NationStates Jolt Archive

It had been a while....

For the past few years, war had raged through the void, breaking the young Galactic Federation upon the weary flank of the ESUS. In this time, No Endorse was sidelined politically and economically. It looked inward, slowly building its infrastructure, improving itself for the day where it might re-emerge. Men had died, changed, been born, but it was still No Endorse, heart and soul.

Finally, with the death of the invincible Maker Mind and the beloved Alexander Kathii, No Endorse felt its time had come.

Greetings Sons and Daughters of the Stars
There was once a time you could count us active among your number, constantly straining against the laws of Entropy to build up grand civilizations and immense cultures. Recently, that reality ceased to exist. However, we wish to change that. Alexander Kathii, previous Prime Minister, died several weeks ago following a long fight against multiple organ failure. With him dies a period of introspection, a period of recuperation and reconstruction in the wake of the Clan War and the hard years that have followed.

The celebration of his life will be held in approximately one standard week on Sanctuary. It is my wish that all who have been affiliated with the No Endorse he knew and loved over his long life come to visit him one final time. It is during this celebration that I would like to discuss the future course of No Endorse and the universe.

-Jessica Tyne
Prime Ministress of the Galactic Inferno of No Endorse
Former Ministress of History
Former Triumvirate of the GFFA

=================================================

Jessica Tyne stood at the end of the Great Hall of the Council of Elders, watching the first of the guests arrive. The opening ceremonies were about to begin, and she wanted to ensure that everything went smoothly.

"It's wonderful, isn't it Miss Tyne?" She glanced sideways to see John Archer's bent form slowly approaching. "I haven't seen most of these people since before Talon died."

Jessica winced at the name, quickly glancing about to see if Jennifer Halsey was within earshot. "Watch it John, Jennifer hasn't been the same since...."

"Fine." He grumbled, tugging lightly at his mustache. "But my point is, it's a good thing you're doing. Good for the people, good for the country. We're too isolated here in the wreckage of the Sovereignty. We need more friends and allies. That organ failure was genetic you know, and the percents are going up every year. If the Sovereignty were still there, we could ask for DNA-processors, but it'll be at least a decade before we can understand their technology. And that's just the genetics."

Jessica looked away, but as she gazed across the ornate hall, she knew he was right. The geneticists had been warning her for years as Ministress of History, but psychohistory took generations to take full effect, far too long to successfully tackle the situation at hand. "Well John, all we can hope is that we can still have friends out there, and that they desire to mix with us."

She moved slowly away from the old Minister of International Relations, approaching Kathii's festively decorated coffin at the center of the hall. She had a job to do: meet people and make them want to renew good ties with No Endorse, genetics be damned.





ooc: instead of Funerals, we have parties in NE to celebrate what the person did in life. It's happier that way, and has more alcohol. And yes, I'm rusty with both RPing and FT, so please bear with me? :D Do me a favor and please don't post an arrival in system thing. Just come on into the hall. If you're not sure if you should come or not, send a TG.

Oh, and let's keep OOC to a minimum. *points at his own OOC essay here*

The smallish vessel had, after undergoing the traditional hassels of ensuring welcome in an occupied system, landed and disgorged a few beings who'd headed to the former No Endorse Prime Minister's funeral.

Arriving at the site of the actual funeral, the three unusually dressed and oddly built beings stepped into the building.

There was the irridescent-skinned humanoid of average proportions and a coal-black topnot extending from the back of the skull. Lean and muscular, he wore a pale green tunic.

The second was most definately female and almost agressively so, for her tanned body was beared to just slightly below the breast, both of which were nestled on pillows of frilly lace which extended into a high-slit navy blue skirt. For those who could tear themselves away from her ample attributes, would find themselves staring into light grey eyes framed by long auburn hair.

The final member had numerous felinic traits such as slit pupiled yellow-green eyes, ears perched on the top of the head that twitched and seemed to swivil to follow people to a tail adorned with what looked to be the softest grey fur in existance and inverted hind-legs.

