Alitheia In Space [FT][IC][SEMI-OPEN]

[Free Asian Ports]

The Small Matter of Finances
Hudson Station, Yuriani System

A small dinner plate sized drone hovered annoyingly over the head of a Vexian scientist in a labcoat striding down a wide hallway. "Doctor Griffith, your appointment has arrived on docking pad 6" buzzed a mechanical voice emitting from the drone. "Inform the port authority supervisor of my imminent arrival" Griffith said, dismissing the little machine with a casual wave. Doctor Griffith was the assistant director of Gene Lab 163, the scientific and industrial organization responsible for reproduction and gene study on Hudson Station, and walking alongside her was the lab's security liaison to the station security force, Sergeant Anhur. The new arrivals to Hudson Station were an apparently human group who had inquired to the foreign ministry for some sort of exchange, a request that was assigned to Gene Lab 163. Security of Vexian state secrets, sciences, and personnel taking priority, Sergeant Anhur would play a vital role in the negotiations with the human hopefuls.

It wasn't long before the two Vexians arrived at the spaceport portion of Hudson Station, an O'Neill cylinder orbiting Yuriani Gamma, which was the only portion of the station relying on artificial gravity fields. A moving sidewalk was rushing the pair to their destination, already en route to the arrival pad before they were belatedly informed by the secretary drone. The newcomers would've been strange to any typical human culture, but since Vexians considered all "lesser" humans to be strange anyways the appearance of these people in particular was not especially notable to them. As the connecting doors to the terminal area slid open, the only notes the Vexians made was the short stature of their guests, the average Vexian standing a fair amount taller than the average human.

Doctor Griffith welcomed the visitors with all the typical warmth a Vexian is known for, that is none at all.

"Welcome to Hudson station, I am Doctor Griffith and my associate is Sergeant Anhur. We will be your chaperones during your visit to our facility. If you could kindly keep any non-pertinent questions to yourself and avoid entering any areas or operating any machinery or devices that you are not authorized to access for the duration of this meeting, everybody will leave happy. Now, if you would, please state your name and the intent of your visit. This is for the record."

[Arktic]

The Small Matter of Finances
Hudson Station, Yuriani System

A small dinner plate sized drone hovered annoyingly over the head of a Vexian scientist in a labcoat striding down a wide hallway. "Doctor Griffith, your appointment has arrived on docking pad 6" buzzed a mechanical voice emitting from the drone. "Inform the port authority supervisor of my imminent arrival" Griffith said, dismissing the little machine with a casual wave. Doctor Griffith was the assistant director of Gene Lab 163, the scientific and industrial organization responsible for reproduction and gene study on Hudson Station, and walking alongside her was the lab's security liaison to the station security force, Sergeant Anhur. The new arrivals to Hudson Station were an apparently human group who had inquired to the foreign ministry for some sort of exchange, a request that was assigned to Gene Lab 163. Security of Vexian state secrets, sciences, and personnel taking priority, Sergeant Anhur would play a vital role in the negotiations with the human hopefuls.

It wasn't long before the two Vexians arrived at the spaceport portion of Hudson Station, an O'Neill cylinder orbiting Yuriani Gamma, which was the only portion of the station relying on artificial gravity fields. A moving sidewalk was rushing the pair to their destination, already en route to the arrival pad before they were belatedly informed by the secretary drone. The newcomers would've been strange to any typical human culture, but since Vexians considered all "lesser" humans to be strange anyways the appearance of these people in particular was not especially notable to them. As the connecting doors to the terminal area slid open, the only notes the Vexians made was the short stature of their guests, the average Vexian standing a fair amount taller than the average human.

Doctor Griffith welcomed the visitors with all the typical warmth a Vexian is known for, that is none at all.

"Welcome to Hudson station, I am Doctor Griffith and my associate is Sergeant Anhur. We will be your chaperones during your visit to our facility. If you could kindly keep any non-pertinent questions to yourself and avoid entering any areas or operating any machinery or devices that you are not authorized to access for the duration of this meeting, everybody will leave happy. Now, if you would, please state your name and the intent of your visit. This is for the record."

The one in the center, the weaker-looking one who had struggled to descend the treacherous ramp, began to shuffle forward. But before he could speak, another one of them approached, stepping between the Vexian and the weaker pseudo-human. He began loudly, and with quite a bit of flourish and fanfare:
"This is His Majesty, the Pride Male Em-"

He was silenced quickly, however, by the one in the center clearing his throat loudly and conspicuously, shooting him an annoyed glare as he did so and putting a hand on the offending one's shoulder to gently shove him aside.
"Syd, please. Not here."
Syd swallowed and stepped aside. "O-Of course, your majesty. My deepest apologies."
His anger quickly dissipated and he smiled genuinely at Syd. The hand on his shoulder became one of comfort, not one of authority. "It's okay, you meant well. This is a confusing and difficult moment for all of us. But let me take it from here, yeah?"

Syd quickly bowed, backing away, and the "Majesty" faced the Vexian doctor and spoke directly.
"My name, is Leo," he said, his semi-feline golden eyes meeting her's deliberately, voice firm despite his obvious condition of physical sickness. "And I seek the means to cure my people of their biological infertility and, if possible, to expand our lifespans in the same stroke. I have been told that Vexians are skilled in the art of genetic engineering: I wish to employ this skill to save our future."

[Parcia]

The Resolution.

Leaning back she fell in to a seated position and rubbed her face. "Probably the best option would be to tell your fleet to stand down, the amount of targeting laser's lighting up my ships are singeing their paint." Reaching to her her belt, she pulled out her canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. Reaching up behind her head she undid the scrunchy holding her navy issue bun together and let her dark chestnut hair fall to a little past her shoulders.

She held the canteen over her head and let a good portion of the water fall on to her face and neck, washing away a good portion of the sweat that had formed were her jump suit hadn't covered. "Next would be likely be an agreement to not shoot at each other. Lord Admiral Strenov, the commander coming to reinforce me, is on standing orders that if he does not receive a stand down order as soon as he leaves FTL, he'll light up anything not throwing up a Colonial Navy IFF Tag."

She paused for a moment and turned to the Admiral. "Which, given the fact I am not a diplomat, I can send such order to my crew in orbit permitted you agree not to shoot any of us...which would be great." "After that we might have to meet along side the Colonial Diplomatic and Science Corps teams that will want to meet with you all."

Uncertainly, the Admiral touched the communicator on his wrist, and when he saw the rest of the Gatoxites were looking at him expectantly, he raised it to his mouth and spoke.
"The humans are... not to be attacked. They are peaceful.Negotiations are ongoing."
There was a silence, then the communicator came on again. "...are you sure about this, sir?"
"No," Admiral Hobbes admitted, striking a more confident tone, "but we don't have any choice but to go with this gamble. In any case, these particular humans are nothing at all like our former slavers, so rest easy up there."
The response came back after a moment. "Uh... understood, sir... Should we relay this news back to A-Prime?"
"Please do."

High above, the targeting lasers stopped blinding, and the radar stopped drowning the Colonials' passive defense systems. Meanwhile, back surface side, Admiral Hobbes stared at Captain Keys awkwardly.
"I... never expected to genuinely meet a human in peace, since the revolution. I wish I had words for this..."

"As did I." Tapping her wrist, she opened a live channel through her feed and saw Dick, her XO, standing there tense. "Right, Move the Sagan and Guardian in to low orbit and get the relief teams set, we dusted that mass driver sight and I have inkling there were survivors, and get that stand down order to the admiral."

Turning to Hobbs, she smiled. "We got 6 hours until Strenov gets here, might as well get started."

[Free Asian Ports]

The one in the center, the weaker-looking one who had struggled to descend the treacherous ramp, began to shuffle forward. But before he could speak, another one of them approached, stepping between the Vexian and the weaker pseudo-human. He began loudly, and with quite a bit of flourish and fanfare:
"This is His Majesty, the Pride Male Em-"

He was silenced quickly, however, by the one in the center clearing his throat loudly and conspicuously, shooting him an annoyed glare as he did so and putting a hand on the offending one's shoulder to gently shove him aside.
"Syd, please. Not here."
Syd swallowed and stepped aside. "O-Of course, your majesty. My deepest apologies."
His anger quickly dissipated and he smiled genuinely at Syd. The hand on his shoulder became one of comfort, not one of authority. "It's okay, you meant well. This is a confusing and difficult moment for all of us. But let me take it from here, yeah?"

Syd quickly bowed, backing away, and the "Majesty" faced the Vexian doctor and spoke directly.
"My name, is Leo," he said, his semi-feline golden eyes meeting her's deliberately, voice firm despite his obvious condition of physical sickness. "And I seek the means to cure my people of their biological infertility and, if possible, to expand our lifespans in the same stroke. I have been told that Vexians are skilled in the art of genetic engineering: I wish to employ this skill to save our future."

Griffith raised an eyebrow at the request the strange semi-human had made. In truth, neither the physical alterations nor the apparent degenerative illness were particularly surprising to the scientist, to her all non-Vexian humans were mutants to some degree. The details of the request seemed... typically short-sighted for what seemed like a newcomer to civilization. Motivated by romantic notions of organic population growth, likely. Nonetheless, manners dictated that the usual contempt Vexians had for other humans be kept veiled.

"Indeed, we have the capabilities to cater to your request. I assure you, you will find no greater gene engineers than in Vexia. Making the alterations you request are merely a matter of studying the genetic information in question and applying the requisite questions. It is, however, not an instantaneous process. Nor inexpensive for an outsider..." spoke the doctor, turning to Sgt. Anhur.

