NationStates Jolt Archive

Approximately a year ago, the corporation run state of Gentec Amalgamated dissapeared in what appeared to be an enormous detonation that removed it and the entire landmass it occupied from the face of the planet. The reasons for its mysterious dissapearance were never discovered, and the cataclysm left no clues as to its origins.

Now, Gentec is back.. but not where you might expect.

Far above the churning clouds of jupiter, a circular event horizon forms and rapidly expands... quickly reaching almost planet-swallowing size. from this mammoth wormhole emerges an object the size of a large moon, its shimmering blue surface cracked and pitted, covered in scorch marks and leaking gasses. The strange craft is almond shaped and almost featureless except for the damage it had sustained. As it emerges fully from the wormhole, the event horizon collapses behind it.

The strangest thing about the object though is that it appears to be organic in origin. its surface composition similar in some respects to the shells created by molluscs. Its energy signature is minimal for a conventional spacecraft, and mass too low to be solid.

As it limps into orbit with the gas giant, thousands upon thousands of relatively tiny organic vessels emerge from spiracle like aperatures in the surface, miniature facsimile's of their enormous mother vessel. Their shells are made from the same irridescent blue substance and their only differences are minor external adaptations to suit their various functions. They begin working to seal the cracks in the surface and repair the damage. Thousands more descend into low orbit around Jupiter and begin harvesting He3 from the atmosphere, and dust from Jupiters rings. The effect is a frenetic, beehive like swarm of activity.

While this happens, the craft begins broadcasting an automated distress call in several terran languages, and morse code. It claims to be a Habitat Class starship of the Gentec Corporation, and that it has lost life support on several habitation levels, and has insufficient medical personell to treat the injured.

With Io and the rest of the Jovian Theatre calming down, the Jupiter Theatre Fleet slowly spread out into its new role as an outer-planet patrol force. While it still has its repple-depple out Europa way and Jupiter has the plurality of components deligated to its defense, it isn't the monolithic task force it once was. The Combined Services prefers it this way.

The nearest ships to the ailing newcomer are those of the Tenth Heavy Cruiser Component, operating on piracy patrol in a highly inclined orbit in about the midrange of the tangled ball of yarn that makes up the orbital paths of Jupiter's natural satellites. The appearance of a small moon-sized object, and more importantly its mass, causes some concern.

* - * - *

The lights are tinted red but not red throughout in the command room; alert lights pulse but the klaxon cancelled. Officers in the semicircle alternate between intently working their consoles and intently watching the strategic indicator display floating like a royal blue cloud in the fore of the room. Technicians in the back and in the gallery concentrate on their work and individual displays. The mood is not yet the sort of tension one associates with action and adventure in the Up-and-Out; it has merely wound up from clockwork idly ticking away the minutes to jeweled motion quickly and silently spinning away the milliseconds.

"Contact Sierra-Juliet Seven-One-Four-Three decel circ 'bit," the sensors officer reports in English so terse as to not really be the same language, speaking with a sense of urgency the Queen's tongue never held on its own. It could be mistaken for Spanish at the pace. "'Phemrid's update, sir." The rest of the bridge officers instantly know from experience that sensor contact SJ-7143, the large artificial newcomer, has decelerated into a circular orbit and so its ephemirides have been updated. Good for the astronomers to know.

"Positch?" Captain Wusamequin's hard Algonquin face is folded as if he were frowning, but his lips are neutral. Ruddy hands folded, he watches the strategic board with piercing black eyes that fail to glance towards the officer his position request was directed to.

"Bear'n one-four dec seven-eight dist five-zero-two-kay Jove-horiz. Head two-six-zero Jove-horiz, sir." The sensor officer replies with a no-nonsense report stating bearing, heading, and distance all based on a Jovian local-horizon inertial plane. It takes less than six seconds to relate.

"Incom trans," the communications officer reports, glancing up from his console. "Distress." A nod from the captain, and the officer flicks a switch to play the GenTec recording over the bridge's speakers.

Wusamequin ponders for a few seconds, then comes to a decision. That it takes a few seconds means he doesn't think it's a threat. Were it a threat, the skullcap would already be on and all this would occur over the tacnet where thoughts move so much faster than lips and words. His next action shows that he hardly even considers it an emergency. "Communications, prepare to reply. HangarCom, coordinate with Medical to launch Lokis with trauma teams. DroneCom, prepare drone bays to launch escorts. FleetCom, status."

One "Acting" from the hangar command officer, two "Acknowledged"s from the communications officer and the drone officer. The fleet command officer pauses a bit longer and replies with "Krait, Cottonmouth, Boomslang all report Event Condition One and standing by, sir."

"FleetCom, put the component at Alert Condition One." The captain taps a button on his own console, the lighting's tint goes from a hint of red to a hint of yellow. "Comm, proceed when ready."

"Stand by, sir."

"Standing by."

The communications officer sets the comm arrays to reply on the same wavelength band as the distress signal, then flips a switch that was engineered to be quite audible. Click.

* - * - *

Gentec corporate vessel, this is Captain Wusamequin of the Triumvirate of Yut Heavy Cruiser Copperhead. We have received your distress signal and are loading emergency trauma teams onto dropships to assist. What are the specifics of your condition and how else can we help?

We will be leaving this frequency open for a response.

Captain Wusamequin
CO, 10 HCR Component
TYWS-CRD Copperhead

The reply is swift, an androgynous voice that seems a little too human to be synthesized, but too nuetral to be human.

"You have our gratitude, Captain. I have lost pressure on several levels, however the breaches are for the most part closed now.. No other assistance should be required. An escort will be sent to accompany your medical staff to landing bays."

Even as this is said a number of ships emerge from the habitat and begin approaching the Copperhead. They do not appear to be armed, but that isnt saying much. They dont appear to have conventional drives either. They, and the other ships flying around the habitat, appear to be moving in bubbles of spacial distortion, leaving a wake of intense tidal forces.

Other than that they give off very little signature at all.. almost no EM, they barely show up on radar. If it wasnt for the massive amount of gravitational distortion they created they would almost be stealthy.

OOC: Gentec ships have Alcubierre drives. this means they basically sit within a warp bubble, moving space around them.
It may seem probable that the wake the ships create is what makes the intricate flight patterns of the miner ships necessary.

Mostly closed. "Sensors, their story confirm?"

"They are venting, sir."

"I want to know what they're venting." They're in distress, yet can launch escorts...

"Acting, sir." At a command the ships of the component start active scanning, determining chemical constituents and getting mass readings. Alcubierre drives are noted, as well as their rather sloppy containment in mid-distort. Meanwhile, the currently low-distorting gravydrives of the capital ships continue to maintain stationkeeping. Their EM signature is rather bright, with many systems on alert standby at AC1.

Captain Wusamequin glances over to the navigation station; the humaniform copperhead snake sitting there glances back with one cold yellow eye. It's a quiet signal between the two. "HangarCom, launch when ready."

"Acting, sir."

"FleetCom, have the destroyers and the frigate pull back a bit to green circle, sierra reference."

"Green circle sierra reference, acting."

* - * - *

Five one-hundred meter Loki gull-winged parasite ships detach from their motherships and get into formation. They're clearly nimble, far more so than their size would attest, and as far as sensors can tell, operating reactionlessly. Turrets scan yet try to avoid hostility by pointing directly at anybody. For the medics, it's just another bus ride.

Behind them (assuming the direction towards the habitat is forward) the bulbous Grendel-class missile frigate and Puma II-class destroyers set their stationkeeping to a different reference, letting the habitat and Copperhead continue on in their orbit whilst dropping behind, stationary relative to Jupiter. If the distance ever does reach one and a half light seconds, they return to stationkeeping relative to the habitat.

Medical Teams:
The escort ships lead the dropships to the Habitat, and as the group advances the traffic ahead of them is cleared to a respectful distance.

As they approach, the sheer size of the vessel becomes apparent. Huge spiracle like aperatures in the sides allow a constant stream of mining and repair vessels access to hangars where they refuel and dump cargo.

It is into one of these hangars that the medical teams are guided. The interior of the hangar is a chaotic scene, with ships weaving around each other for access to landing platforms. However, none of these ships ever seem to drop off or take on personel. Most of the landing platforms are in fact barely large enough to hold the ships that rest upon them, and are not designed to give access to the habitat itself to any crew the ships may be carrying.

The escorts do not however stop at any of these platforms. they instead carry on further into the ship itself, the same strange voice that talked to the captain giving the pilots of the dropships polite advice on how to navigate the low-level gravitational turbulence caused by that many Gentec ships in a confined space.

When they finally indicate a place to land, it is in a large airlock on the far side of the hangar. There is more than enough room for all of the dropships, and a small group of humanoid forms waits to greet them by one of the interior doors.

-------

Copperhead:

The gases that are escaping are a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, though the leaks have all been stopped now. Stress fractures seem to be the most serious form of damage to the habitat but there appears to be battle damage as well, in the form of huge scorch marks and scores down the flanks of the ship.

The shell itself appears to be made of an organic-inorganic composite similar to that of some molluscs. The most obvious difference is that where molluscs use calcite as the inroganic component, the hull appears to be made using alumina. The organic component is a complex protien polymer that seems to degrade closer to the surface, allowing the alumina to crystallise into a reflective layer. This gives the ship its shimmering blue colouration.

Further in it is difficult to tell much without invasive scans.. it is difficult to resolve individual lifeforms and/or components from the organic matter around them, let alone discern their purpose. As in all complex lifeforms, many of the ships organ structures have multiple functions. One interesting point is that there is a distinct lack of metal in the ship as a whole. The entire thing seems to be organic.

The gravitational wake generated by the Alcubierre drives seems to be less by accident than by design. The distortion seems to vary considerably depending on the density of ships present and their proximity to the Triumvirate vessels.

As for the mass of the habitat, it is low for a moon or planetoid of its size, but very high for a ship.

Thanking their guides, the Loki pilots guide their relatively small, relatively huge birds down into the hangar airlock indicated. With their own gravitic-based drives on low-distort they basically function as reactionless drives, their effects not particularly noticable unless one is within the spherical bubble of effect and the drive's local acceleration vector takes over. Upon landing, the drives remain active but in neutral--emergency evacuation procedures--doors open, ramps extend.

The Fleet trauma teams are in green smoke-cloud patterned hard suits that are only slightly less blatantly armored than the Mobile Infantry marine medics which disembark with them; still, by powered armor standards, these suits aren't anything extreme. Hardly larger than their wearer, they just provide excellent small-arms protection and increase the amount of kit wearable; in this case, each trooper is carrying enough first-aid and emergency autodoc kits to outfit a small trauma ward. It's almost comical, bags of medical equipment that a man in armor could curl up in strapped around their backs... almost.

One of the Fleet green suits clomps over to the waiting party, waving one hand in greeting. A red obtuse isosceles triangle, broad side up, on his helmet and repeated on his shoulderpads probably indicates rank. A few Fleet technicians and several more M.I. medics follow in his footsteps. "Lieutenant Ryoo Jin-Yong," he announces himself over his suit speakers, "assistant surgeon aboard Copperhead. What's the situation?"

* - * - *

"Record all this, and stream it to TYCSHQ." It's interesting if nothing else. Wusamequin folds his hands and thinks for a few moments. The Pilonese have organic ships similar, but it doesn't match any known patterns. "Prepare to transmit."

Another click.

* - * - *

GenTec corporate habitat,

Trauma units have been dispatched. Is there any other way we can render assistance? I hate to possibly state the obvious, but it looks like your ship has taken hostile fire--should we be on alert for anyone in pursuit, and if so, who?

Captain Wusamequin
CO, 10 HCR Component
TYWS-CRD Copperhead

Medical Teams:
The greeting party is also dressed in some kind of armour, the same shade of blue as the ships in the hangars, though more dusty than shiny. There are five of them in all, anonymous figures in insect-like shells. None of them have any kind of visible insignia, and they are armed with short, stubby weapons that appear to be designed for close quarters fighting. The weapons are strapped accross their backs however and they do not appear to be expecting a battle. As the airlock pressurises one of them takes off their helmet.

The person underneath is, or at least seems to be, human. She seems to be in her late twenties, and her raven hair is shaved close to her skull to fit inside the shell helmet. A narrow metallic composite band wraps around the back of her skull and curls over the top of her ears to sit parralel with her cheekbones, a simple piece of jewelry but one that is worn with apparent pride, perhaps a sign of station.

She smiles, an expression that does not sit well upon her face, and answers the officer.

"Greetings lieutenant. I am glad you are here. one of our habitation levels was breached during the jump, and alot of civilians were injured. We have medical staff of our own but the numbers.. we need all the help we can get."

The admission of need takes its toll on her, and her smile fades to a thin, worried expression.

"I am Luminate Arén, of the Gentec Marines. I will lead you to the hospital level."

Depending on how observant the medics are, they may notice that there is a slight anotomical difference between the shell armour of Arén and her companions, however the Luminate does not leave much time for banter, turning on her heel and jogging over to the much smaller interior doors, which open seemingly of their own accord. The other Gentec Marines follow with eery coordination.

---------

Copperhead:

Again the response is swift, the same alien voice as before.
"Hostile pursuit is unlikely. Thank you again for the assistance, Your swift response will save many lives."

The habitat responds to the active scans with scans of its own, not just of the ships but also of surrounding space and nearby sattalites, searching perhaps for signs of colonization, or maybe just a reason for a detachment of heavily armed vessels to have been so close at hand.

"I hope you'll forgive us, ma'am," Lieutenant Ryoo replies, rationalizing the seeming unnaturalness of the smile as probably the resultant of stress or habit, "if we don't take off our helmets. Sometimes it takes time for the suit sensors to make sure the air's clear of pathogens--unintentional ones, of course." He uncomfortably clears his throat and looks off to the side at a momentarily interesting bit of scenery. Behind the faceplate he's relatively young, short black hair in a military flattop and brassy complexion not quite gone hard with age. Irises so brown to be black in eyes alert and keen, just as one would expect in a surgeon, lie under pronounced epicanthal folds.

A few of the assorted TYCS personnel notice the difference in armor, but most pay it no mind and the rest figure now is not the time to comment. The lieutenant follows along, the rest in tow. "You seem to have at least a vaguely biological technology base," he says in idle conversation, "or am I just seeing things where there aren't any?" Biological technology isn't anything new, really, just still relatively uncommon when it comes to starships.

* - * - *

Active scans show that while the warships are glowing like sulphur lamps in the infrared ranges, they're probably not powered up to a tenth their potential. As befitting ships of the line at alert their guns are a few hairs above cold, but emissions suggest their associated capacitors are fully charged. If anything direct visual observation shows intent best; blocky weapon turrets are purposely not pointing at the habitat and are instead pointed outward where applicable. Active scans are foiled by the armor, which reads as perhaps surprisingly light and airy, compared to the standard. The outermost layer is most certainly a metal-containing composite of some kind, perhaps a cermet.

Meanwhile, Jovian space is busy, but perhaps not the busiest. Ships of all shapes and sizes (under a few kilometers) go to and fro; basic SIGINT pulls up at least a dozen languages being used locally. There are other probable warship-contacts here and there; most of them match the ones already moving into escort formation around the habitat at light-second distances. A few others don't. Still more look long, long disused. Someone who hasn't been in the area for a while may not be able to make heads or tails of the situation, that being that the TYCS has a fleetbase in the area, originally in response to opposing fleets which have since petered out, for lack of a better description.

Medical Teams:
"A wise precaution." Arén doesnt stop walking, or even pause. she does look back for a moment however just to make sure the others are keeping up. "Almost all of our technology is organic." She smiles again, this time a slightly more natural, and much more sardonic expression. "And by almost i mean absolutely. Electrics arent practical here."

She leads them down a number of corridors, and into a large elevator that looks like it is designed to take large numbers of people, or possibly vehicles. The walls are curved like they are standing in a big pill, and when it begins to move it does so silently, the movement slightly irregular. Having decided to play tour guide, Arén gives a bit of a commentary. "These run all over the habitat.. they are moved by peristalsis. The whole habitat is one big organism. We're pretty much Habitat tapeworm."


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

Copperhead:
Nothing much happens for a good five or ten minutes, then the voice speaks again.

"We are planning to launch a ship bound for Earth. It is a diplomatic vessel and contains civilians. Do they have safe passage through local space?"

"Hm. I know the feeling, even if our ships are inorganic." Copperhead's assistant surgeon chuckles tinnily through his suit speakers. "They've got sentient intelligences for central processors or whatever--not my field, sorry--and so sometimes I get the feeling that I'm walking around in some sort of steel abdominal cavity or something. Everyone else just says I think that because I'm a surgeon." Nothing secret there; it's all available publically somewhere on the YutLink or the local public library. He does however suppress the fact that the reason the transport-pill is moving irregularly is because it's probably based on a series of muscle contractions like a giant esophagus. Being swallowed from point A to point B doesn't exactly appeal to him at the moment as the grey fingers of his armorweave gloves tap on the green carapace of his hardsuit's outer thighs.

To bring his mind away from such things he tries delving into minutae. "Electrics aren't feasible, you say? Still, if it's organic technology, electricity has to play some part in signaling and stimulation, no? Or am I just reading too far into things?" He smiles from behind his clear faceplate.

* - * - *

"They probably do, as piracy in the area has become less of an issue. We can still arrange for an escort, if you desire one." The captain pauses. "If I may ask, what lead you to leave the system in the first place and what circumstances brought you back?"

Medical Teams:
The woman pauses a moment, as if to consider whether answering is a good idea. her expression changes a couple of times, as if in some internal monologue. "The nueral impulses are not electricity as such. more like chemical current. but the reasons that electrical equipment is not viable have little to do with that.. interfacing inorganic technology with Habitat tech is difficult but apparently possible. Some of the others have inorganic components from the early Second Generation. Something about Iris screws with electical equipment though. If your gear is military it should be fine so long as Iris doesnt decide to jump."

Copperhead:
A ship approximately three times the size of those currently in space around the habitat emerges. It, like its smaller cousins, has no detectable weapons systems, but its power signatures are much, much higher. It also has a detectable hollow interior space, which the smaller ships do not.

"An escort should not be neccesary. Thank you." This a human voice, older, and... kindly sounding. The kind of voice that conjures images of benevelent grandparents.

It slips out of the melee around the Habitat and then vanishes at FTL speeds towards earth.

Iris then answers the Captains question:
"I do not know why we left, it was before my time Captain, and records are sparse from that period in our nations history. From what i have learned it was not voluntary. an accident of some kind."
There is a slight pause, as if for reflection.
"We have been seeking this system for some time now, it was one of the reasons for my germination. One might call our journey a... pilgrimage of sorts. It is gratifying to finally be here. Unfortunateley the person who could best answer your questions about our origins was on that ship. i am sure it would have been a fascinating conversation."

Lieutenant Ryoo decides not to press further, both for Arén's hesitation and the hesitation he should be showing. This is technically a first contact situation, and even if it's one of many the Triumvirate's conducted there's no point in tipping hands or perhaps touching on delicate information. Besides, he's a doctor, not an intelligence officer. "Well, I think suit failure would be the least of our concerns in that circumstance. So, where are the patients?"

* - * - *

Quietly, over the usual QE stratnet linkages, Copperhead talks simultaneously with TYCSHQ on Titan and the Earth Theatre Fleet HQ on Valhalla Station. They don't particularly want to monopolize the envoy's time, but do want to keep up a good impression if that's at all a possibility.

Meanwhile, the captain and his Component remain relatively close to a giant, organic, intelligent habitat. It's not the weirdest thing he's ever seen, but he does start wishing that Diplomatic Officers were still standard aboard warships.

"That's... unfortunate," he says over the open radio with a stone-faced frown. While he still has a healthy paranoia over the situation--he has five Lokis and well over three hundred men inside that habitat--the frown is more concerning not having much of import to say. "Hmm. Well, can you tell us a bit more about yourself? Or maybe you have questions of us?"

Medical Teams:
The pill stops after a few moments and there is a slight shift as it mates with the outer doors. The medic's guide seems thankful for the interruption but at the same time the medic gets the impression that she is probably more curious about him than she is is letting on.

She turns bussiness like however as they emerge. The sight that greets him is one that most soldiers see in some form at some point in their carreers. The space they enter is huge, several acres of what amounts to lobby space. The walls are punctuated by sphincter doors similar to the one that they emerge from, though not all as big, and the area has the feeling of a transport hub. However the crowds that are here now are clearly refugees, the harrassed and hollow look of the dispossessed, the meager bags of possessions. They are camped out in little partitions sleeping on pallettes.

The strange thing though is the sense of cameradery. the animalistic survival behaviour common in such people appears to be absent here. While everyone seems in mourning for what they have lost, they feel like they are waiting for something.

"The main hospital is on the other side of this lobby."
The marine points at one of the doors, which is the only other one that is standing open. She leads them through the camp with an air of slight embarassment. some first impression.

The people are mostly human, with a few obvious aliens and/or modified humans mixed in. Dress seems fairly universal though there are an obvious upper class that flit from one group to another talking to people and handing out packages of food. There is also a visible marine presence, squads of five standing guard at some of the doors. There is only ever one without a helmet and they seem to be pretty bored, more in place for show than to actually -do- anything.

The 'upper class' people also seem distinct from the refugees in that they wear bands similar to the one worn by Arén. None of the refugees have a band like that, or in fact anything even remotely similar.

As soon as they are noticed, people begin to get up and wander over and pretty soon they have a small procession following them. Whether out of genuine curiosity, concern or simply out of boredom is unclear.

Copperhead:
The response comes tinged with humour, as if the voice finds their impasse amusing.

"Yes, i had imagined slightly more... drama, myself. You are welcome to ask questions and i will answer as best i can. I do have some questions of my own however. I am curious as to the political situation in this system. And from my records this is one of the most densely populated and volatile systems in the galaxy, yet i detect no significant habitation around this planet. It seems unusual, given its resources."

As for the ship that left for earth, the Earth Theater Fleet HQ tracked it as it entered orbit, and shortly after detatched a small landing craft. The smaller craft entered the earths atmosphere and is currently outside the mist wall on the border of Kalessin.

Yes, this is a scene the TYCS sees a lot of thanks to its doctrinal emphasis on positive Military Operations Other Than War. They seem just a little less happy to be here, not so much because the state of the civilians is depressing--and it is--but because they're medical trauma teams and any sort of proper humanitarian aid is back on the ships of the Tenth Heavy Cruiser Component. At least food and water is being taken care of. As for shelter... M.I. and Fleet standard boarding kit doesn't include tents or bedrolls, so there's no helping that way.

Despite their professionalism, they are human--mostly--and those that aren't are generally readable as well as they let compassion and commisseration show on their faces. Free hands wave gently, but otherwise the Fleet ratings and the Infantry enlisted simply follow the lieutenant. He, in turns, follows his guide and keeps his thoughts or estimations about curiosity or convenient interruptions to himself.

* - * - *

That the landing craft made a beeline for Kalessin raised eyebrows and red flags even amongst the less paranoiac observation officers in Earth Theatre. Their findings and concerns get relayed back over the stratnet...

* - * - *

"They are around," Wusamequin replies, "but they're rather quiet nowadays. Actually, I'm rather surprised too--they usually pop up to bother us when we're meeting new people." He catches a motion from his comm officer out of the corner of his eye. "Pardon me, but one of my officers is trying to say something. One moment, please." Looking over, he listens to the technician clicking the switch that cuts Copperhead's transmission. "What's up?"

"Report from Earth Theatre. Looks like our new friends are visiting Kalessin."

"Hmm. Relay that to the trauma teams, priority override, and I want an immediate report. I also want constant contact with the Lokis."

The comm officer nods. "Acting, sir. Do you want to continue publicly transmitting to the habitat?"

Nodding, the captain works his voice back to diplomatic from the authoritative tone he used with his crew while the comm officer clicks the switch back. "As for the political situation... busy and complex, as always. The old superpower meme has mostly fallen due to its inability to keep pace with new arrivals. I don't know if there's anything about the old Menelmacar/Arda struggles in your history but they're essentially over. Arda's gone quiet and for our part... well, we never considered ourselves liege to the elves nor wanted to be a superpower in the first place. We're comfortably secure, generally speaking. Every once in a while Arda will flare up again or someone will start a new alliance expressly to challenge us in particular, but they generally fall apart just as quickly because times have changed.

"Is there anything else we can help you with?"

* - * - *

-The Captain wants a report, Jin.-

Ryoo nods absentmindedly to the voice in his headset, then toggles his suit speakers off before replying. "Situation nominal. We're approaching the hospital now and the locals have been nothing but friendly."

-Still, there's a Kalessini connection. Be advised.-

"Right, right." The young man chuckles. "You've spooked the Infantry, Pris."

-That's what they're there for. Copperhead out.-

The lieutenant toggles his suit speakers back on and smiles. "Sorry about that. Just had to check in with the ship."

Medics:
Arén does not seem terribly concerned, she just nods and smiles. They reach the entrance to the hospital and as the sphincter doors open they move from a scene of expectant waiting to frenzied activity.

Men and women in white coats rush about clutching what is probably medical equipment. Makeshift beds are butted up against walls and small clusters of walking wounded sit around talking quietly.


Also about are a number of what appear to be constructs of some kind, or maybe some kind of particularly exotic alien. They are out of place, and covered in the same dusty blue carapace as the marine armour. They also seem to be medics, thought from the looks of it they are specialised towards trauma injuries. Multi-limbed and spidery, they are intimidating and move disturbingly fast.

Arén stops in the entrance foyer and a doctor approaches from one of the clusters of injured people. He looks harrassed int he extreme, nearly dead on his feet from fatigue.
"Thank Hyperion your here! we are vastly understaffed. We even had to draft in the military medical units to help." He gestures at the spidery creatures. "And they arent exactly built for bedside manner."

He passes a critical glance over the large group of medics and nods to himself. "Ill assign each of you to one of our doctors. please be careful, some of these people have modified physiologies."

he then reels off a load of medical-speak about the predominant injuries, which are mostly blunt trauma, and injuries associated with explosive decompression. "Most of these people were injured during the evacuation. there were a couple of stampedes towards the end."

Arén just stands by, her expression now carefully blank. her job is done.

Copperhead:

"Arda?" If she recognises the elevated tension her voice does not betray it. "I am ashamed to say that most of the records we have of those times are woefully inadequate. Much of our history was lost, and that which we have only concerns one or two nations other than ourselves, and next to nothing of larger conflicts."

There is a momentary pause.
"To be frank, most or our early history is a list of sales, expenditures and stock reports. We were a corporation in truth at that point and not truly a nation in our own right. Much has changed in the intervening years."

Another pause, this one more lengthy. The traffic around the station's rythm changes slightly as if to reflect a change in the habitats line of thought.
"What year is it? Do you have any idea.. how long we have been absent?"

Despite the sphincters and the Bugs, the situation with its rather clear-cut needs get the medics back into their game. Multiple casualties are never easy to deal with, but at least it's back inside the realm of their training. Diplomacy and sight-seeing are simply secondary and altogether optional skillsets. -Huh, medbugs. We may be out of a job soon.-

"Quiet, Specialist." The lieutenant maintains discipline, but the things do move with the same sort of cruel efficiency as a motive autodoc. Same basic principle; different mode of execution. There's no time to gawk as the troopers split up to the doctors they're assigned to, unsling their bulky pallets of medicine, and get to work. Pulmonary work, mostly; if they hadn't already coughed up their lungs then the decompression-sufferers mostly require treatment for repressurization sickness. The tramplees are more difficult because of the potential for internal injuries, the worst of which are usually meningal and cardiovascular issues.

Lieutenant Ryoo mostly concentrates on the worst cases, being the surgeon in the group. Surgical spiders, little waldo coil contraptions designed to be able to do low-invasiveness surgeries on and by people wearing powersuits, also work perfectly well on the unarmored. That it does its own local anaesthesia doesn't hurt either as the lieutenant looks over his helmet-mounted display and stitches up bronchial lesions and minor arterial tears while applying some gentle suction to clear up any internal bleeding. The higher-qualified medics, mostly M.I., do the same while the last ones act as orderlies and simply assist wherever needed, careful that hardsuits or armor don't get in the way.

* - * - *

"That's actually a harder question to answer than most," Copperhead's captain replies with a hint of wryness in his voice. "Depending on who you ask and what history book you read it could have been anywhere from a decade to a century. I would hazard a guess that it's been about a decade persref for some people; in my persref it's probably been decidedly longer. Most of it's dry dusty history for me.

"As for what year it is, particuarly... it's YYYY. We try not to think about it too much. Not healthy for one--that's what we get for having a broken reality."

Medical Teams:
The Habitats medical personell are highly efficient, but the strain is telling in many areas. The addition of the ToY medical personell helps significantly, and soon the situation seems to be getting somewhat under control.

The hospital, though massively overcrowded at the moment, is clean and well designed. It has a very open layout and from what they can tell it is open to all comers, there certainly does not seem to be any visible bias or exclusion of anybody.

their patients are also very cooperative, if somewhat closed-mouthed and gawky. Many have serious injuries but seem to have axon blockers or some other form of pain management implant. Muscular enhancements and organ replacements are also fairly common. Many of those with decompression relatied injuries seem to have the most modified physiologies, and those that are talkative seem to come from manual labour jobs. primarily construction and repair.

Arén and her unit stay by the doors they came in through and try and keep out of the way, discreetly making sure that none of the medics wander off. Similar groups are at all of the other entrances and exits. While they do not inhibit the movement of civilians, it is clear that they dont want their guests loose in the habitat.

Copperhead:
The habitat is silent for a while, and when it finally speaks up again, it speaks slowly.

"That is interesting.. I will have to discuss it with my siblings. I think perhaps a certain amount of temporal dispacement occured. The survivors of the incident appeared in Hyperion nearly a thousand years ago."

Another long pause, and the habitat makes several sensor pings aimed out into space.

"It appears one of my nieces has appeared on the outskirts of the system. She was set to guard me and stayed behind to cover my escape. Luckily she appears to have escaped significant damage."

The medics make no attempt to wander, as that's not in the profile. It only makes sense that people be leery about letting foreign troopers wander about freely on their soil, especially when that soil happens to be surrounded by something as hostile as space. No, they simply work, pausing only to sanitize their tools in one of the small portable autoclaves a few of the medics had brought. While things more shiny than pressure cookers are available, pressure cookers do have the advantage of being inexpensive and decidedly indelicate, which is good for a field kit. For these autoclaves to work in any sort of reasonable time they have to sustain gas giant temperatures and pressures, but living around gas giants for howeverlong and advanced materials sciences tends to help that way.

It still takes the autoclaves a few minutes to go through their cycle and so those without tools take the time to either go around to practice their bedside manner or just chat whilst washing away the blood that inevitably appears on their suits. Emergency medicine simply refuses to be a clean-hands job, at least so long as people have squishy insides with lots of fluid involved.

Stepping back from yet another surgery, the lieutenant looks for whatever doctor seems to be in charge of this place. "That's another one. The damage was pretty severe and she's lost a lot of blood; I'd give her a fifty-fifty chance given our tools here. We didn't bring any plasma or blood because, well, no guessing how biologies would react." A sigh, and a change of pace at a different thought. "How many victims are we looking at, here?"

* - * - *

"Well, that's fortunate. By the by, I suppose I failed to mention that by some reckonings a millenium has passed. I don't particularly care for that one given accelerating returns says things should be... more than they are now, but it's just as valid as any other."

The doctor assigned to him, who is one of the senior surgeons, nods. "We have blood and plasma supplies, but they are running out quickly, even rationed as they are. There are over two thousand seriously injured. maybe another couple walking wounded. i dont have exact numbers because the less serious cases are spread across medical stations around the habitat. only the most serious cases are being brought here. between them and the walk-ins we are being run into the ground."

She shakes her head, clearly frustrated at her powerlessness.

"If you need anything, just ask.. the orderlies and nurses will help however they can."


Copperhead:

"Yes.. the original survivors were left on hyperion with nothing, and were forced to rebuild from the ground up. It took Hyperion two decades to establish communication with the humans, and even that only sped things up later on. you can know all you want about quantum mechanics, and nanotechnology and it will avail you nought if your reduced to using sharpened sticks to hunt deer."

The lieutenant nods, then turns away as he cuts his speakers and toggles the radio back onto the command band. "Copperhead, Lieutenant Ryoo. I'd like to speak to the boss."

* - * - *

Seeing another subtle gesture to catch his attention, Wusaquemin raises an eyebrow. "Hm, that much is true. I'm afraid someone is demanding my attention, so if I can just hand you off to my communications officer..." A few switches on the comm officer's console later and microphones are rearranged. "Copperhead Actual. Go."

Meanwhile, the comm officer smiles diplomatically although there is no video feed. It shows in his voice, though, smooth and well-versed in protocol. "This is Lieutenant Amir al-Filistani, communications officer of Copperhead. The Captain is currently checking in with our surgeon aboard you." The shift to referring to the habitat, Iris, as the person being addressed seems to come naturally, as it should. Copperhead, after all, is sitting in one form just to his side. "Fascinating, if tragic, history. Still, you adapted and perservered. Still, what forced you to escape back here, if I may ask? Internal struggle, or some kind of external threat?"

* - * - *

"Lieutenant Ryoo, sir. I've just talked with one of my opposite numbers here and we have at least four thousand patients here, half of them serious or critical. We simply don't have the manpower for this, sir. If it were a simple job of treating twenty and then multiplying by two hundred, we could do it. Most of what these troopers are trained for is stabilization, but the hospitals here are already swamped."

-What do you need, Lieutenant, to do your job?-

Jin-Yong stifles a sigh, glancing around the crowded hospital with aggrivation. He knows the old warhorse means well, but his brusqueness... well, he hasn't seen this bloody mess, but he's seen others. "I need hospital beds. I need full surgeons by the score. I need autodocs and real medical facilities where we can take care of people without goddamn surgical snakes."

