NationStates Jolt Archive

New Delphi Shipyards

Against the star filled backdrop of space, the New Delphi Space yard drifted haplessly it seemed, the multi-kilometer quagmire of modular production facilities bobbing in the pool of gravity created by the giant blue star of the Delphi system.

Thousands of ships had been produced here: the rust that had developed upon the entirety of its massive metal bulk a testament to its age and importance to the Conglomerate’s ship building efforts.

“Why in the hell are they allowing a foreign ship be built in my yard?” Michael Kumbroch said, “This is a Conglomerate yard and should only produce Conglomerate ships, damn it!” He continued towards the manager’s keep: down the viridian tiled halls, and passed the many dingy and tall view ports – the same frigate that had been slated for construction so many months ago finally being completed, or the cobalt hue of the giant blue star which Michael had called home for so many years.

“Why must I deal with such hostility, today of all days!” Manager Kilith had obviously been expecting Michael for some time now; his unhappiness reverberated throughout the halls and the vents and the walls of the yard, straight into Kilith’s ears. “Kilith! I demand to be heard!” He busted through the door, “The Delphi Yard was not created so some bastard foreigners can-…”

“You’ve had your say; today, yesterday, the day before that, and so on - I don’t see why today is so special, and I doubt you have anything to say I’ve not heard, Michael.” Kilith interrupted, “Well?” she continued coldly, surprising the now red and speechless Kumbroch.

“I… I… I cannot stand it!” he said, the anger beginning to pour forth uncontrollably, “They come and they order us around to build their foreign shit, and you put up with it?! Am I really alone?!”

“Right now; yes, yes you are alone in your feelings about foreigners.” Kilith replied, he words still empty of all emotion, “We have a job to do here: make ships, for who it doesn’t really matter. Why you’ve decided to make it personal – especially against the Aumanii, blood allies, is beyond me.”

Michael was obviously taken back by Kilith’s words; unable to move even an inch from the very spot he was standing, taking what seemed like hours to respond. “How… can I not make it personal? How I ask you! I’ve made this place my home, and helped the Conglomerate produce some of the finest warships in this part of the galaxy, and you dare ask why I’ve made this personal?” The anger had returned to Michael’s eyes, a fiery red fury that could make even the brightest, hottest stars envious.

“You rile yourself up over nothing, come now, you’ve still yet to answer my question, and I pose it to you every time we have this conversation.” Kilith responded with a bit of weary frustration in her voice, “So please, to tell me: What is so bad about foreigners that has you in this tizzy?” she continued, aiming her cold, penetrating stare at Michael.

“Fuck it!” Michael roared as he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him, “I’ll show ‘em, I’ll show ‘em all!” he continued as he made his way back to his workstation, punching various objects as he did so.

“At least that is over…” Kilith sighed, feeling the gentle embrace of peace sweep over her, “Now I can finish these requisitions, and hopefully all the energy he puts into being angry will be put to good use elsewhere.” Kilith sat down, working diligently at her terminal: filling out requisitions for parts, supplies, and ammunition, as the florescent lights flickered overhead.

“Those foreigners won’t be able to appreciate the masterpiece I am creating for them; damned filthy dogs!” Michael quietly screamed, abusing the controls of his production terminal, “At least I will be able to appreciate it…” he sighed, the anger that had taken hold on his old and leathery skin seeming to fade, “Even if it is the ugliest thing I have ever had to build more than once, I just hope this is the last time.”

The massive metal lifts ferried the parts where they needed to be, equally as large metal arms then held them in place while the many human workers floated in an environment sans-gravitational forces to weld them into place, and installing the many important electronics that made these titans of the void operations. As had been the rutine everyday, for several months in the Delphi Space Yards.

New Delphi Shipyards

Kilith had just risen from her deep slumber when the sirens went off; a repeating, piercing sound matched by the slow flashing of a bright ruby-red light. “What now?” she groaned, the floor shaking slightly, “And right after my birthday too.” She rose quickly, scampering for the door, slowing down only to grab her Conglomerate jacket and pistol.

The sounds of the sirens surged through the viridian corridors, masses of masked beings - human only in form, rushed about in every direction; disturbing the dust caked upon every visible surface, and the rust that had long ago settled down and called the yard its home. Kilith tried desperately to navigate through this quagmire of foul smelling humanoids - failing utterly at every attempt, ending her futile effort when she noticed a group of workers gathered around one of the main entry hatches.

“Git tha cutt’as and tha lines; ‘ve got to git tha hatch op’n!” one of the larger workers said through his thick eco-mask, “’urry! Them’s gonna die if we dun git this ‘ere ‘atch op’n!” he continued, driving a crow-bar into the door; failing again to force it open.

