NationStates Jolt Archive

(Following on from An unfortunate end. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=341303) )



The ledge despite being so shallow as to provide no platform, disappeared rapidly under the withering and freezing shower directed from above. Individual snowflakes in their virtually transparent state joining with their infinitely different partners to create a barrier of white which conspired to hide what lay beneath utterly.

The window was small, hardly worthy of installation - no more than three feet in height and scarcely a foot in width; more a decoration or aesthetic consideration to a room that would otherwise be bathed totally in the artificial, without access to a world beyond. Such concessions to design were unlikely however, given those whom constructed it, designed it so, and inhabited the building the room was part of.

Killthanus sat in front, upon an unremarkable steel chair and dedicating the full power of his intellect to the mindless display beyond the pane. His grey orbs did not dart from flake to flake even, or to observe each unique design and element - instead they were simply fixed to regard the entirety of the limited scope of the storm beyond, without comment or further explanation.

A high-pitched tone filled the air, previously silent save for the hum acting as the anthem of technology, shattering the peace the former Governor-General had enjoyed and relegating him to the bothersome duty of having to silence it.

“Enter,” he said, bothering not to either move from his chair, take gaze forcefully from the limited view, or offer better hospitality than simply allowing audience. Visitors were often and invariably uninterested in anything beyond his technological sustenance; a Kaeneian of composed of light fascinating, the Kaeneian beyond and within the stretching computational nodes held beyond the wall, mere baggage upon the scientific breakthrough.

Sophia passed through the relenting door, and paused momentarily as her own eyes mapped the not entirely spacious chamber before her; schematics and design plans unable to provide the mortal senses with the all-important third dimension of reality best for fully appreciating any enclosed space or structure.

“Killthanus?” She asked, negotiating a path around the central processing station which dominated the room and pausing a few short steps from the chair which sat the Kaeneian whom once occupied the very same office she now held - an irony not lost upon either party though best left silent and unmentioned.

Finally turning to stand, Killthanus relegated the chair from relevance. "Governor-General Byzainti, I am thankful you could grant me this impromptu audience - I understand, possibly more than any other currently, the difficulties in running your office.”

“It is neither problematic nor troublesome,” she began. “Duty not so important as to make this meeting impossible is always possible to postpone. I had intended myself to visit you once you had become more settled to your surroundings - change is something few of us enjoy.”

Pausing, Sophia’s brow furrowed. Realising what had prodded her subconscious now became realised, she addressed Killthanus as her gaze confirmed her worry. “Where is Melyanna? I have heard she rarely leaves your side, to the detriment of her own condition and well being.”

“I bid her to leave, and not to return until Sol greeted a new day that was not this one. She cannot continue in the fashion she has in past weeks - The Lady you and I once knew shall become as empty as my own physical existence should it continue, and I will not allow it so.”

Killthanus rose his hand to prevent Sophia retorting. "I have not asked you here to discuss Melyanna, Governor-General, but a topic of some controversy and possible difficulty that I feel regardless, must be addressed for my peace of mind and final happiness.”

“I am not best placed to aid you Killthanus - My personal experiences and education lie outside the Department Scientia and consequently I cannot understand fully your condition or the workings undertaken to better it. Perhaps you should converse with Supreme-Overseer Metrasci? She is a scientist of the highest intellect; the Union’s greatest mind perhaps.”

“She cannot help me, for it is not the expertise of technology I seek, but the absolute authority of the highest office of the Serene^Union. I have no interest in gathering scientific knowledge or setting forth a task to work that may take years to proliferate to relevance for me.”

Sophia sighed, rubbing fingertips upon a still-creased forehead. “I must ask you for more clarity in such case, for I cannot understand what precisely it is you require of me - my talents do not lie in deciphering the obtuse, Killthanus.”

For the first time in many weeks past, Killthanus’ lips curved slightly. Perhaps not a smile, for even amongst a Kaeneian as liberal as the former Governor-General had been, the events of his unfortunate demise could not allow such happiness. Instead it seemed a more ironic chuckle, and this did nothing to ease the non-existent understanding of his successor, stood opposite.

“Allow me to elaborate,” he began as he crossed to the central station. “I require you, as Governor-General of the Serene^Union and the united Provinces therein, to intercede and terminate my continued isomorphic projection as an affront to my quality of life - I wish you to give me the right to die, Sophia.”

There was no immediate reply, for the topic of conversation came from such absurdity-laden nothingness that the recipient was paralysed to answer. Azure eyes which had been intense with curiosity now diluted visibly, perhaps deeply regretting their desire for understanding had been sated in such an unpleasant manner.

Realising there could be no forthcoming action, Killthanus seized the initiative. “I did not realise such a driven and energetic young leader might be so silenced by a mundane request. Were you expecting a simple conversation on the weather? Or perhaps whether the building of a new gravport is necessary on the west seaboard?”

“I thought nothing so trivial,” Sophia snapped icily, causing Killthanus to better address his stance. “I was taken aback by the difficulty inherent in your request. You ask of me something deeply personal and questionable. Tell me - have you informed Melyanna?”

The holographic Kaeneian shook his head. “Now is not the time, I must set in motion events and when their ultimate course is sure, reveal to her where my fate now takes me. You know her condition Sophia - revealing what I have to you would have resulted in her very essence breaking; upon her heart amd mind. Not until I am ready, and I feel she is stable.”

“And you believe you are stable?” Sophia asked simply. She had ample access to the confidential psychiatric evaluations which had in fact, been presented to her as part of the condition of allowing Killthanus’ ‘resurrection’ of sorts to proceed.

He snorted audibly, “And what of it? Do you believe me incapable of reaching my a decision? Were it possible for me to eat, would you deny me a particular meat on the grounds of my instability? Can you understand what it is to be what I am?”

“I have seen the psychiatric reports of the Apothecaries, Killthanus. They speak of troubles, of your troubles and constant ill-temper. I will not mock you to say you believe they are incorrect; you are in struggle and terrible confliction - The person who asks this of me is not the Kaeneian I served with on the Aengelistoria Dominica, for he had a higher regard for life than that.”

“Precisely!” He bellowed, so surprisingly as to force the Governor-General unconsciously to form a more defensive stance. “I am not that same man Sophia! The Killthanus of which you speak lies beneath the frozen earth of the city of Solarri! He rots unto bone and putrid flesh and is no more! I am but a computer simulation of him, bereft of feeling or achievement and even something so basic as touch!”

Illustrating his point perhaps too finely, he stepped forward and brought his left arm sharply up, so as to strike the Kaeneian woman upon the cheek. Yet even as her facial muscles tightened in unconscious preparation for the blow, there was no contact. The entire hand losing all cohesion, and dissolving into a flurry of multi-coloured light so intense as to cause Sophia to stumble back, blinded with such a show scant inches from her eyes.

His entire spectral hand having passed through her skull, the phantom limb reformed, utterly identical to the very same hands of the Governor-General which had risen in self-defence and partial instinct. Her chest rising and falling rapidly at the sudden and frankly palpable assault, Sophia took moments to recover what composure had been lost in the frankly enraging use of implied violence.

“You are out of line Killthanus. Any further attempt to illustrate your point with crude and demeaning physical displays and I shall discontinue this conversation and ensure you are placed under constant psychiatric analysis, which will illustrate my point perfectly.”

“Of course Governor-General,” he acquiesced. “Yet perhaps in that moment of anger you felt before your training and practised suppression expunged such emotion, you understood my point. I can no sooner strike you than I can leave the boundaries of this chamber - For I do not exist beyond the isomorphic projectors embedded within these walls - I cannot ever be beyond where the bulky and impractical computational banks required to hold the tremendous numbers of nodes needed to facilitate my generation can travel. I am a ghost given grace by technology to remain - studied and constantly analysed, even perhaps appreciated but neither truly alive nor understanding of the fact I am dead.”

“Your point seems valid, however others will vehemently disagree. I can do nothing more than raise what you have asked for before the Aengelistoria Dominica. I will not utilise my supreme veto for game and triviality Killthanus - I must arrive at a consensus that ensures my personal feelings remain impartial.”

Killthanus simply nodded, and turned away to return to the seat he had occupied at the beginning of their exchange. The snow had fallen more thickly now, and he would be forced to have the window cleaned lest he lose his only link with the natural world beyond. It seemed cold today - Like the resting place of his body and his life truly lost.




Supreme-Justicar Henchoz placed the date node upon the expansive marble table before him, before the task lost to his grip with a warmed pail of water. Acquiring a glass, he poured and quenched the slight thirst that had bothered him for the hour previously. Scarcely having put the glass to tabletop, the Kaeneian was joined by one of his many peers, specifically the Supreme-Apothecary for the Union of Medicine and duly nodded in respect.

“I was not aware the Aengelistoria Dominica sat in session this day,” he announced, somewhat as greeting and somewhat as a method of obtaining the information he did not have as to why his schedule had been unexpectedly interrupted.

“You are correct Overseer,” Viktoria Annabel replied. "I had planned to travel to Byzantineri in preparation for the opening of a new hospital complex; my schedule was particularly unforgiving this sunrise.”

As they conversed, the remaining components of the Serene^Union’s supreme Legislative and Executive facet gathered, the Supreme-Overseers as well as varying special advisors, though Lady Melyanna was conspicuous in her absence from proceedings.

“I apologise for this unscheduled meeting,” Sophia began as she brought the Council to attention simply by entering the room. “I come before you with an issue that requires specialist legal knowledge and the full cooperation of the Union of Medicine, and the Department Scientia. All others are required in lieu of their opinions and individual expertise.”

Taking a seat at the head of the table, the Governor-General gestured to the date nodes that had been lain at the place of each Supreme-Overseer. Though they had gone untouched as a matter of respect until Sophia had bid it acceptable, they were now disseminated for reading and observation.

“I received a request, in my capacity as Governor-General of the Serene^Union, which I bring before the Aengelistoria Dominica. The former holder of my office, one Killthanus whom all here know and a small number intimately so, has requested the right to euthanasia; to be deactivated and his isomorphic survival curtailed - given the right to die.”

There was genuine surprise evident - Especially amongst the departments not directly concerned with the former Governor-General, such as Internal Administration, the Defence Solarri and Defence Terra. Opening the floor to comment, Sophia starkly warned the building headache with a mental monologue that such distractions were a pointless waste of time better spent through effort.

Viktoria Annabel, Supreme-Apothecary spoke first. “I must direct the Governor-General’s attention to the psychiatric reports of my own facet. It is the opinion of the most experienced Apothecaries of the Union that Killthanus is suffering from a number of psychological ailments ranging from clinical depression to possible paranoia.”

Sophia nodded, “You believe him incapable of decision making? That he is unable to understand his situation and thusly arrive at a conclusion that is rational, balanced and most importantly, understood in relation to the ramifications?”

“I cannot say he is incapable Governor-General,” she corrected. “He is regardless of condition, an intelligent and articulate individual. However due to the relative lack of information gathered on the psychological conditions endured by Isomorphic resurrection cases, I cannot believe Killthanus fully capable of discharging such a monumental decision.”

“The Department Scientia agrees with the Union of Medicine," Farri Metrasci, Supreme Overseer of the latter added. “Though I understand the difficulties in specifically Killthanus’ relative isolation in terms of location, the Department Scientia continues to dedicate enormous resources, time and energy to improving the Isomorphic technology. We further provide a total library access facility that includes literature, music and all manner of activities. Mental stimulation cannot be questioned to have been provided.”

“I do not believe the question is of mental stimulation, Supreme-Overseer Metrasci. It is one of Kaeneian essence, and a great philosophical dilemma. Do not allow your desire for progress and achievement cloud the fundamental rights of a Kaeneian.”

Sophia turned to address the Overseer whom had been called to the Council meeting in place of his superior Riordan Likonesse, on diplomatic mission to the Ring to attend a Cetagandan gathering, and whom had challenged his experienced superior from the Department Scientia.

“Your words are wise - we cannot limit this question to merely science, and technology. Questions of the essence of what makes us Kaeneian and truly alive, must be answered first in turn. You see now why this presented a situation I could not resolve alone - we must all strive to settle on an answer to this question.”

“Unfortunately Governor-General Byzainti,” Justicar Henchoz began in a tone that promised disappointment, “I believe the Code of Conduct cannot find reason to allow you the right to ask this question.”

Resolving to cure the puzzled expression before it evolved to question, Henchoz continued. “Kaeneian law does provide for Euthanasia - The Act of Supremacy pertaining to it is quite clear however in what constitutes the lawful ability of the State to intervene; ‘In the case of terminal illness or disability, where two or more Apothecaries of senior rank agree there can be no improvement nor quality of life, the State does grant the termination of life by any means determined by the patient and said Apothecaries to be acceptable in discharge.”

“In other words, the Act of Supremacy applies only to organic life. At no stage was it designed to deal with Electronic Entities, whom to this day it has indeed never been referred to, or something such as Isomorphic projection, which could not be fathomed in the day this act was scripted and passed.”

Sophia realised with hidden dejection that the Supreme-Justicar was scarcely wrong in opinion and never incorrect on the word of the law. Without such cover from the Act of Supremacy pertaining to Euthanasia any action taken to affirm Killthanus’ right to die would be no less than murder, and punishable as such.

“Then we cannot truly answer this question, and must continue as before.” commented Metrasci, though gracious, obvious in her approval that the Department Scientia and as extension the Union of Medicine would be allowed to continue their research and development.

“All is not beyond our capacity to change, Governor-General. Though amending the Act of Supremacy is possible, though a torturous and long process, the possibility of arbitration to allow an outside part jurisdiction might allow for what you ask to come to pass.”

Sophia was stunned, and took a moment to formulate a reply which did not immediately confirm or accept her state. “Is there precedence for this, Justicar?”

The senior Kaeneian nodded, “Though not in current history, before the Great Displacement there were indeed incidents of outside arbitration - Involving races and disputes outside of the Caelistis Gens Empire and such, outside their legal definition."

“Who would you suggest as arbitrators? Who would you trust the sovereignty of our own laws to and further hope they would be true and just in the pursuit of an answer, and not simply speedy resolution to the question at hand?”

Henchoz considered the words from Metrasci. “I believe the Triumvirate of Yut possess the infrastructure and reputation to make this a possibility. Further its wide range of member-nations ensure we shall cover the entire spectrum of knowledge."

Sophia nodded, her decision made despite the imminent protests of the Department Scientia. Turning to the Overseer who had first challenged his seniors, the Governor-General made her orders clear and concise; "Dispatch a message for the review of the Triumvirate and abridge all mentioned here - We shall ask for their arbitration, and their decision shall be ratified by myself for Kaeneian law thereafter.”

The chamber descended into structured debate and disagreement thereafter, though the autocratic nature of all that was within the Serene^Union ensured only personal statement, and personal belief made entry or record.


>>>Transmission to: [Triumvirate of Yut Communicative Facilities] VIA {Trium Data Network[s]} <<<
||From: The Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs; Diplomatic Juncture c/o The Spire Transmission Redundancies||
||Re: Formal Request for arbitration and legal consultation ||





On behalf of the Aengelistoria Dominica, represenging the Serene^Union and the united Provinces therein, do I request formally that the Triumvirate of Yut do consider a proposal, by the afore mentioned Council of the Union, to consider a request for legal arbitration in a matter of some delicacy.

Recent discussions by the Aengelistoria Dominica [Transcript File Attached] show the difficulties faced in reaching a decision to a request raised by the former Governor-General Killthanus, in regards to the continuance of his unique existance.

The Office for the Maintainance of Law informs duly no avenue in Kaeneian law permits us to find in favour and carry out the wishes of Killthanus should a trial of sorts be conducted and found in his favour. Becuase of this inability it is impossible to hold a Kaeneian-only legal trial when one verdict cannot be reached, and as such we request the assistance of the Triumvirate in this matter.

We propose that the Triumvirate supply neutral location, final judge and logistics with the first and third to be compensated by the Serene^Union if required. We secondly add a suggestion for a "Jury" of sorts to be composed by representatives of Triumvirate Signatories, up to a suggested number of twelve.

Whilst we acknowledge the Triumvirate of Yut cannot normally pass such decision legally upon sovereign member-nations, The Aengelistoria Dominica recognises the uniqueness of this situation and swears truthfully to uphold the outcomes, suggestions and decisions of any panel or jury.

I declare this valid, on the Twenty-First Sunrise of the Tenth Period, in the year of Earth Ascension Five Hundred Seventeen, in my capacity as Overseer of the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs.

Myria Vesitas, Overseer of the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs, acting on behalf of The Aengelistoria Dominica.

Reviewed, and found to be agreeable in content, aim and purpose by the office of the Governor-General Sophia Byzainti; the Twenty-First Sunrise of the Tenth Period, in the year of Earth Ascension Five Hundred Seventeen is this document transmitted with supreme authorisation.

This comes as something of a surprise to the de facto leadership of the Triumvirate.

"Well, that's unprecidented," Garbo says with a raised eyebrow, leaning over the broad shoulder of the seated kzin to better see the electronic correspondance on the desk's screen. The aforementioned 'tosh, shifting silently to politely accomodate his intelligence advisor, nods shortly before glancing up at his oldest--in more ways than one--friend.

"Beats me, Speeks," Julius Razak replies, folding his arms and frowning before his face pulls an inversion and smirks wryly. "It's basically a more personal version of an international arbitration, which we've done before through the DiploCorps." He glances at Nadjiba. "SPIR is purely executive law enforcement, no judicial. Other than the internal uniformed justice systems, the Trium's got no central body appropriate."

"I know, Julie. Hrrr." Speaker sniffs the air quietly in thought, folding his broad hands. "This request may be different, but they are still asking for our help. Options."

The last word and the order it suggests is implicitly understood; Abd-Al-Haqq is the first one to step up to its demands. "We're neutral when it comes to Kaenei, but in a friendly way. The Kaeneians have always been aloof so the greater public sentiment is an appropriately idealistic desire to get to know them better. We can offer ourselves as neutral territory."

Razak nods. "As the laws go, we're libertarian when it comes to euthanasia--personal choice and all that. Worst I can see happening is if this gets leaked is a few contest-protests outside whatever courthouse between the hands-off, the hippies, the mercy-killers and the pious." His smirk grows wryer. "It's business as usual here, but I'm sure the Dread Lady and Treznor Show would be simply aghast at our traitorous populace."

The Supreme Emperor nods. "Police aspect?"

"None, except for SITSEC. You know how our protestors are, Speeks. Quiet, orderly, and keeping any fisticuffs inside the dedicated mosh pit, which is more of a function of whatever band is playing than anything else."

"Right. I will make the offer." Speaker-Rrit glances across his assembled command staff with his yellow-hued eyes. "Options for a judge or jurist?"

"I think we should hold off on stepping forward to reccomend a judge quite yet," Nadjiba says. "The judge will be representing the entire Triumvirate and so going ahead without murmurs of approval from the Council would be... assuming?"

"And a jurist?"

"I'd almost suggest sending Mullah Kadira," Garbo says. This coming from the most avowedly athiest on staff gets him more than a few odd looks. "What? The Murshid's a level-headed lady--most neutral person I know, invisible pink unicorns aside."

"I agree she'd be a good choice, but her innate bias would tend to push her towards life," Hertzfeldt muses, idly stroking his chin in thought. "I have a feeling that if we nominated her, she'd recuse herself. Given the nature of spirituality in this country, I doubt we could find anyone who wasn't slanted one way or the other, so rationality's the best thing we could hope for in a juror. Even our athiests are religious." Wink to Garbo, who just chuckles.

Nodding with a sense of finality, Speaker starts typing up a response even as the discussion continues.

* - * - *

--<Transmission Type: Standard Diplomatic Communique>--
-<Sender: Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit, FSS>-
-<Destination: Governor-General Sophia Byzainti, SUoK>-
--<Subject: Re: Arbitration>--

We are honored by the trust you show in asking us to assist you in this matter. Understanding the difficulties inherent in this issue, we step forward to offer the Segments as a neutral meeting place for the arbitration. Our government believes euthanasia to be a matter of personal choice dependent upon circumstances and our people's opinions are mixed based on their beliefs. Over all, however, we hold dear that any such question should be approached rationally as best as possible.

We are still searching for a potential juror to add to the pool--while we cannot promise anyone perfectly unbiased, we will do our best to find someone who will look at the problem rationally and decide upon the conclusions they derive from reason.

On the matter of a judge, we are willing to provide one but believe that, since the judge will represent the Triumvirate as a whole, it should be a decision made jointly with our counterparts on the Council.

We can only hope this helps somewhat. Please let us know if we can do more.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/speaker-to-animals.gifSupreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit
Chief of State
Federated Segments of Scolopendra

--<End Transmission>--

During the whole meeting, S.H.O.D.A.N. sits on the couch rather than lies on it--to make room for Kerrigan to sit--and listens idly. Simultaneously, a different node on Rhea reads the same missive and calls together a few more to literally bounce ideas between herself.

Quite possibly unsurprisingly, the Gestalt is not entirely homogenous due to every individual node's slightly different immediate environment. This allows individual nodes to debate each other and come to different solutions to the same problem, aiding in internal decisionmaking by opening options... on the other hand, because all experiences are shared, the Gestalt as a whole can quickly file all these different options down into the optimal one.

What to do? Send a juror, of course. Send herself, or send a citizen? If a citizen, mechanoid or organic? The organic angle will be covered by other Triumvirate nations, undoubtedly, so the chance for mechanoid representation should not be given away in the hope of appeasing the small but growing discontent amongst the organic citizenry of Mars that consider themselves second-class citizens. It is only due to their choice, after all... If she sends herself, that would work to represent the 'government feelings' of the Queendom but would not be best for being properly representative of the Queendom as a whole. Then again, 'properly' representative would require a mind coldly unsympathetic to organic needs, which wouldn't do to begin with.

That takes R-Levi out of the running. Good. Killthanus' current state is slightly the mechanoid queen's doing, and so she has a vested interest (as well as previous experience in termination) that would necessarily shift her to the life argument however it would be argued. Temporary dissatisfaction with a life fully capable of improvement is insufficient qualification for euthanasia and the likelihood of convincing S.H.O.D.A.N. that this is based on any more than Killthanus' being mopey is on a very low order of probability. That would make her participation decidedly unfair because she would not under any rational circumstance choose otherwise without extreme evidence to sway her judgement otherwise.

Might as well leave it up to the populace, then. Smiling wryly to herself--a wry issue it is, someone living wishing death, having been there before and not particularly desiring to feel sympathy pain at the moment--she slaps an announcement on GLONET channels generally reserved for civil action notices such as opinion referendums on various issues.

<PUBLIC NOTICE (GLONET)>
{
<< FROM: Master Control Program S.H.O.D.A.N. v3.0
<< SUBJECT: Arbitration in Euthanasia Case
<< APPLICABLE: All GLONET-capable networked minds

...that at least opens it up to the conversions on Mars, Shodey thinks with a soft smile.

<< SITUATION: A foreign official of note (FON) desires the right to be euthanized. The current statutes of the Nation this official serves do not cover the FON's status and so it cannot be arbitrated legally within its own sovereign system without the passage of new laws, which would be considered ex post facto and thus unapplicable to this case. Therefore, the Nation requests external arbitration from a judge and jury made of neutral individuals from across the Triumvirate.

<< NEEDS STATEMENT: The MCP requests applications from all interested parties. All applicants must:
1) Fill out all appropriate personal information and reasons for interest, including a self-appraisal of current positions on the issue of euthanasia. The MCP wishes to make it thoroughly clear that for these purposes "euthanasia" should be defined as "the termination and subsequent eternal nullification of a sentience by means of voluntary action on the part of that sentience or its trusted advocates, the desire of and volition into that termination making it distinctively different from morally/ethically negative 'murder' or morally/ethically negative 'killing.'" The morality and ethicality of euthanasia is not defined by the MCP in this case, rendering current Queendom local opinion and jurisprudential history on the issue irrelevant to the current case.
2) Fill out the appropriate 500-question motivation and psychology assessment associated with their mode of sentience and PDL-profile/species as decided by NETSEC. This will be correlated to the application and any applications containing errors exceeding a single standard deviation will be immediately disqualified.
3) Provide information of any experience or qualification in jurisprudential matters including but not limited to formal education, informal study, formal/informal experiments, and publications. References will be checked and education will be assessed with random testing to ensure no artificial inflation of qualifications occurs.
<< FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS: Await confirmation and further orders from the MCP. Estimated processing time of each application is thirty-eight nanoseconds, barring excessive network load. After a collection period of twenty-four hours all acceptable applications will be ranked and a number (to be specified) of the top scores will be contacted to attend immediate diplomatic briefing concerning the Nation in question. Be prepared for a final personal interview.

Twenty-four hours... could do it in minutes, but we must give the organics time to react. S.H.O.D.A.N.'s voluntary self-image chuckles in its sea of data. My, how things change.

<< Thank you for your attention.
}

S.H.O.D.A.N. v3.0 : MCP

This was a problematic request at best. In truth, the first thing that came to Nathicana’s mind was why on earth could he not be re-engineered and given a physical body of some sort, if that was what was lacking? She had every faith in her sister-in-mind’s abilities, given there was little she thought Shodey incapable of. Granted, she didn’t understand the mechanics of it all, but having seen first hand the miracles she could work …

The other question was if time was what was required to develop what was needed to improve the quality of life, would a person not want to take that chance? The idea of simply giving up was a foreign one to her, as hard as she had had to fight for so much in her life. The one time she could think of had been an extreme circumstance, and she dismissed it quickly, not wanting to dwell on it. She couldn’t forget, but at least she could pretend for a while that such thoughts had never entered her mind. After all, the situation in question now was entirely different. Wasn’t it?

Regardless, it was a subject she was uncomfortable with addressing, especially while sitting on a panel of people. She had no problem with condemning the deserving to death, but the idea of doing so for an ally who had lost the will to live was distasteful for some reason.

The difficulty was, she had the power to sway at least their part of the vote, depending on who she sent. Anyone from the Church would obviously vote against. Any of the pragmatists would vote yes, given that if it was requested, why deny it? Many of the more scientifically minded would likely argue against, given the unique opportunity for study he presented. Yet she couldn’t in good faith ignore the request entirely. Someone who was capable of balancing the mix, who placed enough value in their own hides to have a healthy sense of self-preservation, yet not so hung up on the ‘sanctity of life’ that they couldn’t grasp the motivation behind the request.

Nathi paused only a moment before picking up her phone and hitting one of her many programmed quick-dials.

“Cesare, could you meet me in my office in say, a half hour? I’ve an interesting request that I’d like you to consider …”

----- - ----- - ----- - ----- - -----

--<Transmission Type: Standard Diplomatic Communique >--
-<Sender: Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto, DDLN>-
-<Destination: Governor-General Sophia Byzainti, SUoK >-
--<RE: Request for Arbitration>--

It is with regret that I write in response to the unfortunate circumstances that have prompted your request, and are honored that you would trust us with so delicate a decision. Given this, I have taken great care in selecting a representative to assist in this endeavor. Please accept my Chancellor, Cesare Calabrese, as a member of the judiciary council. He has my every confidence to give fair, even-minded consideration in this matter.

With respect, and in hopes that a satisfactory solution will be found,

--Nathicana D’Aquisto, Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion

--<End Transmission>--

<Habakkuk> [forwarded message]
<Elijah> A curious choice of first message.
<Habakkuk> Indeed it is, but I do not choose what is handed to me.
<Elijah> Yes, yes. How could it come to this? Between the abilities of the various member nations, why is he still stuck as a projection?
<Habakkuk> I don't know, but that's not really the issue at this stage.
<Elijah> True. Very well, toss your hat in; you're our representative, after all.
<Habakkuk> Understood. I'm sure the possibility of creating a body will be mentioned anyway.

--<Transmission Type: Standard Diplomatic Communique >--
-<Sender: Ambassador Habakkuk, FMD of the Caloris Basin>-
-<Destination: Governor-General Sophia Byzainti, SUoK >-
--<RE: Request for Arbitration>--

While a new member to this organization, I feel that we may be able to offer a unique perspective on a situation such as this. Being the Basin's representative, I offer myself as a potential juror.

It is impossible for any sentient to be truly unbiased, but I believe that I will be able to judge strictly on what is presented to me, personal opinions aside. If there is anything further that the Demesne can offer, please do not hesitate to ask.

--Habakkuk, Ambassador to the Triumvirate
The Federated Mercurial Demesne of The Caloris Basin

--<End Transmission>--

Sophia allowed the final drops of the warmed water to trickle from the still-misted glass, before replacing it upon the table where it would be relegated to clutter, and nonsense. Savouring the refreshing, if tasteless liquid, she flexed a hand and ran fingertips over the access panel mounted atop the desk.

“Computer, define sentience.” she asked, ensuring the voice-recognition system had been activated, designed as it was to ensure idle conversation was not mistaken for direct command and to remove frivolous interactions.

The reply was sterile, lacking the myriad of questions asked of the subject at hand. “There are four thousand one hundred eleven definitions of sentience within database.”

The Governor-General nodded, her eyelids drooping slightly as conscious thought took on a more distant, and complex tone. Such a seemingly generic response had in fact truly typified the difficult situation that lay ahead - the question of sentience, or what defines life or to that end what defines the right to end it, were all complex moral and philosophical questions all too often ignored for their discomfort and difficulty.

Sophia was forced to put aside her difficult internal debate with the soft alert tone radiating through her office alerted her to an official visitation. Signalling upon her access unit she was fit to commence with a discussion, the large double doors granting sole access and departure opened somewhat to admit one.

“Pleasant Sunrise Governor-General Byzainti,” began the temporary head of the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs. "My Office has received several communiqués from Triumvirate members ascertaining to your planned arbitration, which I bring for your examination now.”

Sophia nodded, taking the offered data nodes and arranging them officially in order of date received upon her desk. Quickly she took in the information on the first, from the Federated Segments and regarding their acceptance of her request and offerings of neutral venue - the first barrier overcome in establishing the physical existence of the arbitration.

The second from The Dominion, from no less a grandiose position than the Dread Lady herself; though not in attendance, a trusted second would be offered and accepted with the suggestion of great wisdom and ability to see through the difficult course ahead. “What function does their Chancellor fulfil?”

The Grand Overseer replied with practised familiarisation, "One Cesare Calabrese Governor-General, performs a similar role to our currently vacant position of Overseer Aengelis. He is directly beneath the Imperiatrice and in essence carries out the day-to-day running of The Dominion itself - he is a considerably important figure.”

Sophia took considerably longer over the third data node. “The Caloris Basin? They are a somewhat unknown element , to coin a Human phrase; ‘the ink has barely dried on their acceptance notification’ in regards to the Triumvirate. They are clearly however in an excellent position to offer an electronic perspective.”

The Office of Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs can offer little background information,” he replied almost sorrowfully. “We have yet to undertake any contact or official action in regards to their government; though this will change if they do indeed send a representative.”

Placing the nodes to the side, the Governor-General pondered. “I see little reason against and no instinct prevailing as to why any of these applicants should be rejected, with the excellent balance of the organic and machine all vantage points would seem fulfilled.”

She stood, continuing her train of thought. "I wish this arbitration to begin with all haste, Grand Overseer - this situation does not bode well where logistics drag onwards and delays are incessant. I shall therefore travel to the Federated Segments personally to oversee preparations, and satisfy myself we are proceeding.”

“Surely it would be more prudent for myself to attend, Governor-General? You are required constantly by the Aengelistoria Dominica, and never before has one of your stature and office taken leave of the lands of the Union; delegation is a task you have handled well - why alter such a stance and take a burden upon yourself?”

“This entire chain of events starts not with yourself, nor the Segments nor the Chancellor of The Dominion. It does not start with a hushed whisper or a screaming demand but does instead germinate from a request made of myself. This arbitration was requested by myself, these applicants seeking to answer my own personal call. I am more responsible for what occurs here than any mere facet of governance.”

“I respect and understand your decision, it shall be done immediately. I shall prepare transmissions to be sent out at once requesting of the Segments their allowance to your visit, and to the applicants thus received.”

Sophia shook her head, “I shall prepare the transmissions personally, from my office, without the interjection of your department.”

The Grand Overseer nodded, even as he turned to leave his superior’s presence. “I understand further, Governor-General. If I can be of further assistance I shall endeavour to do my upmost in stead of my superior.”










>>>Transmission to: [Triumvirate of Yut Communicative Facilities] VIA {Trium Data Network[s]}(The Federated Segments) <<<
||From: The Office of the Governor-General of the Serene^Union and United Provinced therein; Diplomatic Juncture c/o The Spire Transmission Redundancies||
||Re: A response ||


[I]



Please excuse the relative intimacy of a personal correspondence, Supreme-Emperor Speaker-Rrit; with the intense delicacy of the current situation which saw me seek your assistance initially, I did not wish to delegate the task of accepting your kind offer to the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs and see an insufficient effort made at thanks fully deserved.

I personally accept your invitation as neutral territory and can confirm a number of applications received from various Triumvirate nations regarding juror positions - whilst I take no pleasure in upending these individuals their talents are sorely needed by myself to solve this unfortunate plight.

Further, I seek permission to visit the Segments, to that I might see for myself not simply the territory for arbitration, but to meet those who would extend so readily the grateful hand of assistance. Such a supposedly simple diplomatic exchange has rather worried my own Foreign Affairs department, whom do not seem to believe I can be trusted to survive a ‘foreign expedition’.

I look forward with appreciation to your decision.

Governor-General Sophia Byzainti.









>>>Transmission to: [Triumvirate of Yut Communicative Facilities] VIA {Trium Data Network[s]}(The Dominion) <<<
||From: The Office of the Governor-General of the Serene^Union and United Provinced therein; Diplomatic Juncture c/o The Spire Transmission Redundancies||
||Re: A response ||


[I]



My personal appreciation, Imperiatrice Nathicana, on the haste you have shown in offering your services in regards to my request for arbitration from Triumvirate members, urgency in this unique situation is required and your swift response greatly conducive to my efforts.

I would be thankful to welcome your esteemed Chancellor Calabrese as the official representative in this matter to your Dominion - indeed such is the personal importance of this situation to myself I shall be personally attending in my capacity as Governor-General and look forward to learning more of this man. My only true regret being it must be in this unfortunate situation and not of my own volition or request.

I hope to share more correspondence with you, perhaps in time not so driven by the unpleasantness of those questions one would rather consign to silence and oblivion, than answer in the harsh light of Sol and her many observers.