Looking about as they followed a short man in, two of them split up to mingle while the stocky asianic was followed by the cat-like being.

Thomas Jackson was not a short man. The thickly built Terran General entered the room, and took in everything with an all encompassing gaze. The jet black Dress Uniform and 6 Stars of his rank as supreme commander of the Confederate Military in and around Korpulu and its colonies set him apart from the majority of the other guests, in that he was obviously a man of military might. He stood slightly apart from the other guests, seemingly waiting. His back was ramrod straight, though he made a conscious effort not to stand at attention. Most people wouldn't care to notice, but the massive Colt M2735 sidearm at his hip, and the slim bladed saber on his left side were both fully functional, as well as ornamental items. The black leather gloves tucked through his belt simply accented his appearance, and set him still further apart from the remainder of the guests.

As his eyes swept the room, he locked onto three different sources of annoyance. Harlot, Mutant, Deviant. No modesty, no humanity, all pride. Probably some kind of disgusting foreign delegation. Jackson believed very firmly that God had set humanity above the other races, no matter the personal opinions of his president or the populace. Only through the assistance of humanity would the uncultured and unclean lesser races be sheltered from their own weakness and impurity.

Tag for later post.... For the thunder box is calling my name!!!

The Cradles stretched off into the distance under the Capitol, each one holding to the core components of the space-time vessels in the form of sizeable sceptres that descended for several levels. The core sceptre could only practically be materialised here, where the vessels were stored and maintained routinely. Romana stalked through the dim blue light of the abyssal basement on a thinly railed access bridge. A retina scan opened the access doors, and she found herself standing in a spacious white room beyond.

It was quiet and dark inside; only the light streaming through the doorway illumination the control room, aside from a scant few glowing pin-pricks that showed that the time ship was not dead, merely… quiescent, sleeping. Romana stepped up onto the plinth around the central console, and hunted about on the mushroom shaped table’s shadowed form, stepping around two of its six sides, and taking hold of four sliders simultaneously, moving them along a notch.

The lights came up, as power flowed up from the bowels of the craft, channelled by strong dimensional forces, flooding through various systems, the walls and ceiling glowed with white light, as light flowed from the switch room beneath. Outside the vessel, it disappeared, replaced with an unadorned grey box.

“My lady!” cried a voice outside, and Romana ignored it, turning her attention to a wall filled with fault monitoring systems, satisfied after a few moments she stood back at the console, adjusting the chameleon circuits, the devices that allowed the real-world interface to take on whatever form was desired, looking for something more aesthetic. She settled on the ship’s usual form, that of an ice-cube about nine feet along its dimensions.

“Your excellence, what are you doing?” a man said, from the still open doorway, dressed in over-complex golden robes.

“Barquentine,” Romana said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in no time…”

“You’re leaving Gallifrey without guards your excellence?” Have you forgotten what happened to you the last time you left?”

Romana shuddered briefly, and then smiled sweetly, “I’m sure I’m in no similar danger this time. Besides, I’ve made arrangements should anything happen… I’ll be back here momentarily.” She slammed the doors, which merged to produce no visible break in the ice block, and then returned to the console, pushing buttons on a communications panel, and then typing in a code, “Presidential capsule requesting access through transduction field,” she said, into a microphone pickup.

“One moment,” an excited voice said from the other end…

“In fact… one moment…” Romana said as a thought occurred to her. A few switches later, and she routed the source of the reply transmission to the navigation systems, and moved the ship. It was a simple enough procedure; from the outside, the ice cube seemed to glow, and then disappear with a soft keening noise, fading away.

It reappeared in a small room protected on one side by a force barrier. Romana opened the door, looking out, “Want to come with me?”

The dark haired woman, who looked a lot like Romana had when she was younger, stared up in astonishment. “Lady Presi-”

“Romana, please…” she said, sounding immensely tired of formality.

