further wish to give the Colonel the pleasure of washing out another member of the 14th Correction Regiment, Essien picked up his pace. The impressed Kaeneian saved his thoughts for beyond the doorframe and out of Robben’s earshot.



Lieutenant Sarri observed the exchange from his vantage point on the CMC’s second level, aside the damage & fire control sub-station. He allowed himself the small concession of a sigh. He knew the secrecy their operations on the gate world and beyond demanded were such that the most efficient way of maintaining operational silence was the employment of Correction Regiments -- Kaeneians convicted of relatively serious crimes during military service that would normally see them sentenced to Neural Suspension; to be placed in a deep and dreamless pseudo-sleep from which there would be no awakening until such time as their natural lifespan elapsed, subject to yearly sentence reviews for any new evidence that might affect their indefinite slumbers.

Screened for the psychologically misaligned and dangerously unstable, they made for highly efficient soldiers who almost invariably kept their mouths closed as the operations partaken in. Their relatively harsh regimes infinitely preferable to effective sentient death from their points of view. In order to provide no illusions that their sentences were suspended, not revoked and that they remained criminals it was necessary for the officer leading each unit to be purpose-trained and utterly unforgiving in the discharge of protocol and procedure. Lieutenant-Colonel Robben was an exemplarily case of such.

Casting his glance around the expansive command centre, the gradual tell-tale marks of intervention were appearing; banks of hexagonal holes where multiple data-cores once slotted in combined with the open junction boxes and partially dismantled console screens revealed just how busy the rapidly growing salvage crew had been. Of the sad corpses once littering the CMC there was no sign -- Sarri had ordered the first Medical orderlies aboard to set up a makeshift morgue on a nearby cargo deck until such time as better preparations could be made.

The hum of the auxiliary generators brought aboard by the second boarding wave filled the air with a sound that seemed too loud, buzzing and overbearing to truly belong onboard the ship. Display screens either flickered or displayed utter gibberish in the form of rapidly scrolling random characters from whatever database retained a command link, soon to be impotent once the last of the data-cores had been removed. He stole a glance at his watch -- free as it was now that temporary seals and heating elements brought aboard had turned the CMC and a handful of surrounding decks into an enormous airlock on a titanic starship -- and pondered how far along Depaulto and her assigned officer had reached.






Major Elesa Overmars peered at the digital map displayed brightly on her held electronic assistant from behind the safety of her three-paned pressure helmet. The dual lanterns on either side mimicking bizarre animal ears provided an irritating sheen as the older Kaeneian analysed their position. The wrinkles which identified her elder years smoothed momentarily as she turned to the accompanying Scolopendran.

“If this map is accurate,” she began checking it once again quickly. “The primary E.I. generation array is through the pressure door to your immediate left. However there is a slight possibility that we are in fact outside the starboard number two water tank. If the latter is the case, I apologise for our miss-direction.”

Depaulto looks over at the door indicated. Sure, it's labeled. Doesn't matter. She can't read ancient Caelestis Gens writing. "Hm. I'm just going to trust you, Major, as it doesn't make a lick of sense to put a water tank right next to CIC. No reason to offer the opportunity to drown the command staff, after all."

Moving over to the door is easy enough, but age and time and a tiny bit of vacuum welding has frozen it in place. Ah well. Oscar's built hard. Taking a wrench from her belt she bangs on the dog a few times until the wheel turns freely, and then she shoulders the door open.

Overmars followed the Scolopendran through the heavy bulkhead door as it screeched on hinges ignored for a thousand years. Bringing her wrist-mounted torch to bear she swept a beam of light across a cavernous structure of roughly cylindrical proportions stretching high above their heads and consisting of multiple interlocking rings of compact memory modules routed to a central station which lay on a walkway in front. Navigating the relative darkness the aging Kaeneian placed her hands upon the two-piece hexagonal-shaped console and cast her eyes over the array of inset monitors above.

“The Electronic Intelligence’s structure appear to be intact,” The Major announced as she scrutinised the controls in front of her. “The system is similar to our current tenth-generation E.I. Hologrammatic computers - I will attempt to redirect power from our portable sources and activate the boot process.”

