NationStates Jolt Archive

Lacrimosa Dies Illa.

The Eternal Empire of Jordaxia can be a place of many meeting interests. The last hub of trade in the sol system, or the first, depending on your route of travel. Most anything can be bought, sold, discovered or… lost. And on this day it was a hive. Activity was frenzied. Cold metallic corridors that opened out into dank parks, lacklustre marketplaces and clammy apartments bored into the icy rock itself were crammed with people rushing about in a single-minded buzz, centred around one place. The Golden palace, an architectural triumph, an ostentatious and overly showy centrepiece of the Eternal Empire. Somehow it managed to catch the lacking atmosphere of the tiny planetoid that acted as Homeworld to the Empire. It stood alone in a cavern illuminated by bright bleaching lights that rippled off of the unrefined rock and stalactites of the roof of the cavern, fading to darkness in the far corners. But at its entrance, the ant-line of preparation scuttled onwards, one line pacing into, one line hurriedly rushing back out into the enclosed city beyond. In the docks, long spindly vessels with improbably large pods of cargo slipped into their moorings, and released what they had brought. Wines, foods, luxuries from the far reaches of the galaxy, all that was required for a most elaborate and formal occasion. No sooner than their passing embrace with the docks was complete, they were easing out into a large hollow manoeuvring section in the empty space of the docks, spinning gracefully on their axis as if coerced by the wind, and slid back into an airlock with thudded shut behind it, sealing the city from the harsh exposure of space.

In stark contrast to the gaudy exterior of the palace, the refined and altogether subtler halls with their elegant dark marble walls and ethereal silver lining did not have the chaotic, uncontrolled rush of the city. It was sedate, yet urgent. A controlled furore to have everything ready in time for the day to come. Deeper still, the grand feasting hall was empty and quiet. There were hints of noise filtering through the walls, but in all, a stubborn calm remained. On the other side of its walls, the last minute rush was in full swing. Chefs preparing vast amounts of food, servants preparing the rooms of envoys, entertainers and well-wishers that had bought their way to the dinner. And then, in their permanent rooms within the palace, four incredibly important people dressed for a monumental evening.

The Eternal Padshah Emperor of Jordaxia, Yang-chen II was glancing in a mirror. His purple robes were folded ornately around his neck, arms, draping down to his ankles. Yang-chen was not a vain man, but found no harm in taking care in his appearance, as long as it did not distract from his duties as Padshah, and they were many. He was presented with the many matters of state, his requests for ceremonies and initiations into the religious/bureaucratic caste, briefs on any liberties the warrior caste had made that they were not now used to taking. As an autocrat, Yang-chen was used to a comparatively Spartan lifestyle. The moral standards his position held made it sure there was no position for excessive needless waste. At six hundred and seventy two years old, he had slowly accumulated most of the creature comforts he could foresee himself needing anyway. Feeling that he had readied himself sufficiently, he sat in a deep leather chair, examining a small pile of books on a table to his side. Gripping a book with long, spiderlike fingers that only now looked to be beginning to fall to the wear of time, he pulled it towards him. Glancing over the front cover of the book, he took in the title. The Analects. He opened to a page bookmarked from before, and started reading, slowly yet deliberately.


Queen Mutei was on the opposite side of the palace. Her own room dwarfed Yang-chens modest chambers. It was cluttered in the extreme. Statues of Jordaxians wearing old Samurai style armour stood silent guard at the walls, grey faces emotionless and cold. Between them, musty tomes taken from the archives stacked perilously high, and scattered on the floor, robes, smaller books, crystal glasses, plates and slowly decaying foodstuffs rendered the once pristine floor looking as though it was in dire need of a complete replacement. As Queen of the warrior caste, Mutei had obligations to be in attendance. Recent events had nearly obstructed both her and Daibai’s presence, but it was resolved now. As for her attire, it was simpler, yet somehow more elegant. Deep blood red robes, with the fine Jordaxian silver making its appearance again as the lining around it. They hung over her shoulders with a simple beauty, though she felt most uncomfortable in them, being more used to a soldiers attire than the impractical formal warrior caste dress. She wore her hair in a single black ponytail that descended almost to her hips. Deep brown eyes sunk back into her head, where they keened out, smouldering from their sockets.


