Sunset: Then, Now, Tomorrow (Maintenance & Role-Play)

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 18...

"...'If the Officers are Leading from in Front, Watch for an Attack from the Rear.'"

"Here, once again, the Maxims encourage the reader to situational awareness. One of the many duties of an officer - or a leader in general - is that of situational awareness. While those under them might be responsible for gathering information, it is they that are responsible for understanding it and enacting upon it. Thus when those whose duty it is to maintain awareness are concentrated in one location it is often the case that their attention lapses in others. This is particularly true when one considers the biological imperative towards self-preservation and more-so when one adds in the additional complication of leading from the front - because the front is conceptually where the action is."

"This would then take us forward to Maxim 63, 'The Brass Knows How to do it by Knowing Who can do it.' In the context of the Maxim, this then suggests that the officers should not, in fact, be leading from the front. It is their job to get things done by knowing who - and thus assigning who - will get that thing done. This would also suggest that there should be no such thing as a 'front' or 'rear' when conducting combat operations - or any operation, to carry the Maxim further afield. Every area is important in its own particular way. It has often been noted that 'novices study heroes, beginners study tactics, amateurs study strategy, and experts study logistics,' and in a way this lays out the 'traditional' notions of warfare with soldiers at the front, their non-commissioned officers directing them in battle, the commissioned officers directing these towards larger objectives, and then the supply areas in the rear keeping everything ahead of them moving."

"But on the modern battlefield and in modern warfare, there is no 'front' and there is no 'rear'. The modern war is asynchronous and amorphous with combat conducted across multiple areas of engagement simultaneously and with combat environments ranging from space to land to sea to the internet, financial markets, the houses of politics - the houses of individual soldiers. Thus Maxim 18 would seem to suggest that if the concept of a 'front' or 'rear' evolves on a given battlefield, one is instead losing their situational awareness as well as their ability to effectively coordinate the operation - to lead - and thus one should then devote resources as required to regaining both; to be 'Looking for an Attack from the Rear,' to paraphrase..."

[The Ctan]

Cha’rau felt the sun on their skin and opened their eyes, the luminous globe hanging in the air through the window, a little too wide and smooth, a single fine pane of glass. The room resembled the finest merchant’s townhouse, built to a wider and higher standard than anything they had actually been in. The sheets were a fine muslin with a brocade edge and the fibre-wood bed, spun like a wide nest in a traditional and somewhat old-fashioned style was as pricey as the rest of the room.

Everything was expensive and smelt of fresh dew. They breathed in deeply and rose, though they could not recall getting here. Stranger still, in soft near-infrared letters smack in the middle of the optical range of the Espru, hung words in mid-air.

DREAM ENVIRONMENT

It wasn’t like any dream that they ever had, there was something weighty about it, and they touched themselves twice in order to establish it, a gentle poke followed, everything seemed to be normal, and they reached out to the words, which dissolved into white sand as they were touched, pooling on the sheets and then becoming a soothing incense. The smoke coiled, and they followed it, as the smoke became the words again, in the middle of the room.

Puzzled, they rose and explored momentarily, a trunk held the loose garments of a trader or rich person, and they put some on experimentally, before walking to the window. The house was in the countryside, broad gardens with topiaries and ornamental pools of fowl were visible beneath, and the strangest, most disgusting creature that Cha’rau had ever seen.

It was like an Espru if an Espru had a large bony knob where head stalks should be, covered in tendrils that poured down the back of their head, and a strange set of breathing organs built between two overlarge eyes. They didn’t think that they could invent such a thing in any dream.

Stepping back hoping the creature had not seen them, Cha’rau took a moment to look cautiously around the room, before settling on a slender bronze blade from the wall, it was old, but serviceable. A prayer to the gods seemed appropriate, but this creature was not any sort of daemon that Cha’rau could imagine, it seemed quite… ordinary.

It had been sat on a bench outside, throwing seed to the lakefowl.

Cha’rau put the strange creature from their mind for a moment, before looking around and heading through the door to the bedroom. Cautious exploration followed, and several other similarly opulent rooms could be seen, but there was no one present, no one else to talk to.

Here and there, the words reappeared, when touched they fell from the air, became wisps and floated away, re-forming elsewhere. A permanent reminder that this was not reality.

Stopping only to look through the food and intoxicants in the well-stocked pantry and cellar, Cha’rau eventually made their way to the gardens. It seemed like there was nothing to do yet. There were books, but they spoke of strange and baffling things. Of stars, and moons – a word that was Espru but which referred only to a fantastical object of the night sky – and of people of strange and unsettling types, illustrations showed a lavish opulence and the wealth of the house in books was beyond easy reckoning.

It made Cha’rau uneasy, they had never had wealth or status, certainly not the leisure to study in a library such as this.

“Hello?” they said, as they approached the strange Espru-like being in the garden. It seemed like the only way to get answers. Usually, things actually happened in dreams, and this was different. Half an hour of pacing did nothing.

The weirdly unsettling head swivelled, and the tall but slender form regarded him with a gesture of warm welcome, made with limbs that seemed too short.

“Hello,” the creature replied, one of its breathing holes making the three-word greeting by contorting into the strangest shapes, a tentacle coiling within. Unsettled, Cha’rau wanted to step back but held their nerve.

“What kind of a dream is this?”

“A different one, something like a dream, something like a vision. It is a dream provided while you heal.”

“Really?” Cha’rau could remember terror, the world-changing, things becoming lighter, an upward avalanche and then the strangest sensations. They looked out over the hedges to see the land curve upward, to look for the world-above.

There was no world-above, only the world continuing to a single gleaming band in the sky, pale white in the blue. They trembled briefly, thinking of the scriptures, the world-above gone.

“Where is this place?”

“It is not really anywhere,” the knob-headed creature said, “it resembles a world beyond the stars, known as Ilcathelma-Aritane.”

The answer was unsettling and perplexing. The characters hung over the lake when he looked back.

DREAM ENVIRONMENT

Cha’rau looked at the creature nearby, wanting to see if it had made any aggressive moves, but it kept its hands folded one into the other before it, a position of passivity.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Jasanarit, I am a ship-mind.”

“A sailor?”

“No, I am a ship that talks.”

The answer was baffling. But it was not difficult to comprehend, only to believe.

“What kind of ship talks?”

“A very clever one,” Jasanarit said.

Cha’rau could not resist the urge to laugh, the humour translated. “And this is a dream. A figment of my imagination?”

“Not quite, more a figment of mine. Unfortunately, something very unpleasant happened to your home, and you were rescued. You were gravely injured, so I brought your mind here while I repair your body.”

“Repair, as in mend like a kettle?” Cha’rau asked.

“A little like that, more like reversing the baking of bread.”

“That cannot be done.”

“Very clever,” Jasanarit said.

“And if I woke up?”

“Now? You would be in great pain,” the strange being said. “But I am not going to do that. I can have you sleep until your body is mended if you wish. But it will take some time.”

“So this is a healing trance?”

“Exactly,” Jasanarit sounded like an impressed teacher, it shouldn’t have worked, but Cha’rau had always wanted more schooling and though they knew that the tone was at least somewhat calculated, it felt pleasing.

“Are you telling me this… attack really happened?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it did, and while we had hoped to prevent anything like it happening, it did happen.”

“What kind of army was it?”

“Not an army, not really, but they fled, and burned your world like an army retreating and burning fields as they flee. Only a small portion of your people was saved. Our enemy, and the butchers of your people, are called the Krâng.”

“I’ll remember that name,” Cha’rau said, this was a weirdly articulate dream if any of it proved true. A thought followed.

“Who else did you rescue?”

“Only the city dwellers in the largest cities. You have my condolences for your losses.”

Cha’rau felt sickness overcoming them with a giddy tide of nausea. They were still unconvinced that any of this was true, but the idea that everyone outside the cities was dead was disgustingly persuasive. Like almost everyone else, they had been born in the country and moved to the city. Their kin was dead. If Jasanarit told the truth. It could be just a morbid dream. They hoped so.

The strange creature had not spoken for a long moment, letting Cha’rau process their grief.

“Everyone else is dead?” they asked eventually.

“I am sorry: yes.”

“These Krâng, did you stop them?”

“No,” Jasanarit said. “Not yet, but we are going to follow them, to try and stop them from doing the same to anyone else.”

Disbelief warred with grief, and the latter won for a time. Misery and loss warred as they tried to even count the number of their kin who had been killed, parents, siblings, cousins and almost all of their children. Childhood friends and rivals, old town priests and milliner’s children. So many.

“What will happen to us now?” Cha’rau asked.

“For now, I will be with you,” Jasanarit said. “When you and the others in the same situation as you are ready, this dream can be merged with yours. Some were injured even more gravely, and their bodies must be rewoven and re-vented entirely. If you wish, I can show you other environments, or you can examine a little more about me. When you are ready, I will be able to wake you fully,” Jasanarit’s tone was warm, honest. Cha’rau got the feeling that he had never met a more honest soul, despite the strangeness of the creature, its tone spoke of sincerity. “Everything you need will be provided, houses like this one are already being built, and for us, that will be done in a day. Long before you are ready to wake up. In various places.”

“So if this is a ship, and this is just a vision, are there people, like you onboard?”

“Not on board me, but we are in a fleet with several ships that do have residents. I am something like a war-ship, but the other ships are the ships of conventional mariners. Some of them are eager to meet you all when you feel ready. The library in the house is also able to tell you a lot about our people. And if you wish, you can send messages in other ways.”

“Are there other ships with our people on?”

“Your nation, or your species? The answer to the former is no, the latter, yes. There are somewhat more of your people than you think, so many that many other cultures have worked with us to rescue you from the Krâng.”

Cha’rau absorbed the answer with a moment of silent reflection, taking the bag of seed and throwing it to the garden fowl.

“I’ve never been… devout.”

“I can tell,” Jasanarit said. “Many people asked before this point.”

“Asked what?”

“If the gods hadn’t done anything about the Krâng,” the strange being said. “Unfortunately. The Krâng have been among your people for many centuries, and have learned to pass themselves off as divine messengers, or even gods.”

Cha’rau hissed, the idea was blasphemous, even to him.

“I am not a god, and I will tell you that frankly. Neither are the Krâng; but you can see how even this ability,” the ship-being waved one of its hands toward the text hovering over the lake, “could be misused to make people believe things that were not true.”

“I am still hoping that everything you have said is untrue.”

“I wish it was too,” Jasanarit said, “but if I were to tell lies, they would be sweet ones.”

Cha’rau looked at the creature, they wondered if this was a joke.

“I would like to wake up now.”

“In a way you already have,” Jasanarit said.

[Sunset]

The Bridge of SS-Qasr, In High Orbit over GEC-8975795, Somewhere in the Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.299.087...

"...we are so very, very stupid," Alwyra declared, shaking her head in frustration at her own apparent ineptitude as she rushed over to the luxury yacht's navigation station. Sharing the same saucer-and-nacelle design with the previous generation of Defense Force vessels, it also shared something of the same bridge layout though with the navigation, helm, and science station rolled into a single console just ahead and to the left of the captain's station - a standing position, in this case - and opposite the very limited self-defense station.

"Pop quiz, hotshot," she went on, directing this towards the officer manning the station, a chubby - at least for the normally whip-thin - reptilian Duwerli ​who looked up at his employer with a bit of a grin on his youthful face, "How many warlords do you think the Kion had?"

It was a good question and he reached up to scratch himself behind the ear ridge before answering, "Without looking, ma'am? I'd say 'one'."

She nodded, "Yeah - exactly! You were at the Dragon's Eye, right? Did you go down there and take a look?" He nodded; every member of the crew who had the opportunity had taken advantage of it. The Dragon's Eye and more importantly the tomb built deep under the planet-spanning ocean was an incredible hoard of both wealth and knowledge with priceless artifacts gathered over the entombed Kion warlord's lifespan stashed away, meant to honor them as much in death as they had been in life. "Really neat, right? But talk about missing the forest for the trees - the Kion were a conquering civilization for..."

