Perimeter Defense
03-06-2007, 19:56
OOC: DiploRP! The idea is that there'll be some hard contact between me and ECS, we being fairly different in ideology. Open RPers outside of the two of us can serve as dissenters or supporters in the game of diplomacy. Assume the positions of people within one nation or the other; NO new nations coming in as that would ruin the essence of the story. ;) ECS will be replying soon about his discovery of Namira.
So take a bow, Elsani people, Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense, and everyone else who looks interested. This is:
SECOND CONTACT
Certainly one could establish the year by counting the number of years since the landmark Kajali Visitation, but that was beside the point. The year was, by standard reckoning, irrelevant to the nature of the situation, because it was only location that mattered – and this was a massive trade route hub station known as Namira that would take center stage in the events that would soon unfold. Now, while time is of so much importance to the businessmen and merchants that populate this edifice in space, date is an entirely different concept with which said personnel do not identify. Schedules and appointments are conceived in local, personal chronos time, established through month/day formats, and relative statements such as “next year,” “next month,” or the virtually proverbial “very soon.” (This list of relative statements is far from comprehensive; more obscure terminology exists such as “when the plan is ready,” “when my goddamn underlings clean up the mess,” and “when my wife says I can.”)
Consequently, it was in a year unknown that another alien race would be contacted at this large trade station, located somewhere along a high-traffic regions in the outskirts of the territory of the Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense. With the uproar that had been caused by the Kajali people quite a number of years ago, every space station ‘round the border regions was now pre-stocked with the best diplomats that the Corps could train – although this particular station, this Namira, was a very high-traffic spot itself, and saw the arrival of many ambassadorials, delegates, and even high-level leaders, who were very interested in the complex mechanics of the commerce, the overseeing of which was their job.
Even the secondary ruler, Queen Larian, was known to come here. A 4000-year old monarch with an immortality issue (for which a supremely rare genetic anomaly was responsible), Larian was quite fascinated with the different cultures and subsocieties that could be discovered and uncovered in a trading station of Absolute Capitalist Nature, and several times she could be found (without security escorts) hopping a shuttle to this place. Now, assassination wasn’t too popular nowadays, given that most people generally loved the administration, and the worst she could hope for was kidnapping – but being one of the Tall Race, at 7’6” and never failing to walk around with a huge plasma rifle over her shoulder, she had nothing to fear from this place and its sundry people.
The station was huge. Consisting of a spinal section ten kilometers long, and all manner of hubs, nacelles, docks, substations, and even old ships that were welded and converted into even more edifices for the station, this place was close to a hundred years old, and it looked it. Real estate was consumed from top to bottom sequentially, and an observer could see an evolution in façade architecture as he or she would examine going downwards. All of the hotels were pretty much five-star, though, contrary to what their facades may suggest, and it was at one, known as the Pleiades Conduit, that Queen Larian stayed. She took a modest bedroom for a fair price – no point in wasting the proud nation’s funds on some extra trappings, she thought, to honor efficiency – and brought little luggage. Some people would spew out oohs, ahhs, and “Photo!” at the sight of her, but that was to be expected, and it didn’t happen that much anyway. On one occasion, she was groped by a stranger passing by, but this was more of a nod to her relative attractiveness than anything else. She’d given him a quick nudge with the business end of her weapon, and carefully degaussed its barrel after she’d given the appropriate scare. Her business was her own, aye?
While the year was both unknown and irrelevant, the specific date was noted to be the seventh of June, Sol-Terra time. Larian, today, was spending time at Namira’s master control room, where Administrator (Lieutenant) Dexter Lirandus was always to be seen, and where it was slightly less common to see the station’s representative for the nation, a mister “Credentials.” (what the hell? Larian had thought upon hearing the name)
“Good morning, Lieutenant Lirandus,” Larian had said as she came in today. She used the rank designation as part of her function as a military leader as well as a political one.
“Good morning, Queen Larian,” Lirandus responded. “It’s a good day today. No crime reports since 0000 of last night, and as it’s already 0630, that’s a big thing for such a large station.”