Yours faithfully,

Governor-General Sophia Byzainti.







>>>Transmission to: [Triumvirate of Yut Communicative Facilities] VIA {Trium Data Network[s]}(The Caloris Basin) <<<
||From: The Office of the Governor-General of the Serene^Union and United Provinced therein; Diplomatic Juncture c/o The Spire Transmission Redundancies||
||Re: A response ||


[I]



Despite our lack of interaction, please accept my sincere appreciation for the timely response to my request. I would be pleased to see the electronic consensus added to the decision reached at the arbitration - vitally important as it is to see all types of viewpoint recognised, and represented.

I look forward to your attendance.

Governor-General Sophia Byzainti.

A short, indefinably ugly man stares at the screen before him, his jaw partly open as though he can't believe what he's reading. Largely because he can't. He prides himself on paying attention to the world around him and being able to predict trends before they turn into events, but this time he's caught completely off-guard. All of his interactions and intelligence on the Kaeneian people said they were utterly insular, interested in only that which would protect their rigidly controlled society.

This is...unprecedented. He has never heard of a nation to request such arbitration, particularly not one that holds its sovereign rights so dear. Internal matters are to be decided internally. Whether or not anyone even hears about it is a matter for the government to decide, even if it was a decision to not impede the media. He himself would never allow such a thing to slip outside his borders on an official level.

He touches a button on his desk. "Alex. I want Ben and Mark in my office right away."

"At once, Majesty." Good old Alex, always reliable.

It doesn't take long before the requested gentlemen arrive. It helps that their offices are one floor above him.

"What's up, Sir?" Ben Vitner asks companionably as he takes his seat. His fellow Minister, Mark Tennenbaum sits down with considerably less aplomb. For all that he's done to demonstrate his loyalty and reliability, he's considerably less comfortable in the hot seat than his counterpart.

"Have you seen the request made by the Governor-General of Kaenei?"

"Yes, Majesty. Seemed pretty damned odd to me, but they are aliens after all."

Ben exchanges looks with Treznor. Mark has no idea what he's talking about, a dangerous proposition at best. Ben catches the expression on the Emperor's face and shakes his head slightly. The Emperor is clearly upset, and his temper is rising. That's never good.

"Sir, I think we ought to send a representative."

Treznor nods. "I agree, Ben. I dont think the Governor-General realises exactly what kind of powderkeg she's sitting on. This sends a very bad message to the world, that the Serene^Union is incapable of ruling themselves." The pause between the words "Serene" and "Union" comes automatically.

"Blood in the water," Ben agrees.

A look of comprehension dawns on Mark's face. "You want me to send a representative to vote 'no.'"

Treznor scowls. "I mean no such thing. I am not going to be complicit in attempting to sway such a public forum. Send someone photogenic and open-minded. I'd love to send Grant and his team, but I'm afraid Grant is the wrong person for the job. Most of all, I want to see if we can get an audience with Byzainti and see if we can figure out what in the world is going through her mind."

"If I may, Majesty," Mark bows slightly. "Given those criteria, I believe Sir James' team would be perfect for it. No one can bluster on like him, while Ambassador Ravon can approach the Governor-General in private. We can accomplish both missions at once."

Ben relaxes as he sees Treznor's reaction. Mark's chances of walking out of the office alive have improved considerably. "I agree with him, Sir. Catherine has the best chance of discovering the heart of this matter. She might want to do some digging before she approaches the Governor-General. Despite our alliance to them through two organisations, they're as much a mystery to us as what happened to the Allaneans when they went to the bottom of the sea."

Treznor snorts. "Point. Fine, I'll leave that in your hands. However this trial turns out, I expect good intel from both of you."

"Yes, Sir." Ben recognises the implicit dismissal and nudges Mark with his elbow. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it. Thank you for your time."

"Not a problem, Majesty. I'll make sure Grant and his team have their orders within the hour."

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate standard
Broadcast type: diplomatic
To: Governor-General Sophia Byzainti, Serene^Union of Kaenei
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Mark Tennenbaum - Treznor

It would please us to send Ambassador the Honourable Sir James Grant and his associates to this event. We believe the Ambassador will be able to provide a fair and impartial judgment as you have requested.

We look forward to further cooperation with you and your people.

Mark Tennenbaum
Minister for Foreign Affairs
Empire of Treznor
<end transmission>

The Office of Governor-General was that of the highest privilege and executive power—atop the head of the Aengelistoria Dominica and supremely responsible for the teeming billions, whose lives were not merely influenced buy formed, altered and ultimately ended by the dominant facet of governance which decided upon the politics of the Serene^Union with scant regards to such liberal concepts as democracy.

Irony made good company for frustration then, as the current incumbent Sophia Byzainti found herself rather at a loss to make herself useful aboard a starship whose every meticulous need and want was serviced with unsurprisingly military efficiency. That the supreme power of the land could find no meaningful way to pass the time was testament to both the efficiency of her ship’s crew, and the need for a psyche preoccupied with the abnormal to enjoy the cleansing nature of simple manual labour.

The expansive window a scant few metres from her perched form granted an uninteresting view from within; the glittering of light a million Terran years old and from stars now little brighter than the void between their more noticeable brethren. Sophia could not help but be certain this was as the sea between stars was best portrayed—an incalculably vast emptiness dotted only sparingly with the flicker of intelligence and creativity, and to force upon the former the value of the latter and perhaps in some small way, the true value of their own existence and realisation of.

Traversing the small distance from window-ledge to bedroom, Sophia retrieved the innocuous brush laid so perfectly in kindred with the minimal cosmetics demanded in the pursuit of hygiene and good-appearance. Such was the sterility of even Kaeneian privacy; everything exists to be given a place, from the inanimate to the incomprehensible.

Thoughts turned from such monotonous activity, towards the matter more at hand. Scarcely two days had passed in their transit towards Titan, jewel of the Triumvirate crown and the site for which the arbitration, as historical an event in the foreign affairs of the Union as probably imaginable. Deep within the bowels of the K.D.V. Khandrii, where the enlistee would not be permitted to set foot, and the navigator saw no reason to tread, the reason for their journey stood and felt burdensome as though the vast cargo facilities of the Sorrowful class starship had been filled to intolerable fullness.

Yet again, ironically, the cargo in question held no true physical presence—photons, the stuff of light and imagery; visible, bright, vivid yet no more real than the glow of an illuminated bulb could be swatted away without simply switching off. For such slightness the mass of equipment and scientific expertise required to maintain such a status quo demanded a second gaze from dumfounded eyes, draining enormous resources from the Khandrii’s onboard Electronic Essence furthermore.

A gentle, though persistent chime passed through the air, alerting the Governor-General to a communications channel which requested her attention. Replacing the brush to tabletop, Sophia re-entered the main portion of the cabin, to the study desk provided, and sat whilst making the link functional.

“Governor-General Byzainti, we have completed final preparations for onboard isomorphic projection; Ezri-Khandrii informs me she has dedicated a sufficient percentage of runtime to allow Killthanus’ generation without impacting shipboard functions adversely.”

“Await my arrival before commencing activation,” Sophia ordered. “I shall be party to this journey and burden in its entirety; from beginning to an end I am hopeful will not be long in coming, one way or another.”

Terminating the link following acknowledgement, the Kaeneian woman allowed her shoulders to sag somewhat in expectation of an unsurprisingly stoic reception; she was as ever reminded by the world surrounding, not Governor-General to elicit popular approval, but to guide the Union as she and the Aengelistoria Dominica best decreed—not always to the approval of those such as Killthanus.


Sleep lacked the perfection of binary; interruptible, prone to loss and above all else, lacking the static environment which much like a prison cell might greet the interned in an identical way each morning, made for a constant, if uninteresting existence.

Eyes flickered open and immediately registered their strong dislike at being roused to action by higher functions, unfocused and reeling as the poor lighting of a chamber slumbering alongside its occupant made for surroundings difficult to recognise.

A rough palm forced wayward blonde tresses from sight, cast back as they were from a brow furrowing as consciousness coursed through veins and angrily bade the numbing sensations of sleep to depart. Crushed fabric intertwined with wriggling toes as an entire foot rose slowly from the bed, and back to its comforting embrace once more. A soft gasp escaped formerly slumbering lips, and the figure sat up wearily.

Melyanna relaxed her shoulders, forbidding the creeping cramp from advancing any further, before pulling her tussled hair into a rough bunch and depositing it over her shoulder, and distraction. Climbing to feet the Elven Lady’s first pause came before the expansive bay window of her quarters, opaque as they were in their nocturnal mode.

As the screen protection dissipated, the first rays of Sol flooded the room, dispersed greatly as they were by the clustered spires of the Serene^Union’s capital city surrounding and the lightest shimmering of increasing snowfall. Piercing the arctic landscape, navigational beacons glimmered in uniform patterns seen possibly as warming, though utterly machine-like in their repetition.

Departing the scene Melyanna entered the bathroom, pausing before the mirror mounted above the sink, which illuminated on detecting her presence. Cupping hands beneath the tap, she collected the cool water, kept only above what would otherwise see it become laden with ice, before splashing it gingerly upon her features.

Looking once more upon the face reflected so by polished glass, her shoulders sagged. Lines had long now creased her alabaster flesh; worry, foreboding and hesitancy playing their seemingly endless game across her drawn brow, and today would see another round played to frustrating impasse.

She would visit Killthanus again, this evening to pass, for what would prove undoubtedly another frustrated few hours spent trying to help the disturbed Kaeneian through the transition from the physical to the pseudo-physical; touch to imagination only and perception to memory alone. Melyanna had grown to fear the course her beloved was charting into despair—unwilling or unable to deal with the soul-wrenching reality of his existence and instead continuing as though he were of the same stuff as the Elf; flesh, blood, synapses and skin to touch, and hold.


The chime of entry requested flittered through the chamber and the quarters as a whole, rousing Melyanna from her reluctant and despairing thoughts. Dabbing a towel against the remaining trickles of water, and occasional tear, she rose to answer the newcomer. Retrieving a non-descript band she tied her hair firmly and made herself barely presentable.

The Kaeneian standing a respectful distance from the doorframe removed his hat, recognisable as military-issue without having to gaze upon the obviously styled black uniform worn additionally. Melyanna studied the identifying rank and departmental badge pinned to the breast of the uniform jacket, identifying the Guardian before her as from the Defence Solarri. Two white bands in close proximity on each sleeve, interrupted by the unmistakable phoenix-styled logo of the Aengelistoria Dominica, roused a memory; she had seen the marking before.

Having waited an acceptable amount of time to address his recipient, the Kaeneian spoke with a voice so well practiced in neutrality any forthcoming contents would have to remain unknown; “May I converse with you in private my Lady?”

Melyanna nodded, standing aside so that he might enter freely. She sealed the door, almost absent-mindedly, before watching the Kaeneian Officer attempt to decide quickly whether he would stand, or elect to sit. She recognised the latter as an attempt to make her feel at ease, though the fashion at which he sat, back impossibly straight and almost perched as a cat might be moments before erupting into activity, brought seldom if welcomed amusement. “What transgression has brought me to the attention of the Serene^Union’s Armed Forces?”

“It is neither a transgression nor breach of conduct Lady,” he began. “I act on the direct orders of the Governor-General, Sophia Byzainti. I must bring to your attention a matter to which great delicacy is required, and indeed as part of such a situation the Governor-General cannot herself give you this information.”

Pausing only long enough for Melyanna to process her thoughts but not retort, he produced a discreet data node, the dark case colouring indicating a non-civilian use and clearance requirement. “This is for your eyes only, Lady. I can only answer the barest of questions you might have, for I am neither authorised nor inclined to delve deeper.”

Taking the proffered pad, the weary Melyanna focused on the contents, having allowed the necessary automated security confirmation to proceed. Only the barest moments were required to allow her keen, if somewhat fragmented intellect to ascertain the contents and direction. Her eyes fixed upon the Guardian, the gaze fluctuating between withering anger and pleading sorrow.

“They are the direct orders of the Governor-General Lady Melyanna,” he quickly retorted to pre-empt her quivering lip. “Furthermore by direct authorisation of her Office I hereby revoke your travel entitlement and must confine you to the Capital, without privileges to leave the Solarri Defence Sphere.”

“He needs me!” She almost spat in response, “You cannot wrench him from my touch and abruptly vanish from this world for another! Is this evolved Kaeneian sense and fairness? I challenge your intent not to force my weeping. I cannot imagine Sophia acting as she has now, and so clouding my future.”

The Guardian stood, “This is not for discussion, my Lady—the decision has been made and it shall stand until such time as it is countermanded. Directing your rage at me is understandable but not beneficial, for I can no more aid you than I can ignore the orders given to me so. I bid you good day, and profitability.”

Melyanna tried the logical, the astute and sincere; failing as they did so to prevent the Officer leaving with the pad he had arrived armed with, amended to show her refusal to follow the order laid down. She had pitifully pleaded, despite knowing he stood little chance of being moved by the emotion, only made uncomfortable, even hardened to it.

Therefore, she was thusly reduced to the sole remaining option, tested by the march of time across a billion civilisations and an incalculable number of individual tragedies. Melyanna cried—for her helplessness, for Killthanus’ future or lack thereof, and the loneliness of the capital of a Union as cold as the snow that surrounded its secluded capital.

“Saturnian defence perimeter beacon reached, Titan aerospace directorate notified of our impending arrival and relevant security information—estimated time of arrival to orbit thirty minutes. Upon reaching our destination we are being instructed to make our target for orbit-to-surface transfer the Al Mahdi aerospace base.”

The First Command-Overseer nodded, absorbing the report of his helmsman from his position in observance of the entire command bridge. He resisted the thoroughly unprofessional urge to fidget; keen reflexes perhaps chafing under an otherwise rudimentary transport mission hardly worthy of the efforts of the Second Fleet’s Flagship were it not for the sensitive and vitally important passenger aboard.

An almost imperceptible shudder in the deck plating beneath the command throne told Mawai of the partial deactivation of the Khandrii’s weapon systems; trust partially passed to the formidable defences encircling the home of the Triumvirate of Yut and seat of Saturnian power. Readdressing the crewmember that had begun his current train of thought, the Command-Overseer gave orders.

“Inform the Governor-General of our impending arrival at Titan personally, without the use of intra-ship communications. I believe she is still undertaking a task and would value the time to complete final preparations.”

Pausing only to return the curt nod from the departing helmsman’s replacement, Mawai tightened and relaxed the knuckles of his unoccupied hands. He would be relieved when this period of important diplomacy, but considerable inactivity, came to an end and freed his ship and crew to tasks more suited if slightly less delicate than his Saturnian purpose.

Sophia watched impassively as the fluctuating, flurrying ribbons of energy crashed haphazardly against the wall and their containment field, unwilling or unable to form a cohesive single entity without reacting violently. Moments passed, and eventually, semblance of order came as the distinct tracks of light found their goal’s end. As the familiar form of Killthanus solidified into existence, Sophia’s attention transferred to the crewmember pausing a short distance before to deliver news.

“We shall arrive at Titan within the hour,” she began with clipped deliverance. “Adepts of the Department Scientia and the Union of Medicine will arrive shortly to begin the disassembly of the equipment maintaining your isomorphic form, and preside over its transference to the surface. After your generation is discontinued, we shall not see one another, nor will you see those not elected to your prosecution, until such time as the arbitration is concluded.”

She gestured to the Adept stood to her right, data node held waiting in hand. “It remains now, for the formalities of record-keeping to be completed. Have you selected your prosecution, and any witnesses not already aboard this vessel?”

Killthanus did not answer immediately, observing the new, if not entirely unrelated surroundings of the science suite. “I shall require no Kaeneian personnel—I will be representing myself directly. However, I do wish a witness to be obtained from Earth for my use in prosecution; Melyanna.”

Sophia straightened slightly; “You cannot be content with such current upheaval? Is it not enough that she is distraught to tears, and now must be used to help you argue for your own destruction? I cannot help but wonder if you are truly considering the implications of what you ask.”

“I have had all the timeless imprisonment of electronic oblivion to ponder it, Sophia. Whilst what now artificially acts as my heart feels true sorrow for her pain, I cannot dismiss the fact her testimony will prove damning insight into precisely what my nature has limited me to become.”

The Governor-General shook her head; “I do not think it will be as one-sided as you believe, Killthanus. Melyanna is conflicted and deeply upset—can you be so sure the answers she will give are the ones you long to hear, and to act upon? Recall that the Defence has the right to question any of your witnesses under Kaeneian code of conduct.”

“I understand,” he replied simply. “I officially lodge my desire to bring Melyanna to Titan to act primarily, as key witness for the prosecution. Furthermore I will require the technical assistance necessary to allow me full access to the Triumvirate data-networks that my current form leaves me impotent to effect.”

Sophia nodded to the adept accompanying her, as he began to transcribe the legal documentation. Finding little left to discuss and still less will within her to prolong their discourse, the Governor-General turned to depart, pausing only long enough to meet the gaze of Killthanus. “Irrelevant of the outcome of this arbitration, you shall have an answer worthy of your stature—as to whether you shall be pleased, is to your own creativity upon strangers to convince.”




Free from the complex distractions assailing her builders and crew, the K.D.V. Khandrii effortlessly completed the sequence of thruster firings necessary to achieve her orbit around the immense moon of Saturn, Titan. Where previously the sea between stars had provided a stark contrast to the hull of the Kaeneian starship, now the terraformed surface of the moon acted to swallow her visibility—making a mockery of her sleek lines by denying the right to simply observe them.

Likewise invisible, a departing short-range shuttle passed through the atmosphere, tracked only by its emissions and navigational beacon and watched only by the electronics capable of relying upon more than simple vision. Through the highest and almost ethereal cloud layers to the glimmering lights of civilisation and inhabitation and choosing to reach a stop at the latter.



Finding her equilibrium restored following a moment of turbulence as the shuttle’s landing gear met landing pad successfully, Sophia stood slowly, attempting to stretch the weariness from her hunched shoulders. Obtaining the band of office from the seat it had occupied aside her, she placed the symbol of the Governor-General’s office atop her head, pulling it gently downwards until it rested above ears. Three bands of platinum, interwoven and interspersed with eight inset stones representing the eight provinces which united form the Serene^Union.

Her personal adept appeared at the doorway, standing silent for a moment until she had turned to address his presence. “We have completed landing procedure, Governor-General; deplaning to the Al Mahdi facility awaits only your discretion to continue.”

“This shall be a first not only for myself, but the office I hold—I wish perhaps only it was under more personal circumstances. I am troubled Adept, for I do not wish to be remembered for instances of failure.”

“This is the first visit of a Governor-General to a foreign land in our five hundred year existence since Earth Ascension, my Lady, and such an event irrelevant of cause or need is to be applauded. Your integrity is neither called into question nor second-guessed—you are simply here to facilitate the arbitration and not to stand trial yourself.”

Turning from her presence, he added; “Shall we? My duties within the Office of Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs teach me it is impolite to keep expectant hosts unduly waiting and whilst we are firm allies within the Triumvirate good manners are as important as the matter at hand.”

Sophia nodded, and forced the thoughts of upcoming events to the rear of consciousness. Now was not the time for doubt or worry, but to discharge her duties as Governor-General Byzainti, of the Aengelistoria Dominica, and the Serene^Union. The state felt no fear in mission and as the ultimate embodiment of that State, she would likewise tread without handicap.

For most of the people on the ground--here, "on the ground" taken artistically to include both surface and orbital assets of space traffic control--it's just another day, another hundred thousand ships and another few billion boats to make sure have appropriate orbits for. Space is big, but gravity wells have a tendency to compress that bigness in an operational sense; with the nature of overtechnology delta-velocities being what they are, and how any joe with a shuttle or snubship can go surface-to-orbit in a matter of minutes and any orbit at that--posigrade, polar, even retrograde--all these orbits have the unfortunate tendency of occasionally intersecting, especially polar orbits. Incoming ships from elsewhere, approaching on 'bolic interwell trajectories, add an additional 'I shot an arrow into the air and where it landed' factor to the entire convoluted mess. In the end, it's still mostly just sine and cosine functions and their integrals, and Saturn Space Traffic Control has more than enough redundant computing power to deal with it.

Khandrii's approach is slightly different, however, but different in a way that only compounds problems slightly for SSTC, leading to some slight but good natured grumbling by the SSTC staff. Being a diplomatic courier requires it have a proper escort; calls go out to Al Mahdi AeroSpace Directorate Base to scramble Phantom IIIs for escort duty; being a ship of state, more calls go through to Foot-to-Ass Central and from there to the Scolopendran Defense Squadron so Heavy Cruiser Arthropod can be diverted to provide capital escort. Flag Colonel K'zta, Arthropod Actual, notes both the only partial disarmament of Khandrii's batteries and the IntRelate dossiers on Kaeneian xenophobia and therefore orders his small detachment to keep a respectful distance and maintain weapons cold. It's only proper hospitality to make an uncomfortable friend less uncomfortable.

An element of two fighter-bombers detaches from the Phantom III squadron to escort Khandrii's shuttle through transatmospheric operations, acting as guides through Al Mahdi's pattern. SSTC transfers ground control for the sensor contact denoting the shuttle to Al Mahdi Traffic Control. To ease things, AMTC just patches the Serene^Union shuttle into the fighter command tacnet and directs all three vehicles to land. The shuttle gets aimed towards a VTOL pad on the edge of the flightline nearest the support structures, and the fighters peel off for a conventional landing on one of the base's runways.

Finally, alerted by SSTC that Khandrii is right on schedule, even the command staff at the Executive Apartments scramble in a controlled fashion to put the final touches on meeting. It's a high-level meeting with a trusted ally, so of course Speaker-Rrit will have to be there; a quick call to Alshai as the Segments' primary source on patterned post-organic intelligences confirms that he'll gladly lend his services today; as an IntRelate issue, Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq assembles her diplomatic staff and makes sure the sky-blue-and-black ground car column pulled from the Stonozka government motor pool is ready; and because it is a diplomatic mission, Julius Razak simply smirks and gets ready to take Speeks' calls while he's out.

So, with all this in the background, the foreground shows Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit and International Relations Advisor Nadjiba Abd-Al-Haqq, both in their standard diplomatic Federal Service blue-and-black Class A uniforms (Nadjiba in a knee-length skirt, as is her wont), and the now-civilian Alshai Kommetrez in his usual well worn but equally well cared for beige trenchcoat and brown fedora, blocking against the sunny chill of Titan's forever autumn. Together they walk out from the few vehicles parked in a line and their attendant uniformed Civil Servants towards the door of the shuttle, standing by to cordially and, in the eyes of some cultures, casually greet them to their homeland as proper friendly courtesy requires.

Meanwhile, as a show of force is not determined to be culturally necessary according to the IntRelate, SASD security forces and the local Mobile Infantry contingent make themselves scarce for anything other than everyday business or as a slightly increased security detail proportional to the VIP density of the situation.

"So," Nadjiba muses while she waits, shorter by far than both the posthuman in mufti and the towering kzin, "I hear we're making history here."

"Every day is the future's history," Speaker rumbles back quietly.

"Yeah, one gets used to it after a while," Kommetrez says with a smirk.

"Your careers aren't resting on managing a perfect tone of diplomatic seriousness, maintaining professionalism without being overbearing," the woman with the light olive skin grumbles good-naturedly.

Speaker chuckles. "What, the good Citizen-Queen is nervous?"

Nadjiba sniffs. "I simply state it as a matter of fact."

"I know some blue-bloods you simply must meet."

"The irony isn't lost on me either, sir, but from what you said the Panties can go sit and swi--"

"The door's opening, guys." Alshai's lips don't even move from their trained polite smile, but it's more than enough to get his two comrades back into at least genial facades of perfectly acceptable formality.

The ship from Caloris, arriving by way of the Dominion, was a sleek, almost sporty looking affair. This wasn't due to any aesthetic considerations, but because of the fact that the craft was designed to handle well in atmosphere as well as space. The ship was a matte black with faint lights scattered randomly across it making for a strange brand of optical camouflage. As it neared Titan, its dormant systems sprang to life, as did a series of running lights; largely useless in space, but even so, sometimes one still had to make a nod towards tradition and styling.

It followed standard diplomatic procedure with machine-like efficiency, something only fitting considering its pilot. Without any fuss or wasted effort, it calmly landed as directed. After powering down its engines, a solitary hatch noiselessly opened, letting the occupant out.

He was a tall humanoid with impossibly smooth skin. While most LiMEs were silver, his skin was pure white; while most LiMEs had undistinguised eyes, his were golden. He wore what looked like a monk's robe which covered the rest of his body. The robe had a cowl that was thrown back as a gesture of respect towards people trying to actually look at him. He smiled a little and walked up to the people who had been assigned to meet him.

Sophia’s brow furrowed slightly, forming a visible frown as she felt the temperature rise from the artificially maintained low of the transport shuttle to the higher if even more artificially arrived at temperature of Saturn’s moon. Following a short distance behind her adept, she banished the facial expression and concentrated on the task at hand, discomfort irrelevant.

Adorned in a black gown, which was as unremarkable as it was functional and ended a short distance from ankles, with only a single pattern of separate colour broke the uniformity—a series of precious stones set into the dress upon the left thigh and composing eight star-shaped diamonds. Spread forth from a single stone larger than its brethren, and symbolising the eight provinces of Kaenei unified to form the Serene^Union. As per the symbols of her office demanded, upon her head rested the twisting bands of platinum, around her neck a pendent marking her as a member of the Aengelistoria Dominica.

Hands clasped about her navel, the Governor-General reached the bottom of the short disembarking stairway, still behind the subordinate to the fore and having yet to raise her head sufficiently to take in the surroundings of the Al Mahdi Aerospace base. Sensing her adept had come to a stop, she did likewise, and for the first time in her tenure in the supreme office of the Aengelistoria Dominica came before the presence of those not Kaeneian nor similar.

Cobalt orbs affixed themselves first to the Human woman, perhaps some latent and subconscious urge to associate with that of the same sex, before travelling to the imposing and massive frame of the present Kzin; data nodes hardly prepared one for such a titanic presence, irrespective of detail. Finally, Sophia observed Kommetrez and cocked her head slightly—he was not adorned as the others were, looking decidedly less formal though curiously enough, not out of place. Disregarding the unimportant musings, she spoke the first words of allies long aligned yet scarcely met and never together as such.

“Varyzaya kos uals Siralil ull Ayriyai Boroghe zos Toria^Elandorial, Cianasta uals Byze^zos^Elandorii vot ualia Meridiaa, esali uals Ilianara^Neaniya zu Kaenei ull mia Etorial - eslai mia Llariana cian ull norie, esali tir Khaiyaii Neanniori Solarri.”

The adept who had accompanied the Governor-General patiently awaited the fluently recited greeting, before providing the assembled Scolopendran officials with a suitable English translation. Though he would not show it, the young Kaeneian took pride in being a small, though tangible part of a historical meeting which would seem by the ebb and flow of international interactions the first of many.

“Greetings to the divergent and capricious Equals of Titan,” he began. “Beneath Saturn on this Sunrise, from the Serene^Union of Kaenei and her people - from her cities far and wide, from our fallen home Solarri.”

Wishing to conclude the formalities she pressed ahead; “I am Sophia Byzainti, Governor-General of the Serene^Union and the united provinces therein, supreme head of the Aengelistoria Dominica and the people of Kaenei beneath.”

Sophia stepped away from her accompanying adept and held her left arm outwards a short distance from her slight frame, palm facing upwards and fingertips held firmly together. “A traditional greeting amongst my people calls that we meet palm upon palm,” she explained. “It signifies that we are true of purpose and bare no weapon or ill to each other.”

Pausing to ponder her actions further, she rotated her hand slightly and hesitantly until it extended at an odd angle. “However I familiarised myself with the “handshake”, and should be able to comply with that should it be required.”

From behind the assembled party, the deployed stairway of the diplomatic shuttle retracted, the subtle build-up of hissing from the exhaust manifolds making an imminent departure at the earliest convenience obvious.

“I wish sorely that I could have had the opportunity to meet with you Supreme Emperor at an earlier time, free of the concerns my office imposes on me now—just as I would now surely wish to be the first Governor-General to welcome another to The Spire, and our capital Solarri, just as I am the first to depart for a world such as this.”

Sophia looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “I believe one of your own many centuries ago once remarked, “The best laid plans come to rest”, and so it stands true. Still, there is little reason why I cannot indulge myself and my innate curiosity, and see more of the Federated Segments.”

Having scribed the conversation so far to data node and history, the Governor-General’s adept took a moment to observe the Scolopendrans and marvel at the uniqueness two people might possess whilst looking superficially similar. The skin-tones of the two aside the towering Kzin did not betray the harshness and cold of the Serene^Union, instead perhaps of lands bathed once in the glittering beams of Sol. Of the Supreme Emperor he could scarcely associate with the information garnered from the data nodes of The Spire.

“Our data nodes do you no true justice, Supreme Emperor.” Sophia began, siphoning the imagined humour from her statement. “Your stature is difficult to capture in mere words, and in paragraphs as stoic and cold as our own, it fully failed to let me appreciate the reasoning behind the Baroque-Kaeneian for your people; Siralil^Borogh.”

“The lands of the Union are populated by Kaeneians as a whole—we lack true diversity as might be found throughout the worlds and stars of the Immateria. I admit to surprise each time I set my eyes upon a new creature or race, and allow it to remind me that the diversity of life consistently surprises you when taken for granted.”

Whilst the Governor-General conversed, her adept finally felt suitably secure as to raise a question with the accompanying Kommetrez; “May I enquire. What is the purpose of your headwear? Surely the climate and weather patterns can be controlled within your dwellings?”

Accessing his data node, he frowned. “Are we expecting poor weather? I did not take this into consideration when planning our venture.”

Acting on a forming idea, he added; “Perhaps if the climate turns to unpleasantness, you could assist me in appropriating a likeness for the Governor-General? I would be dishonoured to have failed to foresee this and have her “caught out”, so to speak.”

The Governor-General continued aside the Supreme Emperor, though she ensured politeness by introducing herself to the remaining Scolopendran woman also of the newly joined party. “It is curious,” she mused. “Baroque-Kaeneian has but one term for Mankind; Ayriyai^Borogh, to mean Capricious equals, yet I could hardly call many so. Indeed, of our allies within the Triumvirate, I not believe it is a suitable term at all.”

“Fluency in English fortunately means however, such archaisms can be avoided; in such an age of technology and science I would be shamed indeed to fall prey to simple linguistic barriers.”

There are some who would argue that the government of the Federated Segments is at its core militaristic, and to an extent they could be right. Everyone in the Federal Service wears uniforms of the same cut, after all, and it can't be denied that there are trappings of militarism in near-mandatory firearms training, a sidearm being part of the standard uniform (although all assembled here have innocuous-looking IntRelate ice needlers, just another burnished steel cylinder that may as well be from a train conductor's coinbelt to go with all the other tools of the trade), and completely mandatory physical training daily. Blaming it wholesale on militarism would be missing the point; though; the strange translation 'capricious equals' is actually quite accurate about the Segments as a whole and, oddly enough, it works to bring the Scolopendrans together that their central government exudes the concept of order and efficiency, which is at just as much fault for the uniforms and PT as an underlying philosophy in a variation on the schema of might makes right.

Therefore, given the usual order-from-chaos mindset of the two wearing blacks-and-blues--both with the silver piping of the IntRelate, but Speaker having a major general's gold bracketed hexagons atop Civilian Defense Corps blue circles on his black shoulderboards while Nadjiba sports three silver pips in a triangle surrounded by two crossed fig-leaves to denote her status as International Relations Advisor--repress the instinct to raise eyebrows at the word 'capricious.' Diplomacy demands understanding, though, and it generally helps to avoid being insulted where such immobility would be appreciated. The trenchcoated one, contrarily, has to suppress a smirk. Being an Angelan and a Scolopendran simultaneously allows him to rather unfairly better understand everyone's context than anyone else in the area.

The greeting party watches Byzainti descend with polite but sincerely friendly smiles; the kzin is forced by physiology to adapt a thin smile, but the frequency of the winking-motions of his pink bat-wing ears indicates a similar mood to his human comrades to those that can read Heroic body expression. They listen to the greeting and its translation, but lessons learned have made them less anathema to diplomatic pomposity and literal translations.

After all, that's why Razak is sitting back at the Executive Apartments filing paperwork.

At Sophia's greeting, Speaker steps forward from the group, but not much. To avoid forcing anyone to crane their necks too much--a bit of contrived kzinti politeness demanded by adapting to a human nation--he stands perhaps two arm-lengths away. It hardly diminishes his two hundred forty-five centimeter height and linebacker bulk as he stands with a comfortable slouch, but it does hopefully make it less than oppressive. He mirrors her movements; left arm held out perhaps a bit more, palm down, fingertips together; and it says something that he makes up the distance even with such a subdued gesture. "As hosts, it is our responsibility and pleasure to ensure you are comfortable. Therefore, your tradition trumps ours." Remembering something of Kaeneian low core temperatures and their response to warm-blooded hand contact from a previous fete with some extrasolar reptilians, and adding into that the fact that his own regular body temperature is somewhat feverish to even humans, the pads of his palm and fingers don't quite make contact, but are close enough to radiate heat. She is already undoubtedly uncomfortable. No point in making her moreso. After a polite moment, he pulls his left hand back and draws out his right hand in one fluid movement that makes up the traditional Arab greeting: hand to chest, to lips, to forehead, and away with a flourish. "Assalamu'alaikum. Peace be upon you. I am Speaker-Rrit"--the last half of his name comes out with no small bit of pride--"elected Supreme Emperor of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra. This is Umm Ghaniyah Najiba bint Kamil Abd-al-Haqq," he says, presenting the uniformed woman to his right side, "my International Relations Advisor, and Alshai Kommetrez," presenting the trenchcoated man to his left, "our local Automata."

While his voice retains the throaty and deep timbre natural to his palate, the Arabic remains fluid. Amazing what a few persref decades experience can do. "Then some day I will have to arrange a visit to The Spire in the interest of furthering cordial relations between our people. We are honored that our nation hosts your first excursion regardless of the circumstances. Perhaps later we can arrange a tour for you."

