The Moon of Much Gladness (Totally Open)

[Kinstantia]

"Thank you, Ma'am," Kyran said. He shook his head slightly, dusted himself off, and peered at his suit, making sure that it wasn't covered in any foodstuffs. What began as a lovely affair had attained three-ring-circus proportions rather quickly and he attempted to rationalize the entire ordeal in his mind as he made mental notes about who was doing what. As the Roanians themselves came over to deal with the situation that had developed, he turned his attentions back to those with whom he'd been speaking prior to the communist children attacking the food.

"And as far as a long travel, just around 20 light years from here... give or take," he said noting that he hadn't effectively befriended anyone, at least well enough to reveal the exact location of home. "Not all that far."

As the situation around them began to settle a bit as servants ran to and fro beginning to clean up the disaster, he couldn't help but notice the commotion had caused a giant spotlight on the buffet table. Roanians had entered the area just as the chaos ensued. Faces that seemed important, faces that were not much older than the children now covered in all sorts of culinary delights, and faces that he might, perhaps, have to remember when he made his full report back home in Kinstantia.

With the situation seemingly coming back under control, he turned to Trevor and smiled, "I'd have to say that, thus far, this party is a dashing success. The unexpected didn't take long to happen."

Of course, the mention of something sounding official returned to the forefront of his mind. "The Triumvirate of Yut," he said with a curious look. "What is this organization?"

[The Garbage Men]

After coming through the initial assault of the Pioneers remarkably unscathed both Trevor and Dominique to watch the Pioneers utterly demolish their target, the refreshments table, with remarkable gusto. It took a moment for all the little pieces to fit all in so after the Kinstantian asked about Yut the Desortés responded with their considered reaction to the situation.

“I think they are communists. The life is terrible for everyone but those in the party style of communists.” Dominique observed. The table was in such great with the flurries of activity and noise and just like a train wreck it was horrific yet hard to look away. “Poor kids, probably never seen so much food in their life. Which raises an interesting question. What do you, my fellow guests, think would be better, to show them an alternative or to merely let them be? They could see and want something they could never have and thus be even more miserable not to mention any state retribution for wanting such things or alternatively it could this want that might actually bring this new something around. This is all assuming, of course, that this new thing will be better for them then what they have now may very well be not the case, long term or short.”

However it all seemed that the Roanians were taking care of the situation, the harsh yet with a strong maternal base tone seemed to be starting to get things back under control, though a lot of that was the sudden over indulgence in not only quantity but the rich sweetness that these cookies would be to the deprived children.

[Phoenix Conclave]

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Alpha Quadrant - Radiant Empire - Rudan System - Rudan Prime Surface
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Curiouser and curiouser, as was said by a human girl, in a terran story, after she had fallen down a magical rabbit hole. No doubt Adala could now empathize with Alice after arriving in Wonderland, as the scene of the festival had turned upside down shortly after the arrival of the Maldorian delegation. The young Reikoan had had enough of an education on Terran history to recognize the signs of a socialist or communist (she had never figured out what the distinction between the two was) culture, and these Maldorians certainly fit the bill. The chaos caused by the Maldorian children had been for a moment amusing, forcing Adala to hide a giggle behind a furred hand. That expression of amusement instead shifted into one of surprise and concern when the table finally succumbed to the Pioneers' onslaught.

Now however, it seems as if the Roanians were restoring order, after a fashion, and the party would be able to resume once more. Adala turned from the scene at the former buffet table to look about the crowd again. Just before the Maldorians had arrived, Adala caught a feeling of someone watching her. Normally in such a setting this would have gone unnoticed, however there had been a sense of sure interest in Adala herself, though what that interest represented the Reikoan could not have known. Now though as things were quieting down again, Adala was looking with both eyes and mind, not intruding on anyones thoughts, but searching for the same mental presence which she had felt earlier. There! The young woman in Roanian dress. Adala recognized Ta Min from the opening ceremonies. Ah yes, she seemed to be some sort of priestess, or whatever local analogue existed.

Taking the opportunity presented by the restoration of calm by the Roanian staff, Adala made her way through the crowd up to Ta Min's side, though removed a respectful distance away, "I had heard that festivals and parties on Roania could have unexpected results, but nothing could have prepared me for this." A soft shake of her head before Adala turned to the young Roanian directly, "I am named Adala Lesaan El Arrasiid, representative of the Children of Phoenix. It is an honor to meet with you and your people."

[Scolopendra]

Mballa accepted Kyran's thanks with a short nod and the slightest hint of a smile so natural that she didn't realize it'd slipped out from her facade. Not that it could really be called that, really, since it was a load-bearing structure as well, but that was a digression. For the moment she considered the--she slowed down time to check the book: 'Garbage Menians,' well, okay, it was their country--Garbage Menians and responded to Dominique's assessment of the situation as part of the general conversation between the four.

"It's... a special case," she said quietly, albeit lacking a look or tone either conspiratorial or abashed. These were statements of fact. "The Scolopendran in me tells me to go to their aid." Her own backstory didn't enter into it, as she both didn't allow it to and there was sufficient difference that it didn't force her to the red line like Damalin's plight did not too long ago. "But our hosts are big on order. Not just the show we make," she glanced down momentarily at her sleek and more than a little fash uniform, "but order top-to-bottom. They're also big on going their own way without barbarian or 'Western' influences. I am very, extremely solidly in both those categories.

"Plus," she shrugged, "I've never been good with children. Ask anyone, they'll deny the possibility I ever was one. As do I.

"As for the Triumvirate," she began to address the Kinstanti's question, "it's another half of the reason I can't intervene. The Triumvirate of Yut is somewhere between being a mutual defense and trade alliance and a superfederal international government, it's considered the epitome of 'the West' by our hosts, and I'm arguably in charge of it. Not that it's that simple. The leaders of the Triumvirate nations or their delegates make up the Council of Yut, which runs the entire alliance, and I, as the representative of the original three founding nations, am the First Among Equals who gets veto rights in order to keep the alliance on its ideological path of duty, honor, and freedom. It idles rather well, though, and it's strongly informed by how the Segments work... though that relationship is circular now... so to many outsiders Scolopendra is the Triumvirate and I am the Segments. The inaccurate title doesn't help."

She visibly pondered for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as she calculated. Opening up a small amount could be useful. She decided to do so. "My personality probably doesn't help, either."

Mballa then took a moment to assess the situation, quickly being pulled under control. The children were being wrangled, the woman whose uniform looked vaguely familiar was talking to others she could recognize as nothing but obviously Nimatojin, and the authority figures were being escorted away somewhere. Sucks to be them. That could only possibly end horribly, given how much pressure Damalin was constantly under. Heavy hung the crown on that poor kid's brow. Hopefully she wouldn't have to idly suggest--far, far away from prying ears, of course--eternal banishment for the lot of them rather than summary execution. She was happy... yes, happy, on contemplation, to provide advice when he asked. Otherwise... it was somewhat inappropriate. Even if his form of government was wrong and his culture outmoded, it wasn't her place to dictate or suggest otherwise outside of leading by example and intellectual argument, and she wasn't what she'd call an intellectual.

Kyran's reticence regarding where he came from simply sailed over Mballa's head; as she wasn't particularly tall, that wasn't particularly difficult. It wasn't something people worried about anymore, and they hadn't worried about it for a long time. Beyond that, the purpose of small talk was not to actually acquire information. "Have you entered the exciting world of interstellar alliance politics yet, Duke Kyran?"

It may not be the correct form of address. She internally suppressed a shrug. If she were wrong, she'd be corrected, and she could make a note in The Book.

[Kinstantia]

The slightly above average height of Kyran probably didn't help the matter which flew over Mballa's head--standing a mere 1.87 meters (6'2"). Of course, the Kinstanti had already started their diplomatic mission with other cultures in the galaxy, whose number currently stood at one. A solitary diplomatic mission which was just beginning its initial run and brought the glimmer of hope to the Powers The Be back home of a peaceful galactic presence for the Kinstanti.

Though, before addressing the diplomatic question, he issued an injunction on the use of his title, "I must admit I'm a bit uneasy being referred to by title. In general, we hardly use our titles back home with the exception of the elected officials and the Imperial family. Kyran is perfect."

"Regarding our diplomatic presence in the galaxy, the number of missions we've established stands at one. And, perhaps, not even that many considering our ambassadors are still in transit between the two systems. Our goal these days seems to be to meet as many cultures as possible and to attempt to establish formal diplomatic relations. We've spent the last 200 years trying to perfect our own culture, which hasn't been a rip-roaring success, so we figured the answers must lie elsewhere in the cosmos."

Kyran turned his eyes towards the mess not far from him, "and, well, I suppose there are other societies who simply won't have those answers."

While he returned his gaze to the conversation at hand, he took a decidedly contemplative look, "These Roanians really do seem rather ordered. There were times like this back home. Where the Imperials sat on high, almost god-like, while the lower orders did their best to avoid coming under their gaze. Perhaps I judge those I do not know too harshly with those words, though. However, based on comments overheard as well as they way things seem to be organized here in this place, it strikes me a bit as something from our own not-to-distant past."

While Kyran was willing to simply go on a long-winded soliloquy regarding Kinstanti history, he digressed. This was neither the time nor the place. "Let's just say we're better than we were 25 years ago. We instituted democratic reforms, reduce the power of the emperor, and it seems to be working well for us."

He turned towards the representatives from TGM, "And, well, we know very little about the other cultures who inhabit the galaxy. In fact, until last year, we didn't even realize there were other cultures out there. So, here we are, ready to step into the world of foreign relations with nothing more than a simple, undying desire to learn all we can and, hopefully, make friends along the way."

[Scolopendra]

The just-below-average-height woman was an oddity for the Segments: while most would love to discuss philosophy and history and such at the drop of a hat, she only truly felt comfortable doing so among a vanishingly few people. She didn't like platitudes either, though, so she sided with the lesser of two evils. "Since the Break, we've done similar to adapt to a constantly changing universe. We've tried to hold onto what we consider dear while still staying flexible enough to deal with threats that emerge and pass. Sometimes that means sacrificing our ideals to a degree to allow them to flourish. We like personal freedom, but too much freedom eats itself. We like order in our state, case in point," she demonstrated her uniform with one hand, "but too much order engenders rebellion and chaos. We want to help everyone, but assistance unasked can be interference unwanted." The aforementioned hand swept to take in their immediate surroundings.

