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

[Sunset]

Erika's Office, Erika & Demi's House, Botany Bay, Chuh-Yu, Ares System... Early Enough in the Morning to Make Coffee a Necessity - Not a Want...

"...'The Eternal Virgin' - I'm pretty sure it's written at the top of his character sheet," Katryna gestured with her coffee cup to the figure just barely visible on the screen hovering above the desk in her mother's office. Standing over a workbench still wrapped in a bathrobe, he looked at once tired and excited - a sudden thought waking him in the middle of the night but yet fighting an already-weary body to get whatever idea was in his silver-haired head out before sleep once again claimed him.

"It isn't a sexual thing. Well - sorta, I suppose. You, me," she listed off a few other names and then, "Miss Nineteen, Agent Sixteen, Jolene... That Jedi-woman in Dornalia? There's probably been at least one more since then. And now Magna von Deat. I think he's just come to understand that the universe itself seems bound and determined to deny him love. Or at least unsanitary lust," she added with a grin before taking a sip, eyebrows playfully raised. "If it ever happens I think it would break him or at least change him so dramatically he wouldn't be Doctor Stephen Ambrose anymore."

"Then he would no longer be useful," the third member of their trifecta declared from her position in a dark corner of the office where the Kal-En-Vesho clung upside-down to some unfathomable protrusion, her oil-black eyes glittering in the reflected light that filtered in from the hallway.

"And this Magna von Deat?"

She was the real subject of their early-morning conversation. While it was always interesting to look in on her old professor, Erika was mindful of the fact that soon first Demi and then the kids would be waking - Alex was already up and moving around the kitchen preparing breakfast - and then there would be small, curious forms roaming the halls. Questions would be asked; 'Who's that?' 'Is Katryna here to visit?' 'Where's Cousin Manni?' 'Is breakfast ready?' 'Who else is coming to visit?' Since only one of them had an answer that would be agreeable to a still-sleepy child ideally the others wouldn't get a chance to be asked.

"An assumed name. 'von Deat' - Magna's legit. Just the kind of story you might expect. Parents separated, lived with her father who moved around a lot, a string of temporary friendships, excelled academically but socially isolated, father died when she was fifteen - she was already at the University of NeoVanc..."

This raised eyebrows behind Erika's own coffee cup, "A fellow alumni?"

"Yep - and a fellow member of Sigma Delta Epsilon;" the 'Fraternity of Mad Scientists'. "She graduated a few months ago with an Engineering Doctorate - she's nineteen..."

"...definitely looks older..."

"...and her doctoral thesis was on building up-not-out and the efficient use of resource spectrum. Not particularly ground-breaking but there's some hints in there that she's been dabbling in something else. This was just what she needed to get past the exam board without being called a lunatic."

"That doesn't sound familiar at all," her mother replied sarcastically. "And what about these claims to immortality? That she's duplicated the Eien?"

"That is why we are here," the oily, alien voice of the shadowy form in the corner injected. "They are not claims;" "How?" "She replicated many of our own steps. Her membership in Sigma Delta Epsilon provided access to speculative rumors that then suggested avenues of investigation. My inquiries have noted both a visit to the Dulyani under the guise of a research trip - she was seventeen - and a vacation to the Dominion shortly after her return. Both would have given her unclear access to the foundational elements of boundary manipulation. Just after graduation she took another trip to one of the research stations she lived at with her father before leaving for university. There does not seem to be a clear purpose for the visit - he is buried on Ares - but the location is remote and entirely automated."

"I sent one of our frigates out to sniff around the edges of the Falltier System," Katryna added. "They picked up the faintest trace of a boundary manipulation. The Eien doesn't run out there - no one to use it - so it's either her or someone else. Since those 'alien ruins' are an abandoned theme park, I'm voting 'her'."

"And what do you two want to do about it?"

The two Directors looked at each other, one with a bit of a shrug and the other with something that might be interpreted any number of ways depending on just how many limbs and joints one had.

"Keep a close eye on her;" "Yes;" "But right now she hasn't done anything illegal or even unethical, aside from teasing an old man with a young body. Her interest in boundary manipulation seems to have tapered off - it was a means to an end. Very much a SDE thing." She herself couldn't count the number of times she'd gone down some particular path of research only to set it aside for something more momentarily interesting or absolutely vital to national security. "I'd love to take a look at it, sure, but there's other things on my plate and again - this looks like the barest baby-steps."

"I agree. At the present moment her actions and the actions of Doctor Ambrose are useful to us. If he follows her suggested course of attempting to infiltrate or suborn the Eien, our defenses will benefit from our continued monitoring of his work. Her goals are the more worrisome."

"She doesn't really have any clue about just how big our carrot ranch is," Katryna noted. "Even if she were to fully develop the Falltier System, she would have less than a millionth of the resources available to us. And depending on who she goes out to conquer first... That might not be so bad, right?"

"Or she could plow straight into the wrong toes, they crush her, capture the whole system, and the secrets of boundary manipulation are tossed out to the whole universe. And we lose Ambrose," Erika countered easily. There was a noise from the hallway and she leaned over to slide the door shut just as sleepy feet lurched their way down the aisle towards the stairs and the smells of breakfast.

"She might not have done anything yet but she's gearing up to - I want a bunch of really close eyes on her..."

[Sunset]

A Lonely Transfer Station, In Orbit of the Planet Archibald, GEC-2005 System, Alpha Quadrant... Republic Date 177.476.581...

"...not quite the way I expected things to shake out but there's the old saying, Captain - 'Gain a Friend, Lose an Enemy'..."

"Are we certain we did either?" Captain Blaine murmured, the echoing interior of the nearly-abandoned station prompting her to near-silence by its quiet embrace. "I'm still not one hundred percent on the Sub-Commander..."

Sub-Commander Dren'Eth Kennet was gone now; they'd left him along with his adjutant with Ambassador Caronyc just as he'd 'suggested'. She'd immediately appointed him as the Liaison between the Anixtl and Soakin though both the Ambassador and the Captain suspected he was ultimately bound for another posting. A stepping stone and as neither was Anixtl neither could say where the other side of the creek lay.

"He's different, alright," Kimiko smiled, shifting her weight and her baggage around as the moving sidewalk carried them up to its next stop. As it moved through the next station it began to move back and forth in a sharp zig-zag like a racing driver trying to keep up speed while slowing down for a caution flag. This gave the occupants - of which there were three - plenty of opportunity to step off and onto the approaching platform.

"Well, this is us, Captain," her partner spoke up, taking a quick step forward to be the first off. Kimiko followed directly with Captain Blaine waiting until the next close pass to hop across.

"I don't think we'll have to worry about Kennet - though I can't say the same for the rest of the Anixtl. All of our research suggests he's normal - though that feels weird to us. In fact if he didn't feel odd, we'd suspect he was part of the Hu'unya Circle. Rare but it happens."

"Rare? What do you mean?" Kami looked at her oddly. To her, Sung-Ye had been the silent partner; assigned to the third shift, she'd had little time to interact with her beyond the cordial.

"The Sub-Commander didn't get into the details but most of the Circle are female. You noted his adjutant? Very submissive, very... I dunno - 'attentive'?" Kami nodded though again she'd spent little time with the Sub-Commander's personal officer; "We've been poking around Anixtl culture, Captain, and there's something else they don't seem to like about the Circle - they're mostly female. And this seems to rub the male-dominated hierarchy wrong. I'd almost go so far as to suggest that we're looking at two separate cultures here. Male Anixtl evolved the ability to readily know their place in a given social structure - probably to lower their chances of physical confrontation and injury in a highly-competitive environment - while female Anixtl retained their sense of desire."

"Because they want to fuck 'better' males and thus have better babies."

"Pretty much, yeah. This was before they evolved sentience but the Anixtl are a younger species than us, evolutionarily. They left the water only a few thousand years ago. My feeling is that the males lack of desire helped them advance quickly by reducing the amount of direct confrontation though the females were still there to push them forward through competition. We're not sure - they really don't like to talk about this stuff."

"...so his adjutant?" Kami asked the obvious question.

"If she was, she was very good at covering it up - though they seem to be really good at that in general. The few times we've managed to meet with someone claiming to represent the Circle it has always been the same situation - one male and one or two females. They mostly listen and generally pass along very straightforward statements or communications. Any discussions or deliberations are made out of sight of our agents. It apparently makes any contact with the Circle very, very tedious."

"Huh."

Their conversation had allowed their feet to carry them along to one of the departure gates scattered around the perimeter of the station. Less of a gate, it was really more of a bay and a single orbital shuttle sat inside with one hatch raised as though it was expecting them. One after the other, they tossed their bags inside until both stood in the doorway ready to go; "Well, Captain - we'll be seeing you. It's been fun."

"Sure... One question - before you go."

"Sure," Kimiko stepped back down to look up at her, if only slightly.