“What is going on? Why the hell are the alarms going off?” Kilith yelled, “And what in the hell are you boys doing?” she continued, digging her way through the mass of frantic humanoids.

“Roger ‘Er’ar; Fact’ry one, substat’n zero-nin’r ma’am.” Roger responded as he continued to abuse the hatch, “Rig’t naw we’r’ try’ng to rezcue Them stuck in thiz ‘atch ‘er’.” Kilith still looked dazed and confused, “But why-…” she tried asking, before being interrupted by a shorter, stockier worker somewhere to her left, “The last of those new warships was undergoing a test firing of her engines - you know, just routine stuff, then somewhere along the aft the hull cracked open, draining the ship of her atmosphere.” He stopped momentarily; helping to setup the plasma cutters brought by another nondescript mass of workers.

“Well they evacuated as fast as they could, but some reports say that there were some casualties, and the ship is now floating about unmanned in space – well as you can see, it is a real mess, ma’am.” He continued, activating the plasma cutter, “And now we’ve got to get this hatch open; the escape pod is on the other side but the docking clamps made a small rupture in its hull to and now the door is jammed shut because it thinks there is nothing but empty space on the other side, in fact this is happening at every pod doc on the station… we’re looking at a total disaster if this string of luck continues.”

Kilith was shocked, so much so she didn’t notice her skin beginning to burn from the heat of the white-hot plasma that erupted from the cutters thin aperture. The door glowed where contact with the white plasma was made, though still holding against this relentless assault of furious heat, giving way only after being seared by the flame for what seemed like an eternity.

“At this rate they’ll all be dead long before they are even half finished with the door.” Kilith shuddered as she thought those thoughts, “You three,” she pointed to the three nearest and largest workers just standing around, “Come with me, we don’t have much time!” the men were befuddled, but followed the now sprinting young manager anyway.

Kilith weaved through the torrential sea of men, passed the hatches now glowing with that white industrial glow of many plasma cutters, with a grace and elegance only such a young, and thin woman such as Kilith could. Kilith slowed down only to peer back behind her; making sure the men she called away from the hatch were still with her. “Only a little bit farther guys, keep pushing!” she cried, noting the difficultly her men faced trying to get through the human waves in their bulky eco-suits.

Kilith stopped to compose herself once she reached Storage Bay Seven; the door so caked with dust and rust one might not even realize it was the entrance to anything if it wasn’t for the hum of the keypad on the wall adjacent. Kilith waved he Administrator’s Access Card over the pad a few times; the laser fighting to get through the dust that covered its lens to scan the card.

“There we go!” she cried a cry of joy as the door slowly opened, the sounds of gears creaking as their metallic bodies fought to lift the heavy door. “Ok, here’s the deal,” she said with an authoritative tone one must have to be a manager of such a facility, “This rather large device here is what came to affectionately be called, a ‘pummeler,’ what it was supposed to do is not know - all of that knowledge was lost long ago, however, we do know what it can do: it takes a giant stake, and it rams it into something at high speed up until that something has collapsed or what have you. So I assume that is why it became known as the pummeler.” Kilith hoped that her men understood the implications of her speech: they were going to bust down every hatch and rescue every man they could.

Kilith sat down in the highly uncomfortable and old leather seat of the pummeler, doing her best to try and start the old, rusty thing. “There we go!” she screamed as the pummeler lurched forwards, almost running over all the men that had gathered at the door to see what was going on.

She drove as fast as she could through the halls, doing her best to avoid running over the men scurrying about all around her, all the while the three men she brought with her did their best to operate the various controls on the massive machine. “’oly s’it, ‘ere comes t’e boss la’y!” Roger cried as he hurried to get out of the way of the hulking machine, the machine that was barely able to fit its ‘pummeler’ into the narrow space.

WHAM!

“Try ‘er again!” Roger wailed,

WHAM!

“T’ere we go!” he continued as the door fell, parts of it still hot from their attempt to cut it open, “Roger, take over this thing and get the other hatches open now!” Kilith yelled, motioning for the men to go as the last of the survivors came forth from the opening, the air slowly being sucked into the hole the clamps had made.

“I want to see you in my office in ten minutes!” she said calmly to Michael, who was now gasping for some air as he struggled to lift himself up off the ground.