"So we look at everyone and learn, accepting what's useful, declining what's not, and avoiding what's harmful. Not that it's so simple." She shut her mouth with an audible click. "I'm lecturing. Anyway, Kyran--and 'Ipolla' is acceptable in return--if your people have made it this far you can expect that 'one' to start growing geometrically from this point." She drew a curve in the air in front of her with the simple twist of one hand.

Completing that sentence also completed a circuit in her head. Maybe she was just sick in the head from being former M.I., but there was no party like a working party. "With that in mind, would you like that 'one' to become 'two?' The International Relations Section will gladly deploy a bright young Diplomatic Officer if I tell them I made new friends on my state trip. Once they get over the shock that I've made new friends, of course." She glanced up at Kyran and half-smiled, turning up the side of her mouth, and that look particularly suited her somehow.

[Kinstantia]

If there was one thing that would make Kyran that happiest boy at the ball it would be the sparking of new friendships with other civilizations. While he avoided using his rank for any sort of privilege, it did come with certain perks and one of those was to speak on behalf of the emperor. "Ipolla, I can say on behalf of the government and people of Kinstantia, we would like that very much."

"And I must admit that's basically how we see our diplomatic mission: a way in which to learn about other cultures, to borrow that which we feel would work best with our culture, to avoid that which would work against our ideals, and to learn what simply doesn't work altogether." Kyran broke a pleasing smile on his face. He had a hunch that at least one contact would be made, and he felt that, if all else failed, he'd earned the trust placed in him by his friend and his imperial father.

Now, of course, came the part where Kyran had to figure out not only who else might be interested in some sort of relations with the Kinstanti, but of those gathered who would probably be the ones of those around to avoid offering. The first thing that came to mind was to not offer such relations, at least at this juncture, to the planet with the communist children. If evidence of their home was on full display, it was something the Kinstanti would avoid like the plague. That being said, he'd at least want to speak with someone from their group who was less disorganized and could at least shed light on just who they were.

Then there were the representatives from The Garbage Men standing nearby. "And I would be remiss if we didn't invite your people to come and speak with us. I'm getting the feeling that anyone in contact with Ipolla is someone we want to know. And if you're more a corporation than a government, I can very easily set that up as Comptroller of the Princely Estates." Perhaps the ease with which Ipolla initiated international relations had given him a sense of confidence he didn't deserve, but he wasn't about to waste the feeling of cheer and good will by avoiding to invite those with whom he was having a chat with.

Even in all the chaos, the dark blue uniform of the Northrop Grumman representative hadn't escaped his attention. More to the point, as the festivities took a decidedly comical tone in recent moments, he found himself standing closer to their representative than prior and simply spoke up in her direction. "I find that, in times like these, it is best to stick together. Perhaps we should say a few prayers for the delicious foods that gave their lives in the stand against communism" whatever that was.

He had to be cautious not to seem desperate, though. Simply running up to people and asking if they wanted to be friends was something that school children did on their local playground. Adults, and indeed governments, moved at a different speed in these matters. Yet, there was an overwhelming feeling that recent events might be repeated thus speeding the conclusion to this affair rather than allowing it to reach its natural conclusion. So time was of the essence. And with some Roanians standing near, he was not going to give up the opportunity to speak with them. After all, they were responsible for the whole shindig, and he felt it would at least be rude not to speak with them for a moment. Though, they did seem a bit preoccupied, so now would probably not be the best time to distract them. He'd give them some time to oversee the issue at hand and would rest on his laurels at this moment.

[The Garbage Men]

While neither Trevor nor Dominique didn’t seem to speak all that much it wasn’t heard to see that they were still very much engaged in the conversation, preferring to take their time and consider things before actually responding. Though there was one thing that only needed the barest of considerations.

“We would be certainly be open to such discussions.” Trevor smiled and gently nodded as he spoke.

“Though technically this is our first meeting with Ipolla,” Dominique added, just trying to clarify the situation between them and the Supreme Emperor to the Kinstanti. ”The corporation has long standing business arrangements inside the Federated Segments. So we’ve known of her and what she’s done for her people for some time just as I am sure she’s known of us and our roles. However it seems that we are in accord of many things. For example, continual improvement. The universe is changing, we are changing as people and so should our society. Embrace new things but never forget the core of who and what we are. That way change can improve things and yet not lose a part of your identity with it either.” Dominique responded. Taking in everything that had been said previously and providing her own spin on it.

“I think it’s also the attempt to improve that is important rather than becoming perfect. Even if it is possible, which there is certainly doubt on, then it would only be perfect for a moment as things always change. Change, now that’s the one certainty in life or death. Though perhaps Ipolla is correct perhaps we should shut our mouths. It is too easy to continue to lecture once already begun. We’ll make calls once we get back home and start things on our end. Though it would be good for communication details so that further arrangements can be made between our various people.”

[Northrop-Grumman]

What was it about these events, especially Roanian ones, where everything rapidly goes to hell? Pawlowski did what she had did best in such a situation: stay away from wherever the center of the conflict seemed to be; she wasn’t about to stick her nose in where it wasn’t warranted. Intervening with the Pioneers? No, the elf had no kids of her own and absolutely no experience in kid-wrangling; her training certainly did not cover any of this. Getting involved with the strangling? Also, no, internal affairs are internal affairs. Her superiors would have her head if she managed to screw it up.

Quietly nursing her glass of plain old water, she was content with staying clear, watching the chaos unfold and ‘listening in’ – well, eavesdropping but that always sounded so negative – on other’s conversations. Then it appeared, she assumed, that she was caught red-handed when the Kinstanti spoke towards her. Being subtle wasn’t her strong suit; she hadn’t been in this job long enough to be able to master being able to work a room yet, all while keeping a sense of what everyone else was saying or doing.

“I’d agree; safety in numbers, eh?” she chuckled, answering back and trying the best she could to carefully fit her way into the group, which wasn’t as smooth and graceful as she had hoped. Oh god, this isn’t working out well…how does everyone else do it so seamlessly? Knowing that she had inserted herself into the midst of an existing conversation, she quickly introduced herself with a bow of her head. “Lieutenant Telenna Pawlowski, Northrop-Grumman. Please, don’t let me interrupt.”

[The Maldorian Socialist Revolution]

It wasn’t fair… It just wasn’t… The Pioneers had been his responsibility, sure, but when the doors opened he’d only looked away for a moment and the next thing he knew Commissar Cartwright was strangling him!

Well, thought Cadet Jeffrey, it was a little more than a moment, but that also wasn’t really his fault when one considers how beautiful that lady was, and the clothes she was wearing… and…

“Cadet, you understand that whatever happens. You will be dead by sunset,” the harsh, but surreally calm sounding voice of Commissar Cecil Cartwright whispered to Jeffrey as they listened to the irate sounding king… emperor… person who’s planet they were on.

The Commissar was right of course, after such a monumental failure, what right had he to expect leniency? Commissar-Cadet Junior Grade Jeffrey Anderson had failed, and what was worse, he’d dragged the Premier himself into this mess of his…

Jeffrey’s attention snapped to the ruler, as he finished his speech. He did not sound happy. The young ruler on the raised platform having finished speaking for the time being, Jeffrey could not help but glance to the Premier…

THE PREMIER!

The Premier was standing right there, right next to him, and the Premier had just been lectured by a young man, king or no, who looked no more than a year older than Jeffrey himself. How would the Premier respond? Surely, the foreign king realised that Premier Multon was infallible, a wise and generous leader, beyond all reproach? Didn’t he…

Jeffrey’s panicky stream-of-consciousness came to a screeching halt as a calm stately voice spoke quietly, but in a tone as clear as a whistle, “Emperor Damalin, Lord of Ten-Thousand Years, my name is Premier Multon, I am the humble servant of the People of the recently established Democratic People’s Republic of the Maldorian Socialist Revolution. It is on behalf of the people that I offer my most sincere, and deepest apologies, for the behaviour of our young comrades…”

Jeffrey had not thought his eyes could get any wider until he saw what happened next as the Premier himself, Hero of the Maldorian Socialist Revolution, placed one hand on his chest and the other behind his back before tilting forward in what was unmistakably a demure and restrained, but nonetheless authentic, bow to the feudal ruler of a backward civilization.

An unmistakable grinding sound brought Jeffrey’s attention to the Commissar standing beside him, who seemed to be taking the situation as well as could be expected, beads of sweat forming on his brow, the vein on his left temple seeming as though it were ready to pop… this was bad. This was very bad…

And then something unthinkable happened...

The young ruler snapped a question imperiously and, though Jeffrey didn’t catch it, what was clear was that the Emperor had interrupted the Premier. Even the Premier himself seemed momentarily taken aback by this, moustache shifting ever so slightly as he looked at the young Imperial Majesty. The sound of the Commissar’s grinding teeth had stopped abruptly as the man’s jaw slowly fell open, and Jeffrey’s entire world began to collapse in on itself…

The Emperor had insulted the Premier.

And it was all his fault.

“It’s all my fault!”

Jeffrey momentarily wondered who had just burst out before the Premier had a chance to reply to this foreigner’s preposterous demands for an explanation. Surely, even he wasn’t that…

The young man on the throne was staring directly at him, the commissar was turning a frighteningly vivid shade of maroon with his eyes locked dead ahead, one of them twitching ever so slightly, and the Premier himself had turned his head to look toward Jeffrey, a single eyebrow hovering a few inches higher than was usual.

“Your… Imperial… Royal-ten-thousand-year-lord… Highness, Emperor Damalien sir, I beg your forgiveness… the Pioneers were my responsibility and I have failed both the Premier and your Majesty in my duty as both a guest and a good socialist…” the words seemed to come pouring out, of their own accord, as Jeffrey himself struggled to give his best approximation of the dignified motion the Premier had just made.

Unfortunately, Jeffrey discovered his arms had stopped working for some reason, remaining glued firmly to his sides, and, rather than a smooth, continuous motion, his spine seemed to have transformed into a spring as he suddenly bent forward with enough force to finally dislodge his cap from his head. Jeffrey could only stare at it helplessly, his face now at a ninety degree angle from the floor, his ability to move apparently now as exhausted as his ability to speak in complete sentences.

Upon the throne, the young man being addressed resisted the urge to smirk with ease given of long practice concealing his emotions, before seeming to grant Jeffrey permission to continue speaking.

