Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
Ceres, Sol System
Harr Bet Fas Strong waited in a corner, apart from the throng of refugees.
The njalryeth was small for one of his kind, a by-product of Nan’she’s higher gravity. Even so, at just over three metres from snout to flukes he was still one of the biggest creatures in the room, and he’d folded his tail beneath him in an effort to take up less space. It was an uncomfortable position, one meant for beings with fully functional legs instead of a fused tail, but it had its uses. On land, a bent tail could be used as a rudimentary foot, and a properly-trained soldier could cover considerable ground in short bursts on all threes.
Of course, that required room to move—and room was in short supply on this miserable rock.
A sigh exploded from his blowhole. He scratched at his right arm, claws absently tracing the furrows of old scars. They ached at times like this, particularly the one on his face where a stray round had split his lip and nearly taken his left eye. He winced, feeling it throb, and unconsciously let out a few nervous clicks. The echoes revealed little more than what his eyes already saw: beings of every race and gender, crowded together in too small of a space. Filling the air with stress hormones and idle chatter, words piling on top of each other as the volume seemed to rise higher and higher—
Wincing again, he pressed a hand to his face until the throbbing subsided. And as it faded, so too did the noise fade to tolerable levels.
Harr took a few calming breaths. He was tired, he’d been away from the sea for too long, and he yearned for a little peace and quiet.
“The sooner we leave this rock, the better,” he said to no one in particular.
Planet Ceneceros, City of Dama Latvama
Kaluu Nykos Dros Varda had made it a point to show up on time. In these troubled times, it would not do to present the Federation in anything less than a positive light.
The Conductor had been honoured when the President Elect had summoned her weeks ago, and even more honoured to learn of the role she was to play. Having helped to bring her people’s far-flung worlds together as the Losshur Federation, it filled her with pride that President Xecna Handas N’dranath Tagore now trusted her with representing the Federation on the galactic stage.
The holy Composer herself had been there as well, and she’d graced Kaluu with words of wisdom. “Remember that we are all children of the Great Mother, my child. Whether we breathe air or ammonia, whether we walk the land or swim the seas, no difference is irreconcilable and no disagreement is insurmountable. Treat your fellow delegates with compassion and respect, as you would have them treat yourself, and you shall do well.”
The President Elect’s advice had been more pragmatic. “We need allies, Your Eminence. The Federation’s continued prosperity depends on strengthening the economy with trade and tourism. We are still finding our place in the universe, and we cannot afford to snap at the flukes of potential friends.” Xecna had leaned forward, regarding Kaluu intently. “Make sure that the Sirian Union doesn’t break ties with us. Get that friendship treaty renewed.”
Kaluu had sworn to make it her top priority.
Now she was on Ceneceros, in congress with the ambassadors of many of the nations that had sprung up since the end of the war. Many, but not all; far more had chosen not to come than had. Quitzel Cotal had also forwarded the delegates a message about an incident with the hotel pool. And what was that pungent smell in the air? The Galactic Congress was off to a more turbulent start than she might have hoped.
Still, it was yet young. In time, things would settle and concordance would be achieved… if the Congress could survive these early hurdles. Kaluu would do her part to see that it did… and that the Federation benefitted from it.
Though there was no water in the room, Kaluu nevertheless swam to her seat. She hummed, the piezoelectric elements laced into her leviskin resonating with that hum to lift her half a metre off the ground, buoying her as surely as the seas buoyed her back home. One she reached her spot the Conductor fell silent, settling gently to the floor with her hands folded atop her folded tail.
Ostentatious? Perhaps. But it was better than dragging herself along the ground.
The Danse Macabre Codex
Attitude is prohibited
[Ceneceros]
Already waiting in her seat, Mnhiri Alaura sat patiently and tried not to look too bored. The Dominion of Sakta's ambassador had been fashionably early, as usual. Something she occasionally regretted, as her punctuality sometimes left her with several minutes of having utterly nothing to do, except be taunted by the delicious, delicious smell of the galaxy's hot sauces. Rather a fan of spicy foods, Mnhiri had taken the time identify the most prominent hot-sauce-scents several days ago, and was now fairly certain that a particularly famous Sirian brand had taken the time and effort to make its presence especially known at the Cooking Expo, which had passed through just a couple of weeks earlier...
When the Yokolit delegates started kicking up a fuss, she was snapped out of her brief reverie. She glanced down at her tablet, saw the forwarded message, and felt a brief tinge of vindication. She had been present to witness that particular event. No pool deserved such a fate, to say nothing of the rudeness of it all. That aside, though, it was time to get to work. She was still getting used to being an ambassador, and she often found herself idly wondering about how her ship was faring without her. She'd had to adapt quickly, but Mnhiri was not one to shrink from a challenge, and thankfully, statecraft wasn't too far removed from either the practice of law or captaining a starship, two subjects she knew quite well.
She took a moment to look around her, at all the delegations and the familiar species that comprised them. Leayeyeshan, Inoue, Snailian, He-Tai, Dotur and even Bob had all showed up in some capacity or other. Other species, mostly former Pact species, were beings she'd never personally encountered before the Congress had come around. They were not quite as familiar, but their presence was no less important. Even though this was just a fraction of the galaxy's newly-independent nations, their presence, their willingness to come together in a trying time, was inspiring. And being part of that, it was a good feeling, joined by a delicious smell.
[Ceres]
Good feelings were in short supply. The waiting room, much like the rest of the planet, was crowded, poorly-lit and filled with an atmosphere that was partly oxygen, nitrogen and misery. Linda Kesyk had most of her worldly possessions in a large rucksack, which she was currently resting her head on as she bitterly took up two hard, lumpy, uncomfortable seats, trying to take a nap. It was, of course, a futile endeavor; even with her head and eyes covered by a pair of pants, the place was just too loud and busy.
"Mila," she groaned, sitting up. "Get me out of this shithole." She rubbed her eyes and stuffed the spare pair of pants back into her bag with a heavy sigh. "Never shoulda come here," she grumbled. "Stupid planet... Stupid star system... Stupid spaceport..." She yawned, doing her best to fight off some starship-lag, and then noticed something surprising on a near-by monitor. The ship she'd been expecting, the one that would finally take her off Ceres, it had finally arrived! "AW, YES!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Although, given how the place was already full of chattering people, it was unlikely her yell had gone very far before getting swallowed up by the noise.
Regardless, she snatched up her bag and began briskly pushing her way through the crowd...
Not entirely dead.
State of Mind
Ceres
"Tell me about it." said a small voice in response to Harr. He would have to have exceptional hearing to notice the voice in all the din. Not just because they were loud, but because the source was decidedly not.
A tiny being, not even 20 cm tall zipped past Harr's head, gossamar wings flapping a mile a minute. The yathelalina looked unhealthily pale, and kept twitching, her eyes darting towards the exits every so often.
"I feel like I can't even freakin' breathe in here." She continued grumbling without actually looking at Harr. "And it's so loud I can't hear myself thi- Hey! Watch where you're going!"
The yathelalina's complaints were interrupted by Linda's head invading her airspace, forcing her to fly off to the side and right in front of Harr's face.