Michael walked slowly to her office about ten minutes later, readying himself for whatever it was Kilith had needed to see him for. “Ok K, what do yo-…” Kilith interrupted, almost screaming in an uncontrollable rage as she spoke, “It is because of you that I’ve got over two-hundred letters to families to send, over two hundred. I said nothing the first time, because in all honestly a little slip up with a simple power regulator is no big deal, and I thought you’d work it out. I didn’t say anything the second time, or the third time when it was discovered some of the power terminals lacked their circuit boards.” She stopped to take a breath, pacing now about the room as Michael’s face developed a look shame about it, “Then there was the fourth ship, that lacked the bridge itself, oh I’m sure you found that funny, but I took a lot of heat for that little stunt of yours, but I remained silent. The fifth ship didn’t have the shield generator installed, and the guns were locked into one position – unable to traverse what so ever, but again I held my tongue, and you know why? Because we’re friends, good friends even if we have the occasional tiff because you don’t like the way I run things.”

Kilith stopped, letting Michael fully absorb her anger, “But this time, oh this time I shall not be silent!” she screamed, her fist landing hard on her desk bouncing the various loose objects into the air, “Your actions have led to the death of people, that is right people died because of your childish attitude.”

Things suddenly fell silent, Michaels head slumped between his shoulders as Kilith stared him down, “Well what have you to say?” she enquired, “I… it… was not my fault! Everything I did I did by the book, I swear I might have been angry with you, but I’d never do this on purpose.” He said, pleading almost.

“Oh I know you didn’t, but your work has gotten sloppy since those orders came in, and if not you then someone under you who you’ve not straightened out, and that still makes it your fault.” Michael did not respond, he knew what Kilith said was true, and could say nothing to make it otherwise.

“I’m putting you on an official leave of absence until I’m satisfied you can do your job without this kind of fuck up.” She paused, gathering up one final bit of energy before she went on with what she knew would make Michael angry, “Sorek is going to replace you, I’m sorry but your actions have left me no choice.”

“But…” Michael said, trying to plead his case before Kilith could continue, “No buts, you know this has to be done, and even if he is a ‘foreigner’ as you so like to describe them, he has a perfect work record.” She said, sitting down, “Now get out, I can’t stand to look at you right now.”

Michael left, Kilith slamming the door behind him, he was shamed, shamed beyond all comprehension; he had been basically fired, and replaced by an Aumanii, a bastard foreigner in his mind.

Jaysun Sorek made eye contact with Michael as he left Kilith's office, there were daggers, that's for sure.

'So, you're Sorek?' asked Michael, Sorek stood up and looked down at him.

'Yep.' said Sorek in a neutral tone.

'Kilith told me to send you in...' said Michael, barely concealing his anger. Sorek had absolutely no respect for the man, as far as he was concerned Michael Kumbroch, his work was good, he'd give him that...but it was on the sloppy side, and Sorek suspected he was trimming the corners off of the budget and aquiring substandard equipment for the project, that and he was a racist piece of shit...but that was just Sorek's own opinion. The two men shared an awkward moment of silence before Michael spoke again, his voice trembling with veiled anger.

'So you think you can do this?'

Sorek sighed inwardly, 'I'd like to give it a shot.'

Michael snapped, 'Let me tell you something, my people have been running these shipyards since the beginning and even though I've been replaced by some Martian whore I'll be happy to know that it won't be a Conglomerate ship you'll be butchering. You Aumanii are worthless engineers...'

'Well Mike, I think we've talked enough for today. Good luck on the job search, if you're lucky I think Kilith will give you a job cleaning toilets.' Sorek gave Michael a crooked grin. Before Michael could respond, Sorek walked into Kilith's office and closed the door in his face.

----

After getting brought upto date by Kilith, Sorek made his way down to the construction dock and shared a few words with the more amiable Foreman on the build.

'This ship's a real...uh..."beauty"' said the Foreman, Alex Oorizen. Sorek chuckled 'I know the thing is ugly, you don't have to watch your words. However, the thing does look fucking cool, doesn't it? Looks mean.' said Sorek as he looked down at the construction from a control tower.

'The guys have been working 'round the clock to make the repairs and keep things going. A few of the guys even gave up their days off to make sure we stay on schedule.'

'Good on 'em. I'll check the budget, may'be we can give them a bonus or something.' said Sorek, not really paying attention as he watched a few welders working on the hull. 'So, when do you think we'll be done here?' asked Sorek. Oorizen shrugged.

'With all the repairs, may'be another three weeks. Could be sooner, all the guys are working their tails off. People can say what ever they want about the Conglomerate, but they can't say we don't do good work.' said Oorizen, beaming with pride.

'So, what's the schedule?' said Sorek.

'Well, the engines are next. We gotta mount 'em, then we're gonna test fire 'em...I'll be honest, I'm a little scared of that. Couldn't you guys have used a fuel that was a little more stable? Antimatter can do great things, don't get me wrong, but...' said Oorizen. Sorek shrugged, doing his best to mimic Oorizen's.