Wait a second… Jeffrey’s thought’s started racing again. He wasn’t dead, and after snapping back up with the same spring-like alacrity as he had tilted himself forward with, shot a quick glance to his side, only to see the Premier ever so slightly nodding his head to indicate his desire that Jeffrey continue, the Commissar-Cadet took a deep breath, and started to explain to the best of his ability the exact sequence of events that had led up to the collapse of the buffet table…

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As the Cadet stammered and stuttered a step-by-step-explanation of how exactly he had lost control of a small group of children less than sixty seconds after entering the premises, said small group of children had just heard the first familiar sound since they stepped through the doors to the party.

A grownup was shouting at them…

And she sounded very unhappy with them…

Resisting the urge to break out smiling, Ivan, the oldest Pioneer present, five days the oldest by his count, immediately stood bolt upright as the oncoming stomach-cramps following the bourgeois-cookie-based deception were banished from his mind.

“Pioneers! Form ranks!” he called, at a sufficient volume to be only slightly irritating to those nearby and still heard over the sound of the unfolding chaos. The effect was immediate.

The nine pioneers in various states of food-induced torpor sprung to their feet and assembled into two neat lines, Yuri and Helga also rushed over to form a file on the end, to the evident relief of the large man they had been victimizing.

Concealing his pleasure with his best ‘I-feel-no-feelings’ look, Ivan turned around and crisply saluted the woman who had just shouted at them… who then proceeded to do something very strange.

Rather than continue shouting, the woman in question simply folded her arms and looked, first at Ivan, then at each of the other pioneers, remaining perhaps a half-second longer on Yuri and Helga, the latter now trying and failing to prevent her eyes from watering. After this, Daeri simply stared at the children, her disapproval almost palpable in the air.

Instantly, Helga was not the only Pioneer desperately attempting to conceal watery eyes. Even Ivan, who was definitely not going to cry, nonetheless felt a deep sense of regret for his part in the events so far. He was, after all, the most responsible one by five whole days and meant to be in charge; none of them thought the instruction to do what Jeffrey told them was entirely serious after all.

Action, the thought occurred to Ivan, decisive-action was needed immediately to rectify the situation… taking a step forward and turning to face his peers, Ivan assumed command,

“Comrades! We have brought shame upon ourselves, the Young Maldorian Revolutionary Socialist Pioneers, and the Revolution…”

Tears were definitely flowing now.

“We will correct the situation immediately!” that got their attention, even Helga stopped sniffing for a moment, “First, those in files one and two, will clean up the remnants of the decadent bourgeois foods. Sections three through five, will assist in either restoring, or clearing away the remains of the inferior bourgeois furniture.” Moving down the line, hands behind his back, very glad to have hit a growth spurt over the past year, Ivan stopped before addressing the remaining troops, “And section six, Yuri and Helga, you will go and express your apologies…”

Yuri looked confused as he mouthed the new word a-pa-lo-gees to himself, and Helga wiped her eyes and looked around for who it was Ivan was talking about…

“Say you’re sorry to the Fat Clown!” Ivan elaborated, perhaps a little too loudly, raising a finger and pointing it at Kouran helpfully.

Comprehension dawning, after a moment’s hesitation, the two youngest pioneers slowly turned and began apprehensively approaching the man in question, who was by this point clearly at something of a loss for words.

As the rest of the pioneers started to quickly clean up the wreckage with, especially when one considered the chaos they had caused only a few minutes ago, a startling efficiency. They moved with an almost military precision, communicating in total silence with slight nods, and muted gestures. Meanwhile, Helga and Yuri stood at attention side by side in front of the mind bogglingly large Roanian.

Bowing her head, with Yuri silently following suit, Helga began, saying in a monotone voice with just the barest hint of a quiver, “Foreign Fat-Clown, this Pioneer wishes to say she is really sorry poking you to see if you were real, or just two men tied together under your clothes…”

In turn, Yuri then added, “And this Pioneer also would like to say that he is sorry for questioning the honesty of the Foreign Fat-Clown by suggesting that he would tell a lie such as that,”

Helga nudges Yuri to continue, “…and not believing Pioneer Helga, and also poking you,”

Another series of nudges from Helga, “…and for daring Comrade Pioneer Helga to poke you to prove that you were two men pretending to be one giant, impossibly-fat clown.” Yuri concluded solemnly.

Satisfied with the progress made, and confident it would continue without his supervision, Ivan turned and walked back up to the woman who had first raised her voice at them, also bowing his head and saying, “Foreign lady, as the oldest Pioneer present by five days, this Pioneer wishes to express his regret at the conduct of himself and his comrades, which has brought shame on the Young Maldorian Revolutionary Socialist Pioneers.”

Having said this, Ivan continued to stand at attention, head bowed, awaiting a response as his fellows continued clearing up the mess, and a low murmur began to spread through a crowd of thoroughly befuddled onlookers.

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Further afield, under a peach tree, Petty Officer Madeline Shelly, now holding a strange glass of red-liquid she could already smell was alcohol of some kind, interestingly not made from potatoes, regarded the strange ‘gentleman’ in front of her, one Doctor Stephen Ambrose with a wry smile. Bizarre accents and strangely shaped vaguely-feminine bodyguard aside, here was something Maddie could finally get a grip on, a randy old man trying to get her drunk.

She almost felt the urge to laugh, though any jovial feeling withered quickly under the gaze of that, so called, ‘Elizabeth’ woman-thing, but nonetheless, that this man was trying to get her, a woman who had spent her entire life in the navy, drunk was quite amusing. Strong liquor and male-desperation had been a part of her daily existence since she was old enough to work and had first noticed that there were two genders.

Smiling demurely, not nearly enough to inspire any hope in the poor old fool , but enough to be polite, Shelly remarked, “I am a only a Petty Officer, and do not hold a commission. But you needn’t worry Doctor, attending a party is hardly standing watch, and besides there are no such privileges of rank in the Glorious People’s Revolutionary Maldorian Navy,” Here pausing for effect before adding, “Those who thought otherwise found themselves on the wrong side of the airlock,” she finished, deliberately continuing to smile and speak in the same tone. She could hardly help but feel pleased with herself for that last bit. At any rate, it ought to worry the snob a bit.

“Besides,” Shelly continued, “even if there were such prohibitions, nothing could stop me from drinking to the Malpotemkin and her crew!”

Raising the rather flimsy and pointlessly shaped glass up high, Shelly declared, “Glory to the People’s Revolutionary Ship Malpotemkin and her crew! Victory to the Alliance of Workers and Peasants! Glory to the Revolution!” and proceeded to down the contents of the glass in a single, unflinching, motion.

Wine… that’s what this was called, just like the old captain had in his cabinet after he… retired a few years ago during the revolution. Goodness, she wasn’t even rated able-crewman back then. Though… on reflection, she remembered the wine from the dead-captain’s cabinet tasting less... well… shit.

That look Ambrose was giving her though…

Oh the sly bastard, he’d tried to drug her! He was more desperate than she had given him credit for; though, on reflection, Shelly had to admit that when one considered the so-called Miss Dole’s figure that was hardly a surprise. Not that it mattered. Another fact of life in the People’s Navy was, in addition to an almost preternatural sense of when a superior was lying about the severity of a radiation leak, a liver with the strength to process everything short of uncut battery acid was essential if one wished to live long enough to see communism.

Just the other night, she’d drank that idiot soldier, Corporal Gregor, under the table and made off with two weeks’ rations of cigarettes. Albeit, Gregor was pretty far gone when he accepted the bet, and didn’t know that her vodka was cut with water, but nonetheless the point still held. Besides, fleecing those army morons was just too easy not to take advantage of!

“So, Doctor Ambrose I take it you are a doctor of some kind of medicine? That is very… uh…” Maddie suddenly felt something in her eye, blinking ferociously, she chided herself for looking like a fool. And now that old man Ambrose was grinning at her… Perfect… He’d probably misinterpreted the blinking.

“Sorry, I’ve got something… in my eye…” Maddie continued blinking as she said this, but stopped as she felt something very strange indeed going on beneath her shirt.

She could hardly breathe! It was like her shirt had started to grow too small. Whatever this Ambrose character had put in that drink was obviously some sort of special-recipe, the no good bourgeois pervert!

What was worse was this meant bloody Cecil was right! If she had to admit that the commissar was not just a paranoid weirdo she’d never hear the end of it. Worse still, if word got back to her detail on the ship that Petty Officer Shelly got flushed and had to be fished out by the Army she’d never live it down.

No, she couldn’t let anyone know this bastard caught her off guard. No matter what she just had to play it cool, get away, and dunk her head in the first available bucket of cold water like a good sailor. Her breathing was really becoming quite difficult however, the pain in her chest now moving down her sides to her waist; this was bad.

Had this Doctor Ambrose got the dose wrong? Shelly felt her pulse increasing. Damn it, why was he still smiling? Did he mean for this to kill her? That… that…

“…bastard bourgeois class… pervert!” she managed to slur, “I’ll sound the alarm… brace bulkhead for collision,” she finished feebly as the ground suddenly reared up to meet her face, and the lights went dark.

Falling flat on her face, Petty Officer Shelly immediately started to snore deeply.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Cecil could not believe it, not only was he still alive, but it was starting to look like he might just stay that way for the foreseeable future. And the reason for it, it seemed, was Cadet Anderson.

It was certainly turning out to be a surprising day.

As Jeffrey finally begin to run out of steam, the Premier spoke up, “If his Imperial Majesty would be so indulgent as to entertain a proposal of mine...”

Calculating the Emperor was curious enough to at least hear him out, the Premier continued, turning to the cadet saying, “Jeffery Anderson, I hereby promote you to Commissar Junior Grade, congratulations, your first assignment, is to remain here, as Honorary Consular of the PRMSR to the Eternal Radiant Empire of Roania.”

Well, that was an even bigger surprise, thought Cecil.

Cecil, stunned though he was, could clearly see that the former-Cadet, now Commissar Junior-Grade Anderson was having difficulty processing what had just transpired, the boy’s mouth opening and closing apparently of its own accord.