The security officer stood with her hands behind her back, displaying the same flat expression that Griffith had. As on cue, she addressed the Gatoxites "you will be permitted brief access to the laboratory in order to facilitate the discovery of our scope of work and to negotiate the contract. For security reasons I must again remind you that all other areas are off-limits to yourselves under all circumstances."

Turning to the exit, she gestured in the direction of the doors. "Our tram is waiting" she said, offering to continue the tour.

[The United Remnants of America]

Empyrean Harbor, The Anchor, Guild Space

Seran Federation Navy Patrol Corvette 234 snapped back into real space on the edge of the solar system. The one-hundred-meter long vessel was the smallest in the Federal Navy that could both support a faster-than-light drive and carry other smaller ships. Within twenty minutes, the bay doors near the rear of the ship had slid open and Federal Navy Fighter 19-444 had slipped from its moorings and broken off from the corvette on a heading deeper into the system. The corvette could be charting a course back to Federation space and reactivating its FTL drives within the hour, but it would be refraining from that, despite its need for anti-piracy operations. The corvette would standby on the system's edge for the time being. She had become an escort for the stars of the event.

Fighter 19-444 was a two-seater, a fifteen-meter-long fighter starship and the standard space and atmospheric fighter aircraft of the Federal Navy. The model had replaced the previous strike fighter only a few years before, as the strike fighter was bigger, slower, and a much easier target. Armed with a small chain gun, missiles, chaff canisters, and a soft kill interceptor laser, she was able to harass larger vessels as well as engage similarly-sized starfighters. But as the fighter lacked its own FTL drive, it required some form of carrier, hence the corvette acting as a chaperone and escort, meaning that at least 60 other sailors had been pulled to the territory of the Guild just to ferry Fighter 19-444 to its destination. There were almost 20,000 aircraft just like her, but none of them had the crew she did.

Lieutenant Sara Knowels and Ensign Barry Tores were the pilot and copilot of Fighter 19-444, who had so imaginatively nicknamed the sleek fighter "Fours." Knowels and Tores were practically celebrities in the Navy, and in the Federation in general. When they'd been pilots of an older strike fighter, they'd been the first Serans to confirm the existence of intelligence civilizations beyond the Federation. The civilization had been human as well, which at the time was still groundbreaking, as Serans had only ever seen abandoned colonies and the pre-spaceflight Artharians, but the discovery of another star-crossing human civilization was an entire new step for the Seran Federation as well as the rediscovery of the origins of the Serans. Since then, contact had been established with many other star nations, some human, some almost human, and some completely alien in origin.

Knowels and Tores were also well established pilots and damn good ones at that. It had been common sense, then, that when the Seran Federation had been approached on one of the frontier worlds by some courier identifying themselves as being with the Guild and advertising some race, that Knowels and Tores had been chosen to represent the Federation in the competition. The rules were simple: Arrive in a two-person starship and race without FTL travel. This was easy then, as Fighter 19-444 lacked FTL capability, and was made exactly for two people. The perfect match of spacecraft to assignment.

The prize was somewhat vague, but talked of a new planet for the winning race, and of untold wealth for the individual winners. Some members of the Senate had debated whether that new world would go to humanity in general, or Serans specifically, but the details of this were unimportant at this point, as the planet still needed to be won.

Back on the edge of the system, two more fighters dislodged from the corvette on localized flights. The fighter crews rarely got flight time clocked in relatively unknown space in foreign territory, and it would make for good bragging rights.

As for Knowels and Tores, they got the scanner hits before physically seeing the destination on the viewports. The entity known as the Empyrean Harbor was large. It looked larger than any Seran space station, and its ring shape was definitely unique. The Empyrean Harbor orbited a gas giant that the Guild only identified as The Anchor. They didn't even offer a name for the system, which was some odd quirk. Deeper into the system, the intel briefing stated, there was an asteroid field forming from the remains of some planet the Guild had torn apart in order to gather resources for the Empyrean Harbor. This place was definitely alien, and the magnitude of the Guild's industry drew whispers from almost everyone present when the briefing had been conducted in Corvette 234's mission room.

"Two-Three-Four, we are inbound to the Empyrean Harbor," Knowles announced over fighter's comline.

"Copy, Fours. Play it safe. If you feel threatened, we can be downwind to you at the shake of a capra tail."

"Aye, we'll let you know but I think we'll be fine. Treat this is as a vacation, Two-Three-Four."

A chuckle, "This is deep space, Fours. Hardly a beach on Theros."

The banter only continued for a few more quips before the two ships entered comms silence. Fighter 19-444 had begun its approach on the Empyrean Harbor. Knowles looked across the cockpit at her copilot, a man only two years her junior, but who had lived an entire lifetime of a career with her, with many lifetimes' worth of adventures yet.

"Well, Barry. You ever win a space race?"

Barry's eyes didn't leave the scanning layout projected on his consoles. He was keeping an eye on all visible traffic within shooting range of their fighter. "No, and I'm not looking forward to it, either."

"Why's that? This is a new experience for us." Knowles cracked a grin. He was always the more cautious one and she loved to needle that straight-laced attitude.

"I don't trust these Xenos, Sara. Who's to say we don't get shot in the back by some angry tree or lizard because we fly better than they do?"

"The rules say so."

"Yeah, okay." Barry shifted in his crash couch and made an exasperated sigh. "We can barely trust our own kind, but now I have to assume some space bug knows how to follow rules?"

"Hey, if they don't, we have the corvette to come back us up, and based on what I've heard of these Guild people, they don't seem like they suffer cheaters severely."

"I guess," Barry drew out the sound like he wanted to believe it.

In reality, neither Seran had been this far away from their own territory, but then, not many Serans had. This was a first for them and their people. But the rewards were definitely interesting. Especially to Sara. A free wish from some powerful xeno seemed like a boon worthy of an Immortal. And all she had to do was be a good pilot?

All Sara Knowels did was be a good fucking pilot.

[Nornsmark]

"Like a thousand flickering candles amongst the stars, we flew."
- Translated from Old Hreinn, the Bronsaega.

Even those who'd visited the Empyrean Harbor prior would be hard-pressed to name a time when the slipways, pads and docks were more busy. It is said that a ship arrives and another departs every twelve minutes, but today it seemed more every twelve seconds. Craft of every conceivable configuration speckled the void around the Harbor, from independent traders, to mining ships returning from the Gale. Guild cruisers and corvettes, the bright red hulls unmistakable, dotted the skies, monitoring traffic and resolving disputes. Pinnaces raced to and fro, some heading for landing pads on the surface, others performing last minute cargo exchanges between haulers. On the surface, festivals and fairs had taken over every city, town and village. Most offices were closed for the week, and many private dock workers had suddenly called in sick.

Unfortunately for Parker Yvessen, this was the busiest he'd ever been. His official title was "Prix Senior Guide," really, what that meant was that he was in charge of babysitting a pair of hot-shot Seran pilots, and the rest of the staff assigned to them. He sighed as a another headache coalesced. He clutched his temples for a moment as he was reminded of the struggles he'd been through to even get to this point. First, he had to fill out the truly preposterous amount of forms only to be assigned to the Seran nationals, who belonged to a polite, if somewhat backwards culture which he had spent a truly stupid amount of time researching as to not offend the guests. He being a human, he now understood why he'd been assigned to the Serans. Not that that made him happy about it. He'd also spent his time compiling an itinerary for his guests, to show them the festivities and allow them a bit of freetime before the Commencement and the Prix proper. The problem was finding Seran-friendly venues. No-one of the Guild had any particular hatred for the human nation, but the Harbor was an incredibly diverse environment, and some things may rub the Serans themselves the wrong way. Thus, he booked hotels in human-majority districts, reserved seats at Old-Terran restaurants and generally attempted to limit their exposure to the Guild at large.

Which was... difficult, to say the least.

Thus, he found himself standing before one of the Seran Federation's fightercraft, outfitted for battle in the style of many human vessels. Also, hopefully, without ammunition loaded. It hovered with anything but grace, despite the pilot's obvious skill. Military machines have never, and will likely never be designed for grace. As such, he stood idly, holding a sheet of thick, elegant cardstock on which was written in impeccable calligraphy was the names Sara Knowels and Barry Tores. Rose gold finery dotted the sign, and the impeccable uniforms of the welcoming Guildsmen only added to the effect. Parker turned to his compatriot as the fightercraft finally touched down with a thud. The landing pad, located on the Empyrean Harbor's second largest transit hub, Sant-Yngrid Central Station, was connected to a massive nexus of public transit. High-speed maglevs, aerotaxis and dozens of pinnaces coming and going, each speeding off to their respective destinations. Located directly in the center of one of the Harbor's wards, S-Y dominated the cityscape of Marrault, which itself was already quite impressive. Marrault, being capital of one of the four Wards of the Harbor, was a truly stunning metropolis which extended kilometers in all directions. It pierced out of the atmosphere of the Harbor, and burrowed deep into the stone-and-steel ring.

Ulro Louhr raf Lillirauffe, a Hreinn, stood to his right. His ears drooped tiredly, and his eyes had bags under them. A flat, brimless cap similar to a kepi or fez sat between his antlers, one of which had been snapped off in some ancient incident. His face was wide, with the scars and burns of someone experienced with the inner workings of spacecraft. Idly, he blew out a foul-smelling cloud of tobacco smoke from his thin, narrow pipe. "You know this is a non-smoking area, yeah?" Asked Parker, with faux exasperation.