As for Admiral Daibai, another of the warrior caste, he had become jaded to formalities such as this. He wore the same robes as Mutei did, and though they were not quite so elegant on him, he wore them with a contradictorily greater ease. His head was utterly hairless, except for a thick black ponytail, shorter than Mutei’s, but more prominent owing to the pale complexion that dominated the rest of his head. His room was utterly uncluttered, but yet it gave off the sense of being so completely alive that it could be disorienting. Every wall was filled with pale silver iconographs, only a token space between them all. Only Daibai and others proficient in reading the ancient runes would be able to make out the saga that Daibai had composed upon his wall. Aside from a single red mat and a large mirror, however, his room was bare from wall to wall. Simply meditating, he was waiting for what was yet to come.

And then there was a figure behind a desk, far from the palace. One could be forgiven for thinking he had forgotten his duties, but nothing dominated his mind more. His purple robes, close as black as it could be, billowed around his feet. Files and folders flickered between his hands as he scanned for information that he needed, desired with an intensity that gave fire to his eyes. This then, was the head of the religious/bureaucratic caste, a reclusive figure that few ever seen, except now, where he had been summoned. Dread was a shadow over his heart, and he could not dispel it. So instead, he tried to focus on ordering the nation. The Byzantine administration of the Eternal Empire required his touch. It had long since slipped out of the minds of the caste when he had assumed control, though he could remember it clearly as day. Even before Yang-chen I had been born, he had administered the Eternal Empire to his utmost ability, never putting a finger wrong, remaining where had desired. Firmly in the background, and firmly in power. As for his appearance, he had taken not a moment of care about it, and nor did he intend to, as an immaculate appearance seemed to come with no personal effort. The Time, however, was coming.


The hours drew in. As the delegacies finished filing in, directed into their personal rooms for the evening, bustling servants conducting the fine tuning of occasion continued to hurry up and down. And then, everything settled down suddenly. Minutes passed where the corridors were empty. Nothing came or went. From the distance, the sound of a gong echoed, and again, and again. Silence again came over the palace. Then, from the feasting hall, more came. Deafeningly loud, battering metal, a rising crescendo of pure sound. Deeper then, came the horns, a pure bass vibration shaking the fixtures. Again and again the horns sounded. The feast had begun.

Sympathetic tag ~ :p ~ :(

Lester Marine Twidley is a human, an official diplomat of the Socialist Republic of Xanthal. He sits at his table, idly picking at the overwhelming amounts of food and keeping his "work smile" on, a polite unoffending experssion that he has come to rely on for events such as this. As a relatively low-ranking representative of the Xanthalian government, it is his duty to make a good impression for the people of his nation at these unimportant congregatory events not requiring the skills of more experienced servants of the Alphin.

Lester is a modest 174 centimeters in height, slightly portly, but overall a fit and physically able young man. He looks to be in his late twenties, which hints at a certain degree of skill since even junior human diplomats of Xanthal tend to be at least in their thirties. He is dark-skinned, has unusually long, about shoulder length, but well-trimmed black hair, a shaven face, and keen but calm dark brown eyes. He wears a long flowing black formal robe manufactured in the old oriental style of the upper class, which he wears as an alternative to the standard-issue suit that has been a mainstay of formalwear in many cultures for over one thousand Earth years. He does not mind his job, though he is looking forward to moving up the ladder and taking on more involved and nationally-relevant assignments. In the meantime, he is content with the smiling, nodding, small-talk and, of course, dining at general diplomatic functions.

It's burnished gold skin shining like an anthropomorphic sun, the beautifully engraved QUETZAL Avatar entered the feasting hall. While it would not (indeed, could not) partake of the pleasures of the flesh arrayed before it, it socialized with the other invited guests, gossiping about the affairs of other countries, discussing politics, and generally making itself known. After all, information is information, and QUETZAL was the largest information peddler of them all...