“Well, Lady Romana,” Romana rolled her eyes subtly, “where precisely are you going?”

“Oh, a party. Get out and about, shake off some of the dust… Come on… Just set the barriers and go. We’ll be back before you know it.”

One of the few developments Romana had established was a more selective barrier system with enhanced computer control; there had been… incidents in the past due to that weakness. The woman shrugged, looking slightly dubious, and stepped inside, “I’ve never been in one before… Not one like this, anyway,” she said, looking around.”

“Quite…” Romana said, going back to the navigation panel and closing the door.

~*~*~*~

By the time the ice-cube shaped craft arrived, Romana had changed from the gold and crimson robes of her office to a much more mundane outfit of a long royal blue, split, velvet skirt, azure jacket, and high chestnut boots. Her… attendant was still as she had been, dressed in a robe-cum-dress in pink and gold. “So, where is this place?” Rodan asked, glancing at Romana.

“A place called ‘No Endorse,’ they’re having a state funeral.”

“A state funeral? I thought it was a party?” Rodan said.

“Same thing, in this culture,” Romana said, toying idly with an elaborate ring on her finger, in which the image of a spiral galaxy swirled, one of the less important badges of office of the president, the Lesser Ring of Rassilon. “In any case, let’s go and meet the locals,” she said, striding off.

As for relations between Hobbeebia and No Endorse, one could say that they are as unfamiliar with each other as a fat man is familiar with a soybean cube. But its was not a reason not to honor the passing of a national leader. Hobbeebia also took no side in the ESUS conflict,despite countless requests to join either side. This was due to the spreading of the dark Biomech threat which is still looming over the Hobbeebian Imperium. To attend the party was a Master General by the name of Artimis Gundon. A prize biomech pilot up until the time he was inflicted and lost his arm due to his treatment. Ever since he was unable to pilot a biomech and was never allowed to enter combat, thus why he is sent to social gatherings such as this.

" So where exactly is this Party being held? " asked Artimis as he fitted his formal military attire which was a form fitting photo-white tuxedo style suit that featured a large Cross-over on the jacket that was ornamented with his various medals, and awards. His once missing arm was replaced with a cybernetic stand in. Normally such cybernetic parts where dishonoring to a Hobbeebian but this was a special circumstance and presentation was critical.

" Sir the place of the celebration is in a place called the Sanctuary. We should be arriving their soon." spoke his assistant (who was completely cybernetic).

" I still don't understand why we could just dime there. Would have taken us a grand total of 5 seconds to get there. " spoke Artimis who was becoming impatient with the duration of his trip time.

It was not much longer before Artimis' ship arrived at the location.

The "Irish Wake" style celebration of the life of Alexander Kathii had attracted the attention of the Dornalians, if only to distract them from the busy affairs of war planning and strategy. The Dornalians loved to drink, and the fact alcohol was there was a bonus.

That's why Carla Baileygates was there. Taking a break from her duties as GFFA Consul, she traveled to No Endorse in the clothes of her status as Commissar of Foreign Affairs. A simple suit, a tie, and a warm demeanor.

As she walked into the hall, she looked at the surroundings and her watch. The Xanthalians had come, as had a Terran, from the Solarin and what looked like a cat-like being. Her memory was hazy, but it was probably Theaoite--or whatever was the proper title. They had helped out the State in its early days, and it would be nice to talk to them again.

She walked in after everyone else did, and stretched out. She then turned to look for her hostess, and look for where the liquor was....

A delegation of 6 Novaens from the Novaen council, 3 pairs of life partners, entered their celebration. Finding the concept of celebrating death odd, while indeed noting the history of both No Endorse and practices of peoples their human ancestors had frequently come into contact.

And so with that acknowledgement of history the Novaens arrived at the location of this wake in keeping with thhe expected mood. In recognition of the life of a man serving his nation... a noble effort in deed.

Bump...

