NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: I'm going back to my roots. People who know me, I've had a stint with other nations, from Tau to a short-lived feudalistic-empire spinoff. Yet they're not nearly as satisfying as this is.

IC:

A dead system. This much is obvious. There is naught but glass upon the surface, as hard as that which is made in factories of other nations. Above the world, a thousand million tiny spheres sit, unmoving and silent. The relics of a war that surpassed the people of this world, destroyed them utterly. Or so was thought.

The last radio transmissions of so many never reached those they loved, for they had been destroyed before they even had a chance to say goodbye. There is nothing left here.

For it has been two long centuries since the Maker-Mind was slain. Two hundred years since the sacrifice of the last man of the Realm laid the horrible creation to rest. To some, this is an eternity, unbearable and unimaginable. To others, it is but a blink of an eye in the face of time.

A nation had died. Against the horrors the universe has borne, this is nothing. They were destroyed by that which they built, which some might consider a fitting end. In the grand scheme of things, they truly do not matter at all.

Yet, to the individual, what use is the grand scheme of things?

The man with no face looked down at the picture of the world. His home, once. Perhaps. His memories were tatters, pain and loss having eaten away at almost all of them. The ship Chronokrator was his home, now. Metal and hope and wishes, all finessed together by desperate people. Imbued with a nation's worth of knowledge, plants capable of churning out industrial gear within seconds, and, of course, a time-stasis field.

The stasis field was designed to fail after fifty thousand years. Time enough to either be retrieved by surviving humanity, or, should the Maker-Mind prevail, time enough to hope it destroyed itself in its madness. It had lasted two hundred. The field was, of course, maintained from the outside.

All things fail, with time. The field generators had been hit by an iterant comet. It was remarkable that they had lasted another eight years after that incident.

The mask of metal covered his face. He longed to take it off. Yet he knew he could not. He was not entirely sure why. Or, indeed, how he would do so. Memory was a fly, buzzing around his face, but eluding his clumsy hands each time he snatched at it. Unbidden, words surged into his mouth.

"I am the Exarchos."

Computer systems whirred to life, and an androgynous face appeared on te wall in front of him.

"Greetings, Captain James Wade."

A brief buzz came from the screen. "Apology. You are the Exarchos, not the Captain. My protocols ensure that the first greeting must be given to the Captain. Exarchos, I have a Priority One file. Information has been stored within my systems of the eventuality for which you are created by the First Magnate. Do you wish to retrieve it."

"Yes."

The sweet voice lowered, became rougher, more violent, yet, at the same time, strangely compelling. "You would not remember me, Exarchos. Indeed, we planned it this way."

The face was familiar. Rough, almost sad - clean-shaven, though, and with more than a glint of intelligence in the eyes.

"I am First Magnate Magnius, once ruler of the Realm. You do not know this. Our history has been removed from this ship, primarily to ensure that it is not classed as a Realm vessel by any hostile powers. The last minutes of our history are not recorded in any book. They are stored within your mind, though not even the most discerning probe, the most deep-searching computer could find them. This must be a mystery. We agreed as such."

He simply stared at the screen.

"Firstly, do not take off the mask. It can be removed, by force, but do not let that happen, at any cost. Take your own life before that happens."

The mask. It itched with mystery. He longed to take it off. Surely the secret of his identity lay there!

"Secondly, this ship, the Chronokrator, is bound for the world of Hypatia. If you are awake, you have approximately thirty minutes before the remainder of the crew are awakened. You must be off this ship by then, or everything we have done will be as if it were nothing."

Still no response. He simply stood, and looked.

"Take the corvette escort craft, the Akolouthos. The world of Hypatia is in the system of Meradoun. If all has gone according to plan, and is doubtful that is has, there is an untouched trove of what you will need on the eighth moon of the thirteen world there."

He nodded.

"You do not know this, but I am dead. If the plan succeeded, I am dead, and we are all saved. If the plan failed, I am dead, and you will need Meradoun to save what is left of us. Go, now. This computer will have no knowledge of the fact that you were ever here. For you never were."

Slowly, he turned, and began running. Long-unused muscles stretched out, carrying him in leaps and bounds down the corridor, down a path that was lit up to him by new knowledge in his mind.

The Akolouthos. My ship.

Thirty minutes. It took him twenty or so to leave, and the Akolouthos cleared the sensor range of the Chronokrator quite easily. He did not know how to fly a ship. But the Akolouthos knew how to fly herself. It had been given instructions centuries ago, and would carry them out now.



Meanwhile, aboard the Chronokrator..

Captain James Wade stared at the computer. So. Project Hidden had succeeded. It was his task, now, to establish a new colony on the planet named Hypatia. From there, they would rebuild the Realm..

One Month Later

It was surprising how quickly a colony could grow with the aid of copious antimatter reserves and many birth-tanks. Population and infrastructure had skyrocketed, and almost eighteen million people lived on the planet of Hypatia. It was not an isolated system, although the planet itself had been cleverly marked within almost all database systems as uninhabitable and worthless. Anyone stumbling across the system would discover otherwise...


OOC: Anyone who wants to stumble across the rebuilding of the Realm can do so. Keep in mind, though, that attacking is strongly discouraged. If you want to, and you're a little nation who decides to conquer an eighteen-million people colony, remember that there are two storylines in this thread. Faceless men are capable of a lot of things when they need to be..

OOC: Hey HT, want to have my aid you? You can merely have sent a message to me as we are still allies I think through the ESUS. The Covenant take their alliances seriously and would help to deter anyone from trying to conquer you. Thinking of sending a taskforce mostly to help protect the colony. Thoughts?

OOC: a new colony, huh? Well, every new colony needs supplies. I can have one of my 'traders' visit your world with all kinds of merchandise to sell...

OOC: Telros, as it stands, Hypatia is completely unknown. It might exist on star charts, but only as a worthless world with no value to colonize or otherwise take. The New Realm is also technically at war with the ESUS, as it was part of the GFFA (though this revival of the Realm has no affiliations one way or another), so they wouldn't be particularly enthused to see ESUS ships in their system.

Romano, if you want to sell, you'd probably be best served stumbling upon Hypatia. Remember that it is known as a worthless system, so you'd need to find a reason to stop there.

IC:

The Akolouthos had landed safely, the pre-determined flight course taking them to a crater in the moon. From there, a door had slid open, drawing the ship into the depths of the moon. He left the confines of the ship. He didn't know why, but it felt to be the thing to do.

He walked out, into a hangar. Dull, grey. Featureless. Yet something nagged at him. Something he should remember. There appeared to be no door, and so there was no way to go further. He spoke, words once again recalled from a tattered memory, a memory that could provide him with what he needed, it seemed, on occasion.

"Centarch."

There was no response. But the word was correct. He knew it was correct. The nagging feeling continued though, more strongly that ever. He had to move! He threw himself instinctively to the left, as a spike ripped through the air where he had just been. A silvery creature sat on the ground there, eight-legged, perhaps half as tall as he was, each leg tipped with a deadly spike. The legs came together in a small body, dotted with thousands of slightly-darker silvery eyes.

It flung itself at him, legs stabbing through the air wildly at him. He moved out the way, and a voice sounded in his mind, overwhelming him, leaving him unable to move.