At Sophia's compliment, he bows shortly in the usual Pendran-cum-Oriental fashion, and covers up no small amount of surprise that the Kaeneians would have information on perhaps pre-Tibetan kzinti. "Thank you, Governor-General. Even living amongst diversity I have encountered more surprises than I once thought possible. The IntRelate dossiers I studied for this meeting said that you and yours were posessed of a quiet grace and elegance. Their description hardly gives sufficient credit to the truth in person. Telling the truth, they spoke more of the cold climes you come from than your people." Admitting to homework is bad form, but if she does it, so can I. Speaker glances up at the sky, all blues and white puffy clouds and a hazy yellow Saturn taking up a good sixth of the sky. "I suppose today's cooler temperatures are still uncomfortably warm for you. The groundcars are air-conditioned, so if you could follow me..."

Meanwhile, Kommetrez smiles at the adept. "Depends on what you mean 'within our dwellings.' In buildings, of course we can. In the Caves of Steel and over the rest of Titan proper, the volumes are too large and the air patterns too complex to cost-effectively control. Right now, the weather forecast predicts with near one-hundred percent accuracy a lightly cloudy day with no rain over Topside Stonozka and none of the domes underneath we may frequent. I'm wearing this fedora mostly because I never got used to wearing sunglasses and I think it cuts an appropriate figure for a weather-worn old man." He looks thirty-something, probably in the vicinity of thirty-five, but something behind the eyes suggest otherwise. "Still, if you think she'd like one just in case, I'd be glad to help."

Nadjiba returns the polite introduction with a short yet oddly noble bow--just something in her carriage--then politely excuses herself to deal with the soft chiming of the comm module on her hip. The usual Scolopendran standard-issue service communicator is just as usually bricklike as everything else issued in the service of Scolopendra; not only can it do everything expected of a modern telecommunications and data organization device but it can also survive being run over by armored vehicles and be used as an impromptu bludgeon without suffering much more than a sullying of the casing. Taking a few steps out of earshot, she speaks quietly with the device at her ear. Turning around and seeing Speeks in control of the situation, she returns with a smile. "I was going to join you in the motorcade but it seems there's been a slight but unexpected shift in scheduling. I'm afraid duty calls. Good morning, Governor-General," a short bow to Sophia, "sir," another short bow to Speaker. With that and a smile, she's off somewhere else, flagging down a passing SASD jeep for a ride.

The kzintosh figures that someone else just showed up unexpectedly and so goes with the flow, leading the Kaeneians and his own retinue of Civil Servants to the parked vehicles. "Advisor Abd-al-Haqq is probably going to meet someone else who arrived ahead of schedule. I hope no offense is taken because none was intended." Keeping the guests in the know is only proper, and eventually everyone gets assigned to vehicles. The ground-cars themselves are not excessively interesting; electrically powered and actuated, they resemble some sort of bastard cross between the sheer utility and thick durability of some military vehicle and the sheer utility and sleek lines of an aerodynamic glider, putting it somewhere between the traditional design philosophies of a sedan, a utility vehicle, and a truck. They look, for all the world, like huge geometrically-rationalized beetles painted black with light blue trim and with large tinted-glass windows positioned to cover most of the top half. They hum quietly not due to their engines, but instead due to their compressor; the work of the heat transfer system is justified the instant the doors open and frigid air blasts out. It is to the Civil Servants' credit that they don't blanch with the concept of spending a cold ride in there; indeed, the Mobile Infantry drivers wear insulated and chemoelectrically warmed field jackets, gloves, and overtrousers.

Speaker doesn't mind at all, but then again he's wearing an integral fur coat underneath the uniform.

* - * - *

Nadjiba would've liked to spring lightly off the jeep as it stopped by the other pad, but her knee-length regulation dress doesn't permit such a maneuver. Instead, she accepts the hand down the young SASD spaceman offers and walks resolutely over to the two IntRelate civil servants standing around waiting for leadership. "So, who is coming in from The Caloris Basin?"

"One Habakkuk, ma'am," the more attentive of the two civil servants replies, flipping through a few e-sheets hastily clipped to his databoard with ebony fingers. "Ambassador-level, mechanoid. Of course. Sorry, ma'am."

"Just get your things in order," Nadjiba says with a slight hint of mothering in her voice, "no need for us to look as scrambled together as we actually are."

"Well, he is a Hacker," the junior civil servant, red-haired and with a natural proclivity to boisterous closed-lips grinning, offers.

"And I'm sure the Hackers expect spit-and-polish shines on anything 'Pendran." This retort from his superior makes the smiler check his regulation combat boots for overall spotlessness. These last-minute checks continue, although in a subdued manner, even as the Hacker ship lands. The instant Habakkuk steps out, the red-haired JrCS starts grinning in a very friendly and very humorous manner, probably due to a snap equivelancy being drawn in his mind between the visitor's appearance and some inside joke.

"Hallowed be the--" comes very, very quiet from his direction despite motionless lips; he is nudged into silence by his more professional comrade while Nadjiba sighs internally. Great, a ventriloquist. Stepping forward, she offers the traditional Arab salute and smiles with an ease born of years of practice. "Assalamu'alaikum. I am International Relations Advisor Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq, and these are my assistants Civil Servant Chojiro Jallow"--the dark-skinned man, about Nadjiba's height, bows shortly--"and Junior Civil Servant Labhraidh Chandramouleeswaran. Welcome to the Federated Segments of Scolopendra." The red-haired man bows and, of course, grins.

Habakkuk bowed slightly, his robe hiding the fact that his bow was more a swivelling of his waist, as opposed to a more normal bending. Almost as an after thought he smiled at Nadjiba, looking very much like he was still learning the ins and outs of social interaction. He stepped forward, his bare feet falling silently on the platform below, "Good..." He cast his eyes about, realising that he had no idea of the local time, "...day. I hope my early arrival hasn't caused any difficulties. Some modifications were done to my ship and it's considerably faster than it once was; I hadn't taken that into account when planning my trip out here."

"Still, it is good to finally make the trip out here, I have been looking forward to visiting for quite some time, I just wish the circumstances were less... weighty." His arms were folded across his midsection, his hands within the sleeves of his robe, leaving only his head visible.; he really did look like a monk. He glanced around slightly, his eyes settling on Labhraidh and giving the young man a curious look before returning his gaze to Nadjiba, "I don't wish to impose more than necessary, so, if you're ready to proceed, so am I."

"The party from the Serene^Union arrived immediately before you did," Nadjiba explains, "and even though you arrived sooner than expected everything is still ready--after all, flexibility is the key to diplomacy." She smiles sincerely, quietly finding this mechanoid pseudo-monk an interesting challenge due to his (its?) reactions and expressions. "While the circumstances bringing you here are unfortunate, it is our pleasure as hosts to make the best of the situation. Accomodations for you have already been arranged"--she nods to Labraidh, who steps forward and proffers his databoard with the e-sheets on it currently set to display housing information on what is really a very nice hotel the IntRelate runs for occassions like these--"and can be rearranged if they don't meet your needs. It will be some time until everyone is ready for a meeting between delegations so if you would like to see what sights we have, we'd be happy to oblige."

She doesn't wince as a squadron of Phantom IIIs on a training flight take off in formation by two-ship elements, their fusion catepillars making a distinctive million-children-ripping-construction-paper sound. One of the downsides to using an active military base for diplomatic meetings is the occasional interruption by an unintended show of martial might.

"I can only agree, and my sympathies are with those involved as well as yourselves for having to host such an... event. With any luck, my visit will still be enjoyable. I wouldn't be opposed to staying around after the conclusion of the... ah... conference, if that doesn't cause any undue strain." While he wasn't completely inscrutable, and while he had learned to make his body language seem more natural, there was still a decidedly artifical hint to his actions. Probably unintentional, but enough to make a human's innate ability to read another have difficulty; the fact that he often forgot to pretend to breath only added to the effect.

Habakkuk took the databoard and skimmed the information, "Hm, yes. This will be more than sufficient; thank you." He returned the 'board, pausing as he thought about the offer, "I would hate to impose by forcing you to play the role of tour guide, but I wouldn't mind seeing a few sights." He smiled, "It would be something of a unique experience; always a good thing."

The overflight was largely ignored, he acted something like what would be expected from someone who lived their entire life on a military base. He glanced up slightly as their engines became audible before focusing back on the conversation. Granted, the ability to extract visual data through his 'skin' without the use of his eyes -- which were little more than props anyway -- meant that he a still observed them, filing the images away for future reference, if needed. He felt a little like Johnny 5, always wanting more "input".

Even after all this time, he still got that itchy feeling between his shoulder-blades when dealing with the ‘Pendrans. It wasn’t that they were anything but pleasant and hospitable, always quite business-like and polite. It was past history, and the similarities that ran between the two cultures with somewhat different outcomes, sometimes showing up in unexpected ways that bothered him. That, and he knew firsthand just what skilled opponents they were, and how effective they could be in … solving problems. Honor, after all, did not mean one was limited to straightforward tactics.

Oddly enough, the same qualities that made him nervous were some of what he respected most about them.

Of course, he wasn’t here to create any problems, but rather to assist in solving a decidedly difficult dilemma. So long as he kept his nose clean, everything would be fine. He very much doubted that even if there were some quiet plan to rid their friend and ally of a current asset that had show itself to be questionable in the past, they were unlikely to do anything about it here, on their own turf.

Only the paranoid survive, or so they say, he thought idly glancing at the two soldati that accompanied him as new standard protocol demanded. Still, it was a shame this was a trip of business, not pleasure. The independent and free-thinking atmosphere of the Segments was refreshing, as were the myriad representations and various blends of cultures. He’d never really seen anything quite like it. Frankly, all things considered, he was surprised it worked – but it did. And frighteningly well. Sure, they had problems, but …

“Requesting clearance for landing,” came the voice of the Asmodean’s pilot, bringing Cesare Calabrese out of his reverie. He made a brief acknowledgement to let the pilot get on with his business of bringing the Loki in to land, while he gathered his things, and scanned once more over his datapad with a quiet sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Al Mahdi ASDB was their destination, and as with so many other arrivals, they were directed in timely fashion to the appropriate landing pad, all post-flight checks were made, prior arrangements were reviewed, and under the watchful eye of his assigned bodyguards, Calabrese disembarked, attaché case in hand, and dressed for business.

Nadjiba's communications unit chimes quietly once more, and she pointedly ignores it as she nods to Habakkuk's polite request. "We expected something of that sort, and we've already set up a basic tour itinerary that includes the Civil History Museum, the Colonization Park, and the Citizen's Memorial. Along the way we'll point out other areas of interest."

She smiles diplomatically, her olive face still somehow maintaining a quiet sincerity as she continues. "Cee-Ess Jallow and Chandramouleeswaran can direct you toward the groundcars; please excuse me for a moment while I check my messages." Her two subordinates take the lead as she steps to the side. The flight-line wind idly breezing wisps of her hair as she checks the text message left on her commbrick, and she checks a sigh before anyone can notice it. She quickly pens in a response in flowing Arabic then, despite the conservative standard-issue dress and its attendant shiny-black service pumps in lieu of combat boots, she catches up with the rest of the group--their less restrictive clothing notwithstanding--as she snaps the commbrick shut and returns it to its notch on her silver segmented belt.

At the sky-blue-and-black groundcar, the party meets up with a Diplomatic Officer standing lazily beside it. The uniform looks the same--silver centipede "S," silver crossed fig-leaves on the shoulderboards--but the green skin, stubby lower canines projecting slightly from tough lips, and yellow eyes set him apart a touch. Despite the best efforts of the OPO and its wards along the ley lines of Titan when Karmabaijan turned a touch crazier, metaphysical oddities inexorably--but slowly--made its way into the Federated Segments. Still, unlike most of the rest of Titan, at least the Scolopendrans had some advanced warning and in the yedecemi since the first native metahumans appeared there wasn't much difficulty in accepting them. After all, they aren't any stranger than kzin.

Nadjiba returns the D.O.'s polite bow, then turns again to the LiME with a smile. "This is Diplomatic Officer Johnson," she says, announcing the name on the officer's nametag, "and he will be escorting you on your visit. I hope you have a pleasant stay in the Segments." Bowing shortly to Habakkuk, she makes a graceful exit and walks on to the next meeting with a scant few minutes remaining, as if that had been the plan all along.

* - * - *

With two different civil servants in tow, Abd-al-Haqq smiles with a quietly regal politeness as Calabrese steps down onto the tarmac. "Chancellor Calabrese. Assalamu'alaikum." Pause for the traditional Arabic salute, mixed in with the slight bow that tends to go with the flourish. "Welcome to the Federated Segments of Scolopendra. I am International Relations Advisor Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq, and we look forward to extended our hospitality toward you."

A slight bow and nod; a simple upturn of the lips, "Perfectly acceptable; thank you, Advisor." Realising that she is quite busy with arrivals for such an historic affair, he betrays no sense of displeasure or offence as she sees to her duties; he is not egotistical enough to think he has a monopoly on her time.

On the brief walk, he lets his eyes wander a bit. Titan is certainly a new experience, this is certainly the furthest he's even been from 'home', as vague a concept as that is for one such as him.

He gave a polite nod to the... orc? Troll? but seemed utterly unaffected such an oddity. He smiled, "Pleased to meet you, Officer." He calmly got into the groundcar, "I have no need to unpack, so feel free to lead on."

"Righto." Johnson smiles, the white and well cared-for canines not getting much in the way, and opens the door to the groundcar, offering for Habakkuk to get in first. "The pleasure's all mine, really. It's not often they let me get out and meet the really new people. It's kinda sobering to see how many prospective missions I miss out on because of these." The orc taps one of his tusks, smiles, then walks around the car to get in the other side while the civil servants pile into the front seats, one playing driver and the other taking notes while sitting shotgun. "That and, between you and me, I've just never been all that good in doing the whole prim-and-proper formality bit that the Advisor loves so much and so she's probably a touch afraid I'd make us look too folksy in a diplomatic mission unless it were to the right people. Still, a man's gotta dream, right?"

The ground car trundles off, first navigating the relatively empty streets of the base before leaving through the main gate, then getting onto one of the Titanian Segments' relatively few highways, and finally heading westward. Most civilians either fly to where they want to go or take the maglev trains either on the surface, like the one running parallel to the road, or down in the Caves of Steel; most road traffic is simply limited to local public mass transit or public and emergency vehicles. Other than the maglev and the eerily empty four-lane road, there's no other sign of artificiality in the scenery. The fact that the thick wild wheat-like grasses covering the steppe and the purple loosestrife along the roadsides are the result of a very artificial process can be safely neglected unless the mind's eye wants to wander back in time to a Titan consisting of ruddy rocks under a smoggy yellow-orange sky. Off in the distance, towards the western edge of the horizon, blue hills and still bluer hints of mountain sit hazily in the distance; to the north, south, and east the steppe continues on to the horizon like a green sea.

"So, you're from The Caloris Basin?" Diplomatic Officer Johnson starts again in a breezily friendly way after pulling his attention from the purple loosestrife coalescing together into a single purple blur as the groundcar accelerates. "What's it like on Mercury, in personal terms? I can guess that it's dreadful hot and not exactly my kind of place, so I'd rather hear what you think of your own home."

Calabrese bows politely in the Dominion tradition, offering the woman a pleased yet close-lipped smile – something he has started making a habit of around the Scolopendrans. “Wa alaykum as-salaam,” he replies, though it is clear the language is not one he is well-versed in. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance mi’lady Advisor.”

He of course offers his hand, as is also tradition, letting her reaction guide his response in whether he simply shakes it, or offers the more gentlemanly approach of not quite kissing the back of her hand while meeting her eyes. No one can accuse the Segments of not having their fair share of beautiful women, I'll say that.

“Have the other representatives arrived? I hope that we haven’t managed to arrive late and present a problem.”

Nadjiba accepts the hand with a firm shake, then retracts her own when politeness allows it. The Chancellor's reputation precedes him and she, being happily married herself, can do without such Lancelot antics--even if it is simply gentlemanly politeness, there's enough of a small independent paparazzi movement in the Segments that it could get blown out of proportion in a way not shocking or career-threatening as much as simply quite annoying. She responds to his question with her usual diplomatic tone of self-assurance that borders on royalty yet somehow avoids condenscension. "Several have, sir, but you've caused no delay in our schedule." If anything else, you've forced us to push timetables forward. "There's no problems in the least.

"If you'll come this way, Chancellor, we've a groundcar to take you to accommodations we've arranged in case you'd like to get settled in." Once again, off the pad, there is another sky-blue-and-black vehicle that Nadjiba indicates with a subdued gesture of one hand. "We don't have anything in particular planned for today except a purely optional dinner during Maghrib so the delegates can meet and get to know once another if they haven't been previously introduced."

“Ah, excellent then. I can’t say as I’m quite looking forward to the task at hand, I admit, but I do appreciate the hospitality, all the same. Much obliged.”

He picks up on the subtle hints, and gestures for her to lead the way, rather than offer his arm to accompany her. One never knew until one met a person what level of familiarity or chivalry as it were would be appreciated. It was true, he prided himself on being a gentleman, and if he had an eye for women, at least he could say he had the good taste to not make a spectacle of himself about it, like say, di Medici. That man was simply … well granted, he was the envy of many in some regards at least, but subtlety was certainly not one of his finer skills.

“No need to go out of your way on my account, I assure you. Dinner sounds wonderful, and I think it would be an excellent opportunity to get a feel for the other delegates. This isn’t a situation to take lightly, after all. I’m hoping to go into this as informed as I can.”

Sophia allowed her eyes the impromptu permission to flutter closed as the chilling blast of air bade the claustrophobic heat of Titan to dismiss, ending the forming drops of sweat upon her pale forehead. Gathering the hem of her dress upwards to evade the waiting vehicle’s doorframe, the Governor-General settled into the rear of the transport and allowed the adjustment of body temperature to take its acceptable and welcomed toll.

“Assalamu’alaikum,” the Kaeneian executive replied, rolling the words about her tongue as one might take the first sip of a prospective wine and deduce its palatability. “Arabic—a language and civilisation of Earth precipitating many contemporary nations and languages of the current world; an integral part of Scolopendran history, culture and civilisation.”

“Despite five hundred and nineteen years of Earth residence, the planet third from your star still remains an object of intense diversity, and it is argued by many within the Department Scientia’s higher echelons that one might struggle to find the same variance seen on this one world than an entire star system might yield.”

“Our world long departed, as we call Solarri was a harsh sphere of little forgiveness and even less diversity. Our people were the only to look upon our skies and wonder what lay beyond, and our division into nation-states as your Earth did in ages past and continues to do so far less pronounced and did not extend beyond many centuries.”

“Ironically, just as we find our future shaped by our displacement to Sol and her charges, our past is intrinsically linked to the stars also. For as a people we were united as one underneath the banner of another before we were truly united within ourselves. A product of colonialism, no less—though in our case our assimilation into a Commonwealth of worlds came at a time before we truly grasped the size of our galaxy, and as such held a poor comprehension for the rewards to be harvested from such cooperation.”

The Governor-General continued, as she observed the artificially cultured landscape of the immense Saturnian moon roll beyond her gaze from within the vehicle. “You might know this Commonwealth of Worlds by another name, the Caelistis Gens Empire, or by the remnants of its space-borne armada—Angelus.”

“The latter is now dormant, and our paths have diverged from whence they were united and one. The legacy of our common ground however lays the foundation of our current policies to foreign interaction, or the lack thereof. My presence here would seem to act as testament to the erosion of our barriers. The signature of my predecessor and the individual who calls us all here as per my request, upon the act proclaiming us signatories to the Triumvirate of Yut, is yet another indication.”

“It is a time of immense change for the Union,” she continued, her eyes removing themselves from the terrain to the enormous Kzin whom so dominated the interior with an aura that seeped age beyond years and matched his respect-demanding frame all the more.

“The carnage of Europa is not so long forgotten, and her fields of ice still retain the fissures of the weapons of war, so quickly deployed and whose after-affects are so sorely remembered. Even with the treaty of Securitas supposedly ensuring a peace for the Jovian moon for all our time, we have seen under my formative stewardship already a two-fold increase in the size of our armed forces and force-projection ability merely to administrate our new-found burdens.”

“Our acquisition and foundation of a Star Territory on Mars has amidst the seemingly inherent instability of the Red Planet, ironically remained stable, yet what good can come from a world that lurches from one war and conflict to another with scarcely the time to bury the dead before the next outbreak of death? I must admit the instability of the Sol system does not pass my attention easily.”

“Yet there are bastions of stability in our sea of chaos; The Federated Segments and their very part-creation, the Triumvirate of Yut, have signalled the intention of those amidst the stars to turn aside form conquest, brutality and internal struggles. It bolsters my hope that we might still see a peace lasting for the majority of the teeming trillions known to our knowledge of the sea between stars.”

The Kaeneian adept, who had been so diligently noting the Governor-General’s words for later dissemination to the populace, paused his notation. “Is that sufficient for transmission to the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs, Governor-General?”

Sophia nodded slightly, though again the focus of her cobalt orbs betrayed the focus her mind did not hold on the question. “At your earliest convenience—I do not believe there is much to hold it distinctive.”

The Governor-General allowed her eyes to wander about the interior of the car, and allowed herself to enjoy the change of scenery. Although aesthetics were something close to the hearts of Kaeneian and Scolopendran alike, it did not make an undiluted transference to the design philosophies of the former in the same way as the latter.

“I must admit to a secondary goal, Supreme Emperor,” she began after the preceding silence. “I find that despite the recent instances, the people of the Union still see the Triumvirate of Yut as an outside, though positive, aspect of their lives. Despite the nature of the Triumvirate treaty binding its members to the common good, I believe they still have not associated themselves as part of the treaty so much as simple signatories.”

“Consider that one does not buy a fine Dominion wine to complement a meal, or a reliable Scolopendran civilian transport, or a technologically advanced computational system from the enigmatic machine-people of Zero-One. Consider that after the displacement from Solarri and a journey across the sea between stars that lasted centuries, Kaeneians as a whole have come to accept the Aengelistoria Dominica not simply as government, but as a constant within an ever-changing and threatening existence.”

“As in a more democratic system, change is seen as to be healthy and desirable for the people, the people of the Union desire consistency and the tangible links to a past they did not choose to leave, but which was taken from them, to remain. As such outside influences have for the most part utterly failed to penetrate the mainstream consciousness of Kaeneian personality—event those introduced directly by the council and myself.”

“I believe that the Serene^Union cannot remain on the course which has until now kept us within distance of safety. The previous institutions, whether preferable or desirable or not, have withered away and create a power vacuum from which the unknown is destined to take a centre stage. Many of our people when questioned as to the primary threat to the Triumvirate for example, will answer Arda, despite the overwhelming inactivity of the latter for many years before.”

“Change will be required, and it will be resisted, and in a system such as ours that does not provide for many forms of change and relies instead on the implicit trust and benevolence of rule, anything resisted leads only to the clinging on to of that which has been the normal in times past.”

Sophia clasped her hands upon her lap, “Although it is my mandate to institute whatever is required to ensure the continuance of the Union and the preservation of her values, I believe none who have come before me save the first five Governor-Generals will encounter turbulence such as I believe to be in the imminent future.”

“We’re not going out of our way at all, sir,” Nadjiba says with a soft smile, getting into the side of the vehicle across from the Chancellor as they board. “This is, as they say, all going according to plan.” Calabrese is a nice enough sort, but to be perfectly honest Abd-al-Haqq’s constitution and ideology have about as much room for totalitarians--especially those who declare themselves empresses--and their stooges as the typical divine-right royalist has for democracy and egalitarianism. The key quality of a good diplomat, though, is not to let personal proclivities and opinions color one’s actions unless it happens to be appropriate. For some reason, one beyond her but one she can see has to do partly with Speaker’s and Razak’s friendship with the Imperatrice and partly with whatever designs Garbo has for the Dominion, the Segments is quite friendly to a nation that does not exactly share its ideals. As an agent of the state, it is Nadjiba’s duty to represent the Segments’ stance while she’s on the clock… and on the clock she is, and so she is as professionally cordial and friendly as a lifetime of diplomatic service can make one.

“Of course, we wouldn’t be proper hosts if we weren’t putting ourselves out just a little, or at least expending a touch of effort. Would you prefer to get settled in first or, seeing as this is your first visit to our country, would you like to see some of the sights instead?”

* - * - *

Speaker listens quietly, politely, only the quite attentive perhaps noting his fur slowly bottling out slightly in response to the cold. It’s an instinctive reaction, to be sure, but one necessarily slowed by cogent thought: the kzintosh is alien enough as is to someone who instinctively, just as innately as his pelt reacts to the local conditions, shies away from change and difference and oddity. As insular and therefore obscure as the Kaeneians are, there are some facts known; the IntRelate volume on tips and tricks to working with the human-looking aliens emphasize first and foremost their tendency towards xenophobia. Not the obnoxious, kill-all-outsiders xenophobia that make interesting if trite fictional adversaries for the ‘good guys’ or causes those periods of history that make for fascinating, if perhaps depressing history… no, a more quiet, subdued xenophobia along the scale of a postwar twentieth-century Japan not forced to accept outsiders by feat of arms. To the Supreme Emperor, it’s a fascinating thing to observe simply from the quiet anthro(xeno?)pological interest that comes from being an immigrant to a strange and alien culture himself. That the Governor-General is actively trying to get around it is even more interesting, and leads to a certain kinship in his mind.

The kzinti couldn’t survive in a human world without adapting their nature to fit in (the occasional “tamed housecat” slur from the Sentiel, no matter how offensive, had a touch of truth in it). This Kaeneian doesn’t think that her people can thrive in a varied world without adapting their nature to fit in. The parallel simply builds in Speaker’s mind as Sophia speaks.

“I understand the feeling,” he begins, his gravelly and growling voice contrasting with Byzanti’s human, feminine tone as much as his terse nature contrasts with her loquacious one. “My people have a saying: 'Ksargunj yahughnost'ss t'kovary raob tadi yahughnost'ss humadizhjr.” The Hero’s Tongue comes harshly as it cannot help to, but quietly. “Acclimate and live or decay and die. It is not a particularly old saying; in fact, I can remember when it first became popular.” His batwing ears wink slowly even as one side of his mouth curls up slightly in his best approximation of a human smirk. “Adaptation is a trait all successful species must have, and for what it is worth I agree with you, honorable Governor-General. The insularity of your society has never… worried us, but it has concerned us in that it acted as counterpoint to our usual gregarious nature. Mystery breeds curiosity, and so my people--those of the Segments as a whole--find yours curious.

“When we were extracted from Tibet, the kzinti needed to adapt to the culture they found themselves in. Many that were too hot-blooded were killed in Tibet or found themselves on the wrong end of the Scolopendran legal system. Those of us that could see that change was needed adapted as we could, learning to think before acting and building up a new Heroic virtue: coolness. Many humans have mistaken it for stoicism, but unlike that our adopted virtue consists solely of anger management, not pleasure management into a steady condition of ‘content.’ Those kzinti we have discovered from outside have said that we became domesticated, that we gave up part of who we were.” The ratcat looks none too pleased at this recollection, and despite his best efforts the air of groundcar takes on a subtle ginger scent that would send most ‘Pendran monkeys into a mild panic. Indeed, the driver up front takes extra care to watch the road and subtly avoid any bumps real or imagined, motivated purely by his sense of smell.

“To an extent, they were right.” A sigh sounds the same in any language. “They are right in the same way they would be right about humans gave up part of who they were when they gave up hunting-gathering in small familial packs and banded together in larger tribes, or our own ancestors when they gave up their hunting packs in favor of specialization. This ‘tosh would make weapons for the stronger hunters, the ‘rets would aid the tribe in agriculture, which became dominant as food was hunted away by larger populations…” He smirks again. “I have learned in my life, already very long by our old standards, that life, success, progress are all constant change for the better. We are always becoming less of who we are. The important thing is that we, and you, decide as rational beings what we want to be and balance that with what we have to be. That you see change is necessary is good. That you see it will be difficult is good. You are already further along in where you need to be in your mind than you think. I only say this from personal experience.”

Speaker’s ears flicker a bit more rapidly, and the upward curling of his lips becomes two-sided. A friendly smile, not just a wry smirk. “I think I have a way to help. Your mystery creates curiosity, especially amongst our collegiate crowd. The young are often the best to distribute strange, new ideas because they are the most open to them, and the most interested in spreading their own realizations. Perhaps we can organize a student exchange, ostensibly for the purpose of improving relations between our peoples but with the underlying intent of slowly, gradually starting a process of needed social engineering?”

“Only if there are others you’re planning on showing around as well. I’m hoping this isn’t the last opportunity I have to spend time in the Segments, after all,” Calabrese replies, getting comfortable, then straightening his jacket out of idle habit. “I’ve yet to see the colonies we have out this direction for one thing. Afraid for the most part, my duties have kept me closer to home.”

And for good reason, he knew. It had taken time to earn back enough trust, and even so, he was fairly certain even here he was being watched closely, one way or another. For whatever that mattered. Of all places, here was the last location he would choose to do anything to jeopardize his current position. These folks, after all, were in no small part responsible for it. Not that it had turned out to be a bad thing …

“I have every faith in your ability to be exceptional hosts – your reputation as a nation precedes you, Advisor. If others are not scheduled for sightseeing previous to the conference, my rooms and perhaps a suggestion for a nearby place to eat later would be more than fine, grazie.” The last delivered with a slight inclination of his head, and his usual smile.

“...If others are not scheduled for sightseeing previous to the conference, my rooms and perhaps a suggestion for a nearby place to eat later would be more than fine, grazie.” The last delivered with a slight inclination of his head, and his usual smile.
"We're currently handling the sightseeing on a case-by-case basis, so it's truly your decision." Nadjiba smiles politely as the groundcar maneuvers off of the base and onto the queerly empty highway that connects it to Stonozka. "We're quite adaptable either way. Still, the hotel in which your accommodations are booked has very good restaurants on several of its floors and they span a wide range of cuisines. I'm sure one of them will suit your tastes."

All-in-one megahotels. Brilliant for site-security.

“Ah, well in that case, perhaps the hotel would be best, thank you. It would give me some time to finish going over the rest of these notes before that dinner you mentioned earlier,” Calabrese says, patting the attaché case. “Will all of the foreign delegates be staying at the same hotel by any chance?”

New experiences, and granted, new foods to sample, was something Cesare had a passion for, and this trip was proving to shape up nicely in that regard, in spite of that continued random itch-between-the-shoulderblades sensation that kept popping up at odd times. Curious, that, but only mildly irritating.

Alas, the cost of accountability.

Habakkuk smiled, all but flowing into the car as if his robe was holding him solid, "I suppose I can relate, in a way. Granted, mine is from lack of time in existence, but still..." He chuckles, "Almost as if they decided to stick the novices together." He frowned slightly, examining Johnson's visage, "Curious. I would assume that the preceived problem would be a fear of how others might react as opposed to any institutional... ah... prejudice... within the Segments itself, correct? As for your 'folksy' attitude, don't feel the need to cling to protocal on my account. While I'm quite familiar with it, I never much understood its point."

Since everything was a new experience to him, Habakkuk spent plenty of time, looking out the groundcar. A city dweller might be bored at vast expanses of grasses, he still found it interesting; both on a 'this is new' level, but also on a more scientific level as he compared what he saw to what he knew about the Ring. Despite his eyes being quite alert and looking at everything handy, the rest of his body was quite relaxed, which seemed to be a default condition for him. Much as nothing can stretch like a felinoid, nothing can relax like a LiME.

"Actually, it depends on where you are. Mercury has no atmosphere to speak of, so if you're in the shade, it's remarkably cold." He chuckled, "Actually, I've been told that was what the Hack worked the most on; finding an alloy to withstand the heat was easy. Not freezing was rather more difficult.

"I don't have too much experience with the political climate of Mercury, as I left almost as soon as I came out of the vat, but I have spent a good deal of time talking with Elijah and others. However, it seems to have calmed down considerably from when I left. Many of the... troublesome... nations have turned their attention inward and are no longer the concern they once were. The Order's presence is still a concern, but it seems their internal conflicts are keeping them busy." He smirked, "Which means they don't have the time to try and engage in a pissing contest with us.

"As for friendly nations, like Tiburon or Auster Union, things have been as good as can be expected -- what with AU's internal strife and all. Alas, contact with other nations is somewhat limited as the sort we would like to associate with tend to stay away." He grinned, "Between the heat and our neighbors, I can't say as I find blame."

He thought for a moment and smiled, "Actually, now that I think about it, you might enjoy visiting Brahms. It's capped and has a normal atmosphere complete with 24 hour days, clouds, and breezes. And there's actual people there, as opposed to the automatons that inhabit the Basin proper."

"Yes, the other delegates will be staying there as well. It allows us to centralize various efforts and be better hosts." Nadjiba says this with the same diplomatic smile yet near-regal enunciation--a sort of quiet citizen's proclomation--that seem to inhabit everything she does. She carefully makes no mention that those 'various efforts' include security, and Calabrese, if he's really sharp, may be able to see the slight flicker of steppe grass moving the wrong way, occasionally in a suggestively boxy outline.

The Foot-to-Ass Section doesn't have much of a conventional armor corps, but what it does have is rather elite. Right now the groundcar has an actively-camouflaged escort of four Abizaid infantry fighting vehicles, just in case. The chancellor would certainly understand the concept of two kinds of paranoia that is in play here.

The trip into the city passes without event.

* - * - *

"Institutional prejudice? Pffff." Johnson chuckles with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Well, yeah, for the reason that us greenskins aren't appreciated all that much in the wider world. Sorta limits our utility and therefore merit diplomatically, and given that this place is a utilitarian meritocracy..." He shrugs, the silver on his uniform glinting. "Still, if it were properly institutional, I probably wouldn't even be here. Make of it what you will."

He listens with interest as Habakkuk describes Mercury, and chuckles at the quip about temperature. "See, shows how much I know. Poor excuse for a spacer I am, eh? I'd heard, though, that the Sortadim had finally quieted down. Now all we gotta do is wait for the pulse to stop and then have a proper service over the body, with a decent cremation and all."

Another chuckle. This one enjoys doing his job, as little as he gets to do it, apparently. "Anyway, our first stop'll be the Civil History Museum--j'ya hear that?" he says in an aside to the driver "--and from there probably the Citizens' Memorial and the Colonization Monument. Every spacer society has to have one of those, so I've heard. Do you have any such things of note like that, physical or virtual?"