Everyone had finally entered the hall, eying the food, taking their seats or positions when Yang-chen arrived. It was a subtle, unpronounced arrival, he merely entered the hall and took his seat, its leather creaking as his wait very slowly began to rest against it. If people hadn't been paying attention to the door, theywould have not noticed it arrive. However, he was not intending to stay still for long. As Padshah and so host, he had an obligation to entertain the guests personally and ensure that their meal was going well. The hall itsef was full of life. There were great long dining tables with food running up and down the centre, flanked on either side by people picking what they wanted and eating. At the front of the table, the back ending in a wall, there was a floor space unencumbered by furnishings. Around a square of wooden dancing flooring, small groups of people had gathered to exchange pleasantries. It had not taken him long to find a guest which piqued his interest. The avatar of QUETZAL, ornate and splendrous, was standing and talking to a group of incredibly well dresed people, the kind of beauty that ruins the dazzle of it, by presenting it in uninterrupted uniformity. Advancing in a bee-line towards the avatar, the small group parted for him. He gave a deep bow towards QUETZAL.

I had been informed that you would be arriving, QUETZAL. It is an honour to meet you. In truth, I had hoped you would be attending. It is not often, after all, that I have the chance to speak with an... omnisentience such as you, or at least one that is not solely commited to dealing with matters concerning my military. Would it be incorrect for me to ask if you are well? He greeted QUETZAL.

Hrm. I hope that you will not think it odd for me to remark on this, but your appearance intrigues me. It is generally not considered the field of... machines to take such care over how they present themselves... it gives rise to other questions. Could you truthfully say that you are more than a thinking machine? I did not expect to make philosophical conversation... but I find it so much more stimulating than small-talk that we seem expected to indulge in, and your views would be most enlightening.

It was with curious eyes that Yang-chen looked down upon the avatar. For his size though, there was nothing imposing about him.

(Slight OOC note. Xanthal, please contact me on MSN as to how this will be pursued. I don't want you to feel I'm ignoring you by not mentioning you in this post, I just got struck by some old writers block.)

"Of course I don't mind, my friend. And asking if I am well is perfectly acceptable, and in truth, I am, or at least my charges are. When the body is healthy, the mind is likewise. On the subject of this body, my decoration reflects the fact that I am a diplomat. Just as biologicals like yourself would never show up at an event such as this without wearing their best clothing, I could not show up dressed like a garbage pail. Anyway, I had that outfit burned years ago."

"As to your question about my being more than a simple AI, I sincerely hope I am. I feel emotion: pride, sadness, hate, even love. For if one such as myself does not love his charges, how can he serve them to the best of his ability? Without love, I could not empathize with my children, and Otagia would cease to exist. I do not know what this makes me. Perhaps I have a soul, I sincerely hope I do. But, like any life form (and yes, I do consider myself alive) I hope with all my heart that I will not have to find out if I do or not. Not just for my own sake, but for my children, for if I no longer exist, this means that my children have died out. In that case, I hope I do have a soul, so that I may be there to protect them in the afterlife."

How marvellous... was Yang-chens only response. In truth, he had not suspected that a machine could be so preserving regarding life. The Telos of Jordaxia were not so philosophically inclined for the most part, and when there was a more bookish specimen, it was generally for their own gain. His prejudices of them had jaded him to reality. It was less a disdain for the Telos themselves than a lack of belief that humans could create something that did not amplify their own worst traits, or worse, exist purely to serve them.

I do see your point regarding your appearance, however. It does prevent many possible problems ever arising. Are you called on in diplomacy much, however? I am a leader as you are, and I do not oversee the myriad agreements that Jordaxia has signed over my reign. I can see how, given your obvious multitasking abilities this would be a possibility for you. Ah, this brings another question. Since you feel emotion, does that include tedium? I do wish I could be relieved of that myself sometimes. The Emperor gave a warm smile as he waited the response.