"I've been wondering this since you came aboard. 'No ranks' - that's what you said. But if push came to shove and one of us had to salute the other..?"

"Ah!" and Sung-Ye giggled as Kimiko replied, "Then that would be you, Captain. Though not by much. Just about the same time we retired - for the first time! - they retired our ranks. So I wasn't lying..," she laughed, taking a step backwards and into the cabin.

A last wave and the door swung shut, the warning lights in the bay instantly swirling yellow as the unseen pilot prepared to depart. That sent Captain Blaine beating a hasty retreat to the platform where she watched only briefly as the shuttle arced down towards the planet below...

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 34...

"...'If You’re Leaving Scorch-Marks, You Need a Bigger Gun.'"

"Again, a Maxim where paying attention to the wording is of critical importance to one's interpretation. For the simplistic reader who is prone to violence, Maxim 34 could effectively be shortened to 'I Need a Bigger Gun.' There the assumption is made that they have hit their target, destroyed it, and yet somehow there is an annoying scorch mark left. The next interpretation, of course, is that one has hit their target and only left a scorch mark - this is more likely to be the case but still I feel misses something of the point."

"In battle, one rarely has the option to simply use a different gun if one's first shot does not penetrate or destroy the target. No - Maxim 34 is not for the common soldier but for the officer who directs them. It is the suggestion that one should be aware of both the capabilities of opposing armor and the penetrating abilities of one's weapons and plan accordingly. To put the proper weapon against the proper target. More, it is the suggestion that one will need multiple types of weapons to meet the demands of different targets."

"And it is here that one can extend the Maxim to other pursuits - to the sales leader deciding which markets will be the area of which salespeople. To the government official dividing their budget to the differing needs of their constituants. Thus Maxim 34 encourages us to know how to do the job right and deploy sufficient resources to make it so..."

[Sunset]

OSAMI Field Research Area Vulcan, Southern West Grove Province, Juniper, Pinales System... Republic Date... No Thank You, I'm Married...

"...every structure at this site was constructed from either these," the site foreman pointed a paw at a seemingly-stacked set of panels that sat next to a standard inter-modal shipping container, "or these. It's a basic technology but very useful. Here - let me show you its features..."

Leading the group of site-seers across the yard, he stopped just next to the first and waited until they'd drawn into a semi-circle around him before continuing, "Those retaining walls?" he pointed to a set of stacked earthen berms, their inside face clad with the plates that now stood behind him. "These. Those storage shelters?" he pointed in the opposite direction to where a series of metal arches, some half-circles and others low arches, sat in a staggered half circle with each covered in a thick layer of dirt. "These as well. The outer wall? Same thing. The bridge over the stream? Also these. That tower?"

He pointed back behind them where a squared-off tower rose into the air, a mobile sensor platform sitting at the top, "Again, same thing. With a set of these, the container they came in, and a bulldozer we can put together an entire field base in a few hours."

"Why not just use a dropship?" one of the visitors asked, raising a bare hand. "They've got all the same facilities..."

"Sometimes you do," he admitted easily. "But not always and these have the benefit of not having a lot of other stuff attached to them - stuff you might not want to leave anywhere near someone who shouldn't be anywhere near it! Have you heard what happened on Tannis?"

Most present shook their heads and the others wisely shut up to let him tell the story.

"Tannis is one of the worlds where they've been housing the Espru;" most present were familiar with them, at least if only the name. The Espru were the species that had been 'rescued' from the Krȃng in the M33 galaxy. They'd rescued a lot but not as many as they'd hoped for - and those that they had rescued had turned out to be... 'Problematic' - that was the nice way of putting it. "And the OSA is contracted to provide security and related services there. One of the companies stationed on-world had exactly that thought - 'why not just house them in the dropships?' Temporarily, of course - and I say 'temporarily' because the Espru tried to storm them. Thought they were going to set up a Krȃngist government. They put the insurrection down but there was loss of life - a loss that could have been avoided in part if they'd have been housed in structures that didn't have guns attached to them."

"Alright - fair point," another visitor acknowledged. "So these are new, don't have guns attached to them - how do they work?"

"As I said - pretty simple but very useful. Each of these stacks;" there were several others just like the one they stood next to dotting the compound; "is made up of sixteen primary plates and fifteen connector plates with a twelve position locking pin between them." To demonstrate, he pointed them towards the stack where they could now see that each of the large plates was connected to the outside edge of a smaller plate that sat between them. At the end of each was a locking bar that could be slid out to adjust the angle at which the larger plates were locked to the smaller plate.

"Pretty simple, right? Now, each of these stacks is designed to slide just right into a shipping container - top to bottom, side to side. One container, one stack. By adjusting the locking pin between each plate, you can then make a shape with them. Those retaining walls? They're locked into a shallow arc with dirt piled on one side. Now you can put a tank or AFV behind them hull-down. Put two walls parallel with dirt on both sides? You've got a trench."

"Trench warfare? Seriously?"

"Maybe," he countered. "Or maybe you need a trench to channel water somewhere. Those storage bunkers? Multiple stacks locked into a half-circle then connected together. Now you've got a field maintenance bay. The joints are strong - strong enough that one pin can support the entire stack. So there you have a tower. Or a ramp. The corrugations mean that soldiers can climb up it while the diamond plate means you can drive on it - like that bridge. They also work really well with our dehydrated sand bags," he added, pointing to one of the huts that had been reinforced with a sandbag wall built across the front.

"Need a temporary fence? Or a quick-and-dirty stockade? With one of these you can throw something up in a few minutes. You can take them apart, link multiple stacks together... I think these things are going to end up being the field engineer's best friend!"

[Sunset]

Dr. Kraus's Amazing Holiday Workshop & Laboratory, Special Projects Covert Research Facility 74-A (Sigma), Denali, The Yukon System... Republic Date 177.482.471...

"...what are you doing?" Site Director Krieger asked, her question ending - as it almost always did - with a sigh.

"Working on my latest project, of course," Doctor Fredrick Kraus answered, a raised eyebrow indicated to all who dared look upon it that the question was so far beyond stupid and the answer so far beyond obvious that the two had wrapped around each other to meet again like two would-be lovers in Paris after ten years apart.

"No, you idiot - what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at Camp R. This whole thing," she turned to glare around the workshop which was exactly as she'd last seen it before the whole thing was packed up to be moved...

"...we're there, aren't we?" she glared at the doorway then stepped through it several times, one time sticking a hand through first to wave it around before retracting it and stepping through herself to definitely find herself standing in the hallway again. "A PlexWay. But how the devil..."

His answer was distracted as he went about adjusting this or that on whatever he was working on, "You're in the storage closet. That door," he pointed one finger to what was now her right, "leads to the rest of Camp R."

Her jaw worked for a moment, chewing over his answer. Presuming he was telling the truth - no sure bet there - then, "...you set up a fucking PlexWay for the all of six steps between the door to your old lab space and the supply closet?!? WHY?"

"Coffee machine's better there. Er, here. There? You know, it's kinda confusing to me too - don't worry about it. I don't think you're stupid because of that."

Which implied he thought she was stupid but in all fairness she had just called him an idiot to his face.

And the coffee was pretty good - all of which was a distraction. Another step and she was presumably in his workshop on the Saturnian moon and now formally outside her jurisdiction as Site Director but still she had to ask, "Alright - call it 'professional curiosity;'" or at least an inquiry into what the minimum safe distance might be; "What are you working on?"

"Oh! That's an excellent question. Dare I answer? Dare, dare," he asked himself in an echoing mutter. "And so I shall. So the long story is that I was out for a walk with Meri - that's my wife - when she told me a story about a pet she'd had when she was a child and how she really loved it. Course, we don't have those animals around here - totally extinct, thank the Fanged God. But that got us on the subject of cyberpets. Then cyber-taxidermy. Why not take the skin of your beloved childhood pet and stretch it over a robotic frame?"

"...it's not just about the skin - it's about their personality, their...."

"And that's what she said!" Kraus interrupted. "Well, she also implied that I was a monster and that I shouldn't be allowed out in public, but that wasn't really 'saying' those nice things. But that gave me an idea," and he pressed a final button then stepped back from the station he had been working at, "Behind! Err... Behold! Err... Yeah. This thing," he threw his arms wide.

It looked like a monkey.

"...because it is a monkey. The really neat part is inside," he explained, stepping back to the console and pressing a sequence of buttons that caused the projected animal to turn semi-translucent. "You remember the EndoCortex, right? My inspired creation that bypasses the Ship of Theseus debate by completely incapsulating the brain in a cybernetic repair matrix? This is the next natural expansion of that..."

The press of a button and the transparent monkey began to change, Kraus explaining what was happening as the visual progressed, "First the EndoCortex encloses the brain just like normal. Then the secondary package goes to work, rapidly using the body's own cellular replacement and regeneration process to replace the bones, muscles, and organs with their cybernetic equivalents. Takes, oh, about a week - and it is very painful, provided one happens to be a monkey."