Habakkuk grinned, "Well, I suppose it's a matter of reality clashing with ideals. From what I've read, the Segments are anything but prejudiced, but deal with nations that are. Therefore, while they would never engage in such activities on their own, they try to keep the... sensibilities of their guests in mind. Or, at least that's my read of it." He shrugged slightly, "No matter, I suppose. You are here, so the rest is academic.

"'Sortadim'? Ah, yes. Elijah had taken to calling them 'cupids'. Seems he got his angel hierarchy a little mixed up and just ran with it." He couldn't help but smile atthe visual. While the classical cupid was nothing to snear at, being a cherub, centuries of drift had turned it into a fat baby. There was something appealing about that visual. "Aparently, they had a little civil war. Something about their military deciding to be sovereign. That insolence couldn't be tolerated; you know the drill. After much chest thumping and pretty explosions, it seems the rebels have been 'put down'. I'm not fully sure how this changes much of anything, but they're certainly much quieter now." He grinned slyly, "And hopefully, they're strapped for cash. We can't run them out, but we can probably buy them out."

He quirked an alabaster brow at the question, "Actually... I don't believe we do... of course, our colonization of Mercury was somewhat different then most. We were created specifically for that environment, and were never intended to be sentient, actually. Most of my 'siblings' would place little value in such a thing, I wager. Probably would be viewed as a waste of resources."

"Well, that's something of a shame," Johnson says with a slight shrug of his shoulders, slightly broader than the baseline average. "I can understand the reasoning--the information in a museum can be found in a database, and monuments really don't serve much purpose in terms of physical accounting--and I do know we have very few monuments compared to most other nations for that exact reason. Still... I suppose it's a matter of old-fashionedness in that we still like to physically see some things rather than websense them, and there's something about actually getting up and going to a museum which appeals. It's completely irrational in a transhumanist sense but it's a real enough compulsion to us. When it comes to monuments, it's again an old sign of respect--wasting resources is an odd way to show respect, or maybe not, same thing with altruism, I once heard, it being a counter-intuitive way of showing off evolutionary potential by setting up a self-regulated handicap--but one we appreciate when it comes to things that are particularly important to us.

"Still, we're utilitarians, so we only have two or three 'official' catchall monuments. Go figure, neh?"

While the orc talks with friendly blitheness, the urban metropolis of topside Stonozka simply appears; fields suddenly become skyscrapers with very little in the way of transition save a block of pavement and another block of more modular skyscrapers in the process of being constructed. No suburbia save the scattering of little rural towns along the railroad routes and roads fanning out from them. Suburbia is inefficient and gets in the way of the last stages of topside city expansion. Titan will be hitting its soft population limit soon enough, and then the cities simply cannot expand further lest the work of generations of TerraEngineers in the yedecemi be in vain. After all, future expansion is what the Ring, the Colonies, and the Periphery are all for. The cityscape is architecturally monotonous, due to the Scolopendran interest in modular building technology that allows for vertical expansion up to about a certain limit; this much is countered by the heavy use of greenery and temporary structures for the vendors on the wide bazaar-like sidewalks more like malls than strips of concrete for people to dodge the nearly nonexistant street traffic. There are no flying cars, for safety reasons, and no private vehicles on the inner-city streets, for civil reasons.

The further the groundcar gets into the city, the higher the buildings rise until they meet their factor-of-safety limit at around fifty stories tall, with skybridges (for foot and bicycle traffic) becoming more and more common to connect the individual pillars of the reificated mesa of the city...

...with a five-kilometer diameter hole in the center. In the middle of the metropolis is, essentially, the suburbia missing from the outskirts, where the tallest building is three stories at most and parks seem to dominate the landscape. This is where the original topside pressure dome complex was; now it forms a central plaza akin to those usually found in Old World cities, which only makes sense after a fashion. "Not long now," Johnson announces.

"Actually... I believe our lack of such a thing is because of utility. Elijah was there when it happened, so he remembers, and there's only a few of us total. Perhaps if we had a larger tourist industry (heh) we might build one, but for now, there's no need. It's not the settlers that build monuments; it's their children.

"Don't get me wrong though, it's not as though I look down on people who build such things; I think they're fascinating. It's a person's, or people's, attempt to make their mark on the world, and to make a lasting mark. When I was in the Dominion, I spent a lot of my time just wandering around and looking at old buildings, epecially the cathedrals."

His brow furrowed slightly as he thought over Johnson's words, "I never thought of it that way, but it does make sense. Only an advanced nation, with a surplus of wealth could 'waste' resources building large monuments to honor itself and still be able to defend itself. Empires build giant monuments; hunter-gatherer societies do not. Perhaps Blake wasn't wrong when he wrote 'the path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom'. Wealthy nations also tend to value education, after all." He chuckled a little, "I apologise; I have a habit of waxing poetic, it seems."

Habakkuk's interest perked up slightly as the city materialized. By a measure of direct experience, he's just a baby, so all things are interesting to him. 'Nature' is just as alien to him as a metropolis. Still, nature functions on a different, more chaotic level than human-created things. One might expect him to be more fascinated by the choas of nature, but he is no Doctor Manhattan; no, the works of people are what truly interest him. The city makes for a strange fusion of the familiar: the planned concrete and steel of the Tindalos Megalopolis, and the cold utilitarianism of the Basin. Granted, Tindalos wasn't as restricted in how high its buildings could soar, but he could sense that kindred spirits were at work; people who felt the need to mold the world (or Ring, as the case may be) to their needs and desires. He smiled as he looked around at the buildings they drove by, "Fascinating."

"And this," the diplomatic officer says as he points a flat green-skinned hand through the window, "is the Civil History Museum."

The building he indicates is roughly quadraspherical, one flat side making up the front facade of the building. This flat front facing consists essentially of an arch with seven long, vertical, mostly rectangular windows breaking the front up into eleven alternating sections--concrete, glass, concrete, glass. Wings to the side are roughly cylinders with elliptical floorplans topped by elliptical domes vaguely reminiscent of the four secondary cupolas found on Eastern Orthodox churches as seen through the eyes of a German Futurist, complete with arched concrete ribs that certainly have a purposeful as much as an aesthetic component. If googie classifies as Raygun Gothic, then the museum has a very Raygun Romanesque vibe. It would work perfectly as a setting from an adventure or science fiction cartoon or perhaps a train station from the Interbellum Twentieth. The road passes by within walking distance; the groundcar simply pulls up to the curb and stops.

"See, this is where we keep the history of our propaganda," Johnson says with a chuckle, getting out before walking around to open the door for Habakkuk. "Well, that's how some people look at it, at least. Most history museums are to tell the story of a nation mostly in relation of all the nifty things it did, trying to inspire pride and whatnot through that sort of thing as well as educate... or inspire shame, whatever the quiet or subconscious intent of the planners were. Holocaust museum versus a war museum. We're at least trying to acknowledge that tendency and so instead of the usual in exty-year-Ali-al-Sihfa-made-the-combobulator we try to trace where our culture and our civics came from while explaining why we think it's so keen."

The orc leads the way up a paved path towards the building; it's surrounded by woods that are either quite natural-looking or very poorly manicured depending on how one wants to look at it. By how the occasional passerby seems to respond to it, the intended result is the former. "See, we try to teach that national pride, like everything else, is a sort of razor-edge. One has to be proud of one's country and countrymen or else there's no unity and nothing ever gets done. Stagnation and failure lie that way. On the other hand, one can't afford to be too self-righteous (if at all) because that leads to irrational self-superiority and that way lies hubris... and we all know where that tends to go. Because of that, we tend to call things like our civics classes 'indoctrination' when, really, they're hardly severe enough to qualify as such to foreigners. We just figure that any culture teaches its young and, intentionally or unintentionally, indoctrinates it. We take care to make sure it's intentional is all."

In no time they're already to the face of the rather large building, doors inset at the bottom of the center window. "I'm sure most of the stuff in here won't come as much of a surprise at all. Still, 'on the shoulders of giants' and such like Newton said." Johnson opens the door for Habakkuk and motions politely for him to go inside.

The inside of the quadrasphere is hollow, and the inside curved surface of the ceiling, dominating the view of anyone to walk inside, is entirely covered in a mosaic. Despite the intricacy of the tiling and various small details, it's relatively simple: a large group of people, of varying genders and modes of dress ranging from Bedouins to Caucasians in sharp business suits, climbing a steep mountain surface in a style approximating the simplicity of early Constructivism: bold line, simple shading, and the sort of simplification of form simultaneously considered sleek, conservative, and heroic for some reason.

And they are all tied together.

Johnson chuckles a bit. "Not too subtle, I know."

The cargo ramp descended slowly, as the onboard systems precisely monitored the current speed operating with the consequent weight of the tonnage aboard, and completed the short angle to the landing pad’s surface. Tugging considerably against the support lines holding the weather-protection sleeves against the transport boxes, the presiding Kaeneians brought the gravity sled the load rested upon online and continued into the Port complex.

Despite the sled being full to capacity, many more trips would be required in order to transport the considerable technologies required to sustain the isomorphic projection which depending on viewpoint either was, or is indeed presently one Killthanus. The disassembly of such vital components as the imaging array, personality matrix and bio-neural interface alone would take many hours of painstaking work with the entire sum of such efforts doubled to reassemble them on site within the Scolopendran complex.

Of the transport procedures Killthanus could know nothing, for even though he had begun in earnest to push against the limits of his environment—to override the minimal program controls set—he could be aware no more of what unfolded currently or influence them than a disembodied hand might grasp an object for its master when devoid of the energies of life.

His personality; fear, frustration, anguish, curiosity and longing were, if anyone were to ask his opinion, mere electronic impulses duplicated to computational memory nodes and in the very act of transporting his system painfully obvious in their artificial and worthless nature—isolated within the personality matrix which accompanied the initial cargo flight from the orbiting Kaeneian vessel. The furrowing of his brow when confronted with the complexities of Human or indeed Elven emotion, as so loved by Lady Melyanna, broken into constituent physical parameters and stored within the buffers of the imaging array for physical generation.

As they approached the Scolopendran technicians awaiting them, the cargo ramp behind had already retracted, whilst the hiss of released cooling gases indicated an imminent departure and ascent to orbit. Though the organised Kaeneian mindset would not allow for the contemplation of anything which might affect their ability to discharge duty, it would be foolish to assume they could as easily as Killthanus be disconnected from the activities surrounding.

For many of the Tech-Adepts, simply leaving the confines of the orbiting starship was a step beyond the normal—heads of state, members of the Aengelistoria Dominica in the form of Supreme-Overseers and the Department Scientia’s most senior perhaps expected to undertake the highly unusual crossing of international borders. For almost all who gathered about the entry to the cargo processing quadrant this stood as the first time they had set eyes upon, let alone exchanged words with, those of another nation.

Logically, this was irrelevant in the pursuit of the current goal which involved nothing more than cargo handling and movements, and so the Kaeneians did their up most to facilitate this in the only fashion they knew of—conciseness, impeccable if stoic politeness and a curiosity with the Scolopendran world they found themselves entering.




Sophia’s gaze drifted through the windows of the ground car, regarding the surroundings of Titan with acceptance of the facts presented by seldom-untrustworthy eyes, if still adjusting to the terrain which now bore little resemblance to the expansive tundra of home. Behind the orbs which gathered the information outside an intellect processed all that the Supreme Emperor said, strengthening the belief the Governor-General was harbouring that true wisdom knew no boundaries or limitations such as fur, or skeletal structure.

“There is a saying amongst the people of Xiana Province,” she began, refocusing her attention to the enormous Kzin whom dwarfed the slight though tallish Kaeneian in stature and imposing presence. “One might find a glacier faster to melt with one’s whispers than encourage a bold idea.”

She seemed to consider her own remark momentarily, as if mulling over a point she had neglected to fully expand upon. “Of course those in Solarri would tell you otherwise, and that the valley of Khandrii might very well melt to tropical waters under the burning heat of Xianan enthusiasm.”

“You are correct, Supreme Emperor—the old times, the ages past, are gone and cannot be maintained falsely through sheer strength of will. There is not the energy in the Serene^Union to hold back the ravages of time, and I fear not in the entirety of the Earth and her Moon. Today we are of the year five hundred and twenty Earth Ascension in the Kaeneian calendar; almost five and one quarter centuries since we first set foot upon your once-home. In the beginning, it was not difficult to shelter ourselves; the arctic wastes were not for any bar the adventurous and Humankind had not the technology to force us to do otherwise.”

Sophia cocked her head slightly, “Her spirit was as willing as it has always been, as it continued to be—desiring anything which one might hold away with one hand and scald for such desire with the remaining arm—but we could stay them.”

“Perhaps we grew comfortable,” she added as an afterthought, “Though I am not sure this came to pass. Yet the centuries rolled by and the ice remained cold, and the snow continued to fall, whilst our monitoring of the outside troubles of Man, of Elves and of others diminished from the scarcely read to the utterly oblivious. The pace of machine—from steel and fire to pneumatics and the electronic went unheeded and we did not produce a reply to further ourselves.”

“Now Supreme-Emperor, we cannot hold the tide should the sea roll over our walls and dykes. The Kaeneians of the Defence Terra and Defence Solarri are too few and specialised, the pace of our technological progress to short in too long a year. Now we have not the strength to repel should the amassed legions which assail a multitude of nations on any given day move to strike us.”

“The Kaeneian people do not fail to see this,” she acquiesced. “They realise that the march of the centuries has not treated us well, but perhaps they do not see that the Triumvirate is as much a further dyke, or wall against that great tide than a bold idea, or foreign policy. A policy can be altered, dismissed or debated; Survival cannot be an issue for debate—to retain our defences I concluded long before I journeyed to Titan that pressure would need to be relieved.”

“How to relieve sufficient pressure to induce an effect without causing a catastrophic collapse is a question to which you may indeed have provided an answer, for perhaps we are set in our methods, Emperor? Perhaps we have seen a little too much death, or not enough new life, and our ways are jaded and listless. I have observed from the balcony of my office the stars and wondered amidst their burning coronas through imagination, but unable to do more so than dream. It may be the generation that precedes us which offers a hope.”

“An exchange of young minds, of young impetus whereupon the curiosity of your society might be sated and in turns feed the enthusiasm for a new interaction in mine. Perhaps then we will not fear the sea, nor do our up most to ignore it and one year I long to see before I am returned to the nothing that spawned me, we might use it to better ourselves.”

The Governor-General’s thoughts turned however to purposes more akin to the reason she sat in the ground car. Reluctance had perhaps penetrated her considerable efforts to remain impartial, but it could hardly be called upon to deny the obvious for all eternity. “I expect that the equipment from my ship will now be ferrying to the port authority—such is its cumbersome nature it may take many a day to complete. Until such time as Killthanus’ system is in a state to initiate, there is little more we can do, progress in any other capacity will be limited to logistics, or anything which presents itself in the interim.”

Sophia felt the cold air waft across her forehead, chilling her alabaster flesh pleasantly and banishing the still-remembered uncomfortable warmth of outside; much like home yet perhaps in the same vein as the self-imposed exile of the Serene^Union, both artificial in their existence and maintenance.

As they approached the Scolopendran technicians awaiting them, the cargo ramp behind had already retracted, whilst the hiss of released cooling gases indicated an imminent departure and ascent to orbit. Though the organised Kaeneian mindset would not allow for the contemplation of anything which might affect their ability to discharge duty, it would be foolish to assume they could as easily as Killthanus be disconnected from the activities surrounding.

For many of the Tech-Adepts, simply leaving the confines of the orbiting starship was a step beyond the normal—heads of state, members of the Aengelistoria Dominica in the form of Supreme-Overseers and the Department Scientia’s most senior perhaps expected to undertake the highly unusual crossing of international borders. For almost all who gathered about the entry to the cargo processing quadrant this stood as the first time they had set eyes upon, let alone exchanged words with, those of another nation.

Logically, this was irrelevant in the pursuit of the current goal which involved nothing more than cargo handling and movements, and so the Kaeneians did their up most to facilitate this in the only fashion they knew of—conciseness, impeccable if stoic politeness and a curiosity with the Scolopendran world they found themselves entering.
Meanwhile, the technicians--both civilian Science Section civil servants and military AeroSpace Directorate spacemen--are just, if you'd ask them, average (in a good way) guys and gals doing their job along with some other guys and gals who are also probably quite average in a good way. They've heard the Kaeneians are somewhat taciturn, to say the least; one or two have heard something about benign xenophobia, which while unfortunate it is benign so no one is going to be doing any chop-busting over it. They listen to the Tech-Adepts describe what goes where and this bit plugs into that bit, all shop-talk, and occasionally caps get pulled back and thinning hair gets scratched by the local SASD sergeant who, both knowing the local lay of the land better than the guests and outranking the locals, has to figure out a way to get all this bulky stuff from point A to point B.

Everything is kept quite professional and friendly, quiet politeness being matched pretty much tit-for-tat except for the occasional friendly banter of one 'Pendran or another, but always professional banter. Hosts aren't supposed to make their guests uncomfortable, after all.

Which is the reason why there are portable air-conditioning units of the kind usually hooked up to hangars and parked aircraft sitting around, connected to industrial fans which reduce the ambient temperature at the worksite a few dozen degrees even in the open and in the false-sun.

“How to relieve sufficient pressure to induce an effect without causing a catastrophic collapse is a question to which you may indeed have provided an answer, for perhaps we are set in our methods, Emperor? Perhaps we have seen a little too much death, or not enough new life, and our ways are jaded and listless. I have observed from the balcony of my office the stars and wondered amidst their burning coronas through imagination, but unable to do more so than dream. It may be the generation that precedes us which offers a hope.”

“An exchange of young minds, of young impetus whereupon the curiosity of your society might be sated and in turns feed the enthusiasm for a new interaction in mine. Perhaps then we will not fear the sea, nor do our up most to ignore it and one year I long to see before I am returned to the nothing that spawned me, we might use it to better ourselves.”

The Governor-General’s thoughts turned however to purposes more akin to the reason she sat in the ground car. Reluctance had perhaps penetrated her considerable efforts to remain impartial, but it could hardly be called upon to deny the obvious for all eternity. “I expect that the equipment from my ship will now be ferrying to the port authority—such is its cumbersome nature it may take many a day to complete. Until such time as Killthanus’ system is in a state to initiate, there is little more we can do, progress in any other capacity will be limited to logistics, or anything which presents itself in the interim.”
Speaker nods quietly, rumbling deeply in thought. "It is unfortunate when people must be dragged into change. Sometimes, though, it is necessary. I have learned that the trick is to expose the idea to someone already open to it, and to make the dragging look like it was his own idea. That your culture has stood still for so long is unfortunate but, as they say, that is in the past. It is time to address the future."

He pauses momentarily, looking out the window in thought before continuing, warm breath fogging the pane before he remembers to turn away from the scene outsided. "Who better to address the future with than those who will live in it? In some ways, Governor-General," the kzintosh continues with a rumbling chuckle, breath whiffing from his nostrils, "your nation's insularity has given it a sort of cachet it could have never had otherwise. If the recruitment numbers for Interstel's exploration branch and the Galactic Exploration Command are any indicator, Scolopendran youth yearn to explore and solve mysteries.

"The most poigniant mysteries are the ones closest to home? Here we have a nation of allies, but one that keeps itself so distant we do not have any formal classes for their language in our universities? One where one cannot just get on a liner and visit for holiday? Who are these strange people, so close yet so closed? I think you would be surprised how many students would leap at the chance to explore, even academically, the Serene^Union. That living with Kaeneians would be part of the deal in this case only sweetens it.

"I am certain, when the time comes, Advisor Hertzfeldt will be more than happy to work out whatever agreements are necessary to make this come to pass. I also know that finding recruits for this enterprise will be a matter of weeding out the excess rather than scraping to see what comes up." After all, he thinks quietly, our more agitated students will be happy with going to the Dominion anyway. No one will hold it against us if we rack-and-stack this group for those simply curious and not wanting to proselytize.

"I would also not worry too much about the equipment taking too long. Our technicians are not paid by the hour." Rrit chuckles again, lips smiling thinly while his batwing ears gently flap.

Habakkuk was partway to opening the door himself before remember that he was a diplomat (unable to do anything for himself) and that his escort was here to see most any need (thus he does things). That, coupled with seeing the orc moving around the car stayed his hand. He thought the concept was a little silly (how hard is it to open a door?), but he didn't want to say anything in case this was some deep seated cultural... thing. That, or perhaps the dance was what was important and to disturb that was the problem.

He nodded at the description of the museum, finding the frankness utterly refreshing. He was beginning to think that the Higher Ups not wanting to use Johnson might be because he was willing to be so utterly blunt. After all, using the word 'keen' wasn't normal when dealing with diplomats, and calling a cultural musuem a museum of propaganda couldn't be part of the official line either. Could it?

Perhaps it could.

"So, the theory is that by calling it what you don't want it to be, you keep the potential problems foremost in your minds and thus avoid the whole thing all together? Or at least avoid the excesses that present themselves... interesting. Not a course that I expect many would take."

Habakkuk was at first impressed with the amount of work that must have gone into the creation of such a large mosaic. It was a difficult medium to work in, and this was no minor tile job in someone's bathroom. It was a monumental piece of art, in it's own way.

But still.

He grinned, "Indeed. The intended symbolism is none too hidden."

"So, the theory is that by calling it what you don't want it to be, you keep the potential problems foremost in your minds and thus avoid the whole thing all together? Or at least avoid the excesses that present themselves... interesting. Not a course that I expect many would take."
"Yup." Johnson shows a fair amount of national pride at that admission. "See, while we're idealistic in our vision of things--just ask the Dominioners what they think--we realize we have to live in reality. So many efforts at being the land-of-the-free have failed in the past because of either Pollyannas with rose-tinted spectacles or bleeding hearts didn't take the very real steps necessary to get what they wanted, usually pretending in things like 'better natures' or 'the universal good' that would make everything work out in the long run. In the meantime, of course, the more realistic people with grimier motives just happened to shiv the dreamers, and..." The orc shrugs gently, smirking slightly around his teeth. "There you have it. We've got more than our share of starry-eyed dreamers but we take pains to remind them of how... entropic the world usually is. Still, it's a matter of hope and whatnot." This soon seguays into...

"Indeed. The intended symbolism is none too hidden."
"Sure, new problems have always replaced old but people working together have always made progress and stepped up from the Dark Ages, not fallen back from the Good Old Days. That's pretty much the message; cooperation is hard work but it is The Way." He deftly sounds out the capitalization, ending with a smile akin to someone giving the inside scoop. "And, of course, we emphasize the propagandistic aspect to keep people on their toes. We want people to go through and rationally see that cooperation and a balance between self and state interest is best for all involved; if they doubt and decide to do outside research, almost any history textbook not penned by some foreign government's agitprop department will pretty much confirm it."

The perimeter of the antechamber is made up of a series of large Streamline Moderne square-arch portals that lead to other sections of the museum; above them are set legends in the burnished steel that seems to be a common motif in the Segments. Cheap and, if polished, looks decently nice. Arabic letters above and English below, the labels from right to left read:

From Whence Government?
Origins of Democracy
Monarchs and Theocrats
Enlightenment and Liberalism
Republicanism and Industry
Sunset Progressivism and Occidental Statism
Koyaanisqatsi: The Almighty Dollar
Because It Works

The Diplomatic Officer smiles, brushing just a touch of dust off of the sky-blue plastron between the double-breasted lines of his uniform. "Anything particularly catching your eye?"

The functional and modernistic Scolopendran city blocks slowly receded and gave way to upcoming towers and complexes, standing high above the roadways which provided the arterial flow between urban organs and their modern nervous systems. Tracing the utilitarian lines of construction, the Governor-General’s intellect remained fixed not on the surroundings but the enormous logistics of even a limited exchange program in a state without such recourse to the invited.

“The preparations required for such an exchange program are many indeed—I do not believe we even have a suitable visa within the immigration system to allow such an exchange. However the benefits of the influx of the curious in the shape of your student population far outweigh the logistical problems, and at the conclusion of the current affair I will endeavour to have a preliminary exchange organised as soon as possible.”

Sophia tugged at the sleeve of her dress which had dropped beneath the elbow, upsetting the balance of uniformity. “There are many Kaeneian universities and centres of learning in the Serene^Union; the Applied School of Gravimetrics in Solarri is widely regarded as the finest engineering education centre within our borders.”

“I myself attended the Byzintineri University of Sciences,” She continued. “Before entering the service of the Aengelistoria Dominica—but two of the largest student campuses along with the city of Xiana which boasts the largest Kaeneian medical school. I am confident that some niche or interest could be found for the people of the Segments wishing to take up such an opportunity.”

Beside the Governor-General, her attendant noted the preliminaries of the scheme discussed, entering it into the data-node clasped between busy hands and ensuring that no time would later be wasted recalling information or suggestions which could have been preserved for instant reference as now. Dedicated solely to the task of data-recording, there was no time spared for observing the starkly different skyline of Titan or her charges displaced from their now-distant home.

"Ah, hell."

"What?"

A finger points at a monitor, backlit to reduce eye strain, in the dim room. There a straight line is beginning to wiggle. "'Ah, hell' indeed" goes the second voice, unimpressed.

"You do realize we're going to have to watch this lest squiddies, hornies, and pinkies come out of the aether and start problems."

"Yes, I know. And we're perfectly capable of doing so." The second agent sips from a glass of water. "Stop whining and do your job."

"My job is to prevent stuff like this."

"Not when the Nare Ratio meter is reading positive." Another finger on someone else's hand points to a simple dial, pointing rightways into the green.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Now shut up before the squiddies get you."

A moment of silence. "Could you pass that can of Daemon-b-Gon?"

"Sure."

* - * - *

With naps, cultural trips, and devious plotting in the form of student exchanges out of the way, all of the various national delegations appear at the meet-and-greet dinner at the hotel. Split down the middle by the vertical column of air, a chasm going twenty-odd stories in both directions. It's all a very modern version of Streamline Moderne--no great surprise--with plenty of simple but streamlined geometric shapes, from the broad cat's-eye of the central void to the slightly oblong knee-high tables and the geometric weaves of the rugs and the upholstery. Even the layered ceiling looks like a Euclidean playground. The restaurant is clearly five-star even if it doesn't have chairs so much as low ankle-high cushions (http://kerneltrap.org/jeremy/pictures/2003-July_Saudi_Arabia/tn/015_12A.JPG.html) with backs that might come up to just above someone's knee. The table is already set with that which won't perish for sitting around a few minutes--fruits and breads in GIC bowls that have very low powered Rialcnis field generators in them to act like hot plates but with more local time distortion--but for the social hour most of the action is happening near the round standing tables, each equipped with trays of hors d'ouvres. Career waiters, in sleek long robes belted at the waist, high collars, and most with turbans, expertly filter through with manually-ground coffee, excellent local berry wines (and galaxy-renowned vino from the Dominion), bottles of raki and salagam to make sure everyone has enough to drink. For the conservative practitioners or the otherwise not drinking, more waiters carry carafes of water, orange juice, grape juice, apple juice, mango juice, yumfruit juice... suffice to say juice from every single kind of tasty fruit in the Segments that can be tapped or pulped.

For their part, the Diplomatic Officers, under the omniscient eye of Advisor Abd-Al-Haqq, are perfect hosts, carefully sipping their raki cut with salagam as they talk about whatever their guests seem to want to hear. Nadjiba is somehow everywhere without being obnoxiously or obtrusively so; checking in, making sure everyone is having a good time, the olive-wreathed three silver pips on her collar twinkling as she laughs politely at jokes wether they're funny or not.

She's in her element.

* - * - *

Meanwhile, a Science Section government mook in a set of grungy blue-at-some-point-in-time fatigues and a circular rank insignia on his shoulder opens up a badly battered cooler. One of the Mobile Infantry armor guys--"Proper armor, by the eyes of the Prophet (peace be unto him), not any of this mechanized powersuit claptrap"--pulled it off the turret of his Rommel main battle tank where it had been unceremoniously lashed time and time again. This time it had gotten driven through a few branches and the lackluster matte camouflage paint job scraped away to reveal pitted but not properly scarred orange plastic underneath. "Looks like we got dark ale, bitter, peach, cherry, and lager."

"Bitter," the armor noncom owning the cooler demands, accepting the bottle with a grunt. One application of his bottle opener ring and he has access to the alcohol inside; a flick of the fingers and the bottlecap lands neatly in the blue plastic recycling bin tossed up against the inside of the hangar-sized garage. "So, what d'we have here, then?"

"Holoprojector hooked up to some computronium," the tech replies, taking a cherry beer for himself and twisting off the cap, playing with it in his fingers. "I can see what's probably a power cable attachment and a network attachment." Glancing over at the inevitable Kaeneian tech-adepts standing as close as they possibly can to the aircraft ground air conditioner unhooked and turned up to full blast specifically for their benefit, he indicates the cooler with his free hand, face turned to an inquisitive, offering expression. "They could tell you more."

"Lager please, boss," replies another blue-fatigued Science tech with many fewer coincentric semicircular arcs on his arm patch, "so how are we gonna hook it up?" He accepts the bottle and uses a multitool to open the cap with a few motions. "Our courts aren't exactly set up for that sort of draw. Maybe a matter-conversion generator?" Pitch and a ca-clinkle as the bottlecap lands in the bin.

"In a closed room? Hell, everyone will get uncomfortable and I'm sure the fri... our guests will just melt." The 'Pendran nonchalance towards racial slurs is sometimes hard to mask around company. "No avoiding some cables, sad to say. We'll just pitch an matconv outside and cable in the power."

"Where do we store it when it's not in... ah... use?"

"Well..." The civvie equivalent of a noncom taps his chin with the rim of his bottle before taking a sip. "I suppose there's no point in lugging it around everywhere, and the court's secure. Just leave it there."

"Will we keep it plugged in? There is a guy in there, after all."

"A suicidal one, at that. I suppose we'll leave it up to him." The senior tech looks over at the Tech-Adepts. "Anything we're forgetting?"

Sophia regarded the circular seating as though it had broken from the mediocrity of the inanimate and entered into conversation with her, an internal monologue scolding in its irritation of having failed to anticipate more mundane cultural differences. Wishing none to realise her hesitation and with stubbornness well suited to a career servant of the Aengelistoria Dominica, the Governor-General bent at the waist and removed her minimalist shoes before placing them neatly in front of the preferred cushion.

Turning curtly, the Kaeneian lowered herself until she sat so far forward that only the barest amount of her rear graced the cushion and formed a perfect horizontal line to compliment the ramrod-straight vertical of her postured back. Placing hands neatly folded upon her lap Sophia wiggled slightly from side to side in an attempt to ignore the tendency of the cushions to pull the occupier down and inwards.

Lacking perhaps the nuances present in those who did not spend their time in uninspiring if functional standing chairs, the Governor-General did her up most to ignore the feeling that she appeared foolish next to those who sprawled or at least sat with some air of comfort.

Irrelevant, she chided herself. It mattered in no way how another perceived her and it would do little good to dwell on that which she could not affect. Silencing her mind as one of the ever-helpful waiters on hand inquired as to her needs, Sophia acquired a simple glass of warmed water—enjoying the tingle and spice a higher and usually unpleasant temperature brought to her being.

Observing the ease at which those surrounding sank into the cushions by bringing their legs upwards and curling them beneath not unlike a snake might coil its body, Sophia realised that it would be of little benefit to seek cultural differences without embracing them—resolving to test this less formal posturing. Tugging at the hem of her dress which had before as she walked seemed a vaunted choice to moderate body temperature the Governor-General noted the length unsuitable for such sitting, and wrestled somewhat with the fabric as she tucked calves beneath thighs.

Furrowing her brow the Kaeneian further noticed an irritation unforeseen; that as beads of sweat left the pores of the forehead they would be collected unwittingly by the spiralling platinum and silver bands which interlinked, formed the symbol of office for the Governor-General atop her head. Clearly there were certain things she could neither affect nor prevent.




Killthanus gasped audibly, though his chest no longer rose or fell with the exertions of anything as mundane as breathing. The ways and subtleties of a mind housed in a body so organic for four decades could not be so easily overcome with technology, so it was as his lips parted and gasped for breath though there existed no physical measure by which to facilitate even the organs required.

Observing surroundings for the first time he fixed his gaze first on the group of Tech-Adepts still examining readouts and monitoring the system that sustained him, then to the race he recognised only through the vaguest of personal circumstances.

“It is interesting,” He began whilst still observing the Scolopendran technicians. “How long the mind takes to reluctantly relinquish the biological processes of life; respiration, sweating and even blinking continually induced though there are no lungs to take oxygen, no skin whose pores can open and no eyes which require the protection.”

Killthanus extended his hand to the nearest Scolopendran who without hesitation and impeccable in return tried to meet and grasp it, only to find the flesh of the Kaeneian dissolve in a flicker of blue light which rippled even as the skin shrunk back; and where one would expect bone and tissue only the floor beneath was visible as though one might peer into a lake and spy the stony bed wavering.

“An impressive effect is it not? That so much would be visible to the eye whilst the grand effect was something as intangible as invisibility. That the experimental equipment surrounding which breaks the accepted realities of Kaeneian science achieves such a fragile equilibrium that can be so easily disrupted by something as simple as touch.”

The former Governor-General found the architecture to his taste, recognising above the utilitarian Scolopendran style the air of authority only a courtroom could suggest. Somewhere within the recesses of his mind—not truly a mind but the sum computing power of the array which spawned his generation it was felt—the unsettling realisation of the loss of any appreciation of time he had once held dawned. The trip which had undoubtedly taken many weeks of preparation and journeying had passed instantly so that the universe’s great equaliser, the final insurmountable barrier was rendered a moot point. For discussion and dissection, but no tangible effect.

Realising he had held the Scolopendran in an uncomfortable monologue he raised the question that had brought him her off all places. “Do you consider this life?”

The technician--the cherry beer drinker from the garage earlier--looks at his hand, looks at Killthanus' hand in a perfectly understandable series of events, and shrugs eloquently. "By how you're asking it, sir, I expect that's a question for the philosophers. Then again, those liberal-arts Montgolfiers can't figure out whether they are living, much less you or me."