A few taps at the console keyboard and he had the answer, "Something like sixteen hundred years. They weren't very good at empire building, but they seemed to be pretty good at empire breaking," he quipped. "So... They wouldn't have had one warlord. Some kind of dynasty, maybe? So..."

"So yeah, we are so very, very stupid," she repeated. "Now, that guy might have been the biggest and the baddest, but if they buried him like that - why wouldn't they bury the rest of 'em like that too? There could be a whole bunch of them out there, just waiting for a certain cute and opportunistic Neko to find them!"

"Like you?" Kedo asked. As she'd been bent over the console, he'd practically snuck up behind her and when she stood up with a bit of a jump she found herself up against his broad chest.

Turning around, she clung to him, smiling like the cat who'd caught the mouse, "Yes! Of course me! So - how do we find them?"

"If we're lucky, there's a map to the rest of them on the Dragon's Eye."

"That would mean the elves would be all over them though. And we haven't heard about it, so... They gotta be out there but hidden, just like that one! But if we go looking for them on the 'net, someone might figure out that we're looking for them and beat us to 'em! So we gotta come at this sideways," she declared, punching her palm with a firm 'smack'.

"Sideways?" the console operator looked up at her.

"Yeah! We gotta look for them without looking like we're looking for them! So... Ideas?"

"Well..." There was an 'uncomfortably long' pause. Then a 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' pause, "...well. The Dragon's Eye is a rogue planet, right? So we can check the records for other rogue planets. If I recall, the Kion homeworlds were all kinds of blown up, so doubt there's anything there."

"And they put the tomb on a rogue planet. So they probably didn't want anyone to find it, right? But if they put all of them on rogue planets, then anyone who finds one knows to just go looking for rogue planets, right? I'd put them in different places, places where no one would look or would bother to look or want to look."

"Most people don't look out in deep space because there's very little worth it and a lot of places to look. But we could spend a lot of time just cruising back and forth," he pointed out. "It's your dime though."

"Yeah! It is my dime, and we need something more than just going back and forth! So," she put her hand to her chin and stood there tapping a foot. "Ideas, ideas. I need an idea..."

Both men looked at her oddly; "Does that work?" Kedo asked.

"Sometimes? Okay. Let's just look at some examples, maybe? Where's the Dragon's Eye? Pull up the map," she ordered, tapping at the edge of the console. A few buttons and there it was, or at least the sector of space where it couldn't be seen. "So... G330. Or right on the edge of G000 and G330. A lot of stuff around there," she gestured pointlessly.

"We should probably be more interested in the Kion homeworlds," the operator decided, moving the map around. "The Dragon's Eye passed pretty close to there around the same time as they were out looting and pillaging."

"Huh. So they hid it someplace, but they actually hid it pretty close to home. Well, on a galactic scale. Close to home though," she slid in next to the operator, half-pushing him off his seat - which was fairly narrow to begin with - and began to touch first one star after another, bringing up their details and glancing them over before moving on.

Then she stopped, "Okay - how about this one? Binary system - two stars - and nothing else. But there is a bunch of rocks and shit right here," she touched a particular spot on the image, which brought the loose collection of 'rocks and shit' in closer still.

"The focal point for the smaller of the two," the Duwerli added. "Kinda the system's garbage dump."

"Yeah - so who wants to go to a garbage dump, right? There's nothing there - but maybe there is something there! How big's this rock?"

He poked at the console and read off the numbers, "Less than a kilometer at the narrowest axis. GEC survey data says its a nickel-iron asteroid. Worthless."

"Except as a place to hide stuff! So, let's go check it out. Lay in a course or something," she ordered, turning away to gaze at the main screen, arms crossed in apparent triumph. "While we're underway we'll look around, see if anything else interesting pops up..."

[Sunset]

Special Projects Research Capsule, The Pointy End of CRUX 13 Station, Just Above the Magnetar GEC-S731 (von KlitzingB), Somewhere in the M33 (Triangulum) Galaxy... Republic Date 177.302.058...

"...they turned their own best weapon against them," the white-coated researcher announced in a scene that would have otherwise consisted of the pair walking one after the other through an endless series of double-doors of various styles and functions. Except that the author was feeling both tired and lazy; instead they were all standing around a display pedestal that stood in the center of the lab where the contents of their discussion drifted effortlessly, caught in a suspension field that held them safely away from anything including themselves.

Of course it was no mere containment field in no mere sterile laboratory setting. The stand sat in a lab which sat on the very end of the narrowest spindle that suspended it as the closest part of an ultimately disposable research station as close as one could feasibly get to the polar parts of a magnetar. Something goes wrong, something bad happens, and all of this would drop straight in like a sewing pin stabbed deep into a ball of very magnetic yarn.

"And which best weapon is that?" was the obvious question. After all, the stuff in the suspension field didn't look like much at all. Here and there were the occasional odd sparkle, the occasional drift or swirl, but unless one happened to have a reasonably nice microscope - like the nine that hung suspended from the ceiling around the pedestal, their individual optics and detectors mounted on precisely-moving robotic arms that tracked whatever it was that they couldn't see on their slow migration through the field, the confinement field looked mostly empty.

"The Krâng pseudo-DNA;" the 'pseudo' was important. In principle their DNA was much like our DNA but it was still not our DNA. Instead it was entirely alien, as was shown on one of the displays that sat around the far edge of the lab. This particular monitor was particularly odd; instead of a single screen it was many thousands of individual triangular screens that came together - at least at a distance - to show what looked like a rope but wasn't. Individual helixes were packed tight - far tighter than Human DNA - but then also wound in the reverse direction around themselves to form a second helix - again, very tightly wound.

"Fantastic stuff, of course. They've got more than just the building blocks of their own wiggling lives in there;" an actual Krâng looked something like a large semi-translucent flattened ray with three tentacles that ended in squid-like pods. Physically they were something to sneeze at but they were not to be underestimated. "An operating system, construction templates... That first bit is important because it looks like that's what the i'Halalaentariel leveraged to detect them."

"So every Krâng has their own operating system imbedded in their DNA, right? When they plug their noodle-y appendages into a device - a drone, a warship, whatever - that they want to operate, this operating system is copied over from their DNA. This gives them a fine degree of control over that device because the operating system is highly customized to the individual user. But," the researcher turned and manipulated a control, moving here and there along the length of the displayed DNA rope to stop at a certain section, "not this section. This is the initialization string and it has to be the same across all of the Krâng, otherwise their devices won't recognize it as an operating system."

"So all Krâng, everywhere, have this exact sequence imbedded in their DNA?"

"One hundred percent absolutely. We've checked thousands of samples - every one of them has the same exact sequence in this exact place. This section, right here, is what these," he turned back to the suspension field and pointed, "are built to look for. How? Well, I'll tell you how..."

He then launched into a highly technical explanation that would have bored the writer's curious daughter to the point where she would have left the room. Spectra were invoked, frequencies discussed, spin-states identified - but in the end the much-simplified answer was that the i'Halalaentariel detector 'cells' - which were not cells but rather an analogue to our own integrated circuits and thus microchips - sent out a signal that duplicated the handshaking signal transmitted by a Krâng device which was then answered by a similar signal from that exact stretch of twisted spiraling DNA.

"...which means that we can replicate their detection system now. Neat, right? But boy, do we have some questions still!"

"Questions? Right now, this is fantastic. We've got somewhere around two hundred and eighty billion Espru to check for any sign of Krâng infestation and you're saying that with a pretty simple software radio we can do that?"

"Yep. But..;" Director Silaco cut him off, "Great! Make it happen. I want technical specs sent to everyone who can build a radio in the next ten hours."

"Yeah, but don't you want to know how come it took the i'Halalaentariel eighty-some thousand years to detect the Krâng in M33 instead of five-point-four million years?!"

"Okay," she stepped back and crossed her arms, rocking back onto her heel as she expected an answer that was at least amusing if not useful. "How?"

"That's the point! We don't know!"

She rolled her eyes, "Well, I do. They got an early return from whatever seed-ship the Krâng sent out towards M33 and triangulated its course. Then they sent a scout sphere to M33 which tracked down the infestation. Once they knew where it was, they started shooting at it with their star-cannon. Mystery solved. Now, do you have any other secrets to reveal to me? Cause I need to get back to some things - problems seem to be multiplying at the moment."

He scratched his head, "No, no - not yet. We're still working on a few things."

"Good - good work. You've saved a lot of lives here;" and then she was gone...

[Sunset]

RDF-Shalbatana Vallis, Hull Down on Setting Five, Part of What Was Circlet II in the GEC-M33-98192 System, M33 (Triangulum) Galaxy... Republic Date 177.302.058...

"...just keep putting up shelters," Captain Ti Bellino sighed, watching her own orders enacted in front of her eyes as a pair of ARC4s walked past with a freshly fabricated temporary structure that just might end up being permanent.

'Shalbatana Vallis had been in the wrong place at the right time. Assigned to one of the Circlet Settings that had gone flinging off away from its host planet towards deep space, they'd been able to ride out the shockwave in the faint shadow of that same while it had been blasted away by the Crown-induced nova. Slipping up and over the edge of the titanic segment, they'd gone hull-down along with the few hundred other surviving ships - the horseshoe-shaped vessels landing literally around towns and villages scattered around the interior. Between the (former) gas sub-giant, the PTU-557 hull of the Setting, and 'Vallis's shields, they'd managed to turn an utter disaster into a pleasant patch of green inside the brown thumb nightmare that was the rest of the interior.

"Two weeks is what I'm hearing from Fleet," she offered to the Lieutenant who had asked. "We're not the only survivors and for right now these people are in better shape than most. Right now," she ended with the repeated qualification.

The village - large town, really; the inside sweep of an eight hundred meter warship was a pretty fair sized plot of land when one got around entirely by walking - had survived the landing mostly intact but it wasn't alone. Hundreds of thousands of settlements had dotted an interior that itself had more landmass than a score of habitable worlds and many of these had survivors as well, though in much smaller numbers. She'd sent out her ship's fighters and shuttles to overfly everything they could, rescue those they could, and direct those that were ambulatory back to the 'Vallis where they were rapidly building temporary shelters edged up right against the side of the ship.

She wasn't going anywhere. An Impact-Class Cruiser like the 'Vallis could operate in atmosphere but it had never been designed to land and certainly hadn't been provisioned with landing gear. She might be able to leave; the Settings had been provided with artificial gravity and an atmospheric containment system - which was now active - but if this first was cut, the cruiser should be able to simply 'push' itself away using its drives. Since her next stop would be the scrapyard and doing so would destroy the village, it had been decided that for now she and all the other warships in the interior would remain as they were while the rest of what was now considered Task Force Five-dash-Two-dash-98192 would secure the area.

And then there were the Espru.

Already the crew had had to break up three near-riots. Apparently there was a religious schism brewing and the suggestion had been made that their temporary village be divided up into different areas based on affiliation. It wasn't an ideal situation - their shared goal should be survival until they could be evacuated or otherwise - but...

"...Captain!"

Bellino turned from her thoughts to where one of the third shift officers was running up, "What is it, Ensign?"

"Trouble. Murder, Captain. Looks like one of the Espru pushed another one off somewhere high and they went splat. Tempers are high - they want to execute the murderer!"

"...which means there's another riot brewing. Alright," she began to follow the Ensign at a trot. "Let's break this thing up and... I dunno. I guess we're in the business of building jails now..?"

[Sunset]

A Random Supply Closet, CRUX 69 Station, Deep Space, Somewhere in the M33 Galaxy... Just That Very Same Day...

"...alright, so - just to make sure we keep this all straight..."

"Right. Straight. Then why are we having a meeting in a supply closet?"

"...I'm not sure why we're having a meeting at all," a third voice spoke up, suddenly alone in the dark. "Couldn't we be doing all this through e-mail? This kinda feels like a vague, lame excuse to have a bunch of semi-attractive research specialists groping around in the dark rather than, you know, getting something done."