"You know we're related to monkeys, right?"

"You might be related to monkeys but I have a string of alien code written into my DNA and that's enough to put me at least one or two steps away. Go fling your poo elsewhere, madam. Anyway. It doesn't replace the skin - just everything underneath. So if you were to apply the process to your housecat..."

"You'd end up with a cyberpet that still has the look and feel of your favorite kitty. I'll have to give you credit there, Fredrick - that's pretty neat. And all of this is based on the EndoCortex?"

"Well... I had to make it a bit bigger," he answered honestly, picking up a cucumber-sized object from the workbench and handing it to her. "Here you go. Example number one."

"Umm... I'm not sure how you're supposed to swallow this," she said, eying the 'implant' uncertainly. "How does it..?"

"Good news!" he snatched it back and held it up menacingly. "It's a suppository..!"

[Sunset]

The Bridge, RDF-Denali, Admiral Jack Peril's Command & Flagship of the RDF's AlphaComm; Already Underway... Republic Date... I Suppose It Doesn't Matter, Does It?

"...in case containment becomes necessary, Admiral."

"Hell of a way to come out of retirement," he replied, looking only for a moment past the young woman who stood in front of him to the false stars streaking past on the main display. "Two days ago I'm fishing, yesterday I got bored, today I'm rushing off to... Well, what are we up to, 'Admiral' Silaco?"

He had leaned into the emphasis on that last part. While the Director of Special Projects had served - and served honorably - she had also only waded through the ranks up to Lieutenant Commander before quote-unquote 'retiring' to be installed as the new head of the same agency her mother had helmed until the Senate had come knocking following the resignation of President Thorgardson. They wanted new blood and they got it - two of it, in fact.

Jack was old enough to have lived through all of it. In point of fact he was nearly as old as the Republic itself, minus a few decades here and there. The past few had been spent at his fishing cabin on Denali and aside from the occasional 'alien invasion' or just plain weirdness it had been nice and quiet.

Too quiet.

A month or so ago he'd gotten an offer to come back out of retirement. The Defense Force was starting up a new 'AlphaComm' group that would mostly be responsible for responding to large-scale emergencies. Natural disasters, search & rescue - humanitarian stuff. He figured they'd tapped him because those were just the kind of shenanigans that he'd been known for when he'd been on active duty. Any excuse to get off his ship and get out there and do something.

He'd left the letter on the sideboard.

Hadn't thought about it, really. Not up to yesterday when he'd been casting his line into the stream that ran sparkling down the hillside next to his cabin, the long glittering line of water gradually losing itself among the trees that covered the hills all the way down to the ocean, and...

He was bored.

Had been bored; "The GRA has lost containment of an artificial universe they were using as an experimental site. We're worried," she didn't quite say who 'we' were but one 'we' was enough for him, "that this will bleed over into our own universe."

"Test universe? That doesn't sound like something for search & rescue - sounds like somethin' for Mr. Spock. You sure we should be the ones jumping on this?"

"Technically, you're not. There's already a Necrontyr vessel on-site. You'll be there for backup in case they need extra support. Your carriers have the drone swarms they may need - or may not need. If whatever happens happens to get too big too fast - well, AlphaComm is already on the way, Admiral - that's what you're there for..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 35...

"...'That Which Does Not Kill Me Has Made A Tactical Error.'"

"In many ways, Maxim 35 is an inversion of previous - and future - Maxims in that it speaks to the notion of sufficient - or insufficient - force. To leave one's enemy alive is, when consideration falls to the future, an error. Many conflicts have been quote 'resolved' unquote only to flare up again over the most trivial of grievances. To complete one's victory one must ensure one's victory is complete and, as the Maxim suggests, one's enemy is completely dead."

"It should be noted, however, that the Maxim does not state that leaving one's opponent alive or in fact failing to kill them is an absolute failure - see Maxim 70. Simply because one's enemy has failed to kill you this time does not mean the next attempt will not succeed - or the next after that. Neither does it then suggest that one's next action should be to counter-attack - a point on which I disagree with the annotated analysis. Again, see Maxim 70. One's 'next move', so to speak, should be based on a considered analysis of the situation although it was the author Robert Heinlein who wrote, 'Place your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark', thus suggesting that one may not always have the time or information available for anything more than a hasty exit."

"Of course Maxim 35 can be extended to far more than the life of a mercenary or soldier - though it may be something of a stretch to insert it into the halls of academia..."

[Sunset]

OSA Forward Operating Base Jericho, The Planet Bhatt, South-by-Southwest Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.494.246...

"...Jiminy-fucking-Christmas it's cold," Private Ahron muttered, his hands stuffed deep into his mittens and his mittens stuffed deep under his armpits. He was tempted to pull them out and see if they were turning blue - purple, really, as a red skin tone was common to those of his species - but his complaint had attracted the attention of the Sergeant, who turned and stalked over to where he was huddling.

"Cold?"

The Qi had her own hands shoved bare into the pockets of her field jacket though she benefited from a thick coat of fur that - to his mind - made her look something like a walking carpet. He, on the other hand... Well; Ahron was a much warmer world than Bhatt.

"Yesser;" the phrasing of his reply had little to do with his limited exposure to Human culture and military jargon than it did with the biting cold; his teeth were chattering, even behind the faceplate of his helmet!

"I can help you with that, Private," she replied, looking down at him with an evil grin, the barest points of fangs showing at the outside corners of her mouth even as a flurry of snow swirled around her face. "Yep - I've got a real simple trick..."

There was a snicker from one of the other members of the squad. Like the Ahorn, they were positioned in and around a cluster of supply crates that itself was wrapped around and through the base of a large local pseudo-tree. Most had found some niche where they could be out of the wind but still have line-of-sight to something; the OSA had been contracted to protect an extraction colony from the local super-predators and their squad had pulled outdoor duty. Every once in a while a group of tanks or a big stompy robot would come past and they might have to load up some ammunition or clear ice and snow from sensors or gun ports but for the most part they just sat there freezing their collective hind-ends off.

"Maam..."

It wasn't an answer or a question but it was enough of an acknowledgement for her to continue, "You know what always keeps me warm?" she turned and reached into a pile of supplies - this time intended for the guardians themselves - and pulled out a shovel. "Digging. Yep. Nothing like some good, hard shoveling to keep you warm, Private. In fact I'd say that after you dig out a nice deep piss-hole," she tossed the shovel at him and he struggled to catch it but barely, "you'll be warmer than you thought possible! Might even take your jacket off. Guess you'll find out," she turned and pointed to a spot just outside the circle of stick-lights between them and the skeletal colony dome.

"Let me know if it doesn't work," she offered, along with a few laughs from some of the other soldiers.

[Sunset]

The City of Ahorn, The Planet Ahorn, The Ahorn System, Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.497.189...

"...and the Ahorn are?" Sunshine asked, quizzing her boss on the details of their current assignment. It wasn't that Ambassador Melhorn didn't know, of course but it was important to keep him on his toes. Especially when they'd had ass-all warning that they were about to be deployed on a diplomatic contact assignment generated by - of all things - the OSA. There was strange and then there was murder-bunny weird...

"The Ahorn are the people indigenous to the planet Ahorn, in the Ahorn System. We're in the city of Ahorn on our way to meet with President Ahorn."

"And why is everything named 'Ahorn?'"

"Because," he cracked a smile, "'Smurf' was already taken."

Which was pretty much the right answer, as odd as it was. 'Ahorn', in the dominant local language, meant 'our thing' or 'the thing' or 'this thing' and then depending on what particular inflection one put on what letters it then meant 'this place' or 'this group' or... And so on and so forth.

"And why are we here?" he asked her as the two walked across the long causeway that linked their landing pad to the squat administrative building that sprawled across the seaward edge of the nearby city. The Ahorn were a people used to spreading out and down; their world was hot and dry and most buildings were either completely buried or only had a single story exposed to the sun. The tallest structure they could see was a radio tower that rose in the center of the city, numerous antenna and dishes hung here and there.

"Because the OSA needed warm bodies for one of their contracts and decided to recruit locally. They followed up on some rumors which led them to the Ahorn System, and someone up the chain decided that they should pass along the fact that they'd made contact with and were recruiting from a pre-spaceflight civilization. Which then landed in our laps," the junior diplomat answered in return.

...which had apparently made life at least a little miserable for the OSA communications officer assigned to generate a usable translation codex. That they had managed to not only make friendly contact but also to recruit a good number of the locals said to her that it couldn't have been that miserable.

"Well, here we are," Ambassador Melhorn's voice dropped to barely audible as they reached the end of the causeway, his lips moving the bare minimum necessary. "Best foot forward, Sunshine."