A loud voice penetrated the room following the initial series of keystrokes; vaguely female in pitch and tone but screeching and stuttering and speaking gibberish not words. Like a recording played backwards and in mid-hiccup the voice resonated about the chamber as spotlights began to illuminate each concentric data ring from the very top of the structure to the mid-section where Depaulto and Overmars stood.

The latter frowned as her hands passed over the consoles, gaze shifting to the ring of monitors above her head which displayed scrolling code at a blinding speed and disrupted with the occasional burst of distortion. The lights which had only just lit and the booming voice scrambled and dimmed into darkness and then returned to their previous glory many times as the system seemed locked in a purgatory of stimuli reactions and nothing more. Her face a mask of concentration, Elesa continued unperturbed.

“Error; sequence input is not valid. Starboard-fore gundecks open to space; emergency bulkheads unresponsive. Waste reclamation breach frame four-nine-eight. All personnel are reminded combat drills begin zero eight hundred hours tomorrow morning for shift patterns Alpha and Beta. I am sorry - you have exhausted your ration credit for this week period; please utilise mess facilities.”

Overmars raised an eyebrow - it was a small improvement on the previous droning without words. The reboot had yet to take effect and the random reports and statements filtering out were the chopped remnants of whatever multitude of tasks either occurring or about to occur before the entire network failed.


With a final push of a rune, the entire chamber was plunged into total darkness from which only two torches from the intrepid explorers shone. After several moments akin to a deep breath the ring-lights restored themselves and shimmering into existence came the familiar shape of a Kaeneian; standing some six feet in height and clad in a grey and black wrap-around dress which terminated upon the floor such that any feet were invisible. Her short black hair lay chin-length and brushed back behind ears. Mere seconds later and the generation was so complete that only scientific instruments designed to detect the vitalities of life were not fooled that a living, breathing person had joined the pair.

“We are ANA,” It said simply.

“Augmented Network Assembly,” Elena answered in reply to a question that had not fully formed on Depaulto lips. "A generic supercomputer used aboard ships of the Caelistis Armada. Similar in all respects to the current generation aboard Conflict Carriers and similar Triumvirate-allied systems.”

Overmars nodded; “ANA; Function and status check.”

“Augmented Network Assembly version seventeen-point-three; shipboard maintenance and control system charged with technical management and crew-assistance. Initialisation at Federal Robotics & Technologies on the Fourth of the Ninth Period, Eleven-one-nine-one. Run-time testing completed and installed on Armada vessel Canasares First Period Eleven-one-ten-six.”

“Last system health-check reports multiple sensor failures in all sections - I have lost all monitors forward and aft of frame six-nine-one. Failure of propulsion systems to respond to inquiry. Failure of environmental systems to respond to inquiry. Failure of tactical systems to respond to inquiry. Failure of …”

“Alright,” The Major interrupted. “Discontinue Run-time.”

The figure acquiesced with a nod and dissipated in the slightest hiss of scattering projection and light and left the Kaeneian and the Scolopendran alone once more. Silencing the console and returning the room to demi-darkness, Overmars holstered her rucksack and turned towards Depaulto.

“Although the Core Program is functional enough as we saw in the replay from the Crisis Box the ship was in a poor state of repair for many months before the final battle. A large number of the ANA’s network connections broke down in that time and were never repaired and so much of the attack’s finer details were not recorded successfully from the ship’s sensors. Analysis of the ANA’s database also shows large swathes of the data bundles have been removed from the library - possibly taken down to the service for use there.”

“Nonetheless there should be something of use,” She continued with a gesture at the titanic chamber above them. “It’s simply a question of a manual examination.”

"Similar, right." Depaulto folds her arms and watches the hologram fade in; technically impressive, if she was one for such things. She does hold any commentary until the core is turned back off. "Not much of a conversationalist, really. I'd imagine one of our ships would at least be somewhat curious why its atomic clock's not giving time anymore. Did the Angelans not like other machine intelligences muscling in on their turf or something?"

At the words "manual examination," she looks up at the rows of racks of computronium never really intended to be gone through by hand. She doesn't even sigh; while she has the public image of a derring-do field archaeologist, she's more of a real field archaeologist, which always requires a lot of "manual examination." "Right. 'Manual' is well within my capability... so, do I just start checking every core with my portcomp, or are there security measures I should be made aware of?"