MAKER-MADE MAKER-WROUGHT KILL PURIFY! MANIFEST IS DEATH! Spider spider spider kill HATE HATE HATE HATE!

Through a haze, he saw the spider regarding him quizzically, one leg raised almost experimentally, prepared to slash through his head. Despite the thinness of the spider, he had no doubt that it could do so in one swift movement. Blocking out the voice, which was chanting the word "Hate!" in his mind over and over again, he rolled backwards, narrowly avoiding another strike.

The ship! Surely there'd be something in there! He ran towards it, but the metal-spider gracefully leapt over him, blocking his way to the ship. Damn.

He was only human! How could he hope to kill something like this?! What was that thing? And what was the voice in his head? It didn't make a damn lick of sense. Had he been sent here just to die? No, that couldn't be it. He knew that, he would be needed to live.

The spider crawled up on top of the ship, retreating out of sight. It was gone, for now. He decided not to return to the ship, in case it was a trap. Rather, he would.. what would he do, if not return to the ship? He climbed atop the ship, looking for the spider.

Nothing.

Still, the same... sense of danger returned to him, and he slid away, narrowly dodging another spike going through his head. He slid down, and jumped into the ship, hitting the 'close' button as he did so. A spike ripped through the door, leaving a small hole there. And another. And another. Eight spikes in total, which slowly began to slice the door apart.

"Hell!"

He looked around the ship. He needed a gun, or something. He grinned, and opened the armory. Not much there. A pair of pistols, and something resembling a rocket launcher. He fired the pistols at the legs, and the ends broke off.

He grinned in success, but, as soon as he had done so, they ends regrew, new spikes shooting out of the scorched legs. "Damn, damn, damn!"

So. The rocket launcher. Readying himself, he fired it, a massive blast of.. blue mist? Yes, it was blue mist, swooping down the corridor. He looked down at the lettering on the side of the tube for the first time.

Truespace Holding Container

The mist dissolved the door, and also the legs, a strange flicker of purple appearing where the spider had dissolved. The mist dispersed quickly, and the spider was gone. He grinned. A victory.

"You are not the Centarch. All intelligence indicates the Centarch, as well as the Horeiarios, have been destroyed, or are not yet revived. Therefore, as Exarchos, you are now in command of Project Kaisar.

The feminine voice he had come to be accustomed to from computers rang out, and one of the walls slid open.

"Please take the first left. I will open the door to the command console there."

He did as he was instructed, finding himself within a small room, with a large screen dominating one wall.

"Project Kaiser means that your memory must remain pristine until such time as you have need of greater knowledge. However, I can explain Project Hidden to you, if you would like."

Without an action of affirmation, the computer continued.

"Project Hidden was devised when the New Realm was rebuilding. Three colony ships would be placed within stasis fields in nebula and other astronomical objects that could aid them in hiding, until such time as the Maker-Mind was defeated. The First Magnate realized that, as a creature revived by the energies of the Maker-Mind, he was susceptible to its machinations. Therefore, he ordered Project Hidden, and had his own memories of the project removed, and never learnt where you were all to be placed. Hidden will see the revival of the Realm. However, Project Hidden was designed to, in itself, hide Project Kaiser. Kaiser is the work of close to a hundred years of work. As Exarchos, you are now in command of Project Kaiser. Our initial goal is to reclaim the Horeiarios and Centarch, who were programmed to revive at approximately twelve thousand years and twenty-five thousand years, respectively."

It didn't make much sense. He didn't even know who those people were!

"All the facilities of this station are at your command. We have an industrial engineering capacity of point two five, the largest ever recorded for a hidden station."

Why was it telling him this? The numbers meant nothing. But.. he had a question.

His throat was dry, but it found moisture to make words. "A.. a creature attacked me on my way in here. A spider."

"A spider?"

The voice was incredulous. "No such lifeforms exist on this moon. I have cleansed it quite thoroughly."

"It was made out of some sort of silver metal, it wasn't alive."

The AI fell silent for almost ten seconds. "I.. see. A metal-spider has survived. I will purge the station again, to make sure we are fine. However, if the Maker-Mind still survived, it would have destroyed me by now. It is obviously a rogue creature."

He wasn't so sure. But still. "Okay. So, where do we begin?"

"Firstly, you will need to be enhanced. Physically, as well as mentally. You are a Realm Human, and, as such, your lifespan extends only some twenty years. Unless we genetically alter you, you will die within a few years. Your survival, however, is paramount to Project Kaiser."

He sighed. "So, what is going to happen?"

"It will take approximately six months. Altering your body quickly would be possible, but there are specific modifications ordered by the First Magnate that are crucial for your success."

Why not agree? It wasn't as if he truly had anything better to do.

A pair of mechanical hands lifted him up, placing him in a tube, which swept him away. It deposited him in a tank, and, immediately, he felt sleepy. Chemicals in the tank ensured his hibernation, so.. he let himself drift off. Hopefully, when he woke up, the world would make more sense.

Hypatia, Month 6 of Colonisation:

Hypatia was a thriving colony, now. Six hundred million people, some born, mostly cloned. However, the massive ship Chronokrator could no longer support the colony's power needs, and growth was slowing. Cloning tanks were taken out of commission, and the first space-elevator was raised. Shipyards were next. Keeping the colony in space was crucial, as the Realm was a spacefaring power. Captain Wade, Magnate Wade, now, was developing the colony as quickly as he could. If it were not for the six-kilometre Chronokrator, such development would've been impossible. Yet Hypatia was developing more quickly that anyone could've believed.

He hoped devoutly that no-one would find them before Hypatia was able to develop into a full-fledged homeworld for the Realm. Of course, such hopes were often idle..

OOC: I'm going to speed this up a tad, because I'm bored. Also, keep in mind that a Realm Human will live twenty years, but can gestate in less than three months. They grow to sexual maturity in three years, although schooling tends to see a large percentage of the population 'recorded', or have knowledge directly put into their mind via computer. This tends to have a negative effect on innovation, but otherwise means that the Realm is intensely capable of reviving itself from even the most devastating disaster. Without accelerated gestation in clonetanks, the population is more than capable of doubling every year, although resource shortages tend to prevent this. With clonetanks, well, population can grow from one million to eight billion in six years. Needless to say, this can only happen when the entire nation is focused on population growth, and the massive skills shortages and the economic problems this leaves the Realm with still exist.

IC: The genehack cell hissed open, and the lid slipped off, leaving a harsh light shining on the Exarchos. He looked up, and covered his eyes, his hand flopping weakly over onto his face.

"Greetings, Exarchos. The six month period has finished. You are now complete in physical abilities."

A flush of energy met him, and he leapt up out of the tiny liquid-filled cell.

"Those are your nanonic capabilities. Although they're not capable of turning you into a fighting machine, they'll give you significantly more ability than your average human. And the specific breed we call the Realm human is enhanced in quite a few ways above the average human, as well. We've removed most of those deficits your genetics gave you in regards to average humanity, and you are now prepared."

"Now?"

His voice surprised him. It was mellowed, quiet, soft and smooth. His former voice had been guttural.

"Now? Now, you begin your task. You will be required to undertake significant training, in order to be able to be sufficient for the tasks you will have to complete."

