NationStates Jolt Archive

Some time after the final testing of the Immortal-II Star Destroyer

The former apprentice sighed. Unfortunately for him, his former Master had insisted upon teaching him politics in addition to combat. The apprentice had, at the time, made a point of forgetting everything his Master ever said about politics, the definition of which had something to do with many blood-sucking creatures. Unfortunately, said lessons had a way of unforgetting themselves, even if the Master who had taught him could not be found, exiled in disgrace, sacrificing his own position for the benefit of a nation that no Woodian trusted.

And now, the apprentice found himself summoning the lectures on how to suck blood, figuratively speaking, as he knew he would have to deal with a nation where local politicians controlled the processing of building permits, a nation he never would have ever heard of were it not for the Caprica Incident. Unfortunately. Fortunately, the apprentice also had scheduled a meeting with a liason of sorts. At least he hoped she would be something of a liason. If only he could get the unions, by dangling the thought of employing millions of new dues-paying members, to support him, he might have a chance of outsourcing the poly-ticks a little bit. He had very deliberately spent the last few months researching all that he could on the Colonials, in an attempt to figure out how best to help them, after they had been torn asunder. Even though he was pretty sure it would happen again. But that was what insurance was for...

The man stepped off his ship in a foreign land, dressed in formal Class A uniform, the single star on his epaulet glinting in the heavy artificial spaceport light. The star that he believed, had been awarded far too early, but his superior officer had a point when he said it merely made his de facto position, de jure. His position as commander of the army that had no officers above him. The commander of the Navy, who did outrank him, had to resort to violently beating his ass and creaming it into gooey pulp, to 'persuade' him to take the promotion. The former apprentice did hope that dealing with Colonials would not turn out the same way...and Colonials did not necessarily need to know that.

He sensed hostility as he looked around the spaceport, so far forbidden to go outside of a certain distance from his ship. The officer looked down at his belt, the right side, from which his lightsaber hung. It was for this, he knew, that he would constantly have to be escorted by people who did not trust him as far as they could throw him, and probably would not shed a tear if he were to somehow die.

He waited. The host nation knew he had a schedule to keep, knew he had a meeting he needed to attend. But he was forbidden to run around loose with his lightsaber, and chafe about the regulation as though he might, he still would not insult his hosts.

The very hosts that he hoped to help...

"And Zeus warned the leaders of the twelve tribes that any return to Kobol would exact a price in blood." Scroll of Pythia

Kobol, the birthplace of humanity, or so say the sacred scrolls. Once a planet full of promise, an Empire in her own right, with thirteen colonies stretched out over ten thousand light years, Kobol stood as a shining beacon of civilization and power.

Here the lords of Kobol once walked, with men and women, their proclamation were law, their edicts stretched to the very heavens, echoing throughout time in religious rites, and acts of generosity. Her people were proud, and here at the birthplace of humanity laid true perfection. That was before it happened, before the great blaze, and the curse of Zeus, and the unnamable lord. Before she was laid to rest, rotting in her own grave, broken and forgotten for thousand of years.

Bodies littered the streets, as the great blaze consumed all. The mighty ships in the sky were torn asunder, the people of the thirteen tribes laid to waste. Only Two ships survived that day, the Galleon, a Transport that made it to the home of the Twelve Colonies, and the unknown ship, her name lost to time, sunk beneath the waters of the Mediterranean Sea, lost and forgotten at the home of the thirteenth.

For thousands of years, the bones laid silent, as even the birds were consumed. No worms ate the corpses, no one was left to honor the bones of the dead. Only ruin and rubble remained.

Only by chance, was the lost home of the human race was discovered, only by chance was she seen and given a second chance of life. But this was in defiance of the lords themselves. Humanity, was no longer welcome in their former home, and Kobol remembered too well the sins of it’s children.

As the apprentice walked on the planet, he could feel it, it was unnamable, unknowable. It was not dark, it was not light, but all around him he could feel it suffocating him, reaching out to him, as if it wanted him, his life and his soul.

The will of Zeus was not to be undone. Keith watched out the terminal window as he waited patiently for those whom he expected. Each second he waited he could feel it, wrapping himself around him, grabbing at his throat, ripping at his heart. It was as if the force was dead, and wanted him to follow it to it’s grave.

The Apprentice took a deep breath, as he reached up to his collar. Life was not in balance here, the harmony with the force he so enjoyed and relied upon, was clouded, as if the planet itself shunned the Jedi. He took another deep breath as he looked out the window. What was this place? Why did he feel so, near death? He took another breath as he stared out in the sky. As he looked up, he saw a small streak across the sky, a small pin point of light, shining against the sun, leaving the smoke trail as all aircraft do. His eyes narrowed on it, then as he caugh a glimpse, a quick flash of light appeared, fire took it’s place. Small tiny sparks in the distance began to rain to the ground below. Keith could only watch helplessly as the pieces vanished in the sky at dawn. Somehow he knew that if he stayed here, he too would suffocate.

To meet Keith would be two burly Colonial Marshals. Newly instituted, they would show up in suits of power armor (http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Image:Fallout_3_T-51b_Power_Armor.jpg)that looked somewhat clunky, but certainly nothing to mess with as they held big M1 Gauss Rifles, like the ones the Dornalian Red Army had. The grim security man that followed them greeted Keith with a stern, "Colonel Allaire. Follow us, please. And no monkey business." He then waved at Keith brusquely, as the men in power armor stood at oblique angles to Keith. The Colonel would be able to sense that his powers weren't going to work on them, and that it probably had something to do with that black fabricesque material that occasionally showed from their armor, which would produce a BIG reaction from him, being that it was derived from Ta'Nar Kython Force Inhibition Materials, requested by the Twelve Sisters for Force Repulsion qualities. He'd also sense that their handler was no friend of his...being a stern man in a grey police uniform, with a bulletproof vest and a very menacing glare, and an equally menacing knife and Laspistol combination that seemed easily prepared to rip Keith apart should he try somehting.

The men led him to a room, where he was asked by the man in the police uniform, "Alright, boys. Pad him down." The men in power armor began frisking him, thusly. As they did so, Keith was asked a barrage of questions, such as, "Who are you?" "Where are you from?" "What do the human kidneys do?" as well as basic morality questions and a disclaimer saying, "Since you are known to use the Force you will be assigned two minders. These are for your protection and the protection of the people of the United Colonies. They will follow you at all times, and if they see you even shit the wrong way, they will fuck you up so bad and deport you so fast you will wish you never fucked with us. Is that clear?"

The man so searched strained his mental discipline, so tempted to shudder at the malevolence of the Force on this planet. He did not particularly wish to come back again; fortunately Kobol was not really the Colony most in need of his assistance, or so went his earlier research on Colonial economics, anyway. He watched the aircraft break apart as the Marshals approached him, somehow sensing that it happened frequently. Dread swirled around his mind, and attempted to consume his thoughts. He knew that he would probably not be able to avoid this place entirely, yet he could try to arrange his schedule such as to minimize the necessary and proper visits.

