Void Hunters Act 1 (IC)

[Rupudska]

Orbit over Titan
June 5, 2379
6:44 AM local time

Space.

The final frontier, as infinite as the imagination and as imaginative as whatever force, divine or otherwise, created it. And like all fronteirs, it was ripe for the conquering to those willing to seize opportunity and take the risks involved, and the dangers it caused, and the sacrifices it demanded.

But, after almost 410 years of hard work, it had paid off. The world may not have united in peace and love, but the exploration of space had certainly paid off. Goods from across the solar system, and from beyond it, flowed freely in and out of the Sol system along trade routes, by way of enormous transport ships, capable of storing enough food and drink to sustain entire planets for months. Protecting these trade routes were mighty ships of war, ten to twenty miles long. The bourgeois traveled in pleasure ships from planet to planet, frequently with a slave or ten in tow. Slave ships, transporting slaves upon what is best described as flying Norwegian prisons, fly about escorted by smaller craft, protected from the elements and raiders who target them almost more than pleasure craft.

This, of course, is not about slave ships, or transport freighters, or warships, or pleasure craft. This is about something in between the three.

This is about a mercenary ship and the company that owns it. The ship, the Grey Goose (Named after the vodka), was a roughly 190-meter long craft, featuring 2 heavy positron cannons in the nose, eight sets of two railgun turrets, two on top, two on the bottom, and six antihelium torpedo tubes, four fore and two aft.

Painted a blinding white and flying what appeared to be a Scottish flag on the mast, it floated lazily in orbit around Titan, just cresting over the horizon to morning. The paint flashed a less blinding color white than usual. Partly due to the distance to the Sun, and partly due to the battle scars worn proudly on the ship that its owner, and owner of the company that operated it (Void Hunters LLC) refused to paint over. Those scars were badges of honor to her. Which made perfect sense, to think of it.

Kenna Sutherland, member of the 'royal' family of the Sutherland Clan, certainly lived up to the motto Sans Peur, or Fearless. A pure-blooded Scot and Type-A mage, she was a force to be reckoned with, almost a force of nature. From a young age, she had been somewhat rebelliously Scottish, and fairly patriotic, although never nationalist. This, combined with her skills at shooting guns and fighting, led her into the Scottish Paras, and eventually into the most legendary spec ops division in the English world, the Scottish SAS.

She excelled at it. Unfortunately, even her, her somewhat rebellious attitude didn't make her many friends in the Scottish brass, and she floundered in the ranks, not being permitted to advance. While this did annoy her, she didn't seem to mind, as the higher-ranked officers in her SAS gave her more and more respect, the better she did on the battlefield.

However, one such commander failed to give her the respect she had become accustomed to, and this infuriated her. What made it even worse was the fact that he wasn't very good. He was a rookie, sent into the SAS more due to the sheer political power his father enjoyed more than anything, at least in Kenna's mind. In reality, he was merely average, but in the SAS, average was a very dangerous thing. And danger reared its ugly head one day on a mission raiding a ship illegally transporting slaves. She was right, he was wrong, and four Scots died in the firefight that ensued.

Kenna promptly stormed out of the SAS, out of the Scottish Army, and out of Scotland, and into the mercenary business, which she is now in. Along the way, she managed to obtain enough money to get a slave of her own, a French girl named Justine, with a fair amount of fight in her, enough to satisfy a Highlander, at least.

Speaking of Sutherland....

---

Captain's quarters, SS Grey Goose
That same time

Kenna Sutherland was currently sharing her bed with Justine, something that frequently happened. While Justine was in cobalt blue pyjamas, Sutherland was in her underwear, lying on her back and snoring lightly. The anti-snoring device on her nose had helped in that she no longer sounded like a bent chainsaw attempting to cut a steel girder. Justine was wearing an equally blue blindfold, lying on her back.

The Sun's weak light slowly started to filter into the room, which had the largest window out of any of the passenger rooms. It slowly started to rouse Kenna, but not Justine, who had a tendency to sleep as deeply as Kenna snored.

No wonder the two got along so well.

[Agritum]

Crew's Quarters, Grey Goose

Hum. Hum. Hum.

The corridors of the hallway were mostly silent, except for the constant humming of the ship's engines. A low, resounding and all permeating hum that made everything in the structure slightly vibrated. Months of stay in the ship had gradually made everyone quite used to the vibration and the hum. Their minds had slowly phased out the sound altogether, and were so habitued to it that the lack of it would have been immediately perceived.

And of all the crewmembers, Pyotr was surely the one who had grown more empathic to the engines themselves, to the level that he could notice if something was off by listening a little to the hum. Or to the absence of it.

However, as he paced through the hallways leading to the Crew Quarters, Pyotr was noticeably not occupied in listening to the sound of the engine: he had checked it before, it was alright, and Dakkit would have solved any engine problems during Pyotr's temporary absence. Or so he hoped.

At the moment, Pyotr was occupied in carrying a rectangular shaped, not much big present wrapped in green with gold stripes packaging. Not very stylish, but it was the best wrapping he could afford on Titan, with the rest of his money going into buying the present wrapped into it.
Pyotr hoped that she would have liked it.

It was a cooking book. A rather generic one, but which boasted the addition of '20 new famous dishes!' and it being written under the advice of some chef from Earth. Promising enough, for a cheap cookbook, but well, it wasn't like there were better cookbooks in that old, dirty bookstore on Titan.

Pyotr eventually reached the intended room. He could clearly read 'Victoria C. Churchill" on a small plaque next to the airlock. Unmistakeable.
He pressed his finger against the door ringer, making only a two-seconds long buzz, well enough to draw her attention.