-I'll go onto the public waves and call for medical ships, then. See if we can't get one of the Our Ladies nationalized and shipped out. What I need from you, Lieutenant, is a fair estimation of the risk. If the doctors are limited to MOPP, they'll still need surgical snakes or autodocs.-

"Well, I have plenty of blood samples." Ryoo smirks and looks down, picking at a bit of blood that's dried on the hard carapace surrounding his chest. "We'll throw a few through the titres and sequencers and tell you what we get."

-I'll be waiting. Copperhead Actual out.-

Sighing, the assistant surgeon reactivates his speakers and addresses the doctors once again. "This may be a silly question, but if it isn't I can save us all a bit of work and get some medical ships in to help. I think we'll have to discuss mutual pathogens to make sure that if we crack our suits neither one of us will plague the other."

Medical Teams:

The surgeon nods, clearly understanding the dilemma. "Yes, certainly. I will assign one of our specialists to aid you however he can. He is certainly not being used to his full potential in his current assignment. I think we can spare him."

A few minutes later a younger doctor, perhaps in his early twenties appears. "greetings Lieutenant. I am Luminate Keysa, head of the CID on Iris. I have clearance to give you whatever aid you require." he looks at the mans suit, which is as blood spattered as his own. "I see you have quite a few blood samples allready. If you have the equipment then you can run our samples and compare them to your own. If not i can prepare a clean room for you and we can run yours."

Meanwhile, the Surgeon is talking to a man in pale blue robes who looks like an official of some kind, judging by the way he carries himself, and the reaction of those around him. The discussion becomes animated, and the surgeon leaves with a thunderous expression on his face.

"We may have a problem."

Copperhead:
"Nothing so drastic Lieutenant. We were assigned by our government to find Earth, and at the last system we jumped into we had some difficulties. Apparently our technology offends some people, and the natives of the system we were in had the means to track the wake from our conventional drives. We were forced to jump without sufficient power and it began to destabalise. We are lucky we escaped at all. The outer habitation layers were evacuated, but as you are no doubt aware, we did not have sufficient warning to fully evacuate before my shell began to crack."

Her voice becomes tense with the memory of pain, and again the traffic patterns pulse and shift around her in sympathetic response.

"Our home systems are not threatened, we are far.. far from home, my sister and i, And the hostile species we had encountered had religious prohibitions against interstellar travel."

Serena station passes from the shadow of Callisto and into sunlight, astrogation lights flashing in waning to spacecraft unheeding orbit registries and radio beacons. Flickering static discharges along its concussion screen, vaporizing threatening debris. Under the micrometeoroidal rain, the screen becomes a solid blue, turning the crimson star emblazoned on the station's habitation dome an impossible black. Beneath the dome, surrounded by vast machinery struggling to maintain a semblence of a terrestrial enviroment, the sisters of mercy have long ago abandoned their habits for space suits; they carry medikits more often than rosaries, tending to those broken by space and cast back into a society that has no time for the crippled, the needy, the mentally ill, or those suspected of habroring unknown diseases.

In the dark hours, for Serena station follows the Terrestrial day-night cycle, bells softly toll through the off-white corridors, accompanying the requiem mass for the departed. This is not the concern of the sisters of mercy, though they are given time for private meditation and prayer. Though the sisters draw heavily from the Kurimuk, the followers of Kurim are not the zealots of legend and film. God will understand, else he is not God.

Though Serena station was formally built to tend to those injured in the Weyrean expansion on Callisto and Ganymede, it does not shy away from giving aid where it is necessary.

Coperhead, Serena Station here. This isn't exactly what you're asking for, but we have a few beds here, and you're welcome to use them and any supplies you need. We don't have many transports, I'm afraid, but what we have is at your service. If you could provide some information on how close these folk are to the baseline human norm ...

The lieutenant calls over another medtech whose skillsets aren't being put to their fullest and works along with Luminate Keysa. After some quick introductions and quiet explanations about how each others' technologies work, they quickly get to it. Readings come out in a matter of minutes, and protein channels are mapped to probable pathogens along with percent liklihoods of incidence. Estimates of probable casualty rates are also offered, in percents. It's not exactly magical, just a bit of statistics applied to known research in protein and chemical reactions rather than anything silly like clockwork-oranging the reaction of every single particle involved.

After a few minutes, the assistant surgeon shrugs. "I'm not seeing anything here that good sanitation and bedside manner won't overcome. We have a few mutual bugs that would be a concern, but nothing airborne and common. What do you think?"

* - * - *

If the attackers having religious prohibitions against interstellar travel but not spaceships strikes the lieutenant as being convenient, he has the good grace not to let it show in his training. "Fortunate, that. We'll stand by in the area and make sure you and yours have time to recouperate and get your bearings."

Behind Amir one of his technicians takes the call from Sirena Station and passes it through to the captain, who has just gotten through with talking to the officer in charge of the trauma teams on Isis. Wusaquemin takes the call with a curt nod but a polite smile. "Serena Station, Copperhead Actual. Any help you're willing to provide is greatly appreciated. My lieutenant aboard the habitat is busy working out that information and we'll coordinate with them for transport. We'll get both arrangements to you as soon as we can. Copperhead Actual out."

He glances towards Amir and relays what he wants said. "We've got an offer for help from the Weyrians. Ask if they mind transporting those who need it to beds on a friendly installation."

Lieutenant al-Filistani sends it along without hardly a pause. "The captain informs me that we have an offer from a friendly nation for hospital beds at one of their installations. Pending the toxicology and epidemology report from our Lieutenant we can arrange transport between you and their station--is that acceptable?"

* - * - *

At the noise of the heated 'discussion,' Ryoo raises an eyebrow behind his faceplate and frowns as he looks up from scraping a bit of dried blood into a metal device from his belt. "What kind of problem?"

Medical Teams:
The surgeon takes a deep breath before trying to explain:

"This is not the only habitat. One of the others, Eris, is also capable of interstellar travel and accompanied us on our journey. However Eris is not capable of travelling by herself, she requires Iris to open a channel for her."

The pathogen expert looks up sharply, clearly alarmed at this information being shared so freely. However before he can interrupt, the surgeon continues.

"Basically, Eris has requested emergency extraction from the hostile system. Whatever happened over there it isnt good. And if Iris tries to open a wormhole while your men are on the ship, it may well fry your more sensitive equipment. We need to either get you all to shielded rooms, or get you out of range of the pulse."

That doesnt however seems to be what is aggravating him the most. He nearly turns purple now.
"In addition, the ship is putting every ounce of energy she can spare behind this. She hasnt fully refueled after the last jump, so she is rerouting all non-essential power. The hospital wont be blacked out like most of the rest of the habitat, but we will be on our own emergency reserves, which wont last long given the overcrowding. If we dont get most of these people off before she powers up the generators, we are going to lose lives."

There is a long silence from the Gentec doctors as they processs that information. people near enough to over hear slow down, and many pale visibly. As if this crisis wasnt bad enough.

It is the pathologist who speaks up next. He speaks quietly, as afraid of breaking the eery spell of silence.
"It looks like we are good to go. I havent found anything that you havent, Lieutenant."

Meanwhile, as if on unpoken command, all over the hospital patients start being prepped for transport. The level of coordination amongst the Luminate doctors is eery, and they all carry a look of proffesional calm to cover their forboding.

Copperhead:
"Religion never makes any sense, Mr Ryoo, and that is indeed fortunate. Please communicate my gratitude for the offer of aid, lieutenant. I believe that the toxicology work has just been completed, and the situation dictates that i must accept, despite the toll on my allready wounded pride."

She is silent for a moment, and the traffic around the ship becomes almost still.. it is as if everything around the ship becomes poised.. listening. Suddenly the attitude of the traffic changes, and they begin to either dock with the ship, or pull out to a gathering point a few light-seconds away.

"Lieutenant, I will need to speak to the captain... A few minutes ago i recieved a communication from my sister, requesting that i assist her in jumping out of the hostile system. i intended originally to wait until the crisis was resolved, and Eris seemed content with that, as she was successfully staying ahead of the alien's hunt. However it seems that the situation has changed, and Eris has communicated to me an demand for emergency evacuation."

Scanners showa large amount of power buildup in some areas as the ship starts charging its jump-nodes. In other areas however there is a drop as she cuts out non-essential systems. All the habitation levels go into blackout, and by the end the only things still taking energy apart from life support is the hospital, command and control and some of the hangars.

"Be aware that i am going nowhere, I am merely assisting my sister in opening a wormhole. At my present energy levels it will take an hour for me to charge. The hospital is preparing the overflow for transport and i suggest you evacuate your men with the patients. I am sorry if this seems undiplomatic or suspicious, but my sister is essential to the defense of our nation. In addition, the loss of life should she be destroyed would be more than unacceptable."

Al-Filistani nods to no one in particular and quickly resets microphones so the captain is back in contact, adding a quick situation report before going back to being a switchboard operator with a university degree. For his part, Captain Wusaquemin gets things in order quickly. Efficiency is something the Ticks takes to the point of a mild mental disorder. "Iris, Copperhead Actual. Message received and understood. Will commence evacuation procedures post-haste."

* - * - *

-New orders, Ryoo. Evac as many as you can plus your men. You have an hour.-

Jin-Yong sighs and claps a gloved hand to the back of his helmet. "Understood. Ryoo out." Another quick toggle of suit comm 'frequencies' (more like what qbits get shaken) and reactivating his suit speakers, it's his turn to verify the orders that came down on the command override channel. "You heard the boss. Team leaders, coordinate with your doctors and get the critical patients onto the Lokis. Use the stretchers they're on for now and then pull our own out on the return trip." He runs numbers in his head. Each Loki, after holding all the Ticks personnel assigned to it for the mission, could easily carry five hundred patients and associated sustainment medical gear. With the numbers he's been given, it should only take one trip out on the DropShips. "We'll depart after we load the Lokis up as much as we can or in fourty-five minutes, whatever comes first. Hopefully the old man will have a place for us to put them by then."

* - * - *

"Sir, the medical ships Our Lady of the Great Will of the Macrocosm and Our Lady of Universal Care and Understanding are being scrambled from Titan." Quick, crisp, precise."

"E.T.A.?"

"At civilian speeds, a day if they push it."

"Hrm." It's not a happy sound. "FleetCom, dispatch Boomslang to jump over and play ferry. They have thirty minutes to get back."

A few moments and words not announced across the command room. The communications officer is busy, so Wusaquemin waits for the comm tech he was directly addressing to reply. "Boomslang acknowledges, sir, and is acting."

* - * - *

One of the sharp-edged fanged destroyers (http://server106.totalchoicehosting.com/~tpjzdd/gallery/Starships/puma2_2clock?full=1) backs away slightly before blipping out of existence. Actually, to sensors with sufficient time resolution it'd appear to be receding infinitely into the distance directly away from the scanner. Given the amount of parallax Isis and her boats have, the paradox of Boomslang doing this in all directions simultaneously is probably readily apparent.

* - * - *

"Isis, Copperhead Actual again. I've dispatched one of my destroyers to pick up some medical ships from Saturn within the time factor. We should be getting more assistance locally, and I'll keep broadcasting until we do."

Medical Teams:

The Gentec medical staff help as much as possible, and draft in some of the marines to help carry the stretchers. The evacuation is orderly and precise, as if coordinated from on-high. Pill's are rerouted from elsewhere on the ship as the transport tubes between the hospital bays and the hangar are reactivated for the evacuation, allowing a constant stream of patients and staff to travel between.

Even then it is cutting it fine. The last of the patients to be evacuated makes it onboard with five minutes to spare before the departure deadline. With the hospital back within sustainable margins, the Gentec doctors relax visibly, and the surgeon thanks Lieutenant Ryoo effusively as he leaves. Even Arén salutes him and smiles. Before the atmosphere is bled from the huge airlock, the voice of Iris resonates through the huge chamber.
"Thank you all for your invaluable aid. Without your help scores more would have perished. You have the gratitude of a nation, every one of you."

Copperhead:
Iris remains mostly silent, except to occasionally update Copperhead on the situation within the vessel, and to give occasional time estimates until her nodes are fully charged. Her voice is etched with concern, but when the ships are readily to leave her voice takes on a note of satisfaction.

"I believe your vessels are ready to leave Captain.. I would like to thank you for your aid, and commend you on the professionalism and skill of the men in your command. Perhaps when this crisis is over, i will have the opportunity to do so in person... Fifteen minutes until the Nodes become fully charged."

She then transmits a stream of data outlining safety parameters, reccomending that they pull away at least twice as far as the drones that still sit clustered some lightseconds distant.

Within the half-hour, Boomslang returns with two bulbous medical ships docked to the collars on her ventral side. The two ships, painted green and sporting clear Red Crescent insignia (http://server106.totalchoicehosting.com/~tpjzdd/gallery/Starships/medship_fore?full=1), detach and come about with a grace that their bulky manufacture would not ordinarily suggest. Meanwhile, around Io a supercarrier component makes its beds ready as a transitory measure at least while long-term civilian aid prepares.

As Iris offers her thanks, the majors flying the Lokis salute through the windows, their all-in-a-day's-work expressions hidden by their flight helmets with their dark bug-eyed visors. With everyone secure for transport and the medics stationed strategically about the holds to ensure anyone who needs emergency aid can get it, the DropShips' gravydrives thrum back up to maneuvering power and their pilots guide them back out into open space.

One Loki goes to each medical ship whilst the remaining three head to Serena Station. If Serena fills up, they can divert on to Io.

* - * - *

"DropShips clear, sir."

"Pull us back to minimum safe distance, Copperhead." Captain Wusaquemin leans back in his chair. "Ecks-Oh, keep the ship at yellow for now."

Both officers addressed voice their acknowledgement and comply without any further movement on their part. Well, at least on the part of her local avatar, in Copperhead's case.

As the last of the ships makes it out to a safe distance, Iris begins the process of opening a wormhole. As one, the spiracles on the sides of the ships slam shut, doors of composite forced into place by massive muscular contractions.

Energy crackles down the sides of the habitat, jumping between the nodes, the arcs grow in size and strength until they pull away from the surface and form a halo-like ring of lightning around the ship's midsection. Energy readings from the ship go ballistic and local space-time begins to.. soften. light bends strangely around iris, who becomes semi-transparent, and then almost vanishes entirely.

Several thousand meters off the bow of the immense vessel, a point of light appears. Tiny relative to the habitat itself, it grows in intensity exponentially, and then, as if on some unseen command, reaches a critical density.

The electromagnetic storm is so huge it is felt even out at the safety margin. Though not enough to actually threaten the military grade electronics, other things may well begin to act up, and local radio traffic cracks up almost completely.

The point of light billows outwards, like smoke on the breath. It expands like a film, and condenses into a shining filament larger even than the habitat itself. Through the middle, Jupiter disappears as if it were never there, and alien stars are visible.

The circular event horizon moves slowly away from Iris, unwavering except for the tinyest vibration. Eventually the prow of a second vessel, even larger perhaps than Iris emerges.

The second Habitat does not have the same featureless exterior as her sister. Her hull is ridged and extruded into spines upon which a multitude of ships of a similar class to that which departed for earth are docked. As the horizon passes her midpoint, two carrier sized ships emerge, piggybacking through with her. These are of the same type as the one on the edge of the system.

Many of the vessels docked on the sister-habitats exterior are battle damaged, and more than a few look irreperably so. The scars of battle show on their mother too, and Eris' flanks, already scarred from innumerable battles, show the signs of a more recent fight. The same scorch marks that marr Iris' sapphire hull, only worse. where the combat damage to Iris seems to have been cosmetic, the damage to Eris is more severe. It is also clear from readings that eris has at least as much to do with the wormhole staying open as her sister does.

It takes almost half an hour for the wormhole to clear Eris' stern and begin to shrink. Through all this time neither answer hails, both absolutely focused on the prodigious task of moving a body the size of a moon across the vast reaches of space.

Serena Station spends the hour asking questions about the the casualties. Once the general information regarding the extent of anatomical differences and types of traumas is obtained, the station asks if it can link its local teams with the incoming Lokis for better coordination. Through the exchange it quickly becomes apparent that the station is running severely understaffed, especially considering its size. There is space for all the casualties on the three dropships, but not enough personnel to treat even than half of them in a timely fashion, especially if there are time-sensitive . Perhaps there is some guilty relief that the golden hour has already passed and there will not be scores of cases for the few trauma teams to deal with. Still, there is no lack of willingness to accept all of GenTech's injured if need be, even though Serena Station itself suggests that at least one of the dropships be sent to another facility if possible.

The six tiny dropships dedicated to the station shoot away from the hemispherical station one by one, miniscule against the opening of the loading dock, the atmosphere inside contained by a static field backed up by visible emergency blast doors. There is barely enough clearance for the Lokis to enter one by one. The loading dock itself faces no such space limitations at first glance.

Recieving nurses move once the first Loki touches down. They do quick triage based on Serena Station's available facilities, taking patient histories and asking quick questions of the Loki medical personnel, directing 'bots and summoning trauma teams. Courier 'bots speed off with blood samples. Lorry 'bots rush processed and tagged gurneys to the emergency department's majors section. By the time the second Loki touches down there are already many fewer nurses waiting to recieve them, fewer trauma teams to take over major emergencies from Loki medical teams, though by now there are few critical cases and they help the nurses get the patients where they need to go.

Miya Katsuko stands just behind the fat crimson and yellow stripes, watching fellow sisters and wishing there was something she could do. All the trained acolytes are in the emergency department; she was 'lent' to the loading dock operation in the event of an emergency. A courier bot grabs her by the front of her white hospital gown, pulls her to the nurse directing the sorting operation for the first Loki, takes a vial of blood from her, speeds off to the lab.

"Make yourself useful and find out what this Loki needs," the nurse says. "And stay with them if they want you for the second trip. Goodness knows they'll need all the help they can get on that other ship."

With the wormhole closed behind her, Eris moves away from her sister and into a parallel orbit, tiny drones can be seen pouring out of spiracles in the sides, either scrambling to continue repairs on damaged ships, or taking up gas mining duties. The pattern of traffic soon becomes much like Iris'.

The main difference other than shape between the two is that where Iris seems to carry no armaments, Eris, and the ships around her seem to have organ structures similar to the egg-laying organs in insects who's purpose might be similar to the torpedo tubes on a conventional vessel. Such organs exist on Iris but they have a tendency to open out onto the interior hangar spaces and not directly onto space, perhaps manufacturing the drone miners that surround her at all times.

Eris' energy signatures are also higher, and her mass is substantially greater than her smaller sister, with most of the difference seeming to be the thickness of the shell.

Iris reopens comm frequencies:

"Captain Wusaquemin, This is Eris. My twin sister."
Eris then joins the channel, her voice at once harsher and more female than Iris' androgenous tone.
"You have my gratitude for aiding my sister. I am Eris, Habitat class vessel of the Gentec Corporation and Admiral of the Gentec Navy. I apologise for dropping in like this but the bastards cornered me in a nebula and forced an engagement."

The two carriers that had piggy-backed through seem content to hold station around their mother, having minor damage seen to by repair drones.

Meanwhile, iris also hails the Weyrean hospital station.

"Serena station? This is Iris. Thank you for your help, it has been invaluable and you have saved many lives allready. Medical information should have been sent with the individual patients, but i will be glad to fill in any gaps. Are you lacking for any supplies? Eris has told me that she can spare military medical constructs and supply kits if you need anything. It is not much, but if it will help she can have it sent over as soon as she can."

A similar message is sent to the Scolopendran medical vessels.

"All in a day's work, Eris," Captain Wusaquemin replies easily once his comm officer gives the go-ahead and the 'transmitting' lights glow green, "and any inconvenience is purely incidental. Humanitarian assistance is part of the mission of our patrol, after all. Iris has already informed us that pursuit is unlikely, is this still the case?" While this is all true, he knows that maintaining the current state of alert is going to drain his spacemen if it's due only to paranoia.

* - * - *

Once the Lokis drop off their cargo of the wounded, there's not much else they can do. If additional trauma personnel are needed by the Weyrians, they drop off a few medics to be picked up later. The Scolopendran medical ships are already packed to the gunwales and medics would just be more bodies to dodge at this rate, so the DropShips assigned to them simply disconnect and return to the warships they are attached to.

Aboard the Our Ladys doctors arrange patients by severity and concentrate on the most critical first, glad that they and their full autodocs have the advantage of full medical information from GenTec. A few are simply beyond saving, given the severity of their injuries and the additional trauma caused by the move, and those are handed off to the "Sunset donut" solution. Sunsetti-made toroidal life support systems designed to go over the neck and sever the head to keep it, and the central nervous system, alive but in stasis, come into play. Stasis coolers get stocked, rather grimly, with the self-contained results. It would be something that'd have to be addressed later, and the 'Pendran doctors are simply glad they don't have to resort to them as often as they've had to from time to time in the past. As irrational as it is, the idea of keeping essentially undead heads in storage, the souls inside trapped between life and death, tends to make them feel dirty.

Eris answers with a moments pause. "I am not sure, Captain. The system we landed in was ruled by a theocracy.. and their religion prohibited interstellar travel. Something about their God striking down those who ventured to other systems, and cursing their families. While Iris jumped out we fought a rearguard action as we retreated out of the system and into a nearby Nebulae. They should have stopped at the edge of their system,a nd they did for a while.. But then they sent almost all of their fleet, armed with energy weapons and jammers designed to collapse our warp bubbles. I was forced to intervene personally to save the fleet."

The traffic patterns around the two Habitats pulse and shift in agitation.

"They claimed their attack was justified because we were an abomination. Full translations of their transmisions are being made now, but there is a slim possibility that they could restart their interstellar travel research to follow us. Orestes probes did not find any facilities on or around any of the planets that were currently capable of building interstellar vessels, so whatever happens it will be a few months at the very least before they could be capable of following us."

"The last thing we need are more extrasolar bugaboos with a zealous penchant for destruction," Wusaquemin replies, gruff annoyance in his voice. "Still, if that's so, at least it isn't an immediate danger. Research takes time, after all.

"Is there anything else we can assist you with before we move on? I'm sending over the frequencies of the Theatre HQ around Io now so you can get in touch with them if you need anything."

"I am sure we shall be fine. Thank you again for your assistance Captain." Iris' voice is warm, her tone thankful. Listening to her, you would imagine a young queen on an ivory throne, not a hulking space station with a sapphire hull.

Meanwhile Eris' spiracles reopen, huge hinged doors of shell opening along her sides, and she begins repairing the fleet, cruisers heading to repair docks where they would be suspended in nutrient baths to facilitate their repairs.

One of the huge carriers move out of formation with their mother, and with an escort of undamaged cruisers begin an exploratory patrol around Jupiter space. Her sister meanwhile moves into a defensive position, launching a large number of dedicated sensor drones which begin spreading through the immediate area and down into the planets upper atmosphere.

While none of these are overtly aggressive moves, the carriers both announce their intentions over open channels, it is fairly obvious that the Gentec Habitats do not intend to be moving on any time soon.

"Understood, Iris. Glad to have been of service. Copperhead out."

Other than the decidedly undramatic needs to recollect Lokis and men, the consequences of the arrival of two moon-sized habitats is marginal. In operational terms, they are just two more gravitational bodies to take into account during navigation and two more ships to consider whilst on patrol. The real difficulty is for Sky Marshal M'sha's strategic command staff around Io, given that the presence of these two bodies needs to be modeled and secondary orbits suggested if they make the chaotic orbital n-body system of Jovian gravitational interactions more unstable than they already naturally are.

Then, after another successful first contact by the Ticks, it falls to the Diplomatic Corps to send out a polite missive asking if they can send a representative on a mission to open official relations in the name of universal goodwill and better mutual understanding. There is much both parties could learn from each other, they correctly assert, and through the mutual sharing of knowledge, culture, and perhaps trade peaceful and beneficial relations can be assured between GenTec and the member nations of the Triumvirate. All this and more, in diplomatic but direct language, is the realm of the Corps.

After that... well, the domain of the foreseeable future is not exactly that broad or deep of a set.

The Gentec habitats help the Copperhead and its cruisers on their way as best they can, and continue to take an active interest in their citizens health. As the situation continues to stabalise within Iris, they take back a few of the more critical cases along with those ready to go home.

The diplomatic messages are replied to with polite nuetrality. An envoy from the triumvirate was welcome, but they make no promises of joining the alliance.

The lack of such promises is met with perfect cordiality as no invitation on their part was either forthcoming or even suggested. True to its nature the Triumvirate simply wants to help and make a new friend; alliances and all that may come as needed but for now simple trade in ideas is sufficient. To that end the Diplomatic Corps dispatches Diplomatic Officer Yishuya Lythimnas to Isis to head the small mission previously mentioned, along with a TYCS liason officer in the form of Lieutenant Parveen Banane just in case additional assistance is or becomes necessary.

Far from being pushy, the two leave it up to the GenTecs to determine just how close relations get. And so it goes.

((Do you want to RP the diplomats visit? im up for it.. should be interesting at the very least.))

Moving perhaps a dozen people and enough equipment for embassy and liason staff hardly merits sending out a heavy DropShip like a Loki. This is why Yishuya, Parveen, and their respective staffs find themselves strapped into harnesses fitted onto a 'bench' made of cargo webbing. Technically the gravitic engines are inertialess as well and so the harnesses are not exactly necessary; still, there are but two forms of paranoia in engineering and so everyone is buckled up as regulations demand. Abaft of them lie two cargo pallets, rather nondescript except for maybe in that they are made of pressed wood--wood is cheap, relatively light, and renewable and recyclable--and the nondescript wooden crates on top bear unexciting markings announcing their contents as transmitter equipment, computers, desks, lamps, map tables, and the like. Both are single unitary pieces in terms of cargo loading thanks to the netting that holds the boxes to their respective pallet. Both are held in place by removable bolts through flanges in the floor and prevented from shifting in case those fail by more cargo webbing placed afore, abaft, port and starboard. All in all, the twenty long by three meter high by four meter wide cargo space is not exactly over-utilized.

Diplomatic Officer Yishuya Lythimnas, from first glance, does not match the standard archetype for a diplomat. Diplomats are stereotypically "cultured" people of "good breeding," which suggests if nothing else good complexion and an unworked if not downright sedentary appearance. No, the brown-eyed Yishuya clearly does not meet this standard, face windburnt and dark with the near-permanent sunburn that years of hard work outside tends to bring out in someone. He is not ugly, far from it, and his black hair is quite neatly parted to the side in a way that carries well on his rugged face. He simply shows the signs of his past with pride. Originally from Tiburon where he was a farmhand and a shepherd (something he still jokes about) of a traditional vein, he eventually chose to get an education, got a degree with honors in political science, and joined the Diplomatic Corps. His hands are still as callused as they were when he worked outside for a living, but now they come more from playing guitar.

Lieutenant (pay grade O-3) Parveen "Bananas" Banane is a wiry Scolopendran woman with dark olive-toned skin and the misfortune of having a patriarchal lineage that stretches back to the Seychelles and their conquest by Portuguese who were woefully unimaginitive when it came to forcing surnames on the natives. With jet-black hair, jade green eyes, and a sense of lurking temper behind the way the first is kept and the second shine, Parveen also comes from a proud Scolopendran military family. Her mother is a senior master sergeant (retired) in the Mobile Infantry; her father was a colonel (retired) in the Scolopendran AeroSpace Directorate. Both of them told her that just as they had gotten the nickname "Bananas" for their last name, she would as well. It was as simple as Cooper inevitably being reduced to "Coop." It was fate, it was kismet.

She hated the thought. She did everything she could to excel in all sorts of ways that would get her some sort of nickname besides "Bananas." She pulled wild capers, aiming for "Maverick." She was cool under fire, looking for "Ice Queen" or, in some of her cold-shoulderings, "Icebox." She told jokes and stories and additional (more fun) capers, looking for "Chuckles" or "Joker."

This did wonders for her career.

Unfortunately, everyone thought she was crazy, but in a good and mostly harmless way. Hence her nickname.

She hates it. She looks at Yishuya in stony Ice Queen silence after he unknowingly asked about her nickname. It was right on her dossier, after all, because that's how most people refer to her in an unofficial situation and it's the DiploCorps' job to know such things. Yishuya, on the other hand, continues to suppress a shrug and just smiles back apologetically. Really, he doesn't care all too much aside from being a nice guy not wanting to offend. If he's going to commit a major faux pas on his first big assignment, then he may as well commit it to a fellow Yuttie before he even steps foot on foreign soil.

Just as he will be just as soon as the vaguely beetle-like Scarab-class utility shuttle settles down somewhere where there's an atmosphere appropriate for disembarking.

As before, they are guided in by a combination of the Habitats disembodies voice, and a small detachment of pilot drones.. the unmarked and confusing surface of the Habitat not designed with human or even computerised perceptions in mind. As before, they are guided to one of the larger hangars, where a large airlock like landing shelf is located near the back.

This time however, their reception is more formal, and excecuted with slightly, though only slightly, more pomp.

two squads of Marines stand flanking the interior doors, both anonymous in their exoskeletal armour, bearing stubby submachinegun like weapons. Between, and slightly in front of them is another gathering. This small group is dressed in less bulky civilian space-suits, waiting in a loose line for the atmosphere to return to breathable levels. When it does, they remove the shell helmets and advance towards the vessel, aiming for whatever looks the most likely exit point for the ambassador and his staff.

Meanwhile loading constructs, and other humans in less fancy industrial space suits are also converging to help unlead the equipment.

The small welcoming party consist of two obvious civil servants, their soft features and charismatic, photogenic smiles giving them away, and two sterner, more militaristic looking individuals. One of those is Arén, the Marine who first welcomed the medical teams, the other an older man.

Always the gentleman, Officer Lythimnas steps aside to let Lieutenant Banane disembark first. Chivalry is not exactly dead--merely a bit more mutual now--and it's the least he can do for getting off on the wrong foot earlier. Parveen accepts the gesture simply because she doesn't feel like arguing about it right now. Walking down the ramp with the ingrained sense of urgency usual in the Ticks, she doesn't notice Yishuya being forced to hurry to catch up with her when clearly a leisurely saunter would be more diplomatic.

Ah well. Leaving the offloading to the Fleet master sergeant in the back of the Scarab, the weather-hardened man bows politely but shortly first to the older man, then Arén. He could be completely wrong in order, of course, but when in doubt age is usually respected over beauty. "I am Diplomatic Officer Yishuya Lythimnas of the Triumvirate of Yut, and this is Lieutenant Parveen Banane of the Combined Services Fleet." Hopefully the suggestion of naval rank will catch and take hold. I don't think Ms. Banane would like having her rank misrecognized. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The lieutenant bows shortly after Yishuya does, with a soft grunt probably approximating assent.

If any note is taken of their slightly shambolic entrance, the four representatives do not show it. Instead they all bow in unison, mimicking the Scolopendran diplomat. Each of them introduce themselves in turn, friendly but formal in their forms of speech. The two pampered looking representatives are Luminate Shen of the Diplomat Caste, and Luminate Markus of the Administrator Caste. The two military representatives are Luminate Derek of the Pilot Caste and of course Luminate Arén of the Marine Caste.

'Luminate' seems to be the only title used, and as each of them introduce themselves only, from left to right. There is no easy way to tell if any is of greater or lesser rank to any of the others.

The diplomat then speaks. "Welcome to Iris. I and Luminate Arén will be your primary contacts within the Habitat, while Lumina Markus and Derek are here to field any technical questions."

Followed by the Marine. "I will also be your security liason."

The administrator and the pilot seem content to stand in silence until spoken to, though the administrator seems to be monitoring the unloading of the vessel with a studied eye, while the pilot has an eye on the ship itself.

OOC: Do they have any psychics with them?

"A pleasure to meet you all," the diplomatic officer replies with a cordial smile. "Luminate Arén," he pronounces rather well for a first try, being a professional mimic, "as our security liason you'll be coordinating with Lieutenant Banane and Sergeant Adams, the Infantryman in charge of our security detail." By this time the traditional three Mobile Infantry assigned to diplomatic missions have made their way out of the shuttle and stand at parade rest behind the officers; the one with three rank boxes on his feldgrau light powered exoskeleton comes to attention, bows shortly, then returns to parade rest. If that wasn't obvious enough, his armor is rather clearly (but in low-contrast colors) marked "ADAMS" over his right breast.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Luminate Markus," Yishyua continues, "and hopefully I won't be abusing it if I admit that we're eagerly anxious to begin working with you. It isn't every day one makes new friends, after all." His smile is sincere, doubly so given how his face folds around it. Writers of previous eras would describe it as the simple and direct smile of a simple and direct peasant; Lythimnas would probably chuckle at that and say that he'd agree with it if 'peasant' were exchanged for 'honest hardworker.' Peasant simply doesn't have the correct connotation.

(OOC: Given the multiple hints at hivemind there is probably one Office of Psionic Operations agent shuffled in with the diplomatic staff as a defensive measure but she probably has strict orders to keep things very much passive. There's been bad things when psychics have tried to make contact with ludicrously huge hives-of-individuals before.)

(OOC: Arg! Ignore Jolt for a while, and suddenly interesting things start to happen.)

After much internal deliberation, the Ganymede Node finally came to a concensus to contact the Jovian system's new arrivals. Radio waves streamed out from Ganymede's south pole carrying the message...

Greeting Iris and Eris, from the Snel of Ganymede. Please excuse our delay in contacting you. Should you require any further medical assistance, we offer our services to assist in repairing your damaged populace. Assuming the individuals involved would not object to temporary subsumption into the Crana web, we can handle extremely high capacity. In any case, however, we do not have record of ever contacting your polity before, and what we observe of your technology in propulsion, space-time manipulation, and biological engineering intrigues us. We request permission to dispatch an Envoy to meet with you in person.
~Ganymede Node

(OOC: The writing skill displayed in this story so far is amazing. The two of you truly have a gift. I take my hat off to you for displaying imagination, vocabulary and storytelling skill surpassing many published writers. I am waiting excitedly for the next post.)