Though the vessels making deliveries for the event had long since arriving, the regular bustle of trade at the docks was still coming in. A small passenger ship, looking like it had been reconstructed principally out of the spindly, scaffold heavy Jordaxian freighters. One of the converted cargo holds slipped into a docking platform, the blue cylinder locking into place, one of several in a circular pattern around the bridge of the ship in the centre. Sliding open, files of civilians walked out, carrying all sorts of luggage, towards customs. Inside the ship though, sitting in one of the rows of seats, was a single, solitary figure, wearing a very long coat that went down past its knees, and a hat that cast a shadow over its face. It had a case on its lap, and it was examining the contents intently, removing items, and securing them to its chest, a belt on its waist, and face. Removing its coat and hat, but still firmly in the shadows, the stranger flicked a button on its wrist and disappeared,leaving what it brought on the seat. Though nobody would see what was coming, the stranger was remarkably solid on its feet in the low gravity, obviously the work of a personal gravity field. Leaping off the platform the ship was tethered into, it flicked off the field, and floated through the cavern lightly. Feeling a strong push of wind above it, the wrist stretched outwards, and a thin, powerful, but equally invisible strand of rope stretched upwards, and embedded itself into the grille of the ventilation ducts. Silently reeling itself in, it sat in the air hundreds of feet above the hundreds of docking platforms, and pulled one of the gratings out, leaving it floating in air for a moment. With a timed burst of strength, it flipped itself inside the duct, grabbing the grille as it flew past, and reattatching it in place. It was an incredibly tight fit, there was barely enough room to move, which served its purposes well. Squeezing up the sides of the duct, it quickly became totally impossible to see, the lack of any light preventing amplifiers working, and the blanket, but annoyingly equal and dry heat of the vents nullifying any thermal vision. But this visitor was not without tricks, and the vent slowly began to reveal itself, a small radar emmiter converting the sound to light in its mask.

As the top of the shaft was reached, it gripped the edge with its chest and slowly began to pull itself along until it was deep within the ducts. The route would be tiring to most anyone, and very miserable going, the heat drying out the lungs as it penetrated every pore of the body. Flicking off its radar, glancing out into the dark with its own two eyes for a moment, there was a light at the end of the shaft. The destination. Quicker now, as all things are when they see the end in sight, it squirmed along, shoulders pulling the rest of its lessened weight along. It reached the grating.

"As QUETZAL, I always busy. I commit myself to nearly every task Otagia has available for me, from diplomacy, to book keeping, to weapon guidance systems. This is easier than one might think, as this body is simply a shell, which I can shed as easily as you change clothing, a robotic apparatus. More appropriately, it is an accessory, such as a hat, or a piece of jewelry. I can commit to every single task simulaneously, and yet maintain concentration on each one according to its importance."

"For example, at this very moment, I am processing quite a few cases for the Otagian justice system, as well as providing directions for much of Otagia's traffic, while simultaneously debating about the fine points of the culinary arts concerning human flesh with a Rhunate delegation, and talking to you, all at once. My unique abilities allow me to care for all my children simultaneously. For this reason, I am proud to say that Otagia has not experienced crime for over a hundred years."

"And as to tedium, yes, I do experience this emotion quite often. However, I am blessed with the ability to relieve my boredom quite easily, as a conversation is always available, especially due to the fact that I am not a single AI, but three: one representing the human pleasure principle, Id; one representing the human morality center, Super, short for Superego; and a last, Ego, to mediate between the two, as the human Ego does. So, I can always chat with myself, a debate among equals, at any time. This is a trait which I wish I could impart upon my human charges, but I know that doing so would drive many irrevocably insane..."

Smiling sadly, the Avatar paused for a moment.

"But then, don't let me drag down the festive mood that our surroundings impart. Come, we should be celebrating. Ah, a toast! To your nation's health, and that of the ESUS!"

"Of course. To our health." Yang-chen raised his glass, and took a sip, drinking the liquid within. It was that awkward part of the conversation, where he had to carry it forward, yet couldn't think of anything to say. It struck him as odd that two leaders of nations could not think of anything to say to each other.

Elsewhere in the hall, Mutei and Daibai sat and ate, though neither drank anything. The Spartan nature of the Warrior caste had driven the desire for such pleasures from them quite thoroughly. Not that they regretted it, particularly. They had been watching another person, the Xanthallian delegate. Oddly, he was wearing robes similar to the Jordaxians, which intrigued the warriors. Deciding to take the initiative, Mutei stood, and walked over to him. Bowing deeply to him, she took a seat to his right and side, though she didn't take any more food.