Overmars shook her head, eyes still passing over the polished metal rings which housed - save for the obvious interface holes where entire sections of the library had been arbitrarily removed - presumably the sum knowledge of the Kaeneian people prior to the great displacement. "There were many levels of system encryption and physical data locks but they appear to have been disabled by the crew - probably to allow shipboard personnel not trained in high-level computer maintenance to remove the library for transport to the surface quickly."

Dropping the various unnecessary scouting supplies which made her lithe frame heavy, the Major dutifully began to climb the ladders inset against the bulkhead which terminated at regular points on inspection platforms.

"Before the great displacement, they were known as the Angelan Armada but their reach was far more than a navy. Anything more advanced than the most mundane tools was built and brought to life by their technologies - often to the point of bringing sentience to inappropriate items."

"However the Caelistis Gens Empire was made up of many, many worlds and though each was part of the greater Commonwealth they were all very proud of their origins and people, and Kaenei was no different. These worlds had jurisdiction over the space in their own systems and so each had a Constituent Navy."

Overmars crouched in front of a data module, and began to remove its faceplate. "Though these ships were supposed to control piracy and act as the first line of defence in an aggressive move by an enemy, as was the way with all races when exposed to new technologies, these ships soon acquired systems that were at first tenuously relevant - FTL drives, Superluminal communications - and then "baubles" such as Quantum-level computing and Hologrammatic imagers."

"There was much controversy between the Angelan Armada, in its capacity as the Federal Navy, and the Constituent Fleets of the member worlds - the former was jealous of its position as the pre-eminent R&D source and after a time, as different member worlds cooperated new technologies were discovered not by the powerful Federal Navy of the Caelistis Gens, but mere member-worlds and their neighbours."

"After a time, the Empire Department for War and Peace deregulated much of the competition for contracts in military shipbuilding - no longer would Armada vessels be planned, constructed, fitted and crewed exclusively by the whim of the Angelans; this ship is an example - constructed around ..."

The Major glanced at her palm-unit, and nodded. "Constructed around the Empire world of Belvaya, whilst its Electronic Intelligence is a Federal Robotics & Technologies Mark Ten; a Kaeneian company and product."

"This unit is relevant," She added as she pulled it free from the mounting. "I spend much of my free time reading through the massive amounts of historical information contained under The Spire. It is amazing, a living dream, to see it so personally."

"Remove any data node you think is relevant over what can be made to wait."

Depaulto nods, quietly processing the history lesson. "Alright, then. While it's all got historical value, what takes priority is anything that describes the evacuation and how it relates to the planet below. It stretches the bounds of coincidence to see there's Kaeneians below and a Kaeneian warship in orbit. I guess that means planetary science logs and emergency logs first. The planetary science bits would make sense to be missing," she says as she shines her light in one of the gaps formed by a data node not being where it was originally engineered to be, thus being notable only by its absence, "so that leaves emergency logs. Maybe passive sensor tracks of where the shuttles and fighters went."

Looking down, Janice folds her portcomp's lid open and twists it to lock it back in place with the screen outward to form a sort of databoard. The portcomp's legendary durability extends to its armored screen, which is still its weakest point because, being a screen, it has to be clear, and it has a tendency to get scratched and scratched screens do not serve their purpose as well as unscratched screens. Depaulto's portcomp has clearly seen some use, but she's been most protective of its screen, discounting a cosmetic gouge in one corner. Climbing up the access ladders across from Overmars, she lets her suit's translation and in-helmet displays do the first basic translations of the labels on each node before plugging into a few that seem likely candidates. Manual searching is dull work; honestly, she preferred actually digging because at least it had some physical motion she could lose herself in.

=We know what you mean.=

Eh, K? Well, at least she could have conversations in her head.

=The boredom. It's somewhat worse for us, when we're all alone.=

I suppose you're right. Being psychic is still relatively new on me.

=At least the-one-who-calls-herself-Overmars is here, and she is alien. She is interesting to read.=

I won't ask. Privacy violation and all.

=It is similar to what you do. We have found that how minds think is often based on that mind's evolution inside its species. You think quite differently compared to her, and we can use the differences to compare evolutions. You use artifacts to learn how cultures were and evolved, we use minds to learn how intelligences evolved.=

Hm. You've never told me that before.

=It did not seem appropriate before now.=

Still, the analogy breaks down a little. My work catches glimpses of the past; yours only works in the present.