OOC: Thanks! Im enjoying it alot too. there is another thread for anyone who wants to get into contact with Gentec, its here: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=488778


IC Scolo:
The psionics officer senses an enormous distributed intelligence, to him/her it is as if the very walls breath. Huge amounts of psychic activity buzz around them but little of it is intelligible, sense impressions of alien minds. The only thing they get that they can easily understand comes off the luminates themselves, and even then it is strange. Each seems to be constantly broadcasting a set of identification traits and basic information about their state of health, location and mood. Very little in the way of active contact can be percieved, mostly it seems that they broadcast what they want others to know, and dont probe further than that. It explains however why there are no external signs of rank or identitiy.

The other manual labourers that are helping at the docks have little or no psychic ability, apart from a single supervisor. The supervisor wears a casque like the Luminates at the doors.

----------

Arén nods smartly, and smiles at Banane, not showing any signs of amusement at her name, but instead the smile of someone looking forward to working with someone new.

Shen then responds to the Diplomatic Officer. "Officer Lythimnas, we have never been known for standing on ceremony. Please, follow us. We can talk on the way."
A brief glance at the Administrator.
"Your equipment will be taking the Cargo Pills, and so will travel by a different route. You are welcome to send personel with them if you wish, but they will not be tampered with. If you could send someone with technical experience however we can begin working on interfacing your inorganic technology with the habitats circulatory system."

He pauses then, allowing the Solopendrans time to organise before the small group turn as one and the interior doors open, revealing an internal lobby much like the one outside the hospital. The only exception to that is Arén, who instead approaches Banane.

"We have given you offices in the Central Gardens.. they are shielded and you should have little to worry about from the electrical disruption effects. All the same i hope you have brought no especially sensitive equipment.. The main problem though is that there are increased security considerations in the Garden. It is the largest open space in the Habitat, and open to all. All embassies will be located there, and if we open to trade then it will become the center for trade negotiations as well."

The lobby has several doors leading off of it, all of which are sealed except the one directly opposite, which stands open and reveals the interior of one of their pill transports. This one seems to have been fitted out for VIP's, with comfortable couches and coffee tables. The Pill has a couple of levels to it, and capacity roughly equivilent to a 20th century train. It is markedly different from the sparse open space of the pill used by the medical teams, which was presumably a cargo pill.

"Thank you," Officer Lythimnas replies with a cordial smile, "that sort of arrangement will be optimal. Technical specifications are certainly not my area of expertise," he says, glancing at Banane, "but I don't believe we have anything particularly sensitive."

The lieutenant catches the glance and continues the flow of the conversation, although her tone is decidedly more businesslike. She's not unfriendly so much as just very serious at the moment. "No, nothing measurably more sensitive to ee-em effects than ourselves. A little bit of mechoptronic computronium in the databoards and portcomps, and from the reports of our previous landing parties some Fleet technicians are willing to rig up some sort of charging station, which should be the only thing that needs to be directly connected. If all else fails we've got plenty of onionskin, notepaper and faxes. It may perhaps date us but flexibility is the key to airpower."

Off to the side an auburn-haired woman in a sky blue-plastroned DiploCorps uniform notes that the hive-mind vibe is quite panNormish when it comes to previous experience and direct connection is decidedly a bad idea. They weren't particularly psychic to anyone other than themselves, which is fine; just have to make sure these people are more or less the same and we'll run from there. She admires the architecture while she thinks to herself then sits down along with the rest of the unnamed staff at the two officers' polite but silent urging.

"One thing that we should probably work out is communication," Yishyua says as he sits down, relaxing politely back into one of the seats. "We'll have to both be able to contact you (and vice versa, of course) and report back to our superiors. Given that you know the... ah... signals permeability, is it? of Iris' hull, we would be much obliged if you could recommend what systems and frequencies we could use."

The pill's doors seal and it pulls away with a barely tangible lurch. Unlike the Cargo Pill, the peristalsic movement is almost imperceptable. They are offered hot drinks while they wait, and the two diplomats settle in comfortably. Arén and Derek remain standing, and Derek looks somewhat bored, as if he would prefer to be somewhere else. Of course he hasnt actually had much to say or do as of yet.

Markus is the one who responds.
"That should be relatively easy to achieve, we have generator devices that will be able to interface with your charger given a little bit of adaptation. I foresee little trouble in geting you operational. As for the signal permeability of the hull, i reccomend using iris' own transmitters if possible. It is, if anything, more secure than transmitting through the ships walls, and because the habitation levels wrap around the Gardens and central organ structures i dont think you would be able to get through very well on your own. Our technicians will be able to better aid you in that regard however."

Shen nods at that, however he adds "We appreciate that is not an optimal solution. A better one will be found as soon as possible."

"You could always set up a transsion relay in one of the Hangars, not all of them are operational at the moment and it would allow you to get the signal out without using Iris' equipment." This was Arén. Their way of knowing when the other has finished speaking and starting themselved without a pause is unnerving.

Meanwhile the Marine escorts, or at least a fifth of them, seem to be trying to engage in friendly banter with their Scolopendran opposites, as well as each other.. the whole mood of the place is fairly relaxed.. and highlights again the fact that four out of five of the marines doesnt seem quite right. they just stand at ease, still as statues in a line by the door while the others sit around on couches and joke with each other.

Either broadcast through the hull or transmitted via Iris' native comm systems, the security of these hypothetical communiques is completely academic in a signals intelligence sense and that shows slightly on Parveen's face as she considers. She would have to discuss this with the Diplomatic Officer later, but for now she covers any momentary and undiplomatic concern by idly ordering the sleeve of her green long-sleeved shirt under the black cuff of her service coat. Properly secure information could be and must be--by regulation--sent via various transmissionless methods of communication; problem of course being that even those are succeptible to aggrivating things like van Eck phreaking. The lieutenant suddenly realizes this liason duty, with all of its careful diplomatic dancing around getting straight to the point and getting things done, will take some getting used to.

Yishyua, like any properly trained social entity, notes Derek's boredom and wonders how to work him into the conversation before looking beside him and noting Banane's rather obvious attempt to distract herself. He's perfectly capable of putting two and two together. "We may take advantage of your offer to set up a transmitter in a disused hangar, thank you. We don't mean to suggest that in hosting us you would be anything but hospitable, but we are by regulation required to maintain a certain standard of operational security." He flashes a winning smile--white teeth setting off his healthy outdoors tan--that Parveen unnoticably turns away from slightly.

It's a cultural thing.

"Anyway, I hope I'm not committing any sort of taboo if I ask a bit about you and Iris' adventures," the diplomatic officer says, looking towards Derek. "You've been gone for a while, by all reports and personal reckonings, and we're quite curious about what you've seen. I can also see there's been some social development," he continues, gently indicating the silent majority of the marines with a subtle motion of his head, "and I'd love to learn about that too."

The Infantrymen (two of which are women) and Civil Servants don't obviously take note of the uncanny silence of the Marines. First and foremost they are on a diplomatic mission representing everything they hold dear, and so they aren't going to be so gauche as to point out something which is probably completely normal to the GenTec culture in public. Secondly... the old hats in the group, the people with the full silver rings on their blue sleeves, have been places and seen things. Taking messages back in the day from the hive of Mallberta, or going to functions with the panNorm--admittedly the spacedy ants never really went to this extent, visibly, but they certainly could--and these civilian representative equivalents of grizzled old sarges make sure the young'ns stay in line.

Shen nods at that, noticing as if for the first time the marines and perhaps how disquieting their silence might be. Derek, for his part, does not seem too roused by anything, at least not yet. He looks over and pays some attention to the direction of the conversation, but quickly becomes distracted by something else. Its like he has ADHD. He cant sit in one place for any amount of time.

Shen, after some time considering how to answer, finally speaks.
"Iris is not the primary habitat of the Gentec people. Our... home system I suppose, is on the outer edge of the galaxy. We of Iris Habitat are the messengers, traders and diplomats of our people. When Councillor Elias, the leader of the people of Iris, took office he instituted the search for Sol System."

He clears his throat, and sips from a glass of water.
"We have seen many systems since then. Sol was not where we expected it to be and we have been seeking it out for some time. It has been a little more than a century since we left, and two millenia since the incident."

He indicates the pill, and the marines, and smiles. "The technology we use we cannot take credit for, i am sorry to say. It was back-engineered from alien technology. It took us most of that millenia just to learn how to use it, and after that it.. came quickly to us. In that time, we have developed a-"
He pauses as if looking for the right word.
"Caste based society. Humans, that is those without the nuerological enhancements of the Lumina, have freedom to choose their path in life. They work within their own economy and keep the habitats on track. We, the Luminate Class, have our purpose handed to us at birth, and are trained from a young age to fulfill that purpose."

he indicates the relaxed, joking marines. "These marines are Lumina.. their nuerology was adapted millenia ago like my ancestor's was, to interact with the habitats. However, where my abilities were specifically targetted towards diplomacy, theirs was configured so that they can control the GCD's."
He then inicates the majority of the 'marines'
"Organic constructs with little mind of their own. Hence their unfortunate surliness. Each caste of Lumina has a different purpose to which they are born. It is restrictive for some, but most find it liberating. Not having to worry about what we are going to be when we grow up gives us the chance to enjoy the time we have."

Exposition over, he sits back with his ice-water and waits for their reaction.

"Huh. I wouldn't expect organic combat constructs to stay so true to the limited human form," Lieutenant Bananae says before the Diplomatic Officer can fully gauge whether or not it's a good thing to let her talk. "There's advantages in tool universiality, I'm sure, but... probably all the modifications are under the hood, so to speak. Interesting."

Yishuya momentarily scratches his nose. "I see; you've adapted yourself as the situation requires. If it makes you feel better at all, we've met and gotten along with stranger things than this," he says, indicating things in general with a subtle motion of his hands. "I only hope at some point we can reciprocate in terms of hospitality to any envoys you may choose to send. I can see that we'll have some interesting discussions, all in all.

"I may as well warn you ahead of time that the Jovian system didn't always use to be this quiet," the diplomatic officer continues, looking mildly contrite. "The appearance of two notable gravitational bodies in their midst may make the locals... concerned. We'll gladly vouch for your appearance under emergency circumstances and offer our services as a diplomatic go-between; unlike times previous we get along well enough with most of the cultures in the area and so keeping things calm ends up being in everyone's best interest, although sometimes a few people forget that. Not to mean that anything may end up happening at all," he's quick, but in a calm collectedness that makes it not too quick, to qualify, "but it is a possibility and a reasonable concern." He glances over to his more military comrade.

She takes the hint. "In the local area we have one of the stronger presences," Parveen says carefully. Some may say 'strongest,' but people who believe in their dominance too fully tend to be greatly surprised. "Still, there's no real unity in the area save the Jovian League, which is more or less quiet right about now. With two new minor moons lanes will be changed, timetables amended... there will be, ah, a lot of bother that will get people grumbling, I think. Nothing too threatening, but just to let you know."

"I suppose, then, if it's not intruding," Yishuya says with a smile, "it would only be expected of me to ask that now that you've gotten here, what it is you'd like to do here?"

Arén smiles at the refference to 'limited human form', and speaks before Shen, though from the looks of it Shen knew about it before hand, or at least expected it to happen.

"The constructs are difficult to distinguish from their marine commanders, and almost impossible on the battlefield, their thermal signatures are identical and visually the differences are minor. It reduces sentient casualties. They are not the only constructs we use, just the most... friendly looking."

Then, the perhaps unexpected happens. The pilot enters the conversation. He speaks fast, almost too fast, and his accent is different to the other three. The psychic officer may notice a constant buzz of psychic activity around him, very alien in nature.

"We have two of our carriers out conducting recon of the surrounding space. They have not encountered any hostile forces as yet. However, any information on the nation of 'Pilon' would be appreciated. The Ultrix Tisiphone has encountered a Pilonese diplomatic vessel. As for our goals... Councillor Elias was never very clear on why we sought out the Sol system. Council will be convened on his return and we will state our intentions once they have been made known to our own populace."

Shen merely nods, and there is a slight subservience in his treatment of the Pilot. "Luminate Derek speaks truth. I imagine however that we will establish a permanent gate between Sol and our own system and engage in trade."

"Fair enough," Yishuya replies with a smile. "We look forward to hearing about it shortly after you do. As for the Pilonese..." He glances towards Banane, who is clearly trying very hard not to snicker. "They're something of an interesting case. Our goals our relatively aligned now, despite some hostilities in the past, but closer relations are occasionally hampered by a... difficulty in following the logic of Pilonese foreign policy from time to time. They are good friends to have, if one adapts to their..." He stretches for a word firm enough to have meaning but not so hard so as to be impolite.

"Flightiness," Parveen says without a hint of shame or remorse. The average 'Pendran still has something of a chip on her shoulder for the Pilonese in general. "They could do with a good reading of Aesop's Fables. What it comes down to is that they're not nearly as unified nor democratic as they try to appear to be. They're more like a collection of corporate interests that rule in an economic oligarchy than the direct virtual democracy they try to pass themselves off as."

"Thank you, Lieutenant, for your succinct estimation of the situation," the Diplomatic Officer cuts in, sounding perfectly at ease but a glimmer behind his eyes suggesting annoyance.

"It's true, as far as I know," the lieutenant grumbles.

"That I cannot deny," Lythimnas mutters. "Anyway, we have been ourselves attempting closer relations with the Pilonese and so it would be improper of us to give you the impression that they are ones to be avoided." Glance at Banane. "The Dargonese and the Snel are also heavily reliant on organic technology; you may want to look them up as well."

All of the representatives smile at that. "Thank you for the information."

The Pill comes to a stop, and the four rise, along with the marines. The GCD's fall out of formation and precede them out into... what seems to be a large wooded area. A paved plaza with paths extending outwards serves as a hub for several dome like pill docking areas, and there are numerous civilians about, wandering the paths and picnicking under trees. It is bright and warm, and numerous species of bird-like xenos flit between the boughs and feed from crumbs scattered by children and old people. Most of those about seem to be children or the elderly in fact. Those relative few of working age all seem to be either Luminate, or parents.

None of the others react with anything more than mild curiosity at the appearance of the Scolopendran delegation, at least not initially. After a few moments however a small crowd of children does gather, looking up at the strangers with wide eyes and little fear.

The representatives lead the way, and the marines spread out and head off in different directions, leaving only Arén and her four GCD's to guard the delegation.

"The buildings set aside for you are nearby. I believe that classes have been adjourned for a break, hence the children. Do not mind them, they are merely curious. Many have not seen an alien in person before."

"Thank you, although I still think we're going to need to be led to our new accomodations. First time and all." The diplomatic officer scratches the back of his head just behind his right ear, glancing around at the unexpected scene. He could kick himself for not expecting it. Even TYCS WarShips have gardens on them--albeit far smaller ones--and little bonsai things in corridors here and there on the volition of the crew. Larger habitats almost naturally have larger arboreal regions. Unexpected, hell; such things are supposed to be standard in the spacer imagination ever since the concept colonies of the latter-quartile Twentieth.

"هو كثيرا مثل ألوسن كرفتوورلد," Banane murmurs. ".هو جدّا جميلة"

"Pardon?" Arabic is not one of the man's strong suits.

"Oh, sorry. 'It's a lot like the Aelosian Craftworld--it's very pretty.'" Parveen shrugs slightly. "I was on Kabutomushi for my cadet cruise when she took Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit to Aelosia. We were lucky enough to catch some shore leave."

"Ah." Yishuya smiles and waves at the kids. "It's not the first time we've seen aliens, but it's good to learn how it feels to be one. Makes me feel somewhat important. Makes me wonder though..."

"Hm?" The lieutenant raises an eyebrow. "What the reaction would've been if the Trium had sent a kzin, Sakkran, Seldane"--she starts counting off on her fingers--"elf, orc, dragon, vampire--Cetaganda has those, right?--kitsune, or something a bit more nonhuman?"

"Yes, essentially." He smiles at his hosts representing the GenTec people. "I suppose you've gathered from our extemporaneous little bit here that, ah, we've met quite a few aliens and adopted them as family, if you will. I know from what you've told that you've not had universally good luck in meeting alien species, re the ones that caused you to come here; hopefully that hasn't put you off meeting perhaps friendlier ones?"

Shen gives an amused smile in response, and leads them down one of the paths. The small crowd of children follow, and one of the respnsible looking adults follows, though at a distance. More to keep tabs than keep order.

"We have a few ahem.. true aliens about. They mostly keep to the lower habitation levels, but you might see a few around. The highest non-human population is on Hephaestus, which is the industrial capital. More opportunities there for non-lumina you see."

They pass a small lake, and buildings of unusual and often seemingly impractically beautiful design can be spied through the trees. Even the trees seem to be of alien origin.. perhaps chosen for their similarity to earth specimens, but visibly different to anyone with first-hand experience. Trees like Oaks with aerial roots. Most look very old, mature trees.

Eventualy they come to a grouping of small, single story buildings surrounded by a low wall. Arranged around a small courtyard, the buildings are very... light looking. almost insubstantial. Built from a white, almost paper-like substance, with sweeping lines and elegant curves. Construction seems to have been focused around the aesthetic rather than structural integrity and the way they have been built causes the shadows generated by the gardens artificial sun to play across the surfaces in constantly changing patterns.

The representatives lead them into the central courtyard, where a low bench encircles a strange, banyan like tree. Their crates of equipment are stacked at one side, and a small group of Human workers are gathered to help unloading and setting up if neccesary. Their small procession of children stop at the entrance to the compound, and peer through the gates, one or two climbing up to sit on the wall.

"Here we are... Its a school we requesitioned for your use. The pupils have been redistributed accross the others around the Gardens and the disruption will be minimal, so do not worry on their account. How you use the buildings is of course up to you, but the larger building over there was used by the teachers as accomadation and the rest are classrooms. Tables and suchlike are still in there, and can be removed if you like."

"No, no, that'll be quite alright. Hopefully you left some of the learning materials there." Yishuya chuckles as he folds his hands noncommitally in front of him. Something about the 'more alien' members living on lower decks and having 'more opportunity' in some places doesn't quite sit right at the moment, but he can't pin down why nor does he want to judge before all the facts are in. "I'm quite serious. We know less about you, your history and your culture than those children there. The ability to self-educate may be helpful."

Lieutenant Banane first looks curiously at the trees, apparently quite pleased to find such interesting things on this more-or-less flatlander assignment. Then she sees the school and looks... distrusting. While the suggestion of Googie conic section lines are of course appealing to her Segments upbringing, what with its reliance on Raygun Gothic when it wants to make something visually interesting, the apparent thinness of it clashes with her more Art Deco sensibilities. It has been said by most observers, whether they be disinterested or not, that Scolopendran architecture (and indeed, most of their engineering) is quite brick-like by design. This is not to say it is ugly; no, simply put most of what they produce could probably double as a bunker or a fortress if it became absolutely necessary. The thought of living in something that looks wispier than a wasp's paper-mache' nest does not appear to be one that she finds particularly pleasant.

Lythimnas catches her eye, adds something to his, and she quickly hides this look under an assumed military bearing. Not letting himself consider how that's probably an inappropriate look as well, the officer turns back to the GenTec delegation. "Thank you for your hospitality; you are much too kind. I suppose though that we should get to setting up shop, so to speak, unless there is more you would like to discuss." Not wanting to give the impression that he's trying to shuffle people off of their own turf, he gives Parveen his best 'your ball, dammit' glance.

She is currently staring the regulation thousand meters towards the banyan-like tree; her cutting from whole cloth starts there. "Sorry to intrude, but I'm curious. What kind of tree is that? It seems to, ah, fit in with the surroundings so that attention is naturally drawn to it--is that intentional?"

Markus and Derek say nothing, and when given the excuse, they bow and leave Shen and Arén alone with the delegation, so long as you dont include the GCD's, which stand like statues just inside the low wall.

Meanwhile, Shen's sharp eyes pick up on Banane's distrusdt of the structure, and perhaps through some sort of empathic ability seems able to accurately judge its cause.

"The architecture within the gardens is not built to withstand more than the light showers occasionally scheduled to provide the smaller plant life with sustenance.. We are in a completely controlled environment here, protected from space by kilometers of hard and soft tissues. The only potentially dangerous events are ground tremors which occasionally occur in growth cycles. As such, light construction is almost universal within the Gardens. As for learning materials, there might be some left around.. if not then we can provide you with access to whatever information you require. Within reason of course." He smiles courteously.

Arén meanwhile seems to have taken to fielding Banane's questions.
"The trees are mostly specimens taken from planets we have come accross on our journeys, apart from those." She indicates the Banyan. "Those are in every Garden School, and are a symbol of Hyperion. Lumina where created by Hyperion to communicate with humans on his bahalf. Through our connection to the Habitats, we are connected to him. In a way, we are all one entity, in the same way that the many trunks of the adult Banyan may become separated from their parent, but they are still the same tree."

Shen nods at that. "A symbol of unity, and a reminder of our history. In the Gardens it can be easy to forget where you come from.. Iris' presence is weaker here... Now, I shall leave you to set yourselves up. You are welcome to wander wherever you like, in the Gardens or beyond. Arén will guide you and only a few life-critical areas are off limits. However i would ask that outside of this compound you do not carry weapons of any kind. Our Marines will protect you should anything happen, but i assure you it is highly unlikely."

And with that, Shen bows and sweeps away, leaving Arén and her GCD's as the only remnants of the group that met them on the landing platform. The children are still sitting on the wall, watching them and whispering to one another. They all bow their heads to Shen as he passes by, but start giggling after he is gone.

"Oh, don't mind me, sir." Lieutenant Banane scratches the back of her neck, a gesture which does not exactly mesh with the firm militaristic look she continues to give the building. "After living in WarShips for a few years I'd have to acclimate to calling anything without kartongium wrapped around it at least a meter thick my home away from home." Then back to the tree, something she seems to find more comforting. "I like the symbology, at least. I know we'll try to keep it in mind as we work together with you. Thank you."

Yishuya nods approvingly. "And with every answer, more questions present themselves. We will have to repay your hospitality as soon as we are able and sate our mutual curiosity at some point, trading questions about culture and society and history. For now, though," he continues, glancing idly at the work crews quickly running out of things to do that don't require direction from above, "I suppose we must take our leave as you'll allow and put our house in order, so to speak. If you have any questions for either Lieutenant Banane or me please go ahead; if not, it's been most pleasant but hopefully you'll excuse us." He smiles with a sincere whatchya-gonna-do? smile and offers the slightest hint of a good ol' boy's shrug. He really is enjoying this, but there's other work to be done as well that rightfully should be done first... so long as it doesn't offend anyone.

Arén nods. "I will let you get on with it then. I will be nearby, my daughter is around here somewhere and i might take the opportunity to see her."

She then turns to go, but pauses before actually leaving. "I will leave one of the GCD's behind. If you need me for anything, then merely ask it, and i shall come."

And with that, she slips out of the compound, and heads off through the trees, ignoring the paths. The children watch her leave, then continue to gawk at the newcomers. One of them, a small girl with plaited brown hair, throws a pebble at the GCD and giggles when it bounces off the constructs head. The construct doesnt even twitch, it might as well have been a statue.

The Diplomatic Officer winces at the pebble incident, but listens to his better judgment and decides that policing the activities of the local children is a matter for the natives and not him. Heading back towards the Civil Servants--essentially the enlisted ranks of the civilian government service--he supplies input only when the veteran Chief Civil Servant carefully suggests it to be necessary. Generally the civilian side of things doesn't break much with commonsense when it comes to setting things up; any school building has offices and these are naturally adapted into appropriate minor ambassador apartments. Classrooms get reassigned as conference rooms and as time goes on a small list gets made up as to what needs to be requisitioned from their hosts, mostly conference tables and appropriate chairs. Desks may not make appropriate seating for whoever visits, although one or two classrooms are kept in their current condition for internal teaching.

Lieutenant Banane has a slightly more interesting duty, being personally responsible for the boxshaker secure communication system. The small portion of the school being made into a local TYCS branch office needs to be made secure: secure in operations and secure in signals. To do this, her enlisted men find themselves first getting out the rolls of millimeter-thick transparent kartongium and applying them like wallpaper. Normally these thin sheets would just be applied to windows and the like in order to dissuade snipers, given that such professionals tend not to carry antitank rifles. In this case, though, given that a sniper could most likely shoot through any point in the building, somewhat less delicacy is required in the application. The kartongium suffices to act something like a Faraday cage and thus prevent nominal van Eck phreaking and other forms of remote electromagnetic signals intelligence, but just to be safe Parveen orders an inside room to be wallpapered with a fine metal mesh intentionally designed to act as a Faraday cage. That will be the high-security room where internal communiques brought by diplomatic pouch can be safely opened. Other than that, there has to be a small armory and bunks for the three Mobile Infantry on embassy defense duty and barracks-style quarters for the rest. They partition their assigned classrooms to fulfill these duties.

All of this takes a few hours and, after such efforts and the trip, another few hours of relaxation are not out of order. Still, Yishuya always keeps the GCD within earshot just in case their presence happens to be requested.

The children watch for a while, but eventually grow bored and wander away. Meanwhile the GCD's stand sentinel-like, ever watchful.

The buildings are difficult, but not impossible to cover with sheeting. their irregular shapes and undulating curves make it difficult to get the sheets to lie flat, and the substance they are made from is non-porous and difficult to adhere to. Perhaps specifically designed with preteen vandals in mind more than security officers.

At one point, one of the GCD's bursts out laughing for no apparent reason, disturbing since it had barely even twitched since being left. It holds its sides and almost falls over, its laughing so hard but eventually seems to calm down and return to its former state. Other than that they are undisturbed, once the children have gone no-one else approaches the compound, though people can be seen pickincking a ways through the trees.

The human labourers help setting up as much as they are allowed to, or otherwise drift off down the paths to make themselves useful elsewhere. They talk little unless engaged directly, but seem happy enough. They seem to find the attempts to secure the buildings slightly amusing.

The TYCS enlisted troopers seem to be in on the joke, more or less sheepishly as they manage to care. Even if it consists of a handful of retrofitted classrooms, they try to explain, the liason office is a military installation and has to have the trappings of one. The laughing GCD simply makes those on the more concerned side of the spectrum feel even more embarrassed; otherwise it's taken (usually by the older and more Stoic) in stride. Strangers, strange land; a little bit of harmless maniacal laughter is a relatively benign bit of strangeness to face all things considered, especially given the organic nature of their locale.

Sure, the Pilonese and Dargonese have similar things, albeit not on the same scale. Simple fact of the matter is that to most of the Titanian-derived troopers the only analog in their direct experience are history book pictures of the Many affixed to Von Braun. It doesn't look the same, to give credit where it is due, but it is disconcerting nonetheless.

With everything arranged just so, and after making sure their GenTec helpers are properly thanked and taken care of, Yishuya goes to offer his hospitality to the GCD and those he represents.

The GCD addressed nods, but makes no other movement. The voice of Arén issues forth from the helmet, and sounds perfect, without the slightest burr or distortion.

"I am on my way. Luminate Shen may take longer, he had bussiness in another part of Iris. As you know, the pilonese have made contact with us. We are sending a delegation. As the senior diplomat on board it is his responsibility to choose the representatives and oversee the launch."

There is a slight pause, and when it speaks again it is almost sheepish.

"My... My daughter is quite curious about you. Do you mind if she comes with me?"

Meanwhile the human labourers pack up their gear and wave amicably to the scolopendrans they met, then leave, some of the taller ones pointedly stepping over the perimiter walls on their way out. They spread out and head off down the paths seemingly all headed for different places. unconnected to the Skien they may be, but they still seem to have an uncanny ability to cooperate, and know where they are needed.

Barely five minutes later, the bio-armour clad figure of Luminate Arén emerges from the trees, followed by a girl who looks perhaps thirteen. Tall for her age though, and pretty. She has long blonde hair and blue eyes, and is dressed in a flight-suit and heavy boots with reinforced ankles. Over her shoulders she has a open fronted three quarter length robe made of a light silk-like material, cornflower blue with a trim of silver. On her brow is the casque, the circlet-like jewelry marking her as Lumina. She looks at once militaristic and regal.. something in the way she walks coupled with a nobility and pride in her face and eyes.

The young girl stops at the gate, and Arén walks through, scanning the changes made to the compound. Something about the way her eyes skip around suggests she was watching through the GCD's anyway, but she does look, as if to make sure. She stops a few feet past the gates, in line with her GCD's and waits to be acnowledged before passing further.

The diplomatic officer is of course as cordial as the requirements of his office expect from him. "There's no rush; I don't expect this to be too formal a get-together unless we collectively wish to make it one." His sharp mind picks up on the word 'collectively' as a potential pun, and simply hopes it will slide for now. "Your daughter is of course welcome. Curiosity is why we're here, after all."

The small embassy staff start into preparations. When the Luminates arrive they can see rather easily (assuming they know the traditional customs surrounding embassy dinners) that no real attempt at formality has been made. The tables are all of the one meter by three meter folding variety, covered with a simple muslin tablecloth. Each steel folding chair tucked under them has a plate setting that consists of one dinner plate, one smaller bread plate, two cups, one knife, one fork, and one spoon. All appear to be made of stainless steel. Probably unbeknownst to them, the service is borrowed from the ever-utilitarian TYCS stock, designed to be simple, reusable, and inexpensive. One table off to the side holds several steam trays keeping lidded pans warm; one of the Mobile Infantrymen (a PFC) and one of the Civil Servants (probably the best cook of the lot) stand behind it, occasionally opening lids and prodding things with tongs or spoons.

Oddly enough, the other two Mobile Infantrymen are nowhere to be found.

Most of the staff and the one visible Infantryman are in their Class Bs, having left the service coat and fabric belt back in their makeshift quarters. Banane and Yishuya look just like they did previously in full Class A's, suggesting at least some amount of officiality. The diplomatic officer, as could be expected, leads the charge to greet. "Welcome back, Luminate Arén." He bows politely. "I only hope we are able to return some of the hospitality your people have already showed us, ma'am. And is this your daughter?" Another polite bow, directed at the young teenager-in-image-but-who-knows-how-old-in-years. Not knowing how respect hierarchies in terms of age work in this culture, he proceeds with a polite but secretly careful choice of honorific. "Diplomatic Officer Yishuya Lythimnas. A pleasure to meet you, miss."

Assuming that doesn't cause an incident, he runs through introductions in short order. "We've prepared a few things, but not knowing your particular cultural taboos--if any--I'll admit we played it safe a little and made a wide variety. We also don't know your ordinances concerning fire and smoke in enclosed places"--a slight motion of his hands indicates the large volume inside Iris and suggests a mild joke--"and so Lieutenant Banane has been careful not to let her Infantrymen get too creative in food preparation."

Arén smiles. "Within the school you are able to do what you like, though fire is prohibited outside. iris has quite effective fire response but it is limited slightly in the Gardens." She doesnt perhaps go so far as to laugh at the joke, but there is a twinkle in her eyes as she perhaps considers what a military cook might consider 'too creative'.

Her daughter seems quite happy with the amount of respect she is given, and beams at the diplomat, excecuting a smart, if slightly cocky salute that suggests some military training by the way she stands. Indeed everything about her bar her long hair suggests training, if not discipline. She speaks clearly, in the same clipped accentless way that her mother does.

"I am Luminate Tera, Daughter of Arén and Derek."

There is a slight hesitation when she mentions her fathers name, and she drops her gaze for a fraction of a second. Her distress is quickly forgotten however at the sight, and presumably smell of food. She eyes it with the hunger only teenagers can muster, and even her mother casts a glance and a bob of the head in that direction, perhaps trying to ascertain wats cooking. Neither of them comment on the missing infantrymen however.

Shen arrives a few minutes later, looking slightly harrassed as he strides down the path. He quicckly rearranges his features when he realises he is within sight of the camp, and practically glides in, the very picture of serenity.

"Dorry for my late arrival, first contact situations seem to have a habit of occurring all at once."

His sharp eyes pass over the group, and mark the missing officers almost immediately. He too however doesnt comment. He had stated that they were free to leave the compound after all.

OOC: if they have left the compound, what are they up to and did they bring weapons? if they didnt, feel free to suprise me. They arent spying on the compound itself.

While Aren explains the local fire ordinances, Lythimnas smiles and brushes his left ear with his right hand, arm behind his head. Several meters away Parveen coughs quietly into her sleeve.

* - * - *

Behind the school, Corporal Chastakorlenka folds his arms whilst Private First Class Ou-yang tinkers with a contraption made of a stamped-steel wastepaper basket, duct tape, a hand truck, heavy plastic zip ties, and a handheld plasma flamethrower. "It's not going to work unless we can get some sort of grille on top there. If we can use coals on the inside to spread out the heat, we're still not going to be putting anything right on them."

"We could use half of a fold-out dish drainer, Corporal," the private offers helpfully, adjusting the zip ties so that the plasma flamer is settled just so underneath the trash can, nozzle pointing straight up towards the bottom of the can. "It'd cover the top, no worries... though how would we make a hole at the bottom of the can for the flamer yet keep the coals in it?"

"That's why I told you just to bring the centimeter drill bit and not the ten-centimeter cutting head," Chastakorlenka replies with an artificial gruffness that matches well with his Slavic accent. The Mobile Infantrymen know he's aiming to make Sergeant before the year is out and so he is practicing the requisite gruff attitude, probably to make up for his otherwise insufficient record. "We drill a series of small holes," he says, holding up the dremel tool and triggering it, thick drill bit whirring around with a metallic buzZZ! buzZZ!, "and then we won't have a problem."

"Dust'll still get down to the flame head and that could be dangerous. We're not going to have it up to melting heat anyway, so I think we should just let it burn against the bottom of the can and heat it up that way--"

Someone coughs, loudly. It's neither of the two talking over their contraption, and they're the only ones around.

"I guess that kills our project, boss," the private says dejectedly. "Would've been fun, too."

"Well," Chastakorlenka says solemnly, "let's get to the party then."