“Mr. Lirandus, I doubt that with the size of this station, the news of a crime report would come all that quickly into your hands.” Larian smiled sleepily.
“I- I guess that’s true, Queen. Just trying to be an optimist. It still is a relatively good day today, and there’ve been no crime reports to blemish it…”
“Mr. Lirandus, you must forgive me. I’m rather attuned to the ways of efficiency. I know better than to intrude onto a fine day for such hardworking personnel. I would just like to warn you that it is on ‘good’ days such as this that we must be most vigilant, for the carefree attitudes that will try to overtake us are going to be very strong.”
“I understand, Queen.” Lirandus bowed a bit – he was unaccustomed to the physical honorifics that were necessitated by such high-powered people. “Am I…doing this right?”
“No, Mr. Lirandus,” Larian laughed, noticeably. “You’re doing it quite wrong, for there is no need for such things. Straighten out that back; a strong stance is what I’d prefer.”
“Of course, Queen. And welcome to the Control Room.”
“That ‘welcome’ comes a bit late, I should add,” Larian said. “So. Anything interesting seen? As in, on the level of a Kajali Visitation, perhaps?” Larian had always had romantic fantasies of actually being there, at a first contact situation. She’d never experienced that, even though she’d been a high-end leader for the past seven hundred years now. (It had taken them long enough to start wondering about her age! Even those of the Tall Race lived for only up to three hundred on average.)
“Sensor ghosts are mighty impressive, Queen Larian,” the diplomat “Credentials” quipped.
“So they are, err…” Larian cringed at the thought of having to say that infernal name! “Mr… Damn! Must I be so tortured whenever I am obliged to pronounce that name?”
Credentials laughed heartily. “It is no fault of mine, these days. It has achieved humorous status, even! Such friendly insertions have appeared in conversation, such as ‘Oh, Credentials, you old resume!’ Or, ‘Ah, Mr. Credentials! I possess only good among your name!’ Granted, they are campy and corny to no end, and are humorous only for the ironic value, but the idea is that it is no longer an irritant.”
Larian invisibly shook her head, mentally noting to check out Credentials’s…credentials. “So it’s just sensor ghosts, then.”
“Credentials is right, Queen,” Lirandus said. “I say you’d best stop hoping for an encounter. The Kajali Visitation was a one-in-countless event, and we don’t have to wait through the whole of another ‘countless,’ now, do we? Besides, we remain in constant contact with the Kajali, right after what happened there.”
“I know, I know…but that was far too long ago. The Kajali are somewhat ‘old hat’ now, and I was not even present on SciComm Juliet Uniform when it happened! I saw recorded bits of the original conference, and even some sound bites from the first meeting, as at the presentation of the navigational aid. But nothing personal! It is a strong desire of mine to experience first contact.”
“Understandable, Queen,” Credentials said. “A thirst for intergalactic adventure; it was one of my old dreams too, and it is precisely what landed me in this position.”
“I thought, Credentials,” Lirandus said, “that you’re here because of the travel advantages?”
“Well,” Credentials conceded, “that too. But mostly it was the sense of glorious interaction with all these people, and the potential of discovery – and, well, there!”
“I knew it, Credentials, you fucking liar, you’re in it for the money, aren’t you?” Lirandus was laughing.
“No, I- damn, Lirandus, I said it was the travel advantages! You didn’t have to add financial gain to the whole idea!”
“Well, you’re thinking it,” Lirandus said. Some people were psionic. Psychokinesis and telepathy weren’t so rare anymore.
“Okay, boys, knock it off or you’re both grounded,” Larian intervened.
“Yes, mom,” the two said in unison. “I mean, ma’am,” they said again, and together as well. The three ended up laughing together at their old shared joke. Larian had spent so much time here, really.
So Namira went by on this ‘good day,’ noting no immediate threats on long-range sweeps, no unidentifiable contacts at all in that regard, and soon entered a rather busy day. The system went like clockwork, with smoothly oiled and constructed cogs interacting with one another to form a predictable setup, which would easily be repaired if a failure by its own power occurred.