At least the reception was familiar. Two single rows of red-skinned Ahorn spread out on either side of a central trio while a uniformed guard stood just back from them, one hand locked up and the other tight across their chest - likely some form of local salute. There was a good mixture of shapes and sizes though most tended towards the lean and none of them were taller than Sunshine, who stood more than a head lower than the Ambassador's two meters even. The moment they crossed the end of the causeway onto open ground music began to play and everyone went still as the pair approached.

"President Ahorn," the Ambassador stopped in front of the three and bowed slightly. "I am Ambassador Melhorn;" the other returned his bow with a gesture that was probably similar, though slightly more complex; "And this is my diplomatic attaché, Ms. Sunshine. Our credentials," and she stepped forward to pass a slender tablet to another who had similarly stepped forward to receive it.

There was a perfunctory moment as they reviewed the contents, comparing the faces and information on the screen to those in front of them. It was an odd thing, of course; they were who they said they were because they had presented documents that indicated they were who they said they were. The same could literally be true of the entire greeting party - the President was the President because at this point that was the truth they were being presented with. The moment did allow the two groups a moment to study the other; Humans meeting Ahorn for the first time and vis versa.

As a general people the Ahorn were again short and lean with skin the color of fresh blood. Humanoid, yes, but with a touch of the diabolic; what he would call males had two pointed extensions trailing down from their cheeks on either side of their mouths to end in a slight talon while females had a swept-back crown of the same with thick hair usually grown long mingled with these. They too had the protrusions on their cheeks but they were usually painted and decorated while the male 'crown' was shorter and so too they were prone to shorter hairstyles. There was, however, what appeared to be a middle gender where one might have both long and the President was one of these.

"Ambassador Melhorn," their translated speech sounded carefully neutral. "Attaché Sunshine," and they repeated the same motion which Sunshine attempted to copy and Melhorn replied to with another bow, "On behalf of the people of Ahorn, welcome. I would like to introduce you to some of the many citizens of Ahorn..."

With a nod of ascent, the President led them to the outside of the row on the right, working their way down and introducing them to one after another. Some the Ambassador judged to be important but others seemed to be of the more common sort; less sure of themselves and less formal in their speech. At the mid-point they stopped, "It is important that you and those you represent know who it is that your actions here will impact. Even in these small times things have already begun to change and change quickly," the President emphasized before moving on to the other side.

All pleasantries completed, they returned to the center with the Ambassador doing his best to assure everyone within earshot that the Republic was only interested in advancing the peaceful lives and fortunes of everyone; "...we believe that the purpose of good government is to serve the people - all people," he finished with an affirming nod from his attaché.

"Excellent. Then let us go inside," they gestured between the row of guards - still standing in salute - and towards the nearby building where a grand entrance awaited, more people standing to either side of the open doors. "And we will discuss this and many more things..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 36...

"...'When the Going Gets Tough, The Tough Call for Close Air Support.'"

"Here I am going to refer directly to the annotated version and agree whole-heartedly with it - Maxim 36 is best reduced to the simple yet difficult proposition of 'if you need help, ask for it'. Though I would even take it a step further; 'you need help, ask for it'. Again the careful wording of the Maxim is important; it states that when the 'going gets tough'. What is 'tough'? Is it excessive casualties? Is it difficult terrain? Malfunctioning equipment? Inadequate logistics? Note that none of these are numbers; no absolutes."

"What this then suggests to me is that Maxim 36 is not only a reminder to ask for help when one needs it but to remain in communication with those above and below so that the appropriate support may be provided when needed. See Maxims' 2, 18, and 63 as well as a host of others that could be easily interpreted as applying to the notion and importance of adequate communications. Because it should also be pointed out that - in most cases - help that is called for will often arrive only in time to clean up the mess - not prevent it in the first place."

"So too should the specific wording of the second half of the Maxim be noted; 'the tough call for close air support'. In the popular action mythology it is the tough - the brave, the strong - that are able to stand up to the odds despite them. Here the Maxim encourages the opposite. Those who consider themselves tough should be those who first call for outside help; their own delusions of adequacy put aside, it is those above them who should make the call as to what hill they will die on..."

[Sunset]

RDF-Midnight Dancer, The Very Edge of GEC-0017, Somewhere Between Ares and Sol, The Alpha-Beta Border, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.532.468...

...which, as far as anyone was concerned, she wasn't there. 'Midnight Dancer - a sleek little Resolution-Class Frigate nominally operating under the guise of the far-ranging Exploration Command - had dropped out of frame-shift somewhere around twenty lightyears out from the system which mean that it would again take twenty-some years for the light-speed traces from her drive to arrive at anywhere they could be observed. She'd then made the last leg of her journey using the old TYCS-standard Tesseract Drive, which didn't leave any here-to-there trace but was subject to a recharge time based on the distance travelled. Someone who knew what they were looking for might find the frigate's arrival point but they'd specifically found and chosen a deep space nomad to arrive 'behind', thus scattering the emissions to either side and away from the system in question.

This still left them a half lightyear out but this was close enough for a careful peek at the system using the ship's long-range sensors; Resolution-Class meaning exactly that...

"...first look there doesn't appear to be anything interesting there, Captain. Just the research station and a bunch of dirt clods."

Captain Tungwenuk nodded, adding an affirming grunt for the sensor officer's benefit. The 'research station' barely qualified as such - at least to the modern interpretation of such. GEC-0017 had been given its very, very low catalog number by virtue of being one of the first systems visited when the very, very young Galaxy Exploration Command had first been getting off the ground. Someone had decided that the star was 'interesting' and so they'd come, built the station, taken a look, and then... Just plain moved on when 'interesting' had proven to be only statistically so. Then a few years past that - less than a hundred, more than a dozen - a minor corporation had bought the place, their reasons their own.

"...the layout matches the original GEC design specs point for point - if they modified it, they didn't do much. Sensor systems are primitive;" the Lieutenant dashed out a few different acronyms, all of which meant that the station would be relying on light-speed or slower methods to detect anything, "but there is power - someone's been keeping the reactor juiced up."

"Which matches what we were told," Oda grunted again, swinging around in his chair to take a look past-and-through the bridge wrap-around to where Lieutenant Vamvakis still worked at his station. The Tjorengo appeared to be working through the comparison of the two schematics still - one culled from the GEC, the other created by 'Dancer's sensor arrays.

"This 'von Deat' character inherited the station from her father, who inherited it from his father, who bought it from the GEC when it was declared surplus. Now the last I can understand. Maybe they thought they'd set up a resource station - pull the nickels out of the nickel-iron asteroids scattered around. That didn't pan out..."

Even back then the notion of a 'resource system' had become somewhat far-fetched. Experience had taught that the systems that could sustain Human and then Sapient life also tended to have more than enough mineral resources laying around as well. Only a system with a truly vast amount of mineral wealth would be worth the effort of setting up a reclamation operation. At best there were a few hundred million tons of raw ore floating around '0017 - a few days effort and very little reward.

"...so they just left it. But why would a seventeen year old come out here? Sabbatical?" He swung back around to look at the star that sat half-eclipsed across the bottom of the main screen. "If she wanted a spa day there are a lot better places more in line with an heiress' budget."

Which meant - as far as he was concerned - that she'd had to come out here for something that could only be done out here. Away from prying eyes, away from whatever authority there was in her life.

"Any evidence of a boundary manipulation?"

"...no;" it was a slow and uncertain answer. There were ways to detect such things - ways the Republic kept very close to the vest - but 'Dancer was equipped to detect them and according to his console the station wasn't showing any sign of them. "But let me take a look..."

"A careful look;" and the Lieutenant echoed the Captain's warning, "Right - a very careful look. I've got a couple id..."

He'd made it through the first two letters when something passed across his screens and he paused, scrolling back through until he'd found just exactly what he'd been looking for, "There it is - just where I'd hide it, if I was trying to hide one. There's a manipulation hiding really deep in the star's corona. Not very big but it doesn't have to be, does it?"

"And what is it doing?"

An important question. The Republic was capable of using boundary manipulations in an endless variety of ways but one of them was the most crucial to its strength; the ability to harvest stellar energy. Where other civilizations might harness the energy output of billions of fusion reactors or even more exotic energy sources, the Republic harvested its energy directly from the stars - and even a single star fully harnessed was multiple magnitudes above even billions of individual reactors.

"Near as I can tell? Nothing;" which was a good answer from the Captain's perspective. "So whatever it is doing, it is doing it inside itself."

And that meant that this was, in all likelihood, the Lich's Phylactery. Whatever Ms. Magna von Deat had become, it was located inside that not-quite-bubble of manipulated space-time.

"Keep looking around;" one could never be too cautious. "But let's see if we can't find out what's inside that bubble? Put up a time-slicing array and let's see if we can't see what's missing..."

[Sunset]

Stealth Technologies & Applications Laboratory, Special Projects Sector, Wing Eight, CORE XIX Deep Space Station, Somewhere in the Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.547.150...