He nodded.

"You will become competent in hand-to-hand combat, the use of weaponry, piloting, hacking, and interfacing. This will take approximately two years, depending on your prediliction for learning."

He smiled. "What's your name, in any case?"

The AI seemed taken aback. "Joan Le Bon. Or rather, my 'name' is a title assigned by my creator, as to the point he felt comfortable about my personality."

He laughed. "Well, I never knew that. How's the colony faring, in any case?"

"Well. This moon has no mineral resources, and so will not be mined. Hopefully, no outpost will be put on this moon. There is no reason to do so."

"Shall we begin?", he asked. An audible pleasant sigh came from the walls around him.

"Au naturelle, Exarchos. The sooner as we begin, the sooner we will finish. And that is crucial."

- - - - -

Hypatia, Year Six, Month Five of Colonisation:

"And, in other news, Hypatia's population has hit the long-coveted eight billion mark! Although it's been reported we can't support much more, we'd like to thank all of the willing mothers out there, and the billions of children we've born over the last two and a half years. The Magnate has announced that the population explosion has ended, and food production is no longer able to sustain a much larger population. GeneCo is announcing that they're beginning to construct genehacking stations, although it's likely the majority of the native Hypatians will be outlived by their genehacked parents. Some call this a travesty, leaving the newborn a mere twenty years of life, but Magnate Wade has stated that the Realm requires a fully functional homeworld from which to exist. He furthermore states that minduploads will be made available on the NeuralNet, although people will be frozen in order to keep bandwidth from becoming unavailable. It is unlikely anyone who is gainfully employed will have to suffer the depredations of our race."

The screen flickered off. In orbit, ships awaited, grand shipyards sitting over Hypatia, constructing them. In six years, a functioning society had been rebuilt. But then, that was the function of the ship they had been sent here in. The growth of their people was astronomical, and hopefully they could avoid the mistakes of the past, and move towards the future..

This is Magnate James Wade of the planet Hypatia, in the Meradoun system. This is an open message to the galaxy at large. Should you wish to speak with our people, and learn of our near-demise, we shall be at Hypatia. Co-ordinates are inclosed. Furthermore, we invite our former allies from the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances to speak with us. The Realm is no longer in a state of war with the Extra-Solar Union of Systems, as the only impetus for our war, the Maker-Mind, has fallen. I strongly advise that you do not send warfleets. We are a cautious people.

OOC: Placeholder for upcoming post.

OOC: Semi place holder/intro. Short, sweet, and too the point.

IC:
The transmission from The New Realm came as a surprise for the Alliance. It was pesumed that when the Maker Mind came around that all of the Realm Humans were destroyed in the process. Melisha can remember the shudder she felt in the Force when the Maker Mind released it's fury upon the Realm Humans. It was rather unpleasant. Now, the word is out that they have survived the assault and were calling for some attention. If it was to help continue to rebuild their worlds, the Alliance was in for the ride. And what better choice than sending the one who helped the Xanthalians to rebuild Mirfak?

"Hypatia, this is Councilor Melisha, Third in Command of the Huntarian Alliance and the Malkir Council on board the starship R.S.S. Freedom requesting permission to transport to the coordinates sent in your transmission."

"So, they have come calling already. This is well. Ready the conference station, Miranda. Or at least order some food for up there."

He smiled. Nervously. He was a captain, not a diplomat. Nevertheless, meeting Councilor Melisha would broaden his horizons, at least. And he had diplomats to do the speaking for him.

Greetings, Councilor Melisha. We will lower our faster-than-light inhibition fields for your arrival. The station Elegance will be our meeting-place, as the planet Hypatia itself has a somewhat crowded airspace, to say the least. I will await you there.

There was a soft twinkle of light on the edge of the system, a barely noticeable flash that occurred as the INS Portrait shot out of the Slipstream like a bullet from a gun. The vessel propelled itself along using its primary field engines and generating power from the complex Matter Annihilation Plants that where buried deep inside the vessel. Near this, the Core of the ship was the Guest Quarters, far enough away from everything so the ship wasn’t in danger from any guests, but deep enough inside the ship to make sure anyone staying in them where well protected. Nothing short of the vessel suffering catastrophic damage to its Primary Annihilation plant would allow these rooms to be damaged.

This made Taiser wonder why she needed the escort. She threw the Data-Pad aside and stood up, sighing softly. She knew they where out there, two Legionnaires, standing at attention in full power armour, ready to shoot anyone who would threaten their charge. She removed her clothes thinking, before going to the small wardrobe and taking out the outfit she had chosen long before. As she walked past the mirror-wall she considered her appearance.

She was tall and pale, with dark hair and grey eyes. She had an athletic build and if one looked closely they would see a patchwork of scars where her stomach met her pelvis, a grisly souvenir from the Brotherhood. She looked at them and fear gripped her as she considered weather she should try and feign a sickness that would allow her to avoid the meeting.

~But you could never live with yourself, she thought as she looked herself in the eyes. ~Couldn’t forgive yourself if someone else had suffered in your wake. She made a soft sniffling noise before beginning to dress. The outfit she wore was a figure following black dress, which looped around the neck and showed only a small amount of cleavage. She had stopped wearing outfits that where to revealing after an incident on another Barbarian world several years ago when…

Thump. Thump. Thump. Came the knocks at the door, evenly spaced and exceptionally loud meant it was would be Orithan. She made a few adjustments to her dress before turning to the door and saying “Open,” in a commanding voice. She smiled at the pale hulking figure in the door that moved each step as if he was carrying a load much greater then he could be.

“My lady,” he said smiling at her with a dreamy expression. “You look radiant.”

“No,” she muttered as she did her hair. “I look sufficiently fancy to go to speak to these Barbarians. Did you know they only have a lifespan of twenty years? That’s worse then Feudalists”

“Do not condemn them,” Orithan said gently as his eyes drifted upwards to meet hers. “They are fresh from war, almost exterminated, it is fairly easy to consider they needed a population explosion for the war, and then for rebuilding.”

Taiser turned on him and smiled, her face in a grin as she looked at walked towards him and took him in an embrace. Knights very rarely found love, and when they did it usually occurred within their own ranks, so the relationship between the two was an odd one. She danced her fingers over the scar on his left arm, a perfect circle where the socket had been removed.

“Hate to interrupt,” in an accent any 20th century human would know. “But we will be arriving in a few minutes, I will displace you down to the landing pad when we are a bit closer.”

“Thank you Dorian.” Taiser said as she disentangled herself from the hug. “Come on, we don’t want a repeat of the Trensartent Incident.”

“You might not want to...” she heard him reply before she was Displaced to the Surface. She stood at the front, with Orithan behind her and to her right and to her left a man dressed in a Gray suit with a dark beard and long brown hair.

“Greetings,” she said formally, looking at the party meeting her in turn. “I am Ambassador Taiser, Representative of the Great and Bountiful Interstellar Empire of Naggeroth. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Elegance. Power. Wade exuded neither. But then, he would not be meeting the party. Council-Magnate Logothetes would be, and, as he casually strolled out of the park, brusquely pushing away a younger woman who held onto his arm as he did so. Almost four hundred years old, he was the exception to the lifespan of the humans in the Realm. Those who proved useful to the state found their lifespan extended through nanites, genetic tampering, and whatever means necessary, and he was one of them. A confidant of the First Magnate in centuries past, he was perhaps the real leader of the colony. He did not desire to be recognised, for he had no need of recognition. James Wade relied on him, and it was better to be relied on than to be forced into responsibility.