The man seemed indifferent at best to the Marshals, whom he knew were not there to protect him, but rather to protect Colonial Society from him. Big difference...yet one which did not offend the man, for his home nation had similar regulations to enforce against those who came within a certain distance of the seat of Parliament. Regulations which existed for similar reasons...although the history that justified them, made them necessary in proper, was far shorter at the man's home than it was here. He deliberately postponed correcting the Marshal who did not know how to read standard rank insignia on epaulets, until such time that the inevitable came...name, rank, and serial number. Not at all did the pre-judged one chafe against the weapons pointed at him, not even in thought, for if they shoot him, so be the will of the Force. He had known the risk of entering a society fearful of the Force, as a Force user. A small expression of relief even crossed his countenance, for whatever Force inhibitors were built into the power armor, also inhibited the general sense of dread and doom emanating from the Force.

Somewhat.

Then came the search, the interrogations, and whatnot.

"Who are you?"

"Brigadier General Keith Allaire, serial number ALLAIK291L9." Being that he wore his Evil Woody Thoughts uniform, he recited his Woodian, not PA, identification.

"Where are you from?"

"I hold dual citizenship in both New Dornalia and Evil Woody Thoughts."

"What do the human kidneys do?"

"Their primary function is filtering certain waste products such as urea and assorted minerals out of the bloodstream, and initiate the excretion of those filtered waste products."

basic morality questions

The recipient of the interrogation responded in much the same way as he had when the People's Acolytes asked him the same...nothing untoward here.

and a disclaimer saying, "Since you are known to use the Force you will be assigned two minders. These are for your protection and the protection of the people of the United Colonies. They will follow you at all times, and if they see you even shit the wrong way, they will fuck you up so bad and deport you so fast you will wish you never fucked with us. Is that clear?"

"Aff," the young General replied, reflexively. Realizing that the Colonials likely knew not the slightest thing about Woodian dialects, he added, "Yes." He still did not really buy the little part about the minders being for his protection. The interrogators, however, did not need to know that.

Now about the minders being for the protection of the UC...the Woodian did not doubt that bit for one second.

"Brigadier General Keith Allaire, serial number ALLAIK291L9." Being that he wore his Evil Woody Thoughts uniform, he recited his Woodian, not PA, identification.

..."I hold dual citizenship in both New Dornalia and Evil Woody Thoughts."

The Head Honcho nodded, and scanned the info via a computer in the room. He nodded, and said, "Okay, boyo. You check out on that front. Now, let's see what kinda monkey business you're capable of."

"Their primary function is filtering certain waste products such as urea and assorted minerals out of the bloodstream, and initiate the excretion of those filtered waste products."

"Okay, so you're no alien."

The recipient of the interrogation responded in much the same way as he had when the People's Acolytes asked him the same...nothing untoward here.

"Hmm..." Looking at the other two men in Power Armor, they nodded and said, "He don't seem harmful, boss."

The Head Honcho then turned to Keith and said, "If my boys clear you, you're good."

"Aff," the young General replied, reflexively. Realizing that the Colonials likely knew not the slightest thing about Woodian dialects, he added, "Yes." He still did not really buy the little part about the minders being for his protection. The interrogators, however, did not need to know that.

Now about the minders being for the protection of the UC...the Woodian did not doubt that bit for one second.

Frowning a little at the use of "aff," he then was pleased to hear, "Yes." The man nodded and said, "Good. Follow us, please."

Keith was then rudely processed through customs by an overworked clerk, his minders standing behind him to offer little moral support as the clerk stamped papers, ran papers through what appeared to be really redundant checks, and rechecked his dual citizenship to be sure, and then did the whole process twice over seemingly out of spite. The experience was probably familiar to him from his journey in Los Angeles, but here it seemed to be tinged with an air of malice--like that film noir-esque miasma of doom that hung over the planet of Kobol in general. In LA, at least it had that air of bureaucratic humor to it. Here, it was all assholitude, no more and no less.

Keith would finally afterwards be then led to where Ms. Kung was waiting, looking at her watch. A Chinese woman, relatively medium heright about six foot with a moderate build, she looked the part of an old academic and spoke the part with a refined semi-Boston Brahmin accent, garnered from her origins in Luxembourgia. She extended her hand and said, "Eileen Kung, Quorum Rep from Earth. I presume the Marshals have subjected you to nothing but the finest in abuse."

The subject of such derision somehow maintained his neutrality, even as he received innumerable glares and suspicious looks. He knew that any pretense of the Marshals claiming to be for his own protection was patently false, but he went along, even forgoing the thought of thinking too ill of them, much less expressing said thoughts. After all, when was the last time a Force user had ever helped a Colonial? The Dornalian government had taken quite the active role, to be sure, but last he checked, Premier MacIntyre was not a Force user. However, Force users had certainly caused sufficient destruction and harm to the Colonies to make their residents manifestly suspicious thereof. He did not mind; he was not here to contest or argue over it, nor make a scene. He would rather simply change it, and he would not get far by putting off his Colonial hosts, gracious though they might NOT be.

Therefore, when Eileen Kung thought she knew that the man dressed in Class As before her had suffered at the hands of his Colonial handlers, the response that came out was anything but a desire of commiseration. "Brigadier General Keith Allaire," he introduced himself, offering her a handshake because, as far as he knew, she was a civilian and therefore a salute might be inappropriate. He had managed to moderate the pressure of his handshake a bit from the Somalia days, which Kung might appreciate as well. "The Marshals are only doing the same thing that we do. I cannot say I blame them."

Therefore, when Eileen Kung thought she knew that the man dressed in Class As before her had suffered at the hands of his Colonial handlers, the response that came out was anything but a desire of commiseration. "Brigadier General Keith Allaire," he introduced himself, offering her a handshake because, as far as he knew, she was a civilian and therefore a salute might be inappropriate. He had managed to moderate the pressure of his handshake a bit from the Somalia days, which Kung might appreciate as well. "The Marshals are only doing the same thing that we do. I cannot say I blame them."

Eileen shook his hand and her expression grew serious, saying, "That was partially meant as a joke, but yes, I must concur with your assessment. They are men who are experts in enforcing the law."

She then motioned for Keith to follow her into a van, along with the handlers. Adding insult to derision, the Handlers insisted on squeezing on both sides of Keith, forcing him into a rather uncomfortable middle seat as Eileen signaled for the driver to take them to their destination. The Handlers then gave him a cold metallic stare--from behind the polarized lenses, glares could be seen.

Eileen said, "I'll be brief. I was here on business with some other individuals, and I managed to get you into the schedule for the whole afternoon to discuss your proposal. I do believe it is good, and it should be given a fair cop."

Pointing up ahead to a little restaurant with a deck on the side, Eileen said, "We're driving to lunch now--you're free to pay your share of the bill, we even have the proper equipment to comply with Woodian accountability laws, but I figured I would feed you something here, to make up for the rough treatment your handlers are no doubt giving you."

One of them said through a fuzzy, almost grunting vocoder, "Just doing our job, ma'am."

Eileen said, "Right." Turning back to Keith, she said, "Did you have anything in mind? It's mostly Greek food, see."