Stepping back, he busies himself with the generator cable, ensuring there's no kinks, glancing over from time to time to maintain eye contact. He's not trying to be rude; it's just that making sure the machine operates is his job. "I know this much. I can't see into the computronium making you up, but you have the processing power to emulate a human mind, easy. Oh, sorry--I forgot you guys aren't technically human." He winces slightly, apologetically. "Anyway, plenty of space. I can't see into your brain any more than you can see into mine, so I've gotta go by what I see. As far as I'm concerned, you're no less life than a HANS or a robbie."

The man smirks with quiet understanding as he moves the cable into a more reasonable position and starts setting a segmented plastic cover, like an industrial yellow-and-black centipede, over it. "'Course, you could also be asking whether being physical only as an image is a life. I don't think it'd be much of one, but there's robbies that never take a physical avatar of any sort and they still seem to have fulfilling lives by all reports. I suppose the answer to that question is the old standby 'it's what you make of it,' sir. If you want it to be life, or a life, or whatever, then it is. If you say it isn't life or a life, or don't expect it to be, I figure you're probably just defeating yourself."

Stepping back, he indicates the courtroom with an expansive gesture. "Then again, that may be what this is all about. I haven't been properly briefed as to the 'why' of things, though there's rumors on the YutLink and the Matrix and GLONET and the like. That's not here or there, though. Anything else I can do for you while you're here and on, sir?"

* - * - *

With a glance Nadjiba estimates the situation from past a group of people. With a tap on the shoulder off a saffron-robed waiter she gets attention. With delicate Arabic and more delicate gestures of eyes and brows she gets a message across. The waiter bows and disappears off somewhere whilst the Segments' chief diplomat maneuvers herself gracefully into the low chair next to her, sitting demurely on her shins in a back-resting kneel, feet politely tucked in behind her. She wears no shoes, but the soles of her hose are cunningly designed with some thicker tread to prevent holes or runs. They're probably not made of nylon anyway. As one of the few females in the Segments who prefers a skirt to the unisex trousers, she has quite a bit of practice in avoiding their disadvantages in an Arab setting.

"So, Governor-General, hopefully you are enjoying your stay here?" Abd-Al-Haqq moderates her tone to sound less regal than she usually does and more motherly. Not stifling or superior, simply concerned and caring. "I know the climate probably doesn't much suit you, but despite my best efforts the TerraEngineers refused my request to have winter come early." A mild joke, offered with a mild smile.

The waiter returns, carrying a small egg-shaped device with a converging nozzle packed with coils set inside it, the openings on either side of the egg covered with a fine grille. The egg has three stubs for legs that it sits on; the small-end top is distinct from the body like a rounded dial. After setting it down in front of Sophia, he waiter turns the top with a click and rotates it over perhaps three-quarters of a circle; with only the slightest sound of moving air the egg sucks in air from its larger orifice and blows it out the smaller orifice in what can only be described as a gentle arctic breeze. Standing up and bowing, the waiter disappears again... mostly to set another climategg behind Sophia in reverse so as to not discomfort the other guests.

"Still, we do what we can." Nadjiba smiles again. "What are things like back in Kaenei? I probably should have visited before now; I've been remiss."

Calabrese took in the quite comfortable atmosphere with a slow sigh of contentment. He had always enjoyed the finer things, and experiences that were more or less new or out of the ordinary from the usual routine, and this very much satisfied him in both regards. The Chancellor makes his own circuit of the room, meeting and greeting, making a point to compliment his hosts on their impeccable taste, especially in wines, one of his personal favorites of which he samples with a smile.

He wore a casual suit of light material – white collarless shirt under charcoal grey jacket and matching pants, dark sandals that were removed where appropriate. He found the low cushions quite comfortable once he settled in, taking his time sampling the goods that were offered, quietly savoring each bite between whatever conversation came up. Looking around, Sophia caught his eye, and he watched quietly for a moment, pondering again the unusual reason for this visit, and wondering idly, not for the first time, about what unseen arguments might arise during the discussion.

It would be foolish to ask him what he would do or ask for if given a chance to prolong his life – he had already been faced with that choice, to some degree. All that was required of him was to serve one he had plotted to kill, to swear unquestioning allegiance, and to never again actively raise a hand against her. Small price to pay really, given the power and freedom he now enjoyed, even if it meant the occasional unease and constant concern over variables he, and she, had no control over.

For a Kaeneian, how much different would it be? Obviously, given the information they’d been sent, and the delicate nature of the situation, it was a difficult situation. For himself, nearly any price would be worth not having to give up his life any sooner than need be.

Oddly enough, the pleasant atmosphere, with food and drink, seemed to his Dominion mind, to be entirely appropriate to the situation. After all, all serious meetings were discussed over, or more to point, after dinner, and sealed with a glass of wine where he came from – there was nothing morbid about it, simply tradition, and of course, business.

And of course, the thoughts of how this might be in some way used to best advantage always lingered at the back of his mind.

Sophia wrapped pale fingertips about the “egg” which bathed her alabaster flesh in soothing cold, her closed though not yet taught palm rising upwards and downwards as if to test the negligible weight of the device. Placing it back in its original position, she looked upwards to the form of the older woman approaching—recalling the name as Nadjiba Abd-Al-Haqq, chief diplomat amidst her government.

“I cannot fault the hospitality of the Segments; there are no deficiencies in the services provided which have been professional beyond complaint.”

Sipping from her glass, the corners of bluish-hued lips grimaced as the overall spiciness of the warmed water reacted with the bland palette of Kaeneian physiology. It was an irony noticed by any familiar with subject and species that those who spent their time amidst the freezing dunes of the north would so enjoy that which melted the snow and ice to nothing.

“I would not expect your engineers to modify the overall environment to suit my physiology Lady Abd-Al-Haqq—though I appreciate the device delivered a moment ago the discomfort is irrelevant beyond increased cardiac activity and a minor increase in my core body temperature.”

The Governor-General almost paused in mid-sentence as the subtle twinkling in the eyes of the Scolopendran woman betrayed humour. “A joke,” Sophia said with a tone halfway between question and statement. “My apologies—I have not yet been around Humanity sufficiently to accurately understand your subtler points.”

Cocking her head to the side slightly as if her eyes joined intellect in considering a thought she attempted a retort. “Your engineers are very inconsiderate; perhaps they would further appreciate a secondment to the Civil Engineering Directorate, and the finer points of air circulation temperature systems in the Serene^Union.”

“As for the Union, her united Provinces and Kaenei as a whole she endures amidst the ever-evolving myriad threats of the Sol system and beyond. It seems that with every passing week the data-nodes from the Intelligence Directorate and the Office for Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs become more danger-laden and foreboding.”

“On half a dozen continents powers of every size struggle among each other for dominance—where the only factor in abundance within regimes of terror and subjugation are egos challenged only by the limitations of their own power-projection. Such dangers are not merely limited to Earth but stretch to The Red Planet, the Jovian System and even the Saturnian System is assaulted frequently by lesser though numerous foes.”

“The stone walls which lay underneath moss and the wilderness overgrowth of years passed are laid bear and besieged by those that would wrest what lay within, to use a metaphor. Where previously the threat lay in easily recognisable power blocs; Arda, The Triumvirate, now a vacuum with the dormancy of the former leads to the unknown.”

Sophia pushed a stray lock of hair back behind the ear from whence it had escaped from, repositioning the aim of the cooling device slightly. “I had envisioned my impromptu role as Governor-General to be a stewardship bathed in normalcy and routine.”

“I do not believe you truly wish to visit the Union,” She replied as Nadjiba tabled her forgotten objective. “A delegation from Treznor once remarked our people were less hospitable and bearable than the frozen tundra from whence we came. We boast fine minds and scientific facilities but the depth of our culture can seem shallow to foreigners.”

“However should you wish to inflict this upon yourself, I can make arrangements at a future convenient date.”

Finishing the glass of water Sophia shifted her legs somewhat, attempting to shake the weary feeling at muscles folded and inactive too long. Casting a glance around the chamber and noting the various dignitaries she gestured forwards. “Perhaps you would care to introduce me to some of those attending this evening?”

"I've been to worse places," Nadjiba counters with a smile, glad to see that the attempt is being made, at least. "If nothing else, it will be a short trip--and you can trust us to not be quite as rude as the Treznorians."

At the request for introductions, she nods and first indicates the nearby Calabrese. "This is Chancellor Cesare Calabrese of the Dominion. I believe it's his first visit here." Catching his attention with a subdued and polite gesture, she rounds out the introduction. "Chancellor, this is Governor-General Sophia Byzainti of the Serene^Union." She even manages to pronounce the '^' the same way that the Kaeneians do. She's been practicing.

Calabrese catches the motion and makes his way over, straightening his jacket with a smile. He offers his hand to Sophia, bowing politely, and of course brushing his lips against the back of her hand if she allows. "Truly a pleasure, m'lady. I only wish we were meeting under less troublesome circumstances."

Sophia's eyebrow climbed towards her furrowing brow but she did not recall her hand nor interrupt the movement The Chancellor led, noting what she presumed to be an intrinsic trait of Dominion society in the unconscious desire for personal intimacy on even a professional level. The discomfort of a higher body temperature in contact with her own was suppressed with equal grit to the cause of diplomacy, and she fought a wince even as it forced an eye to twitch at the pursed lips grazing the alabaster tones of flesh upon the proffered arm. "Good Evening Chancellor Calabrese, I am as introduced Governor-General Sophia Byzainti of the Serene^Union and her United Provinces. Protocol dictated I laboured you with the full title."

Nadjiba winces slightly out of sight at the gaffe, partly out of professionally-borne commiseration and partly out of professionally-borne indignation. Don't they give their officials, even heads of governments, cultural briefings? As Calabrese returns upright, she lets her face return to a sincere diplomatic desire-to-have-things-go-smoothly expression.

"Allow me to show you a traditional greeting within the Union," Byzainti began. Extending her arm outwards so that the palm faced upwards towards the ceiling she straightened fingertips so that they formed the natural arrow-head of the hand. "This signifies honesty -- the empty palm cannot hide a weapon to strike from."

"Responding to this with your own palm inverted to face my own is a sign of acceptance, of a desire for the same. There is no physical contact between; this symbolizes personal integrity and space."

The Scolopendran wisely does not let even her mind stray into the realm of stereotypes, particularly Dominioner stereotypes, and ironic humor relating thereto.

"Ah, mi dispiace," Calabrese replied, frowning slightly. "I had hoped that with the less ah, formal setting the need for the usual formalities might be somewhat lessened. My apologies, Governor-General, for any offense - it was unintended." Inwardly he sighed, and then idly thought of how many ways his countrymen might find to get around that greeting, 'honesty' aside. Outwardly, he nodded and smiled, doing his best to return the gesture in kind, then turning slightly to offer Nadjiba a polite bow. "Advisor, a pleasure to see you again as well. If I've not already outstayed my welcome," he said, indicating a seat with an enquiring expression.

"If you were to outstay your welcome on the first day that would indicate a surfeit of hospitality on our part, sir," Abd-Al-Haqq replies smoothly with the calculated twinkle of professional humor as she returns the bow, a few millimeters lower. Taking the hint, she further suggests through body language and action that everyone sit down. "Hopefully your stay has been pleasant so far?"

Sophia regarded the Arabic-styled seating as a personal challenge to adaptability; her spine considered it a personal challenge to its flexibility; her dress whilst undeniably inanimate did not need to remind the wearer of its ill-design in the realm of such seating. The Governor-General chose a seat to the right of Nadjiba, the traditional side of respect within Kaenei to a person.

Stiffly Sophia turned and gingerly folded her legs beneath her waist, looking quite uncomfortable though it would take someone well versed in the myriad and different to realise it. Tragic for the Kaeneian head of state that perhaps two of the most able-bodied persons in her realm of experience so equipped to detect it sat aside her.

Quietly, silently even in her own head, Nadjiba curses herself on making these particular arrangements, even if it's not a particularly blameworthy failing. Closer to the front of her mind she tries to think of ways to rectify the situation. There would be a more Western dining room, and the staff was briefed to be flexible... Now is not quite the point to hop up again, lest people feel like we're playing musical chairs.

Calabrese showed no such discomfort, settling in where he can easily speak with both ladies without sitting too close. "The stay has been decidedly pleasant, Advisor. Indeed, a welcome change. My compliments to you and yours. I can see why Nathicana speaks so highly of her visits here." Nevermind the other factors that played into it all, of course.

"We do try," the Scolopendran replies, glancing carefully over at Sophia. A plan begins to form. "Is there anything in particular either of you would like to see or do during your stay here? I would be glad to arrange something."

Sophia folded empty hands into her prone lap, tucking a loose lock of black which had broken free of the tresses secured in utilitarian ponytail which reached to waist from beneath the intertwined bands of platinum and silver which surrounded the scalp, and acted as sole sign of office. The Governor-General strained her ears, so as to make no mistake in understanding the foreign twang which coloured the Chancellor's speech.

The Dominion Chancellor shook his head slightly, but waited for Sophia to reply first, sampling a taste of some of the foods set out on the table as an excuse for not immediately responding. In all truth after all, the less the 'Pendrans had to bother with him, the better, never mind the fact he had been quite well taken care of.

"I am not one to embrace the role of a tourist," Sophia began before considering her stance. "I could not begin to guess at the wonders or interests the Segments may pose and therefore I would respectfully allow you free reign. Should you believe something is worthwhile enough to take time from your own schedule, it is worthwhile enough for myself to join you."

Nadjiba glances at Cesare.

"No, no - I assure you, couldn't be better," he says, smiling amicably. "Besides, more time for pleasure once business has been properly attended to in any case. Could I perhaps flag down one of the staff, if you ladies might care for a drink?"

Sophia opened her mouth to decline, to cite she did not feel thirsty, but stopped short in lieu of a better diplomatic option. "I should request you "surprise me", Chancellor. However my palette and those of my people cannot tolerate excess alcohol -- It would do me no good for relations or impressions to inebriate myself."

"Excellent. Our gracious hosts have some very tasteful juices in some combinations and types I've never had before, actually. Delicious. And you, Advisor?," Calabrese asks, already making a motion to one of the waiters.

"Actually, I think it would be an excellent opportunity for us to stretch our legs--the skyline is quite pretty this hour, and we can flag down a waiter along the way." This is working out well, as Nadjiba politely pre-empts discussion by beginning to rise. "After all, we can't have guests feeling as if they must serve, no? You're very kind to offer though, sir."

"An acceptable suggestion," The Governor-General replied, rising almost a little too quickly and dare-whispered eagerly. The attempt to adjust to kneeling for such long periods rewarding only in the show of flexibility and the stiffness in joints not used to anything bar a ramrod-straight posture upon a chair.

Calabrese tries to get to his feet as smoothly and as soon as possible as Nadjiba stands. "As you wish, Advisor," he replies smoothly, his first instinct to help Sophia to her feet, but he resists given the odd hang-ups the Kaeneians seem to have with contact. "I've been impressed with your engineering feats. Your people truly have excelled here, especially in how you've so seamlessly blended cultures and technologies."

"I am still taken aback by something as simple as the relationship between builder and land," The Kaeneian started as she followed the Scolopendran from the seating area. "The Spire rises forth from the heart of Solarri, which in turn is nestled amidst the most ancient of glaciers and stretching, frozen tundra. Our buildings are constantly besieged by the elements of such harshness; driving snows and winds prevent anything more varied than that which survives well. To be free to build as one sees fit having cultured the environment itself must be a liberating experience."

"Thank you, sir." Flagging down one of the saffron-robed waiters, she briefs him in quick, quiet, calm Arabic. "سنحتاج للانتقال إلى غرفة طعام مقاعد غربيّة . اعتذاراتي" She naturally switches back to her mildly Egyptian-accented English. "If I may have a raki and salgam, please, and I think a glass of yumfruit nectar for the Governor-General..."--to Sophia--"would you like that with or without pulp, ma'am?"--then to Calabrese--"and what would you like, sir?"

"Without," Sophia replied thoughtfully. Enjoying enough the Arabic spoken though of course it meant nothing but colour to her, without the knowledge to translate.

"I believe I'll give what you're having a try, Advisor, grazie."

The Advisor nods, more to the waiter than anyone else. The waiter retreats to a nearby table and takes out one normal-looking highball glass, two bottles--one filled with clear liquid, the other with a deep translucent red (http://www.doganaygida.com.tr/images/salgam2.jpg) concoction--a pitcher of water, a pitcher of something blue, and two curious glasses that resemble keystones and have two slits at opposite ends on the top, presumably for drinking.

The blue liquid is quickly poured into the highball, and then the clear liquid goes into one side of each of the keystone-like glasses. He pours water into the same chamber, crystallizing the anise in the raki and turning it a milky white; at this point it becomes clear the wedge-shaped glasses have two chambers in them separated by a vertical glass internal wall. The red liquid goes in the other chamber and the waiter returns with the glasses on a tray within two minutes of Nadjiba's nod.

"The yumfruit is native, so to speak, to Si'lat," Abd-Al-Haqq explains to the Kaeneian. "The TerraEngineers and botanists could tell you more about it but it adapted to the environment and is really quite delicious--hence the name. Something of a blend of mango and citrus fruit, I think, with a hint of grape. That's what gives it the color."

Governor-General Byzainti cast her gaze about the room, noticing the subtleties, the lack of clutter, the need for everything to have a clear purpose which marked Scolopendran architectural design. Whilst it bore similar marks to Kaeneian ethos it differed in the clear influence of the Arabic; as a language, and as a culture. Taking the proffered drink with a thankful nod Sophia took a sip, allowing the liquid to roll around the tongue.

Then to Calabrese. "Raki is something like ouzo or sambuca. How we traditionally drink it is to take a sip from the raki end, using the index finger to cover the hole on the salgam side, and then chase it with the salgam, basically turning the glass around." She demonstrates; the glass is actually very well sized and engineered for the task of using one's finger to block a hole whilst tipping it normally. "Salgam is called 'turnip juice' but is actually made of pickled purple carrots and flavored with turnips and paprika."

The man chuckles as he accepts the drink, arching one brow and giving Nadjiba a look of both appreciation and respect touched with good-natured humor. "You've a strong constitution, m'lady Advisor. I can see Scolopendran tastes are as varied as their skills." He waits til everyone has a drink in hand, then raises his. "Salut?"

Though she raises her glass almost instantly, it is clear from the focus of Sophia's eyes that she is simply emulating Calabrese. "Varyzaya kos uals Siralil ull Ayriyai Boroghe zos Toria^Elandorial, Cianasta uals Byze^zos^Elandorii vot ualia Meridiaa, esali uals Ilianara^Neaniya zu Kaenei ull mia Etorial - eslai mia Llariana cian ull norie, esali tir Khaiyaii Neanniori Solarri."

"Baroque-Kaeneian," She adds almost apologetically. "It translates to Greetings to the Divurgent and Capricious Equals of Titan, beneath Saturn on this Sunrise, from the Serene^Union of Kaenei and her people - from her cities far and wide, from our fallen home Solarri."

Nadjiba returns the look with a smirking smile at Calabrese, lips curling back just enough on one corner to show just a glint of teeth. "I also enjoy a well-boiled centipede. Fisehatak ." She raises her glass along with the other two, finger already over the salgam slit, and taps it against the others' glasses. "Arabic, mine. 'To your health.'" And she takes another sip.

"Solarri, esyia esai lue zeyiastaz" she mutters under breath having bowed her head slightly. When next she opens eyes Sophia began to note the difficulties in foreign interactions were numerous. "It is customary to say, translated to the Standard tongue, Solarri -- gone but not forgotten," when mentioning the name of the world now lost. Alas it may seem odd but when one loses a precious thing utterly memories are all that remain tangible."

Calabrese takes a bit more care before he sips, making sure he has it right first. He takes a moment to savor the unique combination after the chaser, nodding in approval even as he tries to work out just where this stands alongside other different drinks he's had. "I prefer mine on a stick," he says to Nadjiba. "Cajun style." His demeanor shifts at Sophia's explanation, and he bows his head slightly. "Understandable, Governor-General. Apologies - I'm afraid my briefings were somewhat lacking on certain points."

Nadjiba nods with a gentle smile, turning her glass around in her hands before taking a sip of salgam. "Well understood. It is not unknown in our own culture, the Prophet (Peace Be Upon Him) knows. We were something like that about Earth-That-Was at first."

"It would be an officer eager to impress or boasting high pride of service to uncover some of our lesser-known customs, Chancellor. I cannot expect others to share our sorrow; the sea between stars is vast and within her cold embrace a billion worlds are born, live and die without a care as to sorrow. Do not trouble yourself with the wounds of the past, they are to be remembered so lessons are learned, but never loathed."

The Governor-General waited patiently for the pace of the group's movement to accelerate from the standing toast, the burning desire to explore relatively-alien surroundings suppressed as any good Kaeneian would aspire to do but nonetheless acknowledged. Cobalt eyes regarded the pastel-colours and smooth walls, with perhaps a pang of regret that her own visual spectrum could not process the more vivid colours and instead limited her appreciation.

Picking up on the subtle vibrations the Kaeneian emits, Nadjiba directs the party towards the window. The hotel is strategically situated so there is not much in the way of buildings around it; it commands a view of the parks below all the way to the artificial horizon created by the skyline, a wall of Streamline Moderne skyscrapers all about fifty stories tall and curving around this curious little hole in the center of the city. The parks are, for the most part, dark except for the gently-lit paths like strings of pearls far below at this vantage point. Fate and orbital mechanics are on Abd-al-Haqq's side as Saturn is both in the sky, thirty degrees across, and reflected incompletely on a still lake below. A few other bright discs in the sky denote other Saturnian moons, and the eternal dotted line in the night sky shows the Ring habitats millions of kilometers away.

Sophia glanced upwards, her eyes unconsciously appreciating the removal of colours so bright as to be reproduced as grey with the appreciable blackness of the void. Only the primary world of the sub-system broke the palette with remarkable colour.

"The relationship between a world and her moon(s) can act as a suitable metaphor for a number of personal and trans-national relationships. Everything about Titan; physical make-up, orbital path, even weather patterns--before the advent of technologies to suppress them--instigated and influenced by Saturn herself. We stand here and watch her in the sky, silent in a way her moon will never be, and know that she shaped Titan without the tools of Scolopendran, Kaeneian, or alien hands. It does remind me of the cradle of Humanity and her influences over all of Man -- Kaeneians also, for we are five hundred years to the length of our stay on the third world of Sol."

Calabrese takes a moment to simply take it all in, with an expression that seems to almost lose his somewhat smug confidence and shift to something that borders more on reverent wonder. "Il dolce Jesu," he breathes softly, following the arc of Saturn with his eyes, then further out to the Ring set against the darkening sky. For once he seems to lack the proper words. "How could a man ever tire of looking up at this?"

"Jesus," She repeats with the same italian-reproduced intonation. "The only son of the Christian creator and god, sent to Earth to forgive the sins of mankind for their eventual ascent to Heaven. Some sects of Christianity dispute the oneness of the son and father, whilst others eschew any claim they are not one and the same."

Sophia cocked her head slightly, her eyes still watching the dark sky. "I have studied some Earth religions, though I cannot hope to find enough time to dedicate myself sufficiently to understand their myriad details. Earth boasts so many cultures that I do not have the years left in me even at my young age to know all."

"That's a common question around here." Nadjiba smiles with a touch of pride, nodding first to Cesare and then to Sophia before looking back out at Saturn, close enough that it really does look like a yellow ball waiting to be caught. "It's an effective reminder, we think, of many things. Needless to say it has replaced Luna in most of our poetry."

The Chancellor arches a brow slightly, glancing at Sophia as she speaks. For some reason, she reminded him for a moment of Sister Margherita - only young, gentle, and beautiful, not ancient, wrinkled, and prone to using her ruler to get her point across. He takes another double-sip of his drink to clear that image away before speaking.

"I'm afraid I'm the wrong person to expound on matters of the faith, Governor-General. Should you care at some point, Archbishop Batista however, would be both pleased to discuss, and offer a veritable fount of knowledge on the subject. Advisor, again, I compliment you on the accomplishments of your people. I've never seen any of this before, save from photographs. It's breathtaking."

"Whilst it would fill my Teacher with horror to know," The Governor-General began whilst nodding to Nadjiba "I appropriated recently a condensed greatest works of Shakespeare. Human culture --Scolopendran included-- boasts tomes worthy of eternal remembrance and if I had but more time I would while away many an hour reading through them. Again, Teacher Siaya would chide me indeed for such frivolousness."

"Thank you. Perhaps it explains a little bit more about us. If the Moon and the twinkling stars inspired our forefathers on Earth, well..." The International Relations Advisor chuckles softly, taking another sip of her raki. "Same psychology but with a dramatically larger stimulus."

"I believe one could spend a lifetime in study and fail to plumb the depths of Scolopendran culture properly, Advisor," Calabrese offers, once again smiling as he glances over at her, a subtle nod of respect to their capabilities implied. "As for the pursuit of knowledge itself, I've never found it to be a frivolous endeavor."

Sophia offered a very slight shrug, "Perhaps not. But the type of knowledge can be disputed. Believe me or call my words misguided but it is not I who truly steers the course of the Union; I am but the head of state and the state's government. The Teachers, of which my own Lady Siaya is counted amidst their number, are tasked with the safeguarding of Kaenei's history and culture. We are seven billion amidst countless trillion. Our greatest legacies, minds and works are almost entirely forgotten -- they either did not survive The Great Fall, or were lost in transit across the galaxy. Even now that which still exists is gradually diluted as we open ourselves to others. Such dilution cannot truly be battled and nor would I, for without change their is no evolution, without such there is stagnation and to stagnate is to die. It can be said the five-hundred years spent in this system have not been profitable, or particularly glorious."

Advisor Abd-al-Haqq listens quietly, not having much to say beyond banalities best left aside.

"There is some tension at home," She continues. "It is not so obvious as rallies in the streets, or even hushed whisperings in basements or shaded alleys. It is something as inconspicuous as a raised eyebrow, or a disagreement where before harmony was not simply expected but assumed. New ideas are seen not yet as dangerous, but difficult and demanding of attention where a sizable number of my people seem tired. I hold the unobvious record of being the first Governor-General to order our forces to war, I am the first Governor-General to cover her own hands in the blood of the valiant -- whether that was a true course of action or not. None would comment angrily to me but the undercurrent, the ripple against the wave, is palpable."

Sophia cocks her head again, displaying the odd idiosyncrasy of doing such when being ironic or self-belittling. "I find it difficult to reconcile my current position of power to that of but ten years ago. I was once a civil servant amidst the vast catacombs of The Spire. Sometimes I regard those unimportant days with envy."

"Hrm." Nadjiba murmurs quietly, not exactly to herself. "Your culture is not the only one where bid'a, innovation, could be considered... problematic."

"Given my rather limited experience, I still wouldn't say your time here has been inglorious." He pauses for a moment, brows furrowing slightly as he decides mentioning the Europan war would be again, amiss. A ... complex people, these Kaeneians.

"You mention the need for evolution, and hint that though you lead, there are other forces also guiding your people. Perhaps it's time for some changes - to re-examine directions, and perhaps pool the resources of all these groups for a more common goal? Not to mean any disrespect, or to suggest a lack of unity or direction on your part, mind. Sometimes just a shift in those directions can be enough, if needed."

"The word of law leaves no grey area -- I am the total sum power of government. I am the First Chair of the Council of the Aengelistoria Dominica; I am the Head of Internal Administration; First Guardian of the KISS (Kaeneian Intelligence & Security Service). My word is taken as literally in execution as any dusty tome of passed resolutions. Yet as I mentioned and as you diligently recognized there are other smaller forces at work."

"The teachers disapprove of my liberalizations. The KISS worry and fret over the risk of penetration at the hands of foreign agents. Even the Supreme-Overseers of the Aengelistoria Dominica have come to believe I am progressing too quickly. The decision to come to Titan in this case was the first I recall being without unanimity."

"Perhaps fate has a conscious sense of humor for at the very decision to replace the previous Governor-General ... I dissented. Perhaps there is a divine punishment that I took a task I did not wish and did not agree with, and then set about remolding institutions and policies which had existed since long before my now departed father's grandfather came into existence."

Nadjiba shakes her head gently. "Somehow I doubt that. You're dealing with things the way you see fit, no more and no less. Consequences occur, and you deal with them in turn. Such is simply the nature of things and the reason why you've allies like us."

Calabrese shrugs slightly, turning back to the view, filing away the information for further ponderance and study later. "Respectfully, Governor-General, desired or not, and in spite of varied opinions as to your rule, either you are in control of your government, or you are not. While it's never wise to discount varying viewpoints and opinions, if you are in truth the absolute ruler ..." He trails off, taking the opportunity to again sample his rather unique drink.

Nadjiba frowns.

"Allow me to be equally clear Chancellor," Sophia responded. "I stand on the soil of Titan, I confer with your honourable self and Lady Abd-al-Haqq whilst the reason for our collective presence is assembled and safeguarded. Make no mistake I am the Supreme voice of the Council, and I am in control of my government."

"I command the Defence Solarri and the ships which diligently sped me to the Saturnian system. I command the soldiers and ordered their lives forfeit on Europa in retribution and I have the undivided attention of the Supreme-Overseers as First Chair. I may have disagreement, or perhaps even blatant inability to share viewpoints but I am the Governor-General of the Serene^Union and her united Provinces. I am the supreme servant of the State. I am the State."

"Excellent," he replies easily. "Then there is no need for concern, and previous hints to such are merely," he gestures idly with his hand, taking another brief sip of his drink. "Observations on varying interests. I'm sure you'll do fine. Which reminds me - the reason we're gathered here. I don't suppose you'd care to offer your own takes on the situation, Governor-General, Advisor?"

"My personal opinion is irrelevant," she replied whilst finishing the juice she had been holding longer than necessary to complete the task. "You are however perhaps correct unconsciously Chancellor. I am the one hundredth and first Governor-General. I may live to be of an average age of one hundred and forty. Perhaps I may not return from Titan -- Service to the State requires sacrifice, it requires absolute willingness to perish for the good of the greater number. I am perfectly willing to accept the gain of the nation might be my loss; I shall accept whatever my position deals me if it betters the people. The State must endure eternally."

"Acting as host, I must recuse myself from the question. Neither the position of my religion nor of my state has sway in this case." Abd-al-Haqq smiles diplomatically. "Your thoughts, sir?"

"I'm hoping to hear the arguments of the others before I offer any solid vote, one way or another. It's an uncomfortable thing, effectively deciding whether or not a man should live or die, who's done nothing that I'm aware of deserving death. I myself would prefer, given the technology available, and the ability to carry on with a very high quality life, not to give up, given the choice."

He looks out across the skyline, pausing as he puts together the rest of his thoughts. "Then again, a man has a right to choose for himself one would think - it being his life - unless one brings religion into the discussion, which in turn would depend on which faith said man prescribes to. I suppose I can see reasons for choosing either way, depending on interpretation of the various factors."

"Fair enough," the Arab woman says with a nod.

"Chancellor, do you appreciate a fine wine?" Sophia asks.

He chuckles at the abrupt shift in pace and tone. "I'm a Dominion native, Governor-General. This is like asking 'is the Pope Catholic'." All with a wink and a smile.

Sophia gently extends her hand forward towards the Chancellor's glass as if to take it into her own hand. "May I?"

He arches a brow as he hands it over. "Bear in mind, this isn't wine - this is a rather much more potent concoction of the 'Pendrans. If your system is sensitive to alcohol as you'd mentioned earlier, this wouldn't be the best sort to start sampling with."

"Yesss... given that the traditional colloquial name for it is 'Lion's Milk' that may not be wise," Nadjiba says with an ounce of concern.

Her hand lowers slightly, as though testing the weight of the glass. "Would you consider technology, as wonderful and truly barrier-breaking as it is in our modern time, quite so wonderful if it bestowed upon you your physical appearance and your life from the the brink of death, but could give you not even the simple pleasure of touching this glass? If it could allow you to see, but not taste or smell?"

Sophia swirled the liquid around, "The question has never been whether Killthanus deserved death, for it is his own decision which brings us here. The question has been whether, as he denies, whether he truly lives. Could you content yourself with looking only at this skyline? With no way to manipulate the world around you so that perhaps one day you might visit it?"

"Well now, to be fair, I did say 'of high quality'," he replies, frowning as he ponders again the ramifications there. Of course the technological problems had been included in the briefings, but given the accelerated rate of advancement, he'd allowed himself to be less uncomfortable about the 'pro-life' option with the hope that things would soon develop to counteract the problem of non-physical interaction. "Hence wanting to hear all the arguments out before coming to a firm conclusion. Choosing for oneself is one matter. Choosing for another is problematic."

"My opinion is somewhat swayed by my faith. Why discard something you know could get better for what one you believe will be infinitely worse? This is why I cannot honestly make a decision on his behalf. He doesn't share my faith nor my reasoning and to make a decision based on that would be... inappropriate."

"The decision has been made by Killthanus, Chancellor. He does not wish to continue his electronic existence -- What he asks however is outside the remit of the law and due to the Serene^Union's abject lack of experience with the transference of sentience to electronic form I do not judge the State to be capable of making a fair decision."

"This entire enclave is merely to advise. If I were so suited I would take the consensus and disregard it -- I would make my own decision as the Governor-General. I understand my own limitations, my own lack of experience and here we have gathered in our triumvirate of sorts within a larger Triumvirate minds well versed and knowledgeable."

Sophia ponders, addressing Nadjiba. "As far as I know Killthanus does not believe he can tolerate years without the ability to touch, to smell. He has yet to adjust to the fact his chest no longer rises and falls, that his heart does not beat and his flesh will not burn beneath Sol or pale amidst the cold."

Nadjiba nods, and Calabrese quietly finishes his drink, still frowning thoughtfully at the questions the whole thing raises.

"Time enough for all this when the conference begins in any case," he finally says, breaking back into his usual easygoing smile and moving back towards the way they came with a final wistful look over his shoulder at the incredible view. “Perhaps we should rejoin the others – I’m certain there are more than a few who would like to speak with you before the conference, Governor-General. We shouldn’t monopolize your time.” Calabrese gestures, bowing slightly. “After you, dear ladies.”

The walk back is for the most part, quiet, leaving each of the three to their own thoughts.



(OOC: Big thanks to Nathi and Scolo for sparing the time on IRC for this.)