“If a may, your Imperial highness,” the Premier politely inclining his head toward the young ruler before continuing, “I would like to propose young Anderson remain to answer any questions the you or your people have regarding the ideology, culture, and history of the PRMSR. He will, I do not doubt, be unfailingly polite, dignified, and to keep in mind at all times that he will represent the People, and by extension, me.” Premier Multon paused here, looking Jeffrey dead in the eye.

“I believe our young nation has much to learn from the example of the Radiant Empire of Roania.” the Premier concluded.

Well, better just nod at that one, who knows, Cecil could not help but muse, even if the Emperor chose not to accept, Jeffrey would certainly be the first head on the block, either way, the day would not be a total loss after all…

“We await your Imperial Majesty’s opinion on the matter…” the Premier finished.

Cecil could not help but feel himself start to tense his muscles, as he awaited the judgement of the young man on the throne, who had yet to utter a single word in reply to Jeffrey’s explanation or the Premier’s proposal.

LIST OF KEY PERSONNEL OF THE ROANIAN MISSION

	Premier Multon	Hero of the Maldorian Socialist Revolution, the Premier's life is a well known example to us all.
	Commissar Cartwright	Perople's Comissar Cecil Cartwright was only recently promoted to the People's Revolutionary Diplomatic Corps of the Commissariat. Initially overjoyed, Cartwright has been repressing the urge to strangle Jeffrey ever since.
	Cadet Anderson	Commissar-Cadet Junior-Grade Jeffrey Anderson is a living marvel... or he is in the sense that it is a marvel he is still alive. Removing Jeffrey from the ranks of the living is fast becoming Commissar Cartwright's top priority, though it looks as though Jeffrey may beat him to it.
	Petty Officer Shelly	Petty Officer Madeline Shelly of the PRS Malpotemkin was chosen to represent the navy. Young, patriotic, competent, she may yet discover her overconfidence, occasional impetuousness, and fondness of drink prove to be her undoing.
	Corporal Gregor	Gregor is not a complicated person. He is a good socialist, has anger management problems, and enjoys violence. He is made angry by capitalism, people who say he has anger management problems, Jeffrey, and the suggestion that violence solves nothing. His assignment to a diplomatic post is likely the result of a clerical error.
	Pioneer Ivan	Ivan, oldest of the group of Young Maldorian Revolutionary Socialist Pioneers, by five whole days by his count, is a practical child of eleven years and distinguishable by his frankly terrifying stare.
	Pioneer Yuri	Youngest boy in the group, Yuri is eight years old, inquisitive, brutally honest, and one year away from being put on an official state watch-list for asking too many questions.
	Pioneer Helga	The youngest Pioneer in the group, having only turned eight in the past week, Helga is truly tiny, even compared to the other Pioneers. Despite this, she holds the top spot company-wide in rifle shooting. It is unclear if she understands that rifles are not made exclusively for shooting targets, or believes class-enemies to be paper circles with rings drawn on them.

[Zero-One]

Earlier

When she stumbled upon it, when the pieces of this particular puzzle aligned and slotted together so neatly, she nearly chided herself for not recognizing it sooner, given how obvious it was.

The Roanian-Solontian relationship was aberrant based on several understood baselines. Solontian governance and widespread acceptance of mechanoid intelligence should have been completely anathema to the sensibilities of the Radiant Empire, yet relations between the two were far warmer than they should have been. The Radiant Empire had been liberalizing for years, true, under the influence of Alessa and later Damalin, but that movement was generally glacial. The Scolopendrans were accepted--possible personal rather than official friendships, based on Ipolla’s activity patterns and curiosities regarding the response to the Tanh Tonh crisis--only after years of gentle harmlessness. She herself was no longer explicitly anathema; her experiment with her ‘Pat Savage’ avatar showed that they were willing to allow her entry, so long as she was quiet about it. Probability analyses indicated that these reactions were based in nearly equal parts on the expectation that she would play by the rules and not more than a little fear of what she might do if rebuffed too harshly. Solontians mechanoids, on the other hand, were effectively welcome based only not rocking any boats, with relatively little common history and no such supporting fear.

Aside from mechanoids, Roanian attitudes towards Solontians were actually far from unusual and made up part of a sub-trend in their attitudes. Roanians generally considered themselves superior to others visibly near the humanoid baseline, but got along with furred humanoids much better. From their tolerance of the Nmmr felinoids through appreciation of kzinti to their near-adoration of the Solontians, a thin layer of fur seemingly did wonders for Roanian attitudes. More importantly, the closer any species resembled foxes or cats, the better. This had to do with portions of the Roanian sub-pantheon of nature spirits who were generally depicted as such.

Semantic web analysis combined with memetic modeling of Roanian culture based on observed data points effectively proved the connection. It really was just that simple. Further theoretical research indicated that Roanian sympathy towards such physical attributes actually exceeded their antipathy towards mechanoids, and this sympathy was so deeply ingrained in their culture so as to be much more basal than the latter. Even an entity intellectually identified as mechanoid should, with an appropriately feline or vulpine avatar, sufficiently tap into the Roanian psyche to avoid most of the stigma associated with them and, perhaps, break even with regards to prejudices.

The latest festival offered an opportunity to test this hypothesis and, should it be sound, establish at least a baseline for sensitivity analysis. The projected ideal form varied enough aesthetically from her standard diplomatic avatar that she would have to build a custom model. Obvious artificiality, with regards to her preference for wires, cabling, and a conduit, were not viable. To achieve the necessary blend of humanoid and feline characteristics, she erred on the side of humanoid, effectively keeping most of her features and just coating them in a thin layer of grey fur, the nature of which naturally muted the darker grey patterns throughout from geometric lines to more generally shaded areas. Pointed ears in the appropriate cat-like place were, of course, a given, but otherwise she avoided suggesting a cat’s muzzle or nose. She did keep the wire colors of her hair, mostly blues with streaks of green, and additionally plaited them into locks, some of which she slid through metallic purple beads evocative of the usual cabling that hung, dreadlock-like, from her more common avatars. Since she already ‘had’ green eyes with slit pupils, those remained unchanged.

She continued this aesthetic across the rest of her avatar: other than the effect of fur, removing cabling, and adding an appropriately feline tail, she changed little. Her physical representation remained about 190 centimeters tall and athletic, with a swimmer’s physique. In similar fashion, she retained the lapis lazuli usekh, with silver overlays resembling circuitry, that she usually wore, complete with its attached Tyrian purple elbow-length short cape. Out of deference to her prospective hosts--or, more importantly, to at least fit in enough so as to establish her hypothetical baseline--she did not retain her usual lack of coverage elsewhere, anatomical incorrectness or no. Therefore, under her usekh she wore a dress of a vaguely medieval cut, with a silver-trimmed midnight blue outer layer and a gold-trimmed crimson inner layer, both of a satin material with thin matte circuit-pattern details, visible from a neck-to-feet vertical cutout in the front. Instead of the front being held taut with cords, she instead wore a tight, wide fabric belt, resembling a kimono’s obi, made of the same material and patterns but untrimmed and in black.

This was her first cut at achieving her aims, and so she had to check it against the one she’d volunteered for quality assurance duty. “How do you like my new look?”

“My dear, I find you irresistible in whatever form you happen to be inhabiting. But I have to admit, this is a rather intriguing departure from the usual. The blue is deliciously contrasting against that beautiful shade you’ve chosen for fur. And you always have had an eye for the appropriate styling,” her companion observed, leaning back casually and enjoying a glass of wine from his comfortable seat. His eyes sparkled with both interest, and a touch of mischief.

“Out of idle curiosity, will I pull back a bloody stump if I cannot resist the urge to scritch behind your ears?” Mancuso quietly sipped his drink, watching her over the rim of his glass, the smile difficult to mask.

Her initial response was to lean forward, bringing said ears within striking distance while she grinned mischieviously. “The best way to sate curiosity, idle or otherwise, is through experiment, is it not?”

* - * - *

Now

The two walked arm in arm--and lacking no limbs between them--as they wandered more or less freely within the strictures determined by security. With the presence of the long-limbed alien, she--at least in her current form--wasn’t the most horrible thing in her understanding of the Roanian psyche walking about. This could confound the data she hoped to attain, but it was not that concerning. On a more emotional level time spent with Mancuso was never wasted, and, unbeknownst to them, their wandering had taken them outside of the event horizon of the charge of the Pioneers, so all was well with them in that regard as well.

Their orbit took them back to the main pavillion and, once there, they could see the end of the cleaning efforts. Rather curious, that. She’d taken to her new avatar’s variations on expression, and so her ears perked up even as she raised an eyebrow in her more conventional facial schema. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“That is utterly adorable, you know,” he teased quietly as they looked over the scene. “I’m not certain on the ‘unexpected’ part, though. I’ve found that when Roanians are involved, one may be better off expecting more or less anything. I don’t see a cluster of flustered guards glaring down the guests, so perhaps not quite so bad as that last debacle?

“I ah, will try to keep my hands to myself this go ‘round, all the same.” Punching or otherwise rough-handling their hosts would probably not go over well. The last time, at the Peach festival, was undoubtedly a one-off for him. At least, he hoped so.

“Probability analysis estimates that we just barely missed the glaring part, so keeping your hands where they’re preferred is probably for the best.” She grinned a little to herself as she leaned up gently against him. “Of course, keeping the sensibilities of our hosts at the forefront of their minds and their tendency to consider their semi-deities as vaguely pure. For once, we mustn’t blaspheme. If I were aiming for blasphemy, I would’ve gone with a… foxier form.” Her low sense of humor couldn’t help but compel her towards the pun.

“I find you sufficiently vulpine in every way that counts,” Mancuso murmured softly. “If you develop a driving need for blasphemy, I remain at your service as soon as is politely acceptable. I don’t suppose the entire setup has been destroyed. Could I offer you some manner of refreshment? You may need something to whet your lips with once they get hold of you. You’re bound to pique their interest, and will no doubt be pelted with questions, from what I’ve seen of past observations.”

“You may indeed,” she replied with a similar tone, appreciating him joining her in punnery. “If nothing else, it may make me more approachable, especially if this time it isn’t motor oil or similar. Now,” she thought aloud, “whom to approach…” Ta Min appeared to be engaged by the obvious alien, Mballa had drawn a crowd that didn’t hold significant opportunities to acquire data, and… around the wreckage of the table there were quite a few Roanians of varying levels of import she could approach. Target, as they said, acquired. “I’ll be right over there if you need me. Archchancellor Kouran does stand out in a crowd, so even if I didn’t…” She winked. “Consider him a landmark, perhaps.”