Olympus,
Kobol

Olympus, the capitol city of Kobol, the ancient city of the gods, where the lords of Kobol had ruled over man, in the perpetual paradise. Long ago was the city at it’s height, long ago was the city new and full of life. Today though, the city was much different.

Had it not been for a little known financial backer, Olympus would still be in ruin, as marble columns laid across the empty fields covered by the eons of dirt, debris and grass. Today, it was only slightly different.

Kobol had remained a low population planet, even amongst the Twelve Sisters. Under Admiral Cain, the planet’s funding was nearly cut out of the budget all together. The only funds coming not from the financial backer, went to the airport, and the research center hidden in-between the peaks of Hera, many miles away, close to the tomb of Athena. The mortality rate was at a record high, as accidents were frequent, and there was reletively few medical care facilites on the planet. To top it all off, many found their untimely demise by ancient ordanance left behind from some long forgotten war.

Keith and Representative Kung drove down the newly paved road, one of the few constructed within the so called city. The city still though looked more like an archeology dig, than a actual city. Many of the inhabitants still slept in tents, like a refugee camp, while the slow construction took place.

The unknown backer had made it clear, when she hired the crews, to use as much of the original materials scattered on the ground as possible. Cranes reached into the sky, as they were carefully lifting the ancient marble columns, and stacked them carefully one on top of the other.

As Keith looked out at the strange dwelling that was Olympus, down the streets into the downtown section, where a lot of the buildings that were completed stood, he could see a marvelous sight. One building stood out amongst all of the rest. It’s features were grand like that of a Cathedral. Stain glass windows adorned the outside, as the marble columns were polished and cleaned up. Gold adorned the entrance as they passed the Opera house.

It was the first construction project of Olympus, and it was truly a marvel to look at, easily the equal of the Vatican. It was said to be exactly like the original, although no one knew how the backer knew that. She deemed this to be the first project, and despite protests of housing, and infrastructure, the construction crews complied.

Slowly the car pulled up to a series of restaurants. Each building seemed older, but was lit up with different signs. As Ms. Kung indicated, most of the food was quasi Greek, or Italian. Very few people who came to Kobol stayed, so the culture was more pure than the rest of the Colonies, much more like what the colonies were before their entrance to the Galactic civilization. Soon the car came to a complete stop outside of a small little resturant with a side deck, named “ταβέρνα”

The young General did not say a word about the cramped conditions, knowing that he had experienced far worse torture during his previous Special Ops training, and knowing full well the likelihood that suggesting one of the guards take the front seat would result in the same. Unfortunately, the oppressive hoovering of the Marshals had the young man concerned that his ability to speak freely and present his idea might be infringed...and he wondered to himself whether he should consider moving the meeting to more neutral ground. Dornalians certainly had never treated him quite like this even after he had sent their idol and patron saint to the hospital.

The argument in favor of staying, the young one found, consisted mostly of getting a sense of Colonial culture, and the fact that if he was to help the Colonies in any way, he could not avoid visiting them, so he may as well acclimate himself.

As the van rolled down the street, the young General, borne of a nation whose citizens enjoyed freedom from want, could not help but notice the homelessness and despair juxtaposed next to opulent, ornate ceremonial buildings that appeared to serve no other purpose other than showing off how grand the Colonies were. He wondered why so much construction, and none of it housing. Or industry. Economies that depended solely on rich people for their fuel tended to be shallow and vulnerable, he knew from his history studies, simply because there were never enough rich people to support an economy with their demand for products alone. Social welfare, or even decent middle class jobs, seemed all but unknown here, except for the few entrepreneurs who eked out a living by opening restaurants. But a poor population could only support demand for so many restaurants. He had to see what he could do to help get the Colonies to actually produce things, he knew...especially considering that what he saw came even after massive amounts of Dornalian aid.

The group entered one of the random restaurants, and Keith, appreciative of Kung's respect for his customs (unusual among Dornies), looked down the menu. He was a contrarian today; though normally he did not eat amongst the flashiest dishes in a restaurant, this place was different. Another consideration clashed with his usual modesty, that of a small gesture of supporting the local economy; Force knew that the owner would not complain if he ordered something nice. "I would like the shrimp scampi dish with extra olive oil and feta cheese," he informed the waiter upon entering, "and a bottle of your finest wine." The unused portion, he intended to cork and take home with him. He cared not what duty his home nation might charge on it.

He then asked Elaine, "Was the meeting supposed to be over dinner, or did you have a more private place in mind?"

He then asked Elaine, "Was the meeting supposed to be over dinner, or did you have a more private place in mind?"

Elaine replied simply, "The meeting can take place over the meal, now, actually. No one's around to hear too much." Looking at the stern minders who followed him in, Elaine then looked at the minders, and said, "You can sit at a nearby table. I'm sure the Brigadier won't harm me here."

"Very well, ma'am," one of the Marshals barked out of his vocoder, as he and his colleague sat down at a nearby table. They removed their helmets, and began to order something. As they did so, the masks revealed a man and a woman, and both looked at Keith with continued paranoia and gave him a gesture, consisting of index and middle finger poking at their eyes and then pointing at Keith--the classic "Watch yourself" command.

Elaine shrugged and said, "I'll just have the spaghetti then. Reminds me of my rough-and-tumble upbringing in the hives of Luxembourgia. You could always count on the upper hives to look livable, and the lower hives to be at best tolerable." She then coughed and said, "Now, what was your proposal? Refresh my memory, if you can--I've been busied all day."

Brigadier General Allaire pretended not to see the Marshals' rather rude gesture. Of course he did, and that was about the point where he quietly decided that what he had to say was none of the Marshals' damn business. Keith thought about erecting an acoustic Force barrier so that the Marshals would be unable to hear him; unfortunately they would probably notice his lips moving without producing sound if he did that. Suspicious. He figured that remotely using the Force was probably illegal, too.

So he took a compromise position. "Let me gather my thoughts." At this point, he produced a pocket-sized notebook and a pen, and quickly scribbled out what he did not want the goons to hear.

Basically, pay people to build shit. Infrastructure. Commodities. Maybe some defense work, too, but primary emphasis is on building up the Colonial economy through the demand side. Something akin to General Electric, though with profits either reinvested or returned to the workers. I need workers--lots easier to find suppliers than workers--so I need references with any local unions who would be able to help. My theory is unions like to increase their numbers by a few million, so let them unionize my company all they want, and they can deal with the local politicians. I have read they are of the backscratching variety, and I do not want to have to deal with the corrupt fools all the time, nor constantly appeal to de Bruyn.

Quickly, he slid over the notebook. "You like?" he asked, as he took a bite out of his appetizer. To the goons, it might look like he was asking about the food.

Quickly, he slid over the notebook. "You like?" he asked, as he took a bite out of his appetizer. To the goons, it might look like he was asking about the food.

Kung nodded and said, "It's a good proposal, Brigadier. A congolmerate that makes everything, for the people, of the people and by the people. A novel concept, in terms of corporate investment and aid, and a venture which doesn't have much precedent. However, I must warn you. Since your venture was first incorporated, I've heard many proposals, and needless to say I've okayed similar proposals in the past."