"Kindly activate mass-transference. I would like to be taken to the landing zone."

Whisked away within the blink of an eye, his form coalesced in front of the Ambassador, in front of the greeting party.

"Ah, dear Ambassador Taiser. I am Aidamon Logothetes. If you would be so kind as to follow me?"

His face never changed expression, despite his endearing tone. He politely offered his arm to Taiser, quietly looking over the ambassadorial party as he did so. Within seconds, his thoughts were spinning off across the NeuralNet, a private connection, direct to not James Wade, but rather covertly being sent to the station upon which the Exarchos was hosted.

Fascinating. I am not entirely sure who they are, but they boast a level of technological prowess that rivals our own. I will, of course, be sure to monitor them. Constant scans will ensure that they release no nanonics of their own into the atmosphere. Any attempt of theirs to hack the NeuralNet, of course, will be repulsed by you, or your servants, will it not, Joan dearest?

With his thoughts churning in his skull, unseen, he led the party off to a dining room. They would be met with a fine meal - synthesized, of course, but nevertheless delicious to even the most refined palates, and they would make small talk for a time. When his refusal to talk unsolicited about even the most minor of concerns in the Realm was obvious, they would ask him their questions. And the questions would be, of course, far more important than any other aspect of their visit..

The message was received by the ESUS, surely, and one among them, rather young and haven't had any time to join the GFFA-ESUS war as both sides were weary of war and a sort of unspoke ceasefire had been put into place by both sides. The Covenant Empire, after two centuries of rebuilding, had joined the Extra-Solar Union of Systems during this time of uneasy and weary peace, and it was hungry for contacts with other nations. To feed its growing economy and its people, as well as to ensure the continued, growing prosperity, they will need to expand their contacts, and find nations to trade with. As such, when the Realm message arrived, they were eager to meet this rebuilding nation. After all, the best time to make agreements, and get the best deals possible, was when a nation was rebuilding. They knew of the Realm from the ESUS archives, and they were glad they joined after the Maker-Mind's downfall, as their conscience would have been conflicted as the Maker-Mind seemed all too similar to the Flood.


So it was that a single Covenant frigate slipped out of Slipspace, the boiling blue fabric of that other dimension waning and disappearing from the tear in the universe it created to bring the frigate here. The sleek, silver hull of the ship glittered in the light of the system's sun, and the many lights on the hull combined to make the ship light up like a Christmas tree. Ship Master Kereu'fee, a Sangheili of some note, a young warrior who was rising through the ranks slowly as was the custom of being at peace. Eager to prove himself, he had volunteered for this assignment. If his missions was a success, he would be at least known to the higher-ups, who would promote him quicker than if he had been patrolling like he had been for the past four cycles. Crossing his arms over his golden armored chest, he gazed at the planet and the ships which were around the planet of Hypatia. Data scrolled in from the long-range sensors and it spat data onto the holographic screen. One of them, a ship which both its type and insignia was unknown, they had never seen it before. The other was a ship from what the archives recognized as the Hunatarian Alliance, a prominent nation in the GFFA, if the ESUS records were accurate.


Nodding, he reached over and tapped a holographic key. A screen came up, showing the face of a Lekgolo who looked much different than the ones who had fought in the Great War. Instead of the bulky armor and shield which they carried into combat, they wore a suit that was a combination of armor and silken cloth, a weave that allowed them to protect their colony body from harm but give them comfort. A dark blue color, it seemed to glow in the ambiance of the lights on the ship. Unbeknowst to many, the Lekgolo were a very peaceful and scholarly race; they preferred the pursuit of knowledge over the flames of war. And now, with the restructuring of the Covenant Empire, they served as both heavy infantry and their best diplomats. A soft, deep growl sounded over the communication line, which was translated almost instantly.

"Yes, Ship Master?"

Kereu'fee bowed his head in respect. <"We have arrived at Hypatia, Grand Councilor. We will be contacting them within several sub-cycles.">

The Lekgolo bowed his head. "Thank you. Have my Phantom prepared. I will be ready within seven sub-cycles."

The screen vanished and Kereu'fee gave the necessary orders, and a channel was opened.


This is the CES frigate Enlightened. We are here to open diplomatic relations and request permission to enter your air space.

As they sat down, Dorian had taken the first mouthful. The Roof of his mouth, and his tongue, both analysed the food more then any human mouth ever could, referring to flavours, cross checking it with other types, considering, pondering, trying different chemical combinations to aid the process. Before he even needed to swallow there was a formula in his mind before he turned to Taiser and Orithan and said in a thick English accent “Devil’s Grace.” Before taking another mouthful.

The two began to use the small chemical plants that where situated right near the heart to inject the new chemical into the blood-stream. A simple drug, Devil’s Grace would accentuate the flavour in the meals they had. Taiser took a mouthful, chewed then swallowed. Before interrupting something Orithan was about to say with a question.

“So tell me Logothetes,” she said casually, looking at him over the food that was balanced on her fork. “How long have you been here? I am doubting its been anywhere near the two hundred or so years since the Maker Mind was destroyed,” Dorian cleared his throat and Orithan snapped a glance at him. “Excuse me, since the Maker Mind was killed. This world has the population of a Major Coreworld, yet from what we could tell on the way in, running of the industry of a Colony.”

Logothetes ate sparingly, far below what he required. His body, like all those in the Realm, consumed energy at a tremendous rate, and he could easily consume three or four times that of which a 'average' human might eat. Naturally, there were advantages, but they were rarely of use in diplomacy.

The roast was the centrepiece of the table, and the synthesizers had truly outdone themselves this time. Delicious, lightly flavoured with a few spices, it was perhaps one of the better roasts he had eaten in his day. Delicately carving off another slice, he looked up, almost surprised, at Orithan.

"It is not a great matter. Realizing that the Maker-Mind was capable of annihilating us all, Magnius, our ruler at the time, placed our ship within a time-stasis field. It was hidden in a great nebula, in which it would not be found. The stasis field was designed to fail after fifty thousand years, after which time either we would certainly be found, or the Maker-Mind would certainly be dead, but, due to direct impact with a comet, it lasted a mere two hundred. Therefore, once we discovered that the Maker-Mind was dead, we endeavoured to construct a new colony here on Hypatia."

He took a sip of the wine.

"As you may have known, those of us who serve the Realm have shortened lifespans. Yet we can propagate ourselves at immense speed, and, aided by gestation tanks, we have brought this colony up to the population level of a major capitol world. Nevertheless, infrastructure will be some time in catching up. Conservative estimates say ten years."

He smiled at Taiser.

"So, Taiser, may I ask what has come to pass in the two hundred years we have missed? No doubt we will be enlightened soon enough, but I am curious, in any case. What has transpired in Naggeroth?"

Another? Interesting. Do we have information on them?