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
Look at all this life, oh bearer mine~
Collab with Flanker
Conference Center - An Hour Prior
The shuttle - a converted military design - was pure white aside from the simple black text: “UABARRI SIARRAN”. The anti-gravity drives thrummed insistently as the shuttle’s pilot jockeyed for the right position. Apparently satisfied with their efforts, the shuttle pilot deployed the landing gear and let the shuttle settle on to the ground. The exit hatch on the side of the hull cracked open with a muted hiss to reveal the surprisingly well appointed interior. Any observers had only a brief moment to take a look, though, as a person stepped through the hatch and stretched. The lone passenger was tall by human standards - easily 6’5 - and had a striking appearance. The spotless black suit he wore contrasted sharply with the pure white of his thick fur. His piercing blue eyes studied his surroundings with something between anticipation and dread. Secei Azunn Berreil, Chief Ambassador of the Sirian Union, had pressing matters on his mind. For instance, the little matter of being stuck with a group of Sirian bodyguards whom would likely be spending a great deal of time undressing him with their eyes, even if some would be more tactful about it than others.
He resisted the urge to grimace slightly at the thought, instead putting on his best I Am An Understanding Diplomat face. Wait, is that…? It didn’t take a genius to recognise a suit of KPZ-18 armour. That wasn’t a Sirian design; this was a Kellsaran. He started to feel the stirrings of relief as he nodded slightly to her - or him, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to be too obvious that he was the person that the armour wearer was looking for. At least until he was already under their protection.
The armored security officer didn’t seem to need the introduction. “Welcome to Dama Latvama, Secei. I’m to escort you to your offices and quarters.” The soldier looked back at the shuttle and made a gesture with their arm. “Your possessions will be delivered to your quarters directly.” The soldier turned halfway to indicate their new direction, revealing a weapon fixed to the magnetic plate on their back. A casual observer might not have noticed that under the flat iridescent plating there were extensive cybernetics across this guard’s back, but Azunn had experience with Kell. It was all too obvious that whatever injuries they had suffered to gain that Mark were incredibly extensive. Indeed, the Sirian wondered just how close to death the Kell had come. The thought sent a shiver up his spine. “Please follow me this way,” the soldier said before walking into the complex.
“Ah, excellent!” Azunn smiled pleasantly as he stepped after the soldier. In the armour, at least, the Kell stood a good foot or so taller than him. It was irrational, but he found that made him feel a bit more secure. He knew how to defend himself in a basic sense, but if he came up against someone who could match him physically he’d be in trouble. Having someone larger around helped make that feel like less of a glaring weakness. But soon other matters drew his attention.
He knew that he had to make this work. The Sirian Union was depending on his ability to represent them favourably. In a very real sense, he was the emblem of what the Chairwoman wanted to project to the outside world. He would not last long if he let her down. Even worse, depending on the depths of his failure he might end up undoing the toil and suffering of his people in an effort to secure an independent, prosperous future. It was a responsibility he could not take lightly. Already in his mind’s eye he could see the news items of yesteryear - of war, strife, death - given a new coat of paint. He blinked hard to banish the thoughts. I will make it work. I swear upon it with my life.
He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he scarcely realised that they arrived at the convention center. Although it was hardly the grand building he had been expecting, he knew that it was a byproduct of the breakneck dissolution of the Pact and League. The Kell soldier led him into the building itself and through what seemed almost a maze of hallways, open areas, and elevators. The Sirian ambassador wasn’t entirely certain he could find his way back - never mind get to his suite - when they finally arrived outside a door. “...This is it, correct?” He immediately felt somewhat foolish, but this was the first time he had visited the convention centre.
“Yes, Secei,” the soldier responded, and let Azunn in. The suite was rather spartan in decoration. Azunn’s eye was drawn immediately to the rows of computers that dominated the centre of the room, no doubt intended for the use of embassy staff. A pair of paintings depicting important moments in Sirian history hung on the white walls, which contrasted sharply with the rich red carpet. A very short hallway connected the back wall to a window further behind, with two doors on either side. Investigating the further left door yielded a small golden placard on the door - similar to one outside - that simply read, “Sirian Ambassadorial Suite”. Well, that’s that… Azunn turned to face the Kell soldier. “Thank you…?” He hadn’t caught their name.
“Her name is Cinder,” came a digitized voice from the side of the crowded office space. A short Kell in white looked up to see the new arrival. The lights around the speaker’s cybernetic eyes flashed purple before fading to a deep blue. “Welcome, Secei Berreil.”
The white-dressed Kell almost made Azunn jump. He hadn’t been expecting their presence - indeed, they seemed to have materialised from the ether without warning. But those markings… they look so familiar… The fact gnawed away at him even as he automatically nodded. It suddenly clicked. Could it be…? “Excuse me, could you join me in my office for a moment?” He flashed another of his trademark smiles in an attempt to hide his feelings. Experimentally he reached for the door handle and began to press it down.
“Certainly, Secei.” The Kell followed Azunn in, standing to the side in the surprisingly spacious office. Spacious, at least, compared to the rest of the suite. Closing the door behind, Azunn took a steadying breath. Examining his new workplace could wait - he had to get to the bottom of this first.
Here goes… “I apologise for the suddenness of this, but… what’s your name? You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. Her name was Natleys Arrendat,” he explained. He hoped that his hunch was correct. If not… that would make their professional relationship a whole lot more awkward. That was besides the disappointment.
The Kell took their half-mask off, and underneath they were wearing the faintest of smiles. “Yes, Azunn. It is. You’re the reason I set out on this path, so how could I turn down an offer to work with you? It’s good to see you again.”
‘’So it is her! Azunn felt his mouth go dry. But he could tell that something was wrong. She seemed… reserved. Shy, almost. That wasn’t how he remembered her. Then there was the cybernetic half of her face. A number of emotions filled him, but one dominated. “Natleys, are you okay? What’s wrong? I…” He couldn’t think how to put what he felt into words, so he settled for taking a tentative step forward. His previous smile melted away to be replaced with concern. His blue eyes shone with worry.
“Lighteyes, now,” the eponymous rings turning yellow and what traces of a smile she wore falling from her face. “Yes, I’m fine. Is something the matter?”
“Lighteyes…” he said it half to test the word and half to buy time to gather his thoughts. “There isn’t anything wrong, I just need time to process this. I didn’t expect to see you here of all places!” He nodded at her. “That’s a really impressive Mark. How did you get it?”
The Kell’s eyes flashed green before turning a dim white. “Unification war. Our convoy hit a roadside bomb. It wasn’t that long ago, in some ways I’m still getting used to it.” Her stance relaxed and the slightest of smiles returned. “How have you been? You’re still just as, ah, fluffy as I remember.” She made a sound that could have been a chuckle before her vocoder mangled it.
“I’m so sorry,” said Azunn, his face dropping further - though Lighteyes’ next comments seemed to help him brighten up. He, too, began to smile. “Me? I’ve been working at my mother’s company for the past while. Even in a war, people still need ores and cars! And then I suddenly found myself getting approached by the new government. They wanted me to fill an economics position after they saw how well I’d been doing at BMM. After that, well… they figured I was doing so well that I should be Chief Ambassador!” Her comment about his fluffiness resulted in an airy wave from his head downward, as though he were flourishing. “Oh, you know - I’ve got to look my best! And looking this good doesn’t just happen. Maybe someday soon I can attend the Sons of Faruu Beauty Pageant and get out of this!” His smile almost turned into a cheeky grin.