She then showed Keith a flyer from Jensen Design Bureau, advertising a new venture in Tauron. Elaine then conttinued, saying, "This is a big example. Admittedly, JDB isn't as diverse as yours, they mostly handle shipbuilding and some heavy industrial applications. But it's proof of the competition you'll be facing.

However, you will have the ability to utilize government assistance to speed this endeavour along. Namely, those unions you spoke of....."

She then pulled out her PDA and began typing.

"Well, I can start with construction and trades, maybe skilled and unskilled labor. I know a few have been writing to me about when their charges are going to benefit from Mother Dornalia's aid packages much more quickly. Naturally, I'm telling them that Colonial and Earth industry, plus the government programs, are doing all that they can--but they're impaitent, though things are improving. Here's a few of them to contact....they're not as ornery as the people who keep writing the hate mail, but they are powerful individuals who have a keen sense of their own potency."

She then took out a napkin and wrote down a list. It was a generally representative sample, ranging from the Virgonese Draftsman's Union, to the Aeralonese Food Processing Workers And Farmhands Association to the Caprican Auto Workers Association to the Geminese Order of Hepheastus, what looked like a steelworkers' union shrouded in Kobolist mysticism, and so on.

Keith quickly wrote out his response, because he did not want the Marshal goons to hear.

OK, as far as the labor goes, then, Libran, Canceron, Saggitarion, and Aquaria are probably in most need of industry, followed by Aeleron. At least the competition will not be in the labor market--the unions can help with coordination, and I can assure you that Woodians consider where their money is going in making their purchases, at the very least. I am wondering if I should get into mining too, for I am studying geology...

Thank you for the references. If you had contact information for the various unions, it would be much appreciated.

As he slid his note across the table, he continued to munch on his food, wondering if the business would be concluded before the plate. He did not particularly desire such an outcome, but if it happened there was little he could do except for eat and conduct small talk. Oh well, it might help him later if he did not come across as excessively cold now...

Keith quickly wrote out his response, because he did not want the Marshal goons to hear.

"OK, as far as the labor goes, then, Libran, Canceron, Saggitarion, and Aquaria are probably in most need of industry, followed by Aeleron. At least the competition will not be in the labor market--the unions can help with coordination, and I can assure you that Woodians consider where their money is going in making their purchases, at the very least. I am wondering if I should get into mining too, for I am studying geology...

Thank you for the references. If you had contact information for the various unions, it would be much appreciated. "

As he slid his note across the table, he continued to munch on his food, wondering if the business would be concluded before the plate. He did not particularly desire such an outcome, but if it happened there was little he could do except for eat and conduct small talk. Oh well, it might help him later if he did not come across as excessively cold now...

Kung then scribbled down a list of addresses and contacts, as she looked up the right ones for the job he desired.

"Here you go. All the major trades, skilled and unskilled are on this list in terms of addresses. Bear in mind, these are major union bosses for these Colonies. What their rank-and-file would think is naturally going to be different than what they might say."

The notes had a list of names for the Colonies in question. Streitmacher, Ellis, Tulane and Kristansen plus DeLarge, were the men listed on the list for Libris, Canceron, Sagittarion, Aquaria and Aeralon respectively. Phone numbers, HoloNet addresses, etc., were all included, along with pictures.

"Again, be careful. These union men can be quite provincial and ornery, especially when dealing with outsiders who use the Force. Sympathy for the common man or not, I've known many union bosses in my years of fieldwork and in my time working for the City of San Francisco--they tend to look out for their own. I can come along as a locutor, in case trouble starts," Eileen indicated.

She then said, smiling, "And for heaven's sake....you can talk like a civilzed fellow. No need for notepassing now, I'm not giving a lecture at Berkeley. If you're worried about the handlers..."

Eileen turned to the Marshals and said, loudly so they could hear, "...I can easily tell their bosses that they've been abusive and have interfered with official government business."

That made them lose the assholitude real quick. Smiling, Kung said, "Right. Now, where were we?"

"Thank you. Indeed I can talk like a civilized fellow. I appreciate your...ahem, understanding of the matter," the man across the table from the Dornalian liaison to all things reconstruction replied. "I am well aware of the attitudes that unions have, and I take them into account. I know of at least one union grievance I can nip in the bud right now...gluttonous CEO pay. That said, I can tell I am ill-advised to use the Force in their presence--hell, I thought it was illegal here, anyway." He toned down his voice to a whisper to add, "Which explains the notes."

Whereupon the Brigadier added, in a normal voice again, "I apologize for coming across as off-putting. I did not know of any alternative, but this should not be a problem for the union meetings."

"Thank you. Indeed I can talk like a civilized fellow. I appreciate your...ahem, understanding of the matter," the man across the table from the Dornalian liaison to all things reconstruction replied. "I am well aware of the attitudes that unions have, and I take them into account. I know of at least one union grievance I can nip in the bud right now...gluttonous CEO pay. That said, I can tell I am ill-advised to use the Force in their presence--hell, I thought it was illegal here, anyway." He toned down his voice to a whisper to add, "Which explains the notes."

Whereupon the Brigadier added, in a normal voice again, "I apologize for coming across as off-putting. I did not know of any alternative, but this should not be a problem for the union meetings."

Kung nodded, and as she nibbled at her meal, said, "Indeed. I'm sure the union men will be glad for that much assurance." She then said with a smile, "Apology accepted, though it really wasn't necessary. I wasn't the one bullying you, the men were."

She then said with dismay, "As for the union meetings...well, the men from the union won't be as hostile as the Marshals, but they will be suspicious. I'd tailor your sales pitch accordingly, and prepare to hear plenty of snide Anti-Force comments--admittedly a product of previous Force user misconduct and ignorance, but inexcusable bigotry nonetheless. I'd shy away from the Force use here. As it is, it isn't illegal--I made sure of that to protect our Acolyte population. But, you know how the locals think of it."

"Hmm..." The young general considered the comments, as well as his own thoughts, as he chewed on his food. He looked around the restaurant, trying to figure out what to do, as Kung had earlier said something about squeezing him in between other appointments. The inexperienced officer with a huge wad of credits in his bank account knew that, as a despised foreigner in a strange land, he would probably need a bit more help than that, if he wanted to get his little reconstruction idea off the ground.

He was not a businessman; he was studying to become a geologist, and nearing the crucible of his studies, the point at which he actually made his own contribution to the field--translating his 'sixth sense,' that ability to sense subterranean features, mineral compositions, et cetera by using earth vibrations as a form of sonar, discovered originally through the Force, into a mechanical sensor. Kung had mentioned that he would have competition...but Keith could anticipate a great edge in mining and resource extraction should his Ph.D research come to fruition.

But the requirement of employing Colonials would not wait. He had already waited too damn long to start this, and had let it languish in legal purgatory back at Evil Woody Thoughts. After several minutes of silence and eating, during which Kung could easily tell that her guest was busy mulling his position, he finally spoke up.