"Victoria? I'm Pyotr! I happened to make an interesting discovery while taking a look around that chaotic, crowded planet that is Titan. Maybe you could like it. One hint: it's made of paper...." he proceded to announce in his most sharp and gentle voice, hoping to be heard by the girl.

[Olthar]

Typhan'ni Mrouwne'escha, or as the humans called her "Tiffy," was resting peacefully on the bridge of the ship, curled up into a ball on a control console. She had her own room in the crew quarters, but she rarely ever slept there, typically choosing to lie down wherever she currently was when she got tired, which usually meant that she would sleep at the ship's helm. In fact, the young Nekomimi hadn't even entered her room in over a week. The rest of the crew seemed disturbed or at least puzzled about this at first, but Tiffy guessed that most had come to accept it as just another one of her quirks. At least, they didn't bother her about it anymore. She couldn't be sure what they actually thought of her.

She had many other quirks, too, such as referring to everyone in feminine terms, cleaning herself with her tongue instead of a shower, her frequent naps, and her insatiable hunger. Though she was probably the most human-looking alien on the ship, her mannerisms were probably the least human-like, or at least close to it. Nevertheless, she was a kind individual who most found easy enough to get along with. However, no one really knows much about her past as she refuses to discuss anything that happened before she left Nyassa save for her early childhood. Still, that's not too unexpected. Many mercenaries won't even tell that much about themselves.

[Norvenia]

Titan. Alasdair closed his eyes, opened them, looked down at his gloved hands on the rail of the observation deck. His brow was furrowed with conflicting emotions. Why did it have to be Titan?

Alasdair Munro had first come to Titan almost ten years before, after more than half a decade of torture in a Sedna gulag. In the end, more than half-mad, desperate for death or freedom, he had poisoned himself. The Russians had mistaken their prisoner for dead - hardly surprising really, given their treatment of him - and piled him in with hundreds of other skeletal corpses, the other inmates who had found the only freedom they would ever know. And they had shoveled all of the bodies into the hold of a space freighter, with just enough atmosphere and heat to allow crew to check on their grisly cargo unsuited, and left them there for a six week journey.

Six weeks. A vein pulsed slowly in Alasdair's temple, his hands clenched painfully tight on the rail as he remembered. Six weeks buried beneath dozens of slowly decomposing corpses in the icy cold, unable to move, pinned in place with the awful weight of the dead, the time stretching on and on in the pitch black, unbroken by light, undivided by day and night. When Alasdair had closed his eyes to sleep the first time, he awoke to find the eyelids frozen shut. And he could not move his hands to open them again, for the corpses held him immobile. And so he lay there, blind, motionless, the hunger slowly growing in his belly until at last he opened his mouth, and tasted the cold, rotting flesh pressed against his face.

Six weeks. Thus did Alasdair Munro come to Titan.

And from that living hell, in time, salvation had sprung. When the Japanese pulled him from the corpses, half-dead himself and almost wholly mad, and threw him on the street without even the strength to stand up, Alasdair had thought himself wholly lost. When he had crawled into a soup kitchen, and taken a bowl of rice, and then been kicked into a huddled ball of wheezing, starving agony by two scrawny street thugs who took that meager nourishment for themselves, Alasdair had silently begged the universe for death. And then a man had reached down, and taken him by the arm, and laid him in a warm bed, and fed him, and nursed him, and made him feel that maybe - just maybe - there was something left worth living for in a galaxy of unendurable pain. A Confederate missionary named Paul Wallace had given Alasdair back his life, and he had given him something more, too: faith, in himself and in God and in the very idea that a life of peace and gentleness was possible even for Alasdair. Alasdair, the orphan. The gangster. The police snitch. The slave. The spy. The assassin. The mercenary. The man whose very touch, it sometimes seemed, was death. Even for him, there might yet be escape, and redemption: a little house, and a peaceful job, and people who loved him. Alasdair, whom no one had loved since his parents died an eternity ago.

On the observation deck of the Grey Goose, staring down at Titan, Alasdair sighed. His cheeks were wet. That, too, was Titan. The agony, and the rebirth. The epiphany when he had realized that as far as the universe was concerned, Alasdair Munro was dead. He could leave it all behind, and start anew. Live his own life, for the first time in forty years.

And then, of course, Paul Wallace had started trying to free slaves from the horrors of ammonia extraction in the cryovolcano mines, and the Japanese police had raided the house, and Alasdair had killed a dozen of them, and Paul had taken a railgun slug, and Alasdair had fled the moon, and found himself identified and trapped again in the old life. Running. Running from everyone from governments to crime lords, living under false identities, surviving by lies, escaping by ever-narrowing fractions of an inch. And the hope of something different had dwindled to a dream, just as Titan had turned to an invisible speck of light far behind the stolen shuttle in which Alasdair had escaped the moon.

And now he was back. The sprawling maze of filthy conurbations spread out below Alasdair, beyond the glass of the observation deck, slowly turning into the wan light of the far-distant sun. And as he stared down at it, Alasdair tried with all his might to decipher which of his memories were true, what he should feel. Whether Titan was a beacon of hope, or the last stop on a journey into despair.

Alasdair sighed, and stepped back. His hands clenched on the rail of the observation deck, then loosened, then fell limply to his sides, palms open at last. He stood a moment longer, staring through the great armorglass windows. And then he turned, and walked silently back to wander the corridors of the Grey Goose, his hands clasped behind his back, his face still and calm as a plaster mask.