"No."

"No?" It was the third voice again, "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"No, I mean it isn't just a lame, vague excuse to have a bunch of semi-attractive research specialists groping around in the dark in a confined space. First, have you seen Karyl? She's, like... exothermic. I'm pretty sure if you put some dry tender on her chest you'd have a fire. But not - I'm actually pretty sure this is all a lame, vague excuse so that the poor guy writing all of this stuff doesn't actually have to do any scene descriptions and can just stick to dialog."

"...fuck you, I'm Karyl."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Which means you haven't been listening to me, otherwise you'd know what my voice sounds like, you piece of shit!"

"Wow, she sounds mad. I bet you're glad its dark in here so she can't see where you're at and hit you with a..." 'Thoomp'

"Nice try, fuck-o. Now, let's just... Get this over with. Now."

"...um, yeah. Okay. Glad we're in a cleaning closet cause I'm pretty sure that's blood. But since I can't see it and he's not whining about it, I think we'll just hit the high points, okay?" With no immediate objections and dead silence for the required two seconds, the speaker - hard to say if it was the first, second, but definitively not the third but possibly the fourth began.

"Okay, so what we have is five primary factions. There's the Krângists who follow Krângism, which is what we're calling the religion that the Krâng foisted off on the Espru. Broadly, they believe that the Krâng are punishing them for some kind of failure. They take the Tests;" one of Krângism's defining characteristics was a series of academic tests with increasing difficulty that were administered in the temples - which were also the schools - every quarter-rotation. Those who failed at any point returned to their lives and to study in preparation for the next quarter while those who succeeded were ushered into the innermost sanctum of the temple before being whisked away to heaven.

Heaven apparently consisted of having eggs laid in one's head.

"...and nothing happens because the Krâng are gone - punishing them for some kind of failure. Then the Krângists are divided into two further camps - the Cultists and the Jihad. The Cultists believe that the failure was theirs and theirs alone and so they spend all their time studying harder and harder, trying to pass the Tests. The Jihad believe they know why the Krâng have abandoned them - those damned dirty Heretics. They believe that if they kill or convert all of the heretics, they will bring the Krâng back and they'll be the first in line to go to heaven. Where they will have eggs laid in their heads."

"So Krângist Cultists and the Krângist Jihad."

"Yes. The Jihad mostly tolerate the Cultists and the Cultists conveniently ignore the Jihad. Right now we think the Jihad makes up about ten to fifteen percent of the Krângists and the Krângists make up somewhere around forty, forty-five percent of the population. They're the largest block but they're not the majority. Then we have the Heretics, which is everyone else but consists of a diverse group; the Traditionalists, the Atheists, and the Founders. The Traditionalists are the largest portion of the Heretics - around twenty five percent of the total population - and they have some knowledge of Espru religion and theology from before the Krâng rolled in to set up their own. Interestingly, it wasn't much of a stretch to go from the traditional religions to Krângism. They both emphasize self-improvement and rigorous theological knowledge - which is probably why a lot of it survived the Krâng years."

"The Atheists are atheists, right?"

"Exactly. So I'll skip them - they're about ten percent of the population, by the way. Which leaves the Founders - and the Founders break up into something like a bajillion different sub-groups because they are the Espru who have rejected both Krângism and the Traditional religion to make up their own. Now this is really fascinating because a lot of these religions are really well crafted. Now really most of them are slightly modified versions of Krângism or the traditional Espru religions but boy oh boy do both the Traditionalists and the Krângists hate them - even more than they hate each other."

"And they're twenty, twenty-five percent of the population? Damn. But there's a whole bunch of them."

"Yeah. Typically what you have is a single village or maybe a town that follows this 'new religion' where you might have a town or even city that is divided up among the Krângists, the Traditionalists, and the Atheists. So there's a lot more religious violence in the cities and towns but when the Krângists or the Traditionalists go after one of these little villages, they usually kill everyone..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 19...

"...'The World is Richer When You Turn Enemies Into Friends, But That's Not the Same as You Being Richer.'"

"Immediately here I am going to disagree with the remarks put forward in the annotated version - particularly when one further considers Maxim 29 in its entirety, 'The Enemy of my Enemy is my Enemy's Enemy, No More, No Less.' And," he paused to flip forward a few more pages, 'Every Client is One Missed Payment Away From Becoming a Target and Every Target is One Bribe Away From Becoming a Client' - Maxim 49. In the world of the professional mercenary, even one's friends may very well end up as a target - and very well might stay one's friends when the job is done! The very notion that one might turn all of their enemies into friends and thus no longer find employment is farcical - though it should also be pointed out that mercenaries have been, historically, rarely hired as a primary fighting force..."

"...and for those so foolish the results were hardly ever pleasant. In fact Maxim 54 references that very point; 'If You Can't Pay Them.'"

"No, I would maintain that Maxim 19 is not, in fact, the 'Peacemaker's Dilemma' but instead a warning to the prospective mercenary commander or - being much the same thing - small business owner. The goal of a mercenary company is to make money - any friendships that one makes along the way are incidental to making payroll. This could then be extended further to be considered an admonition to, in any circumstances, keep one's focus on the goal and on the processes required to reach that goal. If there is time to spend elsewhere; yes, perhaps, do so! But always ask yourself 'what is my goal and am I working to achieve it..?'"

[Sunset]

RDF-Lincoln, Currently in Orbit of the Planet Rins, On the Southwestern Rim of the Alpha Quadrant... One Quick Orbital Jaunt Later...

"...no, no - it isn't an intimate question - though it is one of politics," Director Vermir answered, waving away the careful question with a thick hand. While the Arch Precept and the other Princes were being entertained by the Ambassador, the Director, Fenin, and Killermi had found themselves ensconced in the ship's lounge. It was a comfortable and familiar space with a half-circle of booths broken in half by a small stage that was itself opposite what was clearly a bar with another new face on duty.

The three had been joined by or had joined a number of the ship's officers who had either been enjoying their off-duty hours or had drifted in with curiosity plain on their faces. After the customary casual introductions, two had taken a seat across from the Director and with drinks in front of them the three had begun exchanging friendly questions. That had led them to the current inquiry - the question of gender.

"Politics?" The questioner was an example of the question she had first thought she was asking; a female Human with short black hair - though far longer than the Director's near-bald pate - and a slender build that still boasted what he had learned were broadly - within the range of species he'd encountered thus far - feminine features.

"How does politics have anything to do with it?"

"A moment," and he took a drink. To his tongue it was spicy and hot though earlier she had described it as extremely bitter - thus the name. It was interesting just how different one species' biology and thus their senses could be from another and his answer to her question was about to illustrate that point once again. "First, the differences between our genders are quite enormous - and I mean that literally," he chuffed, which they'd already taken to be equivalent to a chuckle or laugh. "We are all males, from the Arch Precept to Killermi there," and he gestured across the lounge to where the junior astronomer was in eager discussion with a much more furry officer.

"The females of our species are completely aquatic, scores of feet in length, and far different in form. While there is a certain similarity in features," he gestured to his snout, "while we have evolved hands, they have retained their flippers, of which they have four. Our tail is essentially vestigial - almost vanished - while theirs is quite enormous and powerful, used primarily to propel them through the oceans while ours is very much useless. They are also possessed of a set of enormous whiskers of which these too," he touched the small pair that almost appeared as a mustache curling up from under his snout, "are but a vanishing trace. Already some, such as my dear Fenin, are born without them."

"They look quite distinguished," the young woman offered.

"Hmph, yes - thank you," he snuffled, which was again taken to be equivalent to a smile. "Now, it is hypothesized that our two genders diverged after some event that put evolutionary pressure on our species to be able to feed on land. However, rather than becoming entirely terrestrial, only the males - who were already far smaller than the females - migrated slowly onto the shores. Now it is only during the Great Spawn that we males return partially to the sea to provide our seed to the females, who roam the oceans in a single great pod between the spawning season. This is where politics enters into it.

"There are very few females - or Queens - compared to a vast number of males," he continued. "More-so, there are very few places where males and females can come together to spawn. Eight, to be precise. As one might suspect, these waters were highly contested for many years with various tribes, peoples, and then nations competing against one another by even force of arms for control of them. Even now there are those among the Princes who cast lustful eyes on the spawning waters controlled by their neighbors - though there has never been an instance in modern history of one Prince controlling two waters."

"And the other Princes don't share, do they?"

He chuffed again, several times in slow succession, "No, no - of course not! Partially greed, of course, but also a matter of biology. Those who take part in the Great Spawn leave their tailings to float freely through the water where they may perhaps come into contact with the Queen. Already it is a question of fate and chance whose seed will take root - to invite another Prince or their subjects to join in the spawn is to invite the chance that the spawn will be diluted, adulterated. Depending, of course, on one's opinion of their neighbors! Perhaps years from now this will change but not even our most enlightened Arch Precept would agree to this at the current time."

"Could you even tell?"

"Well..." he beckoned her close and she leaned forward so he could speak softly and perhaps more important, privately. "No - there is no way to tell. Many thousands of males partake in the Great Spawn every year - I myself was selected by the Arch Precept to do so, given my success in certain matters - but of the however many hundreds of thousands of males that result, there is no way to tell who is descended from who. Though of course," he sat back, though he continued to speak quietly, "there's still the matter of prestige, hmm?"

"But that aside," he went on, his voice risking to normal levels, "I expect many things will change, though perhaps not rapidly. I would suspect the Republic has a greater command of the biological sciences and our understanding of the spawns may well expand as we too come to understand those sciences. After all, if you - a ship's officer - are interested in the subject," he gestured across the table towards her, "it is reasonable to believe that your academics might be as well and more-so..."

[Sunset]

Back on the Surface, Down South in the Alpha Quadrant, Somewhere in the Good 'Ol Milky Way Galaxy... Nineteen of Something Later...

There had been a moment where they had been sitting on the landing outside, a deck of holographic cards spread out in front of them, and one of the three had casually turned to stretch or check their place and the doors had vanished - replaced by an open archway. In an instant all three were on their feet and with a double-check to confirm that the number hanging in the air across the entrance was their own, they had taken the first tentative steps inside.

"Okay, so... This is weird," Deania pronounced, looking from one side of the hallway to another. Instead of an entryway or foyer - and minus any kind of greeter or welcoming party - they had immediately found themselves in a sweeping hallway that turned sharply from left to right; the end invisible from the beginning. Stairways swept up on one side, walkways crossed above their heads, and then swept down to rejoin the main aisle. Here and there the united passages added small alcoves or open galleries and it was these that had drawn the Seeker's comment.

The first had seemed common enough; three figures, each clearly of a different species and wearing intricate robes, standing in formation with their faces turned up towards the heavens. Or, as Timmons had quickly noticed, to the ceiling - or more properly an oddly-placed window that none of them recalled seeing from the outside. An arrow-shaped device integrated into the glass had led them to another point of interest and soon they had found themselves wandering from one end of the hall to another following the indicators built into each.

"Are they trying to tell us a story?" she asked aloud, studying the latest exhibit - a drifting mobile that seemed to integrate many of the elements depicted on the robes of the first. "Or is this just another test?"

"Or both. Though if it's a story, I've completely lost the plot," Timmons decided, stepping to one side to draw a line between several arrow-shaped elements and the barest visible slice of a distant alcove.

"Yeah - like we're going to get to the end, ask what it all means, and they're going to explain it to us like they're the smartest person in the room. 'You didn't notice the obvious connection between the shape of their sandals and the distance between exhibits?'"

"...was there a connection?"

"Not that I noticed - I was just creating an example," she answered. "But that's what it could be. Or we could just get to the end and it points right back to that first statue. And maybe we were creating all of those connections ourselves."

"Maybe they're trying to learn something about us by observing our interaction... Never mind - that doesn't make any sense," Annya decided. "It has to be a test."