The question came across the NeuralNet as Logothetes tried desperately to manage the diplomatic situation with his mind alone whilst remaining charming and erudite at the dinner table. Though his outward composure remained perfect, inwardly he was annoyed. Slightly ruffled, perhaps.

No, Council-Magnate. We don't have any information on them whatsoever. Either they're not two hundred years old, or we've just never met them before. Either is possible. What are your orders?

He would've sighed, but resigned himself to doing so inwardly. Guide them to the surface, provided they are capable of breathing a human atmosphere. If not, create an environment for them on the station. I would not attempt to speak with them in the same room as the Naggeroth delegates. If you would either send Akritos, or perhaps a simulcra of myself 'tasked by a low-routine AI?

I'll get you the first. Akritos isn't busy.

He restrained the urge to nod in acknowledgement, and sent off a pulse of warmth to the organizer.

Within a few more seconds, a message went to the CES ship.

Welcome to Meradoun. We would kindly ask that you send out a shuttle or smaller craft to land upon Hypatia, if you are capable of breathing a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, or otherwise dock with the singular station in orbit, in which we will provide an atmosphere you can use.

"So, they have come calling already. This is well. Ready the conference station, Miranda. Or at least order some food for up there."

He smiled. Nervously. He was a captain, not a diplomat. Nevertheless, meeting Councilor Melisha would broaden his horizons, at least. And he had diplomats to do the speaking for him.

Greetings, Councilor Melisha. We will lower our faster-than-light inhibition fields for your arrival. The station Elegance will be our meeting-place, as the planet Hypatia itself has a somewhat crowded airspace, to say the least. I will await you there.

Melisha nodded when she saw the message, if it was almost as busy as Coruscant's air traffic, she'd certaintly rather beam down rather than go down by shuttle craft.


Magnate Wade, if your traffic is as crowded as you say it is, I'd request permission to beam down or teleport myself to your surfface rather than go down in a shuttle craft. I personaly dispise heavy airspace, and we have limited shuttle craft on board. Hopefully we can see you soon, if not in an hour or so via shuttle craft.

Melisha pushed a button on her command chair, "Transporter room one please be ready for my arrival to station Elegance with the provided coordinates. Shuttle bay two, prep a shuttle anyways just in case they decide they don't like Transporters. Lets have that backup option just in case."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Councilor this is the Transporter Chief. We're ready for site-to-site transport."

"Prepair to energize on their signal." Now we wait a bit...

“The Empire has been, for the last few centuries rather Isolationist.” Taiser replied softly, looking down briefly before looking back up. “We have been avoiding other space-faring nations, I have been working with Pre-Interstellar Drive Cultures and…” a pause, and when she spoke again it was with a slight quiver in her voice. “The Brotherhood o-of Divine Humanity Ascendant.”

“They where a terrible group,” Dorian said, irritated. “Xenocidal Religion Fundies with a tendency to mutilate any aliens they came across, no matter how alien they may be.” His head gestured towards Taiser, who from outwards appearance was your Standard Human, albeit a bit more athletic. “Our Lady here is only one Eight Mutated Human Strand, they decided to cut out a few choice organs be...”

“The Womb.” Snapped Taiser, "And in any other situation easy to fix, but they used some chemical, I dunno what it was called, but it managed to do something to the cells around where they cut into me, meant I wasn’t able to heal the scars, nor get back the organ.” She paused, her eyes far away as she thought.

“Besides that though, no nothing much has happened, Isolation tends to make us hide away just as much as spending Two Centuries in Stasis I would think.” Orithan said kindly, attempting to cover the worry for the woman sitting next to him. “So what exactly is the Realms current stance on…anything really?”

This is Magnate James Wade of the planet Hypatia, in the Meradoun system. This is an open message to the galaxy at large. Should you wish to speak with our people, and learn of our near-demise, we shall be at Hypatia. Co-ordinates are inclosed. Furthermore, we invite our former allies from the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances to speak with us. The Realm is no longer in a state of war with the Extra-Solar Union of Systems, as the only impetus for our war, the Maker-Mind, has fallen. I strongly advise that you do not send warfleets. We are a cautious people.

The Commissariat of Foreign Affairs was glad to hear from old friends, and thus dispatched a science vessel with an agent from the Commissariat aboard to Hypatia to meet the locals. Notably, the Dornalians, along with the Abh, had had some old history with the Realm, especially in the sense that during the ESUS-GFFA War, the Dornalians had contributed to the death of the Maker-Mind--or at least its warmachine.

Special Representative John Guildenstern, fresh from the CIS, was onboard the ship. He hailed the Realm authorities, saying as he approached, "This is John Guildenstern of the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs of the Workers State of New Dornalia. The Workers of New Dornalia are pleased to see an old ally has returned, and to that end, we would like to begin diplomatic intercourse with your people once more. We humbly request permission to enter your space and beam down to the coordinates listed."

Huntaer:

"You are, of course, authorized for teleportation. Keep in mind that even a low-infrastructure world like Hypatia has immense energy output and usage, and the air is saturated with such. If this can interfere with your teleportation, I advise you use a shuttle. Otherwise, kindly take yourself to the [co-ordinate transmitted]."

- - -
Naggeroth:

Interesting. Another of the 'humanity first' groups. Perhaps more radical than he had heard of before, but nevertheless, he would have to find out more about them. People willing to reveal such pain in diplomacy were also, perhaps, easy marks. Or, alternatively, Taiser was an exceedingly skilled diplomat, and dropping a personal secret not meaningful to her nation in order to loosen his own lips on the Realm.

This was how the game was played.

He lowered his head in regret. "I am sorry."

A few moments pause, and after listening to Orithan, he spoke again. "The Realm is, as you might imagine, dedicated to watching for any signs of the dead Maker-Mind. We have no real desire to continue in the Union-Federation war, and no capacity to do so, either. However, our perspective on diplomacy is two centuries old. We do not truly know what has transpired in the galaxy since our... absence."

For the first time, he showed a little emotion. A touch of pain, around the eyes. "It doesn't take long for everything to change, does it? Everything to die?"

He chuckled at his own question. "No, I should not be bothering you with such questions. Rather, I am curious, and, as a diplomat, what does your nation produce, and what does it require?"

- - -
New Dornalia: "Permission is granted, Hon. Guildenstern. I believe the Huntarian Alliance has sent a delegate, and, as such, if you do not object to sharing the table with them, we would be most grateful. We have many questions, as I imagine you do."

Taiser was brought back into reality, her memories overridden and shoved into a corner in her mind as she came fully back to the present. Her Drug Glands, on a signal from some dormant part had released a chemical which would sharpen her focus, and while her body slowly regained its composure, so as to give off the look of her slowly returning to the business at hand, she was quickly formatting a response in her mind.

“Name something,” she said softly “And we probably make it somewhere. In terms of our raw industrial power we can make almost anything we need. But…” she paused, to the outside she looked almost hesitant, although she wasn’t “We do have a large problem when it comes to material. Our Matter Annihilation Plants require exceptionally dense materials, we prefer neutronium, but there are only so many stars you can harvest before there are very few left.

This is one of the Primary reasons we came out of isolation.” She lied smoothly, “Because we couldn’t sit by and use up all our resources without suffering for it. We need heavy materials to power our industry and nation.”