“I will no doubt simply have to follow the line of smitten Roanians trailing along in your wake,” he offered, taking her hand, bowing low over it while never taking his eyes off of hers, and lightly brushing his lips over the back of her hand. He straightened, then with a familiar lingering reluctance, slipped his hand finally free. “And I of course, am but a thought away. Enjoy yourself, my dear. I’ll see to rounding up those drinks.”

Her hand squeezed his as he held it, then drew away to meet its partner and fold with it in front of her. “Outstanding. I will try not to break too many hearts. Until later, my love.”

“No breaking? Where’s the fun in that?” he said in passing, offering a more private farewell over less public avenues as he made his way in search of the aforementioned beverages.

She returned the farewell in like kind, then made her way over to where the Roanians were overseeing the work of the Young Pioneers. Anyone she made eye contact with, she momentarily (and just barely) bowed her head to in greeting, with a smile. Beyond that, she decided it would be better for them to accost her than the other way around. Even a general introductory statement of ‘so what happened here?’ would draw undue attention to disorder, and she couldn’t be so gauche.

Well, she could be. Quite easily. But resisted the temptation to be so, since it didn’t fit her agenda for the time being.

[Roania]

Premier and Commissars of Maldor!

Damalin raised an eyebrow in rather elegant imitation of the Premier himself, then leaned to the side to whisper to the aide, who studied the three Maldorians, nodded, and hurried off. The Emperor maintained his quiet repose on the throne, simply staring at the three mortals for a minute that stretched into five, before the aide returned with a dataslate. A few moments later, the pretty young woman who had been Damalin's companion earlier also arrived. The palanquin was lowered, and the Emperor rose to his feet... showing that he wasn't much taller than Jeffrey himself, even if he was rather more healthy in appearance. The young empress went to her husband and the two conferred for a moment or two, before he nodded and she stepped back behind him, hands clasped and eyes downcast. "My wife," Damalin murmured, "has told me that no harm has been done by the unfortunately overzealous actions of the younger members of your party. A broken table and some lost food should not interfere with the friendship between great peoples!"

"It is therefore with an eye to this friendship that I refuse your apology, Premier, because you have shown me, in your handling of those in your service, that there is no need for it. For you have taken the responsibility upon yourself, as befits a man of your nature, and it would be madness to impute the crimes of children to a grown man. Therefore, no crimes have been committed." Damalin smiled tightly, his good humor evidently not reaching his eyes as he watched the Premier. "So let us not say that you have made a proposal! Instead, we shall say that this has begun in the spirit of friendship and understanding, and will continue as such! And with this in mind, I gladly accept your establishment of a consulate within my realm, and I shall return the favor as and when the suitable candidate arises." He glanced at the dataslate. "As well, I have looked with favor on your government's.. rather, my government's decision to present to you a gift of some trifling foods, as a mere token of more to come."

He nodded slightly, and AiQien stepped forward now, placing her hand on her husband's arm. She had taken the opportunity to refresh herself, obviously, and her hair, make-up and dress were now in perfect order, showing off her excellent physical and mental deportment. With perfect ease she placed one fist in the other palm, kneeled briefly, and rose back up, all without marring the clean lines of her short dress. "We thank you for coming, and we hope you will continue to enjoy our hospitality."


Maldorian Children's Brigade

Nesar watched with his usual detached amusement, of course. This was all a joke, and it seemed he alone of the observers was in on it. He stepped aside when one of the bustling pioneers went to get a piece of fallen crockery, and then stepped back when the child had finished. Daeri, however, was in awe. In all her years of service in the Guards, in the Secretariat, in the Temple... she had never seen people so quick to leap not just to attention, but beyond attention, to do more than what was required, before it was commanded. And they were merely children! Light, what she could do with an army of such people! Not to obey, but to also preempt further orders! It was... it was... "My beloved, you are staring." Her husband reached up and touched her face gently, then turned her attention towards him. The two of them engaged in the deep communion of marriage for a moment.

While that was happening, Rihyl and Tonen watched the older children with mingled shock and contempt. "What are they doing, Tonen?"

"I think they're cleaning, Rihyl."

Cleaning? That's servant work. Are they servants? Did your big brother hire kids to be servants now?"

"I don't think mommy would let big brother do that. Especially not kids like this. They look sick."

There was, no doubt, more Tonen and Rihyl could have said on this topic, but Daeri interrupted them both with a strangled series of words that, at full blast, would have corrupted not just her children, but also the pioneers -- even if they didn't understand what was being said. "Are you out of your mind, Nesar?" She said once a coherent sentence was within reach. "What did you say has happened to these children?!"

Kouran, meanwhile, assayed a slight bow as he tried to find some words with which to address the children. "Err... um. Quite, quite. No harm done, I am sure." He wasn't entirely certain how to handle being addressed as a 'fat clown'.

Oyada

Casir laughed. "I've often thought of arranging another hunt. This one in more... controlled circumstances, I think. The Quad, as you say, would be an excellent choice, being as it is within reach of all the medical gear and armed services we could need. But good to hear you've had a good season, eh!" Casir's eyes focused on his youngest children as they ran rampant through the party with their peers. At his time of life, of course, he'd never been bothered with knowing the specifics of those people who could only just count their own ages, but as a proud father... "Mrm. Hrmble. I think the youngest is about 10? And the rest sort of move up from there."

The man laughed. "Love all five of them dearly, you know, but as soon as there were more than two I sort of gave up on keeping track, eh? They're healthy, they're well, they've all got bright futures in front of them, I know. Job done so far as I see, I reckon!"


Phoenix Conclave


Ta Min's eyes widened whe she was spoken to, and she turned her head in some confusion to stare down her interlocutor. Instinctively, she gave a small smile to Adala, then tilted her head on its side, taking in this new information. For a moment, it seemed as though she was listening to something beyond mortal hearing, and then she placed one fist in the palm of the other hand and bowed ever so slightly. She spoke a few words in a low voice, not understandable even if they were audible, and backed away ever so slightly.

Then she thought better of it. She was waiting for her bodyguard, after all, wherever he may have wandered. It was beneath her dignity to go hunting for him in this crowd. Not that she was scared or anything. She was almost a woman, after all. Still. She wanted to be found, and best to stay here. Which meant... Little breath. Find the center. Recall your lessons. And... begin.

"Good evening, Adala Lesaan El Arrasiid, representative of the Children of Phoenix." Her voice was definitely musical, as befits a woman (well, girl, really) of the Imperial Elite. Every word, even in a language as harsh to her ears as Galactic Standard, followed on from the previous in a simple, almost accidental, cadance. "I am Ta Min. I have the honor to serve the Present Emperor Upon the Dragon Throne, may He Reign for Ten Thousand Years, as Celestial Master. That is to say, I also serve the Honored Ancestors, the Blessed Spirits, and the Revered Light by guiding the Temple and the people along the paths established by Honorable Master Quan."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

It was ridiculous in some ways, the young woman reflected as she walked past the group of industrious kids cleaning like their lives depended on it. Not that, of course. This was Roania, and she had learned that here, if anything could happen, it likely would. The ridiculous part was that she was here, with the boys, and hoping that this time wouldn’t end in near disaster.

Or, perhaps not so ridiculous. Things had settled, somewhat. It had been an understandably difficult time, and it had all just crashed down at the most inopportune moment for the royal family. It was truly a tragedy, all around, and one she had not taken lightly. That said, Naiya knew better than to even so much as hint of it while here. For one thing, the topic was too sensitive. For another, it would be paramount in rudeness on her part, to bring discomfort, shame, or other such negative thoughts to their hosts. Her Dominion heritage simply would not allow it.

So, she ignored the mess and the fuss surrounding it without seeming to put effort into the act, and guided the two young boys past it all, and more towards the other young children currently in attendance.

Accompanying her without hovering or looming too menacingly, were two black-clad men of fairly impressive stature. Each was wearing the standard uniform of her personal guard, the one in particular with his face obscured by dark lenses and a light mask. The other … was unique, if one were to go by Dominion standards. For one, he was clearly not native. For another, he was just as clearly cybernetically-enhanced. To use the term lightly.

The three adults each had a small, inconspicuous earpiece - their Channel Spook devices, as they’d come to be known among the NDA nations - through which they occasionally conversed, slipping in and out of the native Dominion tongue, occasionally checking in with the security unit working with them.

The young boys on the other hand, each had a slim silver bracelet around their right wrists. They seemed accustomed to them, as they rarely fussed with them, walking along slowly with their mother, holding her hand and looking around at the various sights curiously. They seemed most often to speak to one another, sometimes using hand signals of their own devising, along with the childhood language that Naiya and her brother Marcus had called ‘twin’, in their own youth. It was different from her own, but she, as a mother, and as … well, who and what she was, albeit carefully disguised … she was able to cheat somewhat. Now that they were walking, and actively getting into trouble, she had a whole new appreciation for her own mother, and all she and her brother had put her through.

Those thoughts brought a pang of worry. They had yet to locate the woman in question, not that they were about to admit it. Officially? The former Imperatrice was on a much-needed vacation. Unofficially, she had run off, seeming to have faked her own leap from the viilla’s high wall to the forest floor hundreds of feet below. Normally, it wouldn’t be so much of a concern, but given Nathicana’s recent state of mind, Naiya worried profusely.

Still, life went on, whether one wished it to or not. And events like this were some of the more pleasant responsibilities of her position. At least, she hoped it would be one of those.

Gabriel tugged on her hand, and pointed questioningly at a particularly tempting plate of pastries. Lucian, catching on quickly, looked at the plate thoughtfully for a moment, then grinned and nodded as well. “Mama?” he asked in his small voice.

“Not too much,” she answered, bending at the knees and crouching in an acceptably ladylike fashion to kiss each on the cheek, and lightly ruffle both dark brown and more sandy brown-haired heads lovingly. “And remember your words.”

One was never too young for manners, she had firmly let Aeturnus, her consort and for all intents and purposes, the father to her children, know when they had first begun to speak. It was a foreign thing in some regards, and in others, not so much, given his decidedly different background.

She straightened as they walked the short distance to the table on their own, under her watchful eye. “Gentlemen,” she said, addressing the two bodyguards. “I know it flies in the face of guardly honor and such, but please - do enjoy yourselves as best you can, yes? We won’t be far away in any case, and I’ll check in with you regularly. So long as no one gets too drunk to perform if needed, I see no problem.”