[Hetland 2]

Miyouko looked up from her rest, Gregory was smoking, while typing on the computer, his massive frame bent over the glowing screen.
"Gregory, where are my clothes?" The massive man simply pointed to her skin-tight, red body suit.
"How's work?"
Gregory took off his glasses and looked at her, shrugging helplessly. "We don't have proper clearance anymore, and I can't rely on your kin as contacts anymore this month."
"I see. I shall bring you some breakfast then, my mate."
Gregory laughed tiredly. "Be sure to get some for yourself too. I don't want a repeat of the last time you met my parents." He sighed and laid back down on the bed. "Thanks, darling." Miyouko blushed and continued getting dressed, finishing it off by tying her hair into a bun on the back of her head.
"Dear, get some rest. You've been at it for 2 days now."
Gregory leaned against the wall and put his glasses back on as Miyouko left, watching her leave with interest. "I swear, every time I see her, she gets more beautiful."

Miyouko stepped out, and headed towards the kitchen, blushing hard enough to match her body suit. She was humming a strange tune. One with no real description, save for a bizarre combination of haunting and perky. Today was off to a good morning for her.

[Constaniana]

Navigator's Cabin, SS Grey Goose
June 5th, 2379
6:45 AM local time

The alarm clock activated, beginning to play a vuvezela cover of Always Look On the Bright Side of Life. Needless to say, the awful sound of the South African weapon of mass destruction disguised as an "instrument" was sufficient to immediately awaken the ship's navigator, and she brought her right hand crashing down on the alarm clock, silencing it. Thankfully it was a sturdy, industrial-grade alarm clock, otherwise she probably would have broken it by now. She had considered simply changing the song her alarm clock played when it went off, but then she would have trouble waking up enough to get out of bed.

Victoria got out of bed and began changing out of her white and red pyjamas, slipping on a loose, white silk shirt and denim shorts, when she heard Pyotr at the door. Quickly buttoning up her shirt enough and fixing her long brunette hair a bit she walked over and opened it, smiling at the polite Russian.

"Oh, a present for me, Pyotr? You're too kind," Victoria said, inviting him in. "It's a book of some sort, isn't it?" She asked, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.

[Starkindler]

Chronometer state: CE+2379.06.05:06:45:00
Precise, punctual and trusty, the Clank, holding a nice tray of eggs, bacon, blood sausage, baked beans and a cup of tea she just cooked in the kitchen, entered the room of her Mistress. She made a deep curtsy after entering to Kenna's room.
"Moushiwake arimasen deshita, ojou-sama." - She expressed a formal, humble apology to her Mistress who was sleeping in her bed.
"It's quarter to seven Mistress, and you have asked me to wake you up. I'm sorry to do so. Please, accept this breakfast from me, if you could, please." - After finishing her sentence, she stood up, then placed the tray in her lap, serving her tea, then stepping back.

She then stepped back from her bed, kneeling before her, while looking in her Mistress' eyes. In the background, she adored the view of the stars and the planets of the Sol system, glancing on the Virgo constellation, at Beta Virginis.
So far away. Yet I'm so close to home. Where my Mistress is.

"Would you please anything else, if you would, Mistress, please?" - she asked her.

[AETEN II]

High Orbit of Titan- Sol System
Grey Goose
Crew Quarters- Ethan Montgomery

The door to the room didn't bear a notice or warning that privacy was wished by the occupant- Ethan had already built up a reputation with the crew, one of hostility. Even when he entered a discussion on his own accord, he oozed with distaste and inflated ego. Thus, he was avoided it, and he cherished it. He looked upon humans as one would view Gorillas, false pity while sitting upon a great pedantic of civilization- not acknowledging that the only thing that separated the two parties was mere chance. He viewed aliens worse however. To him, they were horrible abominations from mysterious stars far from Orion, where the terrible beasts had shot themselves into the heavens in search of more worlds to conquer and dominate.
"The idea of a xeno being trustworthy is a falsehood, they seek only to conquer, kill, and destroy, similar to the unfortunate species we evolved from. Only unlike humans, we did not evolve from them, and thus owe them nothing but preemptive annihilation."
Such logic was justified in his mind- humans wouldn't be laughing when billions of years from now the resources of the universe dried up with the stars and life was doomed to endless war within the dark. The Exalted were waging a war- unlike most however, they were preparing billions of years in advance. Evolution did not stop with sapience, nay, it accelerated. Technology sped the process up, and with humanity the result was Homo elatus, the Exalted. As long as capitalism existed, their mathematical minds would ensure that no member would be poor, and thus the race would not suffer. Instead they would all be equal- immune to the problems that plagued so many other sentient species.

But these mathematical minds could be put to more harmful use. Worse yet, they could also grow addicted to the harmful use, extracting glee normally reserved for more emotional species through the challenge of the kill. Killing is an art- it involves math, form, and provides a significant challenge. Ethan was an artist. His version of it was different than most. He wasn't by definition like serial killers, who mangle bodies into twisted blasphemous forms in protest of their social condition. He also didn't enjoy the crudest aspect of it- denying others life, the highest robbery. He liked the challenge. Sapient species were difficult to predict when threatened. Some would flee in random directions to best dodge the aim of their attacker. Others would seek cover behind objects they falsely believed were capable of saving their lives. Others, the ones he enjoyed the most, tried to fight back. They would pick up automatic weapons and spray fire at him, despite the incredible distance. His favorites of those who fought back were the counter-snipers. When he fired his typical warning shot, they would run to their weapon, slam the bipod down and scan the area where he fired from. He would then wait in glee for them to spot him before he sent their consciousness to oblivion.


So yes, he was addicted to killing. But as he argued when questioned about it- 'In an elevated form. You couldn't understand the feeling'. While the statement likely had a point, it was moot as it was merely a dodge tactic. Nobody wishes to admit that they lack control over anything, especially their own psyche. Whatever the case, Ethan was addicted to hunting sapient beings with sniper rifles, and dodged the topic whenever possible. Exalted were weaker to their emotions as they had little experience controlling them. Thus, any they experienced often and corresponded with adrenaline could prove addictive.