=Yes. It is unfortunate. We share your hope of eventually abusing a time machine to look into the past, albeit for slightly different reasons.=

"Well, when you're joined hand, foot, and liver..." Depaulto mutters before brushing the dust from a label with one gloved finger. "Hm, looks like we may have a winner here. One moment while I plug in." The portcomp lights up with simple vector graphics and strings of text. "Yes, it's tracking data all right, but I can't make out the details. The translation requirements are too large for my limited equipment--ancient Caelestis Gens is not exactly one of our strong suits."

Overmars continued to process the nodes, skipping those that held mostly historical information or sundry data despite her intense scientific and personnel desire to spend the next few years of her life simply immersed in the science of this room alone. To Depaulto observing, this intense yearning to simply absorb all she could was invisible - it would take some creature operating beyond the mere verbal to see it or feel it.

As her eyes crossed a personnel list this excitement was cut to silence as she spied recent - in the terms of ten thousand years - changes to the manifest that were definitely not appropriate for a warship. Expertly suppressed by the training and upbringing so disliked internationally as Kaeneian, the Major confined her sadness to her consciousness.

"We can tend to this later," She said aloud finally. "There is somewhere we must go first."

Receiving a nod from Depaulto, Overmars flicked her wrist-torch back on and headed to the bulkhead.







The writing on the bulkhead door identified the room beyond as an ore sample room, but a glance at the shipboard plans a few minutes earlier had assured the Major that this was not the case. Easily overriding the locking mechanism which barred their way, Overmars quickly swept her torch beam through the eery blackness, and was greeted by a sight that disturbed her greatly.

Hastily welded to the floor and ceiling stood a row of empty bunk beds - cobbled together from whatever spare parts could be scrounged about the ship. Each of the six beds were adult sized though in the room itself there was no sign of occupants beyond the floating duvet covers that lingered in the air. What brought the truly disturbing to the fore were the lines of cots - no bigger than strictly necessary to house an infant - that lined in front of the bunk beds four columns deep to the door.

She knew they would be there even until the moment that a small, frozen form floated into view. Tiny arms pulled inward, mouth frozen in a serene picture of calm they seemed as peaceful now as when any child slept. A quick scan of light through the room soon lit many more hanging like obscene snowflakes in a winter's scene. Overmars expression remained stoic, but as a mother of three she allowed herself to give way to great sadness in the relative safety of her intellect where Depaulto - if not the creature that inhabited her - could not go.

The short, grey-haired, marginally Asian woman simply looks on with blank dryness as the Kaeneian completely changes the subject. Repressing a shrug, she perfunctorily twists-and-flips her portcomp shut then stows its omniplug before clasping the armored brick back to the equipment hooks on Oscar's well-worn belt. She does this with the economy of a professional and the speed of practice before making her way back down and following Overmars through the ghost ship. There's no point in taking shortcuts; time is one thing they most certainly have in abundance.

She does, however, allow herself to look mildly annoyed when Overmars isn't looking--Janice is something of a perfectionist and an old hand in this sort of thing; while she can appreciate going to see random sights, the first priority in her mind is to connect this ship with the civilization below; after doing that, funding is easily secured for repeat trips from any number of organizations, rather than just those who would be interested in watching the primitives (sadly few) or those wanting to explore the hulk (fewer with sufficient clearance). That the Kaeneians have sole access to the portal is a secondary concern, in her mind.

The blank dryness returns to stay once the two reach the ore processing quarters, and Depaulto's symbiote gets the opportunity to see how two different people from two different species and two different fields deal with the same thing. Overmars connects through a mixture of instinct, being a mother, and her job not usually having her come across traces of dead children. Depaulto, on the other hand, has never been a mother, has practiced overriding her instincts, and as an archaeologist her job is all about dead people, including children. The scientists that uncovered Herculaneum and Pompeii, they were struck, but they had a job to do; after so long, what was a person simply is not a person, but a pile of bones or a void in igneous rock or, in this case, essentially a rock itself. Beyond that, there is nothing to connect Janice with what was once a baby, no stories nor shared motherly experiences (unlike the soldiers back in the CIC), and so she lets the incidentally protective limitations of the monkeysphere work for her. There is time to feel later, should she find a need to.

Right now, she starts poking around the room, looking for records and information, between taking pictures of everything.