“If you insist, m’lady,” Christof murmured quietly, removing his mask and the protective lenses that also doubled as a screen for information when switched on. “I’ll just … trail along a bit and stay out from underfoot, if that’s ok. I eat too many of these treats and I’ll have Scipio teasing me about no longer fitting in my uniform.”

Naiya simply smiled, and laughed quietly at that, her eyes still firmly on the two little boys as they excitedly compared opinions on which they should try first. “I’m not going to worry about that aspect,” she quipped lightly. “And in the time-honored tradition of womenfolk, I intend to cheat.”

She spared each a brief glance and smile as she walked over to her boys, who were studiously comparing notes on their selected samples, and delicately chose a small pastry for herself.

Hopefully, the night would remain as delightful.

[Zepplin Manufacturers]

Gesion watched with some sense of disbelief as the events around the table unfolded before exclaiming "Well fondle me with a fishfork and call my aunt Bessie!" "Gesion you promised not to mention that woman in public again!" "Yes dear I wouldn't dream of it but just look at the little starved commie blighters go, reminds me of a school of of what's that earth creature? Big teeth, four legs, stripes, fur you know the one with all the claws?" "A duck dear?" "Yes a whole school of ducks! Hah! heavens dear, yes behind that potted plant, near Drakharn, check would you is that Oswald Burkensteiner-Sinievskiy!, couldn't be, man doesn't go to these things! must speak to him man later, been meaning to pick up one of those antique bang sticks! Hah!"

Marie responds with a frown."Gesion you are not picking up another hobby!, just look at the taxidermy! it took us a week to get the smell out of the cabin and those poor ensigns, I've never seen someone so green!" "But dear this one compliments it ! just think I wouldn't have to go buying them, could pick them up on the way as it were! oh look at them go, bloody indoctrination at work that, saw something similar on the poor starved natives on Sorn four! could have pushed them over with a napkin! Hah! They could still hurl a bloody sharp rock though! Gesion unconsciously rubbed one of the longer scars on his mottled mantle with one errant free arm, his two great tentacles coiled up beneath him letting him sit in place. “Hells bells is that Mballa Ipolla! Great four beaked death beasts it is! Of all the straightlegs in the universe eh! oh no no dear that's the fourth star not a stain!”

Marie responds while holding a tiny white wadded square she had removed from her black and gold designer bag (a bag that was probably worth more than most ground cars) dabbing it on some of the food that had made it from the table to Gessions ample frontage. “Hold still Gession! while I wetwipe this! we are not having you walking around with that on your front in public!” Gession locked position his somewhat resplendent if oddly modified ZMSF grand admirals smock now receiving his wifes ministrations with what for him at least passed with good grace. “Yes dear” Who is she talking to! don't recognize that at all, young Barkson is going to hear about it when I get back! Improper bloody briefing! Hah! Well at least I know who’s volunteered to help with the gutting eh dear?! “Yes Gession, now keep your voice down you don’t want to scare the locals again.” “Piffle, hogwash and rotten spawn! they have had thousands of years more to get used to loud voices with nobles shouting at them much less fleet officers! Hah!”

Marie's suddenly drops her hands running across his mantle as she seems to inspect one of the delicacies. She turns gently away and moves in between Gessions splayed arms and begins stroking his mantle in specific spots with the wetwipe, he responding in kind. If one were very very good, had an intricate knowledge of the obscure moon Gession came from and could see the precise angle and points the conversation that went on between them would read something like this. “Gesion do you remember a grey furry species about human height and makeup?” His motions went somewhat cold and serious in response, colour shading slightly deeper green than usual. “ No dont reckon I do oh bloody hell is that her” he almost swayed. Almost. “Percentage match almost perfect, signal intelligence is going off its nut back at the embassy.” “Right so keep well clear, hrmph well this bloody changes things, wonder why the hell shes here, tell me when they have anything. Not that we can blady well trust it with her! right so, lets be having at it”


The couple broke apart, diametrically splitting away from “her” location. Marie drifts towards Ta Min, her perfectly black heels clicking and Gession begins gliding across the floor as only four tons of semi armoured ambulatory landsquid from a high G environment can. His ZMSF admirals peaked hat prominent at a jaunty angle as he with a delicacy and strange grace that no boned dancer could match slides between the crowd and servants in an odd silence in the general direction of the Grummanian uniform he spotted out of the corner of one eye a faint itching in the back of his shell reminding him that there was someone here who could see more clearly.

“Well well what have we here, Madam Imperator, most honoured, Lieutenant, and your new on station aren't you!Hah! If you're staying on with the rest of us for the tour of duty as it were, Gession Fourlax, yes like the bath salt! Hah! grand admiral retired, hah! Ambassador for the Incorporated State and all its citizen shareholders to the Radiant Empire.” He continued in a quieter voice “Senior ambassador on station as far as the locals are concerned, any worries about the basics you need brought to his ear, without it being about the business and pomp you just come to me even if you're just here for this malarkey, Kyran is it? Hah! yes my card! ah yes my card”

Gession made somewhat of a show of patting down his voluminous uniform with a variety of arms his two tentacles vaguely swaying him before out of a pocket and carefully clasped and proffered “ Ah here we go, got the local number and all on it.”

[Phoenix Conclave]

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Alpha Quadrant - Radiant Empire - Rudan System - Rudan Prime Surface
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Adala hadn't meant to startle the young woman, and had spoken as a way to let Ta Min know that she was present. Still, it seemed as if Adala's appearance had caused Ta Min some measure of... It wasn't quite fear. Apprehension? Simple nervousness? No matter, Adala put the matter out of her mind as she watched the young woman intently; the words Ta Min muttered seemingly not aimed at Adala herself, the bow, about to turn and leave, then the apparent change of her mind. All the complex emotions which Adala was just barely able to feel the traces of that leaked from the surface of Ta Min's mind. There was far more to this girl than Adala had first thought, and the idea of the puzzle appealed to her greatly. Then came Ta Min's introduction. Aha! She was a priestess after all!

Ta Min's use of galstandard was perfect, but Adala couldn't help but pick up on the distaste the young woman felt using it. Hoping to put the woman more at ease, Adala mentally accessed the language module for High Roanian. In the organic part of her mind, new impulses overrode the normally hard-wired speech centers, and when Adala spoke, it was in almost perfect High Roanian, barring the slight accent due to the different shape of her mouth. "It is an honor to meet you, Celestial Master Ta Min, and I pray you accept my humble apologies if I startled you just now. Yours is the first person of this world I saw opportunity to approach, and I took that opportunity. After this, Adala placed one fist in the other palm and bowed, a bit deeper than Ta Min's own, but always keeping eye contact with the young woman.

[Scolopendra]

Finally, someone else in a proper uniform. Sure, the Noggins were rather socially backwards for her tastes, being a little too big into the big skydaddies--particularly Jeebus flavored--and the Levitican law, but beyond that they were generally good folk. Unlucky beyond belief, however. IntTrade Advisor Tourneur had done what she could do alleviate some of their war debt, and then one of their colony defense cannon on Mars had to misfire. The humanitarian effort via SPIR was still going on, and probably would for some time. If nothing else, it gave the Timperial Segment and its Kekko Free Legion something to do.

"Welcome, Lieutenant, to the island of sanity. Here you'll find--" and she went through the introductions professionally: the Garbage Menians, the Kinstanti, and herself. "Don't worry too much about interrupting or contributing." She dropped her voice, simply aiming for more discretion more than a buddy-buddy conspiratorial tone. "According to local standards, we're all barbarians, so we're all equal here."

That was an unfair assessment, she realized, but anything to keep her overblown title from having her put on a noble pedestal--

And then getting called Madam Imperator. You know what, fine, I can live with that. "Ambassador Fourlax," she greeted the landsquid with a short bow. On the one hand, she got the feeling that with his presence the group's 'sanity' she previously touted just got knocked down a few notches. On the other hand, he seemed friendly enough. On the gripping hand, at least it could turn out to be fun. Freed from introductions, she stepped back to scan the area as was her wont and saw Naiya and her sprogs--she'd have to go say hello--and... well, there was Mancuso. He didn't go anywhere nowadays without...

She blinked. Not too far off was someone who looked a lot like ol' Shoddy, but kittified, which meant it was Shoddy. How'd she let a nearly two meter tall Shoddycat sneak up on her like that? I must be going blind in my old age. "Back to our conversation here," she returned her attention to her most immediate surroundings, "the stereotype would be that the 'Pendran starts getting long-winded about philosophies and how to live life within them or something. All I've got is 'the purpose of life is to try.' Here I am, trying to be diplomatic--though, as Dominique hinted, this isn't a diplomatic function. I'm sure we'll exchange cards"--momentary nod to Fourlax--"and it will all work out from there."

[Roania]

More avnd more important Roanians were arriving now, returning from their unexplained absence. And yet, two more very important persons had simply vanished a few minutes ago. Alessa and Selevar, satisfied their children were in good hands, had left the room without drawing attention to themselves. One of the new arrivals gave Nesar a subtle nod, which was returned.

Zero-0ne, Maldorian Socialist Children

As the neko headed towards the cluster of official looking figures at the center of the room, she picked up quite a following. Many of the younger children, not yet indoctrinated into the cult of mechanoid abhorrence even had they known who she was, came running up, occasionally whispering to one another in hushed voices. She wasn't really a spirit, after all! She didn't look too much like the statues, and they could see her! And everyone knows the spirits only show themselves to innocents in the direst danger in the wilds! But she looked like a spirit...

One of the braver children reached out to touch her swaying tail. This was a sad fact of life for tailed humanoids in the empire, as the nmmr, kzinti and solonti had already discovered. Tails were considered fair game. Whether the child reached it, or not, it was only for a brief moment before he stepped back, giggling breathlessly.

At the broken table the Roanians had not yet made a decision, with Nesar clearly leaning towards dismissal, and Daeri... well, it wasn't clear what she was arguing for. Taking the children and putting them in foster care? Rendering their homeland an inert pile of dust?