But the Captain hadn't given a damn about any corruption of his mind. She signed him on because his shots hit where he aimed and could predict movement with accuracy.

So Ethan was a sniper. An extremely irritable sniper who today, had officially gone two cycles without sleep. While he currently stated it was due to anxiety over some formulas he was currently carving out, in reality he was overloaded with excitement at the thought of another mission on the horizon, and with it, more calculated risks. This was a rare and alien experience for him, as the words 'excitement' and 'Homo Elatus' didn't exactly go hand in hand- they weren't supposed to.

Emerging from his room for breakfast, the neo-human had all the signs of sleep deprivation, and loved it.

[Rupudska]

Chronometer state: CE+2379.06.05:06:45:00
Precise, punctual and trusty, the Clank, holding a nice tray of eggs, bacon, blood sausage, baked beans and a cup of tea she just cooked in the kitchen, entered the room of her Mistress. She made a deep curtsy after entering to Kenna's room.
"Moushiwake arimasen deshita, ojou-sama." - She expressed a formal, humble apology to her Mistress who was sleeping in her bed.
"It's quarter to seven Mistress, and you have asked me to wake you up. I'm sorry to do so. Please, accept this breakfast from me, if you could, please." - After finishing her sentence, she stood up, then placed the tray in her lap, serving her tea, then stepping back.

She then stepped back from her bed, kneeling before her, while looking in her Mistress' eyes. In the background, she adored the view of the stars and the planets of the Sol system, glancing on the Virgo constellation, at Beta Virginis.
So far away. Yet I'm so close to home. Where my Mistress is.

"Would you please anything else, if you would, Mistress, please?" - she asked her.

Justine was certainly roused by the smell of food, and the smell of piping hot tea. She took a sip, smiling and leaning back in bed, as it was the exact right temperature. Just below being hot enough to be painful. Justine yawned, taking care not to knock over Kenna's plate. The Scot then took a bite of blood sausage, savoring the taste.

"Perfect as always, Teruko. And please, don't say 'please' and 'I'm sorry' so much. You act like you've done something wrong, which you clearly haven't, as this is delicious. So try to speak less formally."

It was then she noticed that Justine was practically drooling from the smell. "Oh, and get Justine something to eat. Pain perdu sound good?" Justine nodded rapidly.

"Yes, ma'am! With some of the strawberry jelly if there's any left, Teruko."

[Neo Arcad]

Ayane Mikhailovka woke up. It was a slow, steady awakening, the best kind. The kind of awakening where you gradually become aware of the fact that, yes, you do indeed exist, and furthermore you feel really happy and everything is going to be ok and there's no problems. Then reality hits you like a splash of cold water, and you snap into total consciousness.

At that point, Ayane gave up all hope of further sleep, and instead swung her legs out of the bunk. She walked over to the head, and splashed literal water on her face, even though the metaphorical water had done the job well enough. She proceeded to dress, putting on clothes befitting her typically uniform-like style of dress. (Yet another little leftover scrap of conditioning...) she absent-mindedly thought to herself, as she opened the door and headed into the corridor.

Arriving at the bridge, Ayane looked around. Tiffy ought to have been there... no, wait, there she was. "Sleeping on a computer... typical cat." she said to herself. Aya wouldn't have said it if the nekomata was awake, though; Tiffy was the senior helmsman, by far, and Ayane had much to learn from her. The culture shock was rather inhibiting to progress at first, but they had soon reached a comfortable mentor-student understanding of sorts. Tiffy wasn't hard to get along with, as long as you didn't mind her... mannerisms. Ayane reached over and poked the catgirl in an attempt to rouse her from her nap.

[Starkindler]

She made a wide smile, then blushed a little at her Mistress' compliment. She thought in herself.
I'm a robot. Anything less than perfect from my hands would be utterly unacceptable. Especially anywhere near my Mistress. Imperfection is what brought me down here, and that's why I call her Jou-sama, and not she calls me Ohime-sama. - she made a rant in herself, then started to speak.

"Good morning, jou-sama. I hope you had a pleasant night. I will make french toast with strawberry jam immediately." - she welcomed her Mistress, then turned towards Justine, her other slave, and the communications officer of the ship.
"Morning, Justine. Wanna ride me to the kitchen?" - she asked, still kneeling, then waiting a bit for her response.

Then, regardless of her answer, she made a curtsy, then turned around, heading for the kitchen in a trot. While she greeted everyone with a smile on the corridor towards the kitchen. Riding here, she also stumbled upon another slave, Miyouko.
"Ohayou Miyou-chan!" - she said good morning to her.
"Also headed towards the kitchen? Your Master will be pleased with you..."

[Olthar]

After being poked, Tiffy slowly opened her eyes and saw Ayane standing there. Yawning and stretching out her limbs, she greeted the vice pilot.

"Good morning, Aya," the cat girl said, yawning again, "Is it morning yet?"

Leaping down from the computer console, Tiffy began licking her hand and rubbing it on her face in place of a splash of water. While doing that, she also did a quick checkup on the console she had just gotten down from to make sure that everything was alright with the ship, finding that it was still safely in orbit around Titan. She then turned back to Ayane.

"Is there something you needed? And is it something that we can do on the way to the cafeteria?"

[Rupudska]

She made a wide smile, then blushed a little at her Mistress' compliment. She thought in herself.
I'm a robot. Anything less than perfect from my hands would be utterly unacceptable. Especially anywhere near my Mistress. Imperfection is what brought me down here, and that's why I call her Jou-sama, and not she calls me Ohime-sama. - she made a rant in herself, then started to speak.