"Yeah, but a test of what?"

The two girls shrugged and Timmons followed along; "Yeah. Dunno. Maybe it's just art appreciation week and the dinosaur exhibit will be opening next Saturday..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 20...

"...'If You're Not Willing to Shell Your Own Position, You're Not Willing to Win.'"

"Maxim 20, of course, speaks to the occasional requirement of sacrifice in order to achieve a greater objective. A straightforward conclusion, yes - but again note the particularities as well as the clear reference to Maxims' 56 and 57. To wit; 'Infantry Exists to Paint Targets for People with Real Guns' and 'Artillery Exists to Launch Large Chunks of Budget at an Enemy it Cannot Actually See.' Important here is two facts, one particularly uncomfortable. The first is that, in many so-called 'modern' armies, the average infantryman is seen as one of the most expendable of resources - an easy sacrifice when the choice must be made. This in turn finds its corollary in that many pieces of military equipment - and in particular the most advanced ordinance - are extremely expensive. For those who only fight by the numbers it may well seem reasonable then to sacrifice a soldier for a tank, when one considers each purely from a cost perspective."

"Now, much could be argued that this is a self-destructive practice - a position that I would agree with - but we are here discussing the Maxim. Apply Maxim 57; 'An Enemy it Cannot Actually See.' To best place that fire - to best make that sacrifice - the most reliable way to do so is to have an intelligent marker at the point of impact; Maxim 56. Thus to carry the original Maxim forward, it is then suggested that the one in the best position to judge the effectiveness of that potential sacrifice is the one closest to the point of impact. Though, again, the importance of Maxim 15 cannot be understated. Firing on one's position does not mean an automatic sacrifice - one should be ready to run as soon as the order is given."

"As with many of the other Maxims, I would suggest that Maxim 20 potentially applies to many other areas equally well. In business, one must occasionally be willing to expend an asset in order to gain the larger reward. And here too I would draw the connection to 56 and 57; those best suited to judging the effectiveness of the sacrifice are those closest to the point of impact. While they might depend on the artillery - another division - to fulfill those orders, that division cannot itself see the target and so must be appraised of it by another..."

[Sunset]

Bastedo & Tillit, Somewhere In Mario III, GEC-49800, Sector Echo-One-Eight-Zero, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.313.937...

"...you did say you were hoping for something like a manufacturer's label," Tillit said, craning both his neck and the light that was mounted on the brim of his helmet to follow the tangled maze of machinery up the cavernous wall to where everything came together in something that looked like a control manifold. And right there on the side was embossed a symbol, or a letter, or perhaps a hieroglyph of some kind. Whatever 'it' was, neither Bastedo, Tillit, nor the language recognition and translation modules in their augmented reality interface had immediately recognized it.

"It looks like a face," Lawrence decided.

Standing beside - really, a little bit ahead of, as was his normal practice - Tillit, he ignored the junction and the mysterious face for the time being and swept his own light over the tangle of pipes and conduits until the beam again rested at his feet. Tillit's sister had proved useful and she'd forwarded them a detailed sweep of the planet showing the interior in some detail. Usefully, it had also directed them to a series of caves and caverns that had appeared natural until they had run far deeper under the planet's crust than geologically possible. They'd nearly tripped across the plumbing where it had emerged and that had led them here.

"There, there, there," he bounced the light back up the wall, pausing for only a moment at each particular point, "then there, there, and there. Then there," once again the beam joined Tillit's to focus on the odd symbol. "That should work."

"Work for what?"

"For climbing up there, of course," he stepped back until Tillit was now the one closer to the tangle of pipes. His intention was clear but for a moment the other man hesitated and - just for a spark of a second - it almost looked like he was ready to renounced his position as Lawrence Bastedo's favorite (and only) sycophant. Then came those few words that encouraged him forward, "You've got to go up there. There could be some smaller markings."

With a nod and a quiet gulp, Tillit went forward and began to climb. Whether or not he followed Bastedo's suggested route wasn't important - though perhaps it would have helped. Instead he hopped up onto the first pipe, jumped to grab a second and swing his legs up onto a third, and then nearly fell off as Bastedo's light shifted. Down on the cavern floor the other man had put his light down on a rock and now - as his second teetered on the edge of the abyss - he carefully adjusted it until the entire wall was somewhat illuminated before giving the other man a quick 'thumbs up'.

"There you go. I'm going to eat lunch - no sense in standing around doing nothing," he called up, shifting around to pull the pack off his back and set it down at his knees and taking a seat on the rock next to the flashlight. Opening the flap he pulled out the lunches Tillit had made earlier, looked them over, and picked one before returning the other - minus some choice morsels - to the pack.

Meanwhile Tillit had managed some remarkable progress - not only not falling to his death but nearly reaching the manifold before Lawrence had finished his meal and fully contemplated eating what was left of the other; "Oof. Almost..." he reached out, lunged, and grabbed the last little bit of a conduit. His toe found a hold and he swung - his entire body momentarily at an intersection to the wall - to find himself in a comfortable spot just in front of the box, "Got it!"

"Can you move a bit? I can't see," Lawrence offered by way of congratulations and for just that split second Tillit's face was written with murder. Then he scooted to the side - just a bit - until he was sitting astride the slimmest piece of piping.

This threatened to penetrate him in an uncomfortable way but by shifting around he was able to shine his light into every nock and cranny of the box's perimeter, "There's something here, Larry!"

"What does it say?!" the other called back, momentarily forgiving him for the misuse of his name.

"It's writing but I can't read it. I'm taking pictures! You should be..." his foot almost slipped and he reached out to grab another pipe. Heat jarred through his hand and he pulled it away, clutching at his wrist as he tottered, "Aaaagh!"

"Be careful! You don't want to damage something! I might not be able to read it!"

That was all it took for Tillit to slip from his position, tumble through the air, bash his head on a large'ish pipe, bounce bodily off another, and then land at the base of the mess with a finality that brought Lawrence to his feet. Trudging over, he poked at the body with a boot, "Great. Now you're dead."

Retreating to his pack, he flipped open a pouch on the side and pulled out a small drone with a cornucopia of high-resolution cameras and sensors studding the sphere. Powering it on, he tossed it into the air and sent it zooming up the wall with a thought, "Clumsy idiot. Guess I'll just have to do this myself..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 21...

"...'Give a Man a Fish, Feed Him for a Day. Take His Fish Away and Tell Him He's Lucky Just to be Alive, and He'll Figure Out How to Catch Another One for You to Take Tomorrow.' And here I find myself in agreement with the original annotation; Maxim 21 does not seem to fit. Even when considered for analysis, the suggested lesson does not seem to fit with the conceit of employment as a successful mercenary."

"Let us substitute something more familiar for fish - money. Give a man some money and you might feed him for a day. Take his money away and tell him that he's lucky just to be alive, and he'll figure out how to acquire more money for you to take tomorrow..? Or that man will simply report these actions to the relevant authorities and the person responsible will be arrested. While it is true that mercenaries commonly operate in what could be considered a legal 'grey area' - as do their clients - the Maxim would seem counter-productive in all but the most specific of circumstances."

"No - once again, I agree with the annotated version and with its supposition that the original Maxim 21 has somehow been lost or replaced by this..." Maxwell snorted, "pale imitation. With that out of the way, I will then take the opportunity to suggest a replacement and for that we will turn to the end of the book where someone has written their own list of suggestions. From this list I have selected one that seems most wise;"

"'If it is Alive, it is Dangerous. If it is Dead, and Someone Can't Find the Body, it is Still Dangerous.'"

"This suggested replacement for the existing Maxim 21 points to the wisdom of continued vigilance and - importantly - verification. One should never count on appearances for they are implicitly deceiving. Look to the facts, verify them, assure oneself of their integrity. There have been many a foul social movement that has seemingly fallen by the wayside, forgotten, only to rise again when the proper conditions arise. Whether it is the corpse of an enemy or an idea, the only way to make sure that it is dead is to watch the body rot in front of you..."

[Sunset]

The Bridge of SS-Qasr, GEC-10489417, Near the Old Kion Empire, Delta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.319.874...

"...fate," Magnus grinned, his legendary smile as bright as a lantern. With his broad shoulders he was holding up one of the bridge bulkheads, his arms crossed and one ankle crossed over the other as he chatted casually with both owner and crew. "The universe knew we could both use some company out here in the lonely depths of space!"

A broad hand ran through that carefully tousled sandy blond hair to brush back a stray lock that hadn't been out of place to begin with and the adventurer continued, "I'd just finished returning the Xugzeol to their homes;" he pronounced the odd-sounding name as though he'd said it right first time, every time; "and their Arch-Princess to her mother and I was buying a everyone a round at Zid's when this old rock-hound happened to mention a listening post he'd spotted on a rock in this very system."

On the main display the object of their conversation was just visible off to one side, his own ship occupying the opposite corner. The lonely rock had been just as they'd expected; an irregular blob made of mostly nickle-iron just over a kilometer-and-a-half on its longest axis but with a small collection of structures built into a convenient depression. Just over the rim a modest antenna farm sprouted from the grey regolith while a bundle of cables snaked back from each desiccated tree to disappear into the darkness of the cleft.

"...and I thought to myself it sounded like something that needed to be checked out and so here we are - just when fate decided we needed to be here! Of course, I didn't think it was a listening post as soon as he said where it was. Sure, he was cagey - but out here? There's nothing to listen to!" he declared with enough confidence to make it so, even if it were not.

"Right, right!" Alwyra enthused, her tail curling back and forth as her ears twitched to follow his every gesture. She'd never met the man in the flesh until now but even after just a few minutes on her ship she'd already decided that every story had to be true; Magnus Hesche, the man, the myth - the legend!

"We figured that if the Kion were going to hide another burial complex anywhere, it was going to be somewhere out here - somewhere where no one would bother looking!"

"The Kion?" She hadn't mentioned the name yet but immediately he stepped away from the bulkhead and over to the nearest console where a young man was steadfastly going about his duties. "Of course! Those," he touched the controls as if he'd sat behind them for a few years himself and the screen shifted, panning over and focusing on the small scattering of structures, "Those didn't look right and you've got it in one," he smiled wide again, his teeth sparkling.

"They're Kion, all right - I came across some of their work when I was negotiating the return of the Holy Ak'ae to the Inzains. They'd found it aboard one of the shipwrecks from the final battle with the Kion Home Fleet and it was only right that we get it back to them! Thousands of years without the founding scriptures," he shook his head. "What a shame. They were very glad to get them back. So - what we have here is an attempt by the Kion to disguise some of their own work as someone else's."

"Only reason they'd want to do that is because they didn't want anyone to know it was theirs," Kedo agreed. "Because they didn't want anyone to go poking around."

"Then let's go poking around," Magnus decided, turning from the console to grab his jacket from where he'd hung it over the corner of a convenient chair. Tossing the old green duty coat around his shoulders, he headed for the doors with all the confidence of a man who expected everyone to follow him.

Alwyra was at his heels in an instant, "Why wouldn't they just destroy it?" she offered. "If there's a tomb under there, why attract the attention?"

"Hard to say - this was thousands of years ago, right? But the last Warlord - before the Kion Empire fell - was buried under the Dragon's Eye? So this fellow had to be sometime before that. Maybe there's your answer," he shrugged, opening the airlock door with practiced ease. "I've got my gear on the shuttle already..."

An old KarmaCorp model that seemed both well-past its prime but also in remarkably good condition for something that looked like it had and could get run over by a column of super-heavy tanks. It matched his own ship, which looked as worn-in as a comfortable pair of jeans or his own old jacket with its patches and patches.

"Right here," Kedo offered, swinging open the lockers beside the airlock door. Two hands grabbed the heavy duffle bags and Magnus slung one casually over his shoulder while her husband held the other, leaving her standing empty-handed as they pressed together into the airlock.