"Hey, look. I appreciate this meeting, I really do. However, surprisingly enough, I am not a businessman. I just happened to have a large fortune fall in my lap, and wish to put it to good use in a manner which will become self-sustaining. I need a lot more help with this to see it succeed than just a 45-minute meeting, to be honest, and I do not believe that either of us wishes to see a project like this fall through the cracks. I am gonna need a bit of advice, both legal and cultural, and probably need to know about where the hell I would be building. I am studying geology, so maybe I should add mining to the mix as I might have a competitive advantage there."

Kung nodded and declared, "Let me take you on tour, then--Kobol is a good place to see how Colonial culture works first hand. I would say that they're awfully similar to Dornalians, but for a marked reluctance to deal with outsiders and less aggressive tendencies, but...I find that glib generalization won't do."

She then paid for her half of the meal, and when Keith paid for his half, she motioned for the Marshals to follow. The two put on their helmets, and shouldered rifles as they walked back to the auto. When they all got back in, Kung then said to the driver, "Go to somewhere populated, and drop us off for a few. Tell my appointments I've had to cancel."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0HHDVY8Yno

The dinner was finished, the bill was paid, and the tips were left, as General Allaire, and Ms. Kung walked out into the night air. Shadowed only by their armed guards, they didn’t have to go far to see the populated districts of Kobol.

Olympus was settled in the valley between a mountain chain, and as they exited the confines of the rustic yet beautiful restaurant they were greeted only with the wicked cold wind that whipped through the streets.

The city itself was eerie for a city. Once a beautiful city of enlightenment, and the seat of power controlling it’s colonies with impunity, Olympus had fallen from grace. The center of the thirteen colonies now was little more than broken city.

Keith looked around, as few street lights lit the way into the downtown shopping district. Tents were pitched, as shotty make shift booths, with small cloth tarpes barely sufficed as a roof.

Keith and Ms. Kung watched as people moved back and forth, bartering their goods for others. It looked more like a 3rd century market than anything remotely modern. Fresh fish were for sale, as were already de-feathered chickens. Meat hung in the open air off racks, as people walked up and bought their supply of food for the day.

As Keith watched one man barter a bushel of apples for a tenderloin, the butcher walked over to a skinned dear and with a knife cut it off the body, and handed it to the man. If there is a third world, it seemed Kobol was a fourth...

The cold did not bother the one who came here with heavy pockets and open heart; he did not even bother putting on the blazer that functioned as a coat to wear with his uniform, unlike, it seemed, everyone else, who remained bundled in whatever heavy clothing they could afford. Which did not seem much; most of the garments that the young Woodian saw looked as if they had been handmade, straight from the tanner's workshop. If that, even.

He did not inquire as to why Kung had brought him here. He had requested to see an accurate reflection of the Colonies' condition, and if this be it, so be it. Compassion and pity should not get in the way of the facts that he sought to find, and he maintained an indifferent look even as he bought a pomegranate for later succor and 'mistakenly' handed its vendor a higher-value coin than the actual price, leaving the vendor to chalk it up to ignorant tourists, rather than any sort of generosity.

"Thank you for cancelling your other appointments," Allaire thanked Kung after a few moments of absorbing the scene. "Are there any medium-to-large scale employers here other than that outfit rebuilding the ancient temples?" Colonel Allaire did not wish to pick arguments over cultural priorities--but then again temples alone would not really provide much of an economic base. Especially, Keith thought, given that the general outlook of this place was not exactly suitable for tourism...

"Thank you for cancelling your other appointments," Allaire thanked Kung after a few moments of absorbing the scene. "Are there any medium-to-large scale employers here other than that outfit rebuilding the ancient temples?" Colonel Allaire did not wish to pick arguments over cultural priorities--but then again temples alone would not really provide much of an economic base. Especially, Keith thought, given that the general outlook of this place was not exactly suitable for tourism...

Pointing to the workgang trying to repair the ancient road in the middle of town with a steamroller from Mitsubishi and some MacAdam paving, she said simply, "The most you'll find here is construction. Like from the company running the job here--forgot its name. Then again, that's all the locals can do, considering the state of things. There's also mining and such, though that's in the boonies, also run by the same."

One of the locals interjected, walking by, "And that's why we need the roads. But thing is...the roads are slow to build. For some reason, they never get built."

"Hmm..." The visitor thought aloud as the dilapidated scene filled his senses. No infrastructure. No housing. No services such as schools or hospitals. No transportation. Yet temples seemed to be springing up everywhere. He had an idea as to why this might be the case...it involved palms, WD-40, and suitcases.

Mines, he thought, he might be able to develop with union cooperation. Same went for vertical industries that could emerge from such activity, such as durasteel refining and, if certain minerals and hydrocarbons be found, consumer electronics. The young brigadier remained fairly certain he would come up with additional ideas, given additional time and consideration. But given lack of infrastructure to get goods to market (which would probably, at least at first, consist just as much of export as domestic)...

"Is there any kind of a method to get expedited permits for roadbuilding?" the curious visitor asked Kung, the look in his eyes suggesting a wink-wink, I do not mean bribes kinda thing. "I mean, sure a factory is local. A road that a crosses multiple administrative districts of whatever definition is not...and theoretically is a planetary, or at least continental, instead of municipal, affair. I am probably talkin' out of my ass here..."

"Is there any kind of a method to get expedited permits for roadbuilding?" the curious visitor asked Kung, the look in his eyes suggesting a wink-wink, I do not mean bribes kinda thing. "I mean, sure a factory is local. A road that a crosses multiple administrative districts of whatever definition is not...and theoretically is a planetary, or at least continental, instead of municipal, affair. I am probably talkin' out of my ass here..."

Kung shrugged, and before she could open her mouth, the man that had walked by and interjected said simply, "You mean those lazy shits at the Kobol Department of Transportation? Good luck. They're not even good or rich enough to be called corrupt. They're just frakin' lazy."

He then spat on the ground in contempt and continued to rant. "We've had to put up with their endless roadbuilding--I mean, everytime they build a frakin' road, they debate over how to fund it. Shit never gets done. Why? Because there ain't money, because we're dirt poor, or because people are frakin' hoarding for their own pet project. So as a result, you got shit like those carpetbaggers from NORINCO--thank the Lords for that much--and whoever picks up the slack from that reconstruction company."

“Joe” a man from across the street yelled in the direction of the ‘tourists’. The man looked to be in his mid forties, and rather bulky. “Leave them thar’ tourist alone will ya. Your lunch break was over twenty minutes ago you lazy bastard.” he said angrily as he walked over towards the pair and across the street. “They came here to see the sights, not listen to your belly achin’ ya hear.” he said as he approached the man.

Turning to Kung and Keith Allaire, he shook his head. “I am sorry for my boy.” he said to them. “He don’t know when to keep his trap shut. Ya’ll are probably here on a honey moon or something. Let me apologize for him, after all ya probably came here to see the sights or something, and here ya are listening to his problems. He gets it from his ma’ ya know.”