New Delphi Shipyards

Water trickled downs lowly from a ceiling obscured by darkness and the fetid odor of thick fumes spilling from the many battered, and worn pipes that ran throughout the bowels of the massive shipyard. The rank fumes whirled about slowly, as large rusted metal fan spun about sluggishly. The shadow acted as the only indication of the fans cached existence, cast from a rather bright light almost surreal in its luminosity.

It was on the featureless floor in the middle of this room - shielded from the encroaching darkness by faint light overhead - which Michael Kumbroch sat quietly. Drops of water falling from the enshrouded sky streamed down his leathery skin, as he remained motionless. He was staring an empty stare at a picture he gently held in his right hand. The picture – itself faded and tattered – was that of a young girl standing next to a very large and imposing man, himself strikingly similar to Michael in appearance. The man was smiling an awkward smile, a kind of smile from a face not used to smiling.

His arm was draped over the young girls neck gingerly grasping her shoulder as she tried in vain to wrap her arms around his torso. She smiled a very warm, piercing smile, the only kind capable of surviving the ravages of wear and tear on photographic paper. Her bright azure eyes seemed distant and empty, as if that familiar life that usually inhabits those two glistening globes was not, and had never been present. If not for the unusual amount of vibrancy and warmth that radiated from the young girls smile, it would appear that her being was just an illusion – a clever fakery meant to fool anyone who set their eyes upon it.

Michael’s eyes ended their stoic gaze and began to intently scan over the decrepit photograph. What organic muscle remained began to tense, his skin grew red and his facial expression turned to rage as his hand gripped the picture with more and more vigor as each moment passed by.

It was only after a few moments of intense prayer that Michael found the strength to put down the fiery rage the picture – that was, by now deep within one of the many torn and tattered pants pockets – had evoked from him. He rose slowly from the floor; the large beads of sweat that had formed during his bout of anger cascaded down his well-built body. He took in his right hand a portable bolter that he’d stolen from one of the many tool rooms long ago, pondering what his next move would be as he made his way towards the door.

Michael stopped momentarily, and gave his room one final look over as he finished putting on his shirt and corporate jacket, stuffing the bolter deep within the holster hidden underneath his jacket. Only the sound of the door slamming shut broke the eerie silence that had engulfed the room - knocking ajar another one of the pipes somewhere passed the fumes. “I know where you are Sorek… And you’ll pay… By God I’ll make you pay you bastard!” he thought to himself as he made his way slowly towards the Supervisor’s Control Module.

--

“She’s looking good.” Sorek said, wincing slightly from the overly bitter taste of two-week old Conglomerate coffee, “Not long now till she’s ready.” He continued as he fought to get the horrific taste of expired coffee off his tongue. “Aye, it’s been quite a job I must say; we’ve never had anyone from Mars here to oversee the construction of a ship not designed by the Department of Defense.” Oorizen chuckled, “Why it is a rare treat indeed, I just wish it’d been smooth sailing the whole way through…” his voice trailed off and degenerated into a serious, almost sad tone as he mentally recalled the events from a few weeks ago. “Ah well… no sense dwelling on what was, present is now and all…” Oorizen was finding it difficult to make conversation and drop his almost overly pensive tone. Many of those who died may not have been his friends, or even acquaintances, but he knew their faces, and he knew their names, and that was more than enough for him to consider him members of his ‘family.’

Oorizen became transfixed on the Gorgon for a moment; no longer did white-hot flames erupt spontaneously from the Gorgon’s ashen hull, and neither did the massive robotic welding and bolting arms brush along her. “Ah, I guess she’s done then. Want me to bust out the keg?” he said, feigning a smile. “Sure.” Sorek replied in the same apathetic tone that Oorizen had grown accustomed to. “Well you go down to the kitchen and get the tap while I go get the keg. It’s time to party damn it!” Oorizen bellowed, greatly feigning the happiness and excitement that had accompanied his words.

--

The apprehension that had accompanied Michael since his journey began grew stronger with every passing moment, making each step closer to the command module a torrent of pain and anguish, fighting to keep his food down and to keep his composure in front of the many denizens passing him by. “’Eh Michael, how’s the food today?” “Yo Mike, ‘Sup man?” “Hello Michael, how’s it hanging?” Michael received many similar greetings throughout his journey, ignoring all of them as if he had not heard them. “Gotta focus… gotta stay focused…” he thought to himself as he rounded the final corner.

--

“Odd… He isn’t here… But he’s supposed here!” Kilith said to herself – eyes watering – as she opened the door to Michael’s room, the putrid odor knocking her back a few feet before she was able to get a good look inside. “Wherever he is, he’s probably up to no good…” Kilith began to sprint through the halls, guided by an unknown force to some unknown hoping that, wherever she ended up, she’d find Michael there.