* - * - *

"Thank you for the information. It won't be an issue." The diplomatic smiles professionally, although in a way that makes it look more sincere than one might honestly expect. "Hopefully what we have here will meet with your approval." Everyone politely ignores the apparent shame associated with the name 'Derek,' which is relatively simple given that they have no idea what is going on that way, and Yishuya leads the way over to the buffet table. Guests first, of course; then the civilians from lowest rank to highest; and finally the military, also from lowest rank to highest. Lieutenant Banane takes up the rear, all because the Federal-level Trium has curious customs (borrowed from the 'Pendrans) when it comes to field meals. The buffet consists of easy field-expedient picnic foods, the kind of things that people wouldn't normally expect at what may be a minor diplomatic function.

Sausages, mashed potatoes, falafel, tabouleh and the like make up the menu when it comes to hot foods; bread and various raw fruits and vegetables round out the cold selections. Officer Lythimnas explains candidly that not knowing the local food taboos they tried to appease palates ranging from vegan to carnivorous and hopefully there's something there the GenTec'ers can enjoy. Seating at the fold-out tables is wholly extemporaneous (although the guests are encouraged to sit at the head of the table if they're so inclined) and from there conversation flows naturally, with questions encouraged.

((OOC:sorry for the quality of the last post.. spelling was atrocious. also might be a little with responses for a while, having net access difficulties.))

It seems to have been just as well that they hosted a range, for the eating habits of the three Lumina vary fairly dramatically. Shen appears to be vegan, only touching things without any animal ingredients, while Arén seems to enjoy mostly meaty foods and her daughter picks out strange combinations, seemingly basing her choice more on texture and consistency than origin. Meanwhile, Shen makes smalltalk about the conversion of the schoolgrounds, politely enquiring as to their needs regarding domestic equipment and staff, while Arén seems eager to swap warstories with the soldiers, of which she seems to have plenty.

The daughter, Tera, eats with the singlemindedness of the starving. She doesnt look malnourished, but judging by the amount she is eating, one would think her legs were hollow. She leaves little space for conversation between helpings, but seems friendly and responsive if asked anything.

OOC: Sorry, but I have to prepare for a camping trip that I'll be on over the weekend. I'll reply when I get back... and what is it with me, this month, and spotty internet access? ;) This placeholder will be replaced with a real post as soon as I get back.

With everyone present, accounted for, and successfully fed at least once, the diplomatic officer shifts from a polite but practiced nonchalance to a more homely and natural ease. He follows along in the casual yet businesslike banter, listening with appropriate intentness concerning the school building and forwarding along the list of office furniture and equipment that his staff assembled during the move-in. They do not require any additional housekeeping staff, fully capable and indeed required to take care of themselves, with Yishuya joking that "the Diplomatic Corps is like a kinder, gentler military service that way. Everyone makes her own bunk and drums out for physical training in the morning. Shocks the diplomatic services of our members and friends--this one time..."

Lieutenant Parveen and her subordinates gladly swap experiences with Arén, although it's rather clear they're not exactly war stories. Nothing including violence really seems to be part of a great conflict, but instead parts of small police actions, extraction campaigns, emergency assistance and the like. They aren't as familiar as they could possibly be, taking their cues from the officers and remaining professional for the time being.

Once things have settled into some semblance of a comfortable flow Officer Lythimnas starts with polite questions, trying to make a conversation out of it. "So you're talking to the Pilonese now? That's good--is there anyone else you've made contact with so far? I'm looking forward to having neighbors of a sort." Chuckle and a smile.

Arén's own stories seem to revolve primarily around countering piracy and fighting rearguard actions against the hostile civilisation that they had fled here from. It seems that her wartime role as a Marine was to engage in boarding actions, and very little action occurs planetside. Shen meanwhile seems quite impressed by the resourcefulness of the Scolopendran operation, and nods approvingly. Regarding contact with other nations however he is slightly less forthcoming.

"Elias, Our leader, has gone to meet a nation with which we had a... one-sided relationship before the incident. Much has changed since then. We are however still looking, as it were. Undoubtably you will have neighbors soon enough. In fact, at the moment, your people are the only ones we are allowing into Iris, as we are still in the process of preparing suitable lodgings, and manpower is short because of the repairs to Iris' damaged infrastructure." He pauses a moment, and gestures at the converted school.
"Hence the school you currently occupy."

He refuses to elaborate further, and from his ezxpression it is entirely possible he actually doesnt know anything else about it.

Meanwhile, Tera seems to just... keep eating. However she also keeps an ear on her mothers warstories, and the responses she gets. When she eventually stops stuffing herself, she wipes her mouth delicately, and beams at anyone nearby. She seems none the worse for having consumed what must be something approaching the region of her own bodyweight in food.

She then looks at Bananes and clears her throat.

"Were you born to be a soldier?" The question is innocent, and it seems, to look at her, inconcievable that she was put up to it in any way, in fact Shen and Arén seem quite shocked that she should even ask it.

"Well," Yishuya says after swallowing a bite of falafel and smiling, "I know we're not much in the way of manpower but if there's any way we can be of assistance, just let us know."

Parveen, for her part, shrugs eloquently although the question does bring a smile to her eyes. "Depends how you want to look at it, I guess. Born and bred? No, not really, not like it's normally considered. Still, both of my parents were military and so it's what I was most comfortable with--I suppose you could call it the family business. As for what my parents intended... well, I have no idea, given they supported anything I put my mind to almost. I know they're proud, at least..."

She gets thoughtful for a moment, arching her arms by folding her hands and then resting her chin on the keystone thus made. "In my culture, at least, I could be considered to have been born to be a soldier. From what I understand of yours, I probably don't quite meet the requirements." She reverts back to a friendly conversational tone; she clearly has no problem with having an equal conversation with someone half her age. "I hope you don't mind my asking out of ignorance, but what about you? What do you plan to do with your life?"

The daughter thinks for a moment.

"I was born cross-caste, My father is a Pilot and my mother, well, youve met her." She indicates Arén with her hand. "It isnt as much of a big deal as it used to be though. Im going to try out for special forces, and if i dont get in i will be a pilot, like my father."

With that, she grins and indicates the numerous empty plates. "I just got my last set of military grade implants. Takes up a lot of energy to get them fully online. Normally i would be eating special highly concentrated nutrient paste. this stuff tastes better though."

As for Shen, he smiles at the offer of assistance, but shakes his head politely. "That wont be neccesary. The repairs are well underway and require highly trained personell, and construction within the Gardens is something of an artform. Lumina consider it a high honor to get the opportunity."

He then leans in slightly, as if divulging a secret.

"One of the reasons we have given you this school is that we plan to offer you a plot of land to build on yourselves.. One of the highest honors available as land within the Gardens is in high demand, and a personal thank you from Iris. If it had not been for your peoples intervention there would surely have been many more fatalities. The Scolopendran medics have become minor celebrities amongst the human population."

The diplomatic officer gets a very curious bemused little smile on his face, then breaks into a broad grin as he looks away and shakes his head. The actual Scolopendrans in the group can be identified as the ones who seem to tighten up or cringe a hair's breadth at the show of exposed teeth, relieved only by Yishuya's visage turning away. "Well, that explains some of the chuckles then. All that effort... ah well. Joke's on us, but it's a good one and the least we can do is take it with the sort of humble good humor our honor demands. We are, of course, greatly honored. Thank you." Folding his hands back on the table, he bows slightly in his seat in salute. For one reason or another (most likely their common conflation in deeds and customs) the federal side of the Trium gets confused with the Scolopendrans a lot. People in the service of the alliance get used to it.

"All in a day's work," Parveen says, accepting the full force of the compliment (actually being Scolopendran) with a smile; "we're just glad we could be of service."

Tera's revelation that she's been auged draws the interest of the Mobile Infantry on staff. "Not that I have any idea how things work around here," Private Ou-yang says with the folksy joviality that a lack of diplomatic training can't help but make perfectly sincere, "but is there any potential for cross-training? Some of the best combat pilots who've saved my...er...me and my buddies were ex-M.I.. I guess the time on the bounce with suit thrusters got them good at nape-of-earth stuff."

"Y-rations at thirteen," the other private, an exceptionally tall and blue woman--a Seldane from Imnsvale--labeled RIVER as per her nametapes, mutters thoughtfully. "That's harsh. Glad you appreciate the cooking, though. What kind of augments are we talking about, if we've the security clearance to know?" She smiles good-humoredly.

Shen senses that he has made a mistake, but seems to take it in his stride. Mistakes were inevitable, and apologising or asking for clarification would potentially compound the problem, so he filed it away as something to be carefully probed later.

"We look forward to being able to repay all those who aided us in our time of need in whatever way we can."

As for Tera, she seems to think on it for a moment. "Lumina.. thats us." she gestures to indicate those Gentec citizens that are assembled. "We arent like... normal humans. A long time ago we got changed, and some of us were changed in different ways to others. The differences lend themselves to different kinds of work. Thats why we have a caste system. Used to be really strict. Those of us who are born cross-caste usually are cross-trained, as i have been."

She nods at that, satisfied by her explanation, and looks at the others to make sure they get it too. then she goes on to talk about her implants.

"We get the implants early because military caste active service starts at eighteen, and training starts pretty much as soon as we can talk. It is harsh, from the outside. From our perspective though, the safety of the Habitats is in our hands. Also, the training to operate the GCD's is quite difficult."
She pauses, and a brief flurry of psychically transmitted information, possibly a query of some kind, followed by its answer.
"My implants are mostly physical, muscular enhancements.. and things like that. There are others of course but they are more subtle in general. Its difficult to explain without going into detail about Lumina physiology and its differences. We start out with quite different capabilities."

Yishuya's seen this before and so, with a smile and a gentler variation on the hand-waving no-stop-it's-not-what-you-think gesture, he replies to Shen. "Oh, no, you misunderstand. We really are quite honored by your offer to build--we're spacers, so we know what that sort of granting of volume and mass allowance means. I was just chuckling at how we spent some time upgrading a structure not really built for it to the amusement of some, but that's fine--as for the Scolopendrans like the good Lieutenant here," he says with a slight cant of his head "due to their assimilation of a particular alien culture they don't react too well to exposed teeth, like grinning. My fault, I assure you. I must be getting sloppy." The good ol' farm boy qualities of his nature come out with a wink. "Still, I'll do what I can to override the Lieutenant's tastes when it comes to building. You'd probably prefer our federal-level Googie preference rather than the stereotypical Scolopendran decent-looking bunker philosophy."

Parveen looks over, smirks, and shrugs. "He's right about the grinning, and probably right about the building. It'd probably be incongruous either way, just moreso if I had a hand in it."

"Different strokes, I guess," Ou-yang shrugs. "I figure we'll find out the gritty details sooner or later, probably once the Ell-tee finds an appropriate briefing for us to go to--if we're going to be working together and all."

"All of our internal augments are volitional," the Seldane replies, "because the fact of the matter is that once one's in a powersuit the difference between meat and optimized meat--to put it how the mechs put it--is marginal. Given that the suits increase and to some extent standardize our strength and reaction times to near-mech levels..." Like many Infantrymen, she has mastered the art of shrugging eloquently before continuing in the affectionate way that older women with good senses of humor tend to take towards younger women. "Apparently ideas for newer toys are in the works but I don't have the security clearance to know 'em, much less you."

"If you want specialization taken to an extreme," Corporal Chastakorlenka breaks his personal quiet with an interest of his, "look at the Spacedy Ants. When specialization leads to... damnit, what's the word... speciesation. Now that's dedication."

Tera nods at the reference to the powersuits standardising things. "We dont always wear them, particularly in spec-ops. Irregular units dont always have that luxury."

At the mention of 'speciesation' however she falls awkwardly silent, and looks down at her plate.

Shen keeps an ear on that conversation, and looks over at the mention of speciesation, perhaps ready to interject if it looks like it was going down a difficult track. However he keeps up with the conversation he is allready having.

He nods at the talk about teeth and so-on, but seems to find little to say about the matter. Lumina seem not to be overly expressive people, at least not in terms of facial expression and body language. Instead he continues along the construction topic.

"I apologise if you have put a great deal of effort into these buildings. perhaps you could continue to use them in some capacity? I am afraid that we do tend to have very light structures.. the practicalities of large bulky structures in what is a highly shielded, totally controlled interior space is limited. But we do appreciate that many terrestrial peoples feel exposed in such flimsy looking buildings. The same feeling perhaps that we have when we are planetside. while its hard to tell in the Gardens, we are still aware of the Habitat all around us. To be without its protective presence can be discomforting."

Chastorlenka blinks. "Was it something I said?"

"Good job, boss," River mutters with a smirk.

"Nothing we can't take down even more easily than we put up," the diplomatic officer replies smoothly, "just because it's just a touch out of our way doesn't mean we can't adapt to it. Just a slightly ironic surprise is all--no one can say that we don't have an institutionalized sense of humor about some things."

"Institutionalized, maybe, but certainly not official," Parveen quips.

Tera mumbles something and runs her fingers through her hair.. The pain in her eyes is immediately evident, a deep and bitter pain. She raises her voice then, just enough to be heard.

"We are different species, the Castes. The changes wrought on each of us by Hyperion changed us fundamentally, and our genes are sufficiently different even between the castes themselves that all cross-caste are infertile."

She looks down again at her plate, then laughs. A harsh sound that causes her mother to look over her shoulder at the girl, a concerned look on her face.

"There are therapies of course, but they remove what makes me special. What makes me.. who i am. All i can hope for is a clone child."

Her open-ness is perhaps as startling as her emotional state relative to the other Lumina. The others show little or no emotion on their faces and little in their voices. She can be read like an open book.

"Strange i know. Im thirteen, i shouldnt be thinking about kids. But i am a soldier. Marines have a... relatively short life expectancy. The galaxy is a volatile and dangerous place. Pirates are common in the fringe systems my people wander."

She shrugs then, and it is more expressive a gesture of acceptance of the inevitable than should be possible for what is, in any normal society, a child. Then she flicks her hair away from her face, and stands. In that moment, something changes. The young girl is replaced by something harder. Where there had been a child, now stood an adult. All trace of the sadness, and bitterness of moments before gone, she bows to those she had been conversing with.

"I should be going, i have space combat training with Uru in an hour, and i have hardly spent any time with her today. She may sulk."

The last is said almost playfully, softening the otherwise somewhat formal tone of her departure with a quirk of a smile. Her seriousness lasts as far as the gate, where she waves and runs off into the trees. Her augmented muscles mean that she kicks up loose soil and leaves and takes off at nearly 30 miles an hour.

After maintaining professional composure long enough to automatically mutter a polite goodbye, Yishuya Lythimnas is shocked.

Diplomatic Officer Lythimnas is also shocked, but not to the extent of having any sort of control of Yishuya's demeanor. The look on his face is not the personal yet academic shock of someone whose international relations souffle has just fallen. No, it's the good-ol-boy shepherd who's just seen a little girl/young lady cry that's taken aback, full of concern for the poor girl and clearly not at all pleased at the corporal. His next look, directed at the noncom, could turn Shaitan's hair white no matter how infinitesimally short an instant it lasts before he turns quickly and contritely to Arén. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. We weren't to know we were treading on shaky ground but I assure you it won't happen again."

Castorlenka gets the feeling of being a sponge on an industrial diamond press as Private River to his right and Lieutenant Banane to his left lean in towards him perceptibly, neither one looking particularly happy about this latest turn of events.

"Hopefully there's something we can do to make amends?" This from Yishuya again, still polite, yet something in his voice hinting it's a personal concern rather than any particular national doctrine of being the good guys.

Shen opens his mouth to answer, but doesnt.. Instead he looks to Arén.

Tera's mother is looking out at the trees, as if she may catch another glimpse of her daughters retreating back. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but her expression is carefully blank, showing none of the heartache that she feels. She turns to the others and shakes her head.

"You could not have known."

IT is evident in her tone, and the way she looks away, that she blames herself for what has happened.

"We should not hacve brought you here until you knew more about us.. I should not have brought her here. She will not stay upset for long, and i daresay she will be back soon enough. She really does have a class soon, and her ship may sulk if not seen to first."

However, her voice remains concerned, and she falls silent after, looking off into the middle distance with her mouth a thin line. Shen, seeming eager to break the potential awkward silence before it brews, coughs and redirects the conversation slightly.

"I.. take it we have run into a cultural difference. I have allready heard that you" He indicates the Diplomatic Officer with a wave of his hand. "Changed your proffession from that of a farmer. Is such a thing common? It seems like an extroadinary expenditure of time and resources to retrain."

He had cottoned on to the fact that the majority of the ToY delegation seemed to have chosen their roles rather than been born to them, and his curiosity is evident in his tone. There is no judgement in his manner, as he is aware that his people are in a minority where that is concerned. Perhaps he is just taking the opportunity to field a 'soft' question, and move on.

Meanwhile, the artificial sun is descending through the sky, a beautiful sunset forming on the horizon. Bugs start calling from the trees, and the birds, and birlike creatures that had flitted through the skies descend, replaced in turn by a different set of creatures, nocturnal predators that hunt amongst the trees.

From the strange paperlike outer walls emerge small insects similar to fireflies, they flit about above the walls, and venture into the compound casting a blue glow as they go. Others can be seen in the trees, and they rise up on thermals, up into the artificial sky where they hang like little living stars. Between them and their fellows that float like will-o-wisps in the trees it gives the encroaching night a faery-tale quality. There is no moon in the sky, nor any simulated stars other than the fireflies.

"Well," Yishuya says, scratching the back of his head, "it was bound to happen at some point. Hopefully our cultural differences won't be too much to overcome--we're not offended at all, not even if you feel it was too early to bring us here, but we are sorry for whatever trouble we've caused." He leans forward a bit to get an eyeball on the rest of his group; the lieutenant, civil servants, and soldiers nod. Chastorlenka looks especially penitent, although he's trying to hide it behind a stereotypical sergeant's air of invulnerability. "As for me... shepherd, actually, although there was a little bit of farming and some other ranching on the side. I grew up on the pasture but as the littlest of five brothers so I really wasn't exactly required to keep up the family business so I was the one that really put additional effort into school."

His more wordly diction is matched by a slight slipping into accent; if he's talking about himself, he's going to put the human touch on it. "Still, I grew up a flatlander on Earth so the resources and situation allowed for more luxuries that way, I suppose you could say. It's common enough where resources are plentiful enough and the culture allows it. I can't think of a proper command-economy or lineage-driven worker culture in the Trium other than Zero-One, but the mechanoids are used to being built with a purpose in mind as long as it doesn't keep them from spending their off-hours... off-cycles? how they'd like."

He'd like to ask how lineage-derived worker bases deal with attrition, but from what he heard 'reproducing before getting killed' or 'cloning' seem to be the reasonable answers and given how the last time the conversation veered towards the propagation of the species things went poorly he doesn't want to take the chance. "That being said, there are a lot of family businesses and careers out there. Dominion vintners are almost entirely run in families, for example. Most of my brothers are still herding sheep on the family farm."

Banane nods inbetween watching the fireflies. "My parents were military; it's what I was most comfortable with and so I joined up too. There's quite a few military families in the Segments. After a few generations it just becomes custom." The artificial sunset reminds her of the artificial LED suns in the underground domes of Titan, but the fact there are no stars bothers her slightly. Admittedly, the designers of the Caves of Steel didn't bother to recreate Terrestrial constellations or the star view from Earth; the stars were pretty obviously little lights projected on the dome from the same machine that projected clouds. They were still there, though, for dead-reckoning navigation and timekeeping purposes; there was a 'pole star' pointing north, various made-up constellations rose at predetermined hours, and one could tell where one was from the distortion caused by their permission inside the one-kilometer radius dome. It all served the same utilitarian purpose as the simulated sky during daytime: not induce agoraphobia and yet be patently fake enough to inspire people to go outside when they could.

Besides, Saturn dominates the night sky over Scolopendra thanks to tidal lock. The nights are fantasy-art pretty. "I don't want to get into any more trouble," the lieutenant says tentatively, "but why are there no stars?"

The two Lumina nod. "So do we, So do we."

They listen carefully to what he says. Both of them this time rather than just Shen, with Arén mingling. Both show a certain amount of distaste for the concept of mechanoids, but givfen the total lack of inorganic technology in their society it would perhaps be expected.

Shen seems to be expecting Banane's question, since he responds to it almost immediately.

"The Gardens are a very accurate simulation of a planetside environment, and during the day you would be hard pressed to tell that you were on a ship. The lack of stars is a reminder. Besides that, the stars are not very practical. We have no need of them for navigation as Lumina are constantly aware of their position within the Habitat, and the fireflies give us something pretty to watch in the sky."

He looks up at the fireflies as he mentions them, and then looks up at the empty sky.

"There was a time when the stars outside the ship were mapped out onto the sky dome, so that one seemed to be looking through the hull and into space. I think that eventually, with the sky changing completely every few months the people just found it an uncomfortable reminder that we are a race without a home. Iris turned them off some years ago. It still reminds us that we are wanderers, but at least now it is a familiar sky, rather than a strange and constantly shifting one."

The diplomatic officer nods, reasserting himself into official mode. "That makes sense. Hopefully you won't have to wander anymore from here unless you desire to--we're willing to act as diplomatic go-betweens to that effect, if you'd like. We're something of an established entity and would gladly vouch for new friends."

The military representatives remain quiet--the lieutenant because she has nothing to say, although she nods in agreement with Yishuya, the corporal because he's already caused one incident already and has no desire to cause another, and the privates because they're currently nonplussed with their noncom--yet listen respectfully all the same.

Shen nods at that. "Thank you. Your aid in facilitating our integration is welcome indeed." When he smiles, and he does, it is wide and earnest. By far the most expressive he has been in the entire time he has been speaking with them. Then he gets the telltale eye-flicker that shows he has received a substantial packet of information.

"I think perhaps it is time to conclude this meeting.. You are, of course, welcome to wander as you like and talk to whomever you wish. Arén is at your disposal, and will guide you wherever you wish to go. She is very knowledgeable and i am sure she can answer any question, within reason."

He stands, and bows deeply, a mark of respect both for the man, and the institution he represents. A second, slightly shallower bow to the others to show that there are no hard feelings.

Arén shows no sign of leaving quite yet, though she does shift slightly to clear her legs of the table.

OOC: Your welcome to explore the Habitat if you like, lord knows id enjoy the opportunity to flesh things out! :D Otherwise we can leave it till we have something specific to do, or continue the chatting with Arén, or whatever.

All present rise and return the gesture, with appropriate parts respect and self-chastizement as depends on the person in question. With that, the little semiofficial get-together is semiofficially over, of sorts. The troopers politely excuse themselves along with the civil servants and start cleaning up, aided by the lieutenant. No one can say that the Ticks' officer corps actively avoids getting its hands dirty, plus it leaves the diplomatic officer free to do his job without any part of the military being around to make things more difficult.

As it is, something has been politely offered and so it's only being a good guest to accept gracefully. Besides, every space habitat he's been to so far has been a new experience... even the utilitarian 'Pendran ones. "I really would like to stretch my legs a bit--seeing how we'll be stationed here for the long-term I may as well get acclimated to my new surroundings." He's off the clock, sort of, and so can be a slightly more natural--but no less diplomatic.

Arén rises as they do, not particularly to bid Shen goodbye but seemingly instead in anticipation of her role as tour guide. She smiles and looks pleased that they have chosen to explore, and perhaps slightly suprised as well.

"Great! Do you want to see something specific or just to wander?"

Meanwhile Shen has left quite quickly, hurrying in the direction of the Pill terminals. He still manages to look dignified and graceful, but his grace has lost the casual inherent quality that it had while he was relaxed.

By this point everyone is a mixture of too busy or too tired to see Shen rushing away with a purpose. Feelings are currently mixed; the GenTec'ers seem like good people, which makes a diplomatic misstep on their first day (on our first day here!) all the more cringe-inducing. The corporal neither can be nor really needs to be dressed down, being both too ignorant at first and sufficiently self-chastizing for blame or punishment, but he is given a wide berth nonetheless.

Meanwhile, Yishuya shrugs a bit and smiles. He looks ready to go--if slightly tired--as he stands about watching the fireflies. "Being new here, I don't know where it is to see. Wandering would suit me just fine; anything more specific I defer to your superior knowledge."

"Well, wandering sounds like a good place to start. You do however seem tired.. Are you sure you want to do this today? I am at your disposal after all, not the other way around."

She smiles, and a twinkle of amusement lights her eyes. Despite her offer of respite she walks over, the smooth power of the armour suit giving her a fluid hunters gait.

"Habitat will still be here come day-cycle. Dont feel hurried on our account."
She comes to a stop with her back to the gate, in the at-ease stance. It looks natural on her. The GCD's muster from their various posts and stand in a line at her sides, weapons slung accross their backs. While she and her unit have been present all along, they have never looked more like a military unit than they do now. Something in the air has changed. Not significantly, but slightly. A tension that didnt exist before.

"Hurried, oh no, not at all." The diplomatic officer chuckles and shakes his head. "This usually happens when I travel. I get the usual physical lag but I'm still excited--in a good way, mind--about the trip. Taking a walk helps settle that down and I'll actually go to sleep when I get to bed, rather than thinking and collating in a fugue state all night." Despite his friendly rambling, he's still a well-trained diplomat and so the tension doesn't go completely unnoticed. "Of course, I don't wish to impose if something more important's come up.

"Though if the offer's still open..." He smiles good-naturedly. "'Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today,' they say."

She nods, seeming content enough, but still slightly tense. after a moment of thinking she speaks, falling into an easy going tour-guide patter.

"Right then! Lets get going. Nothings going on that requires my personal attention, but there is a little unrest at the moment. Some kind of transmission came in that has instigated small riots on some of the habitation levels. Would you like to wander the gardens for a while, or explore some other parts of the Habitat? A couple of the more affluent Habitation decks are easily accessable from where we are, as are the docking bays you entered through and the Lumina familial estates. Further afield there are the manufacturing levels, and the rest of the habitation levels, the ships Cortex, which is like the bridge, and the power and nutrient generation organs, which are pretty interesting. In my humble opinion anyway."

She smiles at that, and her expression implies that not everyone may share that view.

"Wherever you feel like going, you tell me and ill lead us there. Meanwhile lets take a stroll around the Gardens and ill show you some of the things that we use it for."

Arén's general aura of tenseness causes the diplomatic officer to frown slightly out of friendly concern. When the admission of 'unrest' comes out, he simply nods but does not offer his usual help on behalf of king and country. The Trium can be meddlesome, certainly, but is nowhere near the interventionist Solar Police organization it tends to be credited with being. Something as internalized and specific as unrest is most certainly not something he wants to touch, except as a disinterested third party in negotiations or the usual humanitarian food-water-and-medicine work. Still, if his host is going to concentrate on leading him about despite her best judgment, apparently, then it would be rude to decline at this point.

If he could have his druthers Yishuya would like to see how the various classes live and work but reasonably unrest could make that desire untenable for the moment. After taking a few moments to think about it, he figures an alternate solution will do. "Since you mentioned it, I think I'd like to see those Habitation decks and the estates--see how people live around here and all. Failing that, or maybe after, the support organs really do sound interesting--I was a farmer, after all, and so there's some professional interest in seeing how my job is done with a specially-made organ for the purpose." The last few phrases are said with a half-smile, humor not quite pronounced enough to be a full-on joke but still warm enough to avoid being wry.

Arén nods. The tension in her stance evaporates and is replaced by a proffessional calm as her GCD's perform a neat about-turn and fall out, leading the way down the forested path and back in the direction of the Pill terminal.

"Great, follow me then. We will go through some of the quieter habitation decks on our way to the nutrient farms. Hopefully they will stay quiet."

She then heads off after her constructs, rearranging her weapon so it falls by her side within easy reach. The night is still and quiet as it was before. The will-o-wisp swarms of fireflies dance around the armoured figures, their blue glow scattering off their armour and giving them a strange, fey quality.

Yishuya scratches the back of his neck and follows along, no matter how ominous 'hopefully they will stay quiet' sounds. This is not exactly a comfortable situation to be in, and this diplomatic officer knows from Corps stories that generally soldiers don't like babysitting noncombatants in situations like these. On the other hand, the invitation was offered and he doesn't want to offend his host by not accepting, especially after previous missteps.

Unless, of course, it was supposed to be one of those polite but mostly rhetorical invitations which are supposed to be equally politely declined due to the hour/to let food settle/because the cat needs to be fed.

There are times Lythimnas hates his job.

"It's not overly important, so if I'm going to be an, uh, unwelcome distraction from other duties or things you need to attend to I don't want to impose."

Arén seems oblivious to Yishuya'd dilemma, and barely even slows.
"I am not required." is her only answer.

She leads them swiftly back through the trees to the pill terminal, the wide paved square it occupied still dotted with people. Nobody seems concerned that there are 'disturbances', but then they all seem to be Lumina, without an unbanded person in sight. A pill stands open and waiting for them.

"Unfortunately the only way in and out of the Gardens and between levels is by using the Transport Pods, so we will not be able to walk all of the time. Perhaps however, that will be something of a relief, there is a fair amount of ground to cover if you wish to see the food production organs."

She steps onto the Pill and her GCD's immediately form up along one wall. She herself takes one of the deep and comfortable looking seats near the center. Though she gives no visible signal, the transport pod disengages from its berth and seals once everyone is inside.

((OOC: all this is assuming the others follow.. if they dont, cut off the post after "i am not required"))

Lythimnas sighs subvocally and jogs along behind Arén to keep up with her. This is why he doesn't like the military; military people tend to get so terse and unempathic in stressful situations. He understands the Darwinian pressures responsible for such, of course, but that doesn't mean he has to like it in the least. Would it at least hurt a little to show a little common concern?

Hrm. No need to think like that, Josh. It's not your home currently having a mild 'civil disturbance' and you've no right to judge. A little dose of relativism and empathy gets him back in his game, but despite that he doesn't know whether he should be comforted or concerned that none of the upper caste he sees seem very concerned. Hell, he doesn't know whether he should be concerned that all he's seeing are upper caste, given how the suggestion of such social stratification amongst a human(oid) culture runs somewhat contrary to his rather progressive upbringing. He's mostly absorbed in his own thoughts until he sits down in the transport pill, where awkward silence descends like dead air in college radio. Okay, this isn't being productive. Let's try to direct the mood a little then.

"So, ah, I'm finding it fascinating how you and, well, this entire place have adapted to the spacefaring life," he says, angling a bit to find his stride. "It must have impacted your culture too--your music, your art, your literature. What's it like?" Asking someone what their culture is like when they're immersed in it tends to bring a blank stare. It's something understood on a level more basic than speech. "What are the common themes explored or methods use? Is it more scholarly--structured--or more extemporaneous?"

(OOC: Everyone else is busy cleaning and atoning for their sins.)

Aren considers the question as the transport pill begins its smooth peristatic descent back into the bowels of the Habitat.

"Difficult question for me to answer.. We are so adapted to spacefaring life because we have had to be. Our art i suppose has not had to make the same transition, and we still have all of the conventional art forms of music, poetry, prose.. painting. Most of our visual art is quite abstract, since our environment is fairly constant. Theater and music are both thriving artforms, you will probably experience both at some point."

She then sits silent for a few minutes as she searches for some other thing to say.

"Amongst the Luminate Castes, different castes seem to preffer different forms of art. My caste is the main source of Luminate poetry, where the Diplomat castes tend to favour theater and visual arts, and the Pilots are the main producers of music. The Humans are also a driving artistic force on all fronts except Skien sensory artworks. Their art is often very politically charged, and their artists activists for various causes."

((OOC: sorry kinda keep drifting from pod to pill. gonna be pill from now on since thats the way it started.))

"Well, I do hope I get to experience all that art someday. It's not really unusual that art has split up somewhat in a caste-driven culture; what is surprising is that the cuts are so clearly defined." Yishuya smiles as he thinks, his train of thought not perfectly matching his speech. 'Politically charged' art? From what he's seen, there isn't much in the way of factionalization... but, of course, he hasn't seen much. Talking about anything politically charged right about now would probably be a definitively bad thing, especially given previously mentioned civil unrest. Still, that is the sort of information that will be useful in coming up with a defined strategy towards shaping future relations and it's the therefore the sort of information Yishuya desperately needs. Now, how to learn about these activists and their causes without asking directly? And how to make it flow naturally from the conversation?

"There's probably some osmosis through caste lines," he continues, theorizing aloud, "but still that one branch of society should do predominantly one form and another branch a different form is somewhat new on me... hmmm... no, no it isn't." He shakes his head and smiles. "Same thing used to happen in feudal and hierarchic systems. One particular thing would be noble, the other base, and so the nobility would do the first and the commoners the second. It still may not have been quite so clear cut, but it's there. I guess it can be expected when there isn't much in the way of social mobility to cause ideas and impressions to mingle a bit--do forgive me, I'm thinking aloud a bit. It's one of my weaknesses when the hour's late.

"What is odd, I suppose, is that the human castes practice all of the art forms of the upper caste save the--what did you call it--Skien art? That doesn't suggest a noble/base distinction like history suggests but perhaps more of a social-purpose distinction. Scribes should write sagas while potters should make vases, that sort of thing. I guess I would be able to understand better if I knew more particularly how the local human art differs from Lumina art."

"Humans do not follow the same social system as we do. They have no caste distinctions and so their art follows their culture i suppose. The castes in Luminate society are equal but seperate. Each has its own area of expertise which it dominates completely. The only Lumina caable of crossing those boundaries are the children of cross-caste couples, like my daughter. Humans pursue things based on individual prefference and talent, and the same family group could have several different proffesions."

she shifts her wieght on the chair, and looks out accross the pill's passenger cabin, at the various Trium members, and also at the Luminate civilians. The pill had not been requisitioned exclusively like the first one had been and there are several people around unrelated to their own excursion.

"In a way, Humans are a semi-independant group. they have their own laws and their own governing council which answers only to its Habitat. Part of the reason we are having unrest is because the Human council has begun to loose its grip on separatist elements. The somewhat anarchic social system our Humans follow leads to dissident groups remaining undetected for far too long."