"I do, and I honestly cannae say I care. Seran tech is so different it's practically Vresh to me, I nae took a sleep in... four days? At least let me 'ave my nicotine, yeah?"

"Your fault if you get caught. You figure they've a chance?"

"The ship they came in on isn't built to race, it's built for battle. Hull's armored, and they didn't even bother to take off their weapon mounts, ken? They've so much extraneous mass for a racing craft it's honestly worth a pint and a quick chuckle."

"So that's a no, then?"

"Did nae say tha'. It's fast, at least."

Parker slipped his own cap on, after quickly dusting off the golden badge pinned to it. Landing crew swarmed the vessel, quickly securing it to the pad with practiced ease. He put on his best smile, and awaited the Serans to disembark.

[The United Remnants of America]

Sant-Yngrid Central Station, Empyrean Harbor, The Anchor, Guild Space

Switches were flipped and dials turned until the low rumble of Fighter 19-444's engines receded into a high whine. The fighter finally settled on its landing gears before power to the engines and thrusters was finally fully killed off. The fighters had landing gear, but aboard Seran ships, they were usually held in place via magnetic locks. The landing gear was mostly for terrestrial landings, but while this wasn't a planet, it might as well have been. Empyrean Harbor was larger than the Seran duo had initially thought. It was one thing to see numbers on a screen showing the size of this place, but to see it with your own eyes was something else entirely.

As the heat from the thrusters and engines dissipated, Sara and Barry looked out of the cockpit viewports at their surroundings. No matter the civilization, a spaceport was pretty obvious. Ships everywhere, movement everywhere, people everywhere. One man in particular stood out, since their names were on a card he had. He must've been there for them.

Barry activated the cockpit's release and heard the quiet hiss as the pressure and air of the cockpit was forced to equalize with that of the outside. It never even occurred to the two that the air might be dangerous, but the human standing there without protective gear was reason enough to believe it was safe.

The cockpit's canopy slid back, Sara and Barry unbuckled themselves from their crash couches, stood, and lifted themselves up and out of the cockpit of the fighter. The two deftly climbed down either side of the fighter, finding grips in unlikely places before their boots hit terra firma underneath them with a clang. The two were wearing blue-silver G-suits with gloves and boots locked in place. Their helmets had darkened visors on top with a breathing mask underneath. A tube hung unconnected from the mask which usually locked into a backup oxygen supply if the cockpit were ever breached. The G-suits themselves were supposed to keep a pilot warm in such instances, but few stories arose of the successful rescue of a fighter crew in the depths of space unless it was a peacetime routine. Sara and Barry had an active pool going with some other pilots on how long they could last if any of them had to experience vacuum inside of a dead ship. The payout started to dwindle after fifteen minutes, indicating how little stock the pilots put into their own survival.

The G-suit was just thick enough to hide the finer details of the human body, leaving the two of them as genderless humanoids until they both stepped forward to meet at the front of the fighter to stand in front of the human and the hreinn. The pilots reached up and turned their helmets to the right, releasing the seals that held them in place and pulling them up and over their heads. Both pilots had deeply tanned skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Barry was clean shaven, and his hair was cut short except for a thin strip running down the center of his scalp. Sara's dark brown hair was pulled into a tight bun that sat at the back of her head in the nape of her neck, a common style for long-haired pilots since it kept their hair out of the way while wearing a helmet. While Barry hung back, Sara flashed a small smile and stepped forward towards the human and nodded, reaching out to grab the man's wrist and give it a squeeze in greeting.

"Ya sas, Guild. Eimaste Seranoi," Sara spoke in the common Seran tongue. If the man was raised with humans, he probably recognized a greeting when he saw one, even if he might not know the language.

Barry glanced at the hreinn and spoke calmly, "Nine hells, it's a Cervid, Sara. That's a Cervid xeno. It's wearing a hat, Sara."

"Shush, Barry," Sara looked between the human and the hreinn, "I'm sure it's just as nice as this gentleman here. If it hasn't killed him, I don't think it'll kill us."

"Yeah, okay, I guess." Barry stepped forward and reached to grip the man's wrist as well. In Seran space, it was customary to remove gloves to have skin contact during a greeting, it was considered polite. But in these circumstances, what with meeting new people in a new area of space, it was understandable to overlook some pleasantries in the name of what was easy.

Sara looked at the man who had greeted them and gestured at the sign with a polite smile, "So you must be here for us?"

[Nornsmark]

Sant-Yngrid Central Station, Empyrean Harbor, The Anchor, Guild Space
The G-suit was just thick enough to hide the finer details of the human body, leaving the two of them as genderless humanoids until they both stepped forward to meet at the front of the fighter to stand in front of the human and the hreinn. The pilots reached up and turned their helmets to the right, releasing the seals that held them in place and pulling them up and over their heads. Both pilots had deeply tanned skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Barry was clean shaven, and his hair was cut short except for a thin strip running down the center of his scalp. Sara's dark brown hair was pulled into a tight bun that sat at the back of her head in the nape of her neck, a common style for long-haired pilots since it kept their hair out of the way while wearing a helmet. While Barry hung back, Sara flashed a small smile and stepped forward towards the human and nodded, reaching out to grab the man's wrist and give it a squeeze in greeting.

"Ya sas, Guild. Eimaste Seranoi," Sara spoke in the common Seran tongue. If the man was raised with humans, he probably recognized a greeting when he saw one, even if he might not know the language.

Barry glanced at the hreinn and spoke calmly, "Nine hells, it's a Cervid, Sara. That's a Cervid xeno. It's wearing a hat, Sara."

"Shush, Barry," Sara looked between the human and the hreinn, "I'm sure it's just as nice as this gentleman here. If it hasn't killed him, I don't think it'll kill us."

"Yeah, okay, I guess." Barry stepped forward and reached to grip the man's wrist as well. In Seran space, it was customary to remove gloves to have skin contact during a greeting, it was considered polite. But in these circumstances, what with meeting new people in a new area of space, it was understandable to overlook some pleasantries in the name of what was easy.

Sara looked at the man who had greeted them and gestured at the sign with a polite smile, "So you must be here for us?"

"O Guest of mine, what you desire lies between the stars and the moons, where none but dragons and the dead dare to tread,"
- Excerpt from the Impiriasaega, translated from Old Hreinn

"Ya sas, Seranoi. You must be Miss Knowels and Mister Tores. I'm Parker Yvessen, of Trade House Ennerel and the Guild," He said, shaking the offered hand of Sara, "I'll be your Guide during your stay on the Harbor, and I'm in charge of all Guildpersons assigned to you, if you've any questions ask me or any of my fellow Guides," He says, moving to shake Barry's hand. Parker Yvessen, being born and raised on the Harbor, was slightly shorter than human average, and wore his soot-colored hair in a tight, short braid in Guild fashion. His face was somewhat younger-looking than his actual age, and his eyes were eager, blue and cheerful looking. Though, they also had the glint of a seasoned salesman.

"This man," he said, "Is Ulro Louhr raf Lillirauffe, your official crew chief for the duration of the Prix. He and his lads are some of the best in the business, I assure you. Any questions or modifications, come to him, he'll sort it out," The tired looking Hreinn gave a tired grunt and a half-hearted nod that spoke less of discourtesy and more of a desperate need for energy drinks, offering his hand to the Serans.

"Now, as I'm sure you know, the Ivory Prix, while it offers fabulous rewards, also does require your signature on several documents," Parker explained as he produced a small folder filled with documents, "Standard stuff, really. This top one allows the Guild to use your likenesses in promotional materials, mainly holovids, the second is a waiver assuring the Guild you will not hold us legally responsible for any injury, up to and including death, that occurs to you during the course of the Ivory Prix. The third, and final document ensures that you will provide the coordinates of the Prize World to your nation of origin in the event of your victory. Sign them and then we'll go for a lovely brunch before getting you settled in at the Verdant Tower. Welcome to Marrault." He finished, handing them an ornate rosewood pen, inlaid with gold and a long, almost arcane series of numerals designated a serial number. The ink was so black it was almost a purple, and those who had physically examined the Invitations would note that it was the same shade as the ink that was used to write those.

"And do return the pen to me, it's quite important."

[Arktic]

All courses lead to the Harbor,
- Guild Proverb

It has been a century, precisely, since the last great race. Most inhabitants will only live to see it once. Some never see it at all, only hearing the tales passed from their elders about the great pilots and navigators, the reckless courses, the close calls. The Guild has hosted the largest, most extravagant, most dangerous races in the galaxy for just above a millennium now. Precisely once a century, every century. Not even the Maelstrom disrupted the Prix. And it has been a century. The Monarch of the Guild, Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest, has seen two races in her long life, but she will see a third before the cosmos beckon her to her grave. The timetable of the Prix is absolute, the racers have had a century to prepare. To tune, modify, and train. The Guild's race has claimed the lives of some of the greatest pilots and navigators in its storied history, but to some, the prize is worth it.

To the winning pair, a Boon for each, granted by the Monarch. It could be anything. Wealth? Power? A star system? All are available. If the Guild can grant it, it shall be done. To their nation of origin, coordinates to an unsullied, unclaimed and previously undiscovered garden world. So it has been written in the Tome of Contracts, signed and sealed in blood by each Monarch in turn. To the runners-up, wealth unimaginable. There is not a soul in the galaxy who has not heard the name of the greatest race in time. There is not a soul who does not know of the Ivory Prix.