--

“Sorek!” Michael yelled, gathering the attention of everyone in ear shot. “Oh, it’s you again. Sorry, but if Kilith sent you to help us with the completion of Naga, you’ve wasted your time; she’s finished.” Sorek replied with a look of annoyance on his face and a tone of smug apathy. Had Michael heard Sorek’s words, it might have made him angry, but at this point Michael was so full of unfathomable rage that what words Sorek said were not heard.

Michael only stared at Sorek, who had by now grown tired of waiting for a reply to his smarmy comments. It was only when Sorek turned to leave that Michael jumped into action, powering through the very large mass of people that separated him and Sorek. The only warning people had to get out of the way was the sound of heavy feet pounding quickly against the grating and of bodies to slow to avoid the enraged behemoth slamming against the ground.

Sorek had only enough time to turn around as the massive hand from Michael’s outstretched arm clutched his neck. “Gah…” was the only sound able to escape Michael’s mighty grip, “What? Can’t find anything smartass to say to me now can ya? Maybe now you’ll learn some damned respect you daughter killing son of a bitch! Did ya think you could get away with it? Did you think I wouldn’t find out it was you? Well think again you scum bag.” Michael’s ramblings continued till there was no longer any thought behind his words, only the driveling nonsense from men whose minds had long ago broken from some unknown and overwhelming force. It was quite sans Michael’s ramblings; the now massive crowd of masked men were shocked into a nerve-racking silence.

“You’ll… you…. I’m gonna…” Michael gritted his teeth as he took the bolter from its holster, placing it against Sorek’s forehead. “She… she was young, and all I had in this world… and you took her… no… you stole her from me!” the Armour piercing shots of the plate bolter were deafening, singing Sorek’s hair and charred the skin of his ears as the six shots blew through the wall next to his head. “It’s what you deserve… but I-… I-… ugh!”

Sorek’s steel-toed boot found a soft spot in Michael’s lower jaw, impacting with the fury of one whose life was at stake. The kick knocked Sorek loose of Michael’s iron hold, “You… are… insane!” he yelled, or at least he tried to, coughing a hacking cough as he tried to breath collapsed on the grating against the wall.

Michael stared down at Sorek, his jaw hanging wide open as sparks danced around the cracks in the casing Sorek’s kick had made. Sorek’s life would have been over at that moment had it not been for Roger Herhar, who erupted through the crowd silent onlookers with a heavy welder in hand. The picture fell out of its tattered hold next to Sorek as Michael’s body folded in on it self as the welder cracked against his skull. Roger stood over his unconscious body for a moment before offering Sorek his hand, “Need some ‘elp?”

Sorek took Roger's hand gratefully. He knew full well if the burly technician didn't show up when he did, he'd be a dead man. Sorek broke into a fit of coughing, clutching at his throat. He leaned on the wall, heavily, as he regained his composure. Adrenalin was coursing through his veins and he just wanted to go home after that. Roger picked up the Bolt Pistol and removed the magazine and ejected the last round from the chamber...the crowd looked down on Michael as a puddle of blood began to surround him, no one could tell if he was dead.

' Som' 'n bett'r git a medic, eh!' shouted Roger in his lilt.

Sorek noticed a photograph on the ground and picked it up. Medics started to show up and look after Michael, though Sorek left before he could find out if he had survived or not...Roger hit him pretty damn hard.

----

Sorek met Kilith in the hallway, 'Hey, what's up?' she asked, mildly concerned. 'Me and Mike had a bit of a disagreement, everything's ok now. We should get the last of the paperwork finalized...' said Sorek, rubbing at his neck, which began to bruise up. Kilith looked concerned, but she figured Sorek really didn't feel like getting into details right now. Sorek had always been more of the strong, silent, type. The two walked back to her office, Sorek helped himself to Kilith's liquor cabinet and threw himself onto the haida bed which Kilith would sleep on if she had run a long shift.

'The first crews should be here in the next few days.' said Kilith, pouring herself some whisky so Sorek wouldn't have to drink alone. 'And then I'll be leaving with them!' proclaimed Sorek, raising his voice for effect. Kilith frowned, though Sorek couldn't see it because she was facing away. 'Look Sorek, you don't have to leave just because you and Michael don't get along...' she said, Sorek chuckled.

'I think Michael's dead, Kilith.' said Sorek, Kilith turned to face him, her eyes were wild with disbelief. 'What?! What did you do?!' she asked, near panic. She only thought they may have gotten into a bit of a scuffle, that's all...

'You should call security about that. Michael tried to shoot me...Roger saved my life. When I left there was alot of blood.' Sorek's throat began to itch and he coughed, nearly hacking up a lung. Kilith got on the phone with security and they explained the situation with her. Sorek took the picture out of his pocket and looked it over. The girl in it was cute, in sort of a plain way. He thought he recognized, though he couldn't quite place it.