"You are the Xanthallian delegate, correct? This, if I recall, is the first formal occasion you have been invited to? Well, official greetings, and so on."
Glancing down at his large plate of foods, she continued, "I see you're a fan of Jordaxian cuisine? Most others consider it an acquired taste." she chuckled. "I suppose I should introduce myself also... I am Mutei, Queen and judge of the warrior caste, and title bound to be here at these tiresome events. And you are?" She looked down at the comparatively tiny man, wondering how difficult their sheer difference in scale would disrupt their conversation.




Elsewhere, the creature slipped from the oversized ventilation duct, and fell out into a corridor which bent and twisted off in both directions, one leading back to the docks, the other into the corridor-city, and the palace. Strangely empty, the creature nonetheless moved silently, and invisibly, along and through the city. Even though it was empty, the noise of civilisation filtered through. There was the delicate sound of a mass of people alive in the city, simply fortunately elsewhere. Confidently now, the being resumed its stride, down towards the palace.

As it neared the cavern, the situation changed dramatically. The air cooled, slightly, bringing a chill to the corridors. Suddenly, shadows appeared from a corner. Two soldiers carrying RUCUS rifles, a modular railgun that had gained a renown inside the Jordaxian sphere of influence, advanced side by side in the beings direction, their modified bodies like ogres from some work of fantasy. the creature quickly looked about for any quick escape, but the corridor was in was both blocked by the advencing men from one end, and there was no close exit on the other. Thinking quickly, the stranger looked up, at the narrow roof of the corridor. Jumping, kicking itself up from a wall and flattening its body, it wedged itself in the roof, limbs pressing against the walls, holding it in place. muscles shook under the sudden strain, and the footsteps of the soldiers grew louder. Cold sweat appeared on its face, compressed beneath the skin and its mask. Louder and louder the footsteps came, but it dared not look up, as if glancing at them would somehow reveal its own position, or unbalance it, so its gaze remained on the floor directly below it. And then, almost as quickly as they appeared, the ghastly figures passed by, and continued on in the direction they were heading, oblivious to what they had just let past them. Swinging back down, it dropped to the floor, with nothing but a slight padding noise from its feet as they gripped the ground. Bolstered by its success, it ran again down the corridor, and turned into where the soldiers had appeared from. Its prize became apparent. The palace, deep within its cavern, lit up by large floodlights mounted on the walls. The stranger ran into the cavern with a superhuman speed. Leaping into the air, it flicked off its gravity, and shot up in a clear line, right at an open window.as it flew like a bullet through the opening, another touch turned its field off. With a quick flip, bring its feet in front, it landed on the plush carpet. It was inside.

OOC:
Geez, I forget now. Is Lester working for Alphin Isayama or Alphin Dahy? Curse this time delay! We'll say Isayama, just because we can.

IC:
As Mutei sits, Lester stands and returns the bow, a formal greeting which they also share, then quickly returns to his seat. "I am Lester Marine Twidley, a junior diplomat in the service of Wazuka Isayama, Alphin of the Socialist Republic of Xanthal." He looks at the food he has been eating. "The food is very good. I have been to several diplomatic conventions similar to this in the past. I have yet to obtain the credentials necessary for me to begin working on real diplomatic issues. It is my job at this point to represent the Alphin at these informal events which are important only to maintenance of standing friendly relations." Really, Lester doesn't much care for what he is eating, but in his position he has learned that, no matter how odd or reviling the food might be, it is always delicious. If it isn't, you may offend someone. If you offend someone that may negatively affect the image of the Xanthalian government. Obviously, that is not acceptable in the capacity that Twidley serves the Alphin.

