Allanea
04-10-2007, 23:24
Aboard SS Miriel nos Feanor
The former Executor class “Super Star Destroyer” coasted in orbit as Alexander Kazansky observed his new possession. There was a sad smile on his face as he saw Otagian cargo vessels take off and disappear forever, taking the last of Otagian farmers with them. “There it goes.”
He watched the last craft take off. It was over. “Most excellent. Computer, give me a close-up of the surface. Search for sapient made structures.”
Pretty soon, the search feature brought up an image of an abandoned farm. Already it looked as if it was in a state of disrepair, the gates left open by the locals as they left, never to return. Kazansky, however, was dissatisfied. “Mmm. I think this is messing with my landscape. Computer, target this with turret… I don’t know, just target it with some turret.”
On the ventral plate of the giant pleasure yacht, a single medium turbolaser turret brought itself to bear. A flash of light – and the farmhouse, with all of its surroundings, ceased to exist.
“Quite good. Computer, bring us into geostationary orbit over the North-Western Palace.”
The Northwestern Palace could barely be noticed from orbit – most of the giant complex was built by the Otagians to be underground. Outside, it was a tiny construct, a sort of bizarre mix of Le Corbusier and the palaces of the Loire. It was not very big – looking like an oversized mansion more then a full-blown palace, and perched on the shore of a beautiful lake.
Nobody would know that under the unpretentious façade there was over a thousand of rooms for Kazansky and his guests, an underground boat house – at least, until they visited. There were, interestingly, severa; small docks designed to accept small landing shuttles and Runabouts.
A system of short-range portals linked the Palace with similar buildings in other parts of the planet – seven in numbers. Effectively, they operated as a single giant palace – subjectively there was no difference between walking through a door to the South-Eastern area of the Estate and opening a door to the next room.
Uniquely, Kazansky’s own bedroom would be equipped with a teleportation system that would move the room between different parts of the Palace. One day, he would wake to look at the lake, the other open his window into a tropical rainstorm, and on the next day – look down from nine kilometers’ height on the planet’s biggest mountain.
Even now, he knew, Pale Rider Arms employees were finishing the last touches on the system of palaces on the Planet. He watched on the screens of the Miriel as the last Otagians departed, and then walked out of the room.
He jogged for two miles down the length of the ship – although of course Kazansky always could have gotten there faster, using various onboard transport . One of his shuttles took him down through the atmosphere, landing without a snag. He paced out into the North-Western Palace, admiring the handiwork of the Otagians. Yes, this would be money well-spent.
He opened the window, enjoying the clean morning air as it blew in his face. “A wonderful place itself. A glorious place.. And it is mine. All mine.”
He paused. “And I will name it Alcarinqua, Glorious. Such is my will.”
The former Executor class “Super Star Destroyer” coasted in orbit as Alexander Kazansky observed his new possession. There was a sad smile on his face as he saw Otagian cargo vessels take off and disappear forever, taking the last of Otagian farmers with them. “There it goes.”
He watched the last craft take off. It was over. “Most excellent. Computer, give me a close-up of the surface. Search for sapient made structures.”
Pretty soon, the search feature brought up an image of an abandoned farm. Already it looked as if it was in a state of disrepair, the gates left open by the locals as they left, never to return. Kazansky, however, was dissatisfied. “Mmm. I think this is messing with my landscape. Computer, target this with turret… I don’t know, just target it with some turret.”
On the ventral plate of the giant pleasure yacht, a single medium turbolaser turret brought itself to bear. A flash of light – and the farmhouse, with all of its surroundings, ceased to exist.
“Quite good. Computer, bring us into geostationary orbit over the North-Western Palace.”
The Northwestern Palace could barely be noticed from orbit – most of the giant complex was built by the Otagians to be underground. Outside, it was a tiny construct, a sort of bizarre mix of Le Corbusier and the palaces of the Loire. It was not very big – looking like an oversized mansion more then a full-blown palace, and perched on the shore of a beautiful lake.
Nobody would know that under the unpretentious façade there was over a thousand of rooms for Kazansky and his guests, an underground boat house – at least, until they visited. There were, interestingly, severa; small docks designed to accept small landing shuttles and Runabouts.
A system of short-range portals linked the Palace with similar buildings in other parts of the planet – seven in numbers. Effectively, they operated as a single giant palace – subjectively there was no difference between walking through a door to the South-Eastern area of the Estate and opening a door to the next room.
Uniquely, Kazansky’s own bedroom would be equipped with a teleportation system that would move the room between different parts of the Palace. One day, he would wake to look at the lake, the other open his window into a tropical rainstorm, and on the next day – look down from nine kilometers’ height on the planet’s biggest mountain.
Even now, he knew, Pale Rider Arms employees were finishing the last touches on the system of palaces on the Planet. He watched on the screens of the Miriel as the last Otagians departed, and then walked out of the room.
He jogged for two miles down the length of the ship – although of course Kazansky always could have gotten there faster, using various onboard transport . One of his shuttles took him down through the atmosphere, landing without a snag. He paced out into the North-Western Palace, admiring the handiwork of the Otagians. Yes, this would be money well-spent.
He opened the window, enjoying the clean morning air as it blew in his face. “A wonderful place itself. A glorious place.. And it is mine. All mine.”
He paused. “And I will name it Alcarinqua, Glorious. Such is my will.”