The distaste in her voice is slight but definitely there. The annoyance of someone who finds themselves having to clean up the mess that someone else has left for them. While she does not seem to judge the humans riht to be different, she does seem to hold some grudge against their government.

"Hm. I'd think that the highly specialized nature of your habitat it--her?--self would tend to prevent any anarchist tendencies in the population." Yishuya shrugs. "I don't really know myself. From what I've studied of spacer cultures they may tend towards anarchism but usually it's 'rational anarchy,' to borrow a Heinleinism. Self-interest still commands cooperation in a spacer setting and so while one can expect a high order of individuality the natural external existential threats of a space environment generally tends to create taboos that, while not really maintaining an order, tend to produce populations that protect themselves. That is to say, activities that threaten the whole should be quickly squelched by standalones acting in seeming concert over a range broader than they really are." He chuckles softly and shrugs again. "Sorry. My sociology classes are poking through again. We're not about to tell you how to run your society. We'd just like to do what we can to make it run more smoothly, if you're interested or would allow, as a neutral facilitator for discussions and the like. If, of course, there is to be discussion."

He figures saying too much more on that account would be counterproductive. "Still, if the Luminate caste is needed to interface with Eris and her systems, what would your Human populations agitate for? One can't really say that the system you have isn't a natural and necessary adaptation to the situation at hand... or at least, so it seems to an outside observer. My apologies if I assume too much."

"They agitate because they believe that we control them. They come up with strange ideas and conspiracy theories. Ridiculous ones mostly, but they do not know better, they live within Iris yet never really meet her. To them she is like a god, always there and always watching."

Arén smiles in a slightly patronising way. There is a quasi-religious gleam in her eyes as she talks about Iris, though not a manic one.

"In reality they typically rebel in small ways, strikes and small scale riots usually. this is by far the most concerted effort we have ever seen, and even then it is disorganised and unfocused. they have no real aim other than to make their dissatisfaction heard. They are... a rabble."

Yishuya smirks ever so slightly. "And they've no other way to let their dissatisfaction be heard than la solution française?" He shrugs. "Still, the offer's on the table. We've got experience with that sort of thing, as you'd probably imagine."

Time to change the subject. "So, where are we off to now, and where is it in relation to, er, where we were? I really must thank you for the opportunity to get out and explore a little," Lythimnas says with a sincere smile. "Just between you and me, most of us D.O.s are somewhat more adventurous than the directives concerning protocol allow us to show most of the time. It's why we sign up, after all, besides the duty and service and all that."

If aren gets the refference to the french revolution, she shows no sign. Instead she glosses over it. Her only reply is to the latter statement.

"We are in the lower central portion of Iris. It is a maintainance access only section that lies above one of the main Human habitation zones. Outside of the pill transports there is no breathable air or gravity, and the fluid pressure is sufficient to kill off most complex lifeforms. Alot of the Habitats main arteries run through this area, and its also one of the breeding grounds for our ships. We will pass through a Cruiser hatchery any minute now actually."

She sits back for a few moments, looking at one of the walls expectantly before they suddenly turn transparent, revealing a slightly hazy view of a large internal space where shoals of dark shapes flit about larger objects, recogniseable as Gentec vessels. Its like a sperms-eye view of the womb.

"The groups of smaller ones are the newly hatched pups. They stay in the amniotic fluid until their shells harden sufficiently for the outside. My Daughters ship was hatched here. He only fledged two months ago."

Even as she speaks, there is a massive psychic wail, like a whales cry only mental. It tears through the pill with such force that even those with no psychic aptitude may get hackles, and several of the GCD's sway. Arén winces, but seems unpreturbed.

"What you may have just felt was one of the flegelings. They have big thoughts, and until they learn better they have big voices too."

Yishuya shivers a bit, but has the psychic attunement of a particularly inactive rock and so doesn't quite put two and two together until Arén explains why he just got a chill and the hairs on the back of his neck are still prickly. "Ah, I see. I suppose this bit is generally... well, I suppose 'automated' wouldn't be the right word, would it?"

Now, there are reasons why he isn't a doctor. He's not what one would call squeamish--he was a shepherd, after all, and field veternary surgery was one of his required skills--but this sort of inside-the-belly-of-the-beast feeling does make him somewhat less than comfortable. Up until this, his experiences inside the organic ship have been rationalizable in his subconscious as simply strange architecture or field expedience on a massive scale. This... not so much. "Astounding, really. You probably think it's rather mundane, but it's quite new to me." He finds himself wondering where the raw materials for this sort of thing come from; he decides he can find out later. "How long does it take for them to, ah, get their shells?"

"Automated?" She thinks about that for a bit.

"Only if you consider sex and procreation automated.. Our ships are alive, and they breed and so-on like any other species. The smaller ones do so much like coral do in the ocean, releasing clouds of gametes which then fertilise one another and create ship-spawn. The larger ones are more... personal about it. Cruiser size vessels take about 20 years to reach maturity, but they become spaceworthy at about twelve. The smaller the vessel, the shorter the gestation period. Drones take anywhere from a matter of days for the larger ones in a hatchery similar to this, to an hour or so for the smaller combat drones."

She looks out one last time at the hatchery before the pill leaves the viewing area and the walls again become opaque. The phychic cacophany soon fades as well.

"The ships have little to do with their own young until they fledge, then cruisers tend to become very parental indeed. It is the parent ships that train their young in their appointed tasks. Ships of frigate class and above are sentient individuals, and they care for their partners and their young. Drones are not, and they merely follow the commands of their controller until they die."

"That's why I said 'automated' wouldn't be the right word." The diplomatic officer smiles. "I also don't want to be insulting any intelligences by making analogies to animal husbandry, which I do have personal experience in. Still, makes for a curious ecosystem, all told."

"Yes, it does. Do you have any other questions? we have some time before we reach the habitation levels."

The rythmic movement of the pill becomes more pronounced as it once again starts to pick up speed, and several of the more bored looking civilian travellers seem to be edging in for a better look, peering out from behind their reading material and so forth. None of them seem much intimidated by the Gentec military presence, but they all seem slightly wary of the delegation. Arén clearly notices the attention, but makes no move to discourage their advances.

Scratching the back of his neck, Lythimnas glances back with a slight shrug and a half-smile. He didn't quite expect wandering out on his lonesome to bother the natives so, but, with all that was apparently going on some sense of paranoia is probably perfectly natural. No offense intended, none taken, everyone goes home more or less happy. "Well, I have been wondering how an ecosystem like this has to work. Most space colonies are more-or-less closed systems, as I understand it, and so if Iris here is producing ships that leave the system, that's naturally a reduction in, uh, biomass? That means that there has to be some way in replacing that mass in order to sustain the environment. Then there's things like energy balances and the like, but I've never been good enough on the technical aspects of those things to really discuss them in detail." He chuckles a bit. "I'm really not the 'verse's greatest spacer, sorry."

Their curiosity does abate, but remains as a background presence. Though they may not be actually moving around to get a better vantage, they are definitely paying attention. Arén continues to ignore the attention, as if by blocking it out it may dissapear.

"I am a soldier, not a scientist but from what i know it is mining for the most part. The swarms of drones that mass around the habitats are like worker drones, feeding the Habitat fuel and materials, that it then processes directly or indirectly to sustain itself. Also, very little is wasted. Citizens return to their Habitat of orogin to die if they are able, and their remains are reclaimed. all waste, even heat is recycled or used in some way. There are entire ecosystems of micro-organisms specifically designed to digest the raw materials we harvest from space. Even the Garden serves to process a range inorganic compounds into useable forms."

"Fair enough," the diplomat says with a nod. "I'm not much of a scientist either, but that makes sense to me." He'd like to turn the conversation back towards culture a bit, but doesn't want to fall back into the quagmire of discussing dissent, which due to current circumstances is probably somewhat impolite. "An astounding achievement, by any standards--setting all this up, I mean, and getting it to work. If it's not a taboo subject, could you tell me more about your history?"

Arén looks slightly uncomfortable with the idea, but decides to talk about it anyway. She settles a bit more into her chair, then looks the diplomat in the eye.
"Our knowledge about our history is far from complete. At some point, many generations ago.. there was a cataclysm. an enormous disaster that annihilated the island that Gentec was founded upon and flinging its occupants into a void."

She gestures intricately, and speaks quite clearly and rythmically, almost singing. The effect is slightly hypnotic.

""Many died in that void, but a lucky few were rescued, by a Being that called itself Hyperion. Hyperion was a Habitat, the size of a planet it was crafted by an alien civilisation now long dust. its biospheres housed alien ecosystems that had ceased to exist on their native planets millions of years ago, and it now drifted through space feeding from gas giants and dying stars at the edges of the galaxy."

"Hyperion was not capable of anything more than primitive communication with the people from Earth, it had saved them only to watch them fail utterly to survive in the alien world they were thrust into. Being an expert in quantum physics avails you not at all when your trying to hunt an eight legged herbivore the size of a mammoth with sticks and stones, and metal was scarce to the point of non-existant."

"To solve this issue, Hyperion created the Lumina.. a race of hybrids with the bodies of Humans and the neural structure and thought patterns of a habitat. Capable of communicating with the Vessel and its subroutines, these new 'humans' had a selective advantage over their normal counterparts, but they were instilled with a paternal regard for their charges, and quickly became the leading class in the small but now growing Human community."

"The Luminate presence accelerated the growth and development of the Human civilisation greatly. They were soon able to fill the biospheres and spread out into the habitation levels, but they were growing too numerous, too destabilizing for Hyperions liking. So again, the Being known as Hyperion stepped in directly, and he created the Second Generation. A series of smaller secondary habitats to house the growing human population."

"When the second generation grew large enough to house the humans and their luminate counterparts, hyperion transported them across, and then disappeared, never to be seen again by anyone outside of gentecs ruling council. The new habitats housed the human population successfully for many hundreds of years, but eventually the people of Gentec grew restless. The legend of Sol System grew with the overcrowding problems that inevitably arose. Eventually, the Lumina were forced to begin their own series of new habitats, these the first to be crafted by human hands without the aid of Hyperion."

"These, the youngest of the Habitats, are the ones now occupying Sol. Iris, Eris and Hephaestus. Each created with a specific role in mind, unlike their unspecialised counterparts. The 'Third Generation' also marked the fifth period in Gentecs history. They began to explore the galaxy, and seek out their ancestral homelands."

"Many hundreds of years passed.. Scientists predictions of where the Sol system should be after such a long time were massively incorrect. For a while, it was feared that whatever cataclysm had destroyed the Gentec Island, had also wiped out the rest of the system."

"After quite some time backtracking down the predicted path they found familiar space.. and began finally to home in on Sol. not where they had expected it, but instead remarkably close to where it had been when they left."

"It was at the last jump that we ran into the Dwa'nayzha. Initially fairly friendly, they quickly turned hostile after they found out that we manipulated genes. Apparently Biotechnology was against their religion. Not content with merely forcing us to leave, they pursued us and actively tried to prevent us escaping. It nearly destroyed Iris performing the series of overextended jumps to escape."

Its fairly clear there is stuff she isnt saying, but its as complete as one could expect on the spot.

Yishuya listens intently, still finding it utterly fantastic that anyone managed to survive such a thing. Then again, people have an amazing resilience when it comes to existential and he's always been a sucker for a good story, which only helps him get drawn into the narrative. Then he remembers he has a job to do, sort of, and that's to be helpful. "Well, Earth does happen to have plenty of room, although the reason why is somewhat disconcerting. Otherwise we've got habitat space available if population pressures are too much of a concern and I know our Galaxy Exploration Command and Triumvirate Interstellar Trading have been exploring outsystem and have a few potentially habitable planets still unclaimed. Population pressure is something we know about and we'd like to do anything we can to help."

"Overcrowding is not a big problem as of yet, though we will likely set up some kind of outpost on Earth, since the Human population seem determined to have a human-run colony there. Luminate interests do not lie with planetside habitation however, We are a race born in space, and most among us agree that our species will die there. That said, having a place we can call home is also a comfort few would turn down. It would be more of a... mecca for our people than a physical homeland however. The spiritual home that Hyperion was unwilling to provide."

She folds her hands on her lap, perhaps a signal that the storytelling is complete, and then raises her head slightly, as if listening.

"We have reached the habitation levels. Disturbances here are said to be minimal so we will get off and walk to a different line. You will get to see some of our human citizens, and their homes and we will cut a dogleg out of our journey."

The pill slows noticeably before coming to a stop, and the GCD's form up on the door as it opens. disturbances may be minimal, but it doesnt hurt to be careful. Arén herself stands only when the doors are fully open and the civilians have allready left, then waits for Yishuya to do the same before gesturing for him to follow.

The diplomatic officer nods and stands up, habitually brushing off the tops of his legs and adjusting the wide blue fabric belt of his uniform as he straightens out and follows along. "Well understood, ma'am. It's just my job to be helpful, is all." Smiling and shrugging disarmingly, he joins her behind the line of trooper... drones, perhaps? He tries to make it look natural, but besides the usual three M.I. he's never needed what amounts to a bodyguard before; this is both new and unusual to him so to say he's facing it with complete calm would be something of an untruth.

Still, nothing to do but onward and forward, or some such.

Arén smiles in return, not so much disarming as reassuring. Her posture is fairly relaxed given how tense she had been earlier, and she steps through the Pill doors without more than a moments hesitation.

Outside, it becomes evident why the phalanx of drones that had formed up around them is neccesary, though not out of any fear of attack.

The scene they are met by is one of bustleing activity. At first glance it looks little different than many earth cities, a wide avenue jammed with people and hemmed in with seemingly endless tiers of balconies and slender floating walkways. The enormity of the space above gives the illusion that it is open, and in fact clouds of vapour are visible far above, perhaps implying some kind of artificial weather system.

People are everywhere, humans judging by the absence of headbands, and they seem content to ignore the diplomat and his entourage. Instead they swarm in and out of doorways and haggle at stalls that line the avenue. Strange organic bus-like vehicles move slowly through the crowd, with people hanging off railings mountd on the outside of them as well as packing the cabins within, and the noise generated by the masses is almost deafening after the near-silence of the pill journey. The scene summons visions of 20th century arab or african marketplace but on a massive scale, and is certainly nothing like the restrained culture of the Gardens.

The drones press their way through the crowd, creating a bubble of space for Arén and Yishuya to occupy, a neccesary space as otherwise they would undoubtedly have been rapidly separated.

"Welcome to the Human habitation levels. This is the market district, hence the crowds. Further up are the actual habitation areas, on the balconies you can see. They are less crowded during the daytime, though the rush hours are fairly hectic. My husband and i lived here for nearly two years after my daughter was born. It was an enlightening experience, once you got used to the culture."

Yishuya's seen this before, once when he visited Titan. The Scolopendran Caves of Steel are a lot like this. Just because he's seen something similar though doesn't mean it still strikes him as slightly puzzling to see what seems like open space in what he knows is a confined volume, or crowds of people milling every which way in a busy evening get-places-do-things sort of way while his jet lag says that a nap sounds really good. When it comes to travel fatigue, it's all the little differences that add up to confuse a body. This is one of those times.

Still, he's a Diplomatic Officer. He's done this before, takes it like a trooper, secretly enjoys it (whether as a masochist or as savoring a trip sans drugs, he'll never say), and stays in step with Arén without missing too many beats. "Well, no worse than Kolkata or New York. The more things change," he says with a smile, looking around, peering up at the balconies and momentarily wishing he'd opted for optical implants just so he could see more. Just momentarily. "I've always enjoyed going to new places and living there for short periods. Explains my job, I guess. So I see where they live and do business; where do they work, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Humans have their own economy and to an extent their own technology." She talks animatedly as she walks, and indicates a couple of stalls selling various gadgets. there is a marked lack of feedstalls, but other than that it seems you can buy almost anything.

"We grant their companies licenses to retro-engineer our technology for human operators, and in return we get the funds to hire them out to work in the hangers, conduits and birthing chambers as technicians. In addition we also have a monopoly on all luxury foodstuffs. Everyone gets enough nutrient paste and tofu to survive, but who wants to live on nutritionally enriched tofu? As a result a kind of dual economy exists. They have their currency and their internal market, and we trade with them to get the cash to hire their workers. In the end i think it works out that about half are employed by the Lumina, and the other half works solely within the Human economy, designing manufacturing or selling various products. Then there are the artists. we will be passing through the artists quarter in a bit. Gentec Humans are passionate about art, and most patronise one or more artists in whatever capacity they are able to."

Sure enough, as they pass through the market areas and the crowds begin to thin, the walls and even floors start to become more colourful. Huge murals both abstract and objective cover most surfaces and banners hang from the balconies advertising the work of one or other of the more popular artists, and music winds down from the upper levels, mingling into a surreal buzz. People mill in and out of studios and many of the more affluent looking carry rolls and boxes.

"Our next transport is on the other side."

"Hm. I guess that makes sense. With resources probably highly regulated to one extent or another, you'd have to base an economy on intellectual property to some extent." Lythimnas pauses momentarily. "Royal 'you,' I guess. I figure things work differently amongst the Luminate caste. Still, you said you have a monopoly on luxury foods--anything greater than paste--and how do you enforce that? There's plenty of volume around here for sneaking a tomato garden or something under the radar, I'd think."

He shrugs and smiles. "Just curious. No larceny in my soul, really."

"There is a black market i am sure, but we hold all of the cards in that respect. There isnt much edible plant or animal life in outside of the Gardens, and the only thing you could grow anything in is hydroponic systems, human waste or composted nutrient paste. In short, such operations are difficult to hide. Iris is aware of everything, and though we do not interfere with the Humans lives that much, food is one of our ace cards and one we cannot afford to lose. All governments require leverage to prevent anarchy. Food and technology are ours. There are not enough Lumina to perform all the jobs that need to be done, or to keep order through force of arms. Besides, fear is at best a double edged sword."

She continues to progress through the district at a steady but unhurried pace, and the drones spread out, allowing a better view and also a closer look at the Human citizens, who were previously kept outside of their wall of armour.

There is something exotic about the people of Gentec, a tint to the skin, or a slant to the eyes that doesn't quite belong in any of the traditional racial denominations. in addition, like the lumina there is next to no pure metal or plastics anywhere. jewelry is either glass, shell or fibre and clothes are tied to the body with cords and sashes. Their clothes are colourful, sometimes to the point of being gaudy and it seems that feathers are a major status symbol among many of them.

Obesity seems almost non-existant and most of them look extremely healthy, and fairly fit, with a large number of them showing the scarred hands and toughened bodies of manual labour. However very few of them look ragged or unkempt. there is a sense of pride in these people, a strong sense of identity.

The other striking thing is that despite this being a race with highly advanced botechnology, none of them have obviously modified bodies, only the more subtle kind displayed by Arén's daughter. Their presence is evidenced by the occasional display of incredible strength or agility by the porters who work transporting scultures and materials to and from the artists studios.

Bread, miracle, and empire, Yishuya very silently thinks to himself in parts of his brain he keeps well walled-off from his facial expressions. Very Dostoevsky. "I'm certainly not here to argue against how you arrange your affairs or tell you how to do your job better," he says with a slight winning smirk, "just learn more about it. Certainly all governments need leverage, and this system hopefully works well enough for you and your people. Lord only knows that there are all sorts of stressors associated with spacer life and a bit of firmness is usually necessary."

He does note that the people are hale, hearty, and while he can't really gauge happiness, pride is a good stand-in thereof. If it works for them, it's not the Trium's or his place to complain, no matter his personal sensibilities. "Silly question: where do the feathers come from?"

"Real meat is the most expensive food of all, as food animals require so much more space to keep. We have artificial meat that is almost indistinguishable, so the Humans preffer to buy the animals alive and slaughter them at home."

She turns a corner and proceeds down a side-corridor, far smaller than the main habitation area, its ceiling is still several levels above them. The chambers on either side are clearly dwellings, with windows facing on to the street through which can be seen citizens engaging in normal domestic chores. Several children run around in the street, playing something akin to football with a small bio-construct nanny which chirps encouragingly.

"A normal working class family can afford a bird or small mammal maybe two or three times a year, and large animals are generally bought to celebrate births, deaths and marriages. They seldom waste anything, incorperating the bones, furs and feathers into their clothes and jewelry. There are some highly talented bone and scrimshaw artists around the art quarter, if your interested in a souvinir."

"As for where the animals are reared, the Habitat has several biospheres exclusively for food production, and numerous aquatic animals live in the water resevoirs and ducts. The biospheres resemble The Gardens, only more utilitarian. I am however taking you to see where our staple foodstuffs are produced, which is a tofu-like nutrient rich food made from sac-grown fungus."

She gives him an impish grin that lights her eyes like torches.

"Sounds pleasant, doesnt it? Cant blame them for wanting real food. Marines are brought up on stuff thats even less pleasant, but thats a conversation for another day."

Well, that explains that. Food is status, so show off what you've got--something like pelt usage or mounted heads or other such things. Yishuya shrugs a little bit with a smile. "Well, I once heard someone say that with enough spices one can make anything palatable. A bunch of my spacer friends in the Corps swear by various fat-grown and structured-soya stuff. Allows them to get creative, they say. In fact, I know that Sko'loti-Hucy, the kzin diplomat to the Empire of Treznor, swears by this stuff TME Industries puts out called Artificial Sophont Flavoring..."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Hey, people have been living off of various sorts of pastes and gruels for millennia. I'm not about to turn my nose up at it quite yet, especially after some of the stuff I've had to eat in the line of my various duties. Let's go see those fungi."

She smiles at that, and nods in understanding.

"There is certainly nothing wrong with the stuff, just a certain uniformity in texture. The production areas are just this way. Another short pill jaunt im afraid, but not long at all."

And it isnt. The last pill journey to their destination is mercifully short and pretty uneventful. They exit the pill into a viewing gantry encapsulated in a transparent membrane. It is like standing on the edge of a giant stomach, and beyond the membrane is clearly filled with fluid. The effect is somewhat similar to the birthing chambers, but instead of whale-like pods of juvenile ships, there are constructs swimming in the amniotic gloop. Filaments twine through the stuff, tangling and thickening to become twisted ropes, then knots, and eventually a spongy solid that fills the bottom, or at least what seems to be the bottom, of the chamber.

"Sacs like this one run the length of the Habitat, though they do not all contain fungal blooms like this one. Some contain just water, others stores of nutrients that the Habitat needs to perform functions such as FTL jumps. If we are to explore any further then we will have to suit up. the Sacs were not designed with tourists in mind, and can be hazardous."

She gestures to a set of bio-armour suits that stand at attention along the back of the chamber. Their torso's stand open like clamshells and the interior glistens wetly.

"Do you have any cerebral enhancements we should be made aware of? The suits operate by interfacing with your mind and may not be compatible without adjustment if you have significantly non-human neural structure."

Again, the diplomatic officer finds that he isn't near squeamish at the sight of all this but the scale of it all makes a difference. It's partially a primal thing, in that large squishy things on this scale are first of all alien and second of all only normally experienced by food. It's uncomfortable, certainly, but fascinating all the same and so Yishuya bucks up and takes one for the service as well as his own curiosity.

"Nope, no augments to speak of outside of a little headware storage. Nothing that should make my brain significantly nonhuman, and nothing that affects my waking perceptions." The Sakkrans had something a bit like these bio-armor-thingies in their suits and whatnot, or so Infantrymen had told him; powersuits weren't exactly an area of professional expertise nor dilettante interest for the ex-sheepherder. Still, a lot of Sakkran things are organic, or at least Geiger-ically biomechanical nowadays and so it isn't a stretch for him to imagine. Still, he recalls that the Infantrymen always mentioned how it was an 'interesting' experience to use Sakkran p-space rigs, the sort of 'interesting' that only holds a good connotation if any given person has a ken towards the sort of thing in question. The sort of 'interesting' associated with fuzzy handcuffs or hot wax or ice cubes.

"Should be a new experience, at least," the diplomatic officer says to no one in particular as he waits for someone to tell him what to do next. "Most industrial facilities aren't made to accommodate gawkers, so I guess this comes as no surprise. Trust me, I won't be going off and doing anything I'm not supposed to."

Arén nods and smiles. "Indeed. Though we do bring children through here at some point in their educations, so that they may learn where their food comes from they have been trained in using civilian bio-exoskeletons by the time they enter. There isnt much to it however, as i am sure you will find."

She then indicates a set of overhead bars that protrude from the wall above the suits, and a small readout panel attached to each bar. The readout shows various information in simple 'green good, red bad' format, and sizing information. The sizing parameters are quite generous so it is clear he wont have trouble finding a suit that fits.

"First youll have to remove all your external clothing. The internal membranes are quite easily damaged by things like boots and belts."

She walks down the line, and stops by one with information that seems to correspond roughly with Yishuyas body size, and weight.

"Find a suit that will fit you, using the information on the panels. Make sure all the lights are green, then stand directly under, and grasp the handles with your back to the suit. The handles will rise, and lift you closer to the suit, where you can put your legs in. The suit itself will handle almost everything else. Just remain calm and keep your body relaxed."

(OOC: Sorry for the delay. Had to confer with Tiburon for a moment.)

Despite all his training, despite years of running around with Titanians with an astoundingly relaxed opinion of such things, despite being briefed that things like this occasionally come up, Yishuya immediately falls back on the reflexive teachings of his youth and smirks. Silently for a few seconds, as his mind gauges the situation whilst simultaneously rebooting from the surprise, then with a quietly bemused air to his response. It's probably due to the mild fatigue. "I think we may be having a slight failure to communicate. 'External clothing' is, ah, something of a redundancy. Do you mean I just have to go down to stockings and undergarments and the like, or are we talking, ah, something more complete?"

She smirks in return, raising an eyebrow at what she sees as his squeamishness.
"Im not ordering you to get naked if thats what you mean. Undergarments should be fine, but anything hard, or sharp, and definately anything metal should be removed beforehand. If it makes you uncomfortable, i can turn my back."

"No, no ma'am, that shouldn't be necessary." He regains a bit of composure by hiding behind an air of professionalism, drawing himself up a bit. "I've done stranger things for the service." What exactly those stranger things were he's not about to say here, and he mechanically disrobes to undershirt, boxers, and socks as if preparing for a medical. The meticulously shined combat boots of course take the longest time, thanks to the laces and all; everything else gets folded and stacked neatly beside them on whatever appropriate surface is available, probably the floor.

Just like a doctor's office, he muses, grumbling not for the first time that his rather conservative upbringing out in the boonies has once again made him stick out in a society of mass-conscious clothing-optional spacers. "Right. Now to pick a suit and relax." Being of average height and build, that's not too hard to do, but it does take him a few moments to overcome a slight squick factor to step into the mucilaginous innards of the suit. And a few more to keep relaxed."

Suddenly he remembers how much the Infantrymen describe an oxygenated breathing gel they call 'Jelly Head' and how much they hate it thanks to the fact that the animal hindbrain really does not like being forced to going back to being a fish in the womb. He then tries to forget this information, quickly and calmly, just in case.

The experience is strange, but not as unpleasant as he might have expected. The suits internal membrane is silky and moist, but not slimy. powerful rippling muscular contractions draw him into the suit as the handle bars lower in time.

Within moments, he is within the suit, and it is initially a little like being submerged, movements slightly sluggish as the suit adjusts itself to his nervous system. After this period, the suit mimics his movements perfectly, and it becomes weightless.

The helmet itself maintains a bubble of air around his face, rather than the gel he had feared, and the suit's sensors link directly into his brain. It is as if he has had his body replaced with that of one of the drones. Stronger, faster with dynamically adjusting aural and visual senses. Even his sense of smell seems augmented by the suits sensory package. The effect may be dizzying, even in the relatively clean and inoffensive environment of the observation deck.

"Take a moment to get used to the suits functions and movement. We shouldnt be doing anything that requires more than a basic understanding of your suits limitations, but it pays to know what those limitations are. Yours is a civilian model, primarily designed to provide environmental protection. As you have probably noticed however, it also has greater strength and augmented sensory perception. Military models are even stronger, with far less... user friendly features. The failsafes on your suit should stop you from doing anything particularly detrimental."

Aren seems amused watching his first direct experience with Gentec technology, and apart from her words, she offers no physical support.

That's a relief, Yishuya sighs to himself as he continues to breathe real air and take in the sights and sounds and smells. It's augmentation, but obvious augmentation, and probably not using the hindbrain-overriding stuff he'd read about on the ride here. "As long as I can walk," he says, starting off with baby steps to see what they feel like, "and maybe use my arms, I'll be fine."

Baby step back-and-forth across the platform to get used to the augmentation, then a slow, careful extension of his arms. He stretches carefully this way and that, never trying to over-exert himself as he finds the limits in the range of motion of the suit and how it relates to what he's used to. He's heard that's what you're supposed to do, at least. After figuring that much out, it's back to walking back and forth, but slowly speeeding up until he finds a more or less comfortable and useful pace.

It's not his area of expertise; he's certainly not going to go crazy with it but he's got to keep the honor of the Corps in mind so he has to play along with his hosts and hold himself well. "Okay, I think I'm getting the hang of it somewhat. Anything in particular I should know?"

Arén watches him with amusement and no small measure of maternal pride. When he is done experimenting, she answers his question.

"Nothing particular. The suit is monitoring your strain receptors and will stop you from injuring yourself if you attempt to overextend, and a combination of pupil tracking, a HUD and a simple wrist console control most of the functions. When you achieve total submersion it will prompt you to activate aquatic mode. Focus on the affermative option and push the circular button on your left wrist, and the suit will set nuetral bouyancy and deploy fins automatically. after that, you just need to know how to swim. Oh! and remember, your stronger in that suit, so dont kick too hard."

She then walks over to a hatch in the floor, and with no obvious prompting it opens like an iris, revealing the surface of the fluid. It is likely that the water is kept at bay only by the air pressure within the platform. After she puts on her helmet, she speaks again and it sounds like she is standing right next to him.

"The suits are connected so talk normally, and ill hear you. And dont be afraid to ask questions if you have a problem. When your ready, jump in the water."

She demonstrates by jumping in ahead of him, then swimming in a lazy circle after her fins deploy. The fins look like they just grew out of her legs and she resembles a cross between a deep sea diver and a mermaid.

"Fair enough. I can do that--I have a silver swimming certificate, at least."

Careful waddle to the sphincter-ish hole, equally careful clamber down to hands and knees, and he finally, once again carefully, slips into the water as jumping in may not quite be his speed yet. The suit signals to him to go to aquatic mode; he looks at his arms and gingerly presses the green nodule on the left wrist of his suit's shell. Then fins apparently come out of his feet and perhaps a stabilizing dorsal fin; Yishuya doesn't worry too much about any of that; it shouldn't be much different from swimming with flippers on.

Besides, it's not like he has to worry about breathing, so once again he can start slow and work his way to keeping up to Arén. Once he does get the hang of it, he doesn't try to show off or do anything fancy with his new-found powers; he's just not wired that way. Instead, he stops concentrating so hard and allows himself to look around a bit.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect anything like this when I signed up for the Corps."

"Funny how that works."

Arén swims slowly downwards towards what looks to be the bottom of the chamber. It quickly becomes apparent that the space is far larger than it appeared from the observation deck, the distant mass at the bottom of the chamber resolves slowly into a honeycombe structure with holes large enough to drive a bus through. The fibrous mass us clearly fungal in nature, filaments extending from the central stalks like drifting halos of hair.

She swims towards one of the aperatures, and when she deems them close enough she stops, maintaining her position with gentle movements.

"The filaments you can see growing out of the central mass are like roots, they absorb nutrients from the substrate. At this end, the formation is loose and easily navicable, but the further down you go, the more cramped it becomes. Gravity and uncontrolled growth then compact it into a solid mass which is then harvested and sold. There is quite a diverse ecosystem up here on the top layers, with many species of fish and a couple of shark species. Nothing especially dangerous to us, however."

"And of course there has to be a way to recycle resources once used from the habitat and production levels and what not back down here." Yishuya follows Arén rather closely, all the more important thanks to the tricks the sheer size of everything is playing on his sense of scale. It could be far too easy to get lost down here, which would essentially be a very bad thing.

"Question is, what generates the gravity?" The diplomatic officer ponders. "It may be a silly question with an obvious answer, but there you go."

"Im not excactly sure, but i believe it is a byproduct of the Alcubierre drives. Much of Habitat technology is reverse engineered and their workings are at best tenously understood by our scientists. You would have to talk to one of them if you wanted more information. Or perhaps Iris herself."

She swims slowly, but given the miniscule amount of movement she requires to propel herself it is likely that she is capable of quite impressive speeds if she required it. Her suit also features secondary fins which seem to act independantly of her legs, allowing her to hover in the water and manouver perfectly without making large visible gestures. In a way, watching her is alot like watching a pike hunting. If she moved into the seaweed-like beds of Hyphae, she would be able to manouver whilst remaining nearly indistinguishable from her background.

the massive cavournous cavities in the fungal growth slowly shrink to a more easily comprehendable size, and soon they are deep wnough that the artificial light above can no longer filter down, and is replaced by an eery photoluminescent glow. Dark shapes stalk through the hyphae and what appear to be schools of small fish flee ahead of them like flocks of frightened birds.

"We are in the... err, well wild part i suppose. This is where most of the life is located, as the fungal blooms nearer the surface are toxic enough to discourage most other species from living there, and it still isnt deep enough for the pressure and structural instability to be an issue. The fish you can see ahead of us are what we call minnows, though i imagine they bear little resemblance to earth fish. They mostly live on the hyphae that break loose and drift into the open, and only approach the beds when they have to. The shapes you can see moving through the strands are larger species, many of which are opportunistic predators who prey on the minnows which stray too close. If we are lucky, we may see a Duct Shark. They mate and lay in these chambers, but there isnt much here for an adult so its not likely there will be any around."