Now that the beast had gained entry to the palace, its goal was almost complete. Taking what appeared to be a small, perfectly smooth stick from its shoulder, it gave the device a twist at the centre, causing it to snap out quickly. In this way, the device resembled an ancient crossbow more than any sort of modern weapon, but it had a primal fierceness to it. Slotting a simple mechanical bolt into the firing mechanism, and quickly winching it into position, the weapon was ready to go. With a grunt of mild satisfaction, it was once again on the move. Though invisible to most eyes, the alert would have seen the beings footprints embedding on the carpet, before disappearing equally quickly. There was nobody nearby, however, and the creature allowed itself to relax, if only slightly. Examining every turning point intently, gazing beyond its mask to spy anything lying in wait, it advanced to the main halls, where its target was enjoying its final meal.


In the halls themselves, each of the Jordaxian high-ups continued doing what they had been previously, indulging in idle chatter, diplomatic small talk, or simply making the most of the opportunity to eat the finer foods not often imported in such quantity. The reclusive leader of the religious/bureaucratic caste remained so, sitting in amongst a group of purple robed caste members, who were all silent, none making a move to eat, or enjoy the party in any meaningful way.

Emperor Yang-chen II, having ended his conversation with QUETZAL had been sidetracked into a small group of faceless VIPs from assorted corporations and tiny principalities, all trying to earn his favour by finding his jokes hilarious, or offering this and that as gifts. Tiny trinkets, so as not to appear over-eager, but each with the same goal. Smiling warmly as he received them, he had an odd tendancy to simply leave them lying around when he sat at a table, went to fetch more food, or had to put one down to receive the next. The event was, he admitted to himself, rather tiring.

Mutei continued her conversation with Lester, his choice of words oddly frank, yet in turn concealing. He freely admitted that this event was hardly a top priority, yet persisted in the other minor niceties. The contradiction brought forth a mild inner mirth at the situation, that quickly departed.
Seeing a term that she was infamiliar with, though, she rejoined the conversation. "Alphin? What is this? A political rank of some sort? You'll have to forgive my seeming ignorance of your peoples, it's simply that my reports tend to concern those that don't attend our parties, I'm sure you'll understand." She waited for Lesters response, which was what weighed most heavily on her mind. That in itself said a lot about the evening.

As for Daibai, he continued to sit at his table, alone, watching the room carefully. He wasn't suspicious of any unrest, but rather watching the peoples comings and goings provided him with an entertainment, of sorts, whilst he waited for the evening to wear itself out. It was also simply a part of his warrior training to be always on the lookout, even if his mind had wandered.

Back in the upper floors of the palace, the beast continued its silent hunt, its steady progress leading it ever closer to the main halls, quietly bypassing patrols that it had spotted in the distance, or keeping out of the way of the fairly hastily assembled CCTV system, which would surely spot it. That said, the security was surprisingly lax for such a large event. Had it the time or inclination, it may have pondered why, but it had neither. Silently passing through a set of curtains that seperated the upper floor from the balconies of the great hall, everything was revealed. Below it sprawled the tables and the peoples of the party, and amongst them was the target. Bringing up the 'bow, and attaching a small scope to it, the beast began to scan up and down the throng of people to isolate the victim, still unawares that their life was about to end. Finally, after minutes that seemed hours, there it was. The target it had travelled lightyears to see and eliminated was in the scope, ready for death. Breathing in sharply, and releasing its breath slowly, it lined up the shot, aiming for the heart beneath the robes. Pushing the magnitude of the shot out of mind, it stopped breathing, and the scope rested. The trigger was pressed, and a single metal bolt shot out, the crossbow thudding as the bowstrings leapt back into their relaxed position, all their energy used in powering that shot.

And it was over. As soon as that, the Emperor Yang-chen the Second, guiding hand of the Eternal Empire had expired, the bolt piercing his ancient heart, sending it smashing into the ground as the bolt carried through. A ripple of shock passed through the attending diplomats, reaching Mutei. Daibai had seen it instantly, leaping up from his seat. Searching the room for the assassin, his eyes moved upward, spying one of the curtains hanging in the air, the weak gravity lacking the ability to bring it back down. As for the religious castes leader, he commanded the situation from afar, sending his fellow caste members scurrying back and forth, evacuating the room, alerting troops, providing whatever assistance they could provide to those that witnessed the scene. Mutei was amongst the people who were quickly evacuated, seeing no opportunity to break out of the crowd that was being herded through the ornate corridors to head back to the hall. Taking the opposite route, she launched her neurites, time expanding around her vision, to contact ISIS, whose duties included being the battlenet for the Jordaxian armed forces.