The notice was sent, to every Guild ship, to every Guildhouse. It was sent by quantum-entanglement, by courier vessel, by laser comms, but it was sent. From there, the Invitations were printed, then delivered by hand. Every species, every nation, every world. In but a day, the galaxy would receive the Invitation. It would be an old thing, anachronistic in appearance. Written in ink older than some nations, on fine paper inlaid with rose gold and patterned to constellations. The Invitation read:

"To the peoples of the Galaxy, I, Monarch Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest of the House of Belhest, of the Guild of Trade, proudly invite you to participate in the centennial 12th Ivory Prix at the Empyrean Harbor. Come compete for prizes beyond compare. However, make no mistake my many friends, there will be dangers. To claim your prizes, you must face down the many heads of death. Not all will survive. Survive, and take victory, however, you will claim not only your Boon, but claim a garden for your people. Victory awaits, my many friends. Will you claim it?

May luck be your guide."

The slips traded hands, from one red-and-gold clad Guildsman to the many varied leaders across the galaxy. Governors, Kings and Queens, Presidents and Matriarchs. All would be invited. Some have prepared for a century, eager for their next chance. Some are new, young and foolhardy. Some will die, and some, well, some would become champions. The clock reached midnight, and Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest smiled. For in a scant few days, the greatest festivity ever hosted would once again commence.

Tradefleet Rosenier, near the edge of known space in Guild territory.

Captain Bella watched as the robots went back and forth, unloading her cargo into a larger vessel of the trade fleet. Really, it would be not all that accurate to call the things that the Guild were flying here "vessels," she noted with a little blithe amusement as she looked around the massive hangar. They were more like space stations with drives and engines strapped to them, or the ancient pre-FTL human city-ships she saw in that one pirated documentary while Selene was asleep. By her reckoning, Bella figured the ship they were currently on could hold a thousand Goldwing-class starships, like her own Starshine.

A thousand Starshines, she thought to herself, daydreaming identical copies of her ship plastered all over the hangar. Imagine that.

There was only one Starshine she had to worry about, however. Her mate's voice, angry as usual, came echoing out of the main cargo hold.
"OW! MY TAIL! Watch where you're going, f_ckin' overbuilt litter box!" The offending loading bot tweeted out an apologetic tone, then continued on its way, leaving Engie behind rubbing his turtleshell-colored tail in pain. The Captain grinned, chuckling slightly at his misfortune.
"You know, when they're unloading the cargo bay you really shouldn't be doing anything in there."
Engie blinked, anger turning seamlessly into anxiety and apology. "But it actually was important! I was repairing the-" He saw her smiling at him and realized it wasn't serious. "Oh, bite me..."
"I would, but I doubt I would like the taste." Bella's feline ears flickered at the noise of dishes and social chatter and her nose twitched at the smell of food, all coming from a compartment past the hangars. "Speaking of which, wanna grab a bite to eat? I'm starving."
Engie responded in the same way: a flick of the nose and ears. It shouldn't be a surprise that after months of close-quarters their liu, or flow, would be so similar. "Yeah, that sounds good. I could really go for some noodles and prawns right now..."
"Don't get your hopes up," said Bella. "We're really far out there, I doubt they have much in the way of Earthborn seafood."
"Eh," Engie shrugged. "So long as it's not 'bell peppers and beef' again. That was such a damn ripoff, I swear it didn't even have any beef..."

The two Gatoxites walked into the large cafeteria, tails waving. Various stands and restaurants were peddling all sorts of rations and comfort food to the myriad of different spacers: dumplings and noodles and sandwiches and tacos for humans, vegetable-presses and seed-bread and dried fruits for the Hreinn. There were even raw nutritional pellets, apparently meant to feed Vresh but which the Faeson seller claimed were "good for all races." Captain Bella went for peaches in a cup and some fresh-off-the-wok gyoza (a reliable favorite combo), while Engie returned from his search for prawn noodles having settled for some chicken-broth ramen and a pack of salted tuna jerky, and brought back sweetened powdered milk for the both of them. Not a bad haul, all things considered. Engie and Bella sat together at an empty table, chatting as they ate: about business, about food, about the Starshine, about interesting things they saw around them or encountered on a computer network recently, and about things they wanted to do now that they were at this particular trade fleet: games they wanted to play, music they were looking forward to, shows and movies that might be a good watch. Bella smiled kindly at Engie while they talked, and he reciprocated. They both felt relieved that they never seemed to run out of things to talk about around each other. Boredom was a serious pain for spacefarers, rumored to even have resulted in ships being lost after their crews go mad and killed each other from lack of amusement. Alleviating that was one of the many ways the Captain and her Engineer helped each other.

Still, they fell silent. Not because they had run out of things to talk about, but because the television screen over Engie's head was playing something that had seriously gripped Captain Bella's full attention. It was a strange video, oddly formal for the infamously bawdy and slapdash broadcasting that was the usual fare of cut-rate spacers. No, this was a true broadcast straight from the higher-ups in the guild, something with the pomp of a Colonial Union presidential address and the dressing of the latest news about Dear Leader Leo from the Revolutionary Pride. A Hreinn, one that Bella recognized as the old head honcho of the whole Guild, was dressed up in her finery and giving a speech. Engie and Bella weren't the only ones listening, either: the whole cafeteria died down to hear what she had to say. The Monarch was, after all, one of their bosses in one way or another, as even freelancers like themselves had to be in the Guild's good graces if they wanted in on the most lucrative markets and safest trade routes of the galaxy.

"To the peoples of the Galaxy, I, Monarch Gwynevere Fenn raf Belhest of the House of Belhest, of the Guild of Trade, proudly invite you to participate in the centennial 12th Ivory Prix at the Empyrean Harbor. Come compete for prizes beyond compare. However, make no mistake my many friends, there will be dangers. To claim your prizes, you must face down the many heads of death. Not all will survive. Survive, and take victory, however, you will claim not only your Boon, but claim a garden for your people. Victory awaits, my many friends. Will you claim it? May luck be your guide."

When the speech had finished, the noise of the cafeteria picked back up to its typical din, but Bella and Engie remained silent. Both of their lius had changed: Bella was deep in thought, and Engie was deeply focused and invested on what Bella was thinking.
"It only happens once every hundred years," she said, preempting her mate's imminent objections. "Think about how many of our kind won't even get to see something like this. And we actually have a ship..."
"So you wanna do it, don't ya?" he demanded, suddenly and loudly.
Bella's lip curled up angrily, and her ears shot back. "Maybe! Why!?"
"Because you're gonna be dragging me along, that's why!" Engie gave a mighty harumph and folded his arms. "Everyone knows the Ivory Prix is dangerous! Think about the Gale, and how many ships that one's claimed! Why can't you just be happy with what we have and leave the stunts to the daredevils, huh!?"
Bella put her hands on the table and leaned forward. "The Starshine might not be much, but we have glitterworld-class engines! Hell, you know that better than anyone else! Have they ever failed or under-performed on us?"
Engie shook his head. "No, but that's only because of the fact that all we're doing is going on trade routes slightly faster than everyone else, and the engines are only still as good as they are because of my tireless efforts! I don't know if I have the endurance for something like the Ivory-f_ckin'-Prix!"
"Sounds like cowardice to me," spat Bella. "You're gonna give up because you're scared!?"
"Yeah!" Engie shot back. "I'm giving up on your ridiculous flight of fancy pipe dream, so we can protect the nice and lucrative gig we have going now, which I'm scared of losing!"
"We're not gonna lose what we got now," said Bella, rolling her eyes. "We can survive the Gale! Even if we get, like, third place, that's a huge badge of prestige and a once in, like, eight lifetimes experience!"
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT EXPERIENCE!" Engie shouted at her. "I care about safety! I care about having a full belly! And if something happens to us or our ship-"
"My ship," snapped Bella, "it's my ship, remember?" A look of genuine, sad betrayal flashed across Engie's face, causing Bella's stomach to sink. "Wait, Eng, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"No, it's okay." Engie sighed. "You reminded me, and put me back in my place. I... need you more than you need me. I know that, I'm not stupid." He swallowed. "You're the Captain, and I'm your Engineer. If you're gonna go and do this Ivory Prix thing... I'll be right by your side."
Bella cast him a guilty look. "Are you sure? You're not just saying that?"
Engie sighed and shrugged. "I don't really know, but hey. The reward could set both of us up for life, and you're right, we got some damn fine engines on that ship of yours." He smiled slightly. "We'll win it together."
Captain Bella grinned widely, and hugged Engie tightly. "Eng... thank you."
He pushed her off slightly. "Thank me when we've won. We need to prep up, right?"
She nodded. "That's right. And there's a station I know of with just the right stuff, but we gotta register at Empyrea. C'mon, lets go! Bring the noodles with you."

The pair darted off to their Starshine, bolted from the hangar at a reckless full speed, and shot off into the diamond-studded skies, for the Empyrean Harbor. They arrived in good time, and awaited their turn to register with quiet impatience, observing the various humans and other xenos around them.