OOC: Idle curiosity. Have your ambassadors been engineered/trained so extensively that there's no outward sign when they lie?

IC: Logothetes smiled. "Ah, yes. Thankfully, we have our own means of fueling our mass-annihilation plants, and they have not yet run dry. I doubt we'd be interested in trading away mass, however, for it's not particularly hard to obtain."

One had to understand that the responses of the Realm humans were vastly faster than those of their normal counterparts. Their very nerves were made out of different stuff, and so dealing with the NeuralNet and this situation was far easier for him than it might have been for Taiser. He wasn't sure.

But another foray into the depths of the neural network was required, in order for him to ensure he could find as much out about these Naggerothians as possible.

Callow, can I have an analysis of the situation? Datasquirt into my head, if you'd be so kind. Any chemicals, changing heartrate, or energy signals. If there's even the slightest variation that could be useful, I want to know about it.

Of course, Third-Rank Applicant 16-TTZ. Your request has been processed.

Information streamed into his head. Interesting. Slightly heightened heartrate. But that was natural when one snapped to attention.

- - -

Joan le Bon was worried. Slightly worried, for an AI, but still concernced. The Exarchos had met her standards, but there were not meant to be other nations here! They could hardly slip out of the system with all eyes on its edges. She had planned to allow the Akolouthos to quickly replace another ship on the colony's database for a brief time, at which point there would be no chance of being chased. For now, though..

"Exarchos, if you would be so kind as to prepare for a brief hop through Truespace, I'm going to throw you onto Hypatia. We're going to hope no-one notices. From there, you're going to hitch a ride with a ship. It doesn't particularly matter whether it's foreign or not, but getting away from this system is a must."

Huntaer:

"You are, of course, authorized for teleportation. Keep in mind that even a low-infrastructure world like Hypatia has immense energy output and usage, and the air is saturated with such. If this can interfere with your teleportation, I advise you use a shuttle. Otherwise, kindly take yourself to the [co-ordinate transmitted]."

Melisha glanced at the Transporter Chief, "Chief?"

"Nah, it should be fine. Their energy output is considerably large, but not significant enough to give me any difficulties. Besides, you can get yourself out of that trouble with you own... Force teleport-thingy-mabob."

Melisha shook her head, "not nearly enough distance from the ship. I trust your abilities Chief. Acknowledged and received Magnate, the Chief thinks it won't be too much of a problem for our Transporters."

The Transporter Chief nodded, "Just uploaded the coordinates ma'am. Ready when you are ma'am."

"Energize." Moments later, Melisha found herself in the designated Coordinates. She has never been on a station quite so... Unique. It has been a long time since she got out, and she decides that maybe it was a good thing that she wasn't a valuable tactitian in the Alliance's wars. Then she got that feeling again. The same feeling she got dealing with the Xanthalian representative. She could smell smoke... The fires of the burning Malkir Temple...

She was back. 4000 years ago during the very end of Darth Trilkan and his apprentice Darth Deshoonde's lust for power. She was suddenly pulled back in the Malkir Temple on Huntaria, the center of the Huntarian Grand Republic. She remembers waking up from her meditation period, and running out of her quarters after hearing the sound of Bombers launching their torpedoes and missiles upon the Temple, and the Huntarian Senate Chambers. She finds her master, who was busy fighting off the newly formed Clone Troopers of the Kirtir Empire. "Master! What's going on?"

"Senator Dorman's begun his assault! He and his apprentice have broken through the Republic's peremiter defense along the rings of Yenkar. They've pushed through last night and have assaulted Huntaria itself!" Slash, another four clone troopers lost their torsos or legs. Melisha's master releases a strong bolt of lightning upon a squad who just entered the Council Chambers, and they all fell down. "Find the Chancelor! He's the Kirtir's primary target. I already have Warrior Shelintiave on the task of defending him, but I doubt she'll hold against the Senator's wraith. Gather the Remnants of the Council, and have them and Shelintiave meet me and Jorrus at the secret tunnel exit. You know what I'm referring to. GO NOW!"

Melisha quickly ran back into her quarters and grabbed her lightsaber, and ran back out. It is rumored that Lord Vorman was never a part of the assault on Huntaria, but Melisha knows those rumors to be faulty. She looked where her master was, only to find him in the grips of the Phantom. Vorman lifted her master up high into the air, ::Tell me where the Chancelor is, and I will give you a quick and painless death Malkir.::

"Go to hell Phantom," and her master spat in Vorman's face.

Vorman let out a shreak, and continued to stair into Melisha's Master's eyes. He soon began to scream in pain, and smoke erupted from his mouth. ::Last time Malkir, where is the Chancelor?:: He continued to look into the Malkir who remained silent, screaming in agony. Then his skin began to glow red, like charcoal in a fire. Her master shook violently, shreaked at the top of his lungs and erupted into flams. Vorman let the Malkir go, who just crumbled into dust as he fell towards the floorl. ::MAJOR!::

A young Major Verneal stepped up from behind the scenes, wearing his black and red Space Marine armor. "Yes my lord, what is it?"

::It would appear your stratagems were full of priceless information, however the Chancellor is not here in the Malkir Chambers. I want you to continue your search for him. It won't be long before you are promoted to Lieutenant, or Captain. You'll probably make General by the time you're 1500 of age.::

"Thank you sir! All right boys, continue the search. We don't want to dissapoint Lord Vorman or the Dark Lords today!"

Verneal left the Chambers, and Vorman continued to linger for just a few moments. Verneal... I'll remember your name. And I'll remember it well... Melisha gritted her teath together, and activated her Lightsaber which emitted a Silver blade. Vorman turned around, to find a yelling Melisha slashing her blade upon his right shoulder. Vorman howled in pain as his shoulder was severed from his body, and Melisha took that as a sign to bolt out of there and go find Jorrus and the other surviving Councilors.

::COME BACK HERE YOU BLOODY MALKIR BITCH!::

If it weren't for the long and bloody night ahead, that would've been one of Melisha's proudest achievements, for no one after her managed to wound Vorman quite the way she did. Then, her memory faded to black...

She found herself pulled back to reality, back on the station. Sweating. She looked around, and was surprised at the progress they have made in the last six years. She walked up to the nearest receptionist desk, still slightly sweating a bit. "Excuse me, but can you tell me where I can find Magnate James Wade? I believe I'm suppose to be meeting him here, if not one of his assistants/representatives."

Energy buildup at 4403P9. Should we block it?

A big negatori, Valencia. The Magnate wants this one in.

Fine, fine. It seems rather odd to teleport them to the Magnate's area, though. Shouldn't they be introduced first?

The first "voice" took on a tone of wry amusement. Or rather, a sense of wry amusement, but it was all the same in any case, for an AI.

I'm sure they know us. Keep running checks on the auto-defenses though. I doubt they're going to pull a gun, but the "force" can be tricksy, especially since we're only tasked with a list for basic defense protocols. God, I wish we had an exarch unit here. That'd make things simpler.

Exarch unit? Wait, she's not moving. Seems stunned. High brain activity. Possibility of some sort of stroke?