“I know you’ve had a more interesting career than just bureaucrat. We all do.” her eye-rings turned back to color, now a vivid blue. “Nobody’s resumes match their experiences here. And don’t worry, we’ve swept thoroughly for bugs before you arrived. You’d be amazed how many we pulled out.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” said Azunn, visibly relaxing. “I was wondering how long I’d have to keep up appearances! Yes, you’re right. I doubt you need me to go over everything, but let’s just say that Ae Abex had uses for a man of my talents. It’s surprising just how much sirian women will reveal when they see a pretty face.” His expression grew momentarily serious. “You’ve got your vocoder on.”
Lighteyes walked up to Azunn, standing straighter to allow her mouth to reach the slightly taller Sirian’s ear. “This mark isn’t all fun and prestige.” Her voice- the real one, not filtered through the processor- was raspy and quiet, even this close.
Azunn’s ear twitched slightly as it was tickled by her breath. He replied, “I understand…” It was easy to forget that gaining a Mark - particularly one of this type - was far from a painless or easy process, or that there could be ramifications well after the event. In retrospect, his admiration for her Mark seemed almost cavalier. “If it helps, know that I’ll support you any way I can. I’m 100% behind you.” Making sure that he didn’t accidentally bump her nose into his ear, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight, warm embrace.
He felt her flinch against the sudden action, and heard several soft click-clicks as the apertures in the artificial eyes near his face mimicked her blinking. It wasn’t long, however, until she wrapped her arms around his back as well. “I don’t need your support, but I definitely won’t object to this,” she responded in her too-quiet voice. But before long she was pushing him away, looking back to the wall with the door.
For a brief moment, Azunn feared that he had gone too far. The reciprocation laid his anxiety to rest, only for her to open the distance between them. He followed her gaze, uncomprehending. He tried to puzzle out what she was looking at to no avail. Well, there’s only one person in this room that knows what’s going on, and it isn’t me… “Did you see something?”
“I couldn’t remember if there were any windows between this room and the next,” she said, with the vocoder back on. “I appreciate the gesture but we probably shouldn’t do that often. People will get the wrong idea. Still, it’s nice to see a good friend after so long.”
“You’re right,” said Azunn. His tone was understanding. Professionalism demanded that they made it clear it was simply friendship. The white-furred sirian took this opportunity to examine his office. The walls were attractively clad in elegant wood panelling halfway up, with each panel top trimmed in metal. The carpet was the same red as that outside, though it was somewhat thicker. Lastly, several tropical plants - likely sourced from Ruzann or Kellsara - were placed around the room. At the far end of the room was a bookshelf. Azunn’s eyes lit up a little. I know where I’m putting my model starships! Just in front of the bookshelf was a sumptuous leather chair and a large, glossy wooden desk. Even if the rest of the suite isn’t much to look at, at least I’ll be comfortable. Returning his attention to Lighteyes, he said, “I suppose I should get down to the business of actually representing my nation, no?”
Reaching for the doorknob with one hand, Lighteyes snapped her half-mask back in place with the other. “Why don’t we take a stroll around the complex? We have a little time before we’re needed elsewhere. We can always catch up with each other later.”
Azunn nodded his agreement. “I am sure that the rest of the staff want to begin their duties as soon as possible.” With that, he waited for Lighteyes to open the door, and then stepped beyond the threshold.
Conference Center - Current Time
The pair found themselves in the hallway outside the conference hall when the microphone-amplified gavel fall drew their attention to the screens opposite the windows. The view was stunning, looking out into an open space in the center of the convention complex, but Lighteyes knew they now had more important things to do.
She tapped her preposterously fluffy friend on the forearm and tossed her head towards the door. Only decorum had kept her from yapping his ear off, now that they had reunited. She felt like she was wearing the biggest grin the whole time, despite knowing well her face couldn’t show it. Just as the conference had begun part of her wondered when it was going to end.
As she walked through the doors, she subvocalized the command to turn the emotion-detection function of her Mark off. Reading the muscle movements of her tongue and throat, the device complied, and a small square in the upper left of her central vision turned from blue to white. Another command turned on the video logging. The device didn’t have a lot of internal storage, enough for around an hour of video, but the beginning of the conference was the most historic moment and she was sure a first-hand perspective might be appreciated for the media and historians back home. An update text-feed from the Embassy staff sat empty in the lower left edge of her vision.
Inside the main chamber was quiet chaos, but the ambassador of the Sirian Union and his assistant-representative soon found their way to their seats, prepared for the historic moment.
edited 15th Jul '16 1:14:07 AM by Sere
1. With the body of a lion, paws that refreshes, a tail told by an idiot, and the head of a fox
Ceres, Sol System
Pem was used to being off-world, but he wasn't used to off-worlders. The first thing he realized about Ceres was that there were aliens everywhere. The second thing that he realized was that he was completely out of his depth.
He looked down and realized that the gold chain The Holy Matriarch High Mother Isfaran in Her Infinite Wisdom asked him to wear around his wrist was gone. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be thieves. He supposed it should have. There were always thieves on other worlds, weren't there?
The crowd pressed in around him as the hallway narrowed. A foot nearly crushed his spine. He scrambled up the wall and clung to the ceiling, peering over the sea of heads and appendages. He wasn't the best at walking upside down, but he supposed he could make it if he took it slowly. He crept forward, planning his route along a crack that could serve as a foothold.
He finally swung under the awning into the waiting area, a bit disoriented. He took off his pack and sat down in a corner just as his com buzzed. He took it out, and saw a chain of messages from his associate.
- PEM [STOP] PEM [STOP] THE MEETING IS BEGINNING [STOP] [LNBRK]ARE YOU AT CERES YET [QSTNMRK] [LNBRK]PEM [STOP] [LNBRK]THE EXCELLENT MATRIARCH HER HOLINESS THE HIGH [LNBRK]MOTHER ISFARAN GRACIOUSLY PROVIDED US WITH THESE [LNBRK]MOST BENEFICIAL BASTIONS OF FOREIGN TECHNOLOGY SO [LNBRK]THAT WE MAY SPREAD THE UNDYING GOSPEL OF DROST'S [LNBRK]IMMORTAL GRACE [STOP] DO YOU TOSS ASUNDER HER [LNBRK]BOUNTY SO UNGRATEFULLY [QSTNMRK]PEM THE MEETING IS STARTING [STOP] [LNBRK]PLEASE RESPOND [END]
Pem sighed. Clearly his most wise and learned peer was not aware that character count racks up a com bill very quickly.
He replied: "Yes."
He leaned back, watching countless species wander— it suddenly dawned upon him that he had made it. Off Helma, out of the Drost System, into the Known Galaxy. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget his duty to The High Mother. He curled around his pack and watched the hurried, anxious crowd through half-closed eyes.
Planet Ceneceros City of Dama Latvama
Mother, but she hated her job. Ambassador Dalapet turned off the com. It's not like the disrespectful little scab would be responding anytime soon. Not that it was entirely his fault— the distance between the two systems was considerable. Still, she wasn't in a patient mood. It was far too hot and far too bright in the conference hall for her liking.
She cast a cursory glance around the room at the sundry ambassadors. Some were, like her, battle-hardened and militant. Others were disgracefully indolent. There were a few elegant ones, here and there. It was to go among these people that The High Mother Isfaran, in Her Infinite Wisdom, had sent Dalapet, Whip-Woman, Lady of Stone.
Of course, The Just and Glorious High Mother did delight in testing her every limit. It was all to make her stronger, she said. And stronger she would become. She had played the diplomacy game before. It was a simple matter— she had the force to back up her demands.