[The United Remnants of America]

"O Guest of mine, what you desire lies between the stars and the moons, where none but dragons and the dead dare to tread,"
- Excerpt from the Impiriasaega, translated from Old Hreinn

"Ya sas, Seranoi. You must be Miss Knowels and Mister Tores. I'm Parker Yvessen, of Trade House Ennerel and the Guild," He said, shaking the offered hand of Sara, "I'll be your Guide during your stay on the Harbor, and I'm in charge of all Guildpersons assigned to you, if you've any questions ask me or any of my fellow Guides," He says, moving to shake Barry's hand. Parker Yvessen, being born and raised on the Harbor, was slightly shorter than human average, and wore his soot-colored hair in a tight, short braid in Guild fashion. His face was somewhat younger-looking than his actual age, and his eyes were eager, blue and cheerful looking. Though, they also had the glint of a seasoned salesman.

"This man," he said, "Is Ulro Louhr raf Lillirauffe, your official crew chief for the duration of the Prix. He and his lads are some of the best in the business, I assure you. Any questions or modifications, come to him, he'll sort it out," The tired looking Hreinn gave a tired grunt and a half-hearted nod that spoke less of discourtesy and more of a desperate need for energy drinks, offering his hand to the Serans.

"Now, as I'm sure you know, the Ivory Prix, while it offers fabulous rewards, also does require your signature on several documents," Parker explained as he produced a small folder filled with documents, "Standard stuff, really. This top one allows the Guild to use your likenesses in promotional materials, mainly holovids, the second is a waiver assuring the Guild you will not hold us legally responsible for any injury, up to and including death, that occurs to you during the course of the Ivory Prix. The third, and final document ensures that you will provide the coordinates of the Prize World to your nation of origin in the event of your victory. Sign them and then we'll go for a lovely brunch before getting you settled in at the Verdant Tower. Welcome to Marrault." He finished, handing them an ornate rosewood pen, inlaid with gold and a long, almost arcane series of numerals designated a serial number. The ink was so black it was almost a purple, and those who had physically examined the Invitations would note that it was the same shade as the ink that was used to write those.

"And do return the pen to me, it's quite important."

Sara took the pen first without comment and glanced over the documents before signing her name down in Seran script, she handed the sheaf of papers and the pen to Barry, who took even less time to read the documents before signing his own name under Sara's on each document before handing the paperwork and the pen back to Parker.

Sara nodded, "Marrault, eh? Apó tous theoús, Yvessan, this place is like a paradise. It's so big! How could you possibly show us even a fraction of this... Planet? Space station? Moon? Whatever, it's amazing. And you must've had such a unique life growing up here. What was it like? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little curious."

Barry had begun to give the hreinn a glance over when Parker had mentioned his role as crew chief, "So the cervid is an engineer, eh?"

Sara glanced over her shoulder, "shush, Barry. We're guests here, remember that."

"Nai, nai, I know that. I'll play nice," Barry gave a wave to Sara as he moved to her side to stand in front of the hreinn, "So. Ul... Ulr... Louhr.." Barry struggled with the pronunciation but made a sincere effort to form the name before he stopped, smiled, and titled his head, an expression of novelty clear on his face, "You build things, nai?" Barry raised his voice and spoke slower, his hands came up to gesture with his words, "You work on ships, nai? I used to work on ships, too. We have something in common. We both build things. I. Am. Tores." Barry stuck out his hand to the hreinn, wrist up. "You should show me what you built, nai?"

[Raktio]

Central Galactic East - Western border system of the Vresh Hive territory / eastern border system of Chizn's domain

Three vessels, Scout 000327 - 0005292 - 0001, Scout 000327 - 0005734 - 0002, and Scout 000327 - 0004766 - 0003 appeared in different portions of the in the system designated temporarily as 11.632995° 27,130.4 LY, -59.6 LY (and add in a time since designated equation to keep the system's coordinates up to date as part of the designation), due to its location in the galaxy, and began to passively scan the system for any signs of sufficiently advanced technology or otherwise signs of sentient life. Should enough time pass where no signals in the system were discovered, then they would move onto actively scanning the system for signs of just about anything so that they could collect the data and determine the best use for the system.

The ships themselves were designed for long distance travel and disregarded most means of self preservation in change for better scanning arrays stealth, at least as much as you could manage in space of all things. The vessels each contain a higher end, but specialized, Beta class AI who were well within the realm of making an informed decision based on the data they collected and send the information back to Primary who would then send out the proper forces to begin system take over with maximum efficiency, whether it was a bunch of barren rocks, gas giants or the occasional inhabited planet.

This was the first time it had moved beyond the borders of the people who had killed the Chizn, having stopped their expansion along a line which they had simply given up on as "to dangerous" since nobody every came back from heading that direction. Confident that it was stronger than the vile ones, knowing it would need to know what was out there to prepare for the inevitable, it had waited and even delayed, but in the end stuck to its strategy of getting its back to the galactic edge rather than being in the middle where all sides could be assaulted at any moment. It had already conquered a vast amount of space where it had turned every system it could reach into heavily fortified bastions, mines and industrial zones turning its section of the galaxy one massive inter-system metaphorical bunker complex which never stopped expanding and strengthening itself.

Truth be told, due to the sheer amount of processing power the Last of the Chizn had, it didn't even need to focus on most of the things it did, letting ever updating routines and algorithms run in its background, leaving a needlessly bored AI trying to think up things to occupy its time. Of the many things it did, it would fabricate its own art and culture, based off of the carbon based Chizn who had made it, establishing a New Chizn culture, though preserving the old and keeping the two separate. However even that didn't occupy much of its time, and soon enough it had more then enough culture to make fifteen different civilizations who's history went back eight million years at least. The AI kept trying new things, different things, and 'exiting' things, but nothing seemed to keep it distracted for long and it would quickly become bored once more, and lonely, oh so very lonely.

[Parcia]

Ejaen Epsilon


To be Granted access in to Faeson space often took a high level friend, an ONI spook bird, or enough trade materials to convince the Unity that they should trade with you. CNS Punic and her escort force flew through FTL at rapid speed, just barely scratching the upper limit on her CODEN-VI drive and so fast in fact that her escorting frigates had to be loaded in to her internal bay since they would be unable to match their mother ship's speed.


At a pre-planned and ordained set of coordinates, a quartet of FTL ruptures would open and out would come the 4 larger escorts, a pair of Athens Cruisers and a pair of Direwolf Destroyers. A much larger and more...vibrant rupture would open and out of the hole in space would the behemoth of the Colonial 3rd fleet, taking time to close the rupture behind her and to release her 6 frigates from their bays.

For the time being, they awaited their Reception.

[Arktic]

Ejaen Epsilon


To be Granted access in to Faeson space often took a high level friend, an ONI spook bird, or enough trade materials to convince the Unity that they should trade with you. CNS Punic and her escort force flew through FTL at rapid speed, just barely scratching the upper limit on her CODEN-VI drive and so fast in fact that her escorting frigates had to be loaded in to her internal bay since they would be unable to match their mother ship's speed.


At a pre-planned and ordained set of coordinates, a quartet of FTL ruptures would open and out would come the 4 larger escorts, a pair of Athens Cruisers and a pair of Direwolf Destroyers. A much larger and more...vibrant rupture would open and out of the hole in space would the behemoth of the Colonial 3rd fleet, taking time to close the rupture behind her and to release her 6 frigates from their bays.

For the time being, they awaited their Reception.

The Reception

The Colonial battlegroup was met by an equally solid Faeson armada. Twenty-four light carriers enveloped seven battleships surrounded by a cloud of fighter-sized droned and flanked by a dozen formations of destroyers and gunships drifted between the newly arriving humans and the glittering planet of Ejaen Epsilon. A Matriarch was on the planet behind them, and the force reflected that. Should the humans decide to attack, the fleet would ensure a victory, or at least ensure that the Matriarch is not captured alive.

After the last of the Union ships arrived, the Faeson drones began to maneuver, and every ship in the fleet shone. Multicolored lights and laser guns (fired at a harmless 2% power), projected from every drone and every ship, waved in the void as the drones maneuvered independently but interconnectedly and simultaneously in a multifaceted, kaleidoscopic dance. Artistic elegance, technological sophistication, and military strength were all showcased in this display at once. This part dance, part light show, and part military parade lacked a proper name in the Faeson tongue but had been dubbed as a “fleet dance” by human observers. It was a rare event, only done as an introduction for First Contact and for other such momentous events, like this one.

After a few minutes, the drones returned to a combat position, and the large Faeson battleship that the fleet was centered around moved forward ever so slightly, slowly but deliberately approaching the humans. A broadcast was beamed towards them on an open channel.
“Welcome to Ejaen Epsilon. This Admiral Triobyu, of the Exostellar Unity Armada, speaking from the bridge of the battleship Cliff of Justice. We are requesting permission to dock, to facilitate the diplomatic meeting between President Jonathan T. Acerman and the Unity Consortia Matriarch Qeullui-danathan. I repeat, requesting permission to dock and to receive visitors.”

[Arktic]

Griffith raised an eyebrow at the request the strange semi-human had made. In truth, neither the physical alterations nor the apparent degenerative illness were particularly surprising to the scientist, to her all non-Vexian humans were mutants to some degree. The details of the request seemed... typically short-sighted for what seemed like a newcomer to civilization. Motivated by romantic notions of organic population growth, likely. Nonetheless, manners dictated that the usual contempt Vexians had for other humans be kept veiled.

"Indeed, we have the capabilities to cater to your request. I assure you, you will find no greater gene engineers than in Vexia. Making the alterations you request are merely a matter of studying the genetic information in question and applying the requisite questions. It is, however, not an instantaneous process. Nor inexpensive for an outsider..." spoke the doctor, turning to Sgt. Anhur.