"First thing we should do is fire up their computers and ask," Magnus suggested as the doors slid shut. A quick eye to the status indicators over the door and he pressed the button to continue the cycle before going on, "Fortunately, I spend a good deal of time inside them when I was pulling the location of the Inzains Temple-System. Shouldn't be hard at all..."

[Sunset]

Special Projects Design & Collaboration Offices, Ahmea City, Chuh-Yu, Ares System... Republic Date 177.322.842...

"...just another case of getting ready to fight the last war - and getting ready to fight the next."

Hopefully - though that part was left unsaid. Instead the lead visual designer from Synthetic Engineering nodded, shrugged, and took a long hard look at the list of systems requirements. Form follows function after all - though there are certain modifiers to that declarative. For the lead, one of those modifiers was an especially powerful suite of augmented design tools. As he began to sketch out some rough drafts - ideas flowing from his hands and thoughts out into shapes that hovered in mid-air - the tools began to suggest and fill in the gaps, inserting systems where they would fit, showing a list of gaps left to be filled, and carrying over aesthetic choices from one portion of the design to others.

"So what you need is something that will be able to deploy a large number of these... 'specialized sensor platforms'," he half-asked as he worked, adding a second 'swoop' that immediately gobbled up a large portion of the volume requirements. "Rapidly. So..." he touched the existing designed, dragging, copying, and modifying a launch bay into several different locations.

"What we found was that we were spending a lot of time setting up these specialized sensor platforms;" which went by possible-acronyms such as CANARY, BEARTRAP, BOOBYTRAP, and TRIPWIRE, "which were ultimately useful, but would have been more useful if we could have deployed them faster," the liaison officer from the Defense Force explained. "Especially if we could have deployed them during what one might call 'combat operations'. Right into the thick of things. And with the Static..."

There was something there that went unsaid but the designer ignored it as he continued, copying a spiked-talon arrangement that was mounted in a cowling from a previous design and setting it at a slightly-inward cant for a rakish look and then pressing the button that had popped up prompting whether or not to try aligning the design elements across old and new - or new and old.

"...well, these things seem to happen in three's. And if the pattern holds, whatever follows the Static will be a lot worse."

"Uh huh. So I've got the first pass here," the artist swung around to show off his work. "But I'd like to make a few more, see if there's something else hiding in here. Though I do have an idea for you..."

"What's that?"

"I've been watching the news. All this stuff about the Espru. Seems to me like one of the things you need is some kind of high-volume search-and-rescue ship. Guess what this thing is?" he tapped the hovering design meaningfully. "All of those 'specialized sensor platforms' could also be S&R 'bots. Or salvage 'bots. Or..."

"...or whatever. Yeah, okay. Good idea. I'll pass it along," the Lieutenant Commander promised. "And the design looks good - not my call to make, of course, but that's the way this works..."

[Sunset]

Erika & Demi's House, Botany Bay, Chuh-Yu, Ares System... Republic Date... Sometime in '183...

"...I will admit, I was expecting something different - perhaps something more formal," Director Vermir chuffed, his eyes sparkling with the smile as he stood watching the rest of the gathering. There was a small deck - a patio - accessible from the hallway on the second story and it was here the Director had retreated for a moment's quiet. Dressed in trousers and a jacket indeed more suited for the expected formalities, he stood at the railing with his hands held together behind him.

"...Arch Precept;" a voice from below caught his attention and he shifted slightly to watch as a young woman - or something that looked very much like what he'd come to expect a young Human woman to look like - approached the Arch Precept with a platter of grilled fish balanced on one hand. She was the cook and the server and an excellent one at that; one of the reasons he'd retreated to this new perch was his full stomach.

"...would you like another? Or perhaps some sausages?"

"I would be delighted! Thank you..."

If the Arch Precept was at all put off by the less-formal gathering, he was an expert at not showing it. Instead the butler had only momentarily interrupted a deeply engrossing conversation he was having with another young woman who claimed to be the Secretary-General's daughter though they looked entirely different to the Director's practiced eye. Did it matter? No; she and her husband - another new term - were cheerfully discussing all manner of this and that, chuffling over whatever joke the Arch Precept had attempted, and otherwise doing their best to outdo her mother as the impeccable host.

"...but I must admit to a delightful time. Now - you wanted something?" The Director turned to where his constant nemesis stood in the doorway, hat literally in hand.

Killermi had been having a grand time of it as well. The Secretary-General and her wife - another interesting question for when he was ready to rejoin the party - had several young children and while their names escaped him, they had proceed to escape her to play with her daughter's older children...

...there was something funny with the math there...

...on and around a modest-sized boat that was tied up at a narrow dock that ran a short distance out into the bay. With room enough for five, it had only seemed a little crowded when Killermi had somehow taken it upon himself to join them, followed shortly after by one of the mothers. As he had wined and dined and talked of this and that, he had occasionally taken note of the two sitting and talking while the children swarmed around them, the dark-haired woman occasionally stopping to scoop one of them up in her arms to toss them into the air or cradle them while they held out their hand to inquisitively poke at the newcomer's face and particularly his snout.

"Um... Yes. Sir. Director," the young astronomer corrected himself before switching back to his previous decision, "Sir."

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" Vermir eyed him suspiciously, noting with particular caution how his hat was looking more and more mangled by the moment. "I dare say that if you don't spit it out, I shall return to the party and consume enough alcohol so as to wash all memory of this from my mind - and thank myself for doing so! Well?"

"...I," Killermi looked confused by the Director's response and Vermir turned around to look back down at the party, leaving Killermi to stammer through his thoughts.

Now it was Fillon's turn. The electrician-turned-inventor had caught the ear of the husband - the man with the pointed ears - and the two were not just talking but perhaps even actually conspiring with the second having conjured up one of the three-dimensional pictures they seemed so fond of and the first pointing at this or that before both then looked at someone or other and laughed. Then they looked up at him and - perhaps not to their intention - the three locked eyes.

But yet they still laughed.

Something was up; "And I expect that I will not have too much longer to answer your riddle before shenanigans ensue. So - again, and all at once this time, my boy!"

"...I;" Killermi paused and the Director sighed but then the rest came in a barely distinguishable rush; "Iwanttojointhedefenseforce."

Vermir chuffled, snuffled, and then laughed, this time in the Human manner, "Which means, I dare suppose, that you will be resigning your position at the Observatory? Are you asking my permission? Or perhaps for a letter of recommendation?"

Both of which he would be delighted to - was, he realized suddenly - to give the young man. Yes - it would absolutely be an honor for him to be the first of his species. Yes - it certainly should have gone to one more capable. But no - Vermir would not begrudge him the opportunity! Nor would he begrudge himself the celebration!

"Because you shall have both!" He turned around, "I suppose this was what you were discussing with the Secretary-General's wife?"

"Demi."

"Yes - Demi. Charming woman, I'm sure! In fact, this is the perfect opportunity for me to get to know her better. Let us rejoin the party," he stepped forward and put an arm around the young man's shoulders, leading him forward and towards the stairs at the end of the hall. "You will introduce me and I will see how far my name can carry you forward into your new career..!"

[Sunset]

Gin'Jin Station, In Orbit of Cr'Emith Prime, The Leki Cluster, Southeastern Beta Quadrant... Republic Date 177.331.743...

"...I've been told the Hierarchy has a preference for carriers and so I've brought you carriers," Erika answered, the blond woman stepping to one side to allow the Supreme Commander an unobstructed view of the docking sections that ran out like the arms of an ivermectin from the station.

They'd arrived just a few minutes ago along with their escorts and the 'Unconquered Sun plus the Secretary-General as well as a single ship of a much less fanciful and unfamiliar design - and just as he'd finished the long trip up the elevator to the station; a coincidence? Not where she was involved. Neither could he help but notice that there were exactly sixteen of the horseshoe-shaped vessels - the same number that he had sent in an entirely futile effort to conquer what he had then learned was the Republic world of High Bluff. A fact that he had learned as he had stood and watched his crews being removed and detained from the same from the uncomfortable-comfort of a grassy hillside while they lay spread useless across a sunlit valley.

"SuperCluster-Class - just off the assembly line. They're top-of-the-line warships, bleeding edge. You might be interested to hear that they'll be named after various planets and star clusters. That's the 'Cr'Emith Prime," she pointed to one in particular but it was no surprise when he looked to the next closer and discovered it to be the 'High Bluff and closer still the 'Soakin. Neighbors on a galactic scale but more importantly the closest Republic worlds to his own; "Your personal flagship, if you desire."

He shot her a hard look; she would know that the Anixtl did not regularly express such a thing - not unless one were of the Hu'unya. But as a practical matter? The warship surely outclassed those of his own local production and to refuse the use of such a vessel would be imminently wasteful. Interesting; he stepped back to compare the two side-by-side. While he could not be sure of it, the Secretary-General's ship - and thus the flagship of the Republic as a whole - looked to be smaller than this new carrier. Another observation to consider but he had a question first.

"What is the catch?" he asked, invoking a Human expression he'd picked up on High Bluff.

"Ah, the catch," she smiled in clear eager anticipation of the answer. Among her own kind - or at least those of a similar temperament - it would be considered 'charming' or perhaps 'fun' but as the Supreme Commander of the Anixtl Hierarchy Hoyt Kennet Cyan Gulsvig had little time for the second and little interest in the first; "There is a catch," he stated again.

"Yes. Two, actually. You are aware that the Soakin have ratified their entry into the Republic as a Federal State?" He nodded once and she continued, "which means that there is now a significant Republic presence in the area. That will attract attention both good and bad. Are you aware of Maxim 13?"

'No,' but one of his Sub-Commanders had pointed him towards an odd book apparently popular among the Defense Force that was somehow both able to reference future events and provide commentary on the past. It was on his reading list but he was a man of little spare time, "No, though I have heard of the source you are referencing. What is Maxim 13?"

"'Do Unto Others'," she quoted. "Simple and straightforward and I intend to 'do unto others' before they do unto us. Just as we've expanded heavily across the northwestern portion of the Beta Quadrant towards the Delta border, we're going to similarly start expanding to the east and south."

"Which puts the Hierarchy right at the center of your expansion plans. By gifting us these warships, you intend to establish us as your local military leadership;" "Under the auspices of the Defense Force - a transition which is well underway;" "which will in turn bring the Hierarchy into more regular contact with outside cultures and influences. Particularly the Soakin, who are of a particularly curious and intellectual nature and so will doubtless be of considerable use to us when the crews of these carriers encounter something new and unusual. So too will they benefit from contact with a culture more willing to defend itself."

"And others," she added, nodding her head towards the ships lined up outside. "There's the other catch. While these are carriers, they really come into their own when used in various more... societally responsible roles. Search and rescue, mass evacuation, disaster recovery. That isn't to say they are not capable combat vessels - we swept up three pirates and a pair of slave transports on the way here. But even there..."

"My crews will be representing the Republic through their actions. If you were anyone else, I would assume you thought you were tricking me. But no - you understand the Anixtl and I you."

"To a certain extent."

His answer was another nod, "So you know we will take these vessels, put them to the use that you have intended for them, and so not only strengthen the reputation of the Republic but also strengthen the ties between our two civilizations - despite our differences."

"Exactly. Cr'Emith Prime is now the headquarters of the Beta-Rimward Command. I suspect Sub-Commander Dren'Eth Kennet will volunteer himself to lead it. He has considerable experience both with the Defense Force, with the Soakin, and with new cultures."

Once again he looked at her sharply, "Suspect? To ask as the Humans do, 'Are you sure you're not half-Anixtl?' He will be my next conversation."

She turned and pointed through the window to the unfamiliar vessel that had followed hers to the system, "Among many. That's our little puppy dog - he follows us everywhere. One of the United Imperial Kingdoms of Macisikan's diplomatic ships. They're also the biggest power in the area though they aren't exactly expansionistic. There's just a lot of them. Still, Republic expansion into this section of the galaxy directly involves them and it is best to keep them on our good side," she commented before continuing.