Prince Richard stood alone at the moment, glass in hand he sipped his drink and scanned the room. Tidan and the Inferno have had much contact over the year, or so he had read in the archives. The tall man with deep chestnut hair was being groomed for diplomatic endeavors by his fathers advisors. Having studied the history of his nation before his people's arrival in it, they chose him to represent the throne at the occation. No Endorse had already shown their character to the humans of Tidan during the exodus and they were now chartographically close as well.

He recognized Miss Baileygates of New Dornalia from the GFFA leadership, another who he guessed was from Xanthal, Novaens were difficult to mistake from the description given by Lord Celric, and he didn't miss the imposing presence of the Terran. He had also read about the long history with the Dominion. They had been allies and enemies, enemies of enemies, and even homelands of allies. If he had to sum Terrans up in one word it would have to be unpredictable. They also loved weapons and power.

Richard tried to decided who to talk to but as he took another sip and reached the bottom of the glass, he smiled and returned to the bar instead. I love it when choices are made for you, the thought.

Romana’s ring swirled slowly as she wandered into the hall, looking around with green-blue eyes. She was comparatively unimpressive physically, standing at a perfectly normal human female height, which was, by many standards, including some in the room, quite unimpressive. With short, closely cropped blonde hair and a relatively dressed-down appearance, she wasn’t especially notable, save for the fact that she looked… cute. She was definitely ‘cute,’ rather than beautiful or sexy; though she was both to a degree, but overwhelmingly, cute. It was a look she’d picked up from a princess somewhere, and it worked quite well, she found.

Rodan, meanwhile, was even more ordinary looking, attractive enough certainly – it would be hard for her not to be – but she stood out a little less than her president, and seemed to be vastly more confused by everything. One peculiar quality that they both seemed to possess was a transparency of language that made everyone who might be listening to them hear them in their own preferred language.

“What is this place?” Rodan asked quietly.

“The Great Hall of the Council of Elders. Rather like the Panopticon back home, I would imagine. Big space for ceremonial occasions,” Romana began to make her way over to the bar, with a curious, arch expression on her face, apparently directed at no one in particular.

“The panopticon’s not this big…” Rodan said.

“Indeed it isn’t. I’ve been meaning to have it completely rebuilt though, At least twenty times the size.”

“Oh? That’ll be interesting,” Rodan said, sounding interested.

“Intimate is one thing, but I’d rather more people be able to fit in there,” Romana said, “Ah, that, there, is one Prince Richard of the something or other of Tidan, a human-Diaspora nation that is known for using a form of molybdenum in their starship armour. I’ve an interesting story about that, anyway, let’s see what they’ve got to drink at this show…”

"Good Day, Youh Haighness." Jackson's heavy accent was a throwback of centuries, polite and soft spoken, the often fiery and aggressive general was the epitome of Confederate Gentility. "It seems that you ah the only puhson heah that I both recognize, and would have any desihe to address. I realize that it has been quite some time since eithuh of ouh nations spoke to the othuh, but Ah ahm certain that any past differences may be resolved."

"So, do you see anyone we know, Celric, Captain Perez, or perhaps that Abhian?" said the Tr'ck Abrams' the two of them the Human and the Sauron, splitting the phrase in half between each of them.

Krr'ch Frederickson the 2nd pair of Novaens there and Ft'grk Montague the 3rd and last pair both looked at the other and replied at the same time... "No, we haven't."

"Oh, that looks like a Tidani dress uniform." said the Sauron Krr'ch Frederickson. "Yeah, that's Tidani." confirmed the Human

"But, he's already talking to somone and it's not like these people have life partners." started the Human Ft'grk Montague "yeah if they did we could still talk to him.. but no."

"Well, get us some drinks and see if we can find someone to talk to." "We mean we are here to re-forge links that have decayed over time." the Tr'ck Abrams said before heading off to get some non-alcoholic drinks.