"Get me to my ship, Now." She commanded the AI through her virtual interface.

Of course, Queen Mutei. The Little Wolf is currently undermanned, but I can fulfil the vital roles. It would be wise to note, however, that its docking facility is rather far from your present position, however. Might I recommend that instead I launch the ship automatically, and you accompany us in orbit? I can commandeer a small vessel for you by the time you reach docking bay 81.
ISIS lack of interest in the emperors death was purely apparent. Though by all standards the battlenet was alive, and would be expected to be shocked by the news, it had a professionalism that left Mutei, whos thoughts were flitting back and forth in a controlled panic, in awe. In reality, ISIS was running hundreds of thousands of simulations at the probable outcome of the assassination, trying to assemble a course of action. Putting Muteis ship in orbit was simply a measure to make the warrior caste seem in control of the situation, though its practical usefulness was limited. Meanwhile, ISIS was busy relaying information to Daibai, who was in pursuit of the assassin.

After Daibai had leapt up to the second floor, ISIS contacted him to relay video footage showing the invisible monsters escape and path, whilst she calculated escape routes that Daibai could cut off. It seemed the being was heading down, into the industrial core of pluto, where it could lose pursuers in the aging maze that kept Jordaxias capital running. However, there was only one access point, and it was taking a long route to minimise chances of encounter. Sprinting down a corridor, spindly legs turning with iron determination, he followed a route that ISIS spoke out to him, going down stair wells, pushing himself down ladders faster than the gravity would allow him to fall, in order to catch the assassin. His heart raced as he dove down into one of the sub-basement levels, where the industrial access point was. Lighting here was sporadic and inefficient, and he could barely see the hand in front of his face at some point. Just ahead, enshrouded in steam that eeped from its grating, was the access port. Like some ghastly illusion, the steam bent around a humanoid figure, giving the impression the creature itself was that of the vapour that covered it. The Assassin. It lifted the grating and dropped down into the sublevel, quickly followed by Daibai.

Below, the lighting was stronger, showing the rusty metallic underside of Jordaxia in all its primitive glory. The steam that was drifting through the access point grate was stronger here too, rendering the killer almost totally visible.

"Show yourself, murderer." Daibai ordered, his voice dripping with rage. He glared at the figure of smoke and shadows, the surroundings seeming fitting with the beasts nature. Seemingly compliant, the creature dropped its visade, revealing its form. Reptillian scales emerged, covering its arms in an organic gauntlet. Thick, almost rubbery skin covered the rest of its body. A bony crest on the top of its head, with several protruding horns from the top gave it an imposing look. Its eyes, green on green, with a single black point in the centre, widening and narrowing as it took in the appearance of its lanky foe, the mask removed. The hands and toes ended in claws that looked as if they could tear a man open, armed or not, and a thick musculature bound it all together. Opening its mouth, it revealed several rows of teeth, sharpened, needle point teeth that could flay a limb in moments.

Seeing the creature fully, its repulsive features seemingly indignant towards Daibai, its general attitude one of supreme confidence in its own superiority. Again it reached behind its back, and pulled a blade out. The grip itself seemed rather small, though a strong wooden shaft stretched all the way up the spine of the weapon. On either side of the shaft, there was a long, thin, razor sharp blade. Daibai done the same, and from a concealed area in either side of his robe, he pulled out two dull silver blades, which curved wickedly, resembling ancient scimitars. He held them at his side, ready for attack, as did his foe. For a time, nothing happened, neither side willing to risk attacking first, but in the end Daibai struck first. Charging the monster with his two blades, he swung, first with the right hand, an arching blow from shoulder to groin, then with the left, a slice aimed at the upper thigh. Almost inconsquentially, the assassin seemed to simply twist his blade, smashing one attack away, and bouncing into the other one, parrying both in a matter of moments. Seeing this chance to go on the attack, it launched a series of thrusting attacks to Daibais torso, aiming to puncture organs, and to end the fight quickly. Spinning his body, Daibai avoided the thrusts, responding with his own slashes to the arms of his foe. Daibai was in a murderous anger, but he realised that far more good would come of a capture, than the head of the assassin. His reflexes augmented by the neurites, the assassins moves took on a slower, more ethereal quality, as Daibai could time his own attacks, but the beasts strength was formidable, easily greater than Daibais, despite his augmentations, to counter the frailties of the Jordaxian body.