The security officer stood with her hands behind her back, displaying the same flat expression that Griffith had. As on cue, she addressed the Gatoxites "you will be permitted brief access to the laboratory in order to facilitate the discovery of our scope of work and to negotiate the contract. For security reasons I must again remind you that all other areas are off-limits to yourselves under all circumstances."

Turning to the exit, she gestured in the direction of the doors. "Our tram is waiting" she said, offering to continue the tour.

“Don’t worry. We’re house-trained.”
Leo nodded and entered the tram, and his entourage followed closely. As the doors close, he spoke, turning back to the Vexian and looking up at her. Literally: the Gatoxites are quite smaller than the average human, and the Vexians are even larger than those.
“Cost is not an object,” Leo explained, his brow furrowing seriously. “I preside over an empire of one hundred and twenty three worlds. I am willing to commit as many resources and as much capital as it takes to do the job properly.”

The doors closed on the tram and it began to come to speed. The Gatoxites were quiet, variously looking down into their hands or personal defense weapons or at the meeting between Leo and Dr. Griffith. Leo continued. “As for the prerequisite questions...” He sighed slightly. “Our people, well, we are not skilled in the sciences of biology or genetics. We have requests, and volunteer test subjects at your disposal, but as for specifics we will be unable to properly answer many questions. What do you need to know before beginning?”

[Parcia]

Ejaen Epsilon


To be Granted access in to Faeson space often took a high level friend, an ONI spook bird, or enough trade materials to convince the Unity that they should trade with you. CNS Punic and her escort force flew through FTL at rapid speed, just barely scratching the upper limit on her CODEN-VI drive and so fast in fact that her escorting frigates had to be loaded in to her internal bay since they would be unable to match their mother ship's speed.


At a pre-planned and ordained set of coordinates, a quartet of FTL ruptures would open and out would come the 4 larger escorts, a pair of Athens Cruisers and a pair of Direwolf Destroyers. A much larger and more...vibrant rupture would open and out of the hole in space would the behemoth of the Colonial 3rd fleet, taking time to close the rupture behind her and to release her 6 frigates from their bays.

For the time being, they awaited their Reception.

The Reception

The Colonial battlegroup was met by an equally solid Faeson armada. Twenty-four light carriers enveloped seven battleships surrounded by a cloud of fighter-sized droned and flanked by a dozen formations of destroyers and gunships drifted between the newly arriving humans and the glittering planet of Ejaen Epsilon. A Matriarch was on the planet behind them, and the force reflected that. Should the humans decide to attack, the fleet would ensure a victory, or at least ensure that the Matriarch is not captured alive.

After the last of the Union ships arrived, the Faeson drones began to maneuver, and every ship in the fleet shone. Multicolored lights and laser guns (fired at a harmless 2% power), projected from every drone and every ship, waved in the void as the drones maneuvered independently but interconnectedly and simultaneously in a multifaceted, kaleidoscopic dance. Artistic elegance, technological sophistication, and military strength were all showcased in this display at once. This part dance, part light show, and part military parade lacked a proper name in the Faeson tongue but had been dubbed as a “fleet dance” by human observers. It was a rare event, only done as an introduction for First Contact and for other such momentous events, like this one.

After a few minutes, the drones returned to a combat position, and the large Faeson battleship that the fleet was centered around moved forward ever so slightly, slowly but deliberately approaching the humans. A broadcast was beamed towards them on an open channel.
“Welcome to Ejaen Epsilon. This Admiral Triobyu, of the Exostellar Unity Armada, speaking from the bridge of the battleship Cliff of Justice. We are requesting permission to dock, to facilitate the diplomatic meeting between President Jonathan T. Acerman and the Unity Consortia Matriarch Qeullui-danathan. I repeat, requesting permission to dock and to receive visitors.”

The flotilla of ships gave Matriarchs welcoming party by what had become the Colonial Union's sign of peace: Venting its excess power banks in to space. The message was heard by the Bridge officers of the Punic who in return, send a message back. "Roger that, President Achermen is awaiting the rendezvous, over." The Punic class behemoth slowly maneuvered in to position opposite it's Xenos counter part, its angular, rectangular size contrasting with the Faeson rounded, nearly organic design.

With the two ships together the docking rings would be extended and locked together. Meanwhile, Colonial Frigates and fighters would form their standard box formation patrol to insure the security of the meeting.

[Arktic]

The flotilla of ships gave Matriarchs welcoming party by what had become the Colonial Union's sign of peace: Venting its excess power banks in to space. The message was heard by the Bridge officers of the Punic who in return, send a message back. "Roger that, President Achermen is awaiting the rendezvous, over." The Punic class behemoth slowly maneuvered in to position opposite it's Xenos counter part, its angular, rectangular size contrasting with the Faeson rounded, nearly organic design.

With the two ships together the docking rings would be extended and locked together. Meanwhile, Colonial Frigates and fighters would form their standard box formation patrol to insure the security of the meeting.

Reintroduction

The two ships shuddered and made a metallic clashing noise as the docking rings maneuvered, constricted, and finally connected them together. A equivalent group of Faeson drones approached, matching the Colonial fighters’ movements maneuver for maneuver. It was meant to be a close shave and it was, leaving little more than a meter of space between the human pilots and the cold, black lenses of the Faeson drones.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the airlock doors finally opened. Admiral Triobyu, in the full form-fitting yet resplendent dress uniform of the Faeson navy upper command, stood front and center to greet the President and the Colonials. Flanking her on either side of the spacious docking area was nearly a full company of Unity soldiers with their robotic counterparts in parade formation, although, judging from their body language and from the amounts and kinds of heavy weaponry they were carrying, one got the sense that the formation was not at all for show. At her side as well was Faeson male just barely past adolescence (one could tell by his stature, large eyes, and by the lack of aging lines), sharply but simply dressed in a decorated white tunic and jet-black Faeson underclothes.

Envoy Manzanix stepped past President John first, bowing to the Admiral.
“Admiral Triobyu,” she exclaimed loudly, as a herald. “We have arrived!”
“Envoy Manzanix,” Triobyu said, more quietly and with thinly veiled contempt in the name, glancing back and forth at the human President and the Envoy. “We have received you.”
Admiral Triobyu sidestepped Manzanix, followed closely and nervously behind by the Faeson teenager, practically tugging at her medal-laden sash. She bowed slightly, and met President eyes, apparently relaxed now that her interaction with the Envoy was over.
“Mr. President, John Acerman,” she said, firmly but awkwardly. “Welcome, to Ejaen Epsilon. I, along our Matriarch and the whole of this planet and the Faeson people, are pleased you have arrived safely.”
Admiral Triobyu smiled politely yet genuinely at the President, extending one of her many hands to shake. The Faeson boy put his upper hands on his neck and wrapped his lower arms around his side while bowing—all together a formal gesture of supplication in Faeson culture—but said nothing else, eyes darting nervously between Acerman’s face and the floor but never daring to look the President in the eyes for more than a split second.

[Parcia]

The Meeting.


The Faeson had certainly dressed up for the occasion. Opposite them would be a full company of Colonial Marines and Sailors in their tailored white dress uniforms, their rifles freshly polished and gleaming. A Platoon of Headhunters, the Colonials own Super Soldiers in their Olive Drab green camo paint in similar parade formation.

John would meet them with a warm smile and a fresh suit, having taken time to properly refresh him self. Fallowing close behind was Petra, her self well rested and changed in to appropriate professional business suit, complete with a pair of red heels and skirt.

His reception and introduction was warm and inviting, with open posture and hands to get the subliminal message across he was a diplomat. "Greetings Admiral Triobyu, Indeed I am happy to be here. This is Petra Khan, my personal aid and assistant. I must say our journey here has been quite pleasant. Envoy Mananix made a most enjoyable partner in our conversations in regards to our two peoples."

[Raktio]

Central Galactic West - Western frontier system of the Abr Network Worlds / eastern system of Raktion explored space

At the edge of the planetary system, five vessels blinked into existance. A fairly large ship which for its size had little in the way of weapons beyond anti-smallcraft (or missile or otherwise potentially dangerous space junk and or rocks soundlessly whizzing about), and four much smaller vessels who's designed were clearly much more heavily designed for combat. The five vessels then adjusted their angles before firing up their sublight engines, synchronizing their vectors to stay in a loose formation. As the ships moved, the larger one began to scan the system in more depth with powerful equipment meant to get a much better reading of what was there than what could be done with information which was easily hundreds of years out of date and only optical based (because screw trying to explain them not noticing stuff several thousand light-years away to some degree when we can already do much better in this day and age). Knowing that there wasn't likely going to be any lifeforms in this particular planetary system, but always hoping something would come up, the crew of the main vessel was more than surprised when not only signs of life, but also signs of space-faring civilization was evident within the system.

The five ships almost immediately began slowing down at a very respectable distance from the current inhabitants of the system. Respectable being well outside of any gravity wells and at least at a distance twice the effective range of their own weapons. As they did that, one of the messenger shuttles in the largest ship's bay was launched before disappearing as its FTL drive took it to the nearest known Raktio controlled system where they could relay the information. Meanwhile on the bridge of the commanding vessel, which ironically was the least armed though sufficiently armored due to the fact that there were extra precautions taken to ensure that the internal biosphere was not effected by stuff in space (radiation, very fast rocks, etc), the small fleet's commodore made themselves ready for what would hopefully be a successful first contact.