"Good morning, jou-sama. I hope you had a pleasant night. I will make french toast with strawberry jam immediately." - she welcomed her Mistress, then turned towards Justine, her other slave, and the communications officer of the ship.
"Morning, Justine. Wanna ride me to the kitchen?" - she asked, still kneeling, then waiting a bit for her response.

Then, regardless of her answer, she made a curtsy, then turned around, heading for the kitchen in a trot. While she greeted everyone with a smile on the corridor towards the kitchen. Riding here, she also stumbled upon another slave, Miyouko.
"Ohayou Miyou-chan!" - she said good morning to her.
"Also headed towards the kitchen? Your Master will be pleased with you..."

Justine had, in fact, climbed up onto Teruko's back and rode her, putting her hands on Teruko's shoulders for support. She was actually fairly used to riding Teruko without a saddle. It was more comfortable for her, and it was more comfortable for Teruko.

"Oh, good morning, Miyouko. Getting something to eat, or is this for Gregory?"

[Hetland 2]

She made a wide smile, then blushed a little at her Mistress' compliment. She thought in herself.
I'm a robot. Anything less than perfect from my hands would be utterly unacceptable. Especially anywhere near my Mistress. Imperfection is what brought me down here, and that's why I call her Jou-sama, and not she calls me Ohime-sama. - she made a rant in herself, then started to speak.

"Good morning, jou-sama. I hope you had a pleasant night. I will make french toast with strawberry jam immediately." - she welcomed her Mistress, then turned towards Justine, her other slave, and the communications officer of the ship.
"Morning, Justine. Wanna ride me to the kitchen?" - she asked, still kneeling, then waiting a bit for her response.

Then, regardless of her answer, she made a curtsy, then turned around, heading for the kitchen in a trot. While she greeted everyone with a smile on the corridor towards the kitchen. Riding here, she also stumbled upon another slave, Miyouko.
"Ohayou Miyou-chan!" - she said good morning to her.
"Also headed towards the kitchen? Your Master will be pleased with you..."

Miyouko turned to see the centaur form of Teruko, and Justine, bowing deeply. "Good morning, Miss Teruko. Miss Justine, it is a brilliant day to be alive, don't you agree." She blushed, "Miss Teruko! I told you, he's not my master. Gregory is my mate! So it is my pleasure to fetch him some breakfast especially since he's been working so hard to get his contacts back..." She grinned widely, "He'd definitely do the same for me if our positions were reversed." She clapped her hands to her cheeks to hide her blush.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Lucy sighed, waking up in her bed. The fearsome soldier, killer of many and maimer of many more, put her teddy bear Cuddles off to the side. She got up, brushing her teeth. One had to maintain their hygiene, after all.

Personally, I never particularly bothered to brush my own teeth. Other people's tongues usually did it. An annoying British voice chimed in her head.

Fuck off, Crowley. It wasn't the real Crowley, of course. Just echoes of him because of the testing that had been done. And he was incredibly, incredibly irritating. He rarely had something useful to say, aside from suggestions on who to get laid with. Which was everyone passing through Lucy's field of vision, to her annoyance. Romance was nothing she could be bothered with. Casual sex had been tried and found disinteresting at best.

The South African girl picked up her katana, Adara. It was a useful sword, though a talkative one. It was linked to her being, so she knew where it was at all times. The sword knew where she was at all times too. It had a very flexible fibre, allowing itself to be transformed into a sniper rifle. Lucy was not clear on the specifics of this technology/magic/magitech, but Crowley's explanation had been far too pretentious to bother listening to. Whatever the case was, it was a useful trait. The sword had only been used as a dildo once, with its permission and Crowley's repeated urging.

Despite requests, Lucy did not use it for that purpose afterwards.

She put on her armour and sighed, knowing she would have to go outside and- God forbid- talk to people. They irritated her, especially when they were happy and trying to make an effort. She would rather curl up with a book outside of battle time.

Battle time...battles were different. Lucy enjoyed battles. They were the time when nothing mattered but a continuation of your own life and an end of the enemy's. Nothing else was important and would be until it was done.

But she supposed she should go outside to the mess hall and have some food. Food, unfortunately, was important. As a side effect, she would have to talk with her crew as well.

They have some pretty good bodies, you know. Trust me, you should try to-
Shut up.

[Starkindler]

Not sure about herself, the centaur looked at Miyouko's wrists, finding a slave bracelet on her like her own.
Not your Master my hindquarters. And you know I now have to curtsy before you, deeply as we are no different in rank. Nothing like a good laugh to start the organics' day, ne, Miyou-chan?
Terouko dipped into an equally deep curtsy, intricately balancing herself, as well as increasing the magnetic force against her kimono to cause the least distress for Justine, whom she expected to hold on to her.

Maybe I'll ask my Mistress to saddle me, or I'll saddle myself the next time I expect someone to ride me. - she thought about it, while blushing herself, then balancing herself, she stood upright again. She glanced over her shoulders to see if her rider and her kimono is in place, then responded to Miyouko, clasping her hands before herself.

"Oh, how nice is to hear you are so good terms with your... mate. I'm sure he's working hard for you, and for my Mistress, and the romantic he is, I'm sure he'll get your breakfast in bed for you, should he'll be your..." - she looked again at her slave bracelet - "Mate. I hope he's all right, and wish a productive day for him. And for you."

She looked again at Justine.
"Justine is hungry, and I have to make some food for her. So I would like you followed us, or even get on my back. There's enough place for you both..."

[Malshan]

Titan's Orbit
June 5, 2379
6:59 AM local time

Kralkanon's particle-selves drifted below their central hub as they 'slept', though 'stopped thinking' would probably be more accurate. They hovered above a table in the medical bay of the Grey Goose as they did so, some of their selves resting on the table itself. The time ticked by, though they didn't notice its passage; sleep was for them as death was for an organic being. Though it was a...temporary sort of death; all sensory functions would come back online after a few hours and their 'brain' would begin processing information once more. Until then, they resembled an interesting floating hunk of metals, rock, and a central orb.