No, I've scanned her. Nothing peculiar about her brain. Oh, and an exarch unit is a nullification field. Useful almost everywhere. Rare, though. Apparently the last one was destroyed in the Great War.

Oh. Well, I'll keep an eye on her, Lopez. The Magnate will be perfectly safe in my hands.

The receptionist was, like most of the station, a charming voice. Human contact was limited in space, and, since it was easier to subvert a person than an AI, the majority of people onboard were AI.

Wade slid the doors open with his mind. So easy to interface, this station. It was salvaged from their colony ship, most of it, and, in turn, the ship had been taken from the Old Realm. Many of the machines here were almost one thousand five hundred years old. Perfect order, though. They had been built that way.

He put on his best smile. It wasn't much, he admitted. He waved a hand, and Melisha would find herself led down a hallway. Any door that she was not meant to enter would simply be closed. It was not a long walk.

As she entered, he nodded in recognition.

"Councilor Melisha, I believe? It's good to see someone who hails from.. somewhere we know. Please, sit down. I have many questions, and I do not doubt you do."

The receptionist was, like most of the station, a charming voice. Human contact was limited in space, and, since it was easier to subvert a person than an AI, the majority of people onboard were AI.

Wade slid the doors open with his mind. So easy to interface, this station. It was salvaged from their colony ship, most of it, and, in turn, the ship had been taken from the Old Realm. Many of the machines here were almost one thousand five hundred years old. Perfect order, though. They had been built that way.

He put on his best smile. It wasn't much, he admitted. He waved a hand, and Melisha would find herself led down a hallway. Any door that she was not meant to enter would simply be closed. It was not a long walk.

As she entered, he nodded in recognition.

"Councilor Melisha, I believe? It's good to see someone who hails from.. somewhere we know. Please, sit down. I have many questions, and I do not doubt you do."

"Well, you probably can guess how surprised we were when we heard your communication's call. Most of the Council and the Huntarian Alliance thought your kind were wiped out by the Maker Mind. I'm also quite surprised to see you where you are today infact. It took us almost 4000 years for us to get to where we are today. How did you manage to survive? Adapt? Is there anything we can do to help the healing process?"

"We are a hardy people. Suffice it to say that we placed ourselves within a time-stasis field, hoping that the Maker-Mind could not detect us outside the flow and ebb of time. It seems we were correct, and thus survived."

He sighed. "It will be hard for us to adapt, I fear. Centuries of war against an enemy many times our superior has brought us to a state of constant militancy, and it seems hard to reduce. Apart from this, however, there is merely the damage done to a society that has died. It will be a long time before I, or any of the original crew of the colony ship, will be able to bring ourselves to once again look at the dead worlds of the Realm."

Melisha nodded, "Unfortunately, we don't have the ships or troops to aid you in your Millitancy problems. However... We may be able to aid you in your efforts to rebuild your devestated worlds. At least the ones which still have atmosphere and can support life of any sorts. That is, if you wish our help and don't mind waiting a wee bit longer. We're currently engaging the Chronosians in their invasions against the Masaki family, so don't expect any immediate assistance."

He smiled. "No, those worlds are long gone. I do not think we would wish to inhabit them again. Besides, they were merely places where we could take refuge, a waystation in our journey, if you will."

He grinned suddenly. "The Chronosians, you say. We go back a long way with Chronosia. Indeed, the worlds we inhabited before the destruction of the Realm by the Maker-Mind bordered Chronosia directly. Much of our history is failed invasions, and border-raids.. we were never as good at war as they were. However, I think we'll be fine, given a few years on our own."

"It would seem that we have shared a similar fate then. The Malkir once were in the hundreds of thousands nearly 4000 years ago. Then Trilkan happened, and we weren't nearly as prepaired as we thought we would be. Haven't fought enough wars Admiral Craimorn has said on occasion. By the end of the war, there were only 500 of us left and only four of the Council of Twenty remained alive. Many were either murdered or were turned to the Dark Side. Hundreds of worlds burned, or totally destroyed. I myself witnessed the merciless killings of the Kirtir and their Hords at the Malkir Temple. So strange, that two people should be brought together by countless slaughterings of their kind... Such, pointless hatred and mindless violence. We've been on the run for 4000 years ever since we were exiled from our rightful spot in Huntarian Space. We have increased our numbers, but still not as significant as yours has been." Melisha looks beyond Wade, as if in a dreamy state, "funny, a race of beings who consider themselves a more civilized nation for using laser swords and magic powers and can't nearly come to as much improvement as a race of non-force sensitives." She scoffs at herself, and shakes her head, "it truly is a remarkable achievement..."

- - -
New Dornalia: "Permission is granted, Hon. Guildenstern. I believe the Huntarian Alliance has sent a delegate, and, as such, if you do not object to sharing the table with them, we would be most grateful. We have many questions, as I imagine you do."

"I indeed have plenty of questions...but thank you."

With that, Guildenstern ended the exchange, and then had his vessel enter the lands of the Realm, quite possibly the first Dornalian ship to do so in quite a while. Approaching Hypatia, the diplomat was beamed down to the coordinates, and found himself in rather the same facility as Melisha had. He also found himself approaching the same AI receptionist, and asking, "Where can I find Magnate Wade? I have come to speak with him...."

OOC: Apologies for the crappy post, but I gotta get some stuff done...

Another? Interesting. Do we have information on them?

The question came across the NeuralNet as Logothetes tried desperately to manage the diplomatic situation with his mind alone whilst remaining charming and erudite at the dinner table. Though his outward composure remained perfect, inwardly he was annoyed. Slightly ruffled, perhaps.

No, Council-Magnate. We don't have any information on them whatsoever. Either they're not two hundred years old, or we've just never met them before. Either is possible. What are your orders?

He would've sighed, but resigned himself to doing so inwardly. Guide them to the surface, provided they are capable of breathing a human atmosphere. If not, create an environment for them on the station. I would not attempt to speak with them in the same room as the Naggeroth delegates. If you would either send Akritos, or perhaps a simulcra of myself 'tasked by a low-routine AI?

I'll get you the first. Akritos isn't busy.

He restrained the urge to nod in acknowledgement, and sent off a pulse of warmth to the organizer.

Within a few more seconds, a message went to the CES ship.

Welcome to Meradoun. We would kindly ask that you send out a shuttle or smaller craft to land upon Hypatia, if you are capable of breathing a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, or otherwise dock with the singular station in orbit, in which we will provide an atmosphere you can use.


Kereu'fee read the message, and clicked his mandibles in approval. It was good to see a nation who valued diplomacy and the comfort of those it met with very highly. They also didn't seem xenophobic, something that appeared to be catching on in the galaxy as of late.

We are able to breathe a nitrogen-hydrogen atmosphere, but thank you for the offer. We will be sending a shuttle down with our representative. The Enlightened will keep its distance


Soon enough, a small object left one of the many hangars on the Covenant frigate, a purple Phantom that carried the Grand Councilor and his honor guard down to the planet. As it streaked towards the planet, a message was sent to the ground control operators.

This is Faith's Edge, requesting data for a landing zone, coming in on vector three-four-two.

OOC: I wrote this last night just before my internet went down for a bit. Keep in mind I'm doing NaNoWriMo this month, and I'll be here sporadically, at best.