She sat, rather stiffly, in her chair as the other representatives gathered. The seat was clearly designed for a creature that walked on two legs, but she wasn't about to complain. The room was growing warmer, and a streak of paint (representing her ancestress Emlomi, Carver of Bone, Singer of the Twelfth Rhyme) began to melt down her left foreleg.
"The sooner this thing gets started, the better," she muttered. She flicked the dripping Emlomi onto the floor.
edited 16th Jul '16 3:22:56 AM by spacealien
For the Horde!
Miltavawin walked into the council hall, wobbling slightly as he attempted to walk on his back legs. He would be told that the gravity on planet Ceneceros was lower than the gravity he was used to on his home planet of Desmarkaan. As he wobbled, two handmaidens (who, to outside observers, were slightly smaller and paler Golka who didn't really have much to designate them as "maidens" except their smooth, relatively less tattooed skin) moved to try and keep his balance without actually touching him.
"Careful, milord," one of them stated, worriedly.
"Shall we fetch for the personal weights, milord?" the other asked in an almost reverent tone.
Miltavawin sighed. "Please don't call me milord. Please call me Ambassador," Milta told the woman, with a resigned sigh. He managed to keep his bearings and he made his way to the seat for the golka delegation, which wasn't as much a seat so much as it looked like a low table with a slightly raised front.
Miltavawin then made a sweeping motion with his two arms, circling around before they spread out forward and then back to his hips. "Honor to thee, gathered guests. The royal house of Awin blesses this meeting and seeks for good tidings on this day of peace." With that obviously ceremonial gesture out of the way, Milta lay forward on top of the "table", so he was sitting on his stomach and looking at the other gathered members.
Milta recognized many of the species present at the meeting as members of the Pact— the Zenoteka, Quenosequan, the Nicarist... however, there were many species that he had never seen before, even during his interactions with former League nations. He had made it a point to study every race he had heard about... it was clear he had skimped on his research slightly. This would have to change.
I can still hail the Horde even though the company has shamed us. Strength and Honor even if Blizzard has neither.
Attitude is prohibited
[Ceres]
Still tired and ship-lagged, and now fully set on reaching the ship, Linda pushed her way through the throngs of people in a bit of a daze. The thought of something comparable to freedom from the crowd, or at least enough personal space to stretch without bumping into someone, drove her onwards with almost single-minded intensity. And then some huge bug nearly flew into her face and made some kind of quiet squeaking noise.
She jumped, and stopped in her tacks. Her first instinct was to swat at the air and brush the thing away, but thankfully, she didn't get any further than a gasp before she realized what - or rather, who - she'd nearly bumped into, and that the squeak had been speech. "Huh? Oh, um, sorry," she said, and shrugged. "Guess I didn't see ya." The she noticed the njalryeth, who was standing there with the yathelalina just about in the middle of his face. She opened her mouth to make a joke about about the size difference between the two of them, but in her tired state of mind, struggled to think of anything good.
She hesitated for a moment, then spoke up again. "Hey, so, boarding is thatta way, right?" she said, jerking her head in the direction she'd been going a moment ago.
Not entirely dead.
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
Ceres, Sol System
Hearing was a njalryeth’s sharpest sense, and though Harr had spent nearly half his life firing loud sonic weapons at enemy combatants, he was not deaf. He caught the quiet little voice and blinked, swinging his head in the direction of the sound.
He blinked again. He clicked, just to be sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. But the echo matched what he saw, shockingly enough.
Harr had seen beings from many different races during the war. Some had been allies, others enemies, all bleeding together on the battlefield. But never had he seen such a small sentient being. She (or was it a she? Harr sometimes found it difficult to tell the sexes of other species apart) looked small enough to stand in the palm of his hand. He could probably snap her up in a single bite, like the smoked fish his father used to make—
Then suddenly she was in his face.
His blowhole flared, heaving a thunderous snort. He recoiled, fighting the urge to bare his teeth. This wasn’t a combat zone; the small thing hovering right in front of his face was not an enemy. He forced his hand to unclench, willed the tension out of his muscles.
“Watch where you’re flying.” He paused. “Please.”
He looked past the little thing to what had startled it, and found himself looking down at a human. Those, at least, he recognized, and he was fairly certain this one was a female.
His head dipped. “I believe so,” he said curtly. “This is a miserable place. I’ll be glad to see the last of it.”
The Danse Macabre Codex
For the Horde!
While most of the other people in the waiting room were chatting and sitting around, a Golka with sparse tattoos sat near the corner of the room nearby Pem, with a holographic keyboard, typing out something. Though the words and the keyboard were written in Varantic, it was obvious this golka, Colcannsair, was writing something fairly substantial, because he had been sitting here writing this for about twenty minutes or so:
I had just made my way to the Ceres station to prepare boarding the Dawn. I had never been more excited to get on a spaceship in my life. It sounds funny, not four years ago I would balk at the idea of taking a spaceship to the ends of the universe. I would be content to stay in my farmland, tending to my crops and writing my books. If only the Old Ways had not returned to the plains. I've went into far too much detail already regarding their policies and I would hate for this book to become a political treatise instead of an autobiography. As I sat, I looked around the room, he wrote, indeed looking around the room to see who all is present in the waiting room alongside him.
A njalreth sits despondent by the corner, apparently pestered by a nearby human and yathelalina. An imlon sits beside me, checking his com. Everyone is anxious and impatient. I am anxious yes, but I try to be nothing but patient. That said, the gravity of this moon is discomforting, he admitted, writing still. Time seems to slow down when waiting for an important event. In the words of the philosopher Foltinna: time is a fickle and jealous maiden, for she eats away at the day when the mind is contented and drags it out when of ill manner. I am beginning to see what he means.
edited 16th Jul '16 11:44:52 AM by AllHailThrall
I can still hail the Horde even though the company has shamed us. Strength and Honor even if Blizzard has neither.
THE SLORG!
Dinerrsa wasn't having a good day. Sol was never her first choice of destination after leaving Savages' space, but circumstances had led her here and she had started to make the most of it. She wanted to get back into professional fighting, but these humans were so timid about having real bouts between two people; what she could get into was infrequent and had so many rules about not causing harm to your opponent and she usually had to wear stupid gloves over her hands that made them soft. SOFT! Well, she needed money so she kept taking what she could get. The turning point had been a strange match between herself and a human woman; like most of the matches she'd been in, she wasn't allowed to actually hurt her opponent, but at least she didn't have to wear those stupid gloves, which was a plus. What was strange to her was that she had to have a swimsuit on and that their arena was about half a foot deep in mud.
She realized later what the true meaning behind all that was, as the offers for her to appear in photo shoots started coming. Now she was like any other nisi, and the subject of sexuality as a whole didn't bother her or make her uncomfortable like it seemed to do with so many other species; plus she was confident in her own body, so if these humans were willing to pay her money just to pose for photos in outfits that left very little, if anything, to the imagination? Well heck, it was their money to give and she wouldn't tell them otherwise.
Everything seemed fine like this for a while, since she could make money doing hardly anything... But then she started receiving strange complaints and unsettling threats. There were humans who saw her as nothing more than a callous alien come to take advantage of their upturned society just to make money through her 'sultry ways'. Even that at first hadn't really bothered her that much. Until they found out about her daughter, and some of the threats started to include Pendi. Dinerrsa was a fighter and she wasn't one to back down from a challenge, but she drew the line at anything coming to threaten her daughter. Finally, she had decided it was time to leave.