A strange set of coincidences would have them both come to the bar right beside Romana and Rodan. The Sauron being right next to her.

ooc: Wow, I've forgotten how fast posts spool up.... I'll get to posting soon, I'm not dead don't worry :P

"Good Day, Youh Haighness." Jackson's heavy accent was a throwback of centuries, polite and soft spoken, the often fiery and aggressive general was the epitome of Confederate Gentility. "It seems that you ah the only puhson heah that I both recognize, and would have any desihe to address. I realize that it has been quite some time since eithuh of ouh nations spoke to the othuh, but Ah ahm certain that any past differences may be resolved."

(No one else has spoken to you yet so that makes me more certain you are talking to me. lol)

Richard set down his drink and saluted Jackson. "Good Day to you also General," He paused and looked at the rank symbol. "it is General yes? I'm affraid it has been some time since we have been in contact with your people, and you know how ever changing the universe can be.

"Are you enjoying the party? I was sad to hear of the Prime Minister's death but this atmosphere easily lets one forget the sorrow and share in the celebration. I have to hand it to No Endorse, it makes these sort of diplomatic meetings much more tolerable wouldn't you say?"

(No one else has spoken to you yet so that makes me more certain you are talking to me. lol)

Richard set down his drink and saluted Jackson. "Good Day to you also General," He paused and looked at the rank symbol. "it is General yes? I'm affraid it has been some time since we have been in contact with your people, and you know how ever changing the universe can be.

"Are you enjoying the party? I was sad to hear of the Prime Minister's death but this atmosphere easily lets one forget the sorrow and share in the celebration. I have to hand it to No Endorse, it makes these sort of diplomatic meetings much more tolerable wouldn't you say?"

Jackson returned the salute with parade ground precision, "Yessuh, General Thomas Jackson, Commander of the Armies of Korpulu and its colonies. I must admit that the presence of animals and part-animals lessens my enjoyment to a degree, but I am striving mightily not to allow it to cause me too great a degree of discomfort. The alcohol would help with that, but I choose not to partake, though the atmosphere as a whole is certainly conducive to relaxation and enjoyment. And what of yourself?" The General carefully studied the prince as they spoke, attempting to note any reactions in his compatriot.

"Well as for myself the alcohol would me as well, if it weren't for the pills they make me take before events such as this. Inhibits the effects of drink and prevents me from loosening my tongue, for the best I suppose but quite the party killer." He took another drink. "I share your uncomfort around aliens, I have been exposed to the universe for far too short a period to adjust to its range of inhabitants. Though from my experience different is usually not all that special and lends both gift and curse. The gifts can usually be negated quite efficiently but the curses only become deadlier."

He paused for a drink again then set the empty glass on the bar and refused another.

"So tell me General what news comes from the Confederacy. What times have your people endured since last we were in contact."

"I see.. Well, as to that, we have fallen upon somewhat hard times. The AI Wars of the last decade are over, and WRATHCHILD defeated, but as to whether or not we are able to rebuild after the devastation that wracked our worlds is a different matter. The only things that are truly up to snuff are the military, and I am wary, lest some politician decide it be easier to take from others than to build ourselves back into a true power in all senses of the word." The General continued to speak softly, but his conviction was evident in every word. He sipped from a flask he pulled from within his great coat, and waited for the Prince to reply.

Richard's people had emerged from ages of darkness to this bright new future in the arms of new allies. It was his burden to watch many of them suffer and rebuild even before his first year had ended. The story of their formal ally here seemed to fit a disturbing pattern that made him feel more and more uncomfortable in the hands of the universe.

"I am glad to hear that you have been victorious. I do understand how great the cost of victory can be, it is however prefered over defeat even if it is sometimes worse to live with. I wish I could offer you the resources of my people to help in rebuilding but we are in the middle of resettling operations which require the labor of every man and machine. Perhaps if you are still in need when we have finished we can discuss this again, but even I don't know how long we have left."