"I'm going to do my best to persuade them to post a liaison officer or something similar here - though I expect to get nothing more than a particularly straightforward answering service. But whoever ends up commanding Beta-Rimward will need to get used to dealing with them."

"Another reason you chose the Hierarchy. The UIK is a particularly hierarchical if complex civilization;" here he had done the assigned reading. "You are counting on our ability to know our place and our status to ease any local tensions that would otherwise arise. Again, the Humans would say you don't always look before you leap - they are a civilization that spends considerable time looking before they even debate whether or not leaping is an option..."

[Sunset]

CORE CIX Station, On the Rim of the M33 (Triangulum) Galaxy... Republic Date 177.334.709...

"...alright, keep coming! One at a time, follow your circle," Lieutenant Armstrong called out, repeating aloud what was being displayed on large screens on both sides of the corridor. His verbal instructions weren't doing him any good - the Espru couldn't hear, instead relying entirely on two rows of 'eyes' that saw both further up and down the electromagnetic range than unaugmented Humans could - but it helped him to stay on task. Not that his task was very important; he and all of the other 'greeters' spread up and down the massive intake complex were there to put a sentient face on what was a very impersonal process.

Each Espru was assigned a lighted circle on the floor. Once it appeared under their feet, they were to follow it out of the crowd and to their assigned gate. There they would be scanned for any sign of Krȃng infestation - though this wouldn't be the first time or the last. Anyone who tested positive would be diverted then and there into another processing path with the results ranging from a quick 'zap' that would kill any eggs to a possible full-body replacement and an introduction to the concept of an ExoCortex and conscious immortality. For those that passed through the first scan, they would then follow their lighted circle onto a moving bench that would slowly move them towards their next destination while presenting them with an interactive questionnaire.

The questionnaire was important; every bit of information from their name to their village to the names of their family members was gathered. There were also questions about personal affiliation, religious preferences, and a shorted psychological test. Interspersed with these were more practical questions - math, science - because someone had figured out that the Espru loved showing off their knowledge and this was an easy way to keep them engaged. Depending on their answers, the benches would then split one way or another - one of the other officers had taken to calling this part the 'Sorting Hat' and the name had caught on - passing the individual Espru first through another scanner and then into a holding area.

Here they would be re-united with their family, friends, and even village or town - or not. Some of the Espru were quite keen to escape their present company and when given the chance to join a new group or set out on their own they leapt at it...

---

BUSF Measure of Devotion-Class Extractor Grinkots-483, Somewhere inside the Multinovae Sector, M33...

"...if the Vrii do not want them then we will take them and gladly," Master Qhiteas commented as his ship edged close enough to yet another titanic chunk of silver-white material for the clamps to engage with a heavy 'ker-chuuunk' that rang through the entire ship. "Certainly they are a little warm..."

But that wouldn't matter anyway. As a simple question of safety, 'Grinkots-483's next destination was a salvage depot on the edge of the hot zone. There the plate would be inspected - some survivors had been discovered hiding deep in the shattered Settings - and then melted down, cast into immense ingots, and then relayed by another team of Extractors to the Republic's star-cannon on the outskirts of the galaxy. Then, after yet another sweep, they would be flung back home - back towards the Milky Way and the United Federation.

For the Blishi'i, the great slabs of PTU-557 were a reward of sorts - and the building blocks of their next naval expansion. A single whole Setting was made of enough of the engineered element to provide the hulls and shells for millions of ships and even the ragged chunk that 'Grinkots-483's held firmly in its claws would save the Blishi'i enough in resource extraction costs to justify the entire expedition and there was again a whole team of Extractors working night and day to grab every bit they could.

Neither were they alone. Similar operations were underway by every represented power save a few. Rumors floated around the collective fleets that what others were hauling away would be socked away into vast strategic stockpiles, held there until the need arose. PTU-557 was stern stuff - even a nearby nova had 'merely' rounded off the edges in some cases.

"...cargo secured," came the call from the engineer; "Then let's go. Prepare for space fold, jumping in three..."

---

CRUX 69 Deep Space Outpost, Now Deep in the Hot Zone, The Multinovae Sector, M33...

"...I don't know if I'd call it good news or bad news," the technical lead decided with a shrug. "Good news if we've decided we like the i'Halalaentariel, bad news if we've decided we don't?"

Katryna gave him a strange look, "Okay, then how about you give me both? What's the good news and what's the bad news?"

"I can do that," he nodded, pulling up a collection of holograms to illustrate both positions. These spread across the front of her desk to hover just above her toes; the Director was sitting behind it but her feet were up and she was stretched back in the chair with her fingers laced behind her head. Or maybe she wasn't - there was an odd, almost imperceptible movement to her representation. Like the technical lead, she was there only in spirit... Who knows what the real 'she' was doing on the other side of the connection?

He shook his head sharply, driving away any unseemly thoughts, "Okay, so, yeah - we took a long, hard, deep look at the i'Halalaentariel 'stem cells'. Of course they're not actually stem cells, they're a... bio-electronic equivalent? And there's some really interesting stuff in there. They are similar to the Krȃng genome, yes, but in function rather than form. The whole thing is made from engineered elements and these are then capable of self-replication. But there's no Krȃng in there - we're certain because we exposed a small sample of the Krȃng genome to a small sample of i'Halalaentariel bio-circuitry and..."

He pointed to one of the holograms where what looked like a cloud of dust was duking it out with another cloud of dust, complete with flashes and sparkles.

"They really don't like each other. Like - they really, really don't like each other. The i'Halalaentariel bio-circuits have a build-in defense mechanism that destroys Krȃng DNA on contact. What's more, this defense mechanism is self-destructive. Even if there's enough Krȃng DNA to win, there's nothing left to have won."

"...Huuh."

"Yeah - neat, right? But there's more. We've also found that the building blocks of these bio-circuits are all derived from PTU-557. And that's a pretty neat trick in and of itself, since it normally takes like two hundred times 'e equals em-cee squared to create PTU-557. Course this is also spread out over days and days - we're looking at weaponizing it, but it would be a very slow weapon."

"...yeah, we'd want something faster," she agreed.

"Much faster. Still - cool stuff. What that also means... Good news, bad news... is that we could potentially bring the i'Halalaentariel back on an accelerated timescale. Grind up a bunch of '557 really fine, plant some of these bio-circuits in it, and you've got yourself an i'Hala-garden. Maybe play some music, talk to them. But the question is, do we want to?"

"...yes..."

---

RDF-Relentless, Docked at CORE CI Deep Space Station, In Orbit Around Fafnir*, Outside the M33 Galaxy...

"...we've been poking around very carefully and we think we've got something on the Vrii," Captain Mercer said, drawing the Admiral's attention to the holo-sphere in the center of the command deck. A representation of the nearby galaxy sprawled out across it with Fafnir* marked as the furthest object from the center while the Multinovae Sector was outlined as a blob of red and various known powers and points of interest were marked accordingly.

"We didn't want to get too active - nothing that might tip them off that we were being nosey - so we went old-school. Time-sliced imagery pieced together for the past ten thousand years and analyzed for anything that looked like a Peer might do it. Really there's no way to hide that kind of thing - not unless you manage to go back in time and erase all the visible light you've ever bounced around. And we think we've found them..."

A deft hand at the controls and Admiral Hennessey watched as the galaxy swung around until they were looking at the galactic rim almost exactly opposite from where the Multinovae sector sat a quarter of the distance from the core to its own distant slice of the rim.

"...here. There's a stellar cluster here, right on the edge. Except it isn't anymore;" he touched the controls and they both watched as the outlined patch of stars began to move and then organize and then rapidly vanish.

"Huh. Dyson Sphere?"

"Maybe - or something else. Something bigger."

"What's bigger than a Dyson Sphere?"

"That's a very good question;" again he manipulated the projection, moving closer and rewinding back to a specific point. Then he started to move the projection forward, this time slower than before. "Pay attention to the stars behind the cluster," he suggested.

One by one, the same group of stars as before began to move around until there were a good dozen or more in play, clearly orbiting some central point as well as each other.

"A Black Hole?"

"There's no lensing. It looks like they - or someone - set all of those stars into a specific motion that resulted in a self-stabilizing orbit. Something like an atom. Then;" there was a long moment and all of the stars in motion vanished nearly at once. "They put up something around the whole thing. We don't know what, but they were able to wrap the entire works in something nearly a hundred light years in diameter."

"How long ago?"

"Ah - there's another interesting point and perhaps a bit of an answer," he ran the simulation again, this time displaying a clock marking the estimated Republic Date over the whole thing. "They finished back in '52. And started about four hundred years before that. The Krȃng..."

"You're saying they missed the Krȃng moving in because they were busy remodeling..!?"

---

Little River Township, The Sugarbear Valley, High Bluff, GEC-123432 System, The Beta Expansion Zone... Republic Date 177.336.797...

"...klahowya tillikum," Sister Coyote said, placing her wrinkled hands together and nodding slightly, eyes closed, towards the new arrivals. There were a clutch of perhaps thirty, standing at the crossroads of the two packed-dirt streets that met in the middle of town. To her old eyes they were looking this way and that, as clearly interested in their new surroundings as those nearby residents were in them. Behind them sat a modest shuttle, the flag of the Republic on the side as well as the blue, silver, and gold roundel of the Triumvirate of Yut, and just as she focused on it the craft began to rise, a warning pulsar signaling its intentions until it reached sufficient altitude so as to escape without risk to the town or its people.

"I am Sister Coyote," she continued. "One of the Elders here, and I welcome you to our homes," and again she clasped her hands and nodded. "You are the Espru - come, let us eat and tell each other about ourselves."

This last was polite but unnecessary - though enjoyable. The Council had received a request to host a group of Espru refugees just a few days earlier and with it had come a dossier on their prospective match. They would be an extended family - many bore woven baskets on their backs that she understood to contain their youngest children - and had discarded the Krȃngist religion to return to their own traditions. It was not the faith of the Chinook but they were on a path she both understood and sympathized with.

"I am Ar'eils," one of them 'said', his 'words' appearing in her ears after being received and translated by the woven necklace she wore. She'd completed it just the evening before; a clever and beautiful disguise for the circuitry that would otherwise be out-of-place among the wooden houses and handmade clothing.

"These are my family and my people. Where may we sleep?"

"Follow me," she answered, turning to walk towards a long building at the end of the shorter of the two streets. "For now, we will welcome you to our longhouse. It is the place where our community gathers - but also a place of refuge and comfort. We will eat there and you will be welcome to stay until you decide what comes next..."

[Sunset]

RDF-Ojeni, In Orbit of GEC-798762C, Just Beyond the Leki Cluster, Southeastern Beta Quadrant... Republic Date 175.952.168...

"...and this is not something that the pirates accomplished," Sub-Commander Dren'Eth Kennet decided, standing with his arms held together behind his tail as he balanced on it to look back and forth between the diminutive sensor operator and the sprawling main screen. "Not these pirates. If they lacked sufficient firepower to threaten this one ship, it seems unlikely that they would have been able to accomplish this."

"No - but they are taking advantage of it. Or were," the Ensign touched the controls to produce a much-magnified image of the planet's surface. Now the scars were truly visible; great gashes as though a continent-spanning titan had sunk their spade deep into the earth, tossing the rock and stone ahead of them as they dug. But perhaps more importantly to the Tloqsi's point was the cluster of ramshackle buildings perched on the side of this young mountain.

"Looks like a crude extraction operation. Something like that would have opened up a lot of mineral veins."

"The kind that's perfect for pirates," Captain Blaine put in dismissively, her narrow body shoved into one corner of her chair while her shoulder lounged against the opposite side. "They can just wander around looking for shiny objects."

"More than that," the sensor operator objected, turning in her seat to watch as she directed the image on the screen to here and there, highlighting sections and instructing the system to list out analysis next to them. "Spectra on these patches shows a lot more than just the basic element set. There's engineered materials in there - PTUs - that would be pretty valuable. They're dispersed though, and," she took a moment to check on a hunch, "Nope. The pirates weren't able to utilize them. I'll pass that back to 'Triple Bounce though and ask them to check their captives."