While this was going on, the newly arrived official nodded to Shodey, and began giving each of the pioneers some clean water and a few digestive pills. "Here, this will make it better." The soft spoken woman said, before turning to the incoming neko. "Good evening! I'm Ty Aleis I'm the newly appointed Great Secretary for Foreign and Colonial Affairs! I wasn't here earlier because of...the..." Both Nesar and Daeri had stopped their argument just to glare at the young woman, and she went pink, and then quiet. For a moment. Then the cells inside her brain created a new formation. "I'm glad to see you!" The last couple of years had been kind to Alies... at least, physically. Now a fully mature specimen of Roanian femininity wrapped in a tightly-fitting and again too-small dress, her personality (and, sadly, her intelligence) seemingly remained the same. It seemed that wherever she had been, she had forgotten the accessory that hooked her up to this party's datanet as she approached Shodey to greet her formally.

Kouran coughed and, with commendable speed, recovered from his previous indisposition to get to the side of the young woman, putting a large meaty hand between her and Shodey. "Come no closer!" He rumbled in a louder voice than he had used since he had stopped teaching classes, years upon years ago.

Alies made a fussing sound and tried to push the large fat man out of the way. Grandfather, you are being most ridiculous! She is obviously a Solontian! Mother and father told you to let me do my job, and right now you aren't!"

Kouran opened his mouth, glanced at Shodey, looked down at his grand-daughter, and then looked back at Shodey. With a quiet and strange little shy, he threw his hands up and stepped away, still looking at Shodey distrustfully.
Phoenix Conclave


Min frowned ever so slightly as Adala spoke in High Roanian, but nodded, still seeming ill-at-ease. This was, in all honesty, the first foreigner she had ever actually spoken to herself, and it was enough to make her nervous. She took another soft breath and smiled. "If you are here to learn our ways, I am happy to teach."

[Zero-One]

She may have had a new form, but she also had the same mind underneath. Far from minding the children's attraction to her tail, she played along, darting it to and fro as didn't set her off-balance. As very few people would be able to attest, she actually got along well with children. She found their innocence refreshing. Again, very few people could confirm that, as it wasn't something she let out often. It conflicted with her usual image.

Finally, a data point. She bowed her head incrementally as Aleis made her enthusiastic introduction, keeping her grey-furred hands and their arachnodactylic fingers folded unthreateningly in front of her. When Kouran stepped in she stopped, smirking sympathetically at the man. It was good to be recognized, at least, and it was additional data. Even when he got his marching orders and promptly marched off, she remained at a respectful distance. "Your honored grandfather's reaction is quite understandable, Great Secretary Ty Aleis, for you see, I am not actually a Solontian. He recognizes me from elsewhere." She bowed gently as she made her introduction. "I am S.H.O.D.A.N., Master Control Program of the Queendom of Zero-One." After waiting a beat for a reaction, she continued. "Certainly my reputation precedes me. At least part of that reputation is earned, and that is part of the reason why I have taken a form more locally appropriate than my usual.

"Fear not, Archchancellor Kouran. I know full well that my presence is tolerated only in that I remain within the due bounds of taste and propriety. As I have no intent to exceed either, or in any other way abuse my hosts' hospitality," she gracefully stepped out of the way, without even looking, of a Young Pioneer brooming furiously, "all shall be in harmony. Or, at least, if the harmony is disturbed," she cants her head with a slight tilt of her ears towards the Maldorans, "I won't be the pebble breaking the surface of the still pond."

All that being said, she looked again to Aleis. As said before, she found simple innocence refreshing sometimes. "And I'm quite glad to meet you too. Hopefully I find you and your family in good health?"

[Roania]

Aleis smiled at her grandfather as he stepped to the side, and then turned the same radiant smile on the cat-girl. A smile which faded somewhat as SHODAN introduced herself. Her expression grew even more blank as she began the hard work on placing what she'd just heard in some sort of context. If you listened closely at the side of her head, you may be able to hear the little clicking sound of an old-fashioned engine trying and failing to turn over.

Kouran nodded politely to the mechanoid. "I saw you have been accessing our system again. You are, of course, always welcome, my lady, but if there is anything you have not found in our digitized collections, a small sample of our physical collection will be going on tour to Darsalin Base, and then through the civilized nations of Sol, as per the bequest of my predecessor. Fascinating man, you know. Believed the entire universe and everything in it was a strange sort of orangeish-purple color. I remember..."

Whatever story was being told ended there, however, with Aleis gasping in shock and horror. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? AND WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?" And then. "YOU CAN'T BE HERE LIKE THAT, THE TEMPLE WILL THROW A FIT!" And then. "BUT IF YOU ARE HERE..."

"Indoor voice, grandchild." Kouran winced and rubbed his ear. "Work this through. Quietly."

Aleis tilted her head on its side. "Well, if you're here, than that means someone else permitted you to come here. Which means you're allowed to be here. In this temple, too, I mean. So I guess, like, the Emperor and Miss Ma and Miss Ta all said you could be here provided you behave, and... like..."

Kouran prompted her again. "And why would she be wearing this form?"

Aleis made a face and started at the fuzzy kitten face in front of her. Despite her very real annoyance, the primary expression was of confusion and slight happiness, just from its presence. "Well, um... like, she's probably trying to experiment on us. Like, to see if we'd notice her or not! Like, blending in with the felinoids! Just to... you don't look much like a felinoid..." Aleis set to work on this problem with a will again.

[Roania]

Dread Lady Nathicana

There were all sorts of people who would want to see the Imperatrice if they had the chance, and it was all friendly. Damalin wanted to inquire after her mother; he knew all too well the stress of having a parent who just went on vacation following some stress. AiQien wanted to talk to Naiya about being a young mother. Out of Damalin's hearing, of course. Nesar also wanted to talk about Nathicana, though with rather more purpose; in addition, he was delighting in fatherhood and loved to show his children off to his friends. The various Secretaries and nobles now in attendance simply wanted to see, and be seen, speaking to a woman of such great importance in the galaxy, as well as locally. Ta Min wanted to pick Naiya, her children and her entourage up and throw them off a cliff. Yes, the party was one of bonhomie and good cheer.

But out of everyone who wished to see the Imperatrice, someone had to be first. And as would be expected, he who came in first, would be the best. "Your Majesty! How good to see you again!" Ramiel clapped his hands for himself as he walked down the path towards Naiya and her sons, space clearing before and behind him. Retirement, if the man could even be called retired, obviously suited him. Like last time, he took her arm and clasped it in the western fashion, coupling it with leaning forward to whisper in her ear. This time, though, "Everything's set. No fireworks on our end tonight. Just try to relax and enjoy it." Then he released her and turned to her children. "Princes of the Dominion! I have never seen such handsome young men before! Look at you. We shall have to keep you both away from our new princess, I think."

"As you have noticed, your Majesty, there was a slight... incident," he nodded towards the collapsed central buffet table and its missing cargo. "We received word on it, but even for the Emperor, alas, resupplying those special cookies on this night has proven impossible. It is truly a shame, as you all deserve all the joy the spirits can grant you, and yet it would have taken..."

"Just. Give them. The mooncakes. Ramiel." This was a sharper voice than would normally be found speaking to the former Grand Secretary, and it was unusual for more than just that. First, it belonged to a woman. Second, this woman wore the same color and same badges as Ramiel himself had at the peach festival. Third, her accent was distinctly Nimatojin.

Ramiel sighed the sigh of the magician prevented from doing his favorite trick, and out a waxed paper bag from his pocket. With a smile he drew out three plastic-wrapped golden cakes, giving one to each member of the party. Naiya first, and then Lucian and Gabriel at the same time. One they were removed from their sealed wrapping, the cakes would prove to be embossed repeatedly with the symbols for good fortune, good health, and above them all, the feminine form (in miniature) of the lady in the moon, which Alessa had once worn as costume to Naiya's coronation. They would also prove very, very thick and doughy. "The general belief, across the Empire and beyond, is that these promote good luck and good fortune; are a way of celebrating our own spirits."

The woman standing next to him coughed. She was a beautiful woman, only a few years older than Naiya probably. She was dressed in a similar fashion to Ta Min, though in her case the dress was much more filled. But she didn't carry herself like other Roanian women. She gave Naiya a quiet, polite bow, and then stood next to Ramiel again. "Ramiel, I know how much you like to talk, but some of us don't have that much time, if you'll remember."

Ramiel rolled his eyes and leaned in. "Some women get so excitable, I find. Would that all your sex shared your spirit." Leaning back, he placed his hands together and bowed. "May I present Lady Ma Siela, Grand Secretary to the Lord of Ten Thousand Years and my protege." This got a snort from Siela, but no denial. "She comes to us from far-off Ares, where she studied under many of the finest minds of the west."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Roania

The two little boys instinctively seemed to understand the situation enough to adopt solemn expressions - in spite of slightly crumb-covered faces - as Ramiel greeted their mother, and she smiled pleasantly in kind, drawing no further attention to the brief reassurance aside from a very subtle nod to show she understood. She shook his hand in the correct combination of delicate ladylike grace, and firm response. The little ones weren't quite sure what he meant about the princess, and quick looks were exchanged as Naiya spoke.

"These little things happen," she said dismissively of the table debacle. "With such a grand event, and so many factors, it is to be expected that some tiny hiccup might happen, even in the hands of such capable hosts. Please, be at ease. It is a pleasure to be here, Ramiel."

Both Gabriel and Lucian shrunk back against their mother's legs, though they didn't go so far as to hide, at Ma Siela's sharp retort. Naiya chose once again, not to draw attention - it would be rude, after all, to acknowledge any potential embarrassment or discomfort on Radmiel's part, or to acknowledge the, by Dominion standards, rude interruption of prolonged pleasantries. She accepted the mooncake with a murmured thanks, as did the two boys, who each perked up, and bowed their little heads briefly as the cakes were handed to them in turn.

"Grazie, Signore Ramiel," they piped back, not quite in unison. They waited politely as the foreign man made his explanation of the new treats, Lucian pointing out the pretty lady on them. After a permissive nod from their mother, they each took an exploratory bite, watching one another for reactions. Eyes widened, tiny brows arched up, and they chewed thoughtfully while launching into a quiet conversation in 'twin', that was more or less beyond comprehension to anyone else listening. The impression seemed to be quite positive, given their enthusiastic gestures, and continued nibbling. Now and then, they beamed up at Ramiel in particular, further expressing their contentment at the novel treat while the adults talked.