Reaching his hand out towards Kung and Allaire, to shake it. “Name is George Adams, this is my son, Joe.” he said turning his head to glare at his son who rudely interrupted the pair. “Don’t often see foriegners around these parts. He said as he looked at Keith’s uniform. “Well let me make it up to ya, if ya will. You guys hungry or something. My wife Julia makes a mean chili, and we would love to have ya over?”

Reaching his hand out towards Kung and Allaire, to shake it. “Name is George Adams, this is my son, Joe.” he said turning his head to glare at his son who rudely interrupted the pair. “Don’t often see foriegners around these parts. He said as he looked at Keith’s uniform. “Well let me make it up to ya, if ya will. You guys hungry or something. My wife Julia makes a mean chili, and we would love to have ya over?”

Kung chuckled, and in her best way, replied to George with a simple, "Well, to be honest, my colleague Brigadier General Allaire asked for some information on local infrastructure." She then replied, "Well...." She then turned to Keith and asked, "What do you think? Chili or not?"

The one in dress uniform made a valiant effort to keep himself from scowling at the mention of corruption, but alas, his brow furrowed a bit anyway. If he wanted to get anything done, it seemed, he would have to either 1) pay for building the roads out of pocket, or 2) convince either the Dornalian Government or the Woodian Government to fund them. Roadbuilding projects, while certainly beneficial to the economy, did not generally return an investment, and thus remained somewhat unsustainable for the Colonial Reconstruction Corporation's purposes. Sure, it could build a few roads on its own, but if it relied on unfunded roadbuilding projects as a mechanism to employ people, the roads would finish, the corporation would have no further cash or income, and it would have to lay off workers and send the economy into a tailspin AGAIN.

Allaire remained quite concerned about sustainability of economic activity. Though mines eventually played out, they could in large part be disassembled and relocated. Not the case with roads...

He said nothing on the subject, nothing to indicate that his mind churned with thoughts of how to persuade Parliament of resolving the Colonial impasse over funding road projects. How to do it without conflicts of interests. While he could not single-handedly build an entire highway system, he could build spur routes here and there, to sites he for one reason or another thought would make excellent places for development were it not for lack of transportation. And there was the efficiency of rail for moving freight, too...

Probably best to leave the decisions on where to build the roads to the Woodian Government, should the Parliament decide to go along with the idea, and go from there. Though he absolutely hated being forced by his former Master to write drafts of enabling acts, he found himself more and more forgiving of Whitfield's political instincts as the legal crap taught him became more and more relevant. At least he knew how to keep crap that bureaucrats would waste two hundred trees on, to a mere two pages or so...

“Joe” a man from across the street yelled in the direction of the ‘tourists’. The man looked to be in his mid forties, and rather bulky. “Leave them thar’ tourist alone will ya. Your lunch break was over twenty minutes ago you lazy bastard.” he said angrily as he walked over towards the pair and across the street. “They came here to see the sights, not listen to your belly achin’ ya hear.” he said as he approached the man.

Turning to Kung and Keith Allaire, he shook his head. “I am sorry for my boy.” he said to them. “He don’t know when to keep his trap shut. Ya’ll are probably here on a honey moon or something. Let me apologize for him, after all ya probably came here to see the sights or something, and here ya are listening to his problems. He gets it from his ma’ ya know.”

Reaching his hand out towards Kung and Allaire, to shake it. “Name is George Adams, this is my son, Joe.” he said turning his head to glare at his son who rudely interrupted the pair. “Don’t often see foriegners around these parts. He said as he looked at Keith’s uniform. “Well let me make it up to ya, if ya will. You guys hungry or something. My wife Julia makes a mean chili, and we would love to have ya over?”

His thoughts about how to break the impasse that the Colonial man bellyached so much about were interrupted by his supervisor, yelling at him to get back to work. Keith chose not to interrupt George's chastisement of the worker to turned out to be his son (go figure), instead waiting until George extended his hand for a shake. The Brigadier General shook it without question, not seeming to care how grimy the foreman's hand was. "When does your shift end?" the young General asked in reply. "Brigadier General Keith Allaire here. I am from Evil Woody Thoughts, an ally of New Dornalia and a nation that took in a few million Colonial refugees. Sure, I would enjoy your hospitality, when you get off work of course..."

If the foreigner was to spend any substantial time in the Colonies, getting to know the locals (and their issues) could not hurt...

His thoughts about how to break the impasse that the Colonial man bellyached so much about were interrupted by his supervisor, yelling at him to get back to work. Keith chose not to interrupt George's chastisement of the worker to turned out to be his son (go figure), instead waiting until George extended his hand for a shake. The Brigadier General shook it without question, not seeming to care how grimy the foreman's hand was. "When does your shift end?" the young General asked in reply. "Brigadier General Keith Allaire here. I am from Evil Woody Thoughts, an ally of New Dornalia and a nation that took in a few million Colonial refugees. Sure, I would enjoy your hospitality, when you get off work of course..."

If the foreigner was to spend any substantial time in the Colonies, getting to know the locals (and their issues) could not hurt...

George shrugged. "Ah. The Dornies helping out over at the NORINCO sites occasionally tell a Woodian joke. But I won't tell it to ya now. I got more class than that, and frankly, it's a bear translating it from the garbled language some of them boys speak--what's that...."

The son said, "Chinese, I think it was called."

"Right."

Besides that much, he clearly didn't know much of international politics. Indeed, Keith would get the impression most Dornalians George had seen not on the HoloNet were probably the folks his kid mumbled about--businessmen on aid, aid workers, bureaucrats, carpetbaggers, et cetera.

He then motioned to his son to follow him into the shop to get some more fuel for the steamroller. The man sighed, and then mumbled, "Damn politicians."

Kung then muttered, "Well. That was....enlightening. Where to?"

"Well, I suppose that invitation is off, then," Keith replied. "I did not tell him anything about me that was not already prominently displayed on my uniform. Unless you have other ideas, I suppose it is time for me to visit with the union leaders. That, or go look up mineral surveys. Probably need to get around to both..."

"Well, I suppose that invitation is off, then," Keith replied. "I did not tell him anything about me that was not already prominently displayed on my uniform. Unless you have other ideas, I suppose it is time for me to visit with the union leaders. That, or go look up mineral surveys. Probably need to get around to both..."

The man then returned, and asked, "Oh, forgot to mention. Shift ends at five. Bring your appetites, and a nice, clean bib." He then walked back in.

"Looks like we're still on," Kung observed.

As the pair watched George and his son, walk back across the street towards their jobs, behind the large fenced in area, where there was a ton of work being done. Like most yards, the lights were bright from the generators but the work was going much slower than anyone would imagine a construction dig going. On the fence, was a large banner, for some company that neither had heard of before. “Peacock Restoration Corporation, bringing a brighter tomorrow, one step at a time” In the background was a picture of Olympus before the great exodus, as a sprawling city, with it’s seven roads reaching out from the forum. The city was grand and beautiful, with several large domed buildings and many sky scrappers.