"...the central problem with conventional stealth technologies is that - ultimately - whatever is trying to evade or avoid detection is still there," Doctor Tracie explained, pointing her guest towards an example of each. "Take optical camouflage, for instance. The current generation of GhostDragon power armor uses a photoreactive layer to display an image of its surroundings. From the perspective of a single observer it can be quite effective but multiple observers - especially from multiple wide angles - can pick it out."

For a moment there seemed to be nothing in the chamber but then, as something turned in place, the faint outline of a humanoid figure appeared first faint and then more visible until then fading away again; "Just the problem with optical camo systems - they show the first observer what's behind them but for the second observer it is like looking at something underwater and for others... "

"It's like one of those cups with the 'moving images' on it," her guest observed.

"Yeah. We've been able to improve the technology - pixels on micro-printed pyramids - but ultimately the more observers and the more angles the less effective it is. And it doesn't matter anyway," she reached out and flipped on a switch next to the doorway. Instantly the shape and location of the armored suit inside was perfectly revealed. "Schlieren photography. It's a visual process that is used to photograph the flow of fluids of varying density. Guess what - air is a fluid and all it took is that slight movement to create enough airflow. And don't think you're going to get away by staying really, really still, Mister Smarty-Pants Elf. All it takes is the slightest movement of the air around you and we can see you - first time, every time. Fortunately most of the galaxy seems to have forgotten about August Toepler but..."

"We can't assume we're going to stay ahead of the curve."

"Nope. Now, we've had some really interesting developments since then. For instance, we can effectively blind an opponent's sensors by showing them nothing or something - reprogramming local space to show them what we want to see or don't want them to see. Same problem there but with a different verse. More sensors takes more energy and computing power - you can overwhelm the system with more eyeballs. And if you want to utilize that system, you effectively negate other passive stealth methods like low or no emissions. Absolutely fantastic for blinding one ship."

"But what if more ships show up? Don't count on the enemy creating your perfect engagement," the visitor offered.

"Right. So..."

"So what's your solution, Doctor?"

"Have you ever heard of steganography?"

"Sure;" something of a dumb question for the head of a group devoted to hiding things, but; "Hiding, say, a note inside an image. We've got some pretty talented people doing just that. There's this one guy who can encode a pretty long message into an oil painting, just by varying the shade and thickness of the paint. Landscapes. Very happy landscapes."

"Right! Right - exactly! Now, holographic manipulation is basically altering the instructions for how the universe is displayed - and steganography fits right inside that like a hand in a glove. Check this out," she turned from the display chamber to the pedestal that sat in the center of the room. "What do you see?"

The easy answer was 'nothing' and that's just what he said as she nodded her head, "Right - exactly. Now, we can do all kinds of fun things with boundary manipulation but the trick is that they all take energy. The more of the boundary that you manipulate, the more energy you need. But what you can do is..."

"Hiding something inside what is already there. Steganography."

"Exactly! Now, you can't see it, but there's a message floating right there in the middle of all that 'nothing'. Put some extra power into the area and..;" words appeared from nowhere and he read them off with a laugh; "The White Zone is for Unloading Only. Okay - useful, since not a lot of people can even read the boundary, much less manipulate it. But you've done one better?"

"We've done one better. Two, three, four better in fact. We can hide more than information - we can hide objects. Right now they're static objects - a set of aluminum letters, for instance," she reached out her hand and plucked out one of them as an example, dropping it into his open hand. "But we've got some ideas and we might just be able to insert complex objects into an existing boundary. Holo-steganography..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 37...

"...'There is No 'Overkill' - There is Only 'Open Fire' and 'Reload'."

Here Maxwell paused for a dramatic moment to stare past his presumptive audience before looking down to read the verse again though with a different emphasis than before, "'There Is no 'overkill' - there Is only 'open fire' and 'reload'. Here is a Maxim where I feel the emphasis should not be on the contemplative but the immediate. In fact, I feel the usual analysis misses the point entirely, often suggesting that the point of Maxim 37 is simply - ultimately - 'reload'. I would rather suggest the emphasis should be properly placed on the first half of the phrase - 'There is No 'Overkill''."

"A simple question for those proficient in the horrors of war; when has the question ever been asked - in the moment - whether the results of a successful engagement are 'overkill'? No... Most are glad simply to be alive while the other is dead or otherwise neutralized. 'Open Fire' and 'Reload' are distractions - distractions from a question that should itself not be asked in the first place. While some might moan after the fact about excessive casualties or unfortunate loss of life, these are the armchair generals who were not themselves there. Hindsight allows for the consideration of far more information than is available in the moment but for those on the ground the question is not whether there was too much force but instead too little."

"It is here that the admonition to 'Reload' at least makes some sense, though it could just as easily be stated as 'Make Sure' or the fan-favorite 'Double-Tap'. But again, I feel that this is a secondary point to the Maxim's primary emphasis - 'There is No 'Overkill'. It is a reminder that on the battlefield one must by need of survival lay aside distractions and concentrate on what is happening in the 'now'..."

[Sunset]

Karl's Apartment, Landor City, Terra Incognito, The New Latin System... Republic Date 177.567.687...

"...alright, Missy - care to explain that?" Karl pointed to the floor-to-ceiling window that spanned the edge of his living room. "I get the why but I don't get the why," he groused.

"The window?" Katryna countered with a mischievous smile, prompting him to grab her by the elbow and lead her right up to the glass. From where they stood they could look over much of the north side of the city - except where the view was blocked by buildings - but his demand concerned what was happening right outside and it was obvious why.

It was snowing.

"At least you people do Christmas all proper," he grumbled, looking down at the street that ran away from the building to terminate in a round-about park that until yesterday had held a large fountain with a towering modern sculpture resting in the water. Now the bright lights of an equally tall Christmas tree sparkled through the snow. All up and down the street the storefronts had been decorated for the season with lights, garlands, enormous ornaments, as well as the odd snowman. Down the center of the street where a strip of grass normally provided a comfortable place to walk barefoot a track had been laid out and they could see people on sleds, skis, and boards swooshing along from one end to the other.

"Another one of your holograms?"

"Nope - that's real snow. A real tree too. They brought it in fully decorated last night."

"I would point out that according to the weather lady," he tapped at the window and the two-dimensional image of a woman appeared - notably under-clad for the weather outside - in the glass along with a range of temperate that ranged from the balmy to baking, "It's supposed to be twenty-two for a high and not that far under it overnight. And I know a thing or two about large buildings, Katty - when it rains or snows, it snows up. That ain't no 'up'!"

"Industrial magic - perfectly suited for the North Pole," she countered. "You know there's a Santa down there. Could go ask for something under the tree."

"...ain't got no..."

There was a knock at the door and he turned to look back to the hallway just in time to catch the barest of concealed smiles spreading across her chin, "Ah'n lemme guess. You thought you'd cheer up a grumpy old man by sending your man in with a tree, didn't you? Well..." he strode across the room to trigger the door and it slid open to reveal not just Amaril but Tanya too - his girlfriend - each with one end of a bound-up tree under their arms. Behind them waited the couple's children with boxes filling their arms and positively spilling over with ornaments and lights.

"...well come on in!" his weathered face split into an instant smile and he greeted the second with a quick kiss on the cheek as they trooped past and headed straight for an open corner. "So - about that snow?"

"Snow machines on the roofs. And air pumps at ground level. The snow still melts by the time it hits the ground but the stuff on the ground is all artificial - it won't melt and isn't that cold. Just looks real. You should still take your jacket," she suggested as the new arrivals leaned the tree up against a window and arranged the boxes of ornaments around it. "The downdraft can get chilly."

"Take mah jacket?"

"Or else I'll make you wear this," Tanya laughed, draping Santa's big red jacket across the back of his favorite chair. "Come on - we're going Christmas shopping!"

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 38...

"...'What's Easy For You Can Still be Hard on Your Clients.'"

"Here the annotated notes are useful - though their author isn't; know the value of your expertise and more specifically don't undersell your skills and services. The mercenary's employer - and employers in general - is at the mercy of their needs. Particularly for those who turn to the soldier of fortune, they have a need that must be filled and without those skills or those services the endeavor or even the employer may fail. While it might seem... Well - mercenary - to put one's employer over the barrel when they can least afford it, there is an intrinsic practicality there. The employment of mercenaries implies some manner of risk in an endeavor. By pricing oneself appropriately to the business at hand, the company commander is actually doing their employer a favor by giving them an adequate assessment of the risks versus the rewards."

"After all, for you the assignment might be easy - but that does not negate entirely the possibility of risk. The Maxims are filled with warning after warning to not underestimate an opponent, to accept the inevitability of failure, and to expect changing circumstances. They also note explicitly that one should not assume that today's employer will be tomorrows - see Maxim 49. Favors are easily forgotten - contracts much less so..."