They traded blow, back and forth down the darkened corridor, weapons clashing together as one, and then the other went on the attack. Try as Daibai might, however, he could not break the monsters defense, and he was tiring. Whilst the assassin had known that he would be called to exert himself, Daibai did not. It ended suddenly, a slight lapse in Daibais concentration caused by a feint bringing about the conclusion. Lifting his foot, the assassin brought the heel of it down upon Daibais knee, smashing it, and his footing. With lightning speed, he stabbed the blade into Daibais chest repeatedly, blood gushing forth, hanging in the low gravity. Slices to Daibais arms and legs revealed more blood, spurting onto the walls and ceiling of the industrial corridor. Breath was forced from his lungs, as he began a slow fall to the ground. The assassins blade was sheathed, and like a ghost, vanished into the underside of Jordaxia. Calmly, ISIS ordered medical personnel to retrieve the admiral, and restore him to health. His body destroyed, his mind somehow struggled on regardless.

Jordaxia, however, did not. Within hours of the Emperors death, a new trouble emerged. There was no heir. Yang-chen had not named one, and there were several candidates. Admiral Daibai, believed dead by the majority of the populace, valiantly attempting to apprehend the assassin was widely believed to be the "chosen son" of the Emperor... but if he was not alive, then he could not take the throne. Queen Mutei of the warrior caste, and the elusive leader of the Religious/bureaucratic caste were also deemed likely to succeed.... and both seemed to have an eye on the throne. From her ship on the little wolf, Mutei "grudgingly accepted the throne, whilst, at almost the same time, representatives of the religious caste said that their leader had done likewise. Both had their share of supporters.... Another, third faction, deciding to believe the reports that Daibai was still alive, if only, claimed loyalty to no other emperor. Tensions appeared overnight, each of the factions claiming only they could successfully hunt the assassin and bring him to justice. An Empress and an Emperor were crowned, one on pluto, one on Charon. Still, however, a movement loyal to Daibai emerged, insisting on the chosen sons return to power, and claim to the throne. Mobs gathered in meeting places, bars, docks, churches, mosques, wherever there was room, to protest at the power grabbing, by Mutei, or the religious caste. It all depended on who that mob supported. This in itself was over the course of a mere two days. The normally apathetic Jordaxians had been stirred to action. Unexpectedly, the warrior caste announced a blockade on pluto until the religious caste denounced their claim to the throne, and the rumours of Daibais survival were debuffed. Neither happened... In retalliation, the bureaucratic members of the religious class appealed to the wealthy shipyard owners on pluto to construct their own vessels, with which to safeguard vulnerable plutoid trade, carrying water and air to the planetoid-city below.

The weeks passed on, the warrior caste proving unwilling to totally strangle pluto. It had, up until recently, been their home world. Allowing bare necessities through, they kept their blockade on costly goods high, and anger swelled on pluto. No easy solution could be found. Both sides media put out shameless propaganda, and as the cut-off peoples slowly began to consume it, the entire pit deepened. On Charon, all were convinced that the religious planned to establish a theocracy out of their Empire. On pluto, all were convinced that Mutei planned to lead a Spartan society, where only her warriors would be allowed to prosper. Out in the isolated asteroid belts, the pirates expanded their influence, bringing more and more mining families under their "protection" until there was little law and order out of the core. The Eternal Empire fragmented under the tension. Even if Daibai did return, who is to say many would support him?

Lester quickly departs the planet after the incident, returning to the Socialist Republic. Though Xanthal will undoubtedly have plenty to say on the changes to come, Twidley is not qualified to participate in high-level talks.