But all that wasn't even why she was having a bad day. Unlike many of the others there, she was actually supposed to be gone the previous day, on a different ship. She had gotten here on time and was making her way through all the procedures when some human guy 'accidentally' fondled one of her breasts while they were pushing their way through the crowd. So she kind of mauled him. Just a little bit. This quite obviously had gotten her arrested and held in a cell for the night, until the Ceres security had fully reviewed their security recordings and determined that yes, there was absolutely no way what the guy did was an accident, and thus Dinerrsa was technically justified to defend herself. Of course this was too little too late and she had missed the ship she was supposed to be on, and she couldn't exactly ask for a refund from a transport captain that was now in another part of the galaxy; getting two new tickets out of the system on such short notice was far from cheap, and the four tickets total had just about eaten through most of the money she'd made while in Sol.
And so there she was, standing in the waiting area with her daughter in one arm, and all their belongings in a wheeled suitcase which she kept a hand on with her other arm. A security guard was hanging out nearby as nonchalantly as possible, just to prevent any more 'accidents' from happening before she was gone. Dinerrsa kept her eyes locked on the ship once it was in view, ignoring the others in the waiting area.
Pursia was having a bad week, but today was especially bad. She had already been surprised when the Chief of the Department of War personally assigned her to become a diplomat. It was true she had an extensive education, but she didn't have any specific training for this; she thought she would probably be doing advisory work for the Department of Technology in urban social planning, but then after the tests they ran her through to see what she could do, turns out she's possibly the most qualified member of her own species for this particular job? And yet she still felt completely overwhelmed, which on some level just made her worried for the nisis' place in this new galaxy.
But she'd started to adapt, and they weren't just plunging her in completely unprepared. They had a good staff of gleep which had prepared an extensive primer for her to study about the Nation of Penesota, and her task actually seemed quite possible. The fact that they were facing a food shortage seemed like it would be good leverage, since after all the Savages had access to ample stocks of food gleep are capable of eating seeing as they had the homeworld. From her briefings with the upper echelons of the Department of War, she knew they were even willing to negotiate having nisi still barred from living in Penesota as long as the gleep still rejoined the Savages, which to her at least seemed completely reasonable.
... However that all seemed to go out the window once she had been reassigned to the Galactic Congress. While a new primer had been made for her to study, it somehow managed to be smaller than the previous primer, despite being for about three dozen foreign countries and the species inhabiting them. The bad news then continued when her ship arrived in the system; apparently a number of diplomats had been waiting to hear about that, and had forwarded very irate messages to her ship before she'd even gotten on the shuttle to land. All demanding the same thing: That the Savages cease the illegal activities of their privateer ships. Whether or not the infamous nisi pirate ships were in fact privateers was not information that Pursia was privy to;note even if she was, she had no authority to call off their actions, and couldn't just admit to it for obvious political reasons. So she wasn't sure what they expected from her besides just flat out denying that they were privateers; perhaps that was exactly what they were expecting and they were just sending the messages because it was what was expected of them. Pursia didn't know, and she doubted she ever would for sure.
And now as if things couldn't get any worse, here she was in the hotel suite that had been assigned for the Savages to use, wherein some of her own bodyguards were yelling angrily at her.
"We should murder these damn Pact scum, not talk to them! Especially dishonorable League traitors! It is shame to Deathpanther family to be put on this coward mission!" one of the many Deathpanther sisters was ranting.
"It is shame to all of Savages!" another one added in.
Pursia was glad that she had kept on her mask when coming in, because if they could see how scared she really was right now then all her credibility would be gone faster than one of them could challenge her to a duel. As it stood, she took a moment to steel herself then spoke. "It would shame the teachings the nomads bestowed upon us to resort to violence now. They always urged us to look at the bigger picture, and put thought before action. We stand alone between neighbors that hate us for being who we are, and for still being loyal to the nomads. If we tried to fight them all, we would be destroyed" Pursia responded to them.
"Easy to say for you, Or weakling. Defeat of nomads demands vengeance, yet here we are to shake hands with their enemies? Even bitches of the Sirian Union are here! Real nisi never back down from challenge, and coming to this 'congress' mocks our people with its talk of peace!" the first Deathpanther sister yelled back at her.
"Yes, you're right that nisi never back down from a challenge, but that's just what this is; a challenge in a new form. The nomads can no longer guide us by the hand and do all our talking for us, so it is time for we as nisi to prove that we're just as capable here as on a battlefield. Our conflict with the Sirian Union during the war proved that we are willing to fight to the last if need be; but it also proved that if we're ever going to see the defeat of the nomads be repaired, we cannot stand alone. We need allies to stand strong and honorably with" Pursia said back, trying to sound as confident and sure of herself as she could.
Pursia was happy that the Deathpanther matriarch was smart enough to stay silent during all this, and easily realized why. If she spoke up and agreed with her family, then she was effectively speaking against the orders given to her by the Department of War, which in turn could get the whole family discharged. But if she spoke up and agreed with Pursia, then she'd have her own family pitted against her, and many duels for the matriarchy would be sure to follow. For now the matriarch just stood a bit to one side, staring intently at Pursia with her arms folded and a calculating expression on her face. Pursia turned to her. "While we are here, I expect your family to prove their honor by not starting any fights. Don't throw insults, don't growl, and try not to even respond if they taunt you. But if any of them start a fight with us..." Pursia trailed off, opting not to finish the sentence.
"Then we do exactly what we were assigned here for" the Deathpanther matriarch said with a sly grin. She then waved off the rest of the family to elsewhere in the suite to start making sure they would stay in line. Pursia took the chance to go to her personal room to take her luggage there, and let out a deep breath of relief as soon as she'd closed the door. She practically threw herself on the bed to get some precious rest before the first meeting was due to start, and idly wondered to herself if any of the other ambassadors had to worry about their own bodyguards possibly killing them.
Pursia had walked in with a few of her bodyguards only a few minutes early. All were wearing formal, ceremonial masks, and all had dresses on. However, the Deathpanthers were wearing short, practical sundresses underneath which was some armorweave and of course their personal shield generators; if a fight were to break out they would still be quite capable of combat. Pursia however had an elegant, flowing ball room style dress, which was as regal looking as it was completely impractical to do physical activity in. She wasted no time in going straight for their assigned seating, sitting herself down and waiting silently. Her bodyguards were busy casting death glares at their former enemies among the Pact, but Pursia was especially thankful that their masks made it impossible to see that. Two gleep were also coming along, wearing those ceremonial masks that looked kind of like skulls being worn over their own. They set themselves up on the desk flanking Pursia, and got their datapads and recording equipment ready for archive purposes.
edited 18th Jul '16 5:03:40 PM by FirockFinion
You are reading this.
Dreams of Revenge
Ceres, Sol System
As soon as she entered the room, Erruanuzua analysed the situation. It was not a conscious decision on her part. Rather, it was the background radiation of her life. As she'd stepped across the threshold her mind had already begun noting potential ingress and egress points, lanes of fire, priority threats, and so much more. Most of the variables, inculcated over a lifetime of training and combat, were examined and quantified so fast that they didn't register. She could no more stop herself than she could stop breathing.