[Sunset]

Somewhere on the Front Lines, Inside the Anonheron Security Zone, Porkinsle, Somewhere in the Southern Beta Quadrant... Republic Date 177.570.619... A Name Which Will Surely Come Back to Haunt Me...

"...you hear what they're sayin' about us on HNN, Sarge?" the bunny asked, throwing himself down against the wall with his back to the brick and mortar, his rifle propped across his legs. Rifle fire popped overhead and for a moment his long ears twitched, twisting to locate the source before a missile streaked by in the opposite direction to explode with a muffled 'ker-whuump'.

Satisfied that someone else was taking care of the problem - or had taken care of it - he turned back to the Sergeant. Hunched over his work, the non-comm was hunkered down in the dirt next to a pile of tumbled masonry that provided adequate hard cover against the large heavy slugs favored by the Anonherons. In his hands was an anti-tank mine that he'd scavenged up from somewhere and he'd broken the side open so he could get at the guts of the device.

"Nah. What're they sayin'?"

If he was interested he sure didn't sound interested but it was conversation and the Corporal plunged ahead, "They said that the OSA pulled out of the MFAZs. After the Republic reached some kind of agreement with the Hypatians..."

The Qi responded with a snort, twisting a pair of wires together as he issued his retort, "More like pulled out of their mom. We drew-down cause we were being deployed to M33. In fact, that really chaps my hide," he wasn't sure where he'd picked that one up but it sounded good and he threw in a couple extra obscenities just because they were.

"Really?"

Another few rounds from an unseen rifle snapped by above their heads and the distraction gave the Sergeant enough time to finish his work while everyone else was busy twisting their heads off. The mine went into a bag and with a shrug he tossed in a pair of fragmentation grenades, "Nah - I'm fuckin' busy. Everyone ready?"

Just on the other side of the wall was an anti-tank trench - possibly where he'd gotten the mine - and on the other side of that was a machinegun nest that had been giving his squad trouble all morning. It was standard OSA practice to lead an assault with satchel charges (grenades were for pussies) but this one called for something special. Hefting the strap he looked up and down the line to where the rest of the squad was hunkered down and got enough nods to know that everyone else would follow as soon as he started moving.

Pulling back, he heaved the charge over the top with the customary call of 'Sack Out!' while a long, desperate burst of machinegun fire over their heads told him his throw was close enough to count. Snatching up his rifle he reflexively checked the magazine before rising to a half-squat just as the mine went off, followed a moment later by two now inconsequential 'pops'. Then he was over the wall and into the trench, the rest of the squad following or propping up their own automatic weapons to spray the nest down with suppressing fire...

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 39...

"...'There is a Difference Between 'Spare Parts' and 'Extra Parts'.'"

"In the annotations provided, mention is made of the quartermaster - an officer responsible for obtaining, maintaining, repairing, and sometimes creating the material equipment of a military organization - and their relation to Maxim 39. There is as well - in my opinion - subtle reference made to the fact that the quartermaster's office is often one of the more... 'corrupt'? Criminal? Or shall I just say that things sometimes go missing and are later found in the hands of others. Of course the straight implication is that differences are once again crucial."

"'Spare Parts' are those parts which are kept for the purposes of repairing or replacing the company's required equipment. In the case of a competent quartermaster, the amount of spare parts kept on hand - or obtained through means fair or foul - is calculated so as to ensure that there are enough for all but the most unlikely of circumstances. Not too many, not too few. While one might want to have an endless supply of spare parts there are issues of cost and carriage to be considered and there lies one of the skills of the master quartermaster - knowing just how much is too many or too few."

"'Extra Parts' are, as those who have put together a building or construction toy well know, those parts that are left over at the end of the process. Parts that might have been included in the package by mistake. These soon migrate hither and yon, often to be found under the couch when cleaning or perhaps batted around by the cat. This isn't to say they are not useful - in the right circumstances they can even become 'Spare Parts'! But for the quartermaster? They are a hard currency - useful in barter and bribe! Budgets are numbers - they are exacting, unrelenting..."

"...and frequently audited."

[Sunset]

Maintenance & Repair Yard, Behind the Old Martian Duma, East Mangala MFAZ, Mars, Sol System... Republic Date 177.577.764...

"...just what is 'Administrative Functions' anyway?" Colonel BarCly asked, a mischievous smile crossing half-hidden lips as the Leporidae walked the grounds, accompanied by the Technical Warrant Officer in charge. "That would suggest to me that we've been reduced to non-combat functions. But those," he pointed to a careful row of vehicles, "look like tanks to me. Administrative tanks, perhaps?"

"No, Sir. 'Administrative Functions' would clearly refer to things like... Permits and code enforcement. Law enforcement. Emergency response. Maintenance. Repair," he continuing to list off whatever came to mind until the Colonel stopped him; "But those still look like tanks."

"Well... Kinda-sorta?" the TWO demurred, hand on one side of the subject of the question as he looked it over. As the bunny in charge, he was ultimately responsible for the status of each and every bit of equipment and personnel on the yard and he took the job seriously. Frequent random inspections were the order of the day and this was just another chance to make sure everything was in order.

"These are 'Onager IAUV's. That's 'Intermodal Armored Utility Vehicle'," he supplied further, listing out the acronym. "They're for moving shipping containers around. Part of our logistics train. Very important, Sir - logistics, that is."

"Yes, yes - '...and Experts study Logistics.' They still do look like tanks though. They've got guns and missile launchers."

"Those pintle mounts are for defensive purposes and those launchers are for utility rounds. Drones, survey rounds - that kind of thing."

"But they still conform to the OSA's medium-range missile launch system specification, do they not? This is your yard, Warrant. You're supposed to know everything about everything," the Colonel pressed, still smiling even as his finger jabbed at the Chief's chest.

"Yessir, and according to the paperwork these are logistics and service vehicles. There's not a single combat vehicle on this yard."

"Not a one?"

"Not a one."

"And what are those?" the Colonel pointed to a huge stack - one of several - of shipping containers. Each bore the OSA logo and lettering on one side or the other and the various stacks formed a sort of wall around the yard's perimeter.

"Modular intermodal shipping containers. Not tanks, Sir."

"They do allow for a wide variety of systems though, don't they? Systems which could then be mounted on these... logistics and service vehicles?"

"Yessir. But they are not."

The Colonel now grinned widely, "No they are not. So. As of right this moment and for the foreseeable future the OSA in the MFAZs is providing administrative services - no combat units. Tell me, Warrant... Did you go through Basic?"

The Chief almost looked hurt, "Yes - of course. As did you, Colonel."

"In point of fact, everyone has to go through Basic except for entry-level contractors. Privates. So if I handed you a rifle... Nevermind. Random thought. But as far as we are concerned, 'Administrative Functions'..."

[Sunset]

Inside the Ruins of Listening Post 717-A-8, GEC-10489417, Near the Old Kion Empire, Delta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... A Few Minutes After That...

"...galactic hitchhikers, you might say," Magnus flashed one of his trademark grins, the chamber practically lighting up despite its size. As always there was something both real and fantastic about the man and his casual banter had carried them forward through a maze of twisting passages - all alike - until they'd come to what must surely be their destination.

Or at least what surely stood between them and their destination.

"The Tamtet are both a people and a religion and, if I weren't already committed to my own particular spiritual path, one that I might find attractive," he went on as he ran a practiced hand across the great metal door. "They believe that 'you are what you eat', to use the Old Earth adage - and as much in a metaphysical sense as a biological one. Consume the perfect meal and one can achieve nirvana. But alas, my ramen just wasn't good enough..."

The 'door' was a titanic concave depression that had been set into the stone foundations of the listening post. For most of its measure the surface was as smooth as glass and where it met the stone at the edges of the oval it was set just enough back so as to deny any tool purchase. Just at the middle where the grey-white metal touched what they had decided was the floor there was a seam or rather a channel that recessed yet further, rising along the vertical radius to the center, and then expanded out to an engraved oval that matched the greater shape of the door.

"This has to be a lock of some kind;" everyone had declared, one by one approaching it to examine it as closely as they could. How it worked was a mystery - there was no keyhole, no slot, no panel, but the engraving did seem to follow a form and Magnus had declared that it somewhat resembled a stylistic rendition of the Kion word for 'door' or 'entrance'.

"Ramen? You feed them ramen?" Kedo asked, his incredulity stretched as he took his turn at the lock. "I think it has to be some kind of bio-lock. We can't open it because we're not Kion."

"It's very good ramen. My grandmother's recipe, and she told me she learned it from one of the masters on the streets of old Tokyo. If I were to choose a last meal before achieving nirvana then that would be it!"

"Which, that kind implies it was meant to be opened. I don't understand this whole idea of 'opening' tombs, really," Alwyra said, answering the first rather than the second though Magnus turned to look at her as she moved in beside her husband, running her hand along the face of the door. "The dead are supposed to stay buried as far as I'm concerned. Much less messy for everyone involved that way."