"So if it wasn't pirates, then what did this?" Sloan asked. She'd stood from her own spot at the Captain's right hand to stand over the Ensign's shoulder, watching the data feeds slide past.

Tilassi worked her console in silence for nearly a minute before answering, "I can tell you for sure, but we'll have to leave the system;" "Why's that?" "Erosion, weathering, isotope decay - a few other things. I've dated the event back and ran a simulation but that only shows what happened - not who did it. But I do have a pretty clean range for date and time - only a few years ago. Sending that over to the helm now."

"Interesting," the Sub-Commander considered this for a moment. "The speed of light. Move the ship the appropriate distance away from the planet and we may be able to watch events as they happened. Augment the ship's sensors with the VDA."

"Yep," Kami nodded. "Sounds good. Yu," she called back to the communication's officer, "Tell 'Triple Bounce that we're leaving for a bit. Let them handle the clean-up. Helm, line up a good seat for us and take us out. Then we'll have some popcorn and watch the show!"

With orders in hand, it was less than a minute later that they were realized as 'Ojeni spat herself out of her drive envelope to come to a sudden stop around absolutely nothing. Only the glitter of far-distant stars surrounded them except for one or two which stood out as slightly larger; the first their previous location and the second its nearest galactic sibling, an enormous red sphere that burned slow and dull. It was the first again that the ship turned to face as again torpedoes began to spray from her lateral launchers, arcing this way and that until she was surrounded by hundreds of points of light.

"...VDA is deployed, Captain," Lieutenant Kershaw commented, stepping away from his own station to lean against the railing. Deployment might be his responsibility but he too wanted to enjoy the show.

"On screen then!"

There wasn't any popcorn but everyone did turn to watch, some sitting back, others forward, and the Sub-Commander standing to stare intently. He had a particularly suspicious look in his eyes - one that had been there earlier and one that only grew more-so as he watched both the screen and the crew's reaction to what they saw.

First was the planet; a reasonably unremarkable orb just as the initial survey nearly seventy-five years previous had suggested. Then a loose cluster of what were clearly warships arrived as silver streaks from the edge of the screen, slowing down and breaking up to assume a disjointed pattern far above the surface. At this distance and resolution it was not clear that they had already begun firing but that was made evident a moment later as huge gaps opened up in the cloud cover over particular areas; great circular blooms caused by the passage of whatever weapons were being employed. These opened up the perfect window to watch as first enormous depressions circled outward along the ground from their point of impact and then bubbled up, their angle of impact throwing huge waves of rock and soil this way or that.

"Any identification on those ships?"

"...yeah, but - weird. Unusual?" the Tloqsi decided, hurriedly tapping away at her console. "Nope - going back to 'weird'. They pop up in the database but they don't really have anything attached to them. Nothing that would associate them with something like this. A few confrontational encounters with a friend of a friend. Port authority advisories. Nothing that flat-out suggests that whoever this is was capable of doing that."

"Or 'why', Ensign," Kennet broke his silence. "From this imagery, are you able to determine what was there previous to this attack? While I do not have extensive knowledge of the wider galaxy and its ways, I would think that destroying a world in what seems to be a random manner is not a common occurrence."

"Exactly? No - but there's some extrapolations. They're really digging deep;" more fire from the ships emphasized her point, the impacts striking previous points of impact to burrow even further into the planet and send large plumes of debris bursting out of what were now essentially barrels before firing again; "and spectra on the ejecta is now showing some traces of those same PTUs we saw on the surface earlier. Something was buried down there."

"Something they didn't like. Or someone," Kami decided. "We've got something to go on. Yu," she turned to the communications officer. "Start going through those reports. Put some calls in if you can. See if anyone mentioned in those reports is able to cough up some more detail. Tilassi, keep working with the imagery - see if you can get a better fix on who or what they were shooting at. Those reports," she had a sudden thought, "can we get a map of their timeline? See if that might show where these guys went and where they came from..?"

[Sunset]

Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, Earth - or is it Arda? Sol System... Republic Date 177.334.903...

"...yes... Well, maybe?"

"...right. Faster, slower, yes - now maybe?" Amaril stopped to lean forward on the oars, letting the canoe drift for a bit as he looked at her suspiciously. "You do realize that I'm the one rowing here, right? Or were you..?"

He didn't need to ask, really. You could take the Director out of the office but you could never really get the office away from the Director. Especially not when the Director was Katryna Silaco - even when the draw was a relaxing family vacation. They were on Arda - Earth to many - staying with Amaril's parents and in particular his mother, who was their daughter Aviandri's Mistress in the mystic arts. Today they had set out on their own, leaving the kids behind to be thoroughly indoctrinated in the Ways of the Elves.

"...me?" she looked back at him, fluttering her eyelashes in an attempt to look innocent.

"Yes, you," he sighed. "Alright - what is it?"

"The i'Halalaentariel."

"...are they back?" he asked, settling back into his seat to once again pull at the oars; long strokes that broke the surface of the lake to send the narrow craft slicing through the water and towards the far shoreline. Their ultimate destination was an ornate restaurant that leaned out over the cattails, its deck already scattered with diners chatting and eating.

"No. But someone put forward an option - a way to accelerate their reconstruction. But should we? 'Yes' was my first answer but that's the mad scientist talking. Stopping to consider it though... I'm not sure."

For another few strokes he let her sit in silence before answering, "We know how to find the Krȃng now, right? That was the really useful thing about the i'Halalaentariel. Past that... They were monsters, Kat. Or at least the machine they made acted in monstrous ways. I'd say that it's time to let them pass."

"...the machine they made..."

"Uh oh," he glared at her as she sat up sharply. "You've got that look in your eye. What have I done!?"

"You said it!" she fixed him with the finger of accusation, the shadow from a towering shore tree passing over them and casting her into darkness at that precise moment. "So this is your fault!"

"The other useful thing about the i'Halalaentariel is that they were always there. They were an automated response system; if the Krȃng showed up, they would show up to kick their butts. Or at least try to. Now, they lost - eventually - and the way they went about it could be really terrible. But they were always there. Who knows how many civilizations that accidentally tripped over some bit of Krȃng-tech they saved from disaster by showing up and..."

"Killing millions instead of billions? Not the best point, but I get where you're going. Now that we know how they did their trick, we could set up our own system to do the same thing but better."

"Yes!"

"Okay. But - how about just not over dinner..?"

[Sunset]

'Lonely Cutpurse-2 (Overlord-Class DropShip), Attached to the OSA-Lonely Cutpurse (Sigma Draconis-Class Heavy Cruiser), Somewhere in the Hot Zone, M33... Republic Date 177.346.570...

"...hey!" the Corporal announced loudly, bursting into the duty room without as much as a knock, "Did you guys all hear? We're getting a fuckin' medal!"

Heads turned - most of them furry - though it was a horned Pagani who spoke first, "A medal? What do you mean, a medal..."

"About time," another voice grumbled from a dark corner. That was one of the Qi and the lanky infantryman didn't do more than glance up before turning back to the collection of parts that was her field-stripped rifle.

"Yeah! We're all getting a medal," the Hauyht repeated himself, shoving one of the Privates away from the closest terminal and claiming his spot. "It was in the morning info-feed..."

Which explained why he was the only one who knew about it. Corporal BelEnd was a certified news junky and was usually well-up on whatever was on the day's duty roster before it had even been passed out by the Captain. Tapping away at the terminal keyboard he brought up the article in question, those few that were immediately interested crowding around him to read through his ears while he read and commented aloud.

"It says that the Secretary-General, Erika Silaco, will be presenting everyone with the Triangulum Service Award;" there was an accompanying image, which looked like the various Republic medals and awards except that the background of the flag in the middle had been replaced by a stylized representation of the M33 galaxy with the word 'TRIANGULUM' picked out below it. "With additional clusters..."

"What's a cluster?"

"It's those things that look like leaves on the sides. If you're ever give the same medal again, you get additional clusters. So you don't end up looking goofy," a random voice explained, which was good enough for the Corporal to continue; "Yeah. So anyone who showed exemplary service will be awarded additional clusters. She will also be personally - so I guess this will be an all-hands broadcast? - awarding medals for honor and valor."

"...and all service members, whether they're in the RDF or OSA... That's us... will be getting a hazardous duty disbursement as well? What's that mean?" the Pagani asked and the same low voice from the corner answered; "That's what I care about. Hazard pay. A bonus. They're giving us more money."

"You don't care about the medal?" BelEnd asked over his shoulder as he continued to work his way through the rest of the article, pausing here and there to refer back to a previous point or look at one of the provided images.

An unseen shrug, "Sure, I guess. Nice to be recognized but I signed up for the money. Gotta remember that that's what we are, kid - mercenaries. We might be doing good right now, but once all this is over, we're gonna be back on the beat or out fighting another war. Doesn't matter for who - it all comes down to who can afford to pay us."

"Heh, I don't think that's changing anytime soon," another commented. "Not a lot of people who can afford one 'Mech company - let alone however many there are on operations here. Doesn't mean they wouldn't like to - we've done like a thousand combat drops. We've got more combat experience than a lot of the whop-de-shit militaries back in the MWG combined."

"That's true..."

"...so it better be a big bonus! That's all I'm sayin'."

"All I'm sayin'," another officer spoke up, this time a Hauyht Lieutenant with a helmet seemingly permanently grafted to his head, "Is that I got three mates back home who are waiting for me to bounce them hard when I get back. Give me the money, give me the medal - I just want to get home!"

There was a general chorus of agreement at this but it was the Corporal who again interrupted; "Says somethin' about that right here - same article. The Secretary-General has announced that operations in M33 will be winding down as quickly as possible, depending on how quickly the Espru refugee situation can be resolved. Specifically it says that the OSA;" there was a quick cheer of recognition; "will be returning to the MWG first, likely within the next month though specific units might be returning sooner."

"So 'good news'," the Qi grumbled again. "We're going home. And probably as soon as we get home, they'll put us to work movin' Espru around. Or some little-dick will hire us to show just how small his pecker is and we'll be off to fight another war..."

[Sunset]

Back on the Surface, Down South in the Alpha Quadrant, Somewhere in the Good 'Ol Milky Way Galaxy... After a Few Laps Around...

"...an interesting piece, wouldn't you say? It reminds one of the work of Un'ads Brik'al, who was also noted for hiz bold use of apostrophes. Note here the careful placement of the tilde," the curator commented, drawing Annya's attention to the kneeling figure at the base of the sculpture. "This serves to emphasize the role of the bricklayer in the scene. Certainly the king is important," they gestured to the figure with the star affixed to their brow, "but the foundations of true empire are built by persons such as this."

The German Shepard nodded then put out a paw, "Interesting. So what is this figure supposed... Hey, wait," her muzzled snapped sideways and she was staring up - though not much - at a bemused but generally non-descript face set within a partially-retracted cowl, "Who the hell are you?!"

Then her head rolled sideway and she nearly fell over; the rest of the gallery was dotted here and there with similar figures. Some were clearly staff - pointing to this or that on a certain art installation or leading their guests to another - while others were just that; guests in robes both simple and functional and formal and elaborate. Just a few steps away Timmons was coming to the same realization she was while the Seeker seemed utterly engrossed in her conversation.

None of these people had been there just a moment before.

"Ah," again zhe introduced themselves, "I am In'ers. I am the Primate Curator of the gallery."

"...and I'm a monkey's uncle," she eyed him suspiciously, shifting onto all fours and beating her tail back and forth. "You weren't here a moment ago - what gives?!"

"An interesting observation!" they answered, again offering the same bemused smile as before. "Were any of us here a moment ago? The Terran philosopher Schrödinger posited that until a thing is directly observed its state is indeterminate - and thus it is neither 'here' nor 'there'. I was not here a moment ago because you had not yet observed me - and so too are you now here."