Yishuya nods, a completely unnecessary gesture in a suit but that's what habits do to one. "What prevents the, ah, minnows from eating the hyphae on the vine, so to speak? Predators use it for opportunistic cover or some such, I suppose, so it's safer to eat what comes off, or is it a matter of the food ripening?" This is slightly closer to his original field of expertise and so he looks at it from what could be called a technical point of view. "Also, did all this evolve independently or was the entire ecosystem engineered? I know I'm probably delving into obscure trivia at the moment, but these are just the sorts of questions that pop up when I see all this."

He swims pretty much as he's used to, which while unprofessional is still pretty well, but just with a lot less force than usual. It's all about water displacement and whatnot, and while he trusts the suit will figure out the delicate stuff on its own (being glad he doesn't have to figure out fins and whatnot) it's still essentially scuba-diving, and that's the analog he uses to try and understand what he's gotten himself into now.

Arén chuckles, and grabs some strands that have floated loose, and then tears some loose from the walls. She then swims over and shows them to Yishuya.

"A little of both. The predators use the Hyphae to hide from other, larger predators. But also the bacteria in the water rapidly breaks down dead tissue. in essence the dead strands come partially pre-digested."

The strands are visibly different, the hyphae from the wall far smoother and still glowing slightly while the loose strand is dull and frayed. She rubs some of each between her fingers, and the dead strands come apart easily, pulping and drifting away, where the live strand breaks up in larger fibrous clumps.

"Thats also one of the reasons we use full suits rather than simple diving aparatus. The bacterium would eat away your hair and leave your skin raw. As for wether the species are engineered or natural, i have no clue. I assume that the original species were engineerered, but they have since evolved out of their original roles. All of the duct habitats were copied whole-cloth from Hyperions eco-systems. We arent even sure if they are neccesary for the Habitats survival, though Iris seems to think thatt they are important, and none of the Habitats seem eager to try life without them."

"I see. If it didn't work, it'd probably have Darwinically pointed it out long ago." Yishuya brings himself up next to Arén to see what she's pointing out. "Also doesn't seem to surprising that our surroundings should be rather, ah, disruptive given what role it plays in the ecosystem, I guess. Interesting though how everything seems to go up a step; bacteria are essentially following the purpose of enzymes, if my introductory biology course way back when serves me correctly. And the minnows don't eat it off the vine because they more or less can't; their digestive systems probably can't handle it raw. Hmmm."

He chuckles quietly. "When all this gets back home it'll give everyone food for thought. Sure, the Pilonese and Dargonese are similarily biologically inclined but the Pilonese directed themselves that way, while this has had some time to make itself a bit more efficient as evolution tends to do to things. The less-designed nature would give biologists a lot more to discover... which I guess begs yet another question: if the system is in flux biologically, and not just a predetermined system, do you have internal research going on to better understand your immediate surroundings? That'd be novel for a nation dependent on enclosed orbital platforms for living space."

"Yes, in essence. Many of our scientists are primarily studying and attempting to understand what we allready have. It is a slightly frustrating process but has been very rewarding so far. We are lucky in that most of our technology essentially looks after and reproduces itself without our input. We live in symbiosis with it, rather than the more unbalanced master-tool relationships we have so far observed in Pilon."

She swims slowly, stopping only occasionally to peer into the darkness for the next thing of interest. As she swims, she continues to talk, her tone and manner relaxed, as if she has fallen into a familiar role.

"Natural Evolution walks with us every step of the way, and sometimes one step ahead. A good example of this is the surviving cruiser-class vessels from our recent battles. The aliens who hunted us exploited flaws in our shields to directly attack the Vessels shells, causing many casualties. But a small number of our cruisers had a recessive gene that dramatically increased their shell's resistance to the enemies weaponry. Up till that point it had only served to slow their development slightly, but from now on many of the cruisers will be born with those genes, because those original cruisers have that selective advantage. It should manifest itself in two or three generations with as much as a 20% increase. If we were to attempt to make the improvements ourselves the results would be far less efficient and require unnecesary and cruel experimentation on sentient lifeforms, and if we had engineered the vessels completely they would not have the genetic diversity neccesary for such rapid adaptation."

The diplomatic officer fails to stifle a snorted chuckle at the word 'tool.' "I'm sorry. Excuse me. I can see the advantage inherent in such a system, though it has to be troublesome to not have things expressly tailored to your interests every once and again. I suppose it's a matter of your point of view and how you choose to relate to Iris' ecosystem. I will admit you do seem somewhat more... ah... hmm. People aren't supposed to forget words in my line of work. Give me a moment."

He pauses, tapping what would be his chin very lightly with one hand of the suit. Unnecessary motion; not a trooper. "Cooperative. That's it. Cooperative, environmentally, than the Pilonese. You cooperate with your environment, they dictate to theirs."

"A cultural difference we find mildly unsettling. Do not mistake me however, we do tailor organic technology as well. These suits are good examples, they have no ability to exist independant of their wearer. Nor do GCD's. However where we can we prefer to exist alongside our... 'technology'. We are nearly at the lower observation deck, by the way. We will be getting out of the water there. The rest of the tract is untraversible. Well, unless you want to be turned into Tofu."

She makes no change of pace, still scanning the side tunnels in case something remarkable may turn up. After a moment however, she pauses.

"What is your peoples view on Cloning?"

"It's not something we particularly need to bother with, at least not for reproduction. For medical uses, it's rather common given that the technology for isolating particular tissues for cloning have been around for a while. There's no moral difficulty with cloning a bit of replacement skin or a new knee joint, although we've still got a very few ultraconservatives floating about who find the idea repugnant. They tend to be on the overall Luddite side anyway, and mostly ignored.

"Throughout the Triumvirate there's several different opinions on it, certainly, but overall it isn't seen as anathema. And I like not being tofu."

"A good thing too. We very rarely lose anyone in here, but beyond this point it is simply not safe for untrained personell. Follow me and we will get out of the water."

She swims off down an unmarked side-tunnel, slowly as to allow Yishuya time to observe anything he wishes. The side tunnel is full of fine hyphae strands, and swimming through it is eery. The minnows dont swim through these areas, and the fish that can be seen are mostly of larger varieties.

In addition to these larger fish there are other species of what might be called plant matter. Clinging to the larger strands are creatures much like hydras, large single-cell lifeforms which use their tentacles to fish out other microscopic life. Polyps and barnacles cling to the walls and eel-like fish emerge from crevices to regard the passing visitors with baleful, half-blind stares.

"I ask because our diplomatic mission has encountered numerous clones in Pilon. We view creating clones of sentient lifeforms as unnesesary, and our Councils wish to know if the practice is widespread. Beyond the obvious medical uses, the only cloning that we perform is during the manufacture of bio-tech devices and the asexual reproduction that some of our larger combat vessels use to create drones and torpedo's."

Yishuya makes a quiet noise of resignation at the mention of cloning, suppressing the urge to shrug--which isn't too hard, given how busy he is with swimming and seeing all the stuff around him. This is somehow less creepy than the previous internal-organ feeling; this is almost more intentionally or commonly creepy somehow, like a haunted house setup or the organic-looking flows of a cave, and he's always liked those sorts of things. Inbetween pondering how oddly that works sometimes and the issue of cloning for reproduction, he comes up with a response. "I'm sure there's some enclave somewhere in the Triumvirate that uses cloning for reproduction. I guess that the Baby-In-A-Boxes from Sunset sort of classify, although it arguably takes the mess out of sexual reproduction rather than actually makes a clone. I suppose cloning is always seen as an option, but not particularly the best one for reasons ranging from religious to completely pragmatic--why make the gene pool any shallower than it needs to be?

"That being said, some races such as the Trilats can only reproduce via cloning right now, being completely sterile and all, and so it's a matter of condition. It has its uses. It can be overused." That the Pilonese are probably overusers is best left unsaid--each to their own little foibles, neh?

Arén smiles in her helmet. She didnt have any personal interes in the answer, but knew it was a satisfactory one for the council. Her tone when she answers is one of finaity, closing the discussion, at least for now.

"Good. We are coming up on the lower observation post now, look out for a circular aperature similar to the one we entered through. It moves around a bit, now and then and ill appreciate some help looking."

The tunnel they are in widens slightly and gains a more regular appearance, and soon they find themselves in a circular chamber devoid of hyphae. Several large creatures that resemble a cross between catfish and rays lie flat accross the walls, or fly gracefully around in the center. They are large enough to be unconcerned with the predators in the tunels, and seem unafraid of their two visitors.

It appears that the ray creatures are the reason for the lack of hyphae, in fact they seem to be feeding on the surface of the fungal mass itself, using rasp-like mouthparts to grate off layers of fungal matter and then sucking it up into their cavernous mouths.

"Cleaners. They keep the maintainance areas on the lower levels clear. Down here, if the Hyphae become sufficiently dense they congeal together and can seal tunnels. The cleaners keep that process under control. In addition they maintain these chambers which we use as staging areas, and they use to lay their eggs."

She then points at a circular opening on the cieling of the opposite side of the chamber.

"There's our exit. Same drill but in reverse, you shouldnt have much trouble lifting your wieght out of the water, but all the same, ill give you a hand. After you, Mr Ambassador."

"Thank you." Yishuya nods inside the suit at the offer of assistance, then looks at the 'cleaners' a bit more carefully. "It's certainly amazing how all this works together so well, engineered or no. Hell, had I more of an intuitive eye for this sort of thing, I could've seen myself in the TerraEngineers right about now. As it is, though, if I were then I'd be sitting on some lifeless hill trying to figure out how to make it livable through whatever mix of science and feng shui they use rather than here seeing all these neat things."

Neat things or no, he's still glad to have the help getting out of the 'water' (or 'bodily fluid' as the case may be). Even with a silver swimming certificate swimming does not exactly come quite naturally for the baseline human (despite suggestions that mayhaps human primate ancestors had an aquatic period re: the reason human mammaries are always developed outside of pregnancy) and so the unusual workout has him a bit tired in more ways than one, with the usual tolerable complaints of his muscular system.

"Indeed, each to their gifts. I have no doubt that i would be as interested in the mechanics of making planets liveable as you are with our habitats. Terraforming is for the most part an untouched area amongst our scientists. I suppose they have enough on their hands as it is. If you would like to find out more about any of the inhabitants of the tunnels your more than welcome to ask..."

"The Cleaners for example actually have a very interesting lifecycle, the ones patrolling are the males, who drive off any predators, attacking them with poisoned barbs located in their outer mouthparts. meanwhile the females feed on the fungal lining, their own mouthparts being adapted to that task. then the females use the processed fungal matter to create the shells for their eggs, and cement them into the wall. Its the only time they feed on the wall itself, and that stops them from causing unmonitored structural damage. The rest of the time they live in the tunnels and feed on Hyphae, while the males are omnivorous predators that hunt in packs and devide their time between the breeding grounds and guarding their teritory in the tunnels against other large carnivores."

A slightly embarrassed cough follows that short lecture.

"Ermm.. anyway, ill get out of the water then. You come in slow, dont try to copy me, ok?"

She breaks off, and shoots through the opening like a swooping bird. The force of her movement leaves a wake of turbulence that causes the cleaners to get restles, but insufficient to cause problems for Yishuya's suit. When he approaches the lip himself, her armoured hand comes down and grasps him by the back of his helmet.

The edge is slippery, but her augmented strength means she could probably haul him out and land him like a fish if she had to and falling back in is almost impossible. As it is, she merely prevents him from slipping and allows him a dignified exit before stepping away. The fins that deployed in the water collapse and then retract back into the protection of the suit's shell.

"Sorry about the dramatic exit, my suit is heavier than yours and climbing out is not as easy. As for our ecosystem, it is facinating indeed. Trips like that are why i teach children in my downtime. Of course i teach from a more tactical and military perspective, as befits my caste, but i fit what biology i can in along the way."

The lower observation platform is similar to the upper, but instead of panoramic views there are screens along the walls, and workstations where human technicians check dials and graphs, and fiddle minutely with chemical balances and other, less comprehensible controls.

Like the upper deck, a row of anonymous civilian suits line the walls, as well as several unoccupied slots. A suited technician sits by the opening on a simple stool and seems to be reading some kind of magazine, perhaps on some kind of emergency standby.

"Well, it is fascinating," the diplomatic officer assents as he ascends, "and who knows, maybe the biology will end up being 'tactically useful' at some point, although one hopes it never comes to that. Nature's been used to turn the tide of battle before, after all..."

He glances around at his new surroundings, and notes the oddity of dials in a biological setting. He'd not be able to say why exactly such a thing stands out to him, but he shakes it off quickly. "No need to apologize, ma'am; I'm not on particularly official business at the moment and so being upstaged is hardly a professional problem."

He dismounts the suit if and when his guide gives the signal. "So, ah, where to next?"

Arén nods. "Though one can hope that would never be neccesary. In our travels we have seen our share of conflict, but none of the Habitats have ever been boarded."

She follows his gaze to the consoles, and points them out herself.

"You arent the first ambassador we have had one Iris, just the first human one.. and many of them find the control systems in alot of our mid and low level control centers to be.. puzzling, given our ability to interact directly with our technology. These centers have been fitted to be operated by normal humans, and as such need intuitive physical readouts and contols. Hence the dials and keypads."

As she speaks, she also helps him out of his suit. The process is much the same but in reverse with the suit gently expelling him as he hangs ontot he overhead rail.

"They are still organic, but engineered from scratch to fulfill their purpose. The dials for example work by bending according to the chemical balance in the fluid within the dial itself. Each dial reacts to the presence of a different chemical or hormone, and tells the operator how much is present in the sample they are testing. The readings arent terribly precise, but one of the nice things about organic structures is their greater tolerance for imprecision."

She leads him out of the control room and into another, smaller pill transport.

"Ideally we would have one, or possibly two lumina running each contol point rather than the five or six on duty, and ten standby staff we have running each of them at the moment, but the Luminate population is too low to run all of the systems personally. And it would leavemany of the humans with no jobs."

"Understandable. Unemployment breeds a lot of idle time, frustration, and more discontent that you don't need." Decidedly lacking pockets in his underwear--and it being against regulation to stick one's hands in one's pockets in uniform anyway, as it looks sloppy--he folds his hands behind his back as he meekly follows his Lumina guide into the transport pill.

"Then again, given the unrest you've already mentioned I suppose there's some concern about the possibility of sabotage. Forgive me," he says with a slight apologetic clearing of the throat, "just thinking aloud."

"Most systems on the ship are not in the best interests of the Human dissidents to disrupt. By damaging Tofu production they would only be depriving themselves, for example. Luminate control over other types of food prodction is absolute. Beyond that iris is aware of almost everything going on within her, and sabotage is made exceedingly risky as a result. That said, it does happen."

The pill doors open ahead of them and a short stocky human in a blue uniform stands in the entrance with the Ambassadors effects. He bows low and offers them to the ambassador with a polite smile.

"Here are your effects, Ambassador. This pill will take you back to the Gardens. Oh, and i am to inform you that a formal reception is being held in 48 hours at the Markus Outdoor Arena. You are, of course, invited. As is anyone you wish to bring."
The little man then steps out of the pill and to one side, his posture ramrod straight and one hand behind his back.

"Ah, so my luggage makes it to my destination before I do. Typical." The diplomatic officer smiles jovially as he accepts his clothes with thanks just before he almost but not quite represses the socially instinctual urge to look for a place where he can change back into them uninterrupted. "I feared as much, ma'am, given how irrational us humans can be in any given situation. Ah well."

At the invitation, he smiles even more. "I'd be honored to attend. I'm sure the Lieutenant would like to come as well, especially if it's a formal function. All we'll need are directions to the arena, which I'm sure will be provided back at the embassy.

"Thank you for the evening, ma'am," he says with a low bow, trying to look as stately as he can while he holds his folded clothes and boots tucked under his arms, bowing in his underwear, "and thank you for the tour. It's been quite enlightening."

The marine removes her helmet and smiles at him, impressed by his unflappability. She then returns the bow, as does the man who gave the invitation.

Aren then steps into the pill.
"We took the scenic route Ambassador, this maintainance route links directly with the Gardens, so it will be a much shorter return route. Ill escort you back to the compound and then leave you there for now. And before i go i will give you directions to the Stadium. If you require any further asistance, then we should have staff on hand who can answer questions, or call me in the event of an emergency."

When the doors close, leaving the human on the other side, she speaks again.

"I will most likely be at the function in a security role, And from what briefing material i have been given so far it seems it may be high risk of an attack, though i dont know how that could be. I suggest you bring a small security force of your own, especially since you have not been here long enough to know who to trust in an emergency."

The slight lurch and rocking motion of the Pill indicates that it has started moving, faster than the larger transport they had been in before. Other than the size however, it looks little different to its larger cousin.

"Hrm. Banane won't be happy to hear that, but it is technically why we've got a Mobile Infantry detachment on hand. I suppose a blatant show of protection, like light exos, would be a little much..." He shakes his head and waves away his tired musings. "I'll discuss that with the lieutenant later." He then looks at his clothes, followed by Aren. "I don't imagine you'd mind if I put these back on, but it's polite to check all the same."

She did see him strip down, after all, so there's no reason why the opposite should cause any offense. It wouldn't do to show up back at the embassy half-naked; while it wouldn't really violate any regulations nor offend anyone it would result in more snickering than would be absolutely necessary. After making sure everything is in its prim and proper place, he continues to follow along, riding the pill and following the marine as she escorts him to what's to be his new home. "It's been a most pleasant evening, thank you. Good... well... night, I suppose."

He grins sheepishly. "It's close enough, isn't it?"

She escorts him in almost silent contemplation of her own, perhaps going over mission specifications in her own head.

"Actually its nearly morning.. We have been gone quite a while."

The garden is now in a sort of twilight, the dancing lights having gone back to hide under whatever rocks and hollows that they use during the day and the day animals still blinking themselves awake, bewildered. The pill terminus they arrive at is smaller and more utilitarian than the large terminal they had used up till that point, and several gardeners are assembled at one end, either coming on or going off duty.

The paths are clear of other people, and they reach the compound quickly, its almost insubstantial buildings seeming to glow slightly in the growing light, like a little faery village.

Arén walks Yishuya right to the gate before stopping and bowing.
"Rest well Ambassador. It was an honour and a pleasure to show you aroung some of our great Habitat."

"Hrm, so it is." Yishuya looks at the artificial sky, then returns the bow. "And may your rest also be pleasant, ma'am. I look forward to seeing you again and working with you in the future."

With polite closings made, the diplomatic officer wanders into the embassy, nods to the night watchman, finds his way to the cubicle that serves as his room and doffs his service coat and metal belt before flopping sideways onto the small bed.

"Ow. Nametag."

Getting back up he removes his long-sleeve uniform shirt, tents it over the back of a chair still in shrink wrap, then repeats his maneuver. This time he is not only successful, but asleep before he can count to ten.

The embassy is left to its own devices for the next fourty-eight hours. The only Gentec citizen to be seen in this time is a messenger who arrives with directions for the venue, as well as floor plans, seating arrangements and other such mundane administrative details such as food preferences and restrictions.

The day/night cycle seems to work on a traditional terran 24 hour cycle, and so two days and two nights pass before the day of the reception. Apart from the barren night sky, and the slight wrongness of the sun, the illusion of being on a planets surface is almost total, the views from the taller structures showing wild rolling hills and subtle, hidden gardens. in the distance, the twinkling blue of a lake can be seen.

On the day of the reception itself, Shen arrives alone to accompany them to the venue. The wide smile on his face betrays his excitement, and he is clearly looking forward to the party.

In those fourty-eight hours, not much happens aside from the usual scurrying work necessary to put an embassy together... and, on the military side, plan a security detail. On the one hand, there is forward notice and so some sort of military presence is perhaps expected. On the other hand, there's already plenty of unrest and the presence of another armed and organized group, on whatever side of the issue, would only destablize things further. On the gripping hand, the information is not detailed enough as to where to expect the attack, which means that both the embassy and the Diplomatic Officer need to be protected. On the plus side, this mission is a little larger than the average three Infantrymen usually alotted to a D.O. on an away mission so there's plenty of military-trained personnel to stay home and do base defense.

When Shen comes over to pick up Yishuya and Banane--both in their Class A uniforms--they are escorted by Ou-yang and River in Mobile Infantry fatigues. Underneath they wear their armor's thinsuits, essentially making low-observability 'soft' exoskeletons, and are not visibly armed beyond the powergun pistols peace-bonded to their web belts. Before Shen shows up the two trade jokes about how a tall bright-blue Seldane can never be considered 'low observability' under these conditions.

Of course, Banane and Lythimnas wear thinsuits under their normal clothing as well. Being AeroSpace Directorate, the Lieutenant's not particularly used to it, but can manage; the diplomatic officer chafes a bit at the slightly restricting second-skin. "Ah, good morning, Shen," he says with a polite bow, "we've been looking forward to this. Hopefully all is well with you and yours?"

Shen smiles and bows in return.

"We are looking forward to hit as well, Ambassador. We have had too little cause to celebrate in the last few weeks other than our still being alive."

He then turns slightly and beckons politely them to follow. He talks as he walks, keeping the pace gentle.

"The ceremony is somewhat unprecedented, it is both a formal welcome, and a show of thanks for your peoples part in the humanitarian efforts when we first arrived. We have never been given to large-scale ceremonial displays, but this looks like it may qualify. The Luminate council, including Iris herself will be present, as well as representatives from the Castes and the Humans. The first part of the ceremony is the Welcome, which will be small. Just you and your honour guard, Iris and a delegation of humans and Lumina put forward by their communities. There will be a ceremonial giving of gifts, and iris will present you with something to symbolise your status as a welcome guest of Gentec."

"The second part of the ceremony is public, in the Arena itself. There Iris and the Council thank your people on behalf of our people. I hope you dont mind representing your people in this, because it is also the part of the ceremony wityh the greatest security threat. There will be around fifty thousand people in all, and because we cannot ethically search every human there, there is a small risk that there will be armed human dissidents in the crowd."

The walk is short before they reach a hovering bus-like transport similar to those used in the human habitation levels. Unlike those however, this is a limousine version, designed to accommodate a small number of people luxuriously. Bottles of some kind of beverage and elegant glasses made from a crystal-like organic silicate sit on a table in the center, with couches lining the outside of the cabin. No-one appears to be driving, but then given the nature of the beast it isnt perhaps suprising.

"There has to be a first time for everything," Lythimnas says brightly as he masks the chafing of his underarmor with a smile. First time for everything indeed. I'm getting a new respect for these troopers here. "We're simply honored that you would do something unprecedented on our behalf."

"We're willing to take the risks," Banane adds, perhaps appropriate to her station. "We've taken our own precautions as best we can."

"Hopefully we can be more of a uniting influence than a divisive one," the Diplomatic Officer says with a nod. "While I'm personally sad to hear we're worried about such a risk, such is life." Brave words, perhaps, but Yishuya is looking forward to not being shot at. While it does classify as one of his official occupational hazards, he hasn't heard of any D.O.s being turkey-shot in living memory and doesn't really want to become a first in that regard.

Everyone files into the limo and Lythimnas decides he needs a different topic of conversation. "So, what's in the bottles, if I'm not being too forward?"

"If it was not for the efforts of your military, then many of the people who are going to be present at the ceremony would have lost their lives, ambassador. In the eyes of our nation, it is the least we could do. as for the security threat, i wouldnt fret too much. The insurgents are more likely to aim for disruption or kidnapping than outright assassination. You are, after all, human. That makes you a potential ally as far as they are concerned."

The ride to the Arena itself is short and comfortable, and the drink in the bottles turnes out to be a form of dry white wine, crisp and refreshing but not terribly alchoholic.

The arena is a large stadium, built in the same airy, almost insubstantial style as the school. It is in fact possible to see the shadowy silhouettes of the spectators in the top stands through the walls. A security detail of marines and GCD's stand around a reception area at the front entrance, keeping a crowd of onlookers back from the entrance. Most of the crowd are human, but they seem orderly and calm. Many carry what are peresumably recording devices, so perhaps they are media of some sort. The limo pulls up and the doors open, and Shen sweeps out and aside, allowing the people a view of the ambassador and his entourage disembarking.

(OOC: I would have sworn I replied to this. I remember typing it clearly enough; Lythmias commenting on how the party seems to be more for the military, Banane teasing back with "aren't you glad that, save for color coding and insignia, our uniforms are practically identical," then them all leaving the limo with Lythmias being his usual good-old-boy friendly self meted by the needs of the service, Parveen waving respectfully (almost like the old Queen Mum wave, I think), and the Infantrymen subtly saying hi as they scan the crowd with their monocle displays.

I would've sworn it showed in my subscription list, too. Then why did it drop?

Eh. I hate redoing things and so here we go. Sorry for the lacuna.)

OOC: thats poo :( i hate redoing things too.. so you have my sympathy. Looking forward to your post :)

The diplomatic officer chuckles good-naturedly as he glances over at Parveen. "Sounds like the party's more for you and yours, Lieutenant. I'm feeling something of a hanger-on at the moment."

"Well, then," Banane says with a smirk, "aren't you glad your uniform is practically identical to mine, save some different colors and insignia?"

"At least I'll fit in," Yishuya sighs theatrically.

The officers drink just enough of the wine to be polite, more of a taste more than anything else, while the enlisted troopers abstain. They do have a mission, as unlikely as it may be, and while it probably wouldn't hurt overmuch they'd prefer to be as alert as they could be. They all, to the last, get the vague sensation of being rockstars as the limo stops and they're shown out. Lythmias takes the lead, clearly quite happy in a good-old-boy way at the attention and waving at the crowd like the local guy everyone likes. Parveen is more restrained, moving with the stiffness of military attention but still not coming across as icy--merely reserved as she barely waves back at the crowd with a subtle gesture. The privates look over the crowd with some passive scanning from the monocle displays tied into their headsets and light exos, but make it look like a friendly wave over the crowd.

Which it essentially is, but multitasking has never been particularly difficult for the Infantry.

Shen allows the media some time to get footage of the event, but seems reluctant to remain outside for too long. He leads the group through the doors of the building, and into a large antechamber.

Like everything else they have seen, the room is curved and organic looking, lacking discernable corners, or straight edges. The room is tear-drop shaped, starting narrow at the near end and then widening exponentially before rounding off. On the far end is another set of substantially larger doors, but the dominating feature of the room is a large podium in the center, where a number of older lumina stand, somberly waiting.

Around the podium is perhaps fifty people, a mixed group of humans and luminate citizens. A couple of them are dressed in bio-armour, and many carry chests of various sizes, presumably containing gifts.

Arén is one of those standing in the crowd, and she looks over and smiles at them. Her daughter stands beside her and seems eager and enthusiastic about the coming ceremony, often whispering to her mother and getting a stern look or hushing gesture.

Shen steps close to Yishuya and Bananes as the crowd begins to quiet.

"This is a modification of an old ceremony used to appoint council members. You will be given opportunities to speak, but will not be required to say anything, and at one point the members of the crowd will come forward and present gifts. They will be presented either to you or one of your entourage. Even your bodyguards may get something like an offering of food or a small decorative item.."

The crowd quiets, and one of the council members clears his throat. Things look like they might start as the lights dim and a strange but beautiful, almost choral music starts to thrum through the room. They can almost feel it in their chests better than they can hear it with their ears. Shen continues speaking, but in a hushed, fast whisper.

"It is important that all the gifts are accepted.. a superstitious tradition but an important one to many i am afraid. All of the gifts have been checked first, so none of them will be a threat, and a porter will be close by to hold them for you until after the second ceremony. It shouldnt be too hard to follow.. the council members will prompt you if you are supposed to do anything."

The Triumvirate delegation looks around the room, all except Yishuya perhaps feeling just a little out of place. Diplomatic soirées are something of a professional hazard of his; not so much with the lieutenant (who could still expect the occasional formal dinner) or the enlisted troopers (who consider bullets a much more reasonable professional hazard). Thus the military side of the party takes its cues from the diplomatic officer, who takes his cues from the overall vibe of the situation.

He nods very, very subtly and speaks through the side of his mouth very, very softly to Shen. "Please do not worry on that account, sir; we'll certainly accept gifts rather than offend our hosts. Simply let us know what we need to do and when and I'm certain we won't offend anyone too horribly." He smiles quirkily after that to get across that it was a mild joke. "One thing all the Services pride themselves on is the ability to follow directions, after all."

Parveen does her best not to hum along with the music, although she does listen intently--music has always been one of her loves, no matter where it came from or what purpose it served. The two Infantrymen flanking the officers stand at parade rest, eyes caged forward, letting the sensor suites on their monocles do their sweeping for them. Sadly, the enlisted man is trained well in playing statue for no real reason than to help build discipline and cameraderie in standardization, but in this case hopefully it helps to keep them from standing out too much.

As the room falls silent, the air of anticipation amongst the Gentec citizens becomes palpable. They can feel something, and the hairs on the back of Shen's ams stand up, as they probably are on every other Lumina, and any psychics in the room.

Iris is coming.

Of course, in a sense she is allready there... being as they are inside her, she is everywhere. but most of the time her awareness of those inside her is abstract and vague. Her concentration is mostly centered on outside events, and her sisters. Now, she is turning her full attention to this room, and her psychic presence is massive.

Everyone in the room gets the impression they are being regarded by something larger than their comprehension as her mind brushes against theirs, and then all of the Gentec kneel except one.

Tera, Aren's daughter, remains standing. Her eyes are rolled into the back of her head and she seems barely conscious. She sways, then takes a few halting steps to the center of the dais. After a moments pause, she turns to face the delegation, and her eyes roll forward, and then focus on Yishuya.

Her gaze brings with it the full attention of the Habitat, and thus carries far more force than Tera's ever did, and though it is Tera's body who stands before them, looking at her they see Iris. She raises her chin and then speaks in a voice that the captain of the Copperhead would recognise, and as she speaks every other Lumina in the hall echoes her voice with eery precision.

"Diplomatic Officer Yishuya Lythimnas , Representative of the Triumvirate of Yut and Lieutenant Parveen Banane, Liason for the Triumvirate Military. You are welcome in my presence, as are your compatriots. Please, approach the dais and receive the thanks of my people, on behalf of your own."

Despite having the psychic attunement of their weight in oil-packed tuna, it stands to reason that the Triumvirate delegation would have to feel something when it comes to a presence of this magnitude. Indeed, they do, but it's probably most equivalent to the sensation a group of deaf people would get at an extremely loud rave: 'why are my organs vibrating in rhythm?' In this case it's not so much brains as psyches; brain centers responsible for concrete-abstract concept association and, of course, word association to go with it, flare up.

Parveen, in particular, feels like she's gone momentarily mad, just on this side of having synesthetic hallucinations. She's heard about people tasting purple and hearing the number seven, and she wondered what it would be like to experience it. Now that the entire room is tasting Guatemala and everyone looks very... hrm... balustrade while her brain attempts to rationalize sensations it's never had any experience in she's not half as interested. It's all she can do to maintain bearing, although she does turn a few shades paler--which, for someone as dark-skinned as she, looks decidedly unhealthy.

Everyone else, on the other hand, has, at one point or another, been extremely sick (Private River) or experimented with hallucinogenic drugs (Officer Lythimnas) or actually is a synesthete (Private Ou-yang) and so weathers it just a little bit better. It merely dredges up relatively unpleasant memories more than anything else. Yishuya does make the idle mental connection, however, that an Office of Psionic Operations spook would have absolutely loved to experience this one. He'll have to tease a few he knows professionally with it.

As they're addressed, the officers bow, although Banane quietly appreciates a steadying hand from the ever-so-gentlemanly Lythimnas. Without an obvious reply that would seem to fit the tone of the ritual, they remain silent and simply comply, stepping forward to the dias. The troopers instead take a step or two to each side, giving them a better view of the area--better to be on the edges and scan an arc rather than in the middle and having to look all around.

Iris notices their distress, or rather the changes in body temperature, pulse and brainwave activity. She retreats from the room slightly, maintaining only enough presence to maintain her personality dominance over Tera, which isn't much since her subject is willing. When they had approached close enough, she gestures to indicate that they may stop.

"The Trimvirate aided my people in our time of need. They helped us when they had no cause to trust our goodwill. For that i am grateful. Many lives would have been lost if not for the efforts of your people."

The crowd affirms her statement, much like a congregation all saying "amen" at once, though the word they use is unfamiliar and possibly alien in origin.

"It is traditional in a ceremony of this kind to bestow upon you a gift, in this case to thank you on behalf of your people. My family, and our peoples government have been deliberating on a gift, and i am afraid to say we have little to give that is of equal value to the lives of so many of our citizens. It has been decided however that we should take the hand of friendship you have put before us. We wish to ally ourselves with the Triumvirate and its people, so that we may return the kindness your people granted us. As a symbol of this proposal i will give you this."

One of the councilors stands and passes to Iris a small blue object, similar in shape to a pebble and approximately the size of a child's fist. She steps forward, and then holds it out to Yishuya.

"This is a thought stone, a simple nueral circuit that is designed to hold a finite amount of data and keep it immutably. Any psychic will be able to read it easily. It was imprinted by me personally and contains my personal ID traits. As a Habitat of Gentec, the only higher authority is Hyperion himself. It is made from the same substance as my shell and is difficult to destroy, and almost impossible to forge or successfully alter. As it is, so is the offer of our friendship. Long may it remain so."

Again, the audience raises their voice in agreement, but this time it is a roar, and the cry is taken up outside the walls. In the streets of the residential levels, the agricultural gardens and the maintainance shafts, where the voice of the Habitat is being transmitted by the human reporters in the crowd, the people of Gentec stop for a moment to voice their approval.

When the shout dies down Iris smiles with Tera's lips, and then waits for Yishuya's response.

One would think that this is the sort of thing they train Diplomatic Officers for. It is, sort of. Except that alliances and matters of Binding Import usually have teams of lawyers and, probably, legislators running around to make sure they're not too binding. Running around saving people is, to an extent, what the Triumvirate does and so while a 'token of appreciation' doesn't come as any surprise, the fact that it's so... well... aligning does come as a bit of a shock. Well, Yishuya thinks, they're not from around here. If I accept it, that means we're probably allies, but then I have to report that up to Corps Central and proper alliances have to vote... but I can't explain all this and then refuse as it would be absolutely rude and ruin relations forever...