"Mmm - well, there is precedent. At least for the Kion. The great vault under the Dragon's Eye was meant to be opened - the Warlord's personal retainers were to be buried with him but there's nothing to indicate they were buried alive. I'm frankly astonished the place hadn't been looted a dozen times by the time they'd interred the last one..;" but the Neko held up a sudden hand and the adventurer stopped his speculation, "What?"

"That's it. The Dragon's Eye," she turned to look around the room.

In many respects the threshold to the tomb - if that was indeed what it was - was as grand as most any mausoleum anywhere else. From the final passageway it widened out into a long oval, the walls carefully and precisely carved out of the stone and ornamented with shapes fantastic. Six sinuous bodies seemed to sprout from equidistant points around the perimeter and rise along the curve of the ceiling to clasp hands together - hand to forearm and so forth - forming a ring around a great brazier. This rose on a stalk from the middle of a long reflecting pool. In the chilly depths the water had frozen solid and it was this that the Neko had turned away from the door to approach.

"You've been there," she said, turning to look at Magnus who still waited next to the door. "Remember how the Eye got in? It was another trick - there was a pool, just like this one. The Kion were amphibians - they had an underwater passage from the reflecting pool in the outer chamber into another in the inner chamber. Right under the Warlord's burial crystal."

That was a sight itself to behold. The last and presumably greatest Kion Warlord had been completely encased in an enormous, perfect crystal that was then hung above their burial chamber. Exactly preserved, they looked in death as they had in life - just as though they were sleeping and would someday wake to set out in conquest once again.

"Ah!"; "Spot on!" Magnus added, both men rushing to her side. "A similar trick here;" "But the water's frozen," Kedo added. "We wouldn't be able to see the pipe - or even know it is there."

Alwyra smiled broadly, her tail lashing back and forth, "Exactly! So, how do we melt the water?"

There was a soft 'hummm' and Magnus stood tall, his beam-sword glowing softly, "This should do the trick. Low-power - we just want to melt it, not vaporize it," and with a dramatic lunge he reversed the blade in his grip to plunge it into the ice...

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 40...

"...'Not All Good News is Enemy Action.' An interesting though brief Maxim and one quite easy to disregard. Even for the professional-at-arms its use is often overlooked. In the field, enemy action is almost always 'good news' - at least of a sort. There is an old adage that states that 'War is Ninety-Eight Percent Utter Boredom and Two Percent Sheer Terror' and another that states that 'Boredom is the Greatest Enemy.' Thus for the company commander enemy action is good news indeed - it gives them something to act on, to act against, to point their arsenal towards, and to plan for. Something to do," he emphasized.

"Maxim 40 exists to remind us to look for good news beyond our present circumstances - and to act on it appropriately. In that respect '40 is almost philosophical rather than practical, a reminder to keep your head in the right place," he tapped his own forehead meaningfully. "There is life outside of war, outside of violence - outside of the office, outside of the classroom. It is an exhortation to the workaholic, to the adrenaline junkie, to the recluse, to the hermit. At some point the war will end and it will not do one any good to find that during that time the world outside has completely passed us by..."

[Sunset]

RDF-Edge of Glory, Outside the Falltier System, The Trailing Edge of the Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.591.744...

"...she's moving quick."

"Yes she is," Commander Ingersol agreed, his eyes still firmly focused on the console in front of him rather than the dramatic image splashed across 'Glory's main screen. One of the benefits of the 'New Fleet' concept was that a ship's executive officer didn't have nearly the same volume of duties that they had had when crew numbers regularly ran into the hundreds and even the thousands. Previously his workday would have been at least partially consumed with the concerns of personnel management - not now.

Thank God.

"Which - all credit to Ms. von Deat. Her post-grad work was on system-level engineering. She's probably been planning this since her first semester at university," he continued, looking over the data streaming across the various screens. "And she's cribbed few things too - that array, for instance." A few taps at the interface and the enormous structure that partially surrounded the star's south pole was highlighted in yellow. "It is a structural copy of the VLEMA;" Very Large Energy-to-Matter Array and often referred to as 'Velma'; "that was in the Ares system way back in the day."

More recently that array had been disassembled and shipped off to the Phoenix Domain but it would have been a fixture in the sky of a young Magna for most of her young life. Like that mega-structure, this one consisted of a spiderweb framework with titanic panels of paper-thin solar fabric strung between the spars. Unlike it, it didn't appear to utilize any kind of matter-to-energy conversion but instead provided a massive amount of energy to a growing industrial base.

"Eleven percent coverage and its still expanding - the Ares Velma was twenty, ten at each pole. There they had to think about things like crops but here..."

"There's no civil society to consider," Captain Calindra agreed. "She can focus on efficiency."

"And she has. Oh boy, has she..." Another few passes at the keyboard and a technical illustration of the system spread out across the holosphere in the middle of the bridge. "This is the current orbital arrangement of the planets in the system. This," the image shifted slightly, "Is what they were a few months ago. It's a subtle difference now but in a few years some will be in a much more useful orbit and others will probably be in pieces. I'd guess that she's going to create an artificial asteroid belt at the edge of the habitable zone. Concentrate the resources."

"And reduce the amount of empty space she'll have to defend. Fortresses and 'yards at the trailing Trojans..."

"Yeah. Move as much as she can into the inner system. And with no one except us paying attention to her... She can get all her industrial ducks in order and then start building ships. An entire system dedicated to war - then the question will be 'With Who...?"

[Sunset]

Site Director's Office, Special Projects' Technology Development Centre, CORE XIII Deep Space Station, Somewhere in the Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.599.918...

"...aren't you a handsome kitty?" Katryna bent to reach out and scratch the cat behind the ears and then run her fingers down the scruff of its neck. "That's right - you are! It is a cat?" she asked, turning to look back over her shoulder to where Site Director Painted-Claws stood - the Kzinti a visual near-copy of the much smaller feline.

"It is a cat," Director Painted-Claws answered, the Kzin-Tosh leaning around her to brush one of his own massive paws across the sleeper's forehead. For a moment it opened hazel eyes to stare up at him and perhaps some note of a far-distant but shared biological heritage in its expression before its chin dropped to lay across an extended paw.

An easy observation, give that the feline subject of their discussion looked like it had slunk away from an adorable meme somewhere. Now it was sprawled out across the back of a comfortable-looking easy chair tucked into one corner of the Director's irregular office, eyes closed. Aside from the slow curl of its orange-and-white tail it might have been asleep.

"He is, in fact, a rescue," he explained, moving back across the room to settle into his own chair behind the desk. "Have a seat... One of my staff picked him up on the streets and brought it in - had the idea of making it the office pet. Charitable, that," he shrugged, broad shoulders shifting the fabric of his tunic into lapped wrinkles, "But we had a need for a real cat and so Teurenze ended up here."

"So what is he, then?" she asked, settling into the offered seat to look back over her shoulder at the cat that was the point of her visit. "Are we training house cats to be assassins now?"

Painted-Claws laughed, his fangs flashing wide as he did, "No, no. Though the project's objectives are something along those lines. Have you read the white paper on holosteganography?"

"Of course - and I've seen 'Cowboy Bebop'. Is Teurenze a DataKitten?"

"No, no," and the Kzin waved away the implication with a paw. "That is where we started, yes, but we moved beyond that pretty quickly. Teurenze is a product of catacryptomechanography."

Director Silaco rolled the word around in his mouth for a moment. She wasn't afraid of mangling it but it sounded distinctly like something that would summon something beyond the keen of mortal men if mispronounced. With the second a remote but plausible possibility in these strange times, she instead asked, "Who was involved in the creation of this word? A German?"

Painted-Claws circled a hand, "I believe it was a collaborative effort. You understand the meaning though?"

Katryna nodded once, "Mostly? So he's something like an IntelKitten..."

"Somewhat. Though instead of being a cybernetic or synthetic reproduction, he is a real cat that has had some very subtle transmission and control mechanisms inserted via this new process," the Director reeled off the word again. "Even if one were to somehow be able to examine the boundary instructions that define his existence, one would only see those of a regular housecat unless one knew exactly how to look at those conditions."

"...I'm not sure how, but I think I missed an exit back there," she replied, not so much confusion as doubt on her face. "How do you hide a mechanism inside another mechanism?"

"Do you remember when Zero-One Mono-Corporation sold those 80M8 mining rigs to... I believe it was the Allaneans? The prelude to the Quickbronze Incident on Mars?"

"Right, sure," she sat back in her chair, crossing one knee over the other. "A classic caper - they were equipped with 'omni-directional rapid movement units' that allowed the rig to move in any direction... Right up until they exploded and moved the rig in every direction - all at once! We're using the same trick in a couple other places, if I remember correctly. Just in case."