The bulky sirian had chosen to don her angular Vanguard Mk II today. Erruan knew that logically it would be unnecessary. She was just another refugee trying to make a better life for herself somewhere else, wherever that "somewhere else" was. But sometimes the rumours coming out of the ex-warlord veterans' community was enough to chill the blood. Better to keep well back and avoid the saelunn's lunge. Her preparation was rendered somewhat pointless, however, by the fact that she was required to keep her helmet off. The unfortunate thing was that she couldn’t even get some peace and quiet before her scheduled ship – the "Dawn" – arrived, thanks to a disturbance involving a njalryeth, a human, and a tiny flight capable humanoid. Even though her conscious mind "knew" that there was nothing amiss, she was nevertheless faintly aware of her threat assessments going into overdrive and her body subtly preparing for combat.
A quick glance let her note the presence of a golka, an imlonian, and a nisi. The last of these almost made her frown. Nisi, in her experience, always seemed to have a bone to pick. After a while she had gotten very patient (or at least learned to project patience). Deciding that the njalryeth-human-humanoid issue could sort itself out, Erruan instead decided to scope out the thinnest part of the throng and began to quietly work her way through it, so that she could get to the "Dawn" with a minimum of fuss once they started boarding. She was somewhat hampered by her large rucksack – which contained all her possessions – but the sirian moved with surprising fluidity and grace for an 8 foot plus soldier clad in powered armour.
Locking you up on radar since '09
State of Mind
Humblerock Station
Ceres
There was a few seconds delay between Carr's words and the reaction of the yathelalina, as if she could not tell at first that his request was directed at her. Then she scowled.
"Not my fault you people are so damn big." She said while flying backwards. She stopped two feet away from the njalryeth, leaving her feet dangling above Linda's head now. She reached into her pocket to grab something before pausing and reluctantly leaving whatever it was she was reaching for in her pants.
"It's an asteroid, actually."
Colcannsair would not have to look up to know what was talking to him, only one species in the Known Galaxy glowed like that. But should he raise his eyes from his writing, he would see a member of a species almost as rare in these parts as the League members only know starting to trickle in. A wisps floated over his shoulder, evidently peering at the golka's writing. Like all members of its species, the wisp was incapable of staying still, instead moving through the air lazily from the end of Colcannsair's right shoulder all the way to the left, before turning and repeated the process.
edited 18th Jul '16 11:42:01 AM by Parable
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
Ceres, Sol System
Harr growled softly under his breath as the tiny creature backed off. He tried to be nice, asking her to get out of his personal space instead of ordering her to move… and rudeness was his reward.
Damn civvies.
His scars were throbbing again. The crowd was getting bigger, and louder. He tried to conceal his discomfort, but a sharp jag of pain lanced through his skill. He winced and grunted, before covering the scar with his left hand. Dozens of suction cups pressed softly against his face.
The ringing stopped. He took a deep breath, let it out. He did not lower his hand, instead turning his head to regard the human and the winged creature with his right eye.
“Sorry. Crowds…” Here he grimaced. “…don’t agree with me. “
Even as he said this, Harr picked up the sound of heavy footfalls on the deck. Footfalls with a distinctive cadence, a cadence he’d heard many times over the last fifteen years.
He swung his head towards the sound, knowing what he would see before he saw it, what his echo would show him before he even clicked. A large figure moved through the crowd, bipedal, digitigrade, totally encased in heavy combat armour from the neck down.
Sirian.
Allies once, and allies still as the politicians running the newborn Federation would have it. Harr had fought and bled alongside more than a few of them during the war, and he had respect for those soldiers. Same couldn’t be said for their government, jumping in bed with the Pact before the war was even over.
Harr made a disgusted sound. Politicians…
Well, friend or foe, the fact that a Sirian was tromping around in full powered armour made Harr wish his abysskin wasn’t stowed in his backpack vest… and that he’d been allowed to keep more than just his harmonic dagger when he left. Never a tuner or a farcaster when you needed one…
Planet Ceneceros, City of Dama Latvama
Now that she was seated, Kaluu took a moment to study some of the nearby delegates as they found their places. The Conductor had done her best to familiarize herself with the numerous species that might attend, and she was pleased to find that she could identify most of them. A Theran with neck-length hair sat at attention nearby, glancing around. A masked figure in a white overcoat—a Kellsaran—entered alongside a smaller Sirian whose professional black apparel made a striking contrast with his dense white fur. A pale-skinned, long-armed being—an Imlon, perhaps?—sat uncomfortably in its chair further down the table. A masked Nisi in regal attire waited in silence, flanked by four attendants and a pair of gleep. And a hulking, heavily-tattooed creature that she believed to be a Golka walked to the table with some difficulty, also flanked by attendants.
Kaluu nodded to herself. Even if this was only a small portion of the Congress, together they made up a fairly even mix of former League and former Pact species. It was a promising sign, and Great Mother willing, a good omen of things to come.
When the Golka ambassador made his blessing of the Congress, Kaluu smiled. The sentiment, even if it was expressed perfunctorily, was one she endorsed wholeheartedly.
edited 18th Jul '16 5:06:04 PM by SullenFrog
The Danse Macabre Codex
Attitude is prohibited
[Ceres] (Humblerock Station)
"Yeah, well," said Linda, looking almost straight up at yathelalina. "It's not our fault you're itty-bitty. But, y'know, whatever." Then she spied the small being's hesitation. "Whatcha reachin' for, if you don't mind me asking? Don't feel like double-checking your boarding pass or something?"
Then she looked over at the njalryeth. "Guess I'll try not to crowd you, then." she said. "Say, buddy, you look tense. I mean, everybody here's tense, it's a shithole, but you seem real tense. You okay?"
She followed his gaze and spotted the sirian moving through the crowd. "Huh. They sure do love their powered armour. I sure hope she isn't here to hound anyone." She paused. "This place is already a bit of powderkeg, if ya know what I mean. The last thing it needs is a sirian-sized spark."
Not entirely dead.
State of Mind
Ceneceros
Dama Latvama
Galactic Congress
It still took another two minutes for everyone to take to their seats. Cotal drummed twelve fingers impatiently, while watching the late comers hustle to the sections of the room their delegation had claimed for themselves. The datapad on his podium showed a total of 16 delegates who had not shown up today, indisposed for whatever reason. Great.
Trying to focus on work, Cotal took a a glance at the day's to do list. Item 1: Report from the Committee of Pact Relations.
He nodded to Ganieciar, the chief delegate of the Xon Meda Society and head of that committee.
"The chair recognizes the head of the Pact Relations Committee, Ganieciar of Xon Meda!"
Ganieciar was a nicarist, a species who brought the average galactic height down a bit. Among the former Pact states however, the species had an over sized influence in regulating commercial affairs, making their break with the alliance harder than most once the newly independent states starting enacting protectionist regulations. For that matter, the Pact had also blocked trade with the free Nicarist states, Xon Meda included.
Wearing a tight fitting one piece suit, the delegate looked more ready to go diving at one of Dama Latvama's popular underwater sites. He carried himself with an air of purpose however, lest anyone mistake him for a casual vacationer. With large black eyes that took up a disproportionate about of his face he stared at the rest of the congress.