OOC: Assuming I'm not so far behind as to be irrelevent..."So many efforts at being the land-of-the-free have failed in the past because of either Pollyannas with rose-tinted spectacles or bleeding hearts didn't take the very real steps necessary to get what they wanted, usually pretending in things like 'better natures' or 'the universal good' that would make everything work out in the long run..."The LiME's grin was evident. He simply nodded as the officer slipped into a slight rant. At first it seemed to run against the nation's motto of "Idealism at all costs!" But on closer examination, Habakkuk decided that this view might just fit perfectly with what the nation stood for. Idealism in results, not dreams. Lighting up like a hippy and wishing the world into perfection was a perfect way to get the opposite. He was impressed: he hadn't expected quite this much from the Scolopedrans. He made a note to avoid prejudging nations in the future; it was a good way to cause irreperable harm.

Arabic letters above and English below, the labels from right to left read...
..."Anything particularly catching your eye?"Habakkuk chuckled some more. He found himself feeling that Johnson should get more work like this. He was friendly and had a 'down home' feeling to him, but he was also good. Sure, much of this was all propaganda, but the secret is in the telling. Whether or not he actually believed it was hard to say, but he certainly did a fantastic job of selling it. Which was rather the point.

Mimicing a human gesture he had seen before, Habakkuk stroked his chin. It seemed a silly action, but most cultures tended to view it as a way of non-verbally saying "Wait a moment while I ponder this. Wouldn't want to rush into things, right mate?" He scanned the letters, the Arabic just as good as English for him, "Well, it seems that they're following a certain order. Or at least a general flow. Still... 'Because It Works' seems the most out of place with the theme of the others; at least in title. I think I would like to start there."

... "Still... 'Because It Works' seems the most out of place with the theme of the others; at least in title. I think I would like to start there."
"Ah, the kind that likes to start at the end." Johnson chuckles. "Well, that skips a lot of exposition that can be summed up in a few words." The diplomatic officer proceeds to launch into those words even as he leads the Hacker towards the far left portal. "Power inevitably derives from the consent of the governed--any state that exists does so because its people allow it to. Governments tend to enforce their existance through violence, bread and circuses, propaganda... basically anything that makes it look impossible or silly for the people to throw off the state should it become irksome. Any ideology held to its extreme historically failed due to its inability to live up to said ideal. In the years before the Revolution, what would become Scolopendra was held under different nation names but all unified by the trading languages and corporate culture of the Capricorn Group. Oligarchic merchantile governance did not work for the people, thanks to the excesses of the Group, and so the people rose up.

"Like other revolutionaries, ours knew about history and applied it. Any system rigidly defined on ideology tends to lose sight with reality and thus fails. Take freedom of religion. Does it extend to making human sacrifices so the sun will rise every day for another year?" The orc smiles, quite slyly indeed despite his tusks. "Freedom of speech. Does it mean you can call a political opponent a child molester when he's not? Tolerance. Are child molestors tolerable?"

The exhibit is built like a timeline, extending back through the earlier periods and forward to the present day, more or less. Pictures abound, but perhaps curiously no relics from the founding of the state can be found. They all disappeared back with the old Civil History Museum on Earth-That-Was. There's also quite a bit of reading material, probably to help provide context to the pictures and occasional model. A few people look curiously at the blue-plastroned Diplomatic Officer and his robed associate, but they seem to take it in stride. Meanwhile, Johnson continues with his explanation.

"So. The twentieth century fleshed out relativism. The twenty-first showed how it doesn't work. What's an idealist to do, when faced with the ol' existentialist crisis of having to make a seemingly absurd choice between options with no instructions? Libertarianism or statism? Capitalism or socialism? Freedom or safety? Well, you realize that any system needs constants and thus you declare your ideals. You realize that, being ideals, they won't ever be fully real. We're for free speech; hell, we're probably horrendously libellious and racist to a few more ordered societies. My best buddy calls me a greenskin (because I am) and then I counter by pointing out his greasy wopness. Still, you can't accuse someone of crimes in the name of free speech because society wouldn't work that way. We're of a more socialist bent that you're used to, probably, but state-controlled industries lack horizontal competition and so grow inefficient and prone to graft. Sure, we have public everything, but it's all optional and has to directly compete with the private sector. To say that we're against free enterprise would be a laugh once you've seen the bazaars down at street level on Topside and in the Caves, but there's a broad range of... indiscretions traditionally made in the name of profit we've no tolerance for."

Johnson steps back with an expansive gesture with his arms. "So we establish particular ideals to guide what we want our culture to become, all the while keeping in mind a more important and, paradoxically, pragmatic ideal: doing whatever works to get us to our goals without compromising overmuch our ideals. It's the answer to why everything here is ordered the way it is and why we get along with people who don't share all of our ideals but at least keep up with the nonnegotiable ones (such as quite a few of your allies)."

An odd people, the Kaeneians, Calabrese thought to himself. Socially at least, the polar opposites of say, the Scolopendrans. One race seemed designed to be as ill-equipped to being anywhere but their niche, or to deal at length with others, the other people could not possibly be more well-designed for integration, socialization, and adaptation. What a deucedly odd mix we have in this alliance. And yet ... it works. Amazing.

It had been interesting interacting with Sophia, to be sure. The faux pas had been useful in offering some insight, even if they had more than ruffled their host. He accepted a glass of sweet juice he couldn’t readily identify – likely one of those exotic mixes the ‘Pendrans had concocted offworld – and settled back into the comfortable cushions to once again observe.

Flight Technician Sotai’s rose to meet his forehead as the three assembled Kaeneians stood in front awaited his response. Flicking through the sheets held fast to the clipboard proffered by the trio, he eventually nodded.

“I should be able to cover this,” he confirmed, setting the clipboard down amidst a pile of reports and inventory schedules. “How did you get around the Flight Chief? She might not be thrilled at the prospect of being planet-side and carrying out the legwork of the Department of Science, but I’ve never known her to encourage this.”

Three sets of eyebrows followed the first upwards; “Encourage? She’s already down there. Her presence is necessary to supervise us, allegedly.”

“Besides this is the first time we’ve played foreign opposition—the good name of our Union is dependent on it.”

Sotai’s nose crumpled almost imperceptibly, “I was never one for chess. I hear the Scolopendrans are particularly good at it anyway. Very unpredictable. We may struggle.”

The tallest of the trio baulked. “Flight Technician; are you insinuating our very own Staff Flight-Adept Fenya might not acquit himself? If the Chief hears of this you might find yourself servicing the fuel lines with a wire brush.”

Shaking his head and simply returning to his work as his colleagues left to attend the monumental event, Sotai glanced at the Holographic Imaging Array held on impromptu trusses and surrounded by snaking, bulky conduits and wire bundles which criss-crossed the floor. Connected the vast personality matrix accounted for the bulk of the equipment—housing the cutting-edge neural duplication algorithms which allowed for the former Governor-General Killthanus’ consciousness to exist.

Each of the multiple digital displays read negative—negative generation, negative process and negative run-time. Sotai couldn’t help but ponder what that meant in conscious terms, for even sleeping Kaeneians and humanoids alike generally registered very tangible neural activity and other responses. Even the project leads of the Department Science could only give the vaguest hypothesis for what they believed Killthanus might, or might not feel when not being active.

One “lowly” Tech-Adept—quickly chastised by his superior—even claimed that the sensors and their readouts which Sotai glanced at now might not even be capable of understanding computational activity when the imaging array was offline.

The same Tech-Adept had, over rations in the mess assigned to the Kaeneian delegation by the Scolopendrans, further elaborated that for him the only time that Killthanus could truly be said to be “deactivated” was when his Personality Matrix was de-coupled from all power systems and offline. Since this had never come to pass, and since the nature of the algorithms and the extremely potent processing power of the computer system—which far surpassed even the basic systems for Starship Electronic Intelligences—one must conclude it is impossible to know the extent of change from the way the system was designed.

Although this interested Sotai his contribution was limited—he was here along with a secondment of the ship’s crew to act as the Department of Science’s “legs; Fetching, rudimentary electronics, logistics and the occasional construction was the most challenging of their duties. Indeed the impromptu Kaeneian-Scolopendran chess match marked the first time he’d been alone in the generating facility for any length of time.

The doors of the facility opened with a barely audible creak which did not immediately draw Sotai’s attention. Footsteps echoed against the metallic floor as the Flight Technician completed a simple re-calibration of a fire-warning sensor, and turned to face with clipboard-in-hand the new arrival.

Eyes being drawn to the rank insignia on the collar which identified the Kaeneian opposite as a Lieutenant-Major, he snapped an arm into salute. The superior officer, after what seemed a moment’s hesitation, returned the salute and nodded. Sotai couldn’t place his face immediately, but this was nothing surprising—the crew of a Conflict Carrier easily surpassed three thousand, and officer transfers as well as his relative isolation on the port flight pod meant his familiarity with command on a day-to-day basis rarely extended beyond the non-commissioned officers of the Air Group.

The red trim on the Lieutenant-Major’s uniform identified him as Shipboard Operations, which did elicit some confusion on Sotai’s part. To his knowledge only personnel from the Air Group and a smattering of Command personnel were seconded to Titan.

The Flight Technician’s Superior scanned the room, his eyes panning over the expanse of equipment laid out as if looking for a specific item or system. Having completed a cursory glance, he took a step forward and narrowed his eyes at the Imaging Array.

“The Personality Matrix?” He asked simply.

Sotai shook his head and gestured to the opposite side of the chamber, the Lieutenant-Major’s eyes following him sharply as he pointed. “Far wall, connected to the secondary wiring bundle in yellow sir.”

Growing increasingly curious, the subordinate Kaeneian ventured into small talk. “I hadn’t expected anybody to return for some hours sir. The chess match against the Scolopendrans seemed to have attracted everyone to the Rec Rooms.”

“It is of no interest to me,” the stranger replied gruffly.

Even as he spoke, the officer laid his hands on the yellow wire bundle. Cupping it and forming a grip as if he were calculating the force necessary to disconnect it. His left hand sought out the interface controls, and began to press a sequence of runes.

Without warning the blue light emanating opaque slits in the power conduits tying the Personality Matrix to the facility’s generators began to flicker—once every couple of seconds at first, but increasing in randomised cycles until a shrill warning tone sounded.

“Sir, you’re disrupting the equipment,” Sotai warned as he began to hurry over to the source of the malfunction.

The Flight Technician got no further than two metres when his gaze settled upon the drawn muzzle of a standard-issue Defence Solarri sidearm. The green light mounted within the barrel indicated the safety was disengaged and the weapon live. His eyes travelled upwards to meet the Lieutenant-Major’s own steely glare.

Sotai did not even receive an explanation, or demand or even an order—receiving only as he did the semi-blinding muzzle flash and kinetic force of a bullet to the chest as he stumbled backwards and to the decking with a clatter. Flailing arms flopped against the steel of the floor impotently, even as his orange maintenance overalls darkened visibly with crimson.

Sucking in a great gulp of air even as the agony of his diaphragm expanding suggested a punctured lung, he managed to raise his head sufficiently to observe the other Kaeneian calmly holster his weapon and resume disrupting the equipment. To Sotai’s left and ten feet away a communications adjunct taunted him, as useless as it would have been had it lay ten miles east—beyond the energy required simply to draw breath and therefore beyond him.

The door of the chamber slid open in full view of Sotai to admit four further all garbed in the dark-blue duty uniform of the Defence Solarri. The pain and distance presented their faces as mere swirls of alabaster against navy, and beyond recognition. He duly noted their lack of interest in the wheezing of a dying Kaeneian, instead immediately going to the aid of the initial attacker.

“You’ve complicated matters,” the first newcomer added as he disconnected an emergency APU.

“I had anticipated our agent instigating the chess game would draw the full crowd of personnel. There was no way to foresee a solitary Technician would buck the trend. He is of no consequence.”

Sotai flopped on to his stomach, gritting his teeth as the agony of his wound perforated his being. As a seal might haul itself across a sandy beach, so he used his arms to haul himself pathetically closer to the communications adjunct. Behind a red streak drew itself grimly upon the decking.

A loud bang, followed quickly by a second caused Sotai to fling his head to the decking, shivering at the loudness and surprise of the sonic assault and clenching his muscles involuntarily. Grimacing, he felt a warm and metallic liquid trickle into his mouth. Clumsily bring his hand to bear he wiped bright red from gasping lips, whilst his consciousness duly deduced the two bangs had been further shots.

Still nine-some feet from help, Flight Technician Sotai’s body could go on no more, and with a final exhaling, ceased to function. For many more minutes neural processes desperately continued, devouring the scant oxygen left within the blood until they too died through starvation.

A certain Lieutenant-Major re-holstered his weapon for a second time, and returned to work without sparing a complimentary glance at the expired.




Commandant Ayala paced the SAC without purpose, her eyes occasionally drawn to the rudimentary bleep of a completed system diagnostic or tactical drill. The duty roster declared the Situational Awareness Centre to be under the nominal control of the Officer of the Watch, one Captain Eace, though said Captain was poised over the Master Table and most likely trying to work out why his superior officer and the Carrier’s commander was here whilst supposed to be off-duty.

Ayala’s attention was drawn to Eace as he shuffled through an inventory display on the Master Table, his face twisting into a scowl as he snatched a clipboard from an adjacent desk and ruffled through the contained pages.

“Supply shuttle departing Titan facility … But it’s not on the deployment schedule, Commandant. There’s no record of a flight plan in the database, and there doesn’t seem to be an assigned Officer Ident to its original launch.”

Ayala skipped the three-step staircase down to the Situation Level, scrutinising the forming holographic map of Aerospace traffic around the Planet-side facility.

“Commandant—Titan Aerospace Control advises the craft is launching without take-off clearance.”

“Lieutenant Severin, advise the craft we require an immediate explanation of their failure to file a flight plan, and obtain ATC clearance for take-off.”

Severin frowned, his attention somewhat broken between the SAC and the information being obtained through his earpiece. “I’ve been trying since contact Ma’am—no response on standard or emergency operating channels. They’re not even broadcasting a transponder signal.”

Ayala’s gaze narrowed, “Have the ship answer to Priority Level One Condition. Request permission for weapons-free from TYCS control.”

Eace nodded briskly, and with a tap of the earpiece/microphone assembly in his ear tied his voice into the intra-ship announcement system, instantly amplifying his booming tone to every deck and station throughout the cavernous carrier.

“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.”

The loud hiss of labouring actuators heralded the sealing of the launch tubes from the rest of the starboard pod via heaving blast doors, the only link to the outside world a single controller seated behind a reinforced transparent window designed to survive the detonation of a fighter’s fuel. As each tube verified isolation the computerised map of the Conflict Carrier’s port tubes turned progressively from red to green in totality.

Flight Chief Disreli nodded before adding his Officer’s Ident to the map and transmitting combat readiness to the SAC. He knew from procedure the starboard flight pod would be loading a further squadron into her own tubes to compliment the reaction fighters seconds away from clearing the port side.

Disreli turned towards the maintenance area and the fighters that were for now, unable to take part in the operation. As his eyes completed their pan they momentarily settled on the titanic shape of the enormous fuel tanks half-buried into the armoured walls of the pod. A striking red against the metallic finish of the hull and criss-crossed with debris protection tresses and other safety features they were highlighted in yellow for a split-second by a billowing flicker.

The Flight Chief’s eyes widened as the flicker took on the familiar rush of a flaming wave ; expanding and consuming the tresses, valves, conduits and coolants and replacing his field of view with a growing sheer-orange sun. Disreli’s mouth opened to shout orders, to warn someone but found the moisture in his throat quickly super-heated to nothingness. To his left barely ten feet away the armoured skin of a fighter blackened and began to bubble impossibly—to his right, a cry of pain as Avionics Adept Heral’s flesh melted to the scorching deck.

Dutiful to the last, the overhead computer display which monitored launch tube readiness continued to do so, though nobody on the Flight Deck took the time to watch the all-green bank of indicators quickly turning back to red and then to black as individual sensor inputs were lost.

Captain Eace continued to hold on to the clipboard—more as an act of retaining something in his control than out of any genuine need—even as he felt the deck leave his feet airborne and himself fall backwards against the tier’s staircase with a dull thud. To the extreme left of the XO’s field of vision, Commandant Ayala dug her non-existent fingernails into the surface of the Master Table even as the three-dimensional holographic representation of the carrier faded to nothingness alongside the interior lighting baffles.

A torturous scream of metal pushed beyond its structural tolerance let alone design limit assailed the SAC, complimented by the gibberish being spewed by status monitors and system displays as the basic functions of the ship seemed to descend into chaos. Eace flung the clipboard from his grasp in time to latch on to the tunic collar of the Tactical Officer as he left his station on the second tier via an impressive forward roll.

Ayala set her mouth in a grimace—her voice utterly inaudible against the din of whatever had assailed the ship and all of her energy thrown into the task of preventing herself being thrown free of the Master Table. Her taught muscles relaxed somewhat as the Conflict Carrier’s inertia-compensators finally caught up with motion and the SAC returned to a somewhat upright stance.

“Sitrep!” she spat from her position over the table.

“We’ve lost everything forward of frame three-fourteen Commandant,” The Officer of the Watch replied with a grimace and nursed ribs. “Environmental, Atmospheric and Combustion sensors are black—fusion generators forward of that frame have dropped from the grid.”

Finding their feet, the majority of the monitors held suspended in a circle above the Master Table returned to functionality as the ship’s Electronic Intelligence re-asserted control. The copious amount of red on the scrolling text was not a comforting sight to Commandant Ayala.

“Decompression alert! Frame two-seventy five … That’s the cargo doorway between the port flight pod and main-ship. No response from anyone on that Flight Deck Commandant!”

Ayala’s grimace deepened as the three-dimensional model of the Carrier re-materialised on the Master Table, or at least most of the Carrier. For where the Port Flight Pod should compliment the Starboard the model terminated in completion on the bridging arm and continued in a wire-frame devoid of hull texture for a scant few inches more before abruptly terminating.

“You won’t get the Flight Deck …” Ayala replied steely-eyed. “We don’t appear to have a Flight Deck on the portside.”

Eace leapt to his feet, the tender ribs ignored as he quickly checked the still-flickering computer model for obvious corruption. The hologram shimmered and disappeared as he reset the system to clear what must be an obvious error. The pod did not re-materialise along with the rest of the ship.

“Oxygen levels behind frame two-seventy five are dropping,” he added almost as an after-thought. "Combustion sensors have been tripped at frames two-seventy three and two-seventy one—I can’t tell if the fire suppression systems are reacting or not.”

“Atmosphere warnings frame one-eleven; one-fifteen; one-twenty … Likely hull fractures. Intra-ship communications are sporadic. We’re looking at fundamental structural integrity loss.”

Ayala hauled herself up a tier; “Communications?”

Lieutenant Severin cleared the debris from his console, shaking his head. “The primary external antenna isn’t responding and doesn’t appear to be drawing shipboard power … It may not even still be affixed to the hull.”

Ayala gritted her teeth, the fleeing shuttle now an inconvenient memory; “Emergency Transmitters: Advise TYCS control we are adrift without attitude control and venting atmosphere. Advise them of catastrophic loss of structure. “

Reaching under the Master Table and into a reserve box the Commandant pulled free two wrist-mountable torches, handing one to Eace. “Captain—you’re with me. Lieutenant Severin …”

Rolling up the sleeves of her duty uniform as she headed towards the heavy security bulkhead Ayala passed the Lieutenant as he stood to attention.

“You have the SAC … Or what’s left of it.”

Chess games notwithstanding, not a good day to be the Officer of the Watch of Saturn Theatre. "Flag Captain, distress signal from KDV Heartfelt Authority. She's adrift and losing integrity."

Flag Captain Suzdal frowns as he looks over the strategic indicator board, but he doesn't hesitate. "EventCon Two throughout the Theatre. STC is informed of the emergency?"

The communications authority officer nods. "Yes, sir, on technician authority."

"Coordinate all course changes. Deploy SPIR heavy lifters and Beadupods to evacuate Authority. Any idea what she was doing?"

The sensors authority officer shakes her head. "No indication, sir, although the VDA and sensor posts confirm that she increased her combat readiness immediately after launching shuttle... listed as sensor contact Sierra-Kilo-Alpha-November-Five-Seven-Three."

"What's that shuttle doing?"

Momentary pause. "Hyperbolic escape trajectory, it looks like, sir."

"Scramble nearest alert Excaliburs. Attempt to intercept and make contact."

The fleet command authority officer addressed nods. "If contact unable to be made?"

"Not my decision. Alert the Sky Marshal."

* - * - *

Scramble alerts in the Saturn Theatre, while rare, are decidedly more common than warships going derelict all of a sudden. Fighter stations along the Ring eject their broad spear-tip craft in short order as flight-suited pilots button up, hop into their seats, do a scramble preflight and take off. Still, all this takes time, as no fighters were on immediate flight-ready alert.

The navigation console emitted a shrill wail as multiple closing icons appeared without warning on the small CONSYS screen, sandwiched beneath where the windscreen met the ceiling in the cramped confines of the shuttle’s cockpit. Though the transponders underneath the triangles bore the colour green and subsequently friendly the piloting Kaeneian did not seemed buoyed.

“We are being tracked,” the Pilot hissed pushing the struggling engines of the cargo transporter to their maximum output and eliciting a rising groan through the superstructure. “This is a SAMACA Shuttle, not a military transport; we have no way of outrunning Excalibur-class fighters.”

The co-pilot almost shrugged. “We are in the heart of the TYCS’ command & control; there was no way to be certain crippling the Heartfelt Authority would be a sufficient event to allow our escape to go unnoticed. We shall be intercepted in two minutes.”

“Options?” The first replied as the shuttle began to sway, executing evasive manoeuvres entirely pointless given the transport’s large size and total lack of stealth.

“I do not believe they can have discovered our theft of the holographic equipment so soon … They must be responding to our failure to file a flight plan. As such they most likely will not open fire unless authorised by a Sky Marshal-level officer. This gives us additional time however this may be moot -- Once the fighters have closed they will easily keep pace with us until authorisation is received and cripple us, or worse …”

“Therefore the only option I can see before us is to engage the Distort Drive and assume the prototype will function within proximity to a gravity well.”

The piloting Kaeneian said nothing, his jaw set as though considering the unpleasant options available to him. Only the hum of the engines and eventually, the voice of the co-pilot monitoring the CONSYS broke the silence, “One minute to intercept.”







Ayala raised her hand to block out the fierce orange light assaulting her eyes. Catching the scorched markings on the door which identified their position as Frame six-four-one. Ahead the corridor terminated in a roaring carpet of flickering flame, fed by whatever combustible material leaked, hissed or bubbled from damaged energy conduits and fluid chambers.

“This is the only route to the flight pod on the port side; all other routes are either impassable because of non-responsive emergency bulkheads or open to space. We’ll have to backtrack around the habitation decks.”

Ayala’s head shook at her first officer as she gestured towards the flames. “That is not our most pressing problem, Captain. We are just forward of Frame six-four-one; port-forward capital defence turrets. That fire is burning its way towards the magazine stores and when it reaches them, it will detonate the entire stock and destroy the ship as well as any auxiliary vessels in the surrounding blast area.”

Eace’s eyes tightened as he analysed the situation for himself. “We could attempt to eject the magazines … Assuming we survived penetrating the fire.”

“We’d need fire suits,” the Commandant replied. “Even if we could reach the bulkhead the fire has already melted the frame; by the time we gathered suitable cutting equipment to penetrate or otherwise repaired the combustion-suppression system the magazines would reach detonation temperature.”

“Your orders?”

Ayala grimaced, rubbing the grime from around her eyes with equally dirtied hands. “We follow through with my original order -- we abandon ship.”









“Are you ready?”

The impromptu co-pilot didn’t answer immediately, absorbed as he was in the sensor readings being delivered to his station from the aft engines. Exhaling, the Kaeneian pressed a final rune and sat back, snatching a glance at the Excalibur fighter flying almost alongside on the far right. “The D-Drive is charged and the Navicom has ascertained a target system; restriction protocols on the prototype have been disabled -- you have control.”

“I have control,” the other Kaeneian replied, stretching a hand towards the necessary rune. Without even a second to gather what may have been his final thoughts and consider the likelihood of success or failure, the pilot plunged his hand down sharply. For the briefest of moments the green triangle-markers indicating the location of the trailing fighters disappeared, before being joined by the CONSYS display, the cockpit and the surrounding structure.






Lieutenant Severin stood and saluted sharply, more than a little relieved that his impromptu reign as acting CO had come to an end. “Commandant on the deck!”

“At ease,” Ayala responded without missing a beat. “Status of evacuation?”

The Lieutenant scrutinised his screen and the two clipboards held in each hand, flicking through the still-warm pages dispensed from the printer assembly scarcely moments ago. “Current indications are fifty percent evacuated. Casualty calculations show a minimum of thirty percent loss with a further ten percent unaccounted for directly. Estimated time for completion forty nine minutes …”

“We don’t have the time,” Ayala interrupted. “The magazine stores for the port-forward turrets are about to be engulfed in fire. Give me a wide-band ship-to-ship link. All surrounding vessels and stations.”

“This is Commandant Ayala; investigation of the damage to the ship has revealed an imminent danger of ordinance detonation due to fire. The type and quantity of the ordinance will result in the destruction of the carrier and any surrounding ships in the blast zone. As such all support and rescue vessels are to disengage their moorings and clear, repeat -- all docked vessels are to break seal and move to minimum safe distance; end of message.”

Severin nodded, “I have set for auto-repetition Commandant.”

“Give me internal,” She replied quickly. Catching the Lieutenant’s frown Ayala interjected, “Give me as much of the ship as you think you can.”

“This is the Commandant; fire in port-forward turret magazines -- DC protocols ineffective. Abandon ship, abandon ship. All hands to use any and all means to depart. Abandon ship, abandon ship.”

“Lieutenant,” Captain Eace began as he relieved the remainder of the SAC’s officers from duty. “Upload all recorded sensor telemetry and system reports to the disaster beacon and jettison it.”

Ayala leaned over the master table, waiting on a nod from Severin that his work was completed. Receiving it, she quickly keyed in the lock-down procedure available only to the ship’s assigned CO and was rewarded with the powering down of the multitude of monitors, banks and consoles lining the command centre. Frowning, she turned to address the two remaining officers at her side. “Gentleman, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome …”

Proper scrambles in Saturnspace are not very common. Practice scrambles, all the time, emergency dispatches, all the time, but "all fighters scramble, this is not a drill" is not something fighter jocks hear all too often. Lacking the time to crack jokes and generally fulfill the social memes common to fighter pilots, they seal their helmets, grit their teeth, and go. They are all business, from launch to intercept.

Catching up to a porky civilian-grade shuttle only steels them more; firing against unarmed civilian craft is not something the average fighter pilot looks forward to doing. It goes against the principles of morality and, to what extent the knights-of-the-air mentality remain viable, honor to do such a crass thing. Still, pending a word from the Sky Marshal, the squadron leader has command authority and orders the squadron to set their particle cannons to EMP mode and erasers to low-frequency output. Maybe, just maybe, they could get away with disabling when it could come down to it, but with how things are EMP-hardened nowadays usually the amount of energy required to disable the ship usually cooks whatever's on the inside to boot. This is not exactly a desired outcome.

Still, in this day and age, almost anything can be turned into an RKV of sorts and spacer life has to allow for a gritty realization of that fact. "Unidentified Kaeneian shuttle, you are being tailed by elements of Saturn Theatre TYCS. Identify yourself immediately or be fired upon."

Then it gets away with a blip of sensor data the in-flight system doesn't quite comprehend, and it lets the pilot know this. "Damn. Right, send the telemetry back to base and see if the eggheads can figure this mystery out. Besides that, we're going to stay on CAP around that Kaeneian hulk to ward people off until control tells us otherwise."

* - * - *

STC is already doing what it can to reorder orbital paths around the danger zone around the warship about to blow. Anything with sufficient delta-V to break into higher or completely different orbits gets a direct order to do so. Anything without the allowance necessary to divert is to set code to emergency and await a Beaducafas tug, TYCS capship tractor, or anything else they can send there in time.

* - * - *

Emergency responders are heroic, but they aren't stupid. If they're being told the ship they're rescuing is about to blow apart, they finish up the load they're currently on, lock down, and cut away, leaving the area with all due speed. That being said, a TYCS Tiger-class medium cruiser moves in of its own SMI core's authority in an attempt to contain any immanent magazine explosion with its centerline heavy linegun. It's worth a shot, at the very least.

The blast door swung closed with a concerted grunt from a grimy Lieutenant; the pod reverberating as the multi-lock thundered its deadbolts into position and sealed the lifeboat from the rest of the doomed ship. Arranged in a circular fashion broken only by the ladder now cut off from the outside, twelve pairs of eyes regarded each other with uncertainty.


“Lifeboat integrity confirmed,” chimed the disembodied voice of the carrier’s Electronic Intelligence. “Setting Navicom for TYCS rendezvous; disaster beacon activated. Navigational coordinates confirmed - beginning jettison sequence in thirty seconds.”

Commandant Ayala fixed her gaze on each of the boat’s occupants one-by-one. As CO she knew each one by name, but for many precious little more. To her immediate opposite Eace, Captain and Executive Officer, matched the calmed worry in silence. From beneath their feet the thrum of engines ignited with a shuddering vibration. From four narrow and reinforced view ports set high into the ceiling, military blue was exchanged for the inky blackness of the void.

“Fifteen seconds to atmosphere; Lifeboat will leave my supervision field in ten seconds. Transferring autonomic functions to Navicom.”

Despite the best efforts of the gravity dampeners to provide a smooth flight the basic purpose of the lifeboat - to depart the danger zone as fast as safely possible - the intense forces in action quickly span the pod into a sickening pirouette. Grimacing with white fingers clamped around her tight harness Ayala tried to focus on the rapidly retreating form of the ailing conflict carrier appearing and disappearing through the armourglass.

The Commandant’s eyes snapped back to her surroundings as the lifeboat was buffeted violently by the terrific forces of a world drawing them ever closer. Overhead lighting flickered and died, to be replaced by the ruddy red glow of the back-up system. The sound of the deceleration motors ceased and only the whir of the recyclers occupied the air.





“Emergency, emergency; all personnel must evacuate to minimum safe distance. This is not a drill; starboard-aft lifeboats exhausted. All personnel forward of frame four-six-six evacuate to port-fore lifeboats. Emergency, emergency …”

“I’ve pulled the interlocks!” came the strained shout struggling to be heard over the ship Intelligence’s announcement. Scrambling out from underneath the console disembowelled by hastily grimy fingers, Major Rian waved his hands at the Adept manning the station opposite. “Eject the pods.”

“Couplings have disengaged,” The Adept confirmed before a frown darkened her features. “I’ve lost the feed from the engineering sensors. Unable to confirm if the Anti-Matter pods have cleared the injector structure.”

Rian gritted his teeth, scrambling to his feet and joining his charge. Keying in a communication link the officer barked into the crackling channel. “This is Major Rian, acting Chief Engineer to any departing navigable craft; we require confirmation of the successful jettison of the Anti-Deuterium. Conduct a visual sweep and confirm they have cleared the superstructure and engaged their manoeuvring thrusters.”

A deep and increasing vibration from the decking began to build to a roaring crescendo as overhead lighting and lit consoles began to stutter and flicker. Noting the worried glance from the Adept, Rian clarified his order; “Time is of the essence.”



A warbling alarm pierced the cockpit to the exclusion of the muffled chatter generated by an aft section crammed-to-standing with evacuees, accompanied by a flashing bank of lights. “Flame out, engine number one.”

“I didn’t get a chance to check the revocation of air worthiness; the choice of departing craft was limited. Re-start checklist?”

The weapons officer turned co-pilot shook his head. “I don’t think this was a flame out … I think we’ve lost the ignition assembly. Something’s broken off the port wing …”

“Any landing you can walk away from …” The pilot began.

The crackling of the communication speakers interrupted the musing as Major Rian’s orders leapt through the cold darkness of space as if it proved no obstacle to life. Exchanging glances the two Kaeneians came to a silent understanding - whilst they were in no position to respond, their choice of barely-functional craft betrayed the fact they were the last ship to depart the Carrier that could.

Pulling back on the yoke, the shuttle began to climb lazily. “Exterior spotlights on.”

The continuing darkness prompted the Captain to take the initiative and locate the switch himself; “Spotlights on.”

The impromptu co-pilot nodded as the nose of the shuttle brightened considerably. “Those work.”





Ayala’s ears strained above the horrendous screaming engulfing the lifeboat as the tiny multi-pylon capsule danced amidst a flaming cluster of flame. Angry red streamers licked at the reinforced hull turning all views from beyond the armourglass into searing yellow blindness. Still the braking thrusters were conspicuous by their absence.

“The system has failed,” Eace concluded. “I don’t think the anti-grav will be sufficient to render our landing survivable.”

The Commandant said nothing. Her thoughts were with the ship they had abandoned to its fate; her fists clenched not in anticipation of their impact with the ground, but with the command regulations demanding her departure following such an evacuation - better to serve until the end than face the possibility she may have contributed in laxness or failing to the disaster.





The twin spots of bright yellow slipped between the bulky plating and reinforced conduits of the carrier’s hull, desperately seeking the small opening in the ship’s armour that would mark the loading bay of the Anti-Matter injector assembly. In this case unfortunately a crew of one fighter pilot and one junior weapons officer did not make for a speedy engineering fix in an unfit transport.

“Do you see it?”

The pilot shook his head, grunting with the effort required to manoeuvre the shuttle - never the most nimble of craft even with both engines functional - whilst scanning the horizon. “This could take hours.”

A loud wailing from an auxiliary panel announced the end of the line, as the junior Kaeneian’s eyes widened. “Power spike detected; it’s a detonation. The magazines are rupturing - we’re out of time.”

Slamming the sole functioning throttle forwards to the ignorance of the tolerance alarm the transport tipped forwards, almost impacting a transmission boom as it began to scout the hull only the barest metre clear. Both Kaeneians tried not to gaze into the occasional armourglass window they flew by which might mark an imminent grave of the walking dead. A hand banged against the interior windscreen almost sent the transport into the side of a cargo door.

“There!” the weapons officer shouted, “Three O’clock just beneath the horizon! The loading doors are open; hazard lights are cycling. The Anti-Deuterium is clear!”

“I don’t suppose it’ll make much difference to the Major,” The pilot almost sighed as he pulled the nose upwards and left the metal below for the starry void. “We’ll let him know he did his duty.”