7:00 AM local time

The orb dipped suddenly as Kralkanon once again became aware of their surroundings. The influx of information --- visual, tactile, and aural --- slammed into the core, which flared bright green as it caught up with the outlying entities. To their 'eyes', the room gradually came into focus and the lights slowly brightened, having noticed an increase in activity.

Kralkanon mentally yawned, a habit they picked up from the organics they had visited over the millennia, and formed their particles around the orb through which it created the silhouette of a tall human. The figure imitated a human's walk and headed out the door, which slid open once sensing the material nearing it.

They float-walked down the hallway as they headed for the cafeteria, another habit they had picked up. Organics required sustenance to survive and, despite not having the same needs, Kralkanon still enjoyed the interaction the activity provided.

They soon reached the door and walked through, the billions of entities observing the room and feeding their own unique reports back to the central orb. They cast their minds outward, probing the consciousnesses that the ship contained without penetrating them, and sent out the equivalent of a ship-wide PA call. We bid you all 'morning', as it were. Another beautiful day orbiting Titan.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

"So your decision is final, Sarafal?" Asked the figure that stood in front of Sarafal of Virtia, the Argellus scholar. Though they were two different beings, it was obvious that their bodies, or at least the original ones, had been created by the same hands, as the similarities in design were obvious: While Sarafal had a slim and slender frame, as opposed to the other Argellus, whose frame was strong and lean, the two were quite similar in regards to the design of their heads, their wings and even their seam patterns. The two were currently staring at each other with white eyes that glowed softly. To an alien observer, these two beings expressed no emotion, but in truth, they did, in their own way, as all Argellus did.

"Yes Ethrial, it is. I am leaving the Argellus Domains to study the universe." Sarafal replied, in the same monotone voice that characterized Argellus speech. To an alien listener, it would likely be rather difficult to differentiate Sarafal's speech from Ethrial's, but to an Argellus, any Argellus, it was an atrociously simple task, as they were much better at detecting the small variations in their kinspeople's voices. Not that it mattered a lot in this specific case, as both Argellus were speaking in their native language, a code of sorts that was incredibly difficult to attain fluency in for any who was not an Argellus.

"I see." Ethrial stated after hearing Sarafal's response, and then turned around, though its posture remained rigid. "In that case, Sarafal, my sibling, born of the same metal and born of the same crystal, good luck and farewell." The Argellus protector said to its sibling.

"Farewell to you as well, my sibling, born of the same metal and born of the same crystal." Was Sarafal's only reply, before it walked out of the austere gray room it had been in for the past several minutes, and out into the central are of Virtia, where a thousand white towers rose up into the clear starlit sky of the world known to all Argellus as Virtia, cradle of the Argellus Domains. As the slender mechanical being walked out of one of said towers, the light in Ethrial's eyes began pulsing softly, before turning blue. It was a deep, dark blue.

A sad blue.

Meanwhile, another Argellus landed right next to Sarafal, holding a piece of woven threads in its hand, as if offering it to Sarafal, who was slightly puzzled by this gesture, for more reasons than one.

"Tyzreal?" Sarafal asked, noticeably surprised, though, again, only to a fellow Argellus. "Why have you come? And, what is this object?" It asked.

"Can a warrior not say farewell to one who was born of the same metal and born of the same crystal?" Tyzreal asked, rhetorically of course. This concept was not one unknown to the Argellus. "As for this, it is a piece of cloth. Perhaps you should become familiar with its uses in alien cultures as one of your first tasks. It could assist you in blending in, however slightly." It explained.

"Thank you kindly, and farewell, Tyzreal." Sarafal said, taking the cloth and walking away. Tyzreal nodded, a remarkably uncommon gesture among Argellus.

"Farewell." It replied, and when Sarafal was no longer nearby, its eyes, too, turned blue.

And so, with nothing else to stop it, Sarafal made way to Virtia's starport, soon arriving and taking the first shuttle that led out of the Argellus Domains. Sitting on its spot in the shuttle, Sarafal of Virtia watched its homeplanet shrink in the distance until the many towers dotting it became nothing more than a thousand points of light...

---

Many decades had passed since that, thought Sarafal, so many in fact that its body was not the same one that it had occupied before leaving Virtia. The slender angelic machine was currently wearing a simple white dress shirt with matching (Deciphering the concept of 'matching clothes' was quite challenging for Sarafal, but it managed to crack it in the end) pants and a rather simple hat, and stood barefoot on the ship. However, the dress shirt was unbuttoned and worn backwards. The reason for this was quite simple, really, if you consider that Sarafal, like all others of its kind, have bladed wings and clockwork mechanisms on their backs.

The Virtian scholar was currently standing perfectly still on the observation deck, seemingly staring out into infinity with its oval white eyes. In truth, what Sarafal was doing was observe all sorts of things, from the stars and how they appeared to move, to the satellite below them, Titan, and its every detail. The Argellus absorbed all of these details and stored them in its memory, so that it could then analyze them and, perhaps, at some point, reach its goal: To understand.

[Neo Arcad]

After being poked, Tiffy slowly opened her eyes and saw Ayane standing there. Yawning and stretching out her limbs, she greeted the vice pilot.

"Good morning, Aya," the cat girl said, yawning again, "Is it morning yet?"

Leaping down from the computer console, Tiffy began licking her hand and rubbing it on her face in place of a splash of water. While doing that, she also did a quick checkup on the console she had just gotten down from to make sure that everything was alright with the ship, finding that it was still safely in orbit around Titan. She then turned back to Ayane.