Kilith got off the phone and let out a sigh of relief 'Michael's alive. Concussed, but alive. Thank god...', Sorek couldn't bring himself share the sentiment. Kilith rubbed her forehead, trying to ease her stress, she never liked this rivalry...it was totally childish, it blew her mind to think that Michael would take things this far. 'Why in the hell did Michael do this, Jaysun?' she asked Sorek. He shrugged, 'He was completely flipped out, man. Going on about how I was a "daughter killing bastard" or something. This fell out of his pocket, is this his daughter by any chance?' Jaysun Sorek held the photo out so Kilith could take it, she glanced at it, 'Yeah, this is her. She was killed by pirates in Aumanii orbit a long time ago...I don't see how you would have anything to do with it.'

Jaysun's eyes widened as he began to realize who Michael's daughter was, 'Right, she was the Conglomerate diplomat, I remember now. I read it in the news paper. There was something like a five minute window of opportunity for the pirates to attack, five minutes where Conglomerate escorts turned back and Aumanii ones were supposed to take position or something...it was a total fluke, a tragic one anyway. I remember this cause I was serving in the Fleet at that time, but I was stationed in the middle of the desert, not even close to being involved in that.'

Kilith was silent for a moment, sighed, and moved on. 'Anyway, you don't have to go, Jaysun. Now that Michael is...detained...we'll definitely need a new lead engineer. That and I'd prefer your company to some of the other guys they have lined up.'

'I don't know, I'll think about it.' said Sorek doubtfully. Kilith smiled at Sorek and clicked glasses with him and then, they got drunk.

Things had returned to a state of pseudo normalcy after a few days, the incident between Sorek and Michael becoming little more than a faded memory in the minds of millions of sullen workers. Work had begun on the vast amounts of other projects that had been placed on the back burner to complete the six Gorgons; Conglomerate frigates and Iraqstani destroyers, all lay strewn about the sprawling complex; fragmented metal bodies left to rot in the chaotic sea of unfathomable bureaucracy.

“Looks like we celebrated early, Roger.” Oorizen said, taking a large swig from his bottle of Maroon Fire. “We have ourselves enough work here to last till we’re thrown into the grave.”

Roger was staring at the keel of an Iraqstani destroyer that had just been laid down, the hue of platinum shining brilliantly in the brightly lit Lock. Thousands of works swarmed over the keel, welding parts being hoisted down by hundreds of robotic arms placing needed parts in the required positions. “Aye to t’at… ay to t’at…” his voice trailed off, eyes still focused on the workingmen.

“Well, at any rate, they’ve forgotten about most of our recent troubles. We at least gained that.” Oorizen downed another large swig from the now half-full bottle of Maroon. “Still… if we have many more incidents like the ones a few days ago…” His glazed eyes just stared into the empty void through a dusty port window.

The stars, he thought, maybe that’s where they all are, maybe… his liquor bottle cracked, red liquid began to seep from the fissure like blood from a fresh wound. “Damn it all!” he exclaimed, jumping from his seat enraged.

“A’ Ooriz’, Ooriz’… I worry ‘bout ya s’metimes.” Roger said, barely glancing back at the irate Oorizen as he left the station, down the rusted stairs and through narrow halls into the maze of main shafts.

--

Michael lay dazed in infirmary, heavy steel reinforced straps kept him firmly secure to his bed. Both of his cybernetic arms had been removed, and his shattered jaw replaced with a skinless slab of thick metal disproportionate to the rest of his face.

The pearly walls were free of the blight that ate at the rest of the station. White light reflected through the room, agitating Michael’s one organic eye. The infirmary held ros upon rows of empty beds and inactive Droid-Docs lay under clear plastic blankets in various storage rooms. Immobile semi-sentient drone hung over each bed; normally checking the life signs of their wounded patrons, now remaining silent and heavy from the sheets of dust they collected.

Long ago these bays were full of the sick, the wounded, and the dying. Yet the cost to maintain such facilities for men who were mostly of the poorer class whose insurance never got above level five, proved to much. Most had to be shutdown, only the minimum as regulated by law and corporate police were kept operational, if you can call one run-down Droid-Doc and a handful of readied beds per lab operational.

When Michael had been brought in, the one remaining Droid-Doc had to be repaired haphazardly. Now he sparked when his treads roved over the white tiles and his rusted spherical head tilted at odd angles. The Life-Drone failed to activate the first time, requiring a command key that had rusted passed disintegration in an abandoned command center, so one of the workers who assisted Michael into bed had to beat it open, and hack into the drones old mind in order for it to work.