Shit, what's a low-level peon of a democratic superfederal organization supposed to do?!

Throughout all this, the ever-polite Diplomatic Officer Lythimnas smiles all friendly-like, eyes slightly glazed over from the thinking and brow just beginning to get that sheen of perspiration. Banane, for her part, breaks bearing a bit by leaning forward, glancing over at the Officer, and poking him lightly.

Shit shit shit shit cut from whole cloth!

Yishyua carefully accepts the thought stone with at least as much reverence as it is presented, and perhaps far more as he carries it more gingerly than the Pope would touch the Shroud of Turin. "On behalf of the Triumvirate we are proud to accept this symbol and, thus, your desire for alliance." Momentary pause. "We of course look forward to working together with you in friendship and I look forward to personally working with you and your people," he addresses Iris directly, "in seeing that our paths are as one. Long may we work together in peace and friendship."

I do believe I've just exceeded my authority by a good deal.

OOC: oops. just realised i stuffed up a little, mixing up the first and second ceremonies. Not sure now wether to merge them or swap them.

IC:

Tera/Iris' smile widens happily, an almost childishly pure expression of pleasure, and the crowd once again erupts with an exclamation of approval. None seem to realise or comprehend that Yishuya might not have had the authority to commit his nation in such a dramatic fashion, probably because of their partially shared consciousness and its impact on policy making. There was no such thing as an isolated Gentec politician.

"Those others who have brought gifts for our guests may present them now."

She steps back, and the crowd arranges itself. Most of them seem not to have brought gifts, which is probably a good thing given the size and evident weight of the gifts some of them have brought along. A porter also appears subtly beside the podium, armed with a small flatbed vehicle of some kind that moves like a starfish on hundreds of nub like tentacle-feet.

Arén is in the line, towering above the others in her bulky bio-armour. Her gift is long and slender, and wrapped in a sheath of what looks like silk. Most of the others seem to have either food or spices of some kind, or pieces of art and trinkets and many have letters attached to them.

(OOC: Cutting from whole cloth makes everything better! ;) )

Yishuya graciously accepts each gift in turn with the professional yet down-homey courtesy that Arén at least would be able to recognize at this point. The human brain is wonderfully adept at protecting itself from harm when, as the ancients would say, all the bodily humors are in balance and the Diplomatic Officer, being a healthy and generally happy individual manages to keep himself steady, sane, and happy by unconsciously forcing himself to be utterly oblivious of what he just did besides give a not-bad extemporaneous speech. The 'wait, yes, this is what I was trained for' nature of accepting gifts in good grace assists in that, and the fact that if he didn't do something (conscious or otherwise) he would smile in a funny way, twitch, then probably promptly pass out from the acute panic attack.

That would not be proper and, as mentioned previously, he did experiment with hallucinogenic drugs before. He'd say it was back when he was young and stupid, but other than increasing his chance for brain cancer tenfold it also helped him to be more self-aware of his own psyche, making him capable of near superhuman levels of stress control (not avoidance, mind, just control).

All this honestly astounds Parveen, who is still reeling just a bit from the psionically-induced synesthesia and who, throughout her entire life, has had to deal with the more conventional will-over-base-self method of attitude control. Being strong-willed, she's also good at such control. Nevertheless, the sea change in Yishuya's attitude (she is standing right there, after all) boggles her a bit. She simply concludes that yes, D.O.s are crazy and, coming from someone nicknamed "Bananas," this says something.

When Arén steps up, Yishuya is even more personable, if politely so. Hey, somebody I know! "Hello, Arén." Winning smile. Anything more than that would be assuming a bit too much for a Officer on duty.

Arén beams when her turn comes, and bows formally when addressed, but after that she relaxes slightly.

"Hello.. I brought you something. i hope you will like it."

She raises the object, and slides the sheath of silk down the shaft to reveal the gift itself. It looks like a musical instrument of some sort, made from the same blue substance so much of their organic technology is cased with. The most similar Earth equivilent would probably be a flute, or perhaps a recorder. It is beautifully crafted as well, with spiralling designs engraved in the shell that reveal a mother-of-pearl lustre underneath the more tactile, dusty blue of the outer layer.

"It belonged to my brother. He lost an arm in the attack, but his life was saved by one of your medics. He cant play anymore, so we want you to have it. As a symbol of our gratitude."

She holds it out reverently, and almost reluctantly. almost like a general surrendering his sword. But it is clear in her expression that as reluctant to part with it as she is, that he have it is more important to her.

Lythimnas reverently accepts the gift with a bow, feeling remarkably humbled at the moment. It's not really as if he had anything to do with it; he's just a monkey in a suit representing something else. Something clicks in his head.

Representing. This gift represents gratitude, and it isn't presented to me, but to what I represent through this uniform and my service.

There's so much he could say. Things about how this isn't necessary, prosthetic technology has come such a long way, he needn't give up his loved instrument, silly, little, personable things that would be meant in good faith but only cause ill because they completely ignore and thus discredit the metaphor. If he wants to continue playing the flute, he'll get a new arm and a new flute. This sacrifice is a symbol, a meaningful overcoming of reluctance in giving up a prized possession to who is, essentially, a total stranger... but, most importantly, a total stranger who represents an organization that, for no reason other than it could and it should, ran in and saved lives.

And so he takes it with almost equal reluctance, but not an oppositionary one, if that makes any sense. A commisserating reluctance. "Thank you. I accept it on behalf of those who made the effort, and am honored by your gift. They'll be honored too once I let them know."

Arén smiles warmly at his words, and leaves without another word. Her step though looks lighter than it has in the time he has known her, as if a weight has been lifted from her armoured shoulders.

The rest of the small ceremony wraps up without incident, and as the last of the grateful citizens is led away Terra/Iris turns elegantly, and waves a hand at the great doors that stand at the back of the room. They open silently, muscles set into the walls contracting smoothly and silently. Daylight then streams through, dazzlingly bright after the softly lit chamber. Beyond is a huge stretch of grass, the center of the arena they had as of yet only glimpsed from outside. The people visible on the far side of the field are rendered tiny by distance, but the noise of the crowd is fantastic now that it is not held back by the doors and walls. They chant and sing, jostling for a first glimpse of Iris and her guests and eager to be the first to catch a glimpse of them.

Without further formalities, Iris begins to descend from the dais and approach the opening, and the council members bow and gesture for the Trium diplomats to follow. It is hard to hear anything over the din and so they do not bother to try and speak.

The second ceremony is about to start, and this one is for Yishuya himself. The Ceremony of Welcome.

((Oh dear. looked back at how long this has been going, and the answer is too long. dlp. ill skip the yet-another-lengthy-ceremony))

Arén smiles warmly at his words, and leaves without another word. Her step though looks lighter than it has in the time he has known her, as if a weight has been lifted from her armoured shoulders.

The rest of the small ceremony wraps up without incident, and as the last of the grateful citizens is led away Terra/Iris turns elegantly, and waves a hand at the great doors that stand at the back of the room...

And nothing happens.

She frowns, but even as she does so, the rooms lights go out, leaving it in a strange half-gloom, still partially lit by the muted daylight filtering through the semi-transparent walls. The room goes silent for a second, before it erupts into chaos. a staccato strobe effect of energy weapons discharging illuminates the combat going on around the podium, and Yishuya can see that Terra is down, with a smoking hole in her robe.

The attackers are a small number of the humans in the crowd. They move with the coordination of trained soldiers, taking cover behind pillars as they drive back the few Marines in the room. Arén is pinned down, tears running down her face as she tries desperately to find an opening so she can retrieve her daughter.

"Oh, shit." That's about as much as Yishuya can get out before Banane pushes him off the dias with one surprisingly strong arm, draws her service pistol with the other, and dives forward to retrieve Terra while firing her powergun in a bit of semiautomatic suppressive fire. As there's a crowd, she aims high, and it should be noted that her weapon is considerably brighter and louder than the more elegant energy weapons used by the assailants, each shot flashing and booming like lightning. The diplomatic officer goes down off the dias (and thus into some sort of cover) in a heap, then spasms himself to better hug the limited cover whilst fumbling at his belt for that little cylinder of his.

Meanwhile, the two Infantrymen instantly drop low once the pandemonium hits, set their monocles to light amplification, and draw their own pistols. Seeing the line of advance by the humans they run low to the side, trying to use what little cover they have to get around to the sides of the attackers. They're trained soldiers too, and River pulls a small circular device from her pocket. "Ess out!" A sling of her arm and a few moment later, the smoke grenade bursts harmlessly in the crowd towards the assailants, a big dark poof of optics-obscuring smoke filling the area while the Infantrymen switch to infrared and magnetic resonance blend. If they do get a clear shot at an armed target, they take it with (relatively) carefully aimed shots. Given the high civilian density of the situation, this is tricky at best.

Parveen curses herself for not investing in eye augments as she gets to the wounded girl and, in the first actual thought she's had about the tactical situation, realizes that maybe leaving her down would be the best warfighting move. People tend not to shoot the wounded. Sometimes. Maybe. Then her maternal instinct kicks in again, she slings the girl over her shoulder with a cough from the smoke, then runs back towards the dias, again firing her weapon aimlessly (but high) over her free shoulder.

((Some information on Gentec Infantry weaponry can be found here: http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Gentec_Marines_%28GMC%29 ))

The Marines are not so discriminating. They open fire on the crowd as a whole, dropping insurgent fighters and civilians alike in twitching heaps on the ground until the smoke thickens.

The smoke laid down by the Triumvirate bodyguard causes a brief pause in the gun-battle as soldiers on both sides either drop to the ground where the smoke is hopefully thinner and easier to see through, or adjust their own optical enhancements to compensate. Ironically this gives the human insurgents the upper hand, as most of the marines are not wearing helmets, and have no implants.

Most of the humans however do have sensory augmentation implants and quickly capitalise on their sudden advantage. The non-combatants not allready incapacitated try to escape the line of fire, while the insurgents use the cover to focus their attacks on the next greatest threat: the Triumvirate bodyguards. The fire is primarily suppressive in nature as they advance towards Yishuya and Banane. As they separate from the crowd, their numbers become obvious. There are over a dozen of them, and only four Marines in the room, two of whom are unable to see through the smoke. One of the covering humans shouts, his voice clearly artificially amplified since it cuts through the weapons fire.

"Throw down your weapons. You are outnumbered and this room has been sealed off from reinforcements. If you do not surrender, we will resort to lethal force."

The weapons used by both sides seem to be largely identical in function, though the insurgents weapons are smaller and clearly less powerful. They emit bursts of bright blue-white energy along a straight line and making a whip-crack noise that is deafeningly loud. While the damage caused is horrific to look at, looking at Terra will quickly show that it is largely superficial burns and symptoms of severe electrical shock. The damage is similar to the effects of a taser, on a larger scale. Tera is unconscious but seems stable, groaning and twitching when Bananes lifts her. She is also much heavier than she looks, and very muscular under her loose-fitting civilian robes.

Someone talking means one less person shooting. The Infantrymen, now behind cover of their own, take advantage of this and their pistol-to-monocle targeters by aiming, pulling triggers, and perhaps violently removing a few of the enemy from the temporal realm through the generation of craters about the size and depth of salad bowls. The average TYCS powergun sidearm uses forced matter annihilation to basically force the generation of an xaser made coherent through the use of EM lenses in the barrel. The coil thus used also deals with the inevitable plasma bloom that results, but limits the effective range to about fifty meters or so. This is considered just fine. There is no less-than-lethal setting, at least not with this ammunition.

Banane jumps over the dais and combat-gently dumps Tera/Iris behind cover. "Right," she calls out, "lethal force. Whatchya gonna do, tacnuke the place?" Strobe lighting is still something vaguely approximating battlefield illumination, so she reloads, peeks up long enough to see shapes not running away, and double-taps at them before ducking back down.

River and Ou-Yang battlespeak their options through their low-vis suitcoms over the course of a few seconds. Their grenade loadout's limited to smoke and riotfoam, given the civvies, and it's time to level the odds a bit. Riotfoam friendly fire isn't exactly the greatest of concerns. They mutter, the lieutenant hears it as "arr out," and the Infantrymen pitch small riotfoam grenades towards the center of mass of the attackers. Besides being sticky as tar and singly able to fill a small room, riotfoam hardens to concrete thickness quickly and is even aerated so it (shouldn't) choke anyone. Isn't technology grand?

Meanwhile, Yishuya is somewhat out of his league. Yes, he has weapons training. That's the only reason he has an ice needler. Yes, he has combat training, if being told when to use said needler and when to just get the hell down and let the military do its job counts. The never-say-die professional thing to do would be to check Tera for a pulse, decide that now is a poor place to try triage, and either hunker down or add his needler fire to the mix, as any full auto weapon will act as a suppressant, even if it is just slivers of ice filled with sleepy-time barbituate cocktails. He is only human, though, and so flattens out first and foremost with a sense of shamed helplessness. It's already been a stressful day, and right now his animal instinct tells him to become one with the floor by becoming as two-dimensional as humanly possible at the moment.

The one who spoke is also the first to die, at least amongst the human attackers. Abruptly, the tone of the firefight changes, as does the appearance. The insurgents switch their weapons from the less lethal electro-laser setting to lethal one and one of then turn almost all their fire on the two Triumvirate bodyguards. This time rather than the suppresion fire that they had been using before, they aim to kill.

This setting, unlike its more pyrotechnic counterpart, makes little noise and only a small amount of flash on the visible light spectrum. It causes the explosive evaporation of the targets surface, then burns through. On soft targets it typically causes an initial deep burn, typically a hole eight to twelve inches deep and then a secondary cut which varies in size and depth according to the targets movement and the shooters skill. Its effects on armoured targets vary considerably based on the type of armour they are facing, but a skilled operator with a weapon on maximum setting can cut a man in half from twenty feet.

One of the helmeted Marines promptly demonstrates this as he bisects an insurgent diagonally with a flick of his weapon. Any satisfaction he may have had however is cut short when one of the insurgents gets a lucky shot into the gap between his shoulder and neck armour, and he sags like a puppet with its strings cut.

Aren cries out as her comrade dies. It is a wordless expression of anger and frustration, scrambling along the dead ground on the far side of the podium to the dead marine's side, she cradles his head in her arms. For a moment, it seems that she is taking the time to mourn him in the middle of a fight, until the helmet comes off in her hands. She puts it on herself, and then flattens herself to the ground until the sensors come online.

When they do, she speaks on the trium parties radio frequency.
"They have cut off our communication with Iris somehow. There are other marines outside but they are also being engaged by human insurgents. Estimate currently over fifty hostiles in the vicinity of the arena, all armed with the same small energy weapons, all snuck in with the human crowds outside, or defecting members of the human security teams."

She pauses then as the riot-foam goes off, apparently suprised as it engulfs several of the insurgent fighters. Then an angry buzz sipping past her ear causes her to flatten herself again.

"Stingers! They are using smart grenades. Make yourself small, they arent very accurate in confined spaces."

Those with vision augmentation will see several small heat signatures zipping around through the smoke. Initially thrown or simply released by the remaining insurgents they have independant flight capability and seem able to select their own targets. One attaches itself to a marine and then detonates with a loud bang, spraying blood and ichor across the room.

Private Ou-Yang gets caught in the shoulder and goes down with a spin, the armor under his fatigues smoking a bit. "Gaaahh." Grunting a bit over the comm channel, he goes stream of consciousness. "I think I'm alright mostly but shoulder's out bastard hit me just right--" having just had one's shoulder cleanly broken by concussion is generally not conducive to coherent thought thanks to the shock.

"Stay down, Private," the lieutenant mutters as she and River, having heard the warning, hunker down behind cover. "Fifty, you say, and flying grenades." She sighs. Surrender is not exactly something in her blood, but things are looking somewhat grim at the moment with one man down and another in no sort of combat trim--this last thought with a glance towards the diplomatic officer. Then there's the other matter to consider, she thinks as she looks over at the wounded but not dead teenager. Time for a status report. "Aren, Banane. Tera is alive but skin-burnt and in shock. I've one man down. It's your house. What's the rules?"

-Orders?- Private River asks tersely over her throat mic.

"Buy time. Throw arr fr'cov."

Without nodding, River simply takes some more small spheres from her many and varied pockets and chucks them more or less at random so they should land more or less where she saw the baddies last. Cover is her friend at the moment, but she's no idiot. Infantry engagement, initiative lost, fifty to two, probably one, odds, road game disadvantage. Checking her monocle, she notes that her fellow Infantryman's vitals are fluttering. Muttering silently to herself, she ejects her empty powergun magazine and slots in another tube of polystyrene discs with a click. "Yang down, unstab. Pinned."

"Ack, Riv." The lieutenant changes her address from the Infantryman to the Marine. "Possibility of reinforcement?"

Arén sounds grim, not liking the odds any more than Banane.

"Cut our way out of here, and hope the next faces we see are friendly. Got anything like a flare up your sleeves? Heat and light can distract the stingers enough to let us get away. Dammit."

She takes down another two of the insurgents, and the foam gets another three, leaving the room clear of active hostiles. Other than the stingers of course. The remaining marine manages to shoot one out of the air, but its a lucky shot more than anything. They are small and fast, and fly erratically die to the constant need to change direction in the confines of the chamber. Most of the civilians are either entombed in riot foam, dead or cowering in corners.

"Right." Parveen blanks out for a moment, ignoring the buzzing and flitting of the drones. "Gameplan. St'bye for mark. River, effbee far corner, grab Yang, stract."

A little bit across the room, the Seldane groans. "I was afraid you were going to say that, ma'am. Ack."

"Yang?" Parveen grunts with something approximating compassion. "Effbee will be out. Cover up on mark. Ack'n'rep."

"Ack," the injured private says weakly, "cover up on mark. Effbee out."

"Check." The lieutenant leaves staccato battlespeak long enough to explain the situation to the diplomatic officer beside her and Arén. "On my signal, Lythimnas and I will take Tara and roll over the dias, then take cover from the flashbang. River grabs Yang and we all book it out the door. Arén, recommend you take point--your court. Did you get that, Officer?" Looking down at the prone Yishuya, she jabs him in the back with her elbow. "Did you get that, Officer? Acknowledge and reply."

"Ow--Yeah, yeah," Yishuya says through dry mouth and cottony tongue, "grab Tera, roll, avoid the flashbang, run. I heard you, Lieutenant. You get the girl, I'll give you a push and come after."

"Alright, everyone. On three." Banane sighs, then forces her mind clear. Now is not the time to consider how poorly the day is going. "One," she says, pulling Tera close and shifting so Yishuya can push her up onto the dias and get her roll started. "Two." Grimace. "Three."

Lythimnas pushes, Parveen throws her shoulders, Ou-Yang covers his head with one arm, and River chucks a flashbang into the corner furthest from the door and takes cover. Not so much heat, perhaps, but definitely light. Lots of retina-scarring light, just as Parveen lands on the opposite side of the dais, followed by a less-than-gracefully leaping diplomatic officer. Tinnitus rules the day as River pivots on the heels of her combat boots and runs as low as she can across the hardened riotfoam over to her comrade.

The effect isn't quite what the marines had expected, as flashbangs weren't something they used. but it works all the same. The stingers have no protection from the light and their delicate visual tracking systems overload causing them to go haywire, many careening into walls and exploding like fireworks on contact.

Arén's suit sensors take the brunt of the flash and she loses visual spectrum vision, but as she can navigate well enough on the suits other sensors she isn't phased much. She runs for the doors the insurgents had entered through.

The other marine is not quite so lucky. While his reflexes are fast enough to protect him from the worst of it he is still half dazzled by the blast. He makes it to the doors, but only barely.

The doors are open thankfully, and lead onto a service corridor. Arén waits for the last of them to get through then slams the doors against surviving stingers.

Yishuya stumbles through smoke and light and generally all the signs of a bad acid trip, led by something with a death grip on his hand. Then he's back to the normal world, albeit the normal world with some ringing, and Parveen lets go of his hand before shifting the weight of Tera on her shoulder. River leans Ou-Yang against the wall, asks him what side he wants it on, and when she gets a murmured response, slaps him across the right cheek with one well-formed but large (well, she's a tall female) hand. The wounded private shakes his head hard and overcomes the shock through force of will, having something to concentrate on. "Thanks. Nek ni. I wish we'd brought combat drugs."

"Well, that's insufficient paranoia for you." Banane looks up and down the corridor, then looks to Arén. "Are the civilians going to be okay in there? Those knife-missiles have to run out of juice at some point." Then she turns her somewhat ruffled grimace towards Lythimnas. "Besides, I can see this turning into a diplomatic situation anyway."

"Huh, what?" Yishuya blinks.

"What side do you want it on?" Banane offers a momentarily concerned look.

"Huh? I guess I am out of it. Just give me a moment." He shakes his head and starts breathing more regularly. "What can I say, I'm no soldier. Anyway, yeah, wait. Diplomatic situation?" He runs back through the events in his head, getting them straight. "What the hell were you thinking, putting civilians in danger?"

"That was the lead-in to my apology," Parveen says grimly. "If I'd realized we were dealing with laser-tazers like the Treznorians have I wouldn't have gone last stand on them." She looks back to Arén. "Not to sound ungrateful, but we should at least let anyone still in there know that help will be coming if we aren't going to get them out. Other priorities would be some sort of meds and, of course, getting the hell out of here." She looks none too happy with the situation on a purely intellectual level--so much for idealism.

Arén nods. "You couldn't have known. We were expecting a less direct attack, none of our intelligence pointed towards something like this. It seems our intel people have some answering to do. As for the weapons, it was likely an attempt to limit the escalation. We take casualties very seriously. What happened in there was more than an act of war, it was an invitation to destruction. This is not going to end well for the terrorists. I hope that whatever their message is, its worth the cost."

She then gently takes Tera from Banane and lies her down at the side of the corridor, sliding the casque from her head. The girl groans and shifts, but remains unconsious.

"The stingers are probably flying blind, and only have an active lifespan of a few minutes anyway. If we haven't heard explosions by now, the danger for the survivors is passed. We can let the MMU's handle it. How long does that foam last?"

"It lasts until a specially-designed solvent turns it into a non-toxic goo that's somewhat icky but not too hard to clean up," Ou-Yang carefully recalls from memory, using it as something to concentrate on other than his shoulder. "I had to clean it up once. Almost fun in a sorta adolescent playing-with-slime sort of way. I know I don't have any solvent, though..."

"I left it back at the embassy," River says easily. "Easier to carry micronades and I doubt anyone will starve in there. If they start to deoxygenate it it'll break down too, but that way into a powder in an odd sort of winding path that doesn't do much for freeing them. They'll also have bad asthma-like symptoms but nothing life-threatening unless they've already got a condition."

Banane looks around with an unusual mild tone in her voice. "I got caught in that stuff once because a rally I was at got a bit too unruly. It was a fair cop, I was one of the unruly factors. It's something like a well-done straightjacket. You're angry, you're scared, and then you're in this big and surprisingly comfortable suspension and no matter how hard you push at it you find that not only can't you move, but you're not going to get hurt and something in your body just relaxes. People will probably be strangely calm when we get back, and it won't be from any chemicals, I think." She coughs lightly, then needlessly checks how full her pistol is through the clear magazine. "Anyway, enough of my past. Let's get out of here."

"Good.. the civilians are probably safer than we are in that case. We cannot afford to linger, our means of escape is in imminent danger of being blocked. We will leave Tera here for the MMU's to recover. Follow me."

She then heads off down the corridor at a steady walk, crouched slightly with her weapon held tight to her chest and pointing forward. Whilst she moves through the corridor, covering doorways and checking blind corners with her suits optics in an admirable display of urban warfare tactics she gives a detailed brief of the situation to Banane.

"This attack is better coordinated and far more ruthless than any previously encountered. They have somehow jammed our communications and hijacked control of several key systems in the Gardens. Even Iris has so far been unable to wrest control back. Their weaponry is military grade, and stingers have been retired for decades. It is entirely possible they have more suprises in store for us, and we are cut off from our main marine contingents. All we have on our side is the marine detail assigned to protecting the building, and they have been pinned down at choke points ahead of us by defecting human security."

"I'm not going to lie to you. This isn't good. If we encounter a significant enemy force between here and the extraction point, i will leave it up to you as to whether we fight or surrender."

The lieutenant glances back at River and Ou-Yang, the former being her usual steadfast blue self, the other looking a bit more green than usual but still mobile. "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it," Banane mutters. "And if I have to make the hard sell," she says over her shoulder to the Infantrymen, "I don't want to hear any complaints."

"Hooah, ma'am," the two M.I. say quietly. There's something of a loophole in the honor code about not surrendering, but it's an important one, and one that Lythimnas doesn't know anything about. He looks and feels as if someone just signed his death warrant.

"Can't I pull rank due to the diplomatic nature of the mission?" he says more weakly than he would like to.

"Sorry officer," Parveen says with a grimace, "it's just turned military. Keep your head down and use that ice needler to good effect. In fact, fall back and help Yang back there."

Yishuya nods, at least not feeling so useless, and relieves Private River of the burden of keeping Ou-Yang stable. The amount of urban warfare training the Trium mooks have, and its distribution, is readily obvious. Parveen's trained in self-defense and close-quarters shipboard combat, but things you normally wouldn't see aboard ships (like windows) slow her down a bit as she tries to figure her way around them. Following Arén, she's at point. The Infantrymen are trained for urban and open field combat, and show it, though Yang's shoulder makes him less than combat effective and so River takes drag. The diplomatic officer is one step up from an unarmed civilian in that he has a weapon and knows how to use it. Outside of that, all he has going for him is the instinct to stay as small as possible.

A simple nod, and from that point she communicates using only simple hand gestures. The service corridor is mostly internal, running between the main access corridors on the outside of the building and the storage and locker rooms under the stands themselves, so Banane's training stands her in good stead. They encounter no resistance, only little pockets of hiding civilians, and the distant sound of combat.

The peace lasts until they round a bend and find themselves face to face with a group of soldiers in unfamiliar pattern bio-armour emerging from one of the locker rooms. The armour is similar to the civilian suit Yishuya used earlier, but with heavier carapace and attachment points for weapons systems.

Luckily, the corridor has ample cover in the form of neatly stacked boxes and crates against the walls, otherwise they might have been in for a brutal firefight. Arén ducks behind one of the crates and then gives a brief glance back to make sure the others are doing the same, but she doesn't immediately fire on them. Instead she raises a hand to her helmet as if to put a finger to her lips. quiet.

And quiet is well-regarded as a good strategy in this option, weapons at the ready or no. One thing light infantry generally shouldn't do is have a stand-up fight with armored infantry, and while their powerguns do have a good anti-armor potential their ability to take punishment is, well, limited. Best to lay low and see how this pans out.

((sorry for the wait. am having trouble getting whats in my head intoa post that makes sense.))

(OOC: Well understood. Take your time, no rush.)

The armoured humans seem distracted, but they glance around superficially before another emerges, helping a hooded figure dressed in feather hung robes, who seems to have trouble standing unaided.

They all move away from him as he steps intot he corridor, nervous body language and darting glances around them showing their discomfort. There is something about the figure, this hooded man, that is wrong. Even from their hiding place, he sends a shiver down their spines. Perhaps its something in the way he stands, or the way his head swings around the room, not pausing on anything but instead remaining poised... He looks like he is sniffing the air.

His gaze comes to rest on their hiding places. Snatching his hand away from his escort, he limps painfully in their direction. The militiaman who had his arm trecoiles as if he may be struck down by something, then follows a step behind.

Arén turns her head, alarmed, but has no time to speak before the strange man is standing above them, as if he had bypassed the intervening space. And he is a man, for now they can see under the hood, and his twisted features are largely obscured by a tangled and dirty beard. His eyes are alight with madness, and also a sense of otherness. He seems to see straight through them, and their hiding places. Arén manages to hiss out a single word before her jaw clamps shut and she slips to the floor, rigid. "Psyker!"

Most Humans born with psychic talent on a Gentec Habitat die within hours. Overwhelmed by the powerful presence of the Vessels consciousness, their own fledgling minds do not have the strength or training to hold off the crushing force. Those few that survive their first few hours would arguably be better off dead, and of those tiny number an even smaller minority ever gains enough sanity to do more than rave, and lash out blindly at those around them. Even the most resilient of them are irreparably insane. These few tend to disappear after reaching a certain age, and no-one, not even Iris, seems to know where they go. This one looks ancient, and his whole body is twisted and gnarled like a lightning-struck tree.

He straightens, and the act causes his joints to pop and crackle like snapping twigs. Though his eyes remain those of a lunatic, when he speaks his voice is level and clear. It is also completely mismatched to his body, strong and clear as a bell.

"We mean you no harm. I apologise for the confusion, but the Luminate would never have allowed us to talk to you without a fight."

The intervening hop, and the complete inability for Mobile Infantry marksmen to fire off-bore to reality without some highly specialized equipment they don't happen to have on them at the moment, means this odd little flanking maneuver works dramatically. The Triumvirate party loses all initiative and, thus, is forced to react to the situation at hand. Independently coming to the conclusion that pulling triggers will just lead to mission failure, the military stays its collective hand, although Lieutenant Parveen, after her own firey fashion, has a few choice words to say. "Confusion. Right, if that's what you call bursting into a room full of civilians and--"

She stops when the diplomatic officer gently raises a hand in recommendation and request. No real good in a scrap, talking to strange people is his specialty and he feels a strange sort of calm, as the hole situation has changed into a form that better associates with his particular class of peg. Being Tiburonese, he knows nothing about psykers or psionicists or magicians or anything else of that nature, except that all that unreal stuff happens elsewhere and so HELLSING or the metanormal agencies of other countries deal with it. He has no idea that this person is a psyker; he simply looks crazy, sounds painful, and speaks like a diplomat. Diplomat, diplomacy, direct application of primary skillset, something Yishuya can do. On the side, Yishuya, being Tiburonese, has these traits that would be of interest to a psyker: one, he has the psionic potential of a three-day old loaf of bread; two, he seems to be his own natural dead space (weird things can happen to him, but the force of paradox just seems to offer just a little more protection than would be expected); and three, he's noisy, generally thinking aloud on a telepathic level.

"There has been plenty of confusion, yes," he says consolingly, in a tone both far too congenial and assertive for a situation simply described as 'flanked,' which sounds a lot like the word Banane is currently associating with the situation in her head, preceded by the phrase 'we're.' Being Scolopendran, she has the unconscious courtesy to keep her estimation to herself while Lythimnas thinks on open channels. That's putting things mildly, but well... "I think it would be fair to say that... errors in judgment have occured on both sides, leading us to this juncture with far more ado than I think anyone wanted. That being said, here we are, and it is my job to talk, so to speak."

He glances over at Ou-Yang, who looks decidedly unwell, as he probably ought, keeping himself up by force of will as he is. "We have injured and are in no place to fight. If you'll grant that no one else will come to harm," he looks at Arén with obvious concern--[i]I hope she's alright, and it's just some sort of restraining thing-/i]--"then we surrender."

The military side of the Triumvirate party share a mixture of shock, anger, and perhaps a bit of betrayal at this statement--he doesn't have the right, it's giving into the enemy, okay so we can't accomplish anything but if this is it we can at least make them bleed for it--except for poor Yang, who is quietly somewhat relieved. After calming her own emotions on the issues, the lieutenant looks over her battered command and nods stoically. Doesn't say anything, just nods. Her mind is perhaps curiously closed.

The twisted man's crooked grin widens, and he passes his mad, intense stare over the entire party before taking a small, creaking step backwards.

"The Marine will come to no further harm. More than enough blood has been spilled this day already, and she is merely incapacitated. Surrender your weapons to my men. All of them, as I will know if you are hiding anything."

The armoured terrorists then step forward to take their weapons. Two of them remain at a distance, weapons leveled at the Triumvirate soldiers just in case.

OOC:
The psykers claim about knowing if they are hiding anything is mostly a bluff. Unless they conciously think about any weapons they are hiding, and have no mental defenses all he can do is rely on his connection to the buildings security systems, which are able to monitor their respiration and heart rates. Thus he can tell if they are lying or unusually stressed. That said, he seems absolutely confident and has given them no reason to doubt his abilities.

The Scolopendran soldiers sigh and offer up their chunky powergun pistols, with River giving up what remains of her small little spherical grenades. Ou-Yang is in no state to give up anything other than what he already has on hand, and the diplomatic officer has completely forgotten about the little salt-shaker in his own hand, which may as well be a microphone or scanner as a weapon. Mentally, Banane is disarmed. River still has her bootknife, which, the instant she thinks of it, the psyker makes a 'give it here' motion and the private sighs and retrieves it. Yang tries desperately to maintain consciousness. Yishuya is too busy not getting shot to think of much else.

"There, we're at your mercy." As far as he's concerned, it's the truth. "You have our ears, if that's what you wish."

Then he thinks about the old kzinti tradition of literally taking the ears off of those they had bested in combat.

Then he regrets having said what he just did.

The psyker laughs. "Ears... Ears indeed. Funny. We are not savages Ambassador Yishuya, and have little need for trophies. Come this way."

He points a misshapen finger down the corridor, and his men gesture crudely with their weapons for them to rise and get moving. Most of the sounds of fighting have stopped now, an uneasy quiet only occasionally broken by the cries of the wounded. The acoustics in this area of the building are strange, and at times they can hear people talking as if they are right beside them, only to turn a corridor and have the sound disappear completely. Whether this too has something to do with the psychic, or something else entirely is not immediately obvious. Perhaps strangely, they also lift Arén and take her with them though it requires two men simply to lift her weight.