"Is there something you needed? And is it something that we can do on the way to the cafeteria?"

"We are in space, Typhan'ni-senpai." replied Ayane. "It is always morning." She paused. "But it is morning according to the ship's clock, yes." Aya tapped at a console, checking the ship's time against Titan time. They weren't too disparate. She returned her attentions to her senior companion. Tiffy was awake and raring to go rather quickly, as was her custom. "I simply wanted to wake you up at the appropriate time. We should go eat something now, I am thinking." she said, cracking a bit of a smile as they headed out for the galley. A telepathic "good morning" was then broadcast into everyone's heads. Ayane flinched. You never did get used to that annoying mind-rape ball. That was one alien that Aya wouldn't ever get along with.

[Ende]

"Qiánjìn!" sung Lao merrily, taking a gulp of alcohol, spinning around in a swivel chair, located in his cabin. Why was he spinning around in an automated swivel chair and drinking at the same? He wasn't entirely sure. It was disorienting. The whole room was as if it was spinning, or flipping, or wobbling - it was like he was in the midst of flying his gunship. But less exciting, because there was absolutely nothing shooting at him. Perhaps the ship was entering the atmosphere. Or maybe he was drunk again. Didn't really matter, did it? The room was moving around. It was a rather boring room, to be honest - mostly empty. An old sword hung on the wall, a small miniature refrigerator was plugged into the side of the ship, a plain brown patterned carpet adorned the floor, and a case of alcohol laid on the shelf/desk beside the chair which he was in - near his bed.

"Gè mínzú yīngxióng de rénmín," he sputtered, froth dripping down his chin, taking another revolution on the spinning chair, "Wěidà de Gòngchǎndǎng - "

Alas, suddenly, to his eternal regret, the smooth glass slipped through his wet hands. With a scramble, he attempted to catch it, mid-song. Unluckily, the green glass bottle fell to the ground with a crash, shattering into dozens of pieces. With a look of disappointment, he stared down at the brown liquid dripping over the floor. How utterly disappointing. That was good stuff. And he'd have to clean that up, too. He shouldn't have dropped it.

On the other hand, he had reserves. Plucking another bottle from the shelf, he attempted to pop the cap off with his chubby hands. They trembled and shook - the hands of a drunk - and he scowled. Closing his eyes and concentrating, a ghostly hand extended from his chest. It was almost completely transparent - only a thin smokelike outline against the air indicated that it was there at all. Then, clutching the bottle tightly with both his physical hands, he popped the cap neatly off with the third hand.

Magic had more uses then he thought, really - usually, he used it to help fly his gunship - but, recently, he had been finding it useful for almost everything. On the other hand, he really should be doing more things physically. He was out of shape - much more than usual - and that wasn't really a good thing. Of course, he could probably remove that easily - this was the 23rd century - but it was still annoying. On the other hand, who gave a damn? He certainly didn't. Taking another sip, he continued with his song.

"- lǐngdǎo wǒmen jìxù chángzhēng, wànzhòngyīxīn bēnxiàng gòngchǎnzhǔyì míngtiān," he hummed, pausing between each verse to take another drink. Marvelous. He felt on top of the world. Well, no, he didn't. The knowledge that in the morning he would feel like absolute shit hung over his head, reducing his pleasure, but, on the other hand, there was nothing much for him to do at the moment. And, really, he kept his stash of various wines precisely for this reason. Even if he wouldn't feel so great in the morning, this was...well, not bad. It would have been better if he was back with his crew on the 42nd Chinese Gunship Regiment, but those times were passed. "Jiànshè zǔgúo bǎowèi zǔgúo yīngyǒng de dòuzhēng, qiánjìn." he continued, finishing the phrase, and drowning another sip from the bottle.

Somewhere deep inside Lao's soul, a fragment of Genghis Khan sighed.

"Wǒmen qiānqīuwàndài, gāojǔ Máo Zédōng qízhì, Qiánjìn! Gāojǔ Máo Zédōng qízhì, Qiánjìn! Qiánjìn! Qiánjìn! Jìn!" he finished, tipping the bottle almost completely up-side down and gulping the rest of it down in an instant, sighing in satisfaction as the delicious liquid filled his throat. He sat there in the slowly revolving chair for a few minutes, staring idly off into space - and then he passed out.

A few hours passed - he snored, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth, the spilled alcohol soaked into his carpet, probably ruining it permanently, and, for a short few hours, Lao was a pleasant man to be around. And then, at precisely 7:01 AM the next morning, he jolted out of the chair, leaping out of it with a hop, landing with a thud.

"We bid you all 'morning', as it were. Another beautiful day orbiting Titan." finished the voice, and then Lao felt a sharp jolt of pain as fragments of the emerald green glass of his own bottle embedded themselves in his shoeless feet. Howling in pain and clutching his foot, he staggered clumsily out of his room, before tripping over his own feet and falling on the ground, smashing into the wall. There was a figure down the hallway - couldn't quite tell who it was, but that didn't matter.

"Fuck you too, xeno!" he screeched, closing his eyes tightly and scrunching his forehead in pain. His mind struggled to form coherent sentences - they were really more along the lines of "oh fuck this is an awful hangover this was bad why did I seriously drink that much oh my word this hurts and this is exactly why I hate xenos". After a few moments, he cringed. He was going to murder that xeno. Murder it so hard. So fucking hard. Then, he was going to get his damn foot patched up.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. Wait. The doctor was also the fucking-rock-xeno-thing.

Lao sighed, and then mentally corrected himself - that wouldn't work out. He'd murder that xeno-rock-thing so fucking hard...after he had the glass removed from his foot.

There.

That was a much better plan.