"Precisely!" he smiled wide to show a mouthful of fangs. "Teurenze is that, except without the exploding part. What we've done is add very subtle cut-outs and inputs to his existing biological functions - they all function exactly the same as before, they all do just what they are supposed to do. But on the holographic level there is a slight change that makes some single interaction do more than what it did previously. It doesn't have to be much - a particular atom vibrates ever so slightly faster and in doing so interacts with another nearby atom that it wouldn't otherwise. Nothing harmful - no spectacular explosion - but..."

"...but if you know just what you're looking for, you can access that hidden function. Very neat, Director. How is it inserted?" she asked the important question.

"Very, very carefully. For Teu here we were able to position him inside a heavily-modified CANARY array;" and they shared a momentary laugh; "Appropriate, don't you think?"

"Sure. That does seem to mean that - at least in this instance - one would then have to infiltrate the unwitting asset into the target environment?"

"Yes, but only 'for now'," he held up a warning claw. "Reasonably catacryptomechanography is like every other area of boundary manipulation we've explored. At some point we'll be able to precisely target it so that we can insert these 'subtle functions' at a considerable distance and without giving the subject immediate brain cancer. That then opens up the possibility of embedding monitoring functions into foreign officials. Very useful," he smiled toothily.

"Very - and potentially very dangerous. At least from an 'unintended consequences' perspective... If anyone figures out that we're doing this and then how we're doing this, the straightforward answer is to put up FTLi around every government official. But it won't stop there - in order to negate the risks of our potentially turning every random member of their population into a spy, they'll put up FTLi everywhere!"

Rising from her chair, she began to pace back and forth behind it as he watched serenely from behind his desk.

"That will kill their faster-than-light communications systems - centralized multi-system government would effectively collapse. So would multi-system trade, since every vessel would have to go through a complex STL arrival and departure process well away from the markets they service. It wouldn't affect us - couple others, big P's - but the little p's might effectively collapse. The galaxy would hyper-balkanize. Millions of single system states that are still technically 'star-faring' but would then self-isolate..."

"If they were to figure it out. Right now there are," he held up a paw and counted off claws until he ran out, "Well - not very many states that could even detect this and fewer still that would understand how to block it. Still - yes, extreme caution is called for and even now this is only an experimental process. Teurenze is unique - one-of-a-kind."

Her fingers again brushed the cat's forehead, pushing one ear down before scratching at the back of his neck. One paw came up to swipe at her, "...and he might just stay that way," she decided aloud...

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 41...

"...''Do You Have a Backup?' Means 'I Can't Fix This'.' Ultimately - in my opinion - Maxim 41 is about personal relationships and the importance of clarity in communications. On the face of it the Maxim could be suggested to encompass some notion of personal capability - both the grunt who has somehow broken something; see Maxim 48; but also the material specialist who, by virtue or vice, is unable to repair or replace that something. Here the wording of the first half of the Maxim compared to the implied meaning of that first half as defined by the respondent in the second is important - 'I Can't Fix This' could easily be preceded by and ended with 'You broke it' and 'you idiot'."

"This thus leads to what I feel is the ultimate purpose of the Maxim. It is both a warning that one should not aggravate the problem by aggravating the source of the problem without good cause and that one should pay careful attention to the words used. And thus to one's own wording as well. Other more simplistic interpretations of the Maxim are simply a distraction - as illustrated by the Maxim itself..."

[Sunset]

University of South-Central Western NeoVancouver Field Research Site, Snek-Snek, Traed System, Alpha Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 177.611.626...

"...Professor? You okay there?"

The pair of synthetic seamen stood carefully in the doorway of the tent, one with their hand on the flap and the other just half out of sight, their hidden hand holding a service pistol. Though the question had been asked in earnest, neither showed any trace of emotion - their faces were blank, the polymorphic blue fabric that covered their heads and hands a featureless default. While others might be have been surprised or even shocked by this odd confrontation the subject of their inquiry stood silent, facing away from the pair.

"Professor?" the closest asked again, stepping just through the doorway to shift to one side while the other remained where they were. "We've had some reports..."

"...yeah, I think we're a little late for that," the second interrupted, stepping out to raise their pistol. "Professor... Or whatever you are - go ahead and turn around. Slowly."

If it was an order the figure either didn't hear or didn't care. Instead they stood, head bowed in silence. Picking their way carefully to either side the two synthetics circled around until they could first make clear that there was nothing in his hand and then until both could see his face. Regular but shallow breaths pushed out from between lips that hung slack, the tip of his tongue just visible as though he couldn't quite figure out what to do with it.

"Just like the others - something's kicked the Prof out of his own head," the first said, ducking so they could get a better view of the old man's face.

"Think it's still..."

The second's question was answered as the slack figure suddenly stood up straight, eyes wide and staring past them towards an endless distance. Both raised an arm, a weapon appearing in the hand of the first as though it had been there all along. A heave and the Professor's chest heaved, the second taking an involuntary step back as the man's knees buckled and he dropped to the floor in a crouch. With his hands at his side he tipped his head back and with a low rattling moan a viscous golden-orange fluid began to bubble from the corners of his mouth. Another stream from his nose joined it and then a third as slow yellow tears poured down one cheek.

"Shoot him!?"

"...did any of the others do this?" the other asked, crouching down to get a closer look while keeping their weapon trained on the body.

"Didn't say..."

"Then call it in," the other ordered, picking their way forward. The fluid had reached the professor's suit but rather than soaking into the fabric it now ran slowly down his chest, coming together in stiff rivulets' and then fanning back out into a lumpy sheet as it followed the folds and patterns of the garment.

"Whatever it is, it's alive," they said after a moment, consulting some unseen diagnostic. "Psuedo-cellular activity, gas exchange - it's breathing," they clarified.

The second synthetic took a step back and to the side, "Can it get into us?" Their voice sounded cautious. "Is it intelligent?"

"Fuck, I'm not a biologist..." then the first stopped stock-still, locked in place and for a moment the second traced a line down their body and across the floor, looking for any sign that the ooze had somehow gotten into their partner. Just as suddenly as they'd stopped they began to move again, formless features gaining new shapes and blue default skin turning a sunburned shade of pink; "...I am. Careful, Marine," she held up a warning hand. "Kyong Tae Lee. I'm one of Professor Kolshinski's grad students. I was disconnected earlier."

"Alright - what do you see?" the second asked, a sideways glance towards the 'newcomer' but with their gun still on the kneeling body. The fluid had now dripped down to pool in the crotch of his trousers and only the last few drops were dribbling slowly down his chin.

"Your partner's right. Gas exchange and there's complex electrical activity. It is definitely alive." The synthetic bent close, turning its head to peer at the fluid from different angles. "It shares some of the same biological configuration with some of the other species we've sampled - it's from around here. I can't tell if it is intelligent or just some kind of super-parasite though. Should be harmless to us though. I doubt it can host inside electronics. In fact," she crept closer still and raised a hand to point a light into Kolshinski's eyes.

"I bet if he tried the connection, he'd get right back in. Intelligent or not, our biology is too alien. It is probably coming out because it can't survive in there."

"What'do we do?" the Marine asked, stepping closer but still keeping an actionable distance between himself and the two.

"...follow it. If it is leaving one host it will probably try to find another. Then we'll observe it and see what we can tease out..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 42...

"...''They''ll Never Expect This'' Means 'I Want to Try Something Stupid'.'"

"While on the whole I agree here with the provided annotations - 'Don't Think Too Far Outside the Box' - I would also point forward to Maxim 47, 'Don't Expect the Enemy to Cooperation in the Creation of Your Dream Engagement.' In some ways - and in this way in particular - Maxim 42 is a restatement of 47, which is a far toothier Maxim in my estimation. But when reduced to the circumstances, Maxim 42 not only means 'Don't Think Too Far Outside the Box' but also to remember that stupid ideas are stupid for a reason - they have been tried before and more importantly they have failed before."

"Much of the basic training of any competent military or paramilitary organization is wrapped around the idea of teaching the soldier how to do the right thing instinctively. Combat - at its most basic and most personal - is hardly ever a thing of thought or of planning but rather instinct and reaction. Under the stress and uncertainty of combat, it is analysis that is likely to get one killed - overthinking is, in the small scale, equivalent to indecision. When two companies meet it is the one that maintains good order that will more than likely win, rather than the one with an equal number of individual champions all executing their own plan."

"Here it is interesting to note the Cult of the Hero and its implications. In so much of modern media, it is the lone hero that is given the glory and the praise - held up as the example for others to follow. The reality... The reality is far different. 'Heroes' are simply the fortunate - and sometimes the lucky! It is only a series of brief moments - many of which they had little participation in other than to simply be the less convenient target - that separates the living hero from the unfortunate casualty. Which takes us nicely to Maxim 43; in many ways, the true heroes are the unsung soldiers who follow their training, execute the mission, and return safely to an unsung victory..."