If a wrench of extreme shock was to be thrown into this mechanism, however…
So take a bow, Elsani people, Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense, and everyone else who looks interested. This is:
SECOND CONTACT
Certainly one could establish the year by counting the number of years since the landmark Kajali Visitation, but that was beside the point. The year was, by standard reckoning, irrelevant to the nature of the situation, because it was only location that mattered – and this was a massive trade route hub station known as Namira that would take center stage in the events that would soon unfold. Now, while time is of so much importance to the businessmen and merchants that populate this edifice in space, date is an entirely different concept with which said personnel do not identify. Schedules and appointments are conceived in local, personal chronos time, established through month/day formats, and relative statements such as “next year,” “next month,” or the virtually proverbial “very soon.” (This list of relative statements is far from comprehensive; more obscure terminology exists such as “when the plan is ready,” “when my goddamn underlings clean up the mess,” and “when my wife says I can.”)
Consequently, it was in a year unknown that another alien race would be contacted at this large trade station, located somewhere along a high-traffic regions in the outskirts of the territory of the Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense. With the uproar that had been caused by the Kajali people quite a number of years ago, every space station ‘round the border regions was now pre-stocked with the best diplomats that the Corps could train – although this particular station, this Namira, was a very high-traffic spot itself, and saw the arrival of many ambassadorials, delegates, and even high-level leaders, who were very interested in the complex mechanics of the commerce, the overseeing of which was their job.
Even the secondary ruler, Queen Larian, was known to come here. A 4000-year old monarch with an immortality issue (for which a supremely rare genetic anomaly was responsible), Larian was quite fascinated with the different cultures and subsocieties that could be discovered and uncovered in a trading station of Absolute Capitalist Nature, and several times she could be found (without security escorts) hopping a shuttle to this place. Now, assassination wasn’t too popular nowadays, given that most people generally loved the administration, and the worst she could hope for was kidnapping – but being one of the Tall Race, at 7’6” and never failing to walk around with a huge plasma rifle over her shoulder, she had nothing to fear from this place and its sundry people.
The station was huge. Consisting of a spinal section ten kilometers long, and all manner of hubs, nacelles, docks, substations, and even old ships that were welded and converted into even more edifices for the station, this place was close to a hundred years old, and it looked it. Real estate was consumed from top to bottom sequentially, and an observer could see an evolution in façade architecture as he or she would examine going downwards. All of the hotels were pretty much five-star, though, contrary to what their facades may suggest, and it was at one, known as the Pleiades Conduit, that Queen Larian stayed. She took a modest bedroom for a fair price – no point in wasting the proud nation’s funds on some extra trappings, she thought, to honor efficiency – and brought little luggage. Some people would spew out oohs, ahhs, and “Photo!” at the sight of her, but that was to be expected, and it didn’t happen that much anyway. On one occasion, she was groped by a stranger passing by, but this was more of a nod to her relative attractiveness than anything else. She’d given him a quick nudge with the business end of her weapon, and carefully degaussed its barrel after she’d given the appropriate scare. Her business was her own, aye?
While the year was both unknown and irrelevant, the specific date was noted to be the seventh of June, Sol-Terra time. Larian, today, was spending time at Namira’s master control room, where Administrator (Lieutenant) Dexter Lirandus was always to be seen, and where it was slightly less common to see the station’s representative for the nation, a mister “Credentials.” (what the hell? Larian had thought upon hearing the name)
“Good morning, Lieutenant Lirandus,” Larian had said as she came in today. She used the rank designation as part of her function as a military leader as well as a political one.
“Good morning, Queen Larian,” Lirandus responded. “It’s a good day today. No crime reports since 0000 of last night, and as it’s already 0630, that’s a big thing for such a large station.”
“Mr. Lirandus, I doubt that with the size of this station, the news of a crime report would come all that quickly into your hands.” Larian smiled sleepily.