"...bullshit. Schrödinger was a physicist, not a philosopher. Are you about to invoke Clarke's Law at me?"

Ze laughed gently, "Perhaps, perhaps. Now that we have the particularities of introduction out of the way, Leutnantin..."

"We do? So this whole thing is an art gallery? Perched on the edge of the galaxy?"

"Yes!" Ze smiled happily, "And now you understand! Is not the greatest work of art the universe itself? Infinite diversity in infinite combination and from here we can see all of it!"

"Okay... Now I know you're trying to fuck with me," she growled. "That's from Star Trek. So - what's the deal with this place? Or - what's the deal with you?" she asked with a bit more force. If anyone noticed their conversation none had shown an indication of it; what appeared to be a family drifted by, two indistinguishable adults followed by three children who looked exactly the same. "Are you just messing with us? Is that your thing?"

"I'm pretty sure they are," Timmons answered, the big man walking up behind her while his own minder trailed along like a half-sized acolyte. "I'm just not sure why. They clearly know a lot about our cultures, so making weird statements as a way to draw our responses seems like a waste of time."

"Unless we were doing it as a way to determine more about your individual personalities than what the personal biases of others might otherwise state, Commander;" again, two bemused smiles as the robed figures spoke almost in unison.

"...or a good way of distracting us from asking questions about you," he shot back, adding a scathing look. "I'm starting to wonder just who's behind the curtains pulling the levers..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 22...

"...'If You Can See the Whites of Their Eyes, Somebody's Done Something Wrong.' Again, here we find a Maxim that enforces the importance of situational awareness and planning, as well as pointing out the perils of combat in close quarters; reference Maxim 5. Further, like many of the Maxims, it does not elaborate on the wording - it merely suggests a scenario and relies on the reader to elaborate. Thus it is possible to expound - while the situation is clear, 'If You Can See the Whites of Their Eyes,' the second part does not assign specific blame to you the reader."

"Thus the annotated reference to the concept of 'Dying Ground' - that is, a location where death is inevitable. This then harkens forward to Maxim 70 and the question it poses, 'The Option is Whether or Not to Let Failure be the Last Thing You Do.' But..."

For a long moment he tapped his fingers on the lectern.

"There is an interesting thought. 'If You Can See the Whites of Their Eyes...' Without the assignment of blame and only the barest outline of a scenario, we might also thus find here an admonition - particularly to the would-be bushwacker. Much of the execution of a successful ambush or surprise attack involves the surety of the element of surprise. For many species, the surest tell of both their emotions and their mental state are the eyes. So too the competent swordsman is told to follow their opponent's eyes rather than the directions or mis-directions supplied by their hands and feet - or their weapon. Of course the ambush is often one of the least-sure things - so while the Maxim may provide some useful insight when such a scenario is forced, it may also encourage us to avoid the same if at all possible, less the question be asked, 'Who is ambushing who..?'

[Sunset]

The Campaign Offices for MP Artecia Blacke, 1319 Downhead Street, Victoria, New Australia, United Provinces, Mars... Republic Date... Uncertain

"...yo, hold the door," the young man begged, his breath ragged as he staggered under the weight of the parcel he held with both arms. A hand had pity on him and he edged through, turning sideways so as to give himself something convenient to collapse against if his strength failed. Based on his outfit alone it was clear that he was a bicycle courier; a fitted coverall that left his legs bare that was then marked with the stylized 'VCC' of his employer as well as the required corporate branding.

"Thanks, man - I've got a package here for," he looked down, "...shit."

Whatever markings the crate carried, they were now on the underside - exactly the opposite of the stenciled red arrow that suggested which side was to be up.

"Uh... Artecia?" he mangled the pronunciation. "Something. Name's on the building;" here at least he sounded confident. One careful step after the other, he made his way through the security arch and across the small lobby to the front desk, the security guard trailing after him; "Do you need help?"

"Nah, man. I got this," he wheezed, "I'm good. Just... Don't have your hand there. Thing's fuckin' heavy," he declared as one last heave brought the edge of the crate level with the desk to push it up onto the creamy red stone, accompanied by an awful noise that could have come from either the courier or from the desk or perhaps both. It was enough to set both the receptionist and the security guard's teeth on edge and it only stopped when he had made sure the box wouldn't tumble off. A step back and he put both hands on his back and stretched, groaning miserably before half-flopping across the desk and digging through the breast pocket of his coverall.

"And ya gotta sign for it..."

"What is it?" the security guard asked, examining the crate closely. It was an odd thing - old-fashioned, even - with actual slats and nails that had done a bang-up job scraping their way across the stone surface of the receptionist's desk. What markings it carried were upside-down of course and stenciled on to boot but by turning his own head he could just make out a name written in careful, flowing script. More useful were the import marks that suggested that it had come in from Menelmacari Carnil - half-way around the planet.

"Lesse..;" the delivery order was consulted. "Says here that it is a statue. You guys order a statue?"

Both shook their heads but their curiosity was easily satisfied; "I should check it out," the guard decided. Suspicion was reason enough - though the security scanner hadn't picked up anything - and he cast about for some way to open it up before coming up empty-handed. "Stay here," he ordered, the courier shrugging before taking the opportunity to sag into one of the leather-upholstered chairs tucked into the corners of the lobby. There was a tool box in a cleaning closet and after only a few seconds he returned, a claw hammer held loosely in one hand.

This he was about to apply to the first nail when the courier interjected, "Yo - 'This Side Up'. You should turn it over."

The guard shot him an angry look but turned to the receptionist, "Help me out here," and between the two of them and a couple minor curses they were able to flip it over without additional damage to the desk.

"Oh - Elven," the receptionist decided now that she could see the stencil. "I think that says 'statuary'," she added, the guard tilting his head back and rolling his eyes; "Yeah, probably," and adding a sigh.

One after the other, the offending nails were removed and set aside until the lid was loose. With a dramatic pause, he carefully lifted it off and set it aside to look inside. Just what it said on the label; a bust, surrounded by packing material and with a fancy-looking sheet of parchment on top.

"Such-and-such master stone carvers," he read off, holding the sheet up so that both could read it. "Hand carved from Martian Granite. A bust of... Artecia Blacke;" well, that made sense at least. "Made on commission... One of a kind..." He looked down at the statue, "Huh. You broke it," he accused, calling over his shoulder to the courier.

That brought the courier back to his feet and to the guard's side, "I did? Fuck... What?" he looked at the contents. "No I didn't."

"Yes you did," the guard rejoined, "Her nose is broken!"

"Dude - that's not broken;" the guard bent to take a closer look. "Someone cut it off..."

[Sunset]

The Secretary-General's President's Office, Silaco Electronics Headquarters, Chuh-Yu, Ares System... Republic Date 177.358.423...

"...aww, lookit you," Erika reached out to stroke the cat that had immediately claimed the center of her desk as its own territory across the forehead, brushing back its silky white fur into the ruff of silver-gray that surrounded its face. Sapphire eyes stared back at her and there was a soft 'purr that seemed ready to shake the desk - if gently.

It was a rare day in the office for the Secretary-General with just that being the reason why. Neither did it hurt that she was a married woman with two kids and a very young baby and so it mostly fell to her executive team to handle the day-to-day operations with the President putting in only the rare appearance for board meetings, company events, and - her favorite part - the final approval for new products.

"Aren't you handsome?" she asked, brushing her hand along its spine to circle around its tail, which flicked at her as she returned her fingers to its ears and neck. It blinked at her; "What do you do?" she added, looking past it to the design team.

There were three of them; a young woman with sharp features and blond hair that very much reminded her of herself, a Troll - again, female - but with an unusually slender build for a species known for its hulking good looks, and one of the insectoid Ixut. The last stood with their wings shimmering slowly back and forth, a sign of eagerness or anticipation - or so she'd been told.

"This is our SurvivalCat," the youngest answered, stepping forward and putting out her arms. At the prompt the kitten rose and with a single 'pounce leapt into her arms to pose magnificently against her chest, rubbing its chin across the woman's while sitting carefully on its haunches, front paws together to push its head up.

"It is designed around those with a need for an emergency survival solution in a potentially hazardous environment. It comes with a full sensor suite; atmospheric, biological, radiation - we've even integrated the Krȃng detection system!" The others nodded at this but it was also the cue for one of the other designers to step in.

"SurvivalCat also has a fully integrated emergency communications system," the Troll growled - anything else seemed to be impossible thanks to the tusks. "It has an emergency locator and distress beacon and the communications system constantly monitors all known standard emergency communications frequencies. Its Instinctive-Intelligence Core is programmed with basic and advanced survival skills, including emergency medical protocols."

"You might be interested to know that the tail," the Ixut spoke up, replacing the Troll, "is a decap-a-donut."

"Sounds useful," Erika agreed, "But that's all software - except for the 'donut."

"What else?" the blond woman asked, the small smile on her lips indicating she'd anticipated the question and already had an answer. "The SurvivalCat also comes with a emergency operations mode. As an example, say the owner and unit are aboard a ship that has suffered a hull breach;" "Go on..." "The SurvivalCat's II Core can recognize the signs of numerous emergency situations and react accordingly. In the case of a hull breach," she paused to activate the suggested scenario through her augmented reality...

That moment's pause and the kitten leapt into action - literally - jumping up on her shoulders and then dropping down to brace her arms and legs with its own. In the blink of an eye soft fur and warm flesh had rippled out, first surrounding her head in a soft helmet and then extending out to cover her entire body. Her mouth was covered by a mask but the rest of the helmet's faceplate was a transparent blue and the whole suit was styled to resemble the pattern of the cat's fur pre-transformation.

"...or a similar emergency situation, the SurvivalCat can fully enclose the owner in a TYCS Class-III NBCR soft-suit."

Erika leaned over to the right edge of her desk to look behind the designer - or at least at her behind, "And you get to keep the tail;" "And the ears," the Troll added, the wearer emphasizing these with a quick wiggle...

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 23...

"...'The Company Mess and Friendly Fire Should be Easier to Tell Apart' - and here we find one of the more humorous of the Maxims as well as one of the most practical; as one of the personal notes in an extensively annotated copy suggests, 'Sanitation, Sanitation, Sanitation.' Indeed, there have been many notable instances of a company in the field or even in the barracks crippled by poor food handling and sanitation in general."

"Note the specific example of the company raised by the old United States President Theodore Roosevelt. Most noted for their 'charge' up San Juan Hill in Cuba during the Spanish-American War, this same unit suffered more casualties and subsequent deaths due to disease while in their barracks in the States than they took during their - admittedly brief - military adventure! In point of fact, this was the norm for many armies and still continues to be so for those that rely on massive amounts of conscripted manpower to do the majority of their fighting."

"For the mercenary commander whose income depends on their ability to field the force they have been hired to do, Maxim 23 is thus fundamental - and it is here where the Maxim can be extended to other professions. The office worker who comes down with the 'sniffles' and comes in to spread it around to the rest of the staff, thereby causing lost hours and lost productivity. The restaurateur who does not insist on keeping a clean house and thus exposes both staff and guests to possible illness - and suffers for it by way of poor reviews and failed health inspections. The teenager who does not keep her room clean and... Well, perhaps a personal digression is unnecessary," he said with a pause.

"Now I will refer you back to Maxim 7. Just because the food is safe does not automatically make it enjoyable to consume. The well-fed and satisfied soldier will be more effective than the fed and disgusted soldier. Perhaps a matter of a few percentage points, true - but extend the analogy. The soldier who sleeps warm and comfortable will fight better the next day. The soldier who can regularly communicate with their loved ones back home will find themselves more motivated to fight... Useless creature comforts, you say? When each of those adds up to a soldier - multiplied across however many millions of soldiers - that is twice as effective as their poorly-fed, isolated, and downtrodden foe..."

"...you are not dismissing a 'useless creature comfort' - you are dismissing a force multiplier."