Rian nodded grimly as his all-to-brief communiqué descended into garbled static and hissing noise. His location in engineering allowed him to track the carrier’s destruction by means of which frames dropped off the internal sensor network and by which system went offline. He surmised the detonations had reached Frame Four-Seven-Three: external antennae by the sudden failure of Comms.

Accessing the evacuation protocol and noting his automatic access confirmed him as the highest ranking officer left alive on-board, he initiated the automatic launch of all lifeboats not yet departed. It was highly unlikely any launching now would survive the destruction zone, but try he would. Beneath his feet, the decking began to lose all balance.

Feedback was more than likely causing detonations in the power transfer cables, he noted analytically. If nothing else the thirst of this doom would be denied the violent Anti-Matter long departed. Logging off from his failing station, the Major waited.





Despite the best efforts of the reaction control thrusters to keep the carrier’s anti-clockwise spin under control the blossoming detonations along the remains of the former flight pod overcame all gyroscopes, gravity dampeners and spirit to live. Ripping metal from metal, and abandoning invaluable gasses to the void the starship tore itself apart in a cruel mockery of the years spent in construction. Rugged as ever entire frames sliced free continued away from the central mass on inertia, even remaining lit internally until such time as the terrible stresses separated power lines from generators.

Amidst pieces of wreckage as large as a habitation block, the occasional lifeboat darted. Guided by the rudimentary on-board Navicom it flew between spinning scythes of razor-sharp detritus. Some survived to bear down on Titan. Others impacted segments of ship seventy metres wide and unavoidable. Of those that survived it was impossible to tell which held life and which were empty and impotent; launched as coolly as an automatic algorithm could oblige.

Without the potency of the Anti-Deuterium to react with, the destructive scene was one of separation, not annihilation. Titanic sections of hull crashed together, splitting and shredding and sending tenfold the wreckage into frames that still held isolated power sources and removing their hope.

The stars watched dispassionately. Such death would be forgotten in a lifetime of civilisations.

Well, that didn't work quite as planned. The mind of Medium Cruiser Kabutomushi simultaneously briefs its meatspace crew and swivels its heavy linegun turret around towards the thrusting canister of anti-deuterium. Should that go off anywhere nearby, the civvies won't be too happy... then again, if my powerplants got exposed, people would start going mad, and not just in the 'slightly abnormal needing some medication and therapy' sort of way, either... to each their own, one supposes. Calculating best exit trajectory... The blocky spear of a ship carefully snags the container in a low-powered sphere of force--the kind that would send theoretical physicists into paroxysms of joy and pragmatic physicists into heartstopping shock--and tucks it to within a hundred meters of the WarShip's ventral side, practically as tight as a runningback holding an oblongball to his chest. Emitting its wavicle shields between itself and its cargo and outside of its cargo, in order to ablate any bleedoff, and readying point-defense asymptotic shielding underneath it, the cruiser pulls up relative to itself and high-distorts in an eye-slipping movement, heading well outside the saturnopause.

There is some consternation and uproar in a blink of an eye amongst some of the higher-level sophonts in the Scolopendran Military Services.
QE COMM: ENCRYPT OBLONG

TO: SWS-MCR KABUTOMUSHI, SDS
FR: SWS-HCR ARTHROPOD, SDS-FLAG
SJ: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING

SEE SUBJECT LINE <FULL STOP>
QE COMM: ENCRYPT OBLONG

TO: SWS-HCR ARTHROPOD, SDS-FLAG
FR: SWS-MCR KABUTOMUSHI, SDS
SJ: SAVING THE WORLD

REVERSE LAST ORDER <FULL STOP>
QE COMM: AS PREV: ARTHROPOD->KABUTOMUSHI

WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR A MEDAL <FULL STOP>

KABUTOMUSHI->ARTHROPOD

NEGATIVE HEAVY CRUISER <STOP> AM ALREADY MADE OF METAL <STOP> NINE EIGHT PER CENT PROBABILITY COL MAGALLANES IS ABOUT TO RETROACTIVELY ORDER MY INITIATIVE <STOP> YOU CAN HAVE HIS COMMISSION TOO IF IT COMES DOWN TO IT <FULL STOP>

ARTHROPOD->KABUTOMUSHI
I DONT OUTRANK YOU <STOP> KZTA DOES <STOP> AND HE WILL SEE YOU MADE AN HONORARY KZIN FOR THIS <STOP> CRAZY RATCAT <FULL STOP>

KABUTOMUSHI->ARTHROPOD
I SEE I WILL HAVE TO SPEND MY FABBER BUDGET ON A NEW AVATAR <STOP> LOVE CHATTING BUT MUST GET BOMB AWAY <STOP> WHY DONT YOU GO DO YOUR OWN HEROING AND RESCUE SOME PEOPLE <STOP> AM SURE STC WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU COULD CLEAR THE SPACELANES <FULL STOP>

Aboard Arthropod, inside its Scolopendran-standard blocky command compartment, the bug-that-defies-classification (it has four legs, for crying out loud) glances its beady little bug-eyes towards the kzintosh sitting at the keystone of the officer's semicircle. "Kabutomushi reps transp bomb safe dist. Suj we gage spasclear ops." It speaks far too quickly to be English, and yet far too politely and smoothly to be some sort of vile bug thing from Pluto. It also respects authority and chains of command slightly more than the mildly more famous Kabutomushi, currently known to be vying (unsuccessfully) for the title of Envoy to New Worlds from Diplomatic Officer Magnus Hesche. After all, when it performed that mission, it was thick as a brick.

Flag Colonel Kzta nods. "HangCom, l'nch drones. Dir gide pods t'safe hi'bits. FleetCom, dir Silverfish tem't gide 'bree t'stabbits." The reasoning behind Scolopendran shorthand is somewhat different than that for what would usually be found in the Royal Navy in the Age of Sail. For one, the spacers are much more thorough about truncating their words. Still, meaning gets across and drone controllers launch the wings of missile-like Funnel II drones armed with lineguns, capable of acting as makeshift gravitic tugs to drag pods into safe holding orbits, until they can be sorted by Beadupods and the like.

Meanwhile, SPIR shuttles and Lokis scramble from their stations over Titan and the Ring, pulling off the occasional daring rescue of an unfortunate chemburner without the delta-V to keep from smacking into a chunk of Kaeneian hardware. Disasters of this scope are what they're trained for, and they don't always make it in time, and more than one DropShip scrapes a wing off in trying to cut a rescue too close. Some scrape more than that, only adding a bit of conflagration to the spreading metal mist.

On the ground on Titan, this is one of those few times where multiple reentry signatures are not supposed to trigger a massive lightshow from the air defense emplacements and Gyronidae submersible battle monitors and the Bombketch low-expense VLS barges. Automated dead-hand systems are quickly battened down (sometimes literally axed) and instead cutters and M.I. platoons are scrambled to perform retrieval operations. In the Segments, at the very least, several civilian transports are deputized under the Federal Emergency Act and dispatched to recover lifeboats that make it to the surface; these are aided by SPIR airbeaters and the legal knight-errants stopping by to gather supplies for another crusade against disease and poverty in some destitute hellhole.

Throughout all this, all the grim carnage and despair is brought live to the billions on Titan thanks to the omnipresence of newssats belonging to things like Scolopendran Independent News, Titan YutLink, and any of a few hundred million wealthy bloggers. People gape in the streets, well underground, as Topside is evacuated as air raid sirens that haven't gone off since the height of the Ardan Conflict wail. It's unlikely that an escape pod will cause much trouble for a city... but the bigger chunks of the conflict carrier certainly do pose a much greater threat, and those are still being handled none-too-gently by Silverfish's lineguns. It's... disconcerting to watch something of this scale happening thousands of kilometers away as if it's right in front of one. Combinations of shock, gloom, and anger run through the crowds, while others are torn between simply grimly doing their duties and joining in the universal dismay.

Ayala's pod smacks along the side of a hill softened by heavy rains during the harvest season, plowing through the thick hummus and rows of grain until it ungently rolls to a stop on one of Titan Segment's vast steppes, mired in the muck that supports and covers it. That's how a group of farmers in a pickup truck, an actual (albeit electric) ground-based all-wheel-drive pickup, find it when they drive up, led by watching the firey entry of said pod. They may be country folk of a sort, but they're still taught to help people what be needin' it.

And this is how Semir, Dajal, and Khalid al-Malki Xanaduyyun, all dressed in pocket-ridden overalls grimy partly from the mud and partly from a history of their trade, pry the steaming door of the lifeboat open with a ragged something that was probably a towel in a former life they pulled from the back of their truck. Hands long since inured to minor burns and scrapes from years of hard work shrug off the sting of heated metal through the soaked towel and Dajal, the tallest, peeks inside over his frazzled beard. "'Ey! Any souls what need he'p in d'er?"

EARTH CONFLICT SPHERE -- SEVENTH FLEET FLAGSHIP ; K.D.V. BYZANTINERI DSC-30CC.

1400 HOURS.


The alarm was a piercing warble that rolled across the compact office-come-bedroom and washed against the slumbering figure stirring beneath non-descript military-issue bed sheets. Bolting upright with the practised speed and composure earned with twenty years of rude awakenings and random action stations, a voice called out above the din; “Off!”

Swinging legs over a crumpling duvet the sparten chamber was illuminated in all its underwhelming glory by the overseeing Electronic Intelligence. Taking a moment to clear the fatigue with a shake of the head the Kaeneian’s voice finally sought out a query. “Accept Comms -- Report.”

“Sorry to wake you Air Marshall,” Came the apology without the hint of regret. “TYCS communiqué confirms the loss of the Heartfelt Authority over Titan. Disaster Beacon receipt confirmed -- manifest update from the beacon initially identifies only a forty percent complete evacuation. Your orders?”

Riize was already tearing a uniform from a row of the identical even as he flung his vest to the decking. “Set course for Titan with all speed. Advise Commodore Zan Antler she is to rendezvous with us there immediately. Is the Governor-General and her entourage secure?”

“They were not aboard the ship. They are on-world.”

The Air Marshall tugged at the final button, all hints of the rude awakening forgotten amidst this sobering news. “Set Condition Red on-ship. Keep me informed -- Riize out.”



~~~


A pale white hand ungainly emerged from the blackness within the pod, groping about the scorched metal about the exit ring atop the pod’s roof until by touch alone it located the relatively cool ceramic lip which proofed tolerable to hold. Five more fingers joined the first hand as Ayala hauled herself upwards with elbows perched and teeth gritted. Almost startled cobalt eyes fell on the grimy Scolopendrans offering a hand and cocking their heads at the pale face before them.

Taking the proffered hand with only the slightest frown, the Kaeneian gingerly made her way down the inset ascension ladder via recessed, blackened rungs. The vibrations felt within the pod by the occasional brushing of flesh against metal betrayed others stirring inside.

“I am Commandant Ayala of the Tri-Services Defence Forces …” She began whilst taking her first true glance around at the rolling farmlands for as far as her eyes could see. She blinked with surprise as droplets of rain splashed against her gashed forehead; something in the back of her mind, quite separated from the current disaster, remarked casually how long it had been since she’d felt weather overhead and real ground beneath her feet. It had been too long.

With a soft crunch of churned mud and stone, the former ship’s XO dragged himself -- obviously injured leg and all -- to her side. Lowering his voice to a whisper he made for Ayala’s ears only.

“Lieutenant Severin is dead,” He stated flatly. “Injured by internal debris. Major Canasan is unconscious but from what I can gather, uninjured. The pod’s disaster beacon is functional and transmitting but in lieu of the current situation I don’t believe we will be high on the list of priorities. We must get to a command and control centre.”

The Commandant stifled the sigh she felt in her chest on the news not all her escapees had touched down in the rain alive to feel it. Turning to the closest farmer, her clipped accent did its best to convey her urgency. “One of my officers did not survive our landing, the other is unconscious but may be in need of medical attention. I will leave my Executive Officer, Captain Eace, with the escape pod and remaining Kaeneians.”

She gestured at the rainy horizon whilst subconsciously licking at the blood that trickled between her lips from the blow to the forehead. “I must get to a military facility of any description. Time is of the essence.”



~~~


The Governor-General’s eyes narrowed with an accompanying whisper betraying to those well-versed in the diplomatic game the flames of anger. “What do you mean she has been “lost”?”

If the Major standing before Sophia was nervous he did not show it -- the only hint of his reaction an imperceptible straightening of the back. “Our information is still incomplete Governor-General but the Heartfelt Authority has been lost in Titan orbit with over half of her manifest. Initial communiqués seem to suggest an explosion began the chain of events in the port flight pod. We have no further details.”

“I assume rescue operations are ongoing?”

“They are Governor-General. TYCS in-theatre assets and available Tri-Service Forces are responding. Air Marshall Riize and Seventh Fleet CO Commodore Zan Antler are en-route with the carriers Byzantineri and South Central Rain. The latter is already taking onboard additional personnel from the Fleet Medical Core.”

Sophia pinched the bridge of her nose. Whilst she could hardly blame the Saturnian system for the problems rapidly evolving it seemed poor luck, or something more sinister had stalked her from the icy tundra of the Serene Union through the cold sea between stars. Glancing upwards, she noticed the Major had yet to depart. Sensing there was more, most likely unpleasant, news to come she prompted him; “Anything further Major?”

He nodded, “Following the incident a Defence Guardian patrol was dispatched to verify the integrity of all Kaeneian assets on-planet. A routine visit to the chambers holding Ser Killthanus’ sustainability equipment found a considerable amount of the computer and generation systems missing. An overseeing technician was found dead on arrival via a gunshot wound to the chest. The weapon used to kill the Adept was a standard-issue side arm of the Defence Solarri. I-Gen number assigns it to the Heartfelt Authority.”

To such a scenario there could be no reply to the Officer. Clenching her fist beneath the table, the Governor-General nodded. “If that is all Major, you are excused. Please advise Lady Abd-Al-Haqq that I would like to speak with her.”

An impeccable salute and nod soon left the Kaeneian Head of Government alone with her thoughts and the chain of events which seemed to be rapidly spiralling out of view, let alone any semblance of control.

The three brothers glance at each other. The words 'Tri-Services Defense Forces' don't really mean anything to them, although they can tell by the uniforms that they're not talking to a member of the Scolopendran Military Services or the Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services. So, that means 'foreigner.' In that the pod made it to the ground rather than being vaporized in midair by the ASAT defenses scattered here and there over Topside, that means 'friendly foreigner.' The word 'Commandant' does register a bit, as do the phrases 'command and control center' and 'military facility.'

See, the al-Malkis are simple folk, what the more urbane Scolopendrans would call "رعاة" or "shepherds." In English, this would roughly translate idiomatically to "rednecks" leaning towards "sheep-shaggers." Unlike buffers out in the Periphery eking a living out of the dirt because that's what they have to do, shepherds eke a living out of the dirt because they want to. Which is fine, really, but they also tend to be rather conservative, have vague wahoo tendencies--although they're more for peaceful proselytization than forced conversion--and have a high incidence of Conscientious Objection from Federal Service. Any sort of Federal Service. Even as chaplains, because it's still supporting a secularist government and, not that many on the outside would agree, but exceedingly hedonistic and horribly licentious society (people walking around nude?).

Thus, the discussion between the brothers is perfectly understandable, assuming the Commandant knows the Xanaduan Backwaters dialect of Arabic. This is unlikely.

"هكذا هو جندية أجنبيّ. ماذا نحن نتمّ مع ه?" asks Dajal. He's the tallest of the group, putting him at around 190 centimeters, and he's built broadly. It's clear he does the most lifting of the three.

Khalid responds rather emphatically: "هو آذى, وهناك أخرى آذى داخلا. نحن نأخذ عناية من هم, أف كورس. هو ال يصحّ شيء أن يتمّ." Khalid is about as wide as his tallest brother, but is only about 160 centimeters tall. By his stature, his build--perhaps time on a higher-gravity Periphery planet--and his bullish nature, it probably wouldn't come as any surprise to Ayala were she to find that his nickname is, appropriately, "the Ox."

Dajal looks sheepish, if possible, as if reminded of a very basic truth. He nods, but his hands still indicate uncertainty. "جيّدا, نعم. أنا أعني في ما بعد أنّ. أين نحن نأخذهم?"

Semir replies quietly. So far, he's been standing in thought, somewhere between a rock and an eagle when it comes to comparisons of cogency. He stands between his two brothers both physically and in description, and his arms are pitted and scarred from hard work in the field. "حصن سلدين على خمس وسبعين كيلومترات بعيدا. كان الموقعة فيديراليّة في مدينة قريب." The word 'سلدين' may be recognizable as "Sala'huddin," or perhaps "Saladin." If Ayala is read up on her allies, that's a Mobile Infantry Fort somewhere in the southern half of Xanadu, relatively close to Port Aurora but up in the mountains.

Dajal cants his head. "الموقعة فيديراليّة… المستشفى هناك?"

Khalid nods firmly, with a slight annoyed hiss. "وإتصالات إلى وهوفر'س إين شرج وف ه."

A frown from the tall one. "بعد… يكون هو يصحّ ?دكتورة أتيقولّه استطاع رقّعت ه وه صديقة فوق بئر بكفاية. هو قد أخذ عناية من نا ثروو ثيك ند ثين--ماذا حول سلاحك, خالد?"
hargh
"لا يعرف أنت أيّ شيء, أحمق?" Khalid thwaps his taller brother upside the back of his head. He has to reach to do it, but it still looks like it stings. "هو إيسي." The last word sounds like "icey."

"هكذا?" The tall one rubs the back of his head.

Khalid rants quickly. "هكذا, يتمّ أتيق فقط قراع صلعاء. هو تلقّى اضطراب مع أنّ فأرة قطّ أنّ أتى كلّيّا, وأنّ كان فقط ثبت عظم. هو كلّ إبهامات مع فراغ غريبات. نحن نذهب إلى الموقعة فيديراليّة; أيّما غريبات ويتمّ نونبليفرس لا يعكس على روحنا س لونغ س نحن نتمّ نا جيّدة ب هم."

Finally, Dajal holds his hands up protectively. "حسن, حسن, دقيقة. أنت اثنان تذهب يجعل نقّالة من بعض عمود وال ترب في الشاحنة. وتلقّفت الضوء قمر والماء." As his two brothers run back to the truck, the tall one turns back to the foreign space alien woman. His English is natural, if again in not exactly the most scholarly of accents. "Well, Miss... er, Comm'dant Ayala, we reckon t'near'st base is 'bout sev'n'ty-five kay away an' with yer injur'd an' all it'd be bes'ta go t'tha Fed'ral Pohs' as it's jus' in tha' nex' town ovar."

Khalid and Semir return with, between them, a tarpaulin folded a few times over two long wooden planks forming a field-expedient stretcher, and atop that some plastic bottles of water, a few clean rags, and a stereotypically ceramic jug. Now, the al-Malkis are of a Sufi sect of Qu'ranic literalists, neither Sunni nor Shi'a (as they've no real care how the line of succession of the Prophet [Peace Be Upon Him] went; the Prophet [PBUH] was there and that's all that matters). Literally, the Qu'ran does not prohibit all forms of alcoholic beverages; it only prohibits a particular form of date wine. This is a technicality, because pure alcohol wasn't isolated by Abū Bakr Muhammad ibn Zakarīya al-Rāzi until about four hundred years after the Qu'ran was written. This will become much less academic in a few moments.

"Firs' than's firs', tho, we gotta see t' tha' woun' o'yourn." Dajal snaps a bottle off of the stretcher, pours it liberally over Ayana's laceration, then cleans it off thoroughly with a clean rag. Any resistance is more or less futile, because Dajal does have a farmhand's build and a farmhand's experience in brawling. Meanwhile, his two brothers put the stretcher on the ground, carefully move the items off of it (keeping the clean rags off the mud) and Khalid tromps his way up to the taller executive officer.

"That bum leg o'yourn means you ain't walkin'." Although his words are less than diplomatic, he makes them sound quite pleasant and understanding. "Lean o'me, pal, 'n we'll get ya to tha stre'cher. Easy on th' leg, now." Between himself and Semir he gets the wounded Kaeneian down onto the stretcher and trot him, as gently as possible, back to the truck.

Dajal picks up another rag, uncorks the jug, and liberally soaks the rag with the contents. The scent of ethanol carries, and what was previously simply a matter of academic debate now holds the force of reality. "Hol' still, this'll sting jus' a bih'." It does sting, but grain alcohol is as good an antiseptic as anyone could ask for and, one last long clean rag later, the Commandant's forehead is bound nice and tight. Uncomfortable, yes, but the pressure'll stop the bleeding. "'Kay, you shoul' be good t'go." He hands her the jug and a water bottle. "Take a swig o'whichever takes yer fancy. I'm gonna clamber in and get yer knocked-out frien'. Get inna truck 'fore ya catch yer death o'cold." The farmer then athletically, if gracelessly, hoists himself up over the still-steaming rim of the escape pod and climbs inside.

The two others come back with a second tarp and wait expectantly by the open hatch. Inside, Dajal determines the quick from the dead and, after checking the survivor for any obvious breaks, picks him up with his arms around the unconscious Kaeneian's chest and gently works him over the lip of the hatch down to the waiting arms of his brothers, and takes the tarp from one of their hands. The tarp goes around the somewhat messy victim, and the process is repeated with the wrapped-up body, with the unconscious man settled in the back of the truck as comfortably as can be managed in short order with little equipment. The space aliens may be heathens of a sort, but it's doing right by them to help them do whatever they would with the body later.

With everyone situated, Khalid and Dajal stay in the back to tend to the wounded while Semir drives in the two-place cab. It's technically a four-place cab, if the other two people don't mind eating their kneecaps or happen to be exceptionally short. The electric motor hums softly as Dajal carefully maneuvers off of the mud and onto a well-maintained macadam road leading towards the Federal Post in Duqm.

Subtitles for people who can't read Arabic, or who can read Arabic and find the machine translation laughable:

Dajal: "So she's a foreign soldier. What do we do with her?"
Khalid: "She's hurt, and there's others hurt inside. We take care of them, of course. It's the right thing to do."
Dajal: "Well, yes. I mean after that. Where do we take them?"
Semir: "Fort Sala'huddin is over seventy-five kilometers away. The Federal Post in town would be closer."
Dajal: "The Federal Post... the hospital there?"
Khalid: "And communications to whoever's in charge of her."
Dajal: "Still... is it right? Doctor Atiquallah could patch her and her friend up well enough. He's taken care of us through thick and thin--what about your arm, Khalid?"
Khalid: "Don't you know anything, blockhead? She's an icey."
Dajal: "So?"
Khalid: "So, Atiq only does bald apes. He had trouble with that rat cat that came through, and that was just setting a bone. He's all thumbs with space aliens. We're going to the Federal Post; whatever aliens and nonbelievers do don't reflect on our souls so long as we do our best by them."
Dajal: "Okay, okay, fine. You two go make a stretcher out of some poles and the tarp in the truck. And grab the moonshine and the water."

Air Marshall Riise, commanding officer for the entirety of operations in the Tri-Services Defence Force Earth Conflict Sphere, surveyed the medical bags which stretched already some ten or twelve rows at least twenty deep. Laid upon the floor they glinted dimly in the warehouse lighting and bore no distinguishing details bar the identity tags identifying the name and rank of the Kaeneian corpse contained within. Crossing his arms upon his chest the Flag officer sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. From a service door to the left more bags entered as quickly as they could be safely recovered by the TYCS, and Saturnian response teams.

Riise’s gaze wondered away from the dead and to the approaching Commodore of the Seventh Fleet to which the destroyed Conflict Carrier belonged. Turning away from the lines of body bags the Air Marshall studied the younger woman carefully; her face betraying absolutely nothing. As it should be.

“Medical evacuation has begun to the carriers Byzantineri and South Central Rain sir,” Zan began. “Current projections put casualty rates in excess of eight hundred dead and up to seven hundred wounded. I expect those figures to rise before this is finished.”

The Air Marshall nodded. “Any sign of the Life Pod assigned to the Command team?”

“We detected its disaster beacon on the south face of Titan,” The Commodore replied with a frown. “Sensor analysis indicated the Pod had been opened and that there were no life signs -- Kaeneian or otherwise -- within the vicinity. I can only assume they are alive and making their way to a Command and Control Centre as per disaster directives. A TYCS cruiser has recovered the disaster beacon of the Heartfelt Authority.”

“The Governor-General?” Riise queried. His eyes flittered between Zen and the constant flow of orderlies and medical personnel bearing stretchers and bags and nothing which moved or breathed other than themselves.

“The Governor-General awaits you,” The Commodore confirmed. “I have selected Commandant Aslayn of the South Central Rain to sit with yourself and I to form the Board of Inquiry which is ready to open on your orders.”

The Air Marshall nodded once more, glancing at his wristwatch. “You have authority here until I return Commodore. It is a priority that we recover the command crew of the carrier immediately. We must know what happened here. The eyes of the enemies of the Triumvirate are watching for weakness and I do not intend to show any.”

Zen offered a sharp salute, but the senior officer of the Defence Solarri had already about-turned and marched away with purpose.




With a blinding flash that obscured the stars glittering behind the shuttle re-materialised and reaffirmed its atomic structure. Bonds broken down and rearranged were recovered and replaced and the structure and metals seemed no worse for wear following their violation at the hands of prototype technology best tested in a laboratory and not a transport crewed by anyone bar the very desperate.

Idling the throttles set between the seats, the Pilot exhaled loudly, leaning back against the faded leather and running a hand through cropped black hair. Glancing about the various screens and consoles and spying nothing catastrophic or even particularly troublesome he turned towards the squat Kaeneian manning the co-pilot’s station. “I think we can consider that a successful distortion through space.”

His compatriot offered a shrug. “Our luck held; nothing more. Let’s not test it once more today. Lay in a course for our rendezvous point.”

“We don’t have the time for your games,” The Co-Pilot spat as his colleague seemed transfixed by the small CONSYS monitor mounted on the ceiling panel above their heads and to the windscreen. Raising his hand to do perform the action himself his eyes settled upon the source of the entrancement. Appearing at first to be the stars themselves extinguishing the barely-visible glint of metal refracting sunlight betrayed a hull. Slipping between the pinpricks of light and extending dozens of times the length of the shuttle it loomed over, the collision avoidance system was conspicuous by its silence.

The shuttle shuddered as an unwelcome seal was achieved by the looming starship above. Lighting baffles overhead flickered and the information displayed by the helm’s consoles descended into gibberish and then static. The two Kaeneians at the controls exchanged knowing glances and pulled their hands from the non-responsive systems with a resigned sigh. Swivelling their seats round to face aft they awaited the inevitable opening of the door to the flight deck.

The door quickly acquiesced; the visible discharge muzzle of a rifle and the blinding sheen of an underslung torch passing over the two-man crew as the cockpit became flanked by a pair of ominous weapon-wielding invaders. Their faces were impossible to look upon - sealed behind armoured pressure helmets and every inch the stereotypical fear inducement. Laying his hands upon his thighs the Pilot exhaled loudly, keeping his face as neutral as possible. “We weren’t aware you were bringing the rendezvous to us.”

“There were concerns,” One of the invaders replied with the tinny whine of a transmission baffle. “Listeners detected massive mobilisation in the Saturnian System. Were you able to complete your tasks?”

The Co-Pilot nodded slowly, a creeping sense of doom beginning to roll over his features and induce his palms to sweat. “We retrieved the imaging equipment and the processors as ordered. There were unexpected barriers however …”

“We saw these unexpected barriers for ourselves,” The second Guardian interjected. “Along with the rest of the Sol System. You were instructed to use the upmost stealth and secrecy. The TYCS and KTDF should not have suspected foul play until they discovered the loss of the hologram. You were given wide remit to secure Killthanus but you were not given leave to destroy Capital ships in orbit of one of the most secure areas in the entire known galaxy.”

The Co-Pilot’s brow furrowed as he listened to the reprimand which seemed awarded for nothing more serious than completing the assigned mission. “The task assigned was completed and we have delivered the prize. We did what was necessary - the KISS live and die by the end justifying the means, don’t they?”

The double-flash of the prone rifles discharging brought the entire conversation to an unnatural end as the two Guardians leant over a respective slumped body and looked for signs of life or living. Satisfied that the end which had seen their impromptu execution was met and that the two-man crew were thoroughly dead the pair turned and exited the Flight Deck as abruptly as they had arrived on-scene. No ironic parting comment, or shared sarcastic look. Murder committed without the concession of so much as a nod. From a console out of sight the shuttle’s sensors announced the unauthorised opening of the cargo bay’s massive double-set doors to the cold void beyond. It bleated impotently, control lines to override the intruder severed.






Commandant Ayala did not wait for the rickety, whining electro-truck to come to a complete halt before she leapt from its bed and planted her boots--caked in thick Titan mud as they were--firmly upon the reassuring concrete. Glancing upwards her eyes panned the perimeter fence of the facility and then to the approaching guardsmen resplendent in the clean, efficient lines of the Segments’ military. The young man opened his mouth to discover the group’s business when his eyes passed over Ayala’s uniform and recognition instantly flickered. Without missing a beat she provided him with a sitrep.

“Commandant Ayala, CO of Heartfelt Authority. We suffered casualties on our lifeboat’s crash landing. We have one dead, two injured; both are stable. I need communications access to contact SATURNCOM.”

Scolopendran society only looks monolithic and fervently united from the outside, and that's only generally when people have no idea where to look. It's not anarchic by any means, with protests and counter-protests and complaints and statements all following a robust but unwritten cultural law of separating the statement from the speaker and keeping exuberance within rational bounds due to the necessities of spacer culture, but it often strikes people as unstable when all they've seen previously are the militaristic uniforms and procedures of the standardized Federal Services.

The underlying core cause of solidarity, however, is that everyone is a Scolopendran first and a hyphenate second. With an allied capital ship blowing up in orbit, as a guest of the Segments even if technically the Segments have no authority in orbit, not only is there a threat of further hostile action but the entire situation is a failure in hospitality (no matter how irrational that thought is). Blame can be assigned later. Right now, the protests clear and civilian-soldiers report in to their local Civilian Defense Corps depots, just in case. What is normally a vibrant if quite disorderly culture shifts into a regimented, get-the-job-done wartime culture overnight. This is not to say dissent and disorder disappears, but the tone changes.

Given the situation and previous history, this change can be expected to last a few weeks at most. Long enough to secure the Segments and make sure all is in order, at least.

Meanwhile, the Federal government is in a state of orderly panic. With emergency recovery assets sent hither and thither to collect escape pods, the Foot-to-Ass Section coordinating with the Kaeneian TSDF and the TYCS, the Intelligence Section setting up a quiet investigation to dovetail with the Federal Police's open one, and even the Science Section getting pulled in to provide forensic experts and technical expertise, things are to say the least somewhat busy. One of the few people at the top who are not being harried is Advisor Abd-al-Haqq, and that's primarily because she doesn't have much to do--at the moment, this is an issue for the military, police, and information-heavy sections, not an issue for the diplomatic services. The International Relations Section reaction is primarily based on local initiative, working with the International Trade Section to provide assurances and generally reassure foreigners that the Segments remain stable despite the emergency.

When the Kaeneians call, she's ready to do her part and arranges a meeting in a small, secure conference room, cordial and helpful as always.

* - * - *

'Recognition' may not be the right word. An eighteen-year old active CDC 'soldier' in his urban blue camouflage is not going to recognize, off the top of his head, Kaeneian uniforms of decently high rank unless he has a prior interest in that sort of thing. What he does see is a bunch of good-old-boys, which is normal, carting around several wounded people in sleek military uniforms, which is not normal. As there's not much to do in a guard shack defending one's country from stupid people who refuse to show ID or go through the sensor gate except listen to the radio, he's been listening to the radio, knows a ship blew up, and knows that escape pods have landed in the Segments. He's not stupid, and quickly puts things together.

He doesn't bother introducing himself, as his nametape says "GHIDRI" and the low-contrast rank patches on his arms indicate him to be a private. "Yes, ma'am. Uh... ev'r'thin y'need's insahde, ahnd yer clear t'go. Hospit'l's on th'left, comms... uh... well, t'fedrep'll--s'cuse, the Federal Representative--" he takes care to enunciate like the urbanites do, realizing he's talking to foreigners who might not pick up on Segment shorthand "will have what'y'need." A quick call into the intercom in Arabic, and orderlies bearing two stretchers seem to come out of nowhere, aided by the al-Malikis to take care of the wounded.

The actual Federal Post is a large building somewhat out of place in podunk Duqm, primarily because it services the entire rural county. Following the usual Scolopendran taste for Art Deco in large buildings, it is four stories tall and spread out. The side indicated to be the hospital has a distinctive red crescent on a white field painted on it and has several awnings over what are probably emergency dispatch areas. The rest looks essentially like an office building, because it is. The Civil Servant in the lobby quickly hands over a card and points helpfully towards a niche in the wall which looks remarkably like a large phonebooth, complete with sliding door. Form follows function, after all.

"Incoming transmission from Heartfelt Authority Actual Commodore," The Second-Lieutenant manning the communications station announced after a moment with her hands pressed against the unobtrusive wireless audio plug. "Transmitting Station is a Federal Services building Duqm."

Sky Commodore Kanzaz nodded as he stooped behind the young officer, scrutinising the location as it was promptly located on an auxiliary monitor. Casting a glance towards the centre of the CAC and his Executive officer the senior Kaeneians exchanged wordless glances.

"Prepare a transport immediately."






Although Kaeneians did not "do" nervousness in the conventional sense the atmosphere within the conference room was not conducive to good health. The very preliminary report of the events in orbit had occupied the Governor-General's gaze and brought some respite to Air Marshall Riise from the withering eyes of the Head of Government and State. With a curt nod as the door opened Advisor Abd-al-Haqq politely took up a place in front of the utilitarian grey desk occupied by Sophia.

"I am to understand," The Governor-General began evenly. "That one of our Conflict Carriers spontaneously exploded in orbit of Titan with the only unusual occurrence beforehand that an unauthorised shuttle launch from the surface?"

Riise remained stoic. "I have no further information for you at this time Governor-General. The detonation of the magazine stores of the ship have destroyed much of her structure. I am not yet sure if the crisis boxes were recovered. I have just been informed the Command Staff have been located and Sky Commodore Kanzaz has dispatched a recovery team from the South Central Rain."