Oh, and if anyone wants to volunteer to have the Exarchos stowaway on their craft, they're more than welcome to do so. (However, you'd have to have ship systems that can be suborned to some extent, when in friendly contact. Not major things, but maybe minor editations to the crew roster, or programming the security systems to ignore him.). Otherwise, he'll be going on a freighter.

IC: Wade frowned.

Lopez, I have a question. What precisely are the Malkir and Kirtir? I never learnt much history.

Lightside and darkside force wielders, more-or-less. The Huntarian equivalent of the Sith and the Jedi.

Hm. I'm curious. Why don't we have any Sith or Jedi in the Realm?

Grand Master Parshala. The Third Realm.

Pardon?

The Realm was formerly ruled by operant metapsychics. However, due to the fact that they were like big red beacons to the Maker-Mind, they were all killed off during the war. Parshala was a Grand Master Redacter who, under the command of Magnius, eliminated any possibility of force-wielding Realm humans. In ordinary humans, it might be one in a hundred thousand. For the Realm, it's one in a hundred trillion.

What about the operants? Shouldn't they be popping up now and again? Or were they bred out as well?

Lopez was silent for a long time. One had to understand that even a million-word conversation would take seconds at most, and the words were merely expressions for ideas that coalesced in the mind after the exchange. However, the flow of ideas stopped. Wade looked puzzled.

I am sorry, Magnate, but that information is restricted. You do not have the necessary clearance.

What? Lopez, as ruler of the Realm, I demand you tell me!

You do not supercede the First Magnate's orders. I am sorry, Magnate. However, you will not find that information anywhere on the planet, or anywhere within the former Realm. Nor will you find it within my memory banks. If you attempt to 'crack' me, I will self-delete instanteously. That information is classified until the Project has come to an end.

Project Hidden has succeeded!

Project Hidden has succeeded. That is correct.

So tell me!

I'm sorry, Magnate. I can't do that. I wish I could, Magnate Wade, but if you wish to know more, you must retrieve all of the knowledge yourself, if it exists elsewhere.

He sighed audibly. "Sorry, I was merely retrieving some information on the Malkir and Kirtir from the neural network this station hosts. Our databanks are sketchy at best. Nevertheless, we have found no enemies to challenge our revival. The time of survival for this colony against the Maker-Mind was projected to be less than fourteen minutes, including the time it would take for it to find us. So, against the Empire, I would say you have not done poorly."

He smiled, but was inwardly fuming. What did the AI know that he didn't? What was the project? Damnit, it didn't make a bit of sense.


- - - - -

Strange. A green world. Black lines. Brown dirt. Blue-green sky. Interesting. It seemed familiar in a way. It wasn't home, but it was like home. He didn't know where he was, but he understood the mass-transference, and that it had got him here.

Ah, Exarchos. Good. I can only give you the briefest second of my time. Joan has trained you, however, it is my task to get you off this world. You must understand that there was significant opposition to Project Kaiser. More importantly, some Maker-Mind drones managed to suborn a large portion of Fleet personnel prior to their final attack. We were all screened carefully, but the Enemy was rather cunning, you see. You understand the basic AI scale, yes? I'm a 7, and I'm the second-most advanced program in this system. The Maker-Mind didn't get a place on that scale. It broke it. Therefore, you will be leaving, wherever we can find you a berth. Get yourself some gear, if you want. Though you've got everything you need, there's a lot more here than there was on Joan's station. You've got an unlimited credit rating, courtesy of myself.

He nodded, and headed off. Might as well explore the world where he was..

OOC: You might notice a rather large explosion after a few minutes, if you have some nice sensors on your ships.

IC: Silver. Sphere. The two words any citizen of the Realm had dreaded during the War. Ships vastly superior to the Realm's own, and a thousand times as numerous, the spheres of the Maker-Mind constituted something of an intense racial fear.

As the Exarchos left on a ship, a freighter pulling out of the system, a sphere materialized deep within the moon he had come from. Laser-defense systems switched online immediately, immense pulses of radiation, enough to shatter walls, thrown at it. The sphere shuddered, ripples of silver running across it.

DIE KILL RIP BURN DIE PAIN SLASH DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIEDIEDIEDIE!.

Lopez was in direct communication with Joan, the AI in charge of the Exarchos's training world, and felt what she did. Heard[/] what she did. A battlesphere. One of the least creations of the Maker-Mind, and hardly enough to constitute a threat.. but Joan had no disruption weapons, or Truespace weapons with her, he believed.

A voice came into Magnate Wade's head. "I am sorry, Magnate. We have something of a situation. I am requesting permission to commandeer the [i]Ancient in order to have forces to dispatch to an emergency situation."

Wade's hand came down on the table heavily, not bothering to speak through his mind. "Damnit, Lopez! Answer me here in the open air! What is going on? Something's happening, and I want some damned ANSWERS!"

Ignoring Melisha's shocked look, he raised his hand. "Tell me, Lopez, and I'll give you your ship. Otherwise, you can go to hell, for all I care. If there's someone on, I need to know!"

Lopez decided to use the station's speaker systems, as to not confuse Melisha. "He's not mad, I can assure you, Ambassador. We've been in communication via NeuralNet. And I must ask that you leave this place, immediately. It is no longer safe. Magnate Wade, I am afraid we have a Reborn on our hands."

"Reborn?"

With that, a wall materialized between Melisha and Wade, swarms of nanobots constructing a sound-proof metal wall. A slowly pulsing shield appeared across the metal.

A voice came across from Lopez. "I am awfully sorry, ambassador. I will ensure your way out of the system is safe. However, I cannot offer you more than that. It is a danger for you to ever be here right now. Therefore,

"A remnant of the Maker-Mind. Divested of the main mind, it created its own little intelligence. Get enough of them together, and we could see a revival. Reborn have only been hypothesized about so far, but out at world thirteen, we have one."

"World thirteen? I didn't order any forces out there!"

"They're not your forces, Magnate. They're Project Kaiser forces. This is important, Magnate. Send out the ship, or I'll send it out."

"No. Tell me what's going on, and I'll give you your authorization."

Lopez sighed heavily. "Under the authority of Project Kaiser, the supreme authority of Magnius, rightful sovereign of the Realm, and the directive capacity of the Exarchos, I hereby divest you of your powers as Magnate, Magnate Wade. By refusing to send out ships to investigate a serious incident, you have failed in your duties. I will be taking over as Magnate until such time as you come to your senses."

Wade raged against Lopez, swearing at him. It was easy to understand. He had no real conception of what was going on.

And, from the dock, the frigate Ancient slowly pulled away, preparing to go faster-than-light in order to achieve transit to Joan's position. Out-system, a freighter, the last Realm craft that would be allowed to leave, was quietly given new co-ordinates. The captain and crew would die en-route. A necessary sacrifice.

Inside Joan's facility, eighty gigatons worth of explosives went off all at once. It could be contained, considering there were six facilities on the moon. The loss of one to destroy a Maker-made craft was a small loss..

A calm, male voice sounded in all diplomatic meetings. "I am sorry, but your meetings have come to a close. Kindly evacuate the meeting facility with all possible speed, and make your way back to your various nations. Escorts will see you safely out of the system."