Pulling himself to his feet, he hobbled painfully towards the cafeteria. He was starving. He hadn't eaten in a while, and, really, his foot could wait. The extinction of fucking-rock-things could wait. Breakfast, on the other hand, could not.

[Olthar]

"Haven't I already said that you can just call me Tiffy? I appreciate the attempt, but you're still not pronouncing my name correctly...Anyways, I'm hungry!"

The cat girl pat Ayane on the head before bolting out of the bridge on all fours. She didn't react to the telepathic message, perhaps because it didn't reach her, she didn't hear it, or she just didn't distinguish it as a unique identity. Her mind was so scattered and schizophrenic compared to the minds of most other species that the metal ball likely found it difficult and frustrating. In truth, most of the eccentricities of the Nekomimi were because of their...unique brain chemistry, and that probably did them more harm than good.

After a few moments, Tiffy suddenly came to a screeching halt in the hallways and spun around, charging back towards the bridge and returning to Ayane.

"Do you want to come to the cafeteria with me?" the cat girl asked innocently.

[AETEN II]

Ethan did have to admit- he found the cafeteria to be preferable on the Grey Goose. It certainly didn't compare to specially prepared Lunar Deer Venison, but the various cuts of beef that the replicator was programmed to produce was certainly better than the poorly programmed cheap devices used by fast-food 'restaurants'. He had tried a Big Mac when he was at a space station and his shuttle was late- shoes were probably tastier, let alone chewier. The Grey Goose also was able to create short-loin broils, and thus any dislike of the machine he could think of were silenced by taste. Although he didn't eat it simply because of the taste- his brain needed the energy to function. It was why he ate virtually anything with proteins in it whenever he could. While nutritional cubes were technically the most efficient choice- they tasted like shit.

Once finished with his enormous breakfast, and certain that his nanites would gain sufficient energy from it, Ethan dumped his plate into a disruptor bin and decided to walk up to the observation deck. On his way there, he passed by that rather odd human that he believed was called Lao. Simply incapable of making out what the man was so erratic about, although he guessed it had something to do with glass he saw scattered in its room, Ethan continued walking, albeit with a winkled brow.

[Konariona]

Dakkit turned the hydrospanner aroud and around, his arm beginning to ache, and he muttered to himself about ratios and rifling and gauss coils until the spanner made a twang noise. Then, he stopped and got up, and sighed, satisfied with his work.

Afterwards, he sat in the seat he himself had designed out of spare, random materials that had simply been just laying about, and moved the guns about- powered down of course. Pyotr would never let him swing around powered up guns... not after the last incident.
Work finished, the little furry Nettil came up to the cafeteria and looked at the ship's doctor- the floating-rock-thing. He never knew what race it was exactly, but at least he knew it's name.

"Morning, Kralkanon," noted Dakkit as he gulped down a bowl of oats with some strange creature still writhing about inside of it, "How's all that sentience going for you today?"
Picking up the hydrospanner, he launched it into the air, flipping it before it landed in his toolbelt perfectly.
He grinned.

[Neo Arcad]

"Haven't I already said that you can just call me Tiffy? I appreciate the attempt, but you're still not pronouncing my name correctly...Anyways, I'm hungry!"

The cat girl pat Ayane on the head before bolting out of the bridge on all fours. She didn't react to the telepathic message, perhaps because it didn't reach her, she didn't hear it, or she just didn't distinguish it as a unique identity. Her mind was so scattered and schizophrenic compared to the minds of most other species that the metal ball likely found it difficult and frustrating. In truth, most of the eccentricities of the Nekomimi were because of their...unique brain chemistry, and that probably did them more harm than good.

After a few moments, Tiffy suddenly came to a screeching halt in the hallways and spun around, charging back towards the bridge and returning to Ayane.

"Do you want to come to the cafeteria with me?" the cat girl asked innocently.

"I tried really hard to get it right that time..." Aya admitted sheepishly. "I will remember to- oh, she's gone." Tiffy had bolted down the hall ahead of her. It was a rather charming, typically Nekomimi thing to do. But, in keeping with her species' contrariwise tendencies, the senior pilot soon returned at the same speed and asked if Aya wanted to accompany her. "Of course, Senpai." she replied. "Let's go, shall we?" She headed for the cafeteria at a quick walk, a little slower than Tiffy's dash.

[Malshan]

Dakkit turned the hydrospanner aroud and around, his arm beginning to ache, and he muttered to himself about ratios and rifling and gauss coils until the spanner made a twang noise. Then, he stopped and got up, and sighed, satisfied with his work.

Afterwards, he sat in the seat he himself had designed out of spare, random materials that had simply been just laying about, and moved the guns about- powered down of course. Pyotr would never let him swing around powered up guns... not after the last incident.
Work finished, the little furry Nettil came up to the cafeteria and looked at the ship's doctor- the floating-rock-thing. He never knew what race it was exactly, but at least he knew it's name.

"Morning, Kralkanon," noted Dakkit as he gulped down a bowl of oats with some strange creature still writhing about inside of it, "How's all that sentience going for you today?"
Picking up the hydrospanner, he launched it into the air, flipping it before it landed in his toolbelt perfectly.
He grinned.

Kralkanon tilted their head in a gesture of acknowledgement of Dakkit's feat. 'Nice trick. Was that a calculation of angles, velocities, and other such equations? Or simply skill?' they asked mentally. The composite being commonly over analyzed such events, having 'lived' as long as they had. 'We are doing fine, by the way. Our minds are running at peak capacity, same as they have been for the last few million years.'

Kralkanon observed Dakkit's breakfast. 'If you don't mind me asking, how does that....taste?' Being a non-organic being possessing no ability to taste, Kralkanon was forever seeking to experience such activities through others.