As they looked closer, it would appear to be more of a giant archeology dig, as each piece of marble, or granite, or brick was removed from the buried earth, and gently lifted out of it’ eternal resting spot. It would defiantly be strange to the new comers to Kobol, but it was a painstaking reminder of why things were going so slow here.

As they watched the crane gently lift one of the large marble columns into the air, and slide it to the side, the tourist watched in horror. Around Keith’s neck, the same feeling came to him, that his blood was wanted, that the planet wanted to devour him. His neck felt constricted, and as he nearly gasped for air, he heard a popping noise, as the cable broke, sending the large column flying in the air.

It was too quick for him to do anything, as the column slammed into the man they spoke to moments before. His body was crushed, beneath the weight of the large column.

Joe could barely believe his eyes, as he turned around and saw the column hit his dad. Had he not turned around to grab his hard hat, he too would have been splattered. "DAD!" he screamed as he ran towards his fallen father. Several other men began to run towards his body as well.

Kung then simply said, "Fuck. That's not good." She immediately rushed to the site, shouting, "Get an ambulance! Quickly!" The really twisted humor of the situation notwithstanding, Kung had a feeling the local sense of doom and gloom was beginning to pay dividends no one wanted to recieve.

Indeed, the Woodian felt it, the oppressiveness of the curse, and knew there was nothing he could do. Somehow, he knew, just knew that to use telekinesis to fling George out of the way of his impending doom would only result in smacking his head against another pillar...and even using telekinesis to alter the course of the falling pillar would only send it crashing into another cluster of people.

The problem with the sense of foreboding: the foresight was not quite precise enough to act upon. Still, the Force user felt guilty, and made a mental note to refine his senses as long as he stood on this forsaken place. Perhaps he could do something about the next catastrophe...he hoped.

He walked to the fallen pillar, seeking to inspect the chain that broke, wondering if this 'Peacock Restoration Corporation' had used substandard materials prone to such breakage. The thought displeased him, but in poverty-stricken places like this, one could not be sure. Upon inspecting the chain, the man, even though he wore his dress uniform, asked for a shovel, so that he might extract the remains for proper burial, the solemnity in his voice showing he meant well even if such was not the local custom. On most worlds, he would have done so with the Force within a matter of moments, but he could not risk the cultural taboo here.

Indeed, the Woodian felt it, the oppressiveness of the curse, and knew there was nothing he could do. Somehow, he knew, just knew that to use telekinesis to fling George out of the way of his impending doom would only result in smacking his head against another pillar...and even using telekinesis to alter the course of the falling pillar would only send it crashing into another cluster of people.

The problem with the sense of foreboding: the foresight was not quite precise enough to act upon. Still, the Force user felt guilty, and made a mental note to refine his senses as long as he stood on this forsaken place. Perhaps he could do something about the next catastrophe...he hoped.

He walked to the fallen pillar, seeking to inspect the chain that broke, wondering if this 'Peacock Restoration Corporation' had used substandard materials prone to such breakage. The thought displeased him, but in poverty-stricken places like this, one could not be sure. Upon inspecting the chain, the man, even though he wore his dress uniform, asked for a shovel, so that he might extract the remains for proper burial, the solemnity in his voice showing he meant well even if such was not the local custom. On most worlds, he would have done so with the Force within a matter of moments, but he could not risk the cultural taboo here.

The men looked at him, and then looked at his handlers. The Marshals waited for the men to reply, and then one man shrugged and tossed Keith a shovel. "Here. You made the mess, you may as well clean it." The tone in his voice suggested great suspicion, as though they all knew of Kobol's curse, the presence of the Marshals in their Force-Repellent Power Armor suggested this man had powers nobody wanted to see being used.

Kung said in reply, "This man didn't cause the problem--there's Marshals and everything! He's trying to help!

The man said sternly, "Yeah, but a Jedi's a Jedi, and his kind bring trouble wherever they go. Especially on cursed worlds like this." He then spat on the ground and moved on to assist cleanup, muttering, "Stupid Forcefilth."

The young General remembered the conduct of his 'minders' in the restaurant, and the reprimand they had received for such conduct...a reprimand which seemed to have worn out its welcome. "Need I remind you of Ms. Kung's earlier admonishment?" he asked the Marshals every bit as gruffly as they had referred to him as Forcefilth. "The one about 'I can easily tell their bosses that they've been abusive and have interfered with official government business?' I will not hesitate to request 'protection' that can keep their prejudices to themselves."

Keith took the shovel, not hesitating to dig underneath the fallen pillar to recover the body for proper burial. What was done was done, but there was no point in leaving someone who had attempted to help him to rot; he at least deserved a better end than getting consumed by worms and assorted insects over the period of a few years. The man took great pains not to use the Force to expedite his work; even when he refrained from its use, the very knowledge of its existence aroused the suspicion of those around him, it seemed...

"Tell me more about this curse," Keith requested of the construction workers, who seemed to be somewhat less inclined to blame him. "No one ever informed me of it before I came, and I would honestly rather avoid this kind of thing happening again if it can at all be helped."

The young General remembered the conduct of his 'minders' in the restaurant, and the reprimand they had received for such conduct...a reprimand which seemed to have worn out its welcome. "Need I remind you of Ms. Kung's earlier admonishment?" he asked the Marshals every bit as gruffly as they had referred to him as Forcefilth. "The one about 'I can easily tell their bosses that they've been abusive and have interfered with official government business?' I will not hesitate to request 'protection' that can keep their prejudices to themselves."

Keith took the shovel, not hesitating to dig underneath the fallen pillar to recover the body for proper burial. What was done was done, but there was no point in leaving someone who had attempted to help him to rot; he at least deserved a better end than getting consumed by worms and assorted insects over the period of a few years. The man took great pains not to use the Force to expedite his work; even when he refrained from its use, the very knowledge of its existence aroused the suspicion of those around him, it seemed...

"Tell me more about this curse," Keith requested of the construction workers, who seemed to be somewhat less inclined to blame him. "No one ever informed me of it before I came, and I would honestly rather avoid this kind of thing happening again if it can at all be helped."

The Marshals shrugged and backed off, saying with no small amount of sarcasm and reluctant submission, "Alright, mac. We'll be nice." Kung then wrote this down, for future reference.

As for the construction workers, they were just as hostile. Emboldened by the Marshals, they began to issue their own curses.

"You mean the curse you somehow managed to rouse, Forcefilth?" He spat on the ground and said, "Please. It's the curse of Kobol, that says any return has to be paid in Blood. I used to think it was just some old wives' tale, until you showed up."

Kung said, rolling her eyes, "Surely, this has happened to others when others not of Force using alliegance were present?"

"Yeah, but not to me, lady. This is different," the worker said, as he worked to clean up. The others backed away slowly from Keith, not eager to stir up any voodoo he might issue.

"And if I had wanted that to happen, do you really think I would have recovered the body for burial?" the object of derision asked his detractors, though he could tell they would not suffer reason. "Very well. If you wish me gone, then so be it." The young flag officer tugged on Ms. Kung's arm, to encourage her to leave. "Should you return to sanity, you can leave a message for me."