“I- I guess that’s true, Queen. Just trying to be an optimist. It still is a relatively good day today, and there’ve been no crime reports to blemish it…”
“Mr. Lirandus, you must forgive me. I’m rather attuned to the ways of efficiency. I know better than to intrude onto a fine day for such hardworking personnel. I would just like to warn you that it is on ‘good’ days such as this that we must be most vigilant, for the carefree attitudes that will try to overtake us are going to be very strong.”
“I understand, Queen.” Lirandus bowed a bit – he was unaccustomed to the physical honorifics that were necessitated by such high-powered people. “Am I…doing this right?”
“No, Mr. Lirandus,” Larian laughed, noticeably. “You’re doing it quite wrong, for there is no need for such things. Straighten out that back; a strong stance is what I’d prefer.”
“Of course, Queen. And welcome to the Control Room.”
“That ‘welcome’ comes a bit late, I should add,” Larian said. “So. Anything interesting seen? As in, on the level of a Kajali Visitation, perhaps?” Larian had always had romantic fantasies of actually being there, at a first contact situation. She’d never experienced that, even though she’d been a high-end leader for the past seven hundred years now. (It had taken them long enough to start wondering about her age! Even those of the Tall Race lived for only up to three hundred on average.)
“Sensor ghosts are mighty impressive, Queen Larian,” the diplomat “Credentials” quipped.
“So they are, err…” Larian cringed at the thought of having to say that infernal name! “Mr… Damn! Must I be so tortured whenever I am obliged to pronounce that name?”
Credentials laughed heartily. “It is no fault of mine, these days. It has achieved humorous status, even! Such friendly insertions have appeared in conversation, such as ‘Oh, Credentials, you old resume!’ Or, ‘Ah, Mr. Credentials! I possess only good among your name!’ Granted, they are campy and corny to no end, and are humorous only for the ironic value, but the idea is that it is no longer an irritant.”
Larian invisibly shook her head, mentally noting to check out Credentials’s…credentials. “So it’s just sensor ghosts, then.”
“Credentials is right, Queen,” Lirandus said. “I say you’d best stop hoping for an encounter. The Kajali Visitation was a one-in-countless event, and we don’t have to wait through the whole of another ‘countless,’ now, do we? Besides, we remain in constant contact with the Kajali, right after what happened there.”
“I know, I know…but that was far too long ago. The Kajali are somewhat ‘old hat’ now, and I was not even present on SciComm Juliet Uniform when it happened! I saw recorded bits of the original conference, and even some sound bites from the first meeting, as at the presentation of the navigational aid. But nothing personal! It is a strong desire of mine to experience first contact.”
“Understandable, Queen,” Credentials said. “A thirst for intergalactic adventure; it was one of my old dreams too, and it is precisely what landed me in this position.”
“I thought, Credentials,” Lirandus said, “that you’re here because of the travel advantages?”
“Well,” Credentials conceded, “that too. But mostly it was the sense of glorious interaction with all these people, and the potential of discovery – and, well, there!”
“I knew it, Credentials, you fucking liar, you’re in it for the money, aren’t you?” Lirandus was laughing.
“No, I- damn, Lirandus, I said it was the travel advantages! You didn’t have to add financial gain to the whole idea!”
“Well, you’re thinking it,” Lirandus said. Some people were psionic. Psychokinesis and telepathy weren’t so rare anymore.
“Okay, boys, knock it off or you’re both grounded,” Larian intervened.
“Yes, mom,” the two said in unison. “I mean, ma’am,” they said again, and together as well. The three ended up laughing together at their old shared joke. Larian had spent so much time here, really.
So Namira went by on this ‘good day,’ noting no immediate threats on long-range sweeps, no unidentifiable contacts at all in that regard, and soon entered a rather busy day. The system went like clockwork, with smoothly oiled and constructed cogs interacting with one another to form a predictable setup, which would easily be repaired if a failure by its own power occurred.
If a wrench of extreme shock was to be thrown into this mechanism, however…