Michael himself made things harder, thrashing about; yelling curses. Several more workers had to be called to hold him down. “Fuckers! Let me go!” He slurred angrily, writhing in pain as his broken metal jaw hung open and blood ran down his skull. He almost broke through the restraint, kept down only by an injection of a dangerous narcotic that lulled him to sleep for days. Allowing the Droid-Doc to removed his trunk like cybernetic arms, and replace his shattered jaw.

None one had visited him during his time in the land of tumultuous nightmares – not even Kilith. His only companion was the queer Droid-Doc, nicknamed Cleave, who tended to his bandages and kept him sedated. He only awoke for brief moments, cursing in anger and flaying about the best a man could without the power of his arms. It was during one of his bouts that the door slide open, the sound of air hissing in its wake.

Roger entered, his uniform gone and face unmasked. “’Eave ‘im al’ne ya fucka.” The Droid’s many indigo eyes gave him a strange look before departing, shuffling around papers and equipment never to be used again in a futile effort to look productive.

“Eh.” Roger smiled through teeth long ago broken by a heavy chain that struck him in the face, “Y’av ‘eally scre’ed yerself this time, old friend.” He walked over to Michael’s bedside, both mismatched eyes staring at his friends bound body.

“No one asked you.” He snapped, turning his head away.

“Now ya look ‘ere, we’v been friends ‘ince la’t I can ‘memba. S’ w’y ya actin’ like a twat?” Roger said, pleading almost.

“You defended… him” he snarled, “You speak of friendship, but how can I call someone friend when they’ve betrayed me to scum… scum man, that is what you chose over me.” Michael stared back into Roger’s eyes, the look of anger that festers after a betrayal beaming from them. Roger just stared back, his broken face motionless.

Michael coughed up a bit of blood and spat out another tooth; Roger’s fist dug deep into his skull with a force only a labourer can muster. “Ya stupid fucka! Ya tried ta kill a man who’d not’in ta do wit’ yer daug’ter. Sorek’s just some lil’man. T’aint ‘is fault, t’aint.” Their eyes met again, both pairs empty and emotionless.

“Ya know, Kili is like a daug’ter ta ya, and y’u ended up fogett’n ‘bout her in all yer madness. S’e can’t save ye now ye kno’… T’e OIA is gonna be investigat’n t’is one…” Michael’s eyes showed glints of fear upon hearing those words. The OIA was short for Office of Internal Affairs. They investigated serious incidents in the workplace; crimes, fights, or injuries when severe enough. Their involvement only meant trouble, the punishments were harsh, if one ever was seen again to tell about it, and your assets were usually garnished to pay for the damage done if your Investment Insurance didn’t pay enough. Your family could be out on the street for your crimes if bad enough once the OIA was through.

“Roger. Leave. I need time to think.” And with that, Roger left sullen and disappointed.

“Cleave, you roving piece of metallic shit, hook me up.” Cleave gave Michael a knowing look as he gave him yet another injection, more this time; his barely human body was becoming resistant to the drug.

“Ah ‘ell… ‘ell, ‘ell, ‘ell. Not’n I er Kili can do fer ‘im now…” Roger said aloud as he maneuvered passed incoming columns of men fresh from the yard, tired men sweaty and aching.

--

Oorizen was back in his torn leather chair, staring on as the first destroyer was hoisted by the ghostly powers of gravity into the Finishing line. Taking long, depressed gulps from another liquor bottle, his glazed eyes filled with a sadness so deep it was like he had died; all life chased away by the anguish. Only the bright flare that powered through the auto-tinting glass reinvigorated his copper eyes.

The pressure seals released with a hiss as steam billowed from the hatches of the troop carrier. The door fell to the ground with a loud, metallic, bang. The landing deck was abuzz with activity as technicians laboured to get the carrier ready for flight again at a moments notice. A man in a leather greatcoat hobbled down the ramp, his leg was set in a plaster cast and his right arm was held tightly to his chest by a sling, the empty sleeve dangled by his side as he struggled down the ramp, refusing help from his adjutant.

A jeep awaited him, he got in and it sped down the wide corridors of the station, towards the AuBSD Naga.

'Is Naga ready to go?' grumbled Lyboc to his Adjutant, Captain Lysander. Lysander nodded and replied 'Yes. I take it you're eager for some pay back, Fleet General?'

Lyboc chuckled darkly 'If I had my way, Naga would be renamed Cortez.'

Lysander looked puzzled, 'Pardon, sir?'

'Cortez was a military commander a very long time ago. His situation was similar to our own.' said Lyboc, not in a mood to go into much detail.

'Ah, yes, I see.' returned Lysander.