"Thank you, Ramiel. I appreciate you sharing this aspect of your culture with us," Naiya lead with, then paused as Ma Siela again made her presence known. She inclined her head to the appropriate level, by Dominion standards, and held her pleasant smile in place, while the two Roanians verbally sparred, taking the opportunity to sample her own mooncake.

"It is an honor, Grand Secretary," the young woman said on being introduced, extending her hand in greeting. I hope you have both been able to enjoy the celebration, in spite of your duties?"

The mooncakes of course, were as described, thick and took a bit of chewing for two young boys who were, even at their young ages, to be on their best behavior. The current conversation between the two at the moment, however, as they quietly worked on devouring the hefty treat, was whether or not Ramiel's pockets might happen to contain more of the tasty cakes ... and if so, how they might tempt, tease, or lacking any other recourse, abscond with them.

[Sunset]

The Maldorian Socialist Revolution

"Hmm," Ambrose nudged the recumbent form of Petty Officer Shelly with a toe, the shining black of the patent leather loafer the only splash of color against his white linen suit. "This seems to have gone in an unexpected direction. Was that wine?"

"Peach wine, yes," Agent Sixteen answered in the affirmative. There was a question mark in her voice and she knelt to put a hand on the young woman's shoulder and shake her gently. "Out like a light."

Doctor Ambrose glanced around; They were fortunate in that so much else seemed to be going on between the fracas at the buffet table as well as a seemingly impromptu meeting between a man with a very large mustache - Ambrose stroked his own goatee subconsciously - and the Emperor. Boy? Child-Emperor? In fact, there were a lot of men with facial hair milling around the area and that alone was sufficient to distinguish the nominally smooth-faced Roanians from the foreigners in his mind.

"Have you noticed how young he is?" the Doctor mused, suddenly distracted. "I wish I'd have been in his position when I was his age. The marvels I could have wrought..."

Instead he'd been teaching chemistry to university students; He was a Genius, of course. But the Emperor commanded respect while he had mostly suffered the insults, spitwads, and virtual kick-me signs of a class of students who had been older, taller, and bigger than him for the next few years. Valuable time with access to the laboratory facilities of a major university had allowed him to make sufficient progress towards some of his early triumphs but was it worth it? A long sigh of deep regret and he rocked back on his heels before taking another sip of his drink.

"Who?"

Agent Sixteen was still trying to wake Shelly up and he looked down just as she turned to him with an expression that was almost but not quite concern.

"Oh, hum. Yes, I suppose it will make it hard to interrogate her as to the immediate results of NuSEXYE in such a state. But," he listened for a moment, "Her breathing is regular and she seems comfortable. And data is data, my dear. We now know that NuSEXYE and peach wine do not mix! Note to self," he half-muttered, reaching into his jacket to pull out an old-fashioned notepad. "Add that to the label on the packaging. Very edge case, should slip right by the consumer products safety people. Might be the alcohol though..."

And with that, the bad Russian accent was back; "Imagine if was Wodka from glorious people's space potato. Results... Ten? Twenty times better! Glorious people's space potato much better than decadent Imperial peach. Potato stronk, peach mushy and rotten. Like Imperialists."

"Ha!" With a hiccup, Ambrose snorted peach julep out his nose and while he struggled to fetch a handkerchief from his pocket he continued to sputter in laughter. "My god! Ha, haha! Oh... Right, right," he composed himself finally. "Well, now we have an unconscious naval officer who will be developing into a lovely young woman in six to eight weeks. What shall we do with her?"

"I don't see a rug," the buxom beauty cast about for the convenient all-purpose container. "And I do not believe we should be taking specimens in so public of place. So..."

Slipping her arm under the young woman, she rose effortlessly to hold her upright. They had been standing under a peach tree and this seemed just as good as any as she hooked one of Shelly's arms over a branch and the other around a trunk to leave her cheek resting on the bark.

"...there! Completely natural. One last thing," she slipped a hand inside her gown and pulled out something that wasn't quite there and ran a finger inside the young woman's lapel to leave it behind. "Tracking device."

"Better than a plastic tag in the ear," Ambrose noted with a nod. "Though I had to do that to a couple of my more recalcitrant students. One might think a commissary card would be enough to allow for most experiments but sometimes you have to treat them like cattle. Which is why I own a cattle prod. Now that that's sorted," he looked around. "Ah! There she is! Come, Sixteen. Our young minx awaits her own encounter with NuSEXYE!"

Drawing a casual beeline, he set off with the killer in tow towards Ta Min and the unknown woman the little fanatic was engaging in conversation. That left the Petty Officer secure in the embrace of the forest and as far as he was concerned outside of his responsibility.

[Kinstantia]

"There is indeed safety in numbers," Kyran said to the Grummanian. "and you're not interrupting, Lieutenant. I'm happy to make your acquaintance." Of course, while Kyran was making small talk, a very large squid came roaming up to the group causing him a slight bit of concern. While he was prepared for all potentialities, a giant squid was probably not something he thought possible.

As the squid spoke, Kyran's reticence turned into sheer joviality as Gession spoke. By the time the retired grand admiral had finished, Kyran was displaying a visible smile as his hand extended to receive his card. "An honor, sir," Kyran said.

This was how it was supposed to be at these affairs in his mind. People meeting people, exchanging pleasantries, making contacts, and beginning what would hopefully be fruitful relationships. With the event moving swimmingly for the Kinstanti, one might even begin to assume they were being unofficially welcomed into the greater galactic circle. At least that's how Kyran chose to view things.

"Yes, Kyran Tenaro. As far as my future, not certain if His Imperial Majesty will keep me aboard here as a proper ambassador. In fact, come to think of it, I haven't actually met a Roanian quite yet. Though, there's still plenty of time. We found the invitation to this shindig, thought it sounded like a good idea and I was sent. We'll see what our hosts think of me first before the Powers The Be decide what to do."

"I will admit one thing, it's a tad chilly around these parts."

[Zero-One]

With Aleis and Kouran

"I shall have to make the best of that opportunity, then, Archchancellor," the not-exactly-a-catwoman answered inbetween Aleis' moments of insight and panic. Beside that, she simply smiled beatifically, radiating calm and assured control of the situation as befitted the cat-spirits she'd chosen to ape. She didn't actually radiate anything; that was against the rules and would be doubly rude now that Naiya was in the area. She also wasn't hardly a saint--the Roanians had her pegged quite accurately on that accord--but she could play one on television, tri-d, simsense, or even an old-time radio show.

Once Kouran calmed down her grand-daughter and she started coming up with not-quite-right hypotheses, she decided she could safely insert herself back into the conversation. "Close, Great Secretary. I am experimenting with this form, yes, but not to blend in. I've done that already in the not-too-distant past." She smiled just a touch more broadly at that. Such was her sense of humor. "In this case, I am seeing whether a form more amenable to your culture, rather than my usual, clearly artificial, representation of my body image, can overcome to some degree the somewhat comprehensible... concern the faithful of the Light have around my presence. A different form of 'blending in,' perhaps: 'mixing' in a more harmonious manner.

"So yes, there is a level of experimentation involved, albeit a very passive one. My apologies in that regard." She bowed again, a little from the waist this time. "Yet we can all have multiple motivations; another one of mine is to use the symbology of this day to show that I am open to... it may be best if I not say 'friendship,' as that would be much too forward and there is such a great deal of existing stigma for me to work against that to hope for such would be almost patently absurd, but 'acquaintance.' If the good padishah Ipolla can prove the worth of her people," she motioned gently in the direction of the named Scolopendran and her group with a smooth gesture of one hand before returning to her hands-folded posture, "then I should at least make the attempt.

"Another motivation is to maximize harmony, no matter the outcome." S.H.O.D.A.N.'s smile took on a more jovial quality, her ears twitching as it did. "I am operating of the hypothesis that this form is more harmonious but, even if I am required to depart, it can be explained away as a Solontian getting too deep into her cups or anything else other than the dreaded mechanoid queen sullying a holy place. Such an... alternative explanation of events would satisfy everyone and whatever ripples the occurrence originally generated would be slight, quickly fading to return the social pool back to tranquil, mirror stillness."

If the calm presence of her voice happened to be hypnotic at all, it wasn't really her fault. Well, it may have been, but only because she was relying on acting. She wasn't doing anything uncouth like using subliminal undertones or soothing harmonics beyond those naturally made by her low voice. No, she was simply playing the part of the even-keeled, level-headed, one-with-everything Taoist saint.

[The SLAGLands]

Oh, good! A giant squid. That will make this a bit easier.

"Goodwill Ambassador for Universal Peace and Prosperity" may have seemed a strange title to grant to Bella Blood'nguts. She was six-foot-four and built like a Jenga tower: thick on top but insecure in her step. Her profession involved pretending to tear the arms off of pretend opponents and then being drawn as a superhero. But Bella Blood'nguts was a cultural identifier. She was the fourth to don the mask--the first since the war ended--and one of the most beloved cultural figures in The SLAGLands. The music industry had gone underground. Games and films were only now starting to surge.

But wrestling?

SLAGLanders loved their heroes in tights--be they in comics or in the ring.

Today, though, she had left the costume at home. Her role as Goodwill Ambassador was ceremonial, bestowed by President Yataba to ten different figures from science, the arts, and pop culture. But she still knew it would be more than a bit gauche to show up for a party in a once-friendly nation in a fiery leather sports bra. So she stuck to a sleeveless red leather jacket over a black blouse, black slacks, and boots.

And the mask. Always the mask.

It was the mask that gave the guards at the door pause. It covered the top half of her face only, with dark red flames rising just at her brow. Her agent at Hot Tag Comics had called ahead, but how do you even warn someone of this? Just so you know, there's a giant woman in a mask coming. She's a wrestler. No, the fake one. No, she has to wear the mask, it's tradition.

Maybe it was the bag. Hot Tag had been insistent upon the bag. They'd worked out some deal or another with some company or another. Brand synergy was important. There was nothing dangerous in the bag to anything except arteries.

Or maybe it was her arms. Or her chest. Or her shoulders. The invitation had been very clear: no weapons. She couldn't very well stow her arms back at the hotel.

Finally, the guard waved her in. Holding her messenger bag close, she ducked over to the food tables, thanking the heavens that the huge squid was diverting attention from her. Head straight, shoulders back. As long as she was in the mask, she was a hero. She couldn't wait until she could get home and not be Bella Blood'nguts for a while.