[Rykil]

Abr Networked Worlds - System 3356

The real treat was where those signs of life and primary centers of spacefaring civilization was located. The entities inhabiting this system appeared to primarily reside around the rings of the outer gas giants, specifically, their moons. The most inhabited moon had an atmosphere of hydrogen, nitrogen, and methane with oceans and lakes of hydrocarbons. Heavy orbital facilities, likely industrial or economic in nature, existed around the rocky inner planets. There were extensive signs of asteroid habitats and mining stations in the ring systems. Indeed, this likely could not be found with purely optical means such as telescopes. Radio signal "whispers" were in heavy concentration throughout the system, suggesting some sort of primitive reliance on it or simple widespread usage. While it seemed the system had not yet responded to their presence, a small fleet not unlike their own was already en route to the Raktion flotilla.

The alien fleet was composed of six ships, five escorts and a main commanding vessel. The ships were dull and spherical, but the commanding vessel appeared to taper around the equator. Smaller craft immediately released themselves from the commanding vessel, arranging themselves into an ovoid screen surrounding the alien fleet. These smaller crafts were simple trapezoids, it seemed this species enjoyed geometry. The alien fleet appeared to approach at a steady yet efficient pace as if every movement was precalculated to hell. The fleet stopped a good distance from the Raktion flotilla's effective weapons range, seemingly analyzing the foreign vessels, gauging them at a safe distance. The alien fleet remained silent and unmoving, as if beckoning the Raktions to act.

[Raktio]

Central Galactic West - Western frontier system of the Abr Network Wolds / eastern system of Raktion explored space

Commodore Kharr'rha stood on the Seed Gift's bridge, wishing she was rather on on one of the well armed and defended escort vessels rather than in the big, less well protected against weaponry and virtually unarmed biome ship. As soon as she had gotten the report about the fact that there were obviously other people occupying the system, she had made it a point to ensure that the entire crew were dressed in their most professional attire which many tended to fore go parts of. The Commodore herself was dressed in her station's uniform, a practically minded light power armor which would have trouble taking hits from anything heavier than sidearms which had her rank (which she doubted the other side would understand since they weren't Raktion) deployed over her left breast and a lowered hood which when activated would instantly form a helmet over her head and provide her with an independent supply of air. At her hip was her own Crystwood blade which gave her a comforting hum when she thought about it. As the other fleet approached hers she began issuing specific orders. "Escort vessels maintain vectors, the Seed Gift will drop back some distance as a precaution should things go the way we don't want them to go. Essia how goes the the decryption? The faster we can at least partially understand them the better. And I want everything ready for any case scenarios. I don't care if it's a matter of only we can't understand them and vise versa, they turn out extremely aggressive or we make peaceful contact with them. What ever the case is, as long as we don't screw up, we're all going to be heroes of Raktio!"

After a short moment of the Seed Gift's bridge's crew cheering, Essia, who was onboard the Savage Plyoraptor sent a reply back to Kharr'rha. "We've been trying to decipher the radio signals from them but it's like trying to fit a square into a circle when you don't even know what a square looks like. We've started to sort out some of their civilian frequencies and I've been working on getting an idea of the range of their vocals, which I believe are similar to ours though overall seems to be a fair amount of octaves higher than ours but for the most part we probably can mimic most of what they can say and vise versa. However that is as far as I will be able to go without a lot of time or some examples of their dialect."

Which to Kharr'rha translated as 'Hey Kharr'rha, can you please go over and meet them in person and look like an idiot while trying to understand each other and not accidentally gravely insult each other while I collect data?' Of course, the expedition leader knew that he was right. Sighing internally she mustered half a dozen guards, the one residential historian, an intelligence officer and a wild pride Chief from the internal jungle. Once ready, she put her second in command in charge should things go for the worse, and she headed for the hanger bay and boarded one of the ready utility transport smallcraft. Once all the requested personnel were together, including the ceremonially dressed Chief, the small group of representatives and guards were flown out of the hanger and the smallcraft quickly out distanced the larger ships as they slowed down to a standstill in comparison to the other fleet.

The large, silverish biome vessel Seed Gift hung in the back, clearly indicating that it was either a more important and less well armored and or armed vessel or its own weapons were much longer ranged. Between it and the other fleet was the five other vessels it had arrived with. Much smaller vessels then the Seed Gift, these ones, contrary to the other were clearly warships. The vessels had no visible viewing ports, and if one could get a close enough look at them, they would see sets of some form of warship sized emplacements, which likely were energy weapons and plenty of smaller turrets which were the vessels point defense system. The entirety of these vessels were predatory and their weapons were all synchronized and facing the Abr fleet as the Rakton fleet came to a gradual halt, followed not long after by the sight of a smallcraft hurling through the space towards the Abr fleet which had originated from the large, oval shaped vessel.


Central Galactic East - Western border of the Vresh Hive territory / eastern border of Chizn's domain

The Last of the Chizn felt concerned as it realized that its plan to get its metaphorical back to the galactic edge. Namely there was already something else there, and their detection technology was so bad that her small scouting vessels could easily avoid their detection. Her scouts had already discovered a large, jagged line of systems where these Others seemed to stick around, these systems all having a common trait of having one or in some cases two different worlds in the system with primitive biological sapient life. Eventually the super AI found out why the Others liked to stick around in these systems as recording of the Others harvesting the people like she harvested materials.

The AI had carefully worked to remove some independent entities who had been lurking, which after a couple of captured ship computers intact, she had learned that they were pirates and outlaws and wouldn't be likely noticed if they were missing. Apparently the Others, or rather the Vresh if the data from some of the pirate vessels were true since those seemed to match her own data fairly well, also agreed with her that pirates were a annoyance that should be removed. There was the difference of the fact that the Vresh ate the pirates and she just dumped them into space since they weren't useful. The data collected when some of the pirates had accidentally bumped into the Vresh via their AI totally mysteriously suddenly acting up and going completely rogue had been very informative.

While the machines and bugs removed any signs of any other advanced civilization in the border between then. The Last of the Chizn had much of her mobile construction power working on building up bastion worlds on her side of the invisible border between the two, and clearing many worlds of anything biologica. This was achieved via intensive nuclear bombing in many cases, in others causing massive terramophic shifts to wreck any sort of hopes that the world would be able to support biological life in at least the next two billion years (and she may have saved a few files of crashing a smaller moon into the largest moon of a planet and sending that one into a downward spiral, which cracked the planet from the sheer power of the impact). As she continued to carve out her barrier, she also carefully worked on expanding her information network of scout vessels which continued to carefully poke around at various systems near hers, and more importantly further into the Vresh territory.

The ease at which she could send scouts amongst them was laughably easy, which she concluded that the Vresh only went after things that were deemed worthwhile. With that information in mind, she turned from just dumping pirate ships to taking most of the better parts without damaging their autonomous capability and then leaving them collected in between star systems for later use. Letting the cold of space preserve the crews corpses better than anything else.

[Rykil]

Abr Networked Worlds - System 3356 - Raktion-Abr Contact

The commanding vessels Craftmind lay unmoving in the hydrocarbons save for manipulator flicks, twists and the rapid movement of their Magnetosee cybernetics. Those cybernetics allowed them to "see" the universe around them by converting and filtering magnetic fields into vision. The Craftmind was the Abr analogy to a captain, being hooked up via mind-machine interface to essentially "become" the Abr vessel. Other Abr crewmen aboard the vessel were Substrate Orgaminds, acting as "organs" the Craftmind's "body," manning weapons with the aid of mind-machine AI, scanning, life-support, maneuvering the ship at the Craftmind's command, and other functions. However, for this occasion, the commanding vessel's hangar had a reserved section for the alien craft, from which an Abr envoy awaited them. Noting the backing of the foreign lead craft and the smallcraft coming towards them. The Craftmind sat there.

But something tingled, and communication ensued.

"NONABOR is approaching your body and the Substrate Orgaminds are awaiting command."

It was the AI that was interfacing with his nervous system, acting in perfect neural synchronization with him. It was simply awaiting further commands, that was all.

"Do not fire on NONABOR, await any signs of aggression. If NONABOR seeks violence, then NONABOR shall receive violence. I wish to study NONABOR, perhaps they are silicone relatives like us, or they may be a part of the carbon herd. We must know."

"Order received. Cautious Standby initiated."

The trapezoid drone screen locked on to the smallcraft, bearing no warmed weapons but displaying them as a word of warning. Lasers, plasma toroids, and missiles, the right armament for a drone craft like them.

Aboard the Equatorial Berth

The Equatorial Berth was the name for the hangar located along the namesake equator of the commanding vessel. While larger, spined saucer craft that served as not-as-expendable fighter-bomber craft occupied every docking circle, one was reserved for the alien craft as willed by the Craftmind. Octopod drones tirelessly worked, maintaining and guarding the Equatorial Berth. Ten of these Octopods, each one three meters in height, two meters dedicated to their tendrils and one dedicated to their spherical body, surrounded a trio of Abr, each only five feet in height. These Abr were also implanted with Magnetosee cybernetics and bore powered exosuits to aid them, for they could not move well in a place that wasn't the liquid hydrocarbon bodies of their native environment. The leader of this trio, Mhuidrr'mo, was a xenobiologist. His companions Yomhaiogr'ithiss and Iumh'iobbilbh were a diplomat and a xenoenvironmentalist respectively. Whether the foreign entities would be hostile, simply using the smallcraft as a Trojan Horse or coming in a legitimately peaceful manner still eluded them.