The jeep stopped for a moment to let a convoy of heavy machinery pass in front of it. The driver said something to Lyboc, apologetically, but the sound of the equipment was too loud for him to hear clearly. Lyboc took off his cap and laid it on his lap, straightening his short, peppered black, hair with his good hand. The convoy passed and the jeep continued on, finally coming to a stop at the base of a control tower which was used to oversee construction on Naga. Lyboc limped out of the jump and stumbled his way to the observation deck of the tower where he was greeted by a few workers he'd never met before...

'Where's Sorek?' asked Lyboc curtly. One of the workers said 'He's packing up his things, I think.'

Lyboc sighed 'No, he's not. Get him for me, I have to talk to him.'

The worker obeyed, running off to Sorek's quarters. Lyboc stood at the window and admired Naga's massive form for about a half an hour until the worker returned with Sorek.

'General Lyboc!' said Sorek in surprise, he wasn't scheduled to be in to check on things till the end of the month. 'What happened to you, sir?' asked Sorek as he took in the extent of Lyboc's injuries.

'Gorgon was blown up. I barely escaped...Haarkon's dead.' said Lyboc matter-of-factly. Sorek was horrified, he hadn't heard...news travels slowly it seems.

'I need this ship ready to fight in three days.' said Lyboc.

'That'll be impossible. I'm leaving, they still haven't found a replacement.' said Sorek.

'Then it's obvious, Sorek. You're not leaving, now are you?' said Lyboc, like he was talking to one of his soldiers.

'I've already filed the paperwork.'

Lyboc went deadly silent, staring at Sorek intensely.

'Look it, kid. Three thousand fifty two of my men were killed. Your mentor, Danyel Haarkon had the top of his FUCKING HEAD taken off by shrapnel, and you're telling me that you can't stay and finish one lousy fucking ship? You disgust me you little rat!'

'I'm sorry, sir...'

'You are sorry. You're a sorry excuse for an engineer is what you are. If you leave, not only will you be failing your country. But you'll be failing me, Haarkon and every single man who was killed in this attack, which was nearly as cowardly as you! I don't give a shit why you want to leave. If you miss your mommy or you don't get payed well enough. I only care that you can get this ship finished fast enough so I can get out there and kill those dirty Indian bastards that fucked me and my family up. Do you understand?'

Everyone who witnessed the outburst was too afraid to even look at the General who, even in his current state, was intimidating. Sorek didn't know what to say, well, he did...

'I'm sorry sir. I'll stay if it means that much to you.'

'Damn rights it does. Now unpack your things and get to work.' ordered Lyboc as he turned to look at the Naga.

The hexagonal hatch opened, letting a flood of white light wash over several waiting bodies, into several pairs of waiting eyes.

"Arrihaena Donavi, Investigator from the Office of Internal Affairs, Division Six." The tall man in a silver suit with listless silver hair says, walking into the dusty, rusty air.

"Welcome aboard, mister Arrihaena." Killith replies, somewhat nervously.

"Where is the defendant?" Arrihaena responds coldly.

Killith, caught off guard falters for a few moments to find her words. "Er, I... he's down in the infirmary, under lock and key so to speak."

Arrihaena removes his tinted glasses, staring at Killith with eyes the same shade of silver as his suit, confused it seemed. "Well, why are you just standing there? Take me to him." He says with a tinge of harshness in his voice.

"Oh yes, of course." Killith responds, walking hurriedly in front Arrihaena flanked by several armed guards in suits of dull, sickly green.

--

Oorizen had not stopped drinking, reeking of hard liquor while sprawled out on the floor, staring up into space through the miles and miles of metal, rock, and crew facilities above him. Thinking, trying to think of the faces of those lost, of their names, their lives. Their families as they received, the news and their souls as they entered that realm; which lies beyond the chains reality and society.

"Hey uh, Oorizan, sir." A voice cautious and concerned, says through Oorizan's relay.

"Yeah?" He replies despondently.

"We're ready to begin the second batch."

"Yeah, alright." He grunts as he rises from the floor with trembling legs and trembling arms. "How did the first batch finally turn out?"

"Good actually, only one injury, and it's nothing a gauss pad won't fix. We haven't put every one of them through trails yet, but so far everything looks good. Only design flaw I'd say the fuckers have is a lack of point defense, but that's not what they're made for so what the hell."

"Yeah, that's excellent. Keep up the good work and all. Oor'z out." He says, disconnecting the relay.

He peers out the forcefield protected observation glass into the yard where yet another hull is being molded from precisely cut pieces of metal alloys, all being welded together by looming robotic arms and the scampering ant-like forms of men, rushing along the vessel's length with their plasma torches joining the pieces with orange flame.

He stumbles into bed tired, and somewhat confused; to dream painful dreams.