He then whispered into Ms. Kung's ear, "Curse of Kobol? What the fuck they talkin' about? We really should not discuss this before them, but I really need to know if there is any way to avoid that kind of voodoo."

He then whispered into Ms. Kung's ear, "Curse of Kobol? What the fuck they talkin' about? We really should not discuss this before them, but I really need to know if there is any way to avoid that kind of voodoo."

Kung shrugged and said, as they walked on from the site, "Apparently, it's as the man said. It's said that anybody from any Colony but the Thirteenth that returns exacts a price in blood for every return made. It's said to be nondiscriminatory, this blood tax--can be locals or outsiders. Harsh yes, but that's the way the legend works."

Gesturing in the air with her finger as she spoke, she finished with, "And the Curse of Kobol is a local legend--though frankly, as I pointed out, coincidental accidents have happened so often it might as well be a fact. Frankly, nobody can tell, and your guess is as good as mine as to its veracity."

One of the Marshals chimed in with, "Well, ma'am....to be frank, I'd put my stock in it. Something about the damn planet gives me the creeps."

"And where are you from?"

The Marshal shrugged, and said, "Caprica, ma'am. I was posted here not but six months ago. Never got used to it."

"And who are the local...religious authorities?" the apparent subject of such curse asked. "I try not to be overly superstitious, but the sense of foreboding I feel around here cannot be ignored. The curse would certainly explain it..."

Kung pointed to a man wandering about. Dressed in what looked like a modernized Chiton with Christian-like vestments, the man seemed strange. She then said, "That'd be one of those fellows. Priest of the local Kobolist Religion."

She then bade for the group to follow, as they could hear a man mumbling in what seemed like Greek, clutching a small image of Zeus.

The man looked up and went, "Do you require something, gentlemen, lady?" He looked that them suspiciously, worried the Marshals were here for rather nefarious reasons.

Kung said, "No, no. My colleague wanted to know who the local religious authorities were." She did so sheepishly and with a dismissive wave.

The priest said, looking at her, "You're that Kung woman from the HoloNet...yes, I remember you." He brightened somewhat and said, "The one who made it so the Peacock Company could enlist the aid of Earth and one of its companies, NORINCO. Yes. Please, follow me. I am sure you would like to see the results of Earth's handiwork?"

Kung smiled and said, "I suppose so." The thought of ex-Communist do-anything heavy industrial functionaries--which is what NORINCO, the China North Industries Corporation was--helping to rebuild a Greek Temple made her laugh inside, but on the outside, she said nothing.

The priest followed and said, "Well, the Huntress has blessed us with a good harvest indeed. Follow, please."

The old man led them to what looked like an unassuming Greek Temple. Inside was a courtyard was filled with cypress trees, in which the occasional deer could be seen flitting about. A central altar in the middle of it all stood, in what could only be described as an ornate and elaborate pavilion, with some worshipers. The man had them wait out in the artificial glen, whilst he got the Head Priestess.

The Head Priestess was dressed similarly as her subordinate, and she bowed her head and shook their hands, saying, "May the Huntress provide you with a good bounty. Tell me, what is on your minds?"

General Allaire went along, knowing that he was the one who had requested this meeting, but figuring that Kung knew the local customs at least somewhat better. He followed, looking around the Temple, hoping that he would not witness a collapse similar to the one witnessed earlier.

As the old man went off to bring the matter to the Head Priestess' attention, the man several decades his junior thanked him for such honor, as he had not truly expected to speak with the head of the temple, being that he was probably a complete infidel. "Umm...thank you," he replied, not really knowing what else to say.

Of course, when presented with the opportunity to ask his question, he knew exactly what needed to be said, though he still did not feel comfortable asking about it. "I have been here for all of two hours, and this place is evil," he began, rather bluntly, "and cursed. I would appreciate an explanation of the curse; hopefully something can be done about it that does not involve aircraft breaking apart and pillars crashing down on innocent people with whom I am conversing, every time I look up."

The High Priestess nodded and said, "Ah yes. The Curse of Kobol....."

Her voice grew sad, and tragic as she spun the tale.

"Thousands of years ago, it is said that Kobol experienced a Great Exodus. It is written that a catastrophe caused the Thirteenth Tribe to leave for Earth some four thousand years ago. Years later, the rest of the Twelve Tribes left, as did the Gods. No one knows when they left, only that it is written Athena committed suicide, leading to her entombment.

As the peoples left Kobol, Zeus, it was said, grew angry, and thus cursed the Planet with what Ms. Kung's people call the 'blood tax.' Basically, whenever someone from the outside--anyone, it is written--comes to Kobol, someone must die in exchange, be it a foreigner or a local."

She then said, resting her hand on a tree and shaking her head in dismay, "As for your request, I am afraid it will take a miracle from Zeus himself to lift the curse. It would require strong magic like the People's Acolytes or those Coredians possess, Zeus's intervention, or some sort of time machine--but no one can travel through time. That's silly."

"A blood tax," Keith mused, his brow furrowing at any potential loophole in the curse that he might use to at least spare innocent people dying on account of him. The man grew silent, for several minutes, doing little more than shaking his head. And thinking. He would merely write it off as tribal barbarism, were it not for the tragedy he had already seen. His feelings in the Force made damn clear that this curse was very real: it was not merely some scary bedtime tale concocted by the local shaman. Nevertheless, he knew, it was probably advisable to couch his follow-up questions in the proper religious terminology. He had already managed to offend his alleged 'protectors' by his very presence, as well as a group of construction workers. He hoped not to add the local religious authority to the growing list of those who despised him.

"Do the Gods care just who pays the 'blood tax?' " Keith asked, after several minutes of meditation. "Could I execute someone who already has an outstanding death warrant against him, so that innocents need not die under my arrival on this world? I respect that the curse is there, but is it possible to influence whom it strikes, such that I do not need to witness the needless death everywhere I go?" The thought of arbitrarily deciding who could live and who could die made him shiver. It did appear quite Sith-like, and probably was. But setting foot on the planet knowing that doing so would take an innocent life...that struck him as far worse...

"You mean like sacrifice?"

The High Priestess shook her head. "No, no. This will not do. The situation is much more complicated than that. Maybe long before the Unknown God cursed Kobol, you could have done so, and Zeus would have been sated. Believe me, sacrifice was tried before. There was a time that because of the blood tax that people began blood sacrifices."

She then wandered about and said, "But there was one entity greater than Zeus who was angered by the blood sacrifice, the Unknown God. It is written that this entity was displeased by the Blood Sacrifices and added his own layer of curse to the planet of Kobol, condemning the world to further pain and suffering, and worse--to spiritual nothingness after death. To make matters worse, he also began the catastrophe that resulted in the final exodus of the Tribes from Kobol."

Kung then said, "Forgive me for being blunt, so thanks to the intervention of the Almighty, the situation has become 'Damned if you do....'"

The High Priestess nodded, finishing with, "'...damned if you don't.' There are no loopholes. The Unknown God adds a complicating factor, but for now it can be safely assumed that the options left to you all are the ones I have stated."