If the Raktio's predator evolution caught up to them, it may not end well for both parties, especially considering how the filter-feeding/photosynthesizing Abr may react to them.

[Raktio]

Central Galactic West - Western frontier system of the Abr Network Wolds / eastern system of Raktion explored space
Seeing that the other party didn't back down or initiate an attack, told the Ra'tzekio that the aliens were either mimicking them or had similar views on greeting another. Time passed quite a lot before the shuttling smallcraft reached the Abr flee. Finding what could only be a dock left open for them, the pilot manually maneuvered the vessel into the strange craft. With the entire crew wearing spacesuits or environmental suit in the expectancy that the ship's atmosphere would not be suited for them, the vessel's internal parts were de-pressurized before docking, and refilling the transport vessel with atmosphere from the carrier they had entered. As soon as the vessel was completely docked and more or less had the same atmosphere as the Equatorial Berth at large, the passenger hatch opened.

Commodore Kharr'rha was the first to step out of the transport and into the strange vessel. Standing at a relaxed crouch she was about a three meters tall, which was average for a Ra'tzekio. She was wearing her formal uniform, which was made of a white scale leather, which meshed well with her tawny fur. Her uniform also had a more advanced protective layer underneath the scales. At her hip was her attention drawing Crystwood sword which looked more ceremonial than anything. It was both natural and exotic and it had a warm and vibrant feel to it that couldn't be copied with technology. Due to confirming that the atmosphere wasn't acidic or something like that, her environmental protection wear had been stripped down to wearing a breather mask since the atmosphere was much thinner than even most of the mountain folk would be able contend with, but was otherwise non-dangerous. Following close behind her was the dark brown historian, which she still wasn't sure how or why the man had ended up with the fleet, he was almost immediately recording everything he could. The pride chief came next and seemed the most bewildered of them, though her decision on having him come had been a relatively hasty one, but her options hadn't been very many and the older man would likely have insightful views. The intelligence officer, who had brown fur with black spots, came through last before two of the guards, who only bore sidearms and were really there just for show.

Kharr'rha faced the alien delegation, who were all half her height, and crossing forearms in front of her and greeted them with a simple "Hello." With a little consultation on the way over, she had come to the conclusion that that was really the best way to start since the pretext would suggest that that was an introduction or greeting. After a moment she continued by guesturing at herself and stating "Kharr'rha," the r'r rumbled with a growl that came from deep in her chest.

[Rykil]

Abr Networked Worlds - System 3356 - Raktion-Abr Contact

The Octopods formed a bowl-shaped formation around the group, seemingly bearing no weapons but intensely scanning, recording, and tracking the littlest details in the Ra'Tzekio. The Abr, on the other hand, were huddled close but did not appear fearful. Their gray powered exosuits consisted of layered metals, plastics, and nanomechanical material that followed the tiniest of movements. Built-in life support and environmental protection systems maintained their safety in the oxygenated carbon herd-preferred atmosphere. The Magnetosee cybernetics appeared to dart rapidly across the Ra'Tzekio, absorbing every detail as best they could. The creatures stood on exo-augmented tendrils with cup-like pods at the end, acting like feet (which they naturally did not have). The seeming leader of the group -Mhuidrr'mo- took particular interest in their catlike physiology and practically knew at an instant, from prior studies with carbon herd lifeforms, that they had to be predators. The one to the left -Yomhaiogr'ithiss- was carefully examining the opposing leader's gestures and recorded their vocalizations, his exosuit uploading it into a translation AI to decipher what they were communicating (assuming that they are speaking their native tongue). The one to the right -Iumh'iobbilbh- was picturing their native environment, again from previous studies with carbon herd lifeforms, and their role in the ecosystem.

Yomhaiogr'ithiss silently communicated through their radiohead organ that the entity was attempting to communicate an introduction and that they should respond the same. Mhuidrr'mo responded first leaning slightly backward.

"M-huidrr'mo."

The Abr to the left did the same backwards lean and vocalized themselves.

"Yomhaiogr'ithiss."

Last but not least, the individual on the right did the same.

"Iumh'iobbilbh."

Their voices sounded like a conversion software translating text to speech, although in the Abr's case it was radio signal to speech. It came out with no personality, no emotion, just simple vocalization. Despite that, there was a tiny glimpse of unease in them, as if the Abr were worried about something. If the Ra'Tzekio could instantly read another entity's mind they would see that the Abr were frightened by their stature, predatory physiology, and likely a warlike culture or mindset. This was a stark contrast to the passive physiology and thinker-engineer culture of the Abr. While the Abr considered themselves to be a power amongst the nations of the galaxy, they were severely out-of-date due to their self-imposed neutrality and isolation, a period that they had only recently exited.

[Gamer Iran]

The Symposium

They called it The Rock—and for good reason. For lack of a better word, it was a giant city cut into an even bigger asteroid, something of a gravity field holding the whole settlement together. A sort of energy barrier protected a large hangar, where much of the activity took place on the rock, sans its largely active biosphere, which contained a sort of forum for interaction, trade, and communication.

...or the occasional gun duels.

Ahmed was far away from the ruckus in his suite, which was situated in the protected high rises of The Rock, further protected by armed cyborg security guards. It overlooked the Biosphere, which itself was a small city built into the asteroid, lit up by huge sun lamps at the top of the artificial cave which turned on and off like an actual sun, mimicking a day/night cycle complete with stars. The lamps were fine, though the warmth of the sun wasn't present, making the lights feel somewhat fake and cheap no matter how bright they were.

The Rock was a social area, but it was only one location in the vast cyberspace that was the Symposium, full of gamers, career criminals, and others under the caliphate. Generally, it was a place that everyone was welcome, so long as they complied by the rules or were Islamic. Ahmed happened to be high in status in this regard—as he was one of the highest ranking gamers, carrying with him a large amount of clout to his name.

Something was off for Ahmed, though. A misalignment with the stars? Allah giving him a hidden message? Slowly, but surely, Ahmed eased his way out of the real world into the dark, real, and harsh real world, virtual realty and sensory deprivation equipment unplugging itself from the base of his spine and around his sensory organs. A look in the mirror revealed a man of part flesh and part machine, though mostly of the latter, sitting quietly while the holy text in its physical form sat beside him on the table. The one most inhuman thing about him—even more inhuman than the cybernetic eyes that twinkled blue, was the facial paint, reminiscent of a clown. White, and red.

Ahmed looked up to an assistant entering the room, kneeling down in front of him. "Master Gamer Ahmed, we have new information."

"Our neighbors?"

"Not much." The assistant shook his head. "They call themselves the 'Abr' and the 'Gatoxites'."

"Are they gamers?"

The assistant shook his head sadly. This was already turning out to be a little too harrowing, especially for Ahmed. "Well, assistant? Are they human, or enhanced.. or neither?"

"I'm afraid the answer is neither, Ahmed." The assistant muttered. "Even worse, I believe they are inhuman...meaning, alien."

A sad look appeared on Ahmed's face as he picked up the holy text for emphasis. "It is said that 'to fight in the cause of Truth and by the sword of Allah is one of the highest forms of charity and righteousness. What else can you offer that is more precious than your own life?' Answer that for yourself, my assistant. But, what does this mean?" He held a finger up to the ceiling, his hand level with his chest. "It means that our neighbors have two choices. Accept Allah as their savior, or die. Inshallah, this is our mission, our purpose."

"We'll send invites to the Symposium digitally," The assistant nodded. "If they do not respond?"

"Then thus begins the next jihad." Ahmed answered cryptically, waving his hand. "Now, go at once. I must get back to my game."

[Arktic]

The Meeting.


The Faeson had certainly dressed up for the occasion. Opposite them would be a full company of Colonial Marines and Sailors in their tailored white dress uniforms, their rifles freshly polished and gleaming. A Platoon of Headhunters, the Colonials own Super Soldiers in their Olive Drab green camo paint in similar parade formation.

John would meet them with a warm smile and a fresh suit, having taken time to properly refresh him self. Fallowing close behind was Petra, her self well rested and changed in to appropriate professional business suit, complete with a pair of red heels and skirt.

His reception and introduction was warm and inviting, with open posture and hands to get the subliminal message across he was a diplomat. "Greetings Admiral Triobyu, Indeed I am happy to be here. This is Petra Khan, my personal aid and assistant. I must say our journey here has been quite pleasant. Envoy Mananix made a most enjoyable partner in our conversations in regards to our two peoples."

Admiral Triobyu turned her head and tilted it to the side to look at Manzanix, smile plastered on her face but absent from her eyes. "That much seems to be apparent. We were pleased with the results of the negotiation and of your acceptance of this invitation."
"You honor me," the Envoy said, bowing her head slightly, wearing something approaching a smug smirk. The Faeson boy looked at the Admiral, then at the Envoy, then at President John, very clearly trying to read faces.

"In any case," Triobyu continued. "There are some things we should get straightened away first, before deorbiting." She turned to the Faeson male standing next to her. "This is Dokinre. He has been... appointed to be your guide, and to serve full-time Faeson affairs adviser. Think of him as... a goodwill gift, and something of a hostage, if it pleases your Union. He is a Dtone Child, so you have nothing to fear from psychic abilities: has has none."
Dokinre bowed in respect nervously. "I am at your service, sir."