"There is also another matter, on the surface ..."

The guarded look the Air Marshall received was poor encouragement to continue. "There was a theft from the surface installation - the equipment for storing and generating Killthanus has been taken. Two Defence Solarri personnel from the Heartfelt Authority were found murdered by firearm."

"The shuttle that preceded the carrier's destruction?" Sophia offered.

"There is no solid information to confirm that the stolen equipment has definitively left the surface of Titan, but the possibility that the shuttle that launched without authorisation was connected cannot be ignored. TYCS assets launched to intercept it but I do not believe they were successful."

Cobalt blue eyes regarded the report again, unsurprised that no new information had appeared on the pages. "We must be sure that Killthanus is not still on Titan - Advisor?"

The light bands of her office about her head suddenly felt weighty indeed. "There is also logistics to be seen to - retrieving the dead, repatriating the wounded and retrieving as much wreckage from orbit and surface as possible. I need answers ..."

"In the meanwhile I have ordered thorough searches of all Capital ships in all Conflict Spheres," The Air Marshall announced. "I have placed the Tri-Services Defence Force on Alert Red - this may be a prelude to a larger plot against us."

Her eyes passed over the high-ranking Kaeneian and the Scolopendran. "What is the situation in the wider Triumvirate?"

FKBC Sera Miyanna
Moored at Titan

/SERA MIYANNA/'s main flight deck was suitably cavernous to comfortably accommodate several vessels up to the size of a small frigate. Normally, on deployment, there would be two included in the ship's complement - However, as she was on shakedown, the bay was empty and thus a suitably large location to gather the crew. The ship's command staff had not been informed of the recent incident over Titan, both due to transmission and dissemination restrictions and the very real fact that as of yet /SERA MIYANNA/ was not an active vessel in the Federal Navy.

Their approach to Titan had thusly been a bit disturbing. Some of the greener personnel in the CnC had been taken aback by the volume of comms traffic on emergency channels, and almost didn't believe it. The commanding officer - a Captain Soren, promoted recently from command of a smaller carrier, was much more calm than his new recruits. It took a few minutes before they got Titan on the line, though the chatter and wrenching sounds of metal shearing apart continued to be heard across the emergency bands.

"Titan, this is the Federal Kajali BattleCarrier /SERA MIYANNA/, say again, there has been a hull loss in orbit?"

"/SERA MIYANNA/, Titan, confirm ident or be fired upon, repeat confirm ident..."

"Titan, /SERA MIYANNA/ actual, confirm ident solo echo nine-four-nine, requesting permission to dock and begin crew and equipment transfer."

"/SERA MIYANNA/, Titan actual, ident confirmed. Permission granted to moor at $dock. Be advised, a hull loss incident has occurred and is currently in investigation. You will be briefed further upon mooring. Titan actual, out."

The crew and equipment transfer operations would start under higher than normal security, and /SERA MIYANNA/ maintained Condition Two throughout the ship for the duration of the docking process. The crew had eventually been gathered in the main hangar, and the command staff had prepared a briefing to explain both the heightened security and subsequent indefinite delay until they would be cleared to depart.

"As some of you may have already heard, the Kaeneian Conflict Carrier Heartfelt Authority was lost in orbit shortly before our arrival at Titan. As a result, our extended shakedown and training operations have been delayed indefinitely. Crew and equipment transfer will continue, though we will be taking aboard a full squadron of TYCS fighter craft and pilots. Due to the nature of this event, under the TYCS mandate we may also be requisitioned for recovery operations. I expect you will all perform to your fullest. Dismissed."

There was a low murmur as the crew returned to their stations, and the rumors that had been confirmed circulated about the ship more vigorously all while speculation about who or what was responsible began to run rampant alongside them.

Some of the more popular ones seemed to place the blame on Arda, despite the complete and total lack of capability to do so. Whatever it was, though, it was unlikely that the general crew would be informed anytime soon.

Advisor Abd-al-Haqq stifles a quiet sigh before beginning her report. It was not a good day. "Military-wise, last reports from the TYCS report that the entire Fleet has canceled liberty and gone on security alert. Only a security alert, not wartime mobilization," she adds smoothly, "and all installations, Fleet and Ground Forces, are doing the same. The Space Patrol has been alerted and is on the lookout, but so far they haven't seen anything. The Special Services... well, I don't know what they're doing. Garbo might. Spycraft is not my specialty."

She frowns slightly, glancing down at her databoard. "As for the Scolopendran side, the Federal Police is fully mobilized and full security procedures are in place throughout the Segments. An investigation has already started trying to find Killthanus and his equipment; he's not in the warehouse that he should be, and we can confirm that at least some of the staff that was working for him has been murdered. Razak told me that they're running analyses to see if they can figure out any more forensic evidence, but that will take some time.

"Our borders are not closed so much as gated; our liberties concerning bulk goods are going to be severely curtailed at strategic logistic chokepoints and border crossings until we can confirm that Killthanus isn't in the Segments, which will take perhaps two weeks at worst. Several shuttles and ships had already taken off before we could go into security lockdown; we've transmitted their information ahead to their registered destination and Space Patrol so investigations can occur en route or upon landing. Luckily enough for us, Killthanus' equipment is rather large, which means our security crackdown is mostly centered on bulk cargo containers and large transports.

"Razak told me to ask if Killthanus' equipment can be broken down into smaller parts, and, if so, what's the smallest that any of the core 'important' components can be. It will help us tailor our security to prevent things from being smuggled out."

It’s amazing how a relatively pleasant diplomatic occasion, even if overshadowed by grave circumstances, can be shaken to bits by little things like international incidents.

Within moments of the event being reported with what information is available, Calabrese is contacted with an urgent message which boils down to ‘what is happening and are you alright’, accompanied by data streaming in.

Needless to say, especially given his feelings on the Scolopendrans, he is less than amused.

Seeing as the Scolopendran Advisor seemed to have made an exit, he gets to his feet, straightens his shirt and jacket, and moves with a purpose towards the nearest ‘Pendran who looks as though they might know more than what’s being served at their little get-together.

“Pardon me,” he says in a quiet yet firm voice. “But if you wouldn’t mind telling me what in hell is going on out there in orbit, and what danger, if any, we’re in here?”

He checks his comlink for updates, his brow furrowing, his tone more forceful when next he speaks.

“Where is Advisor al-Haqq? And the Kaeneian Governor-General?”

Firefury's quarters, Imperial Palace - Arpia... before the entire thing went all pear-shaped with kidnappings and murder and things going boom

Normally a request for review in a case about euthanasia wouldn't be sitting on the orange reploid's monitor. Within the Shogunate, it was culturally acceptable for people to utilize their given right to die, though it was generally utilized in terminal medical cases where quality of life was crappy and the being in question didn't wish to undergo substantial cybernetic work; or the occasional reploid that had been around since the Irregular Wars and was tired of existence.

That the request is from the normally distant Kaeneians is in itself cause for a raised eyebrow that continues its climb toward the Lady Shogun's normally hidden hairline as she reads further. The situation of the former Governor-General Killthanus strikes an altogether uncomfortable cord with Firefury, dredging unwelcome memories of a year in blackness devoid of anything save the ruthless taunts of the unknown ending finally in the rush of sensation through leaden limbs. At least she'd had a physicality to wake up to, even if it was one that bore only the most superficial resemblances to the one likely gone to dust or ash the Goddess only knew where.

She would offer herself up for the jury pool, except the truth of her origins were a tightly guarded secret only reluctantly shared with S.H.O.D.A.N. after MCP of Zero-One had done substantial prying and guessing. Others could guess, but there wasn't a single shred of evidence remaining that could prove a link between Firefury Amahira, ruler of the Shogunate, and Amy Silver, a skilled fighter pilot purportedly killed in the crash of a prototype gravetic fighter some 300 years ago.

And thinking about that isn't taking care of this you bloody idiot. She chastises herself, forcing the memory back and focusing on the task at hand.

The case was no doubt precedent-setting for the Kaeneians, hence it needed to be approached by calm, rational tact, and diplomacy. Somebody from the DipCorps then. Preferably with some experience or understanding of post-physicality issues. That narrowed the field substantially. Firefury tapped the intercomm at her desk and punched in the appropriate extension number.

"Tsume, it's Firefury. Where's the RPDC-Zeroel at right now?" She pauses, listening to the response chatter. "Perfect, get on the horn and tell them to turn right back around and-... actually, have them drop her kid off at the Governor's place on Dosei first. The last thing we need is our chibi escapist getting loose around a bunch of potentially stuffy-shirted dignitaries attending to a complex case. Mmhmm, yup, forward all the relevant docs. Thanks."

Not that Sierra is likely going to enjoy the subject matter any better than I do, but...

But of course man plans, so the saying goes, and $deity laughs.

3SDF-Peace with Conviction - Saturnspace, after things went all pear-shaped with kidnappings and murder and things going boom

"RPDC-Zeroel, orders are changed. You're to rendezvous with the Tenchuu fleet and await further orders either from DipCorp HQ or TYCS command."

Flightleader Oramos Altana of the 3SDF looks over the data readouts while awaiting the diplomatic carrier's reply. It was his fleet's turn on Saturnspace duty, usually considered an easy assignment by most. To be fair, it usually was an easy assignment, mostly entailing hanging out over Dosei and occasionally helping wayward civilian traffic in the area; at least until a capital ship goes critical for no apparent reason and makes Titan space traffic an unholy mess as ships change course to get the hell out of the way. The Shogunate fleet is well out of the way, spending most of its time out around the Ring near the Dosei colony, and as soon as reports came in about a shuttle without clearance and about the Heartfelt Authority's destruction he had all ships scrambled to search for wayward craft.

Not that searching does any good, given the shuttle vanishing for parts unknown, but it feels better than doing absolutely nothing.

"This is Zeroel. Rendezvous with Peace with Conviction ETA one hour." The diplomatic carrier's EI responds easily.

"So we've got a friendly capship over Titan that just up and goes critical. What's our TacNet got as to why?" Oramos looks over the tactical display that dominates the command bridge.

"Possible scenarios are as follows-" The shipmind begins. "First, that outside forces attacked the Heartfelt Authority."

"Without anybody else in the most heavily defended and monitored section of known space noticing?" The Flightleader dismisses the notion. "Highly unlikely. Nothing was seen sneaking in, and that one little shuttle wouldn't have the weaponry to do it either."

"Just going through all the scenarios, Flightleader." The ship responds dryly. "Second, that Trium forces attacked the ship. And yes, I already know that one is about as likely as Iraqstan turning into an egalitarian hippy tree hugger society. Third scenario is that the ship attacked someone else, thus generating a hostile response from forces in the area."

"Definitely not the case, the TYCS tacnet would be going ballistic with the news. There isn't a peep about anyone shooting anyone else." Oramos paces before the display in thought.

"I agree, such a move would be tactically suicidal, especially with their Governor-General in the area. Most likely scenario, and Cynical World, Ravishing Rain, Auguries of Destruction, and Silent Redemption all agree with me, is that it's an inside job."

"Go on." Oramos' voice drops slightly.

"We'd need more info about goings-on down on Titan proper what with the shuttle, but seems it would have to be either the Trium or the Kaeneians. I doubt it's the Trium, given such methods are entirely out of character for the organization, especially the 'Pendrans. I don't have access to enough info about Kaenei and its internal politics to accurately assess whether it was internal attack or some other outfit slipping in." The shipmind verbally shrugs.

"In any case, for the time being there's bugger all we can effectively do to assist." The Flightleader summarizes.

"Pretty much. The area where the Heartfelt Authority went down is pretty well canvased by everybody closer to the area."

"Pass along your analysis to TYCS command then, and let them know that the fleet is standing by over Dosei if they need us. And let 'em know we've got Zeroel with us and whether they want him finishing the trip to Titan he was originally on or if he should just cool his jets with us."

"Roger that, Flightleader, acting."

((OOC: ... Wow, is that one overglorified *tag* or what?))

Sophia nodded, resisting the urge to wring her hands; despite the tentative reforms under her reign as Governor-General the Serene Union was still insular and the glare of the bright lights of the entire Triumvirate turning to address the spectacular events in orbit of Titan would be unpopular in the extreme back on Earth.

"The equipment can be broken down into its constituent parts; Storage banks, the hologrammatic emitters, the processing centres - but each part is barely man-portable with transport. It would ... Be virtually impossible to remove in the time that has elapsed and hide on Titan without some lead as to where it is."

"The shuttle that left Titan has been identified as a SAMACA-type," The Air Marshall interjected. "Support and Multi-Configurable Assistance - a cargo transporter. They are unsuitable over any other short-range craft as a thief's choice save their large cargo capacity over any other type of shuttle."

"It would seem almost certain they are not on Titan."

The Governor-General climbed to her feet, resisting the urge to wipe at tired eyes that been focused on the disaster in hand for many hours extended from a busy and full day in office. "I want the shuttle found, Air Marshall."

"The Fifth Fleet, headed by the Flagship Meridiaa has been taken from Deep Space Exercises and ordered to begin sweeping systems at the maximum range of the standard FTL equipped on the SAMACA shuttle-type, Governor-General. KISS agents were on-board the South Central Rain and have begun interviewing all ground-based staff and orbital survivors. The Shining Path, Byzantineri and Nocturnal Musings have broken from the Mars Conflict Sphere and will arrive shortly to begin transferring those injured that can be moved at this stage."


Sophia cast a glance towards the Scolopendran woman, and offered the slightest shrug of her shoulders. "There does not seem to be anything else to do ..."









Ayala had set eyes on them almost as soon as the two escorting Scolopendran sentries had entered the room - their dark grey tunics cut in the same style as her own navy fatigues but of a very different office. Exchanging a glance with their escort, the two officers of the Kaeneian Intelligence & Security Service stepped forward. "If you will come with us Commandant ..."

The hid it professionally but the eyes of accusation were obvious - as well Ayala thought they should be. It was her ship, and somehow under her watch and ignorance it had been taken from her with the loss of hundreds of lives. There was honour in war - in a fight, but not in a mysterious explosion or malfunction. That was no way to lose a ship. Falling into line with the her own escort of two, the Commandant noted with irony that her "rescuers" now led her away in the same fashion a prison guard might lead their charge.

“Pardon me,” he says in a quiet yet firm voice. “But if you wouldn’t mind telling me what in hell is going on out there in orbit, and what danger, if any, we’re in here?”
Every profession has their old hands. Senior Diplomatic Officer Norton Howlett is one in the diplomatic vein, English-style; he would not seem out of place sitting in a parlor done in wood, wearing a waistcoat and coddling a snifter half-full of expensive brandy. White-haired, a face both soft with the loosening of age and severe with natural mild pitting, with bushy white eyebrows over penetrating cloud-blue eyes, he certainly looks stereotypically authoritative. He has a slight paunch, which fits in with foreign expectations but is somewhat unusual for a Scolopendran civil servant, what with the mandatory physical training.

He's getting ready to retire, truth be told, and this was to be his last fling of any import before said event. Damn, it's that wog Calabrese. He smiles a polite smile. Always figures, doesn't it? "Yes, sir. It appears that there's been some sort of accident up in orbit and--"

He checks his comlink for updates, his brow furrowing, his tone more forceful when next he speaks.

“Where is Advisor al-Haqq? And the Kaeneian Governor-General?”
"--as a result a Kaeneian warship has been lost, so the Advisor and the Governor-General are currently in conference, I'm afraid." He doesn't miss a beat. "As far as I know there's been no indicator of military action, but I'm certain the authorities haven't ruled out terrorism." How do these play out? Yes. More and more questions, answers to which I have few. He doesn't seem the sort easily calmed, and it's not like they're going to dock my pay. Let's get the man some answers and out of my hair, shall we? "Now, I must admit, sadly, that I'm not in the information loop for this sort of thing; the Federal Police, however, probably have the best idea of what's going on and PseudoEmperor Razak is in charge of them; while I'm certain that he's busy, I'm also certain that he'd take time out of his schedule to talk to one of your standing and I can direct your inquiries to him if you would prefer...?"

* - * - *

"Pass along your analysis to TYCS command then, and let them know that the fleet is standing by over Dosei if they need us. And let 'em know we've got Zeroel with us and whether they want him finishing the trip to Titan he was originally on or if he should just cool his jets with us."

"Roger that, Flightleader, acting."
Usually, running Saturn Theatre was easy.

People therefore wondered why Charles Blair was a Sky Marshal, in the same reason why people used to wonder why port captains were equivalent, and in many cases similar, to real captains. He's just an administrative functionary, isn't he? He's not flying around doing battle with the bad guys or patrolling a beat, and the only time he's ever on the news is when the TYCS develops (or, more accurately, announces) some sort of new weapon; not like Fani-Kayode over Mars or Rico over Earth or Pandousco in the Segments part of the Periphery or M'sha over Jupiter; most people can actually name them (the Dominioners can name Farentino, but they don't count, the dagoes).

Well, the reason Blair would say he runs Saturn Theatre isn't because it's usually easy, but rather, when it gets hard, it gets really hard. That and, unbeknownst to most, he's more chock-full of headware than most Zero-One android avatars, with quite a few bits of not-quite-experimental deltaware that make him perhaps the closest living approximation to an Angelan outside of Kommetrez or portions of the Dominion fleet. That is why, right now, he is plugged into the Theatre.

This would give most people who did not know him very well pause. Sky Marshal Blair is known for having the most preening ego amongst all the Sky Marshals, making him essentially the polar opposite of the continuously self-deprecating Pandousco. He takes fine care of his appearance, has unabashedly been artificially twenty-nine for yedecemi, dyes his hair, gets his uniforms specially tailored, and is only seen in the company of the most discerning men. One would think that someone with such an ego could be a good choice for a theatre commander, but not, exactly, for what is the equivalent of a fleetmind. Fleetminds have lots of power, and that power is heady.

Fact is, it works perfectly. Blair is extremely proud of who and what he is, and prefers being a boyish man-about-town with authority rather than an artificial demigod, which he honestly finds somewhat annoying: having to not only think about but feel VDA positions and streaming fleet data and strategic postures. As it stands, his ego does not make him ambitious enough to want to be a god; rather, he is far too egotistical to accept godhood as anything better than what he normally is.

And that's why he got the nod from the CINCTYCS.

And that's why he's plugged in right now, vying with Zero-One fleetminds and S.H.O.D.A.N. for the amount of raw military data going through his brain (Saturn Theatre does, after all, have to know about what the entire Ticks is doing; thus is the burden of being Headquarters).

"Tenchuu flag, Saturnspace Actual--" with something less than a thought and more than a whim connections are automatically made over the Triumvirate joint operations stratnet "--message received and understood. Zeroel Archangel is authorized to proceed to Titan on the attached high energy approach vector; I hope he doesn't mind a little bit of atmospheric flying. Also, would you be so kind as to take positions inside the orbits of the Ring lightsats and begin sweeping for debris? Also, please stand by to assist vessels in need of assistance, as the Titan situation is currently acting as a draw on our emergency response resources."

Especially seeing how all these SPIR fliers are trying to be heroes. Sighing electronically, Blair directs another Titan Defense Force warship to debris duty. Fleet assets go to protect orbit, good, good... now, what news from the KSPA?

* - * - *

"The equipment can be broken down into its constituent parts; Storage banks, the hologrammatic emitters, the processing centres - but each part is barely man-portable with transport. It would ... Be virtually impossible to remove in the time that has elapsed and hide on Titan without some lead as to where it is."

"The shuttle that left Titan has been identified as a SAMACA-type," The Air Marshall interjected. "Support and Multi-Configurable Assistance - a cargo transporter. They are unsuitable over any other short-range craft as a thief's choice save their large cargo capacity over any other type of shuttle."

"It would seem almost certain they are not on Titan."

Sophia cast a glance towards the Scolopendran woman, and offered the slightest shrug of her shoulders. "There does not seem to be anything else to do ..."
"If nothing else, this limits how parts could be smuggled out, even if it's most likely he's already gone," Nadjiba notes, both verbally and in writing, with the latter being transmitted to Razak over her blocky portable communicator. "There's still plenty to do here," she says in a sort of citizen's royal decree, perhaps equivalent to a keep-your-chin-up speech, "as I'm sure our opposite numbers across the Triumvirate want and need information and security. Even if this is an isolated incident, people can be understandably skittish..."

"If you will come with us Commandant ..."
The Scolopendrans, in the meantime, from the dirtfarmers to the civil servants to the troopers, glance at each other. Everyone knows a pinch by The Man when they see it. This may be their strange foreigner way, and even if it isn't right for Orangebelts* to pinch soldiers who just got their rides shot from under them, the way of the foreigner is their right, even should it be somewhat depraved...

The sense of commiseration is palpable, at the very least. Most of them think of offering asylum, even though they can't, in the vague hope that iceys are psychic.

* Orangebelts are the equivalent of "black suits" most everywhere else, coming from the orange belts used in Military Intelligence and Scolopendran Intelligence Section uniforms.

3SDF-Peace with Conviction- Saturnspace

"Alright then, you heard theatre command. Move to a wide sweep formation, gravships on point to start cleanup. Don't want wayward bits of battleship smacking into anything, and I'm sure the Kaeneians would like as much of her back as possible." Oramos barks further orders detailing who goes where as crews scramble to comply.

The massive Hand of God class Peace with Conviction hangs back along with the fleet's Shogunate class battleships, neither well suited to the more careful, subtle action required of debris sweeping. Instead the smaller Archangel carriers fan out, with the fleet's newer Shinken class grav-gunships taking the lead.

RPDC-Zeroel- Saturnspace, inbound to Titan

"Have we got any word yet as to what in Her name is going on down there?" The exasperated question was merely rhetorical, but it did help vent Captain Sierra Menolimi's frustration a little.

"Not yet, but we've been cleared to resume our trip, albeit on a high energy approach vector." The shipmind, appropriately sharing the name Zeroel with his ship-body replied, accustomed to such outbursts. "We should be on the surface within another hour or so."

Only part of Sierra's apparent ill temper was due to the delay and lack of information. The Zeroel was still running a skeleton crew, having been delayed by various testing at Camp R after a terrorist attack on the diplomatic carrier had left the entire organic crew dead and a ghost roaming the ship's systems. Due to that, she hadn't seen Pandousco in awhile, and after spending a great deal of time with her young daughter Becky, she'd had to leave the young girl in the care of relatives on the Shogunate's Ring colony Dosei.

Not to mention she had a particular interest in the case she was being sent to Titan for.

"Good. Send word ahead to our hosts down there that we're inbound, and a more politely worded request for news on just What the Hell is Going On." Sierra nods decisively before returning to her seat on the command crane.

"You're anxious about the case, aren't you?" Zeroel inquires while carrying out the prior order.

"Well obviously! What am I supposed to say? The guy wants to see what's on the other side, he oughta be able to!" Sierra responds waspishly.

"He's also suffering psychological trauma due that whole dying thing." The shipmind retorts. "Not unlike someone else I know, who deliberately turned down that chance."

"That is completely different!" Sierra counters before stopping herself. "... Well, sorta. Bah, that's why there's gotta be hearings and all that jazz."

Zeroel pauses, the rendering of his avatar on one of the bridge monitors frowning suddenly. "... There may not be a hearing... not any time soon at least. Response from below is that the plaintiff's gone missing."

That stops the woman cold. "He's what?"

"Missing. Kidnapped, is the assumption. That's a big part of why things are presently so nuts... plus the capship detonation." Zeroel sounds thoroughly displeased at the destruction of the warship. "I suspect we'll be on Titan for while."

Sophia cleared her throat as she watched the countdown to broadcast trickle by on one of the many auxiliary monitors hastily installed around the non-de script desk she sat behind. Within the peripheral of her vision she could see Nadjiba standing thoughtfully even as her team of necessary bureaucrats exchanged papers, glances and hushed conversations about. Her hands clasped upon the table's top, the Governor-General prepared for novel experience of addressing the Serene Union from Titan.

A three tone bleating announced the feed.

"I address the Union from Saturn space this evening," She began; her every word echoed as the monitors displayed her pale features and the perfectly still officers of the Defence Terra and Defence Solarri standing behind and to the centre of the two Kaeneian flags hastily erected.

"It is my solemn duty to confirm the destruction of the KTDF carrier Heartfelt Authority in orbit of Titan earlier today and the loss of at least seven hundred Kaeneians. Investigations are on-going. The families of those that have been confirmed lost will be contacted shortly."

"The Council feels the loss keenly, along with all the people of our eternal Union. We will find answers."

Sophia did her best to resist the urge to fix her gaze on Air Marshall Riise, who undoubtedly felt compelled to maintain his stare against the bulkhead.







Ayala stared at the two Kaeneians who had themselves regarded her carefully without so much as a word for what had seemed hours. She recognised the room superficially as Scolopendran, but beyond that she could not really say where she was or where she had come from.

"What orders did you give previous to the explosion?" One of the agents, named Caelisaras asked finally.

"I ordered the ship to answer to Action Stations, and ordered the Response Fighters to launch. Contact was lost with the starboard flight deck shortly afterwards."

The other agent nodded his head, consulting the computer tablet held in his hands. "Our examination of the disaster recorder corroborates your answer. We have also traced the explosion source to the Starboard main liquid fuel storage tanks. Electronic records indicate combustion sensors on the tank did not trigger, and that no fire suppression systems were activated."

"We believe that the explosion was not a result of a fire or other incident involving the tanks themselves," The first agent added. "We have recovered fragments of technology that were not part of the Heartfelt Authority's construction or manifest."

Ayala's eyes widened slightly. "A bomb?"

"It is still a preliminary investigation, but there is compelling evidence. We have discovered the foreign fragments bear marks of Sunset origin. They are known to sell their wares to many ... eclectic groups. Their government is allied to the Serene Union and we therefore believe we are dealing with a device obtained by or for a mercenary group of some sort."

The two Kaeneians directed their eyes at the Commandant. "We would like to discuss the security procedures on your former ship. In particular, I refer you to a report filed four months ago by one Lieutenant-Major D. Iaiso following an audit of loading procedures."

" ... Computer inventory rarely matches the physical storage bays ..." He began. "Cargo listed as present was often shipped out months ago and not been stricken from the manifest - cargo added during layovers has no inventory tag and no way to identify contents without a physical examination."

The Commandant's jaw tightened. She did not remember the report - though undoubtedly it had crossed her desk at one point or another in the months preceding the amount of bureaucracy she was required to deal with meant there was no realistic way to read every document word-for-word and still ever leave her cabin. The officer responsible for instituting the recommendations of that report would have been the ship's Quartermaster ... Who was now dead. And beyond questioning.

It was Ayala's command. The burden fell on her.

"Can you explain why lax manifests and inventories were tolerated on a military ship Commandant? Orbital crews recovered a partial data tag from fragments we believe to be the storage crate the device was situated in. We were unable to find any mention of the unit in the duplicated electronic manifests in fleet archives."

The second Agent turned his tablet so that Ayala could see the screen, which displayed scrolling serial-numbers and ERROR tags. "We have also recovered a number of relatively intact cargo containers that survived the explosion, many of which were also absent from the manifest. Engineering spares, clothing and even side-arm ammunition clips. All ghosts, Commandant - all absent from your ship's official supplies. No trace of where they came from, or when they were transferred or under whose authority."

"The safety of a ship rests with its CO."

Turning the tablet off, the two KISS agents exchanged glances. The first left the table, exiting the room quickly and leaving his partner alone.

Ayala felt her stomach twisting in a queasy fashion. Whilst there were many officers and much authority between the hanger deck and the CCC, it was her ship and the Kaeneians aboard her personal responsibility. It was her watch. Her ship.

When the door opened to readmit the Kiss Agent, he was accompanied by another Kaeneian. Recognising the rank pins of an Air Marshall, Ayala immediately sprung to her feet, arm raising in a crisp salute that was almost immediately responded to with one of his own and a nod to allow her to stand at ease.

Riise leaned against the gun-metal chair, feeling more than ever the advancing years of an adult life spent in the military. Fast approaching eighty years of age the senior officer would not have a great deal of time left at the highest echelons of his nation's defence. This incident did help to make retirement seem more palatable.

"Although I concur with everything the KISS have discovered, the Incident Tribunal has already cleared you of any direct blame. No CO is expected to know the comings and goings on their hanger deck - doubly so if the Commanding Officer has two flight decks. There'll be no disciplinary action."

Ayala and the Air Marshall exchanged wordless glances - the former already expecting such a statement and knowing it would do nothing to ease the pain that only comes with the seniority of command. The latter understood what he had said was only half-truth; whilst the Commandant was not directly to blame she would always feel responsible and always be responsible that laxness on her ship that contributed to its destruction went unnoticed until it was too late. He knew what was to come next.

"In line with policy," He began. "You are relieved of duty for a period no less than thirty days for psychiatric and medical reports."

Ayala shook her head whilst ignoring the ageing Kaeneian's own, "That will not be necessary Air Marshall."

Reaching up to her collar, she pulled the pins of the rank of Commandant from her collar and cuffs, collecting them in her palm. Extending them to Riise, she waited patiently for the senior officer to sigh slightly, nod, and extend his hand to take them. "Are you sure you want to do this Ayala?"

Her hand returned to her forehead in a sharp salute. "Air Marshall - as per my rights and responsibilities under the Military Code of Service, I formally resign my commission as an officer in the Tri-Service Defence Force and discharge all responsibilities under the Military Code of Conduct. I stand relieved."

"I accept your resignation," Riise replied wearily with a matching salute. "You are discharged honourably from service to the state. You are released from the Military Code of Service."

Glancing towards the two KISS agents, Riise tucked the rank pins into his duty uniform's pockets and with a final nod, turned and disappeared into the utilitarian corridors. The two investigators followed.

Ayala allowed herself a loud sigh as she leaned over the desk, the slightest film of sweat glistening on her forehead. She had done the honourable thing practised by every CO who had lost a ship outside of wartime in recent memory. Unbuttoning her uniform jacket to reveal the black service shirt beneath her eyes locked on the Scolopendran guard who had popped his head into the room as he closed the door behind the departed Kaeneians.

"Where can I have a drink?" She asked simply.







"A bomb?" Sophia repeated aloud, her eyes narrowing incredulously. "From our own people?"

Senior KISS Investigator Caelisaras, acting head of the Kaeneian Intelligence & Security Service in the semi-permanent absence of his superior lost aboard the Scoperta, Vitras, nodded. He glanced towards Nabjia, continuing only after his Head of State nodded. "We recovered fragments consistent with a considerably modified base model of demolition charge available freely on the open market from Sunset. It was hidden within a standard cargo container."

"Unfortunately due to lax security and inventory procedures the data tags were not entered into the system and we cannot say when, or where the bomb came. We may never know."

The Governor-General nodded, absorbing the information. "I was not aware of any particular terrorist groups operating in our space."

"We have been aware for some time that there has been semi-organised opposition to some of your reforms Governor-General. The KISS has attempted to learn more about the operations of the dissidents but have been frustrated so far. We did not realise they were this well organised or this capable. Rest assured we are devoting resources that are appropriate to deal with this new threat. If there is anything else?"

"You may go," Sophia replied as Caelisaras nodded and left. Her eyes fell to the ever-polite Scolopendran woman who had waited patiently throughout the briefing. "Dissidents - I had imagined an engineering fault, or a terrible accident. But not bombs. Not terrorism."

"There is one other matter Lady," She continued, changing the subject. "We prefer our dead laid to rest where they fall wherever possible. Since the nearest solid rock is Titan, I would like to put the dead to rest here. Can that be arranged?"

"Where can I have a drink?" She asked simply.
Private Ghidri knows an official military drubbing when he sees one, and Scolopendrans, even of the less urbane and perhaps somewhat more rustic variety, are above the average when it comes to compassion for someone who's just gotten a raw deal. "Well, if'n I may, ma'am, this ain't 'sactly the sort 'o place for tha' sort o' thing. T'ain't halal, y'see, not much markit when yer surround'd by good ol' folk o'th'Book what read it a bit more... ah... tradit's'n'lly." Somehow, the backwoods Scolopendran accent manages to evict all vowels from the last three syllables of that word. "Most'n y'd be findin' home distil'ryes 'n whatnot..."

Some half-forgotten briefing pings in Ghidri's mind about what friendly allies don't do well with alcohol. He quickly pulls what information he can from this memory and collates it with what he knows of local alcohol traditions. What they do have is strong, and is drunk with extreme moderation, if such a thing exists. Glancing at his watch, he develops a plan. "I'll tell ya what: I'ma gonna report int' my sarge an' tell 'im I'm goin' on dip-low-mat-ik duty--I've got 'nough leave if'n he wants't'take it out o'thar--and we'll go t'one o'more bars I know 'n Sulayd. Bit more met-row-poll-it-ann, that. Your troopers 'r recoup'ratin' just fine, you'll be glad t'hear; we're takin' good care o'them.

"If'n that be t'your likin', I'll jus' be ou'n'back in a wink."

* - * - *

"There is one other matter Lady," She continued, changing the subject. "We prefer our dead laid to rest where they fall wherever possible. Since the nearest solid rock is Titan, I would like to put the dead to rest here. Can that be arranged?"
Not a moment's hesitation. "Of course. It's only proper and therefore the absolute least we can do."

Kaeneian warship lost. Orbital ‘accident’. No military action, possible terrorist act. Razak would be happy to …

That brought the good Chancellor up short.

“PseudoEmeror Razak?” He repeats, one brow arching slightly before he takes a slow sip of his beverage. “If he’s as busy as it seems, I’m certain there’s no need for him to bother himself with my questions, surely. Still, a terrorist act this close to ‘home’ so to speak, seems a rather brazen sort of thing for any sane group to even think of trying,” he further muses. “Given the most excellent capacities of the TYCS, not to mention the Scolopendrans on their own, I’m certain the situation will be resolved posthaste. The Kaeneians, I doubt, would accept anything less.”

“My thanks for your time and information. Do pass on our condolences and our offer of whatever assistance might be required of the Dominion, if you would. The Imperatrice would expect nothing less of me, as well. If you don’t mind, perhaps I should just make certain she’s received what news there is to receive, and let her take it from there.”

And with that he preps to send said info, limited as it is, along Spook, preferably from a quiet corner out of the way – most certainly out of sight out of mind of Razak or anyone else who might take issue with his presence in conjunction with the rather unfortunate incident going on out in space.

There were, after all, only two kinds of paranoia.