"Esteemed delegates," Ganieciar started, "Our committee has met for several days to discuss the negative effects the Pact continues to exert over many of our members with their heavy handed and unjust embargoes and sanctions. The selective discrimination the Pact has exercised in these instances is aimed to weaken some states and coerce others into returning to their bloc. In keeping with the spirit of this congress and its intention restore stability to the galaxy for all its free peoples, our committee suggests that the congress introduce a binding resolution for all members to boycott Pact goods and services."
The first shout of support, the first shout against, and Cotal's gavel pounding and shout for order all occurred within milliseconds of each other.
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
Planet Ceneceros, City of Dama Latvama
Gorash calmly pressed the button on his terminal that indicated he would like to place himself in the queue to speak on the current matter.Ceres, Sol System
As the group of refugees and other misfits mingled, a lone patron balgor stalked the edges of the area. With his trusty vacuum in-hand, he was absorbed in his music player as he fought to clean up the waiting room area. "SORRY CASSANDRA I DIDN'T BELIEVE YOU REALLY HAD THE POWER! I ONLY SAW IT AS DREAMS YOU WOULD WEAVE UNTIL THE FINAL HOUR!"
State of Mind
Ceres
Humblerock Station
"It's just a -" The yathelalina paused as her mind registered Linda's pun. Two sets of eyes narrowed. "That was bad and you should feel bad."
The pun was not the only thing the little alien found distasteful. The sirian entering the room earned an uncomfortable glance as well, and an uncertain flutter back a few feet.
Ceneceros
Dama Latvama
Once the rabble had died down, Cotal flicked his serpentine tongue out to taste the air out of habit and looked at who had formally requested time to speak first.
"The chair recognizes Gorash."
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
Ceres, Sol System
Harr tore his gaze away from the Sirian and focused on the human female. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just… just an old wound.” He lowered his hand, pointing at the scar which ran from his lip to just shy of his eye. “It acts up at times like these. But… thank you, for your concern.”
The words left an odd taste in his mouth. Who were these two, anyway? And why was the human female so interested in his mental state?
If this were the military, if they were fellow soldiers, he’d have known how to respond. But they weren’t. He felt like he was swimming upstream, blind and deaf, into a minefield.
But the Sirian. Ambiguously friend or foe. Potentially a threat. That, at least, made sense. And he could emphasize with their uncertainty regarding the Sirian.
“As for that,” he said, jerking his head in the Sirian’s direction. “I’ve got some experience with defusing explosives.” And with setting them, not that they needed to know that. “If they plan on starting something, I’ll stop it.”
The Danse Macabre Codex
For the Horde!
Colcannsair looked up at the wisp who addressed him and smiled a little bit. "It's a tad large for an asteroid, don't you think?" Colcannsair muttered, shrugging. "But then again, the asteroid belt in my home system is much smaller than this one, so it's entirely possible it's an asteroid. What's in a name, though? To me, planet sounds more poetic. I could call it an asteroid, I could call it a hunk of space rock." He shrugged.
He examined the Wisp as he spoke. It had been a while since he had seen a Wisp, and it was especially unusual to see it outside of Pact space. It was fairly relieving, considering the anti-Pact sentiment brewing on his home planet.
I can still hail the Horde even though the company has shamed us. Strength and Honor even if Blizzard has neither.
Ceres, Sol System
Pem looked up at the light of the Wisp, and saw the towering Golka.
"Oh, wow," he whispered, before he could stop himself. Of course, he was not supposed to become too attached to these aliens, but they were so fascinating! And introducing himself couldn't hurt— it was the natural thing to do. "Pardon me, that was perhaps rude. It is only that I do not have the opportunity to see many people from other worlds. I am Pem, from Helma-Drost."
Attitude is prohibited
[Ceres] (Humblerock Station)
Linda just grinned slyly at the yathelalina's reaction to her pun.
Then, turning to the njalryeth, she said "Hey, I get it. Took some shrapnel in my hip, way back when," she continued, patting her right hip. "Nearly needed the whole thing replaced! Tingles when I'm somewhere humid or ionized," she chuckled.
"Anyway, as for the sirian, I'm not actually too worried. Worked with a few during the war. Good people to have at your back. They do love their armour, though, like I was saying." She sighed, and hooked her thumbs into her pockets. "Bit too proud of themselves if you ask me, though. And they just can't seem to take a joke..."
Not entirely dead.
Planet Ceneceros, City of Dama Latvama
Gorash stood up to address the others. "People of the Galactic Congress," he said. "With all the people and governments scattered across the stars, a boycott will not produce the desired results. Nations that are not part of this congress will feel no need to boycott, and without a way to enforce it, even ones that are may still continue to do so discreetly. Citizens of our nations who turn to contraband also weaken the effects. In the end, the only ones who will suffer will be those who obey the law. This is not the time for half-measures, it is the time for decisive action."
Wait, he isn't dead! Shia Surprise!
Ceres, Sol System
The human female’s words piqued Harr’s interest, and when she finished he straightened up, made his right hand into a fist and thumped his chest with it. “My apologies. I didn’t realize you were a fellow soldier.”
Humans were a peculiar lot. As far as Harr knew, they were the only species to be aligned with both of the former galactic powers: most had been members of the Pact, but some, by dint of their membership in the Dominion of Sakta, were part of the League. Obviously this one was a Saktan, if she’d fought alongside Sirians as well.
A fellow soldier, and a former member of the League. Two points of relieving commonality!
Lowering his hand, Harr nodded. “As for that… I believe I know what you mean.” He let out a thunderous snort. “I find Sirians love their fur a bit too much. Always afraid to get it wet…”
For a moment, he smiled. Then his expression turned neutral.
“I guess I should introduce myself.” He shifted slightly, so that his backpack vest rested more comfortably on his shoulders. “Harr Bet Fas Trong, warrant officer—formerly, anyway. And you?”
Ceneceros
Dama Latvama
Galactic Congress
Kaluu held her peace as Quitzel Cotal yielded the floor to Xon Medan ambassador Ganieciar, and listened patiently to the nicarist’s report. She remained silent when he concluded, ignoring the ensuing uproar, considering the issue and how it might impact the Losshur Federation. The three worlds of the Federation had naturally never been trading partners with the Pact, and did not depend on them for resources, so in and of itself a boycott would not affect the Federation. But their allies…
The Conductor glanced surreptitiously towards the Sirian ambassador. The Sirian Union had gone over to the Pact in the closing days of the war, and she was uncertain just how strong those new ties were. Endorsing the boycott could have serious economic repercussions for the Sirians and their Kellsaran clients, and would undoubtedly cause friction between them and the Federation.
Not an ideal way to reopen diplomatic relations, to say the least.
When the delegates died down, Cotal recognized a new speaker. Kaluu watched as “Gorash”, a sturdy, horned being with four eyes and a large hump that she believed to be a balgor, stood up and addressed the assembly. As he spoke, she turned her head slightly to regard him with her left eye.
When Gorash finished, Kaluu pressed the button and signaled that she wished to speak. Once she’d been given permission, she straightened up, holding her head level with the floor in a neutral posture. “Could representative Gorash clarify what he means by ‘decisive action’?”
The Danse Macabre Codex
Against the vast infinities of the universe, civilizations were a mere speck of dust in the ocean. What was a single being compared to galaxies? What were people’s accomplishments in the face of the endless void of space and time? Taking it all into consideration, facing the universe could be a very humbling experience.
Right now though, Sukhoi was facing the universe and feeling more pissed off than humble. Small as civilizations might be, they had this annoying tendency to congregate at any given point in space and right now there were way too many members of this particular civilization all trying to leave or land at this particular point.