Violence is the universal language and the weapon gesture for 'get up and go that way' has been a constant between nearly all cultures ever since the first sapient got the bright idea of taking a sharp rock and binding it to a stick to make it easier to use as a dedicated weapon. There's no translation for the message to be lost in, and so the Triumvirate party staggers to its feet, River and Banane helping Yang up. River's a bit too tall to properly keep him up, and so the role of human crutch goes to Banane--only appropriate, as she's the human of the two--and the diplomatic officer stands alone, absentmindedly brushing himself up and adjusting his uniform out of pure habit.

The moans of the hurt certainly unnerve him. To say that he's a soft man would not be accurate; he's done things with his hands and lived what some would call a proper working blue-collar life before he decided to go into diplomacy. Still, it's not like he's a soldier trained to ignore the suffering of others, or at least seem like it (the latter being nearest the truth, usually). "I hope something will be done for the sake of the injured, yes?"

"Ours will likely die where they lie, unless they hold some kind of rank. The Lumina and non-combatants will be given all the aid available, i imagine. The screams you can hear are all human, by the way. Lumina don't scream, they simply shut down their pain receptors and wait for help. Like machines."

To say that the man sounds cold would be an understatement. If frost could form on words, then his would have icicles. He leads them down the corridor, then into another side passage where two more soldiers guard a manhole of sorts.

"In there. There are guards below so don't try and make a break for it."

"I know machines that would take exception to that," Banane hisses softly. It's not a mutter, nor is it particularly quiet. She fully means to be heard. Under guard and 'surrendered' she may be, but rolling over is not exactly one of her best character traits. Glancing at River, they silently work out a plan between them. Not for running, but how to transfer the injured Ou-Yang.

River smirks at the shorter psyker. "Your warning is well taken, sir," the honorific seems to ring false, "but I really don't think we're in any condition to make a break for it." That being said, she's the first down the hatch, and waits at the bottom for the lieutenant to make the handoff. Once that's done, Parveen goes down the hatch with a momentary glare at Yishuya.

Sighing, the diplomatic officer follows along, still completely forgetful of anything other than a sort of underlying sense of shame. He's not doing all too well today, as a diplomat or a fighter for the good and right.

If the psychic hears, or cares he gives no sign. Instead he follows them down into the tunnel, where another guard waits. They lower Arén carefully before the other guards descend and they move on.

The tunnels are dimly lit and clearly organic. It seems that the natural looking surface of the Gardens is but a thin skin on a complex hydroponic system that sustains its many plants, and these tunnels are the means by which that system is monitored and maintained. Bulkheads regularly punctuate the smooth walls of the tunnel, and vein-like ducts and pipes of various types form bulges in the roof above. Little monitoring stations, as well as the occasional checkpoint are all abandoned, and there is no sign of anyone else around. Eventually, assuming the group make no attempt to escape in the meantime, they come to a small Pill station. It is also abandoned, and an empty capsule stands open at one of the bays.

"Heh. Looks like Iris is going to have a spot of indigestion. Into the capsule if you please, and make sure to fasten your seatbelts, and keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times..."

The capsule is a smaller model, with a single open passenger area designed to hold up to twelve people. It has none of the comfort or luxuries of the larger ones used during Yishuya's tour.

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

In the darkened council chambers, it was hard to see who else stood watching the holographic 3d map of the gardens, and the little dots that represented the people there. Not that sight was required, the Lumina are aware of each other even in total darkness. Si could detect five other than himself, the members of the senior council who had stayed behind rather than go to the function that had now been disrupted so spectacularly. Iris' blanket conciousness was strong here, too. So she could be counted as present, though she was seldom truly absent.

"Report, Marine-Adjutant Si!"

The speaker was Senior Councilor Ahten. A bull of a man, and one of the few Marines on Iris' council. Si replied swiftly, for delay would cost him dearly.

"Sir! The attack has been contained and the terrorists have begun falling back. its like they are just melting into the ground. they disappear as soon as we lose visual. So far casualties amongst the Marines have been small. The close-protection team and a few of the perimeter guards. We have still not identified their means of staying undetected."

His words were augmented by meaning transmitted through the Skien, images and half-formed ideas and suspicions wound around his speech and hung on them like vines bearing poison fruit.

"Of the council members, all have been accounted for. However Councilor Jared lost an arm in the attack. Medics on sight have been unable to recover the limb, so he is being evaluated for memory loss and treated for shock."

A loud crash echoed around the room as a finely crafted oak chair met its end under the Councilors fist and splintered wood scattered across the floor. His wrath emanated from him and was in danger of infecting the others, so Iris reached out and calmed him with a touch of her mind. Her voice flooded over them, emanating from the walls themselves, as well as their own throats.

"Our situation is dire. The Diplomatic party is lost, and we have sustained losses we can ill afford, both in blood and in confidence. We must identify the means by which the insurgents are hiding from me, at any cost. This insurgency must end, and the Ambassador and his compatriots MUST be taken unharmed."

The air was uneasy, and heavy with doubt, fear and anger. Nothing like this had ever happened before. No attack like this was even possible... was it?

Si bowed and retreated from the room gratefully and with all the speed he was permitted to use in the presence of his superiors. As the door sealed, he could hear the urgent murmer of their voices, feel the rapid exchange of thought and ideas. It was a bad time to be at the top, and heads would surely roll for this. He muttered to himself as he headed for the Gardens, to see for hijmself the damage wrought by the humans.

"Its like a bad dream. Hyperion save us if this gets any worse."

Escape is generally only a good idea if you have some vague idea of where to go from where you are. Banane may have a never-say-die streak, but she isn't stupid either. She's in charge; she has to look out for the safety of the sweet but useless diplomatic officer and her soldiers, one of which is pretty badly hurt. With that in mind, alert, but with no actual intent to get away at the moment. All she's doing is collating data, trying to make a mental map, guesstimating and waiting for the situation to evolve to a better opportunity.

This isn't to say she's extremely good at any of this. She is trying, though, and though she may have been told to surrender, she hasn't given up.

The ride is lurching and uncomfortable, but mercifully short. The pill rumbles to a stop, and groans audibly as if it isn't supposed to rest where it does.When the doors open, they are only partially aligned with the outer opening.

The psychic is lifted through the opening by one of the guards, apparently unable to make the scramble himself. He then turns and passes his mad gaze over the prisoners.

"All right, we are here. If you would just accompany the nice men with guns, your comrades wounds will be tended to shortly. Ambassador, you are to come with me. Our leader wishes to speak with you."

Banane isn't helped by the unfamiliarity of everything, however from what she can gather, this stop has been improvised. The outer entrance is simply a hole cut into the wall, and cauterised. Wherever they are, it is not somewhere this pill line normally goes, and may not be easily accessible. The guards are alert, if nervous, and show little desire to talk or be engaged or distracted. The greatest weak point in their captors seems to be the psychic himself. Physically frail and clearly insane, he might bear watching.

The thought of jury-rigged surgery on a starship is not one that Parveen finds particularly pleasant, nor the thought of splitting up. Time to think fast. She glances at River and flashes index and middle finger in a 'V' by her pant seam, then forms an 'o' between thumb and forefinger, then another V, and ends with a jerked thumb pointing towards the Seldane private. Private River smirks and shrugs almost imperceptably, then accepts the delegation of authority with a nod and a tug of her ear, covered by a sniff and a scratch of her nose, face curling up at some imagined smell. She'd keep in touch.

"Diplomatic Officer Lythminas is only half of this mission," the lieutenant says sternly, shifting her shoulder gently against Ou-Yang to ready handing him off. "The Combined Services made contact and, despite being an organ of the Triumvirate as a whole, has a great deal of... autonomy. Your leader would probably like to speak with me as well, as while the good officer here is well versed in diplomacy and protocol, representing the finer points of our military-industrial complex elude him."

Yishuya opens his mouth to protest, then gets glared down to the point that he shuts it with an audible click.

A few seconds pass with Banane the subject of an intense and unwavering glare. The Psychics eyes seem to bore into her skull, and their mad gleam intensifies noticeably.

"Alright. Both of you will follow me. Your men will be treated for injuries and incarcerated. I assure you they will not be mistreated."

He turns and shuffles off, and one of the guards brings up the rear, maing sure that Banane and Yishuya both follow. The others are lead to a nearby holding cell, where a nervous looking medic inspects them. He is accompanied by what looks to be some version of an MMU, similar but not identical to those seen by the Triumvirate medics during the aid mission.

Banane and Yishuya are led through a series of convoluted tunnels, and into a large circular room. It is well lit by mobile spotlights and a number of humans hurry to and fro among complex looking pieces of organic machinery. Many of them have organic implants that seem to allow them to attach themselves to the devices directly, a feat they had been led to believe was impossible for humans. All of them are dressed in white labcoats, with shaved heads studded with bio-implants.

Amongst them is a man taller than the rest by a head, and dressed in red and black. He seems to wear his clothes over a suit of Bio-armour, which may explain the height, and his face is weathered and old. A mane of hair as white as snow falls to his shoulders, and seems to be the only thing about him that isn't strict and reserved. He turns to look at the newcomers, and smiles widely before striding over and clasping the psychics shoulder in an armoured hand.

"Dillon! You did well to bring them here. I had thought the mission a tragic failure."

The psychic's crooked grin becomes a genuine smile, and the shine in his eyes becomes for the first time one of genuine affection, instead of mad glee.

"Yes sir, Markus. They are here as you ordered, though one of them was injured."

The tall one bows his head, and his expression clouds significantly. "I am aware. Almost more than this audience was worth. Many more will die before this is done, but we will hide as best we can."

He then turns to the delegates, his expression still grave, almost grief-stricken.
"So, you are the human delegation. I aplogise for the terrible first impression we gave, you must think us terrorists or worse. But we have much to discuss, and little time. I would ask you to put your preconceptions and listen with open ears to what i have to say."

He looks at them expectantly, clearly waiting to judge their reactions before he proceeds.

Banane stares back at the Psyker with all the will a professional officer and military woman can muster. Quite a bit, actually. She is mildly relieved when her boon is granted, but does nothing to show it. More turns and bends and biomechanica oddness, but with bigger things to worry about she's already getting jaded from all the novelty. The diplomatic officer, for his part, is still operating under a sort of gentlemanly, erudite, cultured shock and runs off of autopilot until he's directly addressed.

"I already promised my ear to your subordinate," Yishuya says with a bit of professional consternation to cover up his fear, "and it remains promised. Given all the bother that's gone about it's the least I can do."

Banane nods in support, but maintains her slightly more acerbic attitude. "Though I know the Services wouldn't appreciate your methods, and I don't personally like the sound of 'more will die.' Still, you've got us here, so we may as well get this over with."

* - * - *

Meanwhile, River's been put officially in charge of the enlisted contingent. The instant the psyker leaves she allows herself a mere second to ponder what Bananas is up to with the D.O. and his ice needler, still hidden in plain sight in his hand. She sighs and puts up with the inspection. Other than elevated blood pressure, she's the picture of Seldane health. She's clearly more concerned when the medic moves over to Ou-Yang, a sort of big blue harbinger cloud looming over everything, and should her comrade not be taken care of, she will most likely not be pleased.

Markus responds to Banane, first. Perhaps because he recognises that she is the least amenable.

"The situation is more complex than you realise. We had petitioned for an audience with you through other channels, but were blocked at every turn. The Lumina do not realise i am still alive, and treat my followers as criminals simply because we seek to break the luminate monopolies on technology and food. If this could have been done without bloodshed, i would have arranged it. As it is we are having to evacuate most of our outposts in the hopes that we can hide from Luminate retaliation. At least long enough to state our case to you. The people dying out there are our people, not theirs."

He paces slightly, and gestures animatedly with his hands, clearly passionate about what he is talking about.

"What i have brought you here to see is that the Lumina do not act in the best interests of the people they are sworn to serve. Even more so than other governments, they oppress the human population and make slaves of them. The humans of Genec exist in a gilded cage, and the Lumina care nothing for any of us. They have their own reasons for returning to Sol, and i do not believe it has very much to do with it being the Humans ancestral homelands."

The pacing and gesturing stop, and he squared himself as if suddenly aware of how animated he is becoming. Folding his hands behind him, he continues.

"I am old enough that i never thought i would see Earth again. I was one of the survivors from the Cataclysm, and the only one of the survivors still alive."

"Originally, there were Human scientists helping to unravel the mysteries of Hyperion's biotechnology. I was the head of the research team who was attempting to retro-engineer the exoskeletons left by the ships original occupants. What we discovered was both astounding, and disturbing. The beings who had created Hyperion had a level of technology so great that they were infused with it to their very cores. So adapted were they to their technology that they could create simple devices from their own bodies, and alter reality itself in subtle ways. Hyperion was the last remnant of their civilisation. Their sunken statue in the desert. The disturbing thing about them was their similarity in some respects, primarily cultural, to what we had seen of Kalessin"

He makes eye contact then with both yishuya and Bananes.

"While the civilisation may have not had direct links with Kalessin in some ancient time, the fact remains that the beings who created Hyperion were manifestly evil, or at least so alien in their beliefs and way of thinking as to appear that way. Hyperion was their tool, and so the current habitats are his tools. I unfortunately have no evidence to support these claims beyond the suit that sustains my existance, but i do have evidence that the Lumina have been lying and abusing Humans for centuries, and that is all around us. The lumina maintain their power because they have a monopoly on being able to directly communicate with the Hyperion based technology. They violently oppose any research to prove the contrary, but we have secretly developed it in the hopes that it will break some of their hold, and give us greater freedom. However i need you, and the leverage you can provide, to help us achieve that goal."

"Being able to use Hyperion biotechnology means we could conceivably construct our own ships, compatible with Iris' systems. These would allow us the freedom to leave the Habitats and engage in free trade for items we currently rely on the Lumina to provide. Ultimately, we could even gain a true democracy."

He becomes animated again, but this time there is a nobility and charisma about him, rather than the desperation he showed earlier. When he is finished talking, he turns his gaze back to the two standing before him. From the seriousness of his epression much hinges on their answer, but there is no direct threat in his tone or posture.

-X-

Meanwhile in the holding cell the medic seems to know what he is doing, as does the construct. They strip away surrounding clothes, clean and dress the wound. Painkillers and some kind of gel-like substance are also administered, and then he is treated for shock and any other issues they discover along the way. Neither the medic, nor the guards seem inclined to speak but neither do they seem eager to do them harm. Instead they all have carefully cultured neutral expressions.

"I was worried something like that may have been the case when I heard about the Luminate food and control monopoly," the diplomatic officer says with a frown, "but this is all still highly irregular."

"To put it mildly," Banane quips drily. "Honestly, I don't know what you want us to do other than be pawns in some sort of game against the power. All my history lessons taught me that nation-building isn't really a job for the military, so you can't expect any Combined Services intervention except perhaps to try and get us out. You understand, we do have this rather obnoxious 'leave no man behind' streak." She's clearly unimpressed with the wounded being left to rot, and Yishuya uncharacteristically cuts her off before she can continue.

"Which simply means a military solution to the problem at hand is out of the question." He doesn't bother trying to get into a staring contest with the lieutenant. "I know the Triumvirate would be willing to act as a neutral party in negotiations, but we truly don't nation-build. Mutual members through the Alliance of Progressive Nations would probably be more willing to provide diplomatic and economic leverage. While personally I feel for your plight, I have to represent the Triumvirate's interests, not my own, and while it supports liberalistic tendencies it cannot outright advocate or attempt to force them on anyone--several of our members are at least equally autocratic. The question isn't so much one of a gilded cage as much as whether or not the cage is desired.

"Of all the old Ardan threats, we got along with Kalessin the best because they at least seemed to be able to talk every once in a while without reverting to the sort of insults one would expect out of drug-addled teenagers trying to fight the Man." Slight smirk. "That being said, so far what little I've seen of the Luminate society is nowhere near the feudal yet fascist society of cruelty that was Kalessin, and am personally skeptical of a direct connection." He ponders. "Still, I could put you in touch with my opposite numbers in both my own nation proper--not Trium federal-level, mind, actually the USFT--and Scolopendra and whatnot and they'd probably be more than happy to diplomatically push for democracy in Iris. As a diplomat of the Triumvirate, on the other hand, I have already pledged our support as given to Iris as a whole, her citizenry as well as her current leadership. You can see how taking sides on such a level would inevitably lead to a conflict of interests.

"I still find it odd though that they don't even allow you to split off and form splinter colonies, ones not necessarily on Iris. Is there a reason for it, if I may ask?"

He seems satisfied with the answer, or at least not too disappointed.

"Diplomatic pressure was the only kind we ask for. Open conflict is not an option in our case, Ambassador. And i have no liking for bloodshed. Your aid in putting us in contact with those able to help us would be greatly appreciated. As for your rescue, it shall not be necessary. You will be free to go as soon as your man is ready to travel. Before then in fact, if you trust us to return him. In the meantime i suppose we should find somewhere for you to rest."

He walks off with a perfunctory gesture for them to follow. The guards however stay where they are.

Lythminas looks at Banane. Banane shrugs. They follow.

* - * - *

Meanwhile, in terms of futuristic medical technology, Ou-Yang's wounds are not too difficult to treat. Shoulder fractured in at least three places, with greenstick fractures along his top three ribs and some bone bruising along the clavicle. Severe muscular bruising in the same area, but nothing so bad to cause actual internal bleeding inside the abdominal cavity. His lungs are perfectly fine. Were he not wearing low observability armor the thickness of a good warm sweater his shoulder probably would've been torn clean off to quickly lethal effect; as it is, he's just desperately uncomfortable, yellowish Asiatic skin somewhat greened all around from being unwell and practically black around his shoulder.

Still, it's doubtful that hematoma is a risk with a medical team right there and Private River continuing to act as a angel of promised vengeance should anything go poorly.

They are led to a small apartment well appointed with simple and easily packed furniture and decorations. Markus moves over to a circle of comfortable looking chairs, and sits gracefully, indicating for the others to sit as well.

"You know, when i was young i was one of the head scientists of our people. In a nation of scientists, that means alot. Now i am a hunted renegade with 'dangerous ideas', simply because i can still remember what it is like to be free."

There is food on the table around which the chairs are oriented, simple fare but for Gentec standards luxurious. Bread, cheese and olives along with cold-cuts and a few apples. He breaks his fast on the simple fare, and a smile and a gesture encourages the others to do the same.

"In the residential levels, a man might kill for a bunch of grapes. That is how my little organisation has survived. We provide simple fare like bread and cheese in return for loyalty alone, and the knowledge that we might some day require a favor. We spread literature, try and raise awareness of our societies inherent flaws, but with no perspective our people cannot see what is right in front of them. A couple of generations ago, people would follow us simply because they believed in our cause, and the stories handed down."

Away from the glare and bustle of the lab, it is clear that the man is indeed extremely old. His skin is wrinkled and creased by centuries of sorrow and determination, laughter and pride. There is a fierceness there too. A steel in him and a wit honed to razor sharpness. His clear and piercing gaze is unnerving from under his bushy silver brows and he seems to constantly study and re-evaluate his surroundings.


--X--

The green goo smeared on the wound turns out to be a kind of biological nanotech medical application. Whilst not able to heal him back to fighting fitness, given time the micro-organisms help the body repair itself until they run out of nutrient media and get consumed by the host immune system. With the help of the medical unit, the doctor sets the bones straight and then immobilises the privates whole side and arm with a spray-on caste of sorts. She then hands him some gel ampules and something akin to an epipen.

"You should be fine for now. The gel should be replenished every hour, continue the dose until you get further medical treatment, or until you run out of supplies. There is more than enough there to set your fractures in a couple of days. Use the applicator like this." she then demonstrates inserting the ampule and pushes the needle through the caste itself before discharging it. It causes a cool, tickly sensation.

"I'm also to tell you that your release is going to be within the next six hours, and that you will all be released unharmed onto a pill bound for the Gardens. If you wish to attempt to leave now, you are permitted to do so however we recommend that you remain until our leader is done talking with the Ambassador."

Both Triumvirate officers politely decline the offer. Not that they feel threatened by poison or don't appreciate the effort, it's just that, internally, the lieutenant is still ambivalent of showing any sort of preference to her captors and the diplomatic officer's stomach is still shaken up too much from all the action earlier to trust himself with any sort of food. Still, his question wasn't answered and so he gives it another shot. "Time does have a tendency to... obscure things to those who didn't see it first hand. Has there ever been an attempt to form a splinter colony, or are you prevented from doing such a thing?"

* - * - *

Ou-Yang smiles weakly. "No, I'm fine right here. Means I get sack time." He promptly passes out.

His comrade-in-arms simply sighs and accepts the medications. "I'll take care of him, and we're not leaving until we get the D.O. back, no worries. Thank you for your time, corpsman."

He doesn't seem to mind that they refuse, and nods in answer to the diplomat's question.

"Several, in the beginning. When pride and memories of Earth were still both strong. That is one of the reasons for the creation of the Habitats, and the exodus from Hyperion. Originally, the Lumina were caretakers and crafters, soldiers and administrators. Not leaders. However their inherent advantages meant that they garnered more and more power over time. As the habitats grew, so did our reliance on them. It was only a matter of time before they turned the tables on us. Even i was blinded by their usefulness, their amiable and straightforward demeanors. They took over during our first war. Selene Habitat had stumbled on a resource rich asteroid belt that had no claim markers or signs of previous mining operations."

He sits back, and bites into an apple before continuing, and old anger glitters in his eyes.

"A virgin strip like that was enough to sustain us for centuries, possibly more. Unfortunately she was not alone. An alien vessel had been piggybacking her jumps. Not an unusual occurrence, since in that stretch of space, with fuel and materials so hard to come by. They relayed the information to their people, who scrambled a fleet and claimed that the belt was a holy site. Also not uncommon, since the claim was hard to refute and arguing invariably meant war, or at the very least an excuse for it. Until then we had simply moved on whenever this had happened. We had neither the wish nor the necessary arms to wage a fully fledged conflict. However that had changed, and the belt was too rich to simply surrender on such obviously fabricated claims. We stood our ground."

He seems caught up in his story, and quickly forgets the apple in his hand, waving it around and occasionally shaking it for emphasis. His eyes are afire with passion, and rage at the injustices of events long passed.

"They were a warlike people, and their weapons were at least a match for ours. At the time, we had not yet developed the torpedo technology now universally employed and we relied on effective but inefficient graviton weaponry. Effectively weaponised Alcubierre devices, they interfered with our vessels drives and shields. The initial battles were costly, but with reinforcements from the other Habitats we drove their fleet from the belt, and we entrenched ourselves, setting up minefields and stationary defences to protect our mining operations. The Lumina however convinced Selene that this was not enough. We still suffered frequent incursions and the enemy had abandoned all pretense, setting up strip mining operations and launching piratical raids on our convoys. So the war started in earnest as we tried to drive the enemy from their positions in nearby systems."

Caught up in the moment, he squeezes the apple, and it crumpled under the force of his armoured fist. Juice and pulp runs between his fingers and drips to the floor before he notices, and wipes his hand clean with a towelette. He seems embarrassed by the waste, and it breaks his flow momentarily.

"... It was bloody. The Lumina gained a great deal of power and influence in that time. Their abilities made them essential, and we could do little to combat the political ramifications within our own government. Soon the Council's had a Luminate majority, and they were dictating policy and directing the war. Luminate propaganda began leeching on the Human power base, and many lines of research were quietly restricted or banned outright under the guise of budget cuts and focusing on defense projects. Mine was one of them, as it could, and did lead to a device that allowed direct Human to Habitat communication, and Human access to the Luminate's psychic network which they call the 'Skein'."

"When we eventually won, the Lumina had cemented their position as the new leaders of Gentec, and Humans had been relegated to a secondary class of factory workers and front-line soldiers. Decades of propaganda had clouded their minds and dulled their perceptions, and we could do nothing. Ironically, the very belt that we had fought so hard for was almost depleted, centuries worth of resources, and thousands upon thousands of sentient lives expended in what had, in the end, been a completely futile conflict."

"I worked for the Human cause in the background for centuries, kept alive by this infernal contraption i wear. And when the third generation, including Iris herself were constructed i saw hope. The new Habitats were constructed with exploration in mind, in particular rediscovering the location of Earth. It was a chance i could not ignore, and so i took it."

"Gentec's Humanity is in shackles, but because it gets three meals of tasteless gruel a day and a warm bed, its happy to live like a dog. In the current climate, pushing to splinter from the Luminate rule would be fruitless, and probably cost me my life. So i have to change that climate, which is why i had to talk to someone from outside. If you cannot help directly, then please give me the means to contact someone who can. With even a little freedom to travel, my people would see what they are missing, and the Lumina will have to listen."

Meanwhile, the two soldiers are left to rest without any visible guard. The door, if tried, is unlocked. The medic clearly meant what he said when he claimed they were free to go when they pleased.

"Hmmm. 'Help directly,' perhaps not..." The diplomatic officer rubs his chin, tapping the fingers of his free hand on the armrest of his chair in thought. "Like I said, we don't nation-build. Building suggests an imposition; we only really impose when it comes to extraction campaigns or military interventions to protect our interests. Otherwise, we simply offer and allow people to accept or deny as the case may be. As much as it bothers me and the lieutenant to say so, coming from more egalitarian cultures, a lot of people want to live in gilded cages. That much hasn't changed since 'The Grand Inquisitor:' provide bread, miracle, and empire and a good deal of people will go along.

"Still, you mentioned something about 'freedom to travel.' Well, the Triumvirate can certainly offer the opportunity for travel and cultural exchanges and the like."

"And," Parveen cuts in with a sly look, "there's these people in the Segments called knights-errant who, I think, if they discovered the situation would be more than happy to fund these sorts of things so they could be done pro bono."

"So long as the Luminate hasn't pulled any dirty Sapir-Whorf tricks like redefining the language, we in the Triumvirate have plenty of literature that would probably be considered subversive... and given the nature of our society, we can hardly block it from the YutLink so long as it doesn't hold any vitally important secrets. Meanwhile, Trium-side, we remain officially neutral concerning how GenTec is run and make no differentiation between human and Luminate, as is our general wont anyway. Either side needs humanitarian aid, we help. It's what we do." He smiles wryly. "It's not much, I know, but does that much sound fair?"

The old man's eyes gleam and he smiles broadly.
"More than i could have dared hope for. Our people were never going to be able to win free by force, but through education and political pressure we might just have a chance. Your people's help in disseminating information will accelerate that dramatically."

He stands up, and presses a button on his armoured forearm.

"It is time we released you. Or rather that we moved on, and removed the safeguards that kept you hidden. I must thank you again for listening. It must not have been easy given the circumstances. Goodbye, Diplomatic Officer Lythminas. And to you, Lieutenant Bananes. I hope i get the opportunity to meet you again under better circumstances."

He then walks out of the room, and abruptly the lights cut. They are replaced by a wierd phosphorescent glow that turns everything slightly green, and is enough to navigate by but not much else. Bioluminescent emergency lighting.

Someone else then walks into the room, and for a moment it seems that Markus has returned as they are in bio-armour, but it is Arén's voice issues from the shadowy silhouette.

"You two okay? There should be a marine detachment here to extract us shortly."


---


The two marines also experience the sudden power cut, and can hear some kind of urgent activity further down the corridor.

Urgent activity means it's time for the M.I. to get on the bounce--and they do, after a fashion, sort of. Treated Ou-Yang may be; healed, well, that will take a bit more time. There's a bit of mental trauma associated with all this that'll take a while to settle. Still, while he may not properly ship-shape, he's more than ready for a scrap with fists and putting foot to ass. Meanwhile, River is an angry Seldane, so that'll hold her in plenty good stead.

* - * - *

"Banane. No 's,'" the lieutenant manages to get out just after the ancient escapes. "Damnit."

"Yes, we're fine," Yishuya says in response to Arén's question, sounding surprisingly calm to his own ears and maybe too calmly for someone who just got kidnapped. "Separated from our enlisted, though."

"What's the butcher's bill?" Banane asks shortly, cutting Lythminas with a quick, firey glance. Even if she got caught up in the scheming, they were still captured in a terrorist act that put civilians at risk. She's none too pleased with that, now that the Luminate's voice brings her back to that fact.

"I am still cut off from the rest of the ship. The psychic didn't trust me to keep quiet." With the helmet in place its impossible to tell her emotional state, but the incredible sound quality generated by the suits vocal chords keep the sour, angry note in her voice. "Last i was aware the fighting was isolated to the outside of the building and the lower levels. Civilian presence down there was minimal so other than the civilians involved with the ceremony... I dont know. I am guessing. Hoping." The end is choked, and she falls silent.

Outside, the insurgents are rapidly and efficiently evacuating. Men in bio armour carry pieces of equipment many times their size, looking for all the world like giant ants, and scientists bustle around ensuring nothing is damaged and taking last readings before rushing off after the rest. Nobody pays the two soldiers any mind, in fact most are so busy they barely glance at them. The psychic however does, but does nothing to stop them. Instead he just glowers at them from across the hall. Two more in similar tattered robes are crouched on the floor and rocking back and forth. One has a nose-bleed.

Eyes meet and, to steal a quote, Ou-Yang is tired, mad as hell, and isn't going to take it anymore. "You, sir." He points at the psychic. "It's about time we joined back up with our officers. Where are they?" While no threat is implied in his words, the anger in his voice means that one doesn't have to be a psychic to know that the wounded private is in no mood to play games, and doesn't have a problem with making bloody noses a minor pandemic if that'll get him what he wants. That and he's got a big blue person built like a valkyrie for a wingman, who is also rather displeased, standing right behind him.

* - * - *

The Triumvirate officers get up, and only then does Yishuya realize he still has his ice needler in his hand. Absolutely useless against even light armor or particularly thick clothing, it could've come in handy given the occasional exposed face. No one likes having chemical irritants deposited subcutaneously through thousands of tiny stinging papercuts, especially in the face. "Huh."

Right now, he's in no shape to make a full report and Banane... well... she's divided on the whole issue. Most important thing is to get her troops and get the hell out, and so she nods firmly before taking command. "We'll get the details later; first step is staying alive. Have you seen my M.I.? We got separated."

The psychic silently extends a gnarled finger at one of the doors on the far side of the room, before placing his hands on the shoulders of his bleeding companion. The tension in the struggling mans face eases incrementally. Around them, the rapid evacuation seems to be coming to an end.

Arén just shakes her helmeted head. "No, i haven't yet. But if they didn't harm me, i doubt they would have harmed your men. We should go and look for them, they should not be far."

Nodding fiercely, Ou-Yang pivots on his heels and stalks towards and through the door. He's tired. He's hurt. He's angry. He just wants to go home, and if that means he has to glare people out of his way--doubtful anyone is standing around gawking while they're quickly evacuating--then so be it. His Seldane comrade follows alongside, mostly seeming about ready to scoop him up should he stumble. He really shouldn't be stomping around like this, after all.

* - * - *

"True. Problem is," Banane replies with a wry smirk, "if we"--she indicates herself and the D.O.--"go searching, we're going to get lost. Lead the way."

Ou-Yang almost runs into seven feet of Gentec Marine, as Arén strides out the door at the same moment. The Marine stops abruptly and her impassive, helmeted head turns down as she examines him briefly.

"Seems we wont have to look to far. Good to see your safe. I was worried."

The Marine then steps around them and looks around the hall outside, particularly paying attention to the Psychics.

"Looks like they are nearly done. The psychics are the only ones stopping us from being found, so there will be a Marine detachment in here within minutes when they drop their concealment."

She has a note of wonder and fear in her voice as she talks, and turns back to the others.

"I was unaware that there were any living psychics amongst the human population.. sane ones anyway. Most are stillborn or die in infancy due to the psychic noise Iris generates. The rest are so severely brain-damaged they do little except drool and cause migraines in those who stand too close. I doubt my superiors are aware of their existence either."

"Psychics, ma'am?" Ou-Yang sees Banane, and nods. The officer nods back. This is not a salute zone. "Anyway, good thing we've found each other. There are plenty of human psychics, but I don't know much about them."

"Me neither," River adds.

Parveen shrugs noncommittally. "That would be more of MilIntel's or the Special Services' milieu. Probably HELLSING too. Nothing I'd know a lot about."

Momentary pause. "Why's everyone looking at me?" Yishuya sighs. "I just want to take a shower and go to bed."

She nods her armoured head at that, then turns and watches as the last of the equipment is taken away and the psychics rise and leave after the others.

"Plenty elsewhere maybe, but few born on the Habitats live through infancy. None, or so we thought, survived with their wits intact."

Sure enough, mere minutes after the Psychics leave the sound of armoured feet tromping down the surrounding corridors heralds the arrival of the Gentec Marine extraction team. They move through the abandoned insurgent base with rapid and eery coordination, checking and securing every room before congregating in the central chamber. There are no identifying marks to show which one is in command, but one steps forward and salutes both the Ambassador, and Arén briefly.

"Sirs. The Council apologises for its late arrival. Are any of you in particular need of medical assistance?"

Two MMU's are allready advancing, followed by several marines in lighter armour and toting medical equipment. They immediately give Ou-Yang attention, but check everybody wether they want the attention or not, showing the same inexorable insistance of medical proffesional's everywhere.

Providing that they are all capable of travel, they are then lead out of the tunnels. The Luminate soldiers are for the most part totally silent, only occasionally asking questions or giving direction. Arén is the only one who does not seem tense.

"Nothing the matter here except a few bruises and scrapes," Banane huffs, still grudgingly allowing the medtechs access to whatever they say they need. She's dealt with military doctors before, and they all by their nature seem to share the same basic traits. Only makes sense, given their rather crummy job. Everyone else follows along with varying levels of resignation, except for Ou-Yang, who's more than happy to get a little more care before the inevitable light-duty convalescing.

After that, it's a matter of following the leader. The military representatives of the Triumvirate put their guard back up and keep it up, not exactly liking the look of being caught unawares and traipsed about against their will. Yishuya, despite the militaristic affectations of the DiploCorps, has no such concerns. He's a diplomat, not a fighter, and so far he's done his job well... but there's still something that concerns him.

It's not really anything I can broach delicately... so I'd better just come out and ask. He glances over at Arén. "Is Tera alright?"