The inoue woman was close to snarling at this point, her face becoming tinted with red. “Why are we still not cleared?” she yelled.
“It’s all these damn refugees.” A crewman said. “Traffic control can’t keep them all organized and a bunch of craft keep trying to blaze it to ports. There’s been three collisions already.”
Sukhoi’s face went from red to white in a mix of disbelief and dismay. “Collisions in space. Wonderful. There is literally a whole universe’s worth of empty space out there and people somehow manage to crash into each other. Great! Terrific! Now I’ve heard everything.”
“I think we’ll be good in about half an hour?” Another crewman suggested.
“We were ‘good in about half an hour’ eight hours ago!” said another.
“Sweet Hrondfor, a plague in all these planet-hopping parasites.”
“No argument here.” Sukhoi grumbled.
Not that she could blame the refugees entirely. Sukhoi knew more ships were arriving from the neighboring star systems than the officials on this planet could handle. This system was just a few stars removed from what had been the border between the League and the Pact. Both, in their rush to colonize as much space as possible before their enemy did, had settled as many of their citizens as possible in these systems, then rushed to build as much defenses as possible to keep their neighbor out. When the war came the military installations across these stars were among the first targets and many had been laid to waste, with the civilians caught in the cross fire being among the many casualties. For years, the people of these worlds endured the carnage, hoping the end of the war would bring recovery. For the League however, the end of the war brought nothing but more ruin. Declaring enough was enough, these ruined worlds rebelled. But if one of the Known Galaxy’s great superpowers had been unable to do anything to fix these broken systems, then those systems on their own were not going to fare much better with nothing but independence and pride to their name. For millions, it was too much to endure, and those millions packed what they could and began looking for new worlds, hopefully untouched by war, to call home.
Sukhoi had heard something similar was happening over in Pact space, and the steady stream of unfamiliar aliens seemed to indicate that rumor was true. Or maybe it was former Pact space now? The old enemy was no more, ironically dead in victory as much as the League was in defeat. Sukhoi took no small amount of pleasure in that fact. While her own loyalty to the League evaporated long ago, there was no love lost between her and those that had brought ruin to her homeworld.
Yet now here she was, getting ready to trek through (former) Pact space. Sukhoi could not help but think the ‘’Dawn’’ and her crew were walking into a trap despite the war being long over. Decades of war had erased most memories of the tense peace that had reigned in her childhood, it still felt weird, this peace thing.
One of the signal display that indicated the ships around the planet vanished. Sukhoi sat up.
“What was that? What happened?”
“One of the guard ships helping traffic control just shot a refugee craft.”
Later
At long last, the ‘’Dawn’’ was allowed to leave the space port. Sukhoi wasted no time heading towards the edge of the system, then left to confer with her captain, who had been sleeping most of the day in his quarters. He confirmed their route and destination. Within two weeks they would be in the Sol System.
Weeks Later
Ceres, Sol System
Ceres. Forever crowded, forever busy, forever populated by cranky people who refused to make eye contact. Perhaps the lack of a day and night cycle within the asteroid’s broken light fixtures made it impossible for the masses to get a decent amount of sleep all at once. Or maybe too many people jammed into a single rock just made everyone lash out from the pressure. Refugees from Earth certainly were not helping the overpopulation issue. Or maybe it was the present of armed soldiers keeping an eye on all beings present keeping everyone on edge.
Regardless of the reason, Ceres was an urban jungle, with locals and foreigners jumping into the wriggling mass of bodies flowing in every which direction. And it was going to continue being like that for the foreseeable future. Despite its primary planet being rendered uninhabitable by the war, Sol still boasted a robust civilization within its system, albeit one on shaky grounds thanks to the recently installed government.
More importantly, as far as Sukhoi was concerned, Sol had a functioning FTL gate, one that was slaved to Ceres’ orbit. No more stupid long space treks for them!
While Sukhoi felt relief docking into Ceres, others had a mixture of feelings as they watched the ship that would take them off the rock. For reasons of their own, they had ended up in Sol, and for reasons of their own they wanted out of it now. The crowd of soon to be interstellar travelers was already gathered in the waiting room that led to the docks. Some were off by themselves, most were talking to each other.
Planet Ceneceros City of Dama Latvama
Wars do not affect everyone equally, and the city of Dama Latvama exemplified that by being a popular beach resort before, during, and after the great war. The Nation of Ceneceros had emerged as an independent state from the collapse of the Pact relatively intact, giving it much needed flexibility when dealing with demobilization and refugees. Because of that, Ceneceros, and its favorite tourist trap, Dama Latvama, remained an oasis of stability in the sea of chaos that was plaguing the Known Galaxy.
At least, that was the line Quitzel Cotal and his cohorts fed the public.
“We’re broke.” The president had told the kinvesti ex-governor privately. Most of Ceneceros’ infrastructure had been subsidized by the Pact, and its maintenance costs also taken from the alliance’s shared funds. Ceneceros now had its own currency, but the uncertainty in the galaxy at large, the Pact’s retaliatory sanctions, and the government’s own mistakes had created a black hole where money should have been. They were in a house whose foundations were built on rotting wood.
When the Xon Meda Society had approached Ceneceros about a proposed meeting of nations, Cotal urged the president to accept, moreover to host the gathering. Ceneceros would eventually get its own house in order (he hoped), the Pact was just something they had to endure for now. But the chance to confer with the surrounding powers, reach beneficial agreements, organize some sort of ‘’order’’ in the galaxy, was the key to bringing back economic stability to Ceneceros.
Invitations were sent to nearly every self-proclaimed nation that had emerged from the war, even the former League states. Of the 93 invites sent out, 64 responded favorably. Of those 64, 10 changed their minds and dropped out before the gathering even started. 7 more were overthrown and their successor governments declined to participate. 6 additional nations were at war with each other and did not think it proper to appear in the same forum together.
No one invited the League or the Pact.
And thus, the Galactic Congress was born. The delegates gathered at Dama Latvama with its large convention center and easy accessibility for all manners of aliens. Unfortunately, they arrived just after the Cooking Expo had concluded, leaving the building smelling like hot sauce for the last two weeks.
Quitzel Cotal, President of the Galactic Congress for the time being strolled through the main doors of the convention hall, heading towards the main hall where the delegates had gathered. The day’s session would start soon, and he needed to be there to open the meeting. The hall was only half full, as many delegates believing in being fashionably early as being fashionably late. Cotal knew by now all the delegates who would show up today would not fully arrive until about 20 minutes into the meeting. Taking his chair at the podium, Cotal sat down just as his tablet went off. A message from the Ememir Hotel, where most of the Congress’ delegates, including himself, were staying showed up at once. He scanned it and rolled his eyes. The hotel manager was telling him that the delegates from Rooms 44, 53-58, 72-75, 90, and 94 were all barred from the pool until further notice.
Cotal considered starting the Congress meeting with this as an opening to get back at the delegates causing problems before deciding that was unprofessional. He sent copies of the message to each congress member instead. The guilty parties would know who they were.
On cue, the delegates from Room 73 (The Spaceborne Nation of Yokolit) started protesting. Cotal chose that moment to slam the gavel down on the podium.
“Congress is now in session!” he boomed before waiting for everyone to stop talking and hurry to their seats.
edited 14th Jul '16 4:55:19 PM by Parable
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim