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

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 60...

"...'Any Weapon's Rate of Fire is Inversely Proportional to the Number of Available Targets.' The clear suggestion is that you'll never have the 'right' weapon at hand - just the 'make-do' one. But I would suggest that there are, perhaps, not one but two deeper or at least marginally more insightful suggestions behind what appears to be a reasonably straightforward Maxim on the face of it. The first would be more familiar to those more familiar with weapons - particularly those with the mentioned 'rate of fire'. Here the suggestion is that skill can oft-times offset this inverse deficiency. Thus the Maxim could be taken as a reminder that it is ultimately the warrior and not the weapon."

"Somewhat along the same lines, the second interpretation could then be expanded beyond the battlefield - see Maxim 58 - or directly to it as with Maxim 64. Similarly, a connection could be drawn to Maxim 1 as well as Maxim 63, both of which emphasize the ability to know, set, and execute - perhaps literally - one's priorities. Or, if one favors a third interpretation... Always pack a back-up piece..."

[Sunset]

The Warrens, Hauyht-Dominated Population Complex, Southern Juniper, Pinales System... Republic Date 179.539.944... Saturday Morning...

'...a well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed...'

"...go shopping after lunch;" which - if you loved carrots, lunch would be typically fantastic; "and then maybe a movie or something," HenRay suggested as he went to put his share of the dishes away. Pushing himself away from the counter, he'd just placed the now-clean bowl back on the stack in the cabinet when an incessant bleating began to pulse through the house. "...or not," though he wasn't the first to react.

Instead his first wife - of three - had already jumped to her feet, PauLen pushing her unfinished bowl away into the center of the table while the other two had hopped towards the front door.

"It's the Drill," he announced, though everyone was well-aware of that already. Firstly, it was a monthly affair - almost always on one of the old 'weekend' days and almost always on a Saturday morning - and then there was the musical accompaniment that played along under the alert tones that wouldn't otherwise be there. He preferred metal, others chose pop or rock when it was their turn to man the monitoring station that ran the drills, but whatever it was everyone still took it seriously.

"I've got the kids;" this was his youngest, MarLet. Now it would be her job to round up the kits, do a head-count, and get them into the shelter. This was in turn what one might expect - a deeper part of the already-subterranean Warrens. While everyone else rallied for the Drill, she and they would clean out the shelter (which was often used as a play-space) and do a quick inventory. Meanwhile PauLen, DorThe, and HenRay were already out the door and headed for the garage while behind them there was the thunder of many hopping feet as the older 'kids' hurried to join them.

This was their opportunity to have some fun, after all - because those were the Rules. Rights came with Responsibilities. Participate in the Drill and they might get to stomp around in a 'mech trainer, or go up with a grizzled aerospace pilot, or spend some time at the artillery range. Whatever the reward might be, one would first have to prove themselves by participating in the 'well regulated' part.

In the back of his head he counted footsteps - though he could only guess at who they might be just yet. There were more than three and that was good enough. Along the side of the garage were smaller bays, normally closed but when the alert had been pushed through they'd opened up automatically. Inside each was a suit of power armor, its rear plates already open and ready to receive an operator. Stepping into the shins of his preferred unit, he pushed himself into the required shape which then activated the mechanism which brought the various hatches and plates swinging back down to fully enclose him.

Unlike the frontline OSA - nevermind the far more advanced RDF - power armor, these second-line militia suits were user-responsive. That is, they would enhance his strength and certainly his durability - dressed as he was in a t-shirt and shorts - but not his speed, agility, or endurance. For something that sat in the garage for ninety-nine percent of the time this was just fine and provided everyone at least a passing familiarity with 'the real thing'. More immediately, it allowed him to easily grab the dismounted crew-served weapon that was stored in the same alcove and turn back to the garage.

Buried along one of the many hillsides that formed the Warren's outer face, the garage was a shared space that housed the shared fleet of a dozen different families, each in turn of comparable or larger size than his own. A minute ago it had been silent but now it was swarming not only with adults but also with the older 'teens' that had joined them for the Drill. Anyone who wasn't in power armor was pulling on body armor as fast as they could - this time, regular OSA pieces but marked out with the insignia of their local militia charter. Every year there was a Big Drill and when all the charters got together it was like a dull-colored clown had exploded on the parade grounds!

A light ground transport was nearby - the militia equivalent of an old Willy's Jeep - and he stepped up into the bed to swing the weapon up and slot it into the mount. If there had been a sniff of war in the air there would have already been ammo in the hopper but peace and quiet stalked the land, at least for now. His oldest daughter was in the driver's seat, another beside them, and two more jumped up into the bed to grab the last seats. Others scrambled to join their mothers while his jeep nosed its way out of the line and towards the exit.

Left and then right then right again; the entrance tunnel was a hard dogleg that would slow blastwaves, munitions, and incoming vehicles as well as aggressive teenager drivers. Mostly. Brake into the corner, accelerate out, repeat twice more, and they were out of the tunnel and blasting off across the open country beyond. While the hangar wasn't marked, the back-and-forth passage of however-many thousands of off-road vehicles had flattened the earth beyond down to a hard-packed dirt road and they followed this towards town.

One hand on the autocannon's grip and the other tight on the roll bar, HenRay watched in silence as the countryside zipped past. For the most part, this was the Drill. Get everyone up, get them ready, then rally at the charter armory grounds just outside town. Whoever got there first was declared the winner and was 'rewarded' with duty at the armory's monitoring station as well as the privilege of calling the next Drill. There were benefits to be sure, which was why there were a few lead-foots far ahead of the pack racing for first. Glory, honor. A chance for some solo time on the various war machines stocked away in the armory hangar.

First thing's first though. As soon as they turned up, the Charter Colonel would inspect her troops, they'd go over the schedule, have lunch - he'd met his first wife in the serving line - and then they'd turn out into their company's to rotate through the day's events. Range time, a training class - maybe a force-on-force exercise - and a community event of some kind. Last month they'd built a new park with the whole chapter turning up to clear the land, lay trails, pour concrete, assemble equipment - and likely enough some of their own kits had been playing there before the Drill.

Rights and Responsibilities.

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 61...

"...'Don't Bring Big Grenades into Small Rooms'. Which, while few words in total, there are some very important singular admonitions in Maxim 61," Maxwell began, tracing his finger back to the beginning. "Don't Bring... The Maxim is not 'don't use' big grenades in small rooms - instead it is 'don't bring' and the difference is substantial. The jargon here is referred to as the 'chunky salsa effect', whereby the shrapnel and blast effects of a too-large explosive in a too-small room will reflect and concentrate to reduce the former occupants to the appearance of said spicy condiment. Thus at its simplest the Maxim encourages the reader to not carry a weapon capable of destroying a room into that same. This then pairs well with Maxim's 62 and 65 - both to be careful with the deployment of one's weaponry and further to ensure that one does not deploy it where it can be utilized against oneself."

"Which then, of course, carries us all the way back to Maxim 3 - which always bears repeating; 'An Ordnance Technician at a Dead Run Outranks Everybody!'"

"However-and-further, Maxim 61 can well be applied to situations outside of the explosive arts. Some grenades are conversational, after all. Just as talk of religion, politics, or the body hair accompanying one's mother-in-law should be avoided at Thanksgiving, so too should accusations of treachery, disputes over pay, or allegations of lust be made in the proper environment, least a different kind of explosion result in what may still become physical violence..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 62...

"...'Anything Labeled "This End Towards Enemy" is Dangerous at Both Ends.'"

"As an on-point anecdote, I am reminded of a story told to me about old American soldiers in the long-ago Vietnam war. When they were on patrol and needed to set up a campsite, they would place a directional anti-personnel mine known as a 'claymore' around the perimeter. These were - as suggested by the Maxim - directional with one side labeled 'This Side Towards Enemy'. Their opponents - a local organization with far better knowledge of the terrain and environment - would then occasionally send some of their own soldiers sneaking up to the camp, turn the claymores around..." Maxwell made a pulling and turning motion with his hands, followed by a short 'chop' as if driving something back into the ground, "With predictable results when the mines were activated."

"Once they became aware of this, the patrols began deploying their mines sideways," again he made a similar motion, this time with only a half rotation. "So that when the mines were activated they would sweep across the front in one direction or another. Now, whether this story is true or not... I am willing to entertain comments. But the point of the story still aligns neatly with Maxim 62 - it is often not that what is on the other end is dangerous but who - and how useful, complete, educated, or skilled they are. '62 encourages us to be careful with the placement of our explosives - as well as with whoever or whatever placed them."

"This can then be linked with a whole host of other Maxims, starting with the just-previously mentioned Maxim 3, going back to 1, then advancing all the way past to '63 and beyond! Of course we can then venture outside of the wide and wonderful world of directional explosives and apply the same Maxim to personnel - whether they handle these devices or nothing so deadly... Or especially more-so! ...as the pen. Consider the story; for those who employ especially dangerous men, it may be prudent to align them 'across the front', so to speak..."

[Sunset]

Demi & Erika's House, Botany Bay, Chuh-Yu, Ares System... Republic Date 179.579.855...

"...come take a look at this," Katryna whispered to her mother, nodding her head towards the stairs. The whole family - extended - was gathered around the living room for the formal opening of a cluster of birthday presents. Or at least they had been; little fingers had torn apart the gaily wrapped boxes and were now more interested in throwing the paper and ribbons around than they were in pushing the toys they had contained around the carpet. The adults had fallen back on chatter with Demi's parents dominating their daughter's conversation while Katryna's husband played the anti-elf, sprawled out on the floor knocking a ball of tissue back and forth between himself and the baby under the watchful golden eyes of one of the cats.

Erika glanced around the gathered few; no one seemed to want her attention and the conversation between mother and daughter seemed neutral enough. No need for a rescue there. With an entirely unnecessary but perfunctory 'We'll be right back...' she gained her feet to follow her daughter upstairs with the first turning through the door on the left and into her mother's home office. There were the usual scatterings of paperwork and documents around but instead of clearing the desk Katryna had gone over to the small closet, slid back the door, and was now running fingertips around the frame.

"There we are," and after a quick look-back to indicate to her mother that she should follow, she stepped through into invisibility.

A PlexWay.

With her own quick glance back to assure herself that she wasn't being observed - a reason for subterfuge was still a reason, even if she didn't yet know 'why' - she nudged the office door mostly closed with her toe before crossing the room and following her through. What was on the other side was just what one might expect for the Director of Special Projects; a white-walled laboratory space with ever-present lightning, non-slip flooring, and a mirrored window on two walls with an industrial-looking door angled in between them.

Presumably what was more important was the object in the center which stood alone on the stereotypical white square column. It was a gong; East Asian and with a small mallet hanging off the frame. It was neither large nor small, just big enough to fill the room with sound were it to be struck, "Let me guess - doomsday device?"

Katryna looked taken aback as she stopped in mid-reach, her fingers just brushing the mallet and setting it swinging before snatching it up, "How did you know?!"

"Because you're my daughter and because I was trying to make a joke. At least it isn't a birthday present. Can you imagine a toddler with a gong? Can't even take the batteries out of the damned thing..."

"Yeah. No thank you," the younger woman decided, flipping the mallet over and passing it to her mother handle-first. "Give it a bang though, then I'll explain what we're up to."

"Really?" but her daughter encouraged her with a shrug and she gave the bronze a quick and even gentle tap, the resulting 'boooong' filling the space with a low harmonic.

"So you've seen what we've worked out regarding FTLi, right? That there are ways that we can communicate through it or even use enemy FTLi to determine the position of opposing assets."

"Sure;" and there was the quick realization - that was the point of the gong. Because many forms of faster-than-light travel worked like the old 'fold a piece of paper in half and poke through it with a pencil' demonstration, many forms of faster-than-light interdiction; or FTLi; worked by making the 'paper' of space-time stiffer or harder.

But that itself had proven to be something of a vulnerability.

Tap on a random piece of folded leather and you'll get nothing at all. Tap on a piece of that same leather that has been pulled tight over the mouth of an open cylinder and you'll get a note. Listen carefully enough, closely enough, and you'll be able to determine how far from the edge of the snare drum you tapped, how hard, what's on the other side, and with a fancy enough computer? Even the shape of something inside the drum.

"...and you've turned this into a super-weapon."

"That's right," Katryna nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. It should be noted that she'd been thoroughly denied her last opportunity to use said arsenal of doomsday devices; perhaps for better or perhaps for worse. The jury was still out on that one. "See, what we're doing is essentially 'knocking' on local space-time with a gravity 'mallet' and interpreting the feedback. Gravity is still something of a funny thing though. Incredibly weak and incredibly strong. Easy to forget that it is there or what it's up to. Now, watch this..."

Under the gong was a small pile of balloons and Katryna took one and with a quick puff-and-tug blew it up to near-bursting and then tied it off to hold it behind the gong, "Hit it again."

'Boooooooong'

This time the result was longer, deeper, and with an added touch of interested aggression and she watched as the balloon went wobbling around even though it wasn't touching the gong. Air pressure, of course - but in her head that was already gravity, "So you could, say, hit an enemy ship with a gravy gun by using their own FLIi against them. Not exactly a 'doomsday device', but..."

"But think bigger," Katryna emphasized, spreading her hands wide. "Like massive carrot ranch bigger. Because remember what I said about how you can just... forget that gravity is there? And what it is doing? Let's say you have your average day-to-day star system," and she gestured, spawning a holographic version of the same in orbit around the gong with the massive star at the center entirely enveloping it.

"And let's say you've somehow managing to enclose that entire star system in a massive FTLi bubble powered off nothing more energetic than a deep-cycle yacht battery. Twelve volts, one hundred twenty amp-hours - just what you'd expect from your average cardboard military."

"...sure..."

Katryna was obviously taking the piss but more-so she was right. There were plenty of civilizations out there that seemed to expect that their FTL and by extension their FTLi would work 'just fine' even though it was powered by little more than the intergalactic equivalent of a car battery. Meanwhile the only truly effective system-covering FTLi the Republic had ever encountered had been erected by diverting a large portion of the local star's output.

Some people just knew how to do things right, even if they were horrible monsters.

"Now, that star system is full of ordinary planets doing their ordinary planet thing. They are planets and thus mostly spherical because of gravity. And they orbit their local star because of gravity. Sure, they might well have a bit of an elliptical orbit and be uninhabitable but importantly they keep orbiting that star because it is a regular sphere. Now, what if one were to reach into that star..."

She extended her hand, curled back her index finger, and gave the gong a sharp flick. Again, sound filled the room but importantly the surface of the star shifted and wobbled.

"...and make that star just the tiniest bit unstable. Now, you wouldn't think that would do anything, right? But you forget just how big stars are - and just how important that 'big' is to maintaining what are - ultimately - very specific and very important orbits."

Her point was born out as the planets - which had been spinning past much faster than normal in their simulated existence - were now drifting closer, or farther, or slowing down... Each precise orbit now ruined as the gravitic center of the star's massive influence shifted just ever so slightly.

"It might not seem like much but it doesn't have to be either. Back at the beginning of the twenty-first they were worried about one or two degrees of temperature change and what that would mean for Earth's climate. Turns out; bad things. Now instead of spreading that change out over a century, it happens in a couple months. It is an idea we've already toyed with, of course. Blocking a star's gravity, sending its worlds spinning off into the abyss. But that assumed we could put something in place in the system to cause it - which would take FTL. Now? Now we can potentially use the same system our enemy puts in place as their salvation as their damnation..."

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 63...

"...'The Brass Knows How To Do It By Knowing Who Can Do It.' For the up-and-coming mercenary company commander, Maxim 63 is one of the if not the most important. At its most straightforward, '63 points directly to the uses and usefulness of the chain of command; grunts do, officers direct. But more than that, it suggests the entire purpose of a mercenary command - it is a business and its business is providing specific expertise to those in need of that same. Or, of course, has been suggested in other Maxims - to create the need for that expertise in one's potential clients. However, even-moreso, the Maxim emphasizes the importance of knowledge, training, leadership, and obedience."

"For to invoke Maxim 63, an officer must then actually know who in their chain-of-command can accomplish the required task. This in turn requires not simply 'battlefield experience' but also the willingness to engage with and listen to those with more expertise than one's own. This then points back to an entire host of other Maxims - even to the first, where the importance of order-of-action is emphasized! Again, to belabor the point; a mercenary company is a business. Even if the Brass knows that whoever can do the thing is not an employee, contractor, or otherwise, '63 then suggests that they should be willing and able to look outside of their organization. To sub-contract, as it were."

"This in turn suggests that the competent commander must be more than over-promoted muscle - they should have an ear tuned to the industry, knowing both the other players, suppliers - potential clients - and of course their own employees. Thus then must the company officers be not only a locus of knowledge but also of experience... And, lastly - they must understand that they may well be the only one who can get it done..."

[Sunset]

Classroom 14, Building 3, Republic Defense Force Academy 29, Chuh-Yu, Ares System... Republic Date 179.648.852...

"...'What does God need with a starship?'" the words wrote themselves out across the air in crisp blue letters as Doctor Savoie spoke, followed shortly by a tilde and then 'Captain James T. Kirk, 'Star Trek V: The Final Frontier', 1989' appeared in slightly smaller letters and without prompting just below - though the converted Republic Date did not follow that.

"The answer - and spoiler alert for those who have not seen this classic of Earth cinema - is that the being Kirk was addressing was no god. Big 'G' or little. What it was capable of doing would have been quite interesting to investigate - from a scientific perspective - but was ultimately made irrelevant as this was of course 'Star Trek' and thus scientific curiosity was quickly laid aside as soon as the film was in the can. If you are wondering, that refers to their habit of storing cellulose film in shallow cylindrical metal containers. But let's go back to that first question..."

He turned around and repeated them, each word 'popping' just a bit as he did; 'What does God need with a starship?' Who can..." and he turned back to the class, extending a finger to no-doubt choose someone at random. "Tell me the scientific method. Cadet Kohnke."

The Cadet was just who one might expect not to be able to answer the question. Human - though some might suggest barely - he was a massive crag of a farm boy with hands like plowshares and a sloping brow that suggested he would be perfectly comfortable with the yoke from the same dropped around his broad shoulders. Still - this was the Academy. Rising from his seat and blocking the view of a full quarter of the cadets behind him, he reeled them off in quick though abbreviated form, "Question, research, hypothesis, experiment, data analysis, conclusion, and communication."

"Just so," Savoie replied. "Let's go to that fourth;" and again the steps appeared in the air behind him and this time with an emphasis on 'Experiment'; "Now, when we conduct the experiment, what are we trying here to do?"

"Verify or discard the hypothesis or replicate the results of a previous experiment to ensure repeatability," Kohnke offered.

"Right. Oftentimes this means creating whatever we hypothesised to exist. When the American-Russian team at the Joint Institute for Nuclear Research in Dubna wanted to verify their hypothesis for the existence of Oganesson - Element 118;" Again, the Periodic Table flashed up and the listed element was highlighted in the middle of a row of others; "they had to create it. Even if only for a fraction of a fraction of a second. So again - 'What does God need with a starship'? 'God' is supposed to be omni-everything. God does not need a starship to bring himself or his message to the galaxy..."

"...or at least within our current religious interpretation of what God is. So let's apply the concept of God to the scientific method and in particular Step 4. Hypothesis - 'There is a God'. Now, to prove that there is a God we must be able to reproduce an experiment in which something is able to take on all aspects of our proposed God. Except... What would then happen? Fazzi."

Another cadet looked down to where the surname was stitched across the right breast of her uniform, sighed, and stood while Kohnke gratefully lowered himself back into his seat, "Well, Sir. Doctor. I guess... I mean, if I were the one conducting the experiment, I would have to... become God? I'd have to be omni-everything?"

"And I'm pretty sure there's a verse in Genesis about just that. Something about a tower," Savoie nodded approval. "Take your seat, mortal. You've earned it." This earned a small laugh and a grateful retreat and he continued. "Now, there is something there but does it mean there is a God because we cannot prove it? To which I would point out that this is a philosophy class, otherwise I'm sure there's a small handful of you who would want to head to the labs and give it their best Academy Try. For those that do, I would add that a recruiter for Special Projects probably already has you on a list - the Good Kind or the Bad Kind - and so for today at least you can continue to listen to me instead."

"As has been discussed before, the concept of understanding God - or whatever deity-level entity exists and-slash-or is your personal preference for religious devotion - leads us down the path of becoming. Which then becomes some first-order Prime Directive shit. Even with our newfound omniscience, would we - I - be capable of reasonably executing the other associated powers? In each technological era, we collectively have become what might well appear to be 'godlike' to those previous. And it has often been true that those who find themselves in a more advanced technological society... Though," and here he paused meaningfully, "perhaps not in a more morally advanced one... Have often actively acted to repress the advancement of others."

"Does this then mean I think that God is out there actively repressing 'lesser' entities? I suppose that then depends on the 'why'. This is then linked directly to the often-violated Prime Directive. We have the power and ability to save others - as a 'for-instance' - from the casual ravages of nature. In so doing, we may well expose them to technologies for which they are not ready. But so-too do we have the power and ability to prevent those who are clearly - to us - not ready for the responsibilities of technologies and advances from gaining them. Presume omniscience - with such knowledge, would we then be justified in obstructing or completely preventing individuals and societies from information that they are not yet capable of using responsibly..?"

[Sunset]

RDF-Varusteleka, Inbound to GEC-18927389 ('Ve'), In The Deep South of the Southern Beta Quadrant... Like 'Dueling Banjos' Deep South... Republic Date 179.712.335...

"...alright, Lieutenant," Captain Palena swung around in his chair to face the front of the bridge and the Lieutenant who had been not-so-patiently standing there for the past few minutes while he'd gone over some other pertinent details with an officer who had a couple more chevrons on her shoulder than she did. "Tell us about our new friends."

As was suggested by the image behind the young woman - a starfield with a single golden yellow orb right in the center growing imperceptibly larger every minute - the 'Varusteleka was slowly coming up on the home of what were, to quote the Captain, 'their new friends'. According to the more technical and thus somehow less precise data-set spread out across the holosphere that sat inset into the deck between the two, it was just what one might want in a system that had given birth to bountiful life. A stable yellow-orange main-sequence star of middling age? Check. A number of planets with three rocky bodies in the inner system, two of which were in the Goldilocks Zone? Check. Another trio of gas giants in the outer system to sweep the system clean of those annoying asteroids and comets which might otherwise 'reset' life on one of those two every few million years? Again, Check.

There were even a few erratics; Maybe-planets and maybe-moons that would have the astronomers arguing over their exact definition until they grew bored, threw up their manipulators, and said the local equivalent of 'fuck it!' and moved on.

"The Vrokrn - that's what they call themselves, Sir," Lieutenant Shevchenko answered, moving off to one side as the main screen filled with flat (literally) images of the locals as well as other bits of data she'd chosen to include in her presentation. The short-short version was that they were blue bipedal insectoids. The short version was that they didn't look all that menacing - not in the 'Praying Mantis' way - nor did they look particularly silly in the 'do you know 'Praying Mantis' way either. Whatever sharp edges they might have once had had been rounded over in the however-many millions of years of evolution that had shaped their species and now they looked at least reasonably amiable to her-and-his Human eyes.

"...average height is one-point-five-five, average weight is forty-three kilos. They use a base-eight numbering system," she pointed to the closest Vrokrn's hands which had the suggested number of digits spread between them, "And are essentially a 'devoted matriarchy' with males outnumbering females by somewhere around twenty to one. Attached males live in cloisters with their particular female while unattached males - the societal majority - attend to their everyday needs. This has evolved into a system where the females and the cloistered males form the intellectual and political portions of society while unattached males are laborers and have punch-ups."

"Punch-ups?"

That had been enough to draw the closer attention of everyone who had been half-listening and the Captain leaned forward in his chair, seemingly eager for an answer to his half-question.

"That's right. Physical confrontations between unattached males seem to be an accepted cultural outlet;" the images on the main screen were swept aside to show video - presumably harvested by the ship's long-range sensors from an unguarded communications network - of a pair of dissimilar insectoids beating the utter crap out of each other on what appeared to be a random sidewalk surrounded by a crowd of others who were similarly cheering or jeering them on. "And before you ask; No, this is not an outlet for sexual tension. Vrokrn females secrete a 'mating jelly' that induces sexual desire. No jelly, no desire."

"...there goes the market for space-porn," someone in the background quipped.

"Yeah - I'm going to guess this is how they show off for the females?" Palena guessed, a bit of a smirk on his wide chin. "They are showing it on TV, so... Someone's gotta be paying attention, right?"

"I'm not actually sure on that point," she replied, sending the images scurrying back to the previous data-set. "As I said, Vrokrn culture has settled into something of a caste system. Unattached males perform the physical labor needed to support the attached males - who form something of an intellectual caste - and the females, who form the governing caste. On the average, attached males are ten to twenty percent smaller and lighter than unattached males. This could be biological or it could be that they just don't spend a lot of time in the gym - we're still working on that."

"Fair enough, Lieutenant. Though you did say 'on average' - are there examples against type?"

She nodded, "Yes - in fact, the presenter of one of their most popular news programs would seem to be one such and has been part of our discussions."

Pulling one image among many to the forefront, she stepped back to the side so they could all see them. Among Humans he'd be like the Captain - square-jawed, handsome, muscular - but judging by his vocabulary and presentation, the presenter was clearly an intellectual rather than the slack-jawed Tucker Carlson gibbering mouther type.

"I'd say this is a question that we'll get a solid answer to when we're on the ground. Or however first contact happens to kick off," she added.

One never knew. Sometimes things went straight to 'take me to your leader' and other times they said 'hello' and headed straight to the bar for beers and space-lies.

"Sure," he shrugged. Having a few mysteries made things a little more interesting - as long as they were the harmless rubber-mask type rather than the bloody chainsaw type. "Anything else?"

"Yes - one important thing," and she brought the recorded image of the broadcaster back to the foreground and let the video play, this time with sound. "Notice his tone? Or rather, the lack of tone? Well, that's because the Vrokrn alter the tone and pitch of their language depending on who they are talking to. There's a tone for females, attached males, unattached males - and then there's a pitch for the social status of that person. Or rather, whatever social status you want them to have. So..."

"You can accidentally or not call someone a low-class unattached male. Good way to start a punch-up, I'm guessing?"

"Right. So at least for the time being, I suggest setting our translators to the same neutral tone this guy is using. No insults, no fist-fights..."

[Sunset]

A Seedy Bar, Somewhere on the Northeastern Periphery, Delta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date... I Dunno - I Stopped Counting After The Ninth... Nineteenth? Round..?

"...vodka martini; shaken, not stirred. See, I got a theory there," Meli opined, her own massive hand filled with an equally massive mug of something cheap.

In a setting such as this - the previously-mentioned 'seedy bar' - her preference wasn't for cocktails or even something with a proper label. If the bar had an actual swill barrel even better though this particular concoction had been pulled from the risers in front of the bar man. It was at least comforting that they were fed from a series of battered shipping barrels precariously perched on industrial shelving above the fancy stuff. Better yet the clear tubing linking each barrel to the dispenser seemed to contain a different color liquid despite the lack of labeling.

"Alright - what's your theory?" her partner-in-crime offered. Ivy was also sitting at the bar though unlike the Dwarf she at least had something approaching posture. She sat rather than leaned, her narrow body filling one stool instead of the one-plus-two as the more compact woman draped her thick arms across wood that had possibly seen as much bodily fluid as it had seen spilled beer.

Gross.

"See, that's the thing. Right? How do you make a martini?" the shorter woman asked, turning to pose the question at the end to the bartender.

Reedy and tall - taller than both - and with a pale complexion that gave them a particularly 'British' cast despite not being Human, the man looked up from where he had been stereotypically polishing a glass with the cloth tucked into his apron, "Martini? Depends, Miss. Without complications, I'd start with a dash of vermouth stirred in ice then top it with gin. Pour off the liquor into the glass, add an olive, and serve. Lots of ways to complicate it though, if you prefer?"

"Just a refill," and she reached out to plant her now-empty mug on the bar in front of him. With a shrug he set to the task and she turned back to her partner. "See, that's a proper martini and the British knew their martinis. Some guy named Churchill? Big fan. So you'd think that the quintessential English secret agent would order one properly, right?"

"But he didn't - she didn't," Ivy agreed. "You'll still see it now. Someone who wants to be fun or funny walks into a bar or sits down at the poker table and orders a vodka martini."

"Shaken, not stirred. Exactly."

Meli took up her mug and gave it a hard once-over. It wasn't that the bar itself had suddenly been given a slight green tint - it was the liquid itself, golden amber except for just that bare hint of shrubbery. She shrugged and drank anyway, a long pull that left the prudent with eyes watering at the anticipated aftertaste.

"Like someone peed on lawn trimmings;" though her expression hadn't changed. "Is it terrible? No."

"I'm guessing you mean the martini and not the beer," Ivy countered, her own normally taciturn visage now locked in a mild disgust. "You are why I stick to top shelf."

Not that this meant a whole lot in a bar where the theme was broadly 'industrial' - as in 'stolen from an industrial park'. The bar was formica, the tables old cable reels, and most of the chairs were crates with their lids tack-welded to the bottom. This looked like it had probably been done by the patrons, a lurking assortment of working types who could tell you the difference between 6010 and 7024 but not between vodka and gin. It did mean a fancier bottle.

"It will get you drunk and that's usually the point. Or their point. But me? I think it was an AB code. You know - Aunt Betty, Uncle Vern?"

AB codes had been and still were a staple of casual intelligence, useful for agents who might need to establish a connection if not communications in a casual but clandestine manner. One might mentioned their Aunt Betty - AB - while the other would counter with a line about their Uncle Vernon - UV - if they understood that they were supposed to provide the counter-sequence. While passphrases - 'Do you have a Geiger counter?' - were useful, they also tended to stand out - 'Mine is in the shop' - were an AB code could be slipped into normal conversation by using two words that simply began with whatever the first two letters of the sign were and then listening for the use of the last two letters.

"Blatant... But it was Bond, so..." Ivy nodded agreement. "Sure. Anyone paying attention would expect a proper British gentleman to order a proper martini. But if MI5 had compromised the staff, they'd know to be ready to offer assistance when they got the improper order. Anyway..." she looked at her own shot - top shelf, very expensive - and at Meli's again-empty mug. "Ready to go?"

"Sure."

The Dwarf fished in her pocket for a credit chit and tossed it on the bar where it quickly disappeared with a sweep of the same washcloth and headed for the door. The black woman was just behind her, the micro-carriers that had been in her drink now waiting for analysis back on the ship...

[Sunset]

OSAMI R&D Centre Alpha, JenLuk City, Juniper, Pinales System, The Coreward Fringe, Ares Cluster... Republic Date 179.820.334...

"...I blame the Internet and Boris."

"Are you sure this is a 'blame' situation?" the senior engineer asked with a genuine-maybe note of curiosity in her tone as she ran a paw over the hull of the warmachine. Though perhaps 'war' wasn't appropriate, as it wasn't armed (weird) and they were not at war (not weird (maybe a little weird)). Rather the half-scale mock-up prototype was sitting in the middle of the Centre's test lot, itself a wide concrete-and-asphalt slab that sat between the various linked buildings that made up the sprawling campus.

It was big though - exactly half as big as the 'Titan hover tank that he'd shamelessly stolen the primary hull architecture from. 'Stolen' being not quite accurate as he was also on that team, though he'd been mostly responsible for designing the flip-up driving light mechanism. Still, when someone had suggest the idea...

"...Mobile Environmental Logistics Unit. Too bad - almost 'MULE', which would have probably caught on. MELU sounds snooty and French. Which are the same thing," she decided. "So let me guess... Mobile, duh. Environmental... I'm going to leave that one for last since Logistics and Unit are easy. Environmental..."

"Clean air, clean water. Cause you never know what kind of poisoned, hyper-polluted river of shit our boys are going to be fighting in," he answered, stepping up to slap the hull solidly. "So let's start with the shit. Literally," he pointed to a row of doors down the side. "Latrines. Cause someone pointed out that you never know if you're even going to have water on whatever planet you're fighting on. Though apparently you might still have a thriving petrochemical industry."

"What?"

"Dune;" there was a shrug. "Great movie but question - are the Freemen making their tech from sandworms? Sand? If all faster-than-light travel is controlled by the Spacer Guild, then how do they manage to move all the needed precursor equipment and materials onto the planet in order to..."

"Rambling."

"Sorry," though he didn't look ashamed - not one bit. Instead he opened the closest port-a-potty. "Back to the shit. Standard general-layout Humanoid latrine. The gross stuff goes in the hole. Since they might be used for NBC decon, there's also a shower and a sink."

These were mounted on the inside of the door; useful if one needed to wash contaminates off a number of personnel who were presumably wearing NBC gear and didn't want to track that stuff inside. There were also step-by-step instructions embossed into the plastic so that the inevitable penis-and-phone-number graffiti couldn't wholly obliterate them.

"Once you've done your business, the results are then piped into this industrial water reclamation unit," he went on, walking further down to where a large box'ish shape was mounted on/in the hull. "Which extracts the water, compacts the waste, and stores it in this hopper. For if you ever need ten pounds of shit that actually fits in a five pound bag. The water is then piped to this purification unit, which produces distilled water..."

"...and the next step is kinda gross."

"Kinda?" she looked at him ominously. "What do you mean by 'kinda'?"

"Well, you need to get that water to the end user, right? So over here we have some spigots," he led her past the reclamation unit to where there were indeed a row of spigots and a shelf where one could presumably put a bucket or some other suitable vessel. These were then mounted inside a cabinet and he pulled the door down to demonstrate.

"But what if you need water and don't have a canteen? Well, this unit," he indicated a slide-up cover in one corner, "can dispense wax paper containers with pure water as long as you have suitable materials. 'Suitable Materials'," he re-emphasized with his fingers.

"'Suitable..?'"

"'Materials.' Did you know that you can make paper from poop?" She, on the other hand, made a face as he continued, "I didn't - but the internet did. Best if your clients eat a high-fiber diet though. More packages-per-poop that way. Which takes us to the next part of the tour - an industrial atmospheric water vapor extractor. For if you don't like drinking pee from poop boxes. Of course how useful it is will depend on how humid it is. But there's also a hose that you can just reel out and throw in said poisoned, hyper-polluted river of shit - or regular nice river - and it will do all of that without..."

"'Individual contributions'?"

"Exactly! Now, since it is also possible that one might find oneself without a river or stream or even a need to pee, there's a drilling rig with some tunneling drones. But those are gonna take some time - if there's even water down there to begin with. Still, it is an option," but this was apparently so boring that he didn't bother to show her what it looked like or where it was.

"Past that, we have crew quarters and the operator's cabin;" a couple of bunks, a small tool room, a couple control stations, and a swivel chair, "and there's also an atmospheric purification and adjustment unit, because we needed one anyway as part of the NBC system. So I made it bigger and beefier, so if you need fresh air for your power armor or tank or whatever, you can get it here. Ish."

"Ish? There's been a few too many 'ish's' in this demonstration already. What's the catch?"

"...weeeeell. Thecatchisthattorecreatetherightgasmixtureitmightneedtoextractsomeofthosegasesfromthewaterpurificationsystem," he said, as fast as he possibly could without using any spaces.

"You're breathing shit. You're literally talking shit. This entire project... This whole idea. Is shit."

*Post Script: Later that same day, Boris pointed out that this whole system could just be containerized, thereby shitting all over the junior engineer's work.

[Sunset]

On the Ground, GEC-18927389 ('Ve'), In The Deep South of the Southern Beta Quadrant... Republic Date 179.719.223...

"...I feel like I'm about to put my hand into a bee hive..."

"...or the box that contains 'pain'," Lieutenant Shevchenko whispered back to the Captain's subtle aside. It was nothing personal; things had moved forward cautiously but along expectations as soon as the 'Varusteleka had penetrated the outer system. When they'd crossed the 'Jupiter Line' - inside the invisible orbital oval of the system's largest gas giant - with lights on and spewing plenty of harmless but coherent radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum - they'd been contacted by the locals. Not direct contact, mind you, but radio-analog messages along the lines of 'we see you - who or what are you?' Since they'd already been watching the system's stray broadcasts, each had been replied to along the usual lines.

And yes - messages.

Which is why their shuttle had set down in the middle of a broad square and was now surrounded by dozens of individual delegations, each different in number and in dignity. The plaza itself belonged to the local's equivalent of the United Nations and so each delegation stood in front of a structure that might be called a flag if they hadn't been much more three-dimensional. Statues? Sometimes, though again they were like flags in that they were all about the same size, tended to invoke similar elements, and varied from the stylized to the realistic.

To the Captain and his picked contact team it seemed a chilly day - not exactly the best for this kind of thing - but that presumed the locals didn't find it downright blistering. It was best to not make assumptions and so after a few moments to let everyone's eyes adjust to the sight of newcomers, he stepped away from the shuttle with the rest of the crew following just a half-beat after. Leave the hatch open? Shut it? Send the shuttle away? Would they even care?

'Close the hatch slowly then take off and head for the nearest parking lot,' he decided, the pilot following his silent instructions. His intention was to establish a broad level of trust - we're on your turf now and we're trusting you enough to close our own escape route. Of course the locals would probably also love to get a close look at that particular bit of off-world technology and at least until the local military or law enforcement shut them down, he'd have the pilots entertaining guests of the more common type out at the street.

Normally, he'd hope that it would soon be swarming with kids - no better way to show you were friendly than to treat their children to an alien tour - but the Vrokrn kept their young in creches. They'd already learned that bit and it probably wouldn't be wise to send the shuttle to a local preschool.

One particular delegation stepped forward and at a nudge from the Lieutenant - who had spotted them first - he swung around to take a step in their direction with his crew again turning round to spread out beside him. One step and then another as well as a brief chance to size them up as the two approached. Fortunately, he didn't need to guess who they were; invisible sub-screens popped up with an informational brief on each. The one in the middle was female and the elected head of the international body. Those beside her - male - were her mates and advisors.

A few more steps and then the next important question - bow? Handshakes? A ritual dance? He'd let them lead and the answer was a quick something that kinda-sorta resembled a curtsy and he did his best to return the gesture, despite lacking a few necessary joints, "Madam Secretary-General," and he added a slight bow. The translator would handle the rest, keeping his tone neutral and turning one title into another.

"Captain Palena;" and she tried the bow before continuing, "On behalf of the..."

And that was that. Because the next part was both exceptionally vital and really boring. She made a short speech. He made a short speech. Greeting, welcoming, peace, love, friendship, harmony - who we are, what we stand for. Then each outside delegation stepped forward and she introduced them to each in turn, either the leader of the nation or whatever highest-ranking delegate could get to the UN on a few hours notice. Each was an opportunity for them to size the other up though all-in-all there weren't any stand-outs. Certainly some were dressed 'better' than others - and some had clearly practiced their introductions - but they all felt something of the same.

'...because they're all doing the same thing we're doing, Captain,' Shevchenko whispered in his head. 'Neutral tone, keep to the same pose - body language. Some of these places have only a few hundred thousand people but they want to establish themselves as equally important.'

'They all see us as an opportunity, Sir. The largest nations look at this as an opportunity to jump ahead of their competition...' This was Lieutenant Khao, a communications specialist who was spending most of his time between introductions in a back-and-forth conversation with a team aboard the 'Varu that was monitoring the local media coverage of the event. 'While the smallest view this as an opportunity to set themselves as equals, as least as far as the aliens are concerned. Us, that is.'

'Got it,' he paused again, another delegation having stepped forward. The outer ring was slowly getting smaller - only a couple dozen left!

Yay.

[Sunset]

At the Doctor's Doorstep, In the Heart of the Falltier System, Somewhere on the Southwestern Edge of the Galaxy... Republic Date 179.859.704...

...and the minion slumped, falling back against the wall as their knees buckled and the weight of their fur against the wall smeared the spray of blood into long trailing fingers. The Doctor stepped back and - a thoughtful tilt to his head - took a moment to admire his handiwork. An appreciative grunt and he tilted the revolver up, thumbing the cylinder open in practiced motion, the empty shells spilling out and rattling to the floor as he pulled a speedloader from his jacket pocket. Sliding the rounds home, he casually tossed the disc to the woman standing across from him before giving the cylinder a theatrical spin and flipping it back into place with a snap of the wrist.

"Ready, my dear?"

"As soon as you are," Angelica answered, nimble fingers pressing the last round into place before she handed the magazine back to her husband; "Thank you."

"Then," he seemed to decide in just that moment, snatching his Trilby off the hook and adjusting it before leaning over to give her a quick peck on the cheek and setting what was once settled now slightly again askew, "Let us depart!" One finger in the air, he caught up the handle of a wicker suitcase festooned with travel stickers from a dozen worlds and turned on his heel...

---

"...Doctor?" Magna von Deat called again, pressing the buzzer on the seemingly-broken intercom again. "Doctor Stephen Ambrose - are you there? Answer me!" she demanded on the verge of stamping a foot in obvious frustration.

He was there - he had to be. She'd seen him come and go and come again. Tracked the movements of him and his minions across the galaxy. When he'd gotten married... 'Ugh.' That particular thought and its practical effects had very nearly put her off her appetites' for near a week. All of them. Even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones. In normal days and normal ways they would have seen each other something like twice a week. She liked to think of it as him 'reporting in' but this had been happening less and less until it had been...

Well, it had been long enough that she found herself forced to come down and see him personally. Nearly-not-dressed in the catsuit that would presumably get his attention and with a bodyguard that suggested business on the edge of intimidation, they'd driven through the abandoned theme park to be deposited right on his doorstep, a half-circle of black APCs parked side-on to the door. It had been raining - still was - but she had stalked through the deluge and that had only added to the effect with water soaking her clothing to the skin and glistening across her décolletage.

She tried again, "Doctor?" but after only a half-second she turned to look at the door. She hadn't noticed it at first but there were a half-dozen newspapers piled up there, delivered by a paperboy who couldn't possibly exist...

---

...just across the room to where a low ramp led up to just the slightest of raised platforms that itself seemed to float over empty space - or at least a suitably deep drop. At the perfect center of the platform stood what was obviously a portal of some kind, though even looking at it for too long was enough to convince most that they did not want to know where it led or even remain in the room given the option. Many but not most - for it was his creation and it went where and when he pleased!

Its circumference was both hard and soft, a strangle - unworldly - mix of textures and sensations that reminded one foolish enough to touch it of both sticky maple syrup and a well-used razor. Into this were carved runes... Or were they raised? Both, perhaps, as just how one perceived them changed depending on where one stood and even when, their form as static as the mind that had born them.

"Somewhere on the Rim?"

They'd purposefully left the question of just where they were headed until the last minute - the last moment even. Any pre-positioning, planning, or reconnaissance could be used to track them and the longer their head start... Well, hopefully she'd just give up.

"We're already on the Rim, darling," she answered crisply. "If you want to hide, don't hide alone. Somewhere crowded - ideally somewhere with lots of people who don't care about you."

"Sage advice, as always;" she smiled and he began to run his fingers along the runes in a manner that was both suggestive and instructive. "I have it then - the perfect destination. And just the right time of year too - lots of people, large crowds... The tape recorder, if you would..?"

---

"...breach it," she barked, the caninoids who made up her bodyguard bursting into action as soon as the first word passed her lips. "Sweep and capture - no casualties!"

The first part was easy; a pair of the upright Dobermans had slammed into the wall on either side of the door, rifles ready while a third had approached more cautiously, sweeping the papers aside with a foot to check for mines or other traps. Then he'd put out a paw and... "Unlocked! Go!" he pushed the latch down before kicking the doors open and dodging through to press himself up against the wall while the rest of the troop rushed past...

---

...just because they hadn't planned where they were going didn't mean they hadn't planned on going. As far as this place was concerned their affairs were set in order - they'd cleaned out the refrigerator, closed the curtains, and fired the help.

Literally.

He'd also placed an old fashioned tape recorder at one corner of the platform and loaded it with something of a mix tape, though he really only expected her to hear the first track - though he hoped for the second. A click and there was nothing but an electronic hiss - dead air, deliberately recorded to give her enough time to get within audio range.

"Off we go then!" With a final flourish the portal blossomed into life - literally. Around the inside edge where the fabric of reality withered and warmed blood bubbled up only to turn to softly drifting petals of pink and gold. It was as close to magic as he'd ever come though there was more than a fair bit of technology behind it and it was all her fault, really - she'd brought it with her. "My dear?"

She put out a hand and he took it, locking eyes with her for a moment and answering before she could ask; "Where?" There was a subtle nod and he answered again before stepping forward and disappearing into the mists with his wife only a half-step behind, "...Florida!"

[Sunset]

The Bridge, RDF-Ojeni, Somewhere in the Southeastern Corner of the Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 179.875.430...


"...welcome aboard the 'Ojeni, cadets!" Captain Blaine enthused, walking up and down the line of mostly-young figures and taking the opportunity to survey them both individually and as a group. "Specifically, welcome to the first shift... Is it anyone's literal first shift?" she put a hand up in example, still looking from face to face as she did.

There were eight of them - one for each lead officer - and the mix was fairly representative. Five Humans - or at least two species that could pass as human - and a melange of others with the most notable being a diminutive Zeer'Gen, who had raised their hand. Notable because, as she was well-aware, their entire civilization was based on the structure of a hive with the workers and warriors being organized by pheremones both spread and directed by the high-status females. That alone had confined the entire species to their home aboard the artificial structure known as 'Circlet V'.

"Cadet..."

"Hrkac, Ma'am," the little insectoid saluted.

Which wasn't normal in the Defense Force but the Zeer'Gen were strongly hierarchical with a militant secondary attribute that had led to their civilization dominating the massive Circlet. At least until the original 'Ojeni had stumbled across it and they had been accidentally conquered.

"And you're a cadet at the Academy on Šurla?" Which was a question inside a question. Šurla was a relatively new member-world - another rediscovered colony, actually - and while it was in the Gamma quadrant it wasn't particularly close to that Circlet, which was in the far north just across the Gamma-Delta border. The colony's majority population were from the Balkans on old Earth and this explained the ethnic similarity among the Humans but not why there was a Zee-Gee here. There.

They - the cadets - weren't really there either. All of 'em were actually in the Eien and their Prime bodies were on Šurla. Probably their original bodies if they were colonists and even still likely if not. They were all 'here' remotely - double-remotely? - and were inhabiting ARC4's for those who could fit and clearly something else for those that couldn't; the Zeer'Gen couldn't. But why was it on Šurla? In fact, why was it at the Academy? As far as she knew...

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Better just ask, "As far as I'm aware, your species prefers your own internal military structure, doesn't it? Why are you at the Academy?"

"I'm not a soldier, Ma'am;" though they had clearly taken to the idea of military address with gusto. "As you are aware, the Zeer'Gen are an evolved insectoid species analogous to Terran ants. While we are individually sapient, we still inherit a genetic social role that is further influenced by guiding pheromones. I am a scout - an explorer, Ma'am. I have always been interested in finding out what over the next horizon."

"Oh. My mistake then, Cadet." Which is what she deserved for once again not reading the briefing. "Welcome aboard. So, today you all," and Captain Blaine turned to walk out to the middle of the line before turning to face them collectively, "have the opportunity to get some shipboard experience under your belt. How many of you have served aboard an 'Impact-Class?"

Two hands went up this time, which was actually two more than she expected. 'Ojeni had been the first of her Class but was also one of relatively few 'Impacts remaining. Essentially all of them had been destroyed in M33 and had been replaced by the 'Apex-Class except for a few ships like 'Ojeni that had remained in the Milky Way under the banner of the Exploration Command.

"Alright, then you two get the pick of your first duty posts;" Which would ideally be the ship's commander and helm, though they wouldn't be at those stations for too long. This wasn't a cadet cruise - a whole ship full of cadets tasked with accomplishing some objective in the Academy's home star system on a ship that was limited to slower-than-light speeds - but was instead hands-on experience with modern systems. The first was an opportunity for leaders to emerge and for everyone to get used to the idea of operating as a crew, together. Today would be... Well, just today.

Each cadet would spend one hour of the eight-hour first shift standing duty at their chosen station with the real duty officer there to engage and explain with them. Then they would rotate to a different station until - eight hours later - they would have experienced each station from command to medical to engineering. It was just a hint at the kind of cross-training they would get at their first posting.

"Medical," the largest of the two and of the eight put his hand up; "Oh, alright. You know your way?"

He nodded and with a nod from her in the direction of the bridge doors he was off, lumbering down the hall with his hands in his pockets and a slouch that made it feel like he was just this side of too big for the corridor.

"And you?"

A young woman this time, she left the line of her own accord and slipped into the Captain's chair, crossing one leg at the knee and bracing her arms on the armrests, "I'll take this. Hrkac, sensors. Stajgr, helm," and she continued through the cadets with each willingly or at least unhesitatingly taking their post - except, of course, for the 'engineer' who disappeared through the same doors as her medical officer. "Clear all stations, status and situation report..."

As she began tapping away at the arm-mounted console to pull up a brief on the 'Ojeni's current assignment, Kami slid into the spare 'guest' chair with one straightforward thought on her mind. Either she was going love her or hate her...

[Sunset]

Maxwell Maximillian's Marginally Annotated Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries... Maxim 64...

"...'An Ounce of Sniper is Worth a Pound of Suppressing Fire.' For those unfamiliar with antique systems of weights and measures;" Maxwell reached into his lectern and withdrew a scale, first setting this along the top before also retrieving an immaculate wooden box that he then opened to reveal a set of graduated brass cylinders capped with rounded knobs; "There are sixteen ounces in one pound. For further clarification, the common sniper does not weigh one ounce. If we make the somewhat-reasonable assumption that a given sniper weighs approximately one hundred eighty pounds - around eighty-two kilograms - we can then draw a more useful comparison that a single sniper is worth around thirteen hundred kilograms of suppressing fire."

"Is this drawn-out conversion process useful?" he tapped his chin before picking up one of the weights and putting it on one side of the scale before carefully balancing it with another smaller weight. "Yes, at least as an illustrative point. Note carefully that the Maxim does not suggest the sniper is worth more than the suppressing fire, once the difference between the two is taken into account. Just as these scales can be used to determine the weight and thus value of an object by determining the point of balance, so too does the Maxim invoke balance. Both are useful in the right situation."

"Now, the pedantic might point out that comparing a sniper to suppressing fire is an apples-to-anvils comparison. If the Maxim had used 'sniper fire' or 'over-armed grunts' then... But it did not - and I suspect that was intentional, given that the author likely well-knew the difference between what one is and what one does. Thus I would suggest that this improper comparison was inserted to add subtext; the details matter and knowing which to apply to which is important. After all, the sniper does not always need to fire to accomplish their objective. Perhaps that objective is to act in the same manner as suppressing fire, to either block or delay enemy action through the threat of precision intervention. So too does suppressing fire have its place - the visible discouragement offered by a large volume of fire as opposed to only the suggestion of the unseen sniper."

"Thus I would suggest the overall point is that the competent commander will know both the value of their assets, the value of enemy assets, and how to best align one against the other for maximum leverage," he finished, sliding the balance point on the scale far towards one end until the heavier weight there sent the smaller weight at the other end flinging dramatically skyward...

[Sunset]

Bay Point Park, At the End of Botany Bay, Chuh-Yu, The Ares System... Republic Date 179.888.527...

"...it's the calm before the storm," Demi commented, keeping easy pace with her partner as they jogged together step-for-step along the concrete path. "It is nice though..."

It was a near-glorious day to go to the park and they were not alone. Somewhere among the scattering of other families and visitors their older two had rediscovered the joy of climbing on things while their youngest had found the squirrels and was toddling after them, their furry tails bounding away before she could get her delighted fingers on them. This early in the year volleyball and a game of pick-up football were still being played on the grass while those who dared the beach were staying out of the chilly water for the most part. A light breeze swept through and it was this that Demi was warning of; a thin line of grey clouds on the horizon that was destined to bring a drizzling rain in the early evening.

The path wove through the trees that dotted the grounds and they followed it as they jogged, sometimes pacing the other and sometimes falling into single-file as they passed another going the opposite direction. A father pushing twins in a stroller, their mother sorting through her bag to constantly lag just behind. An older man with a pair of dogs, the occasional passer-by stopping to pet one or talk to them both. Her own dogs were there too - two Golden Retrievers that ran and played with each other while subtly shadowing the two women. One of the cats was watching Nathyn and Mikayla from its perch at the top of the play structure while Brynn had Alex to guide her away from danger.

"...it's nice," Erika agreed, swinging behind her partner again as they passed a family meandering their way towards the picnic and (more likely) restroom area that sat at the center. Someone was grilling or at least getting ready to; the smell of burning charcoal was drifting on the wind. "Almost..."

There was a flicker at the edge of her vision and her oldest daughter's holographic head sprang from nothingness ahead of her, "...almost too quiet. Katryna's calling," she added with Demi supplying the nod that understood that she'd be talking to the unseen woman, 'What's up? We're at the park.'

'That sounds better than what I've got - do you want to trade?' her daughter answered, her holo-head passing right through another jogger going the opposite direction without even a blink of recognition; holographic, yes - but also only in Erika's head.

'No,' but also she wouldn't be calling on the urgent priority line if it wasn't important enough for the buck to stop at the Secretary-General. 'What's the problem?'

'Doctor Ambrose and your mom have slipped out from under von Deat's thumb.'

'Finally?' She was frankly surprised that it had taken him - them - this long. 'Together?' That was an important question. The pair seemed to have taken to married life but there was a difference between living with someone and living under them and the Doctor had never struck her as someone who took well to authority.

'Looks like it.'

'Where are they?' Another important question. The Doctor was technically a wanted man in the Republic but that was mostly an excuse; his 'scientific endeavors' made him more valuable out in the wild. However, he was also wanted across a few other jurisdictions as well - and they were more likely to clap him in irons than keep a discrete eye on him.

'Florida...'

Which made perfect sense; the Sunshine State was still a popular destination for retirees - even if nearly a third was now underwater from where it had been back in the twenty-first. The major cities had walled themselves in while others had risen on stilts and platforms out of the shallow seas. It was a literally mixture of the old and the new with enormous retirement villages now sprawling over what was left of the dry land.

'...but it isn't the 'where' but the 'how' that's got me worried. They were somehow able to slip out of the system using the Eien.'

That nearly brought Erika up short and she signaled Demi that she was slowing to a walk with an upraised hand while still shaking off her questioning look, 'Is there a threat?'

'I don't think so - I am double-checking, of course. I've got a team going in to see if there's anything the Doctor left behind. But I doubt it. von Deat is smart and if he had left something there for her to follow, she'd probably already be doing so. Right now she's raging at the sky and sending her troops to search the system. I have a pretty good idea of the how, though I'm tempted to pull him in and pick his brain,' though the holographic spectre had said this last with a frown.

'Do it if you have to. How do you think he did it though?'

'Grossly simplified? He used the Eien's propagation signal as a carrier. Think of it like old fashioned signal multiplexing. I don't think he or anyone else could use it to get into the first layer but I'd like to get the details out of him and Red Team it to be sure.'

'Right - and figure out just how useful this new form of FTL is...' Erika added absently, talking to her shoes as she stood arms crossed.

'...new form of... Eh, crap. I completely missed that one, Mom. I'll put a team on that too. First thing's first - see what he knows and see how hard it will be to get it out of him. At least the weather's nice,' she added.

'Because you're already in Florida,' she guessed - correctly. 'Alright - keep me up-to-date, whatever resources you need. I should get going before someone runs me over.' In fact there had been a little bit of a traffic jam as she'd slowed past a walk and a few groups had gone around or slowed themselves, wondering why the Secretary-General was barely inching along ahead of them.

'I will..,' and the hologram disappeared with a snap and a sigh from Erika.

"What was it?" Demi asked, concern on her heart-shaped face. "Is everything okay?"

Erika looked around; everything seemed normal and that was good. At least for now. Still, "Just something to talk about at home. Let's go have lunch;" clearly if it wasn't worth rushing home for, it wasn't all that important, right..?

[Sunset]

The Magic Kingdom, Orlando, Florida, Earth, Sol System... The Same Day...

"...our choice of destination was perhaps more fortuitous than I care to admit, my dear," Stephen murmured, the brochure in his hand suggesting the awful truth as he flipped from panel to panel. "Specifically, my impulse to deposit ourselves among the teeming masses of tourists that find themselves drawn to the most magical place on Earth."

At least their arrival had thus-far gone unmolested; no one had taken notice when an old collection of circus lights and abandoned but gaily colored plywood had pulled themselves into a screaming maw that led to the netherworld and neither had anyone seemed to take notice as a dapper-dressed couple had stepped out, luggage in hand, to slip out of the service yard and into the regular flow of traffic by one of the many secret doors hidden across the grounds.

"I had originally hoped to spend as little time here as possible - have you seen the day ticket prices? - before perhaps heading to Miami Beach. An old friend has... Well," Stephen tapped the map of South Florida that decorated the backside of the brochure meaningfully, "had a suite at the Ocean View. I am sure Tommy would have put us up for a few nights but now? Tell me, my love - do you have your scuba certification?"

"No..." though one of the brochures she'd set to the side suggested a potential interest. "And I think I would very much prefer to avoid the entire area if at all possible. What kind of tourist trap brochure comes with a mosquito net and a disclaimer?"

"The literal kind. It would appear that their efforts to mitigate the effects of the dramatic climate change in the previous century were..."

"...in vain? 'Visit the Beautiful South Florida Swamp Cities!'" she dramatically read from the title of one before moving to the next, "'The Sunken Keys! Florida's Greatest Dive Destination!'"

"Alligators, mosquitoes - malaria, dengue, zikka, yellow fever. 'How to Know What Bit You.'" he held up another before pushing it across to her. "Although there is opportunity in the misery of others. It should be fairly trivial to modify my old standby to provide immunity to all of these - except for alligator bites - as well as providing that epic bikini body you've always wanted."

"I've always wanted?" Angelica asked archly, her eyebrows stabbing at his dark heart from over the top of another brochure.

"'You' generally," he gestured to the crowd, leaning back to cross one leg over the other. They were sitting at a streetside cafe and the hoi polloi was just what one might expect; fat tourists, screaming babies, running children, sulking teenagers, an elf somehow managing to read a newspaper while walking, some kind of French Viking... "Not you specifically. You of course look fantastic. Particularly in that bikini."

"What bikini?"

"The one you brought with you. The one you wore on our honeymoon? I remember it well - snake skin, not a whole lot to it? I'm quite certain I saw you pack it," and he looked down to where her rolling bag sat beside the table.

Except it didn't and he immediately turned to first check on his own before swivelling his head this way and that as though the missing luggage might somehow appear from the crowd upon a thousand tiny legs and licking its lips suspiciously.

"...about ten minutes ago," she offered as apology. "I should have kept a closer eye on it."

"I cannot hold you responsible for the chicanery of others!" he declared fiercely before leaping to his feet. "I shall..." his eyes settled on a princess who was kneeling to take a picture with a young admirer. "...not alert the authorities," he slumped back into the chair. "Drawing attention to ourselves is the last thing we should be doing. I shall miss your bikini. Come - let us recover from our misfortune!" and he began to pile the brochures together while keeping one hand firmly on the handle of his suitcase.

"To the gift shops?"

There was of course one right across the street. And just to either side of the cafe. And inside the cafe. And a merchant standing just behind the princess was wearing a tray packed with collectables featuring that particular member of the animated nobility.

"Yes! To the gift shops! Though," he sighed dramatically, "I can only imagine the suffering that will be imposed on our wallets. That is another reason I had hoped to reunite with my dear friend Mister Vercetti - I have little doubt that he would have been of great assistance in the refilling of our coffers..."

[Sunset]

Inbound Transit Zone, The North End of the Falltier System, Somewhere on the Southwestern Edge of the Galaxy... Republic Date 179.893.763...

'...this is a restricted system,' the Doberman-like officer on the communications screen said, his tone sharp and full of literal teeth. 'State your name and your business or you will be turned back by force in ten, nine...'

"Business? Uh..." the young man looked from side to side in sudden panic before his eyes fortunately lit on the brown paper-wrapped box that sat on one side of the console. The dog-thing was still counting - 'Six, five...' - and he quickly grabbed it before remembering the first part of their instructions, "Oh! Uh - Party! Luau Party. And I have a package here for a..."

He read the name off once then twice and then sighed, "I. C. Weiner. Do you have an Icy Weiner and are they expecting a package?"

If the customs officer got the joke he didn't even crack a smile. In fact it was impossible to tell if he was even capable of mirth. Instead he reached to the side - presumably to press some manner of off-screen button, and then repeated what Luau had said except without the stammer or the giggling nervousness. Then there was a long pause - too long, really - and it continued through uncomfortable and past irritating before arriving at interminable. Finally, 'Open it.'

"Uh, what? You want me to..."

'Open the package. Now.'

A yellow light began to flash at one corner of the console before going solid orange and Luau leaned over to read what it... Oh - 'Targeting Lock'.

"Um, sure?" At least this was easy. Whoever had wrapped the package had done so neatly; just like a Christmas present with the ends folded over twice and taped down with a broad piece of masking tape. One end and then the other and he pulled the paper aside to reveal... A layer of foam. A glance at the screen and he didn't even bother to ask, grabbing opposite corners and tugging it up and off whatever it was wrapped around.

Rats.

In a trap.

Or at least a cage and he felt a twinge of sympathy as he kneeled down to get a closer look. There were two, actually. One kinda short, if the rats he'd seen before were any point of comparison, and the other longer and skinnier and somehow stupid-looking, "Rats."

'I see that. Wait.'

It was a command and his doom as once again the hands of time slowly spun around until whoever or whatever they were talking to... Well, whatever they were doing. He couldn't exactly see. Instead he filled his time playing with his new temporary friends. Well, one of his friends. The skinny one was more than happy to sniff at his finger and even spin around and play as he scratched at its belly through the thin black bars. The other one?

It looked like it was planning something.

For a long moment he met its gaze until something in the back of his head suggested that he - a human - shouldn't be meeting the gaze of it - a rat. Fortunately the Doberman interrupted before he could give the proposition too much thought, 'Delivery approved. You will proceed under escort to the coordinates provided and along the flight path provided. You will then make your delivery and proceed to the Outbound Transit Zone again along the flight path provided. Do you understand?'

"Yes. Um - do you want me to wrap the package back up? Cause I kinda like this little guy..."

Another wait but at least at the end of this one the officer cocked his head to one side and looked at Luau like he was stupid. Or rather, looked at him in a way that confirmed his stupidity, 'Your client wrapped the package and it should be delivered to them in the same manner in which it was placed into your care. Instructions sent, transmission ended.'

"Okay, alright. Well, let's... Uh..." At least the instructions were basically a link. Click here, double-check to make sure he wasn't going to fly into a planet or something - again - and press the 'Go Here' button. Simple. Wrapping the package back up? Not so much.

"Alright little guy, let's see if there really is an 'I.C. Weiner' waiting for you..."

[Sunset]

The Hidden Moon Kyupuu, Beyond the Auracexian Sector, Orion Arm... Republic Date 179.909.464...

"...Slave Lord Jero Heron, my Prince requires an audience," the being began, raising four arms in supplication before bowing - not to the Slave Lord, who sat heavily upon his chair at the high end of the hall - but to the word 'Prince', turning their face to the ceiling before prostrating themselves to a distant nothingness.

The lizard-like Slave Lord twisted his head and half-closed his eyes as he considered the... whatever-it-was, his tongue flickering at the edge of his mouth to get the smell. A lifetime in the trade had tuned his senses to the point where he could often pick out an individual's species based on that sense alone but none of them revealed here any clue as to what either this thing was nor the identities of the four who surrounded it. Odder still; while their speech and manner suggested superiority it was the four surrounding who each held the end of a spiked chain in one massive gauntlet while the other grasped a disfiguring stave.

"Who is your Prince that they should require an audience of me?" he demanded, sliding forward in his chair to lean forward in near-predatory anticipation. There was a shift beside him; two towering Maiorca moving their feet just so, the multi-colored and highly inebriating plumage that made their feathers much-desired across the galaxy shifting as well. "I do not know him - as I do not know you!"

"You will."

The response was muffled but clear enough and the Slave Lord's slender fingers twisted into a mocking question mark as he stood, a tort response ready but unspoken as a sudden shudder went through the prostate figure. Their arms shot out in wild disarray, some grabbing at the chains while others tried to steady them before an unseen foot shoved them sprawling to the floor and their limbs began to curl and spike in clear agony. Pained words passed wracking lips;

"See now... He comes!"

Curled fingers turned into a clear gesture and the Slave Lord's guards pressed forward, weapons suddenly at the ready as others appeared from the shadows at the end of the hall. One step and then another - two massive bodies flanking just a step lower than the throne and a narrow slit between them where he could still see the figure jerk and move. The guards - attendants? - who surrounded them at four corners did nothing, their visored faces looking dead-ahead as though nothing at all was happening; this was expected.

Over stretched-out moments the creature began to rise, first swaying back and forth and then bending in a way that seemed unnatural before standing straight, four arms painfully straight while fingers bent and wracked, the spiked chains still draped across palms and wrists that now dripped with purple-pink blood. Their eyes opened and a strange blue light filled the room, touching both here and there but yet unable to penetrate even the shallowest of shadows.

"Slave Lord Jero Heron," the voice that spoke was both new and old - that of the speaker but the words and tone of another. Where the other had been grasping - menial - these were spoken as from a position of power. A throne on a far away hill, the occupant still heard clearly despite the vastness between. "We come to you with an offer."

"And who is 'we'?" Jero touched his heel on his throne to sink back into his chair. He was not a man unused to displays of power and while the method was... unusual... it was nothing that could not be more than a literal trick of light.

"Prince Xyllcryyl speaks!" all four of the attendants said in unison, their voices deep and filled with substance. "Prince Xyllcryyl speaks!" and as before all four struck the butts of their staves on the floor, this time cracking the tiles.

"Prince Xyllcryll? I have not heard the name before but you claim a grand title. Tell me, what is your offer that you would make such a claim?" Jero answered with a negligent wave.

"Our empire is one of domination and trade;" 'Slavers - why would it not be so?' "We will expand into this dimension. You will not oppose us and you will find yourself wealthy beyond your dreams."

'Reject my offer and you will die,' though the Slave Lord did not bother to state the unspoken half of the Prince's 'offer'. Instead he focused on the middle, suddenly curious, "This dimension? I am no traveler but nor am I unfamiliar with the concept. What dimension do you hail from?"

"We stand at the middle;" Jero's eyes narrowed at this and something trickled over in the back of his actual-lizard brain. "All trade-in-flesh passes between our gates. Those who keep the way open gain great wealth!"

"...and I suppose those who will not watch your gates burn. Your offer has been made," the reptilian flicked his fingers towards the door. "I will consider it. Return in a day to receive your answer."

There was no reply. Instead the thing went stiff again and the light from its eyes increased in sudden intensity. Traces of white began to crawl across their skin - 'Their veins', he realized - and then burned through. In a moment they were gone - consumed by the burning essence of the one that had possessed them. Or perhaps just another trick to impress the gullible. But the burned-off ends of four chains fell to hang from the wrists of the jailors...

Turning as one, they left the hall with each footstep in unison, stalking past the guards unflinching and unafraid. Perched at the edge of his throne as if a gargoyle he watched them go until the last had left the hall before turning to his guards with a snap, "Follow them. Find out which ship they came on and..." he eyed the spot on the floor where drifting ash now scudded, "how they leave. Question all those loyal to me - report anything unusual or odd."

He rose from the throne and swept down the steps in a rush, turning quickly to circle around behind it. There was a door there - not the grand arch built into the back wall but another concealed at the rear of the dais. "I will be in my chamber - anything strange. Anything at all..."

[Sunset]

Jero Heron's Quarters Under the Throne, The Hidden Moon Kyupuu, Beyond the Auracexian Sector, Orion Arm... Republic Date 179.909.854...

"...dimensional travel? It happens all the time... Sorta," Agent Madison explained through the shimmer of the holographic screen. It wasn't often he called on his contact but as always there was something new going on behind her. This time she appeared to be standing in line somewhere, surrounded by a vast sea of what was oddly uniform humanity. Ladies and gentlemen - kids of all ages. He couldn't hear what they were saying - indeed, they likely couldn't see her lips moving either. Both the noise of their struggle and the movement of her mouth were subtracted and added somewhere between the two.

Which in truth meant that he might not be talking to Agent Madison at all - nor had he ever!

Still, it was only an observation though a tangentially pertinent one - considering the subject of conversation; "How much do you know about time travel?"

"As much as I do about dimensional travel - or most forms of conveyance. When I was a young-kin I purchased a second-hand aerobike with dreams of riding it through the wildlands with my friends. In my search for a rare part, I happened across a flesh-merchant in need of labor who was willing to exchange one for the other. I could not foresee it then but that arrangement led me to this life and left the aerobike to sit idle. I ultimately traded it away for my share in my first slaving concern."

"Jero Heron - outlaw biker. Guess I know what to get you for your birthday," the black woman grinned. "Alright, I'll try to keep it simple then. Just what you need to know - and why this could be a problem. First," she paused and there was a few moment's delay before an image appeared in the bottom of the screen, "This is a fractal. A fractal is a mathematical equation that produces a pattern that repeats itself as the results of the equation grow both larger and smaller."

"It is beautiful and yes - I see the repetition in the pattern. Each spiral contains many smaller spirals that seem to trail off to the infinite..."

A simple search at another screen brought up many more examples and he studied them as they spoke, entranced by their intricate simplicity.

"Just so. Now for Fry's Paradox..."

"Who is this 'Fry'?"

"An idiot who travels back in time and kills his grandfather. The paradox is that if you go back in time and kill your own progenitor, will you ever have been born to eventually go back in time and kill your own grandfather?"

"As a straightforward answer? No - though among my kind it is common for the younger to... Ah... 'replace' the elder by means of poison, strangulation, or pushing them down the stairs. We are a long-lived people and gerontocide is an acceptable form of promotion."

"Harsh. Well, Fry didn't mean to kill his own grandfather - he was an idiot, as I said. At least in the example that I remember he ran him over with a vehicle. By accident."

"...then my neglect of the aerobike seems fortuitous."

"Maybe. Not something you have to worry about now, but yeah. Now what happens is that Fry discovers that everything he's been told about his sweet old grandmother is a lie. She wasn't the sweet old lady he remembers who made him cookies and lemonade - she was a savage little sex kitten! Because the next thing he knows, she's got him in her bed and she's pregnant - which means that Fry is his own grandfather!"

"So there is no paradox," he realised aloud. "He simply did not have accurate information. For a human, this would be an understandably discrete omission on the part of his parents - I am given to understand that outside of the breeding pits most species have a strict sense of fidelity to their breeding partners."

She grimaced, "Ah - things I don't want to know about the slave trade. And I'm going to make the assumption that your species isn't particularly faithful to the marriage bed?"

"If you are asking if we have the concept of marriage? No. Our own reproduction is undertaken in the same manner as the breeding pit, which is why it is so familiar to us. Those who wish to have offspring and those who wish to aid them attend to the Rut..." There was a knock at the door and a brief interruption before Jero returned to the screen. "It would seem our visitors arrived as cargo - they were taken aboard as passengers at a shadowport. They were not able to determine which port, however - and the ship has already departed."

Agent Madison nodded; she didn't seem particularly put-out by the setback either, "See if you can get me the details on that ship. Make, model - sensor readings from another ship. We might be able to backtrack it and see where they boarded. So yeah - there's no paradox there and most 'dimensional' travel ends up being like that. When the science types drill down, they find out that the two 'dimensions' are really close to each other. Like adjacent spirals in the fractal set, which really just makes them part of the larger fractal branch. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, but," he held up a taloned finger, "I did not get the impression that this was so simple a matter. Perhaps it was all, as you Humans would say, 'smoke and mirrors' - but the experience was one of power and ability," he emphasized. "It was the power of one who comes to you not with a bare gun in his hands but unarmed and confident."

"Right - so that's where the other version of Fry's Paradox comes in. The version where he kills his grandfather, doesn't fuck his grandmother, and doesn't fade out of the family pictures. In that version Fry has jumped between branches - some things are the same because the equation is the same but some things are different because the numbers are just slightly different. But when it comes to the universe, 'just slightly different' ends up meaning 'it takes a lot of power to make this happen.' This is the kind of dimensional travel where you need a specific something to make it happen. A gateway powered by a star, a magic portal that bleeds molten gold. The dreams of a little girl who wanted to be a princess."

"Which is why you are concerned," the reptilian answered after a moment's consideration. "Why this was something you asked that I alert you to if it was ever brought up. This 'Prince Xyllcryyl' either has great power or puts on a convincing act."

"That and transdimensional slave-traders would be a bad thing. Putting aside the idea of using so much energy just to move people around to do housework or whatever, it would also suggest enough manifest power as to be a threat. What kind of threat - that's one of the first questions to ask and answer..."

[Sunset]

The Happiest Place on Earth, Orlando, Florida, Earth, Sol System... Just A Little While Later...

"...the problem is that there's another problem there. Aside from all the weird sex," Katryna clarified, swinging herself up and over the fence in a single stride; all of that jogging and surfing and beach volleyball and afternoon sex was finally paying off! Sorta. Really, her chassis was performing exactly to spec and it would have been weird if she hadn't been able to clear the three-meter wall without breaking her stride.

"Two problems, even..."

The maintenance yard was empty - she'd known that before she'd crossed the wall; cybernetic senses meant she knew where everything that breathed was, not to mention those with an elevated heartbeat or a soft footstep. By turning up the gain she could see the faint trail of footsteps-comma-many across the open space - workers and cast members either taking a shortcut or coming through on this task or another. They were alone for now but perhaps not all that long. Spreading her fingers, she began to walk around to focus her hands on this or that, the sensor web embedded in her skin searching for the faint traces of a peculiar form of radiation.

"The first problem is the bad type of problem. Am I a responsible person?"

The question was half-directed at Agent Madison, who had taken up a position next to the wall and the concealed door - just not on this side - that would allow them quickly back out into the park and the concealment of the crowds. She didn't bother with her sidearm. This was the kind of situation where fast talking would get them out of more trouble than a shootout.

"Since we just jumped the gate into a restricted area of a if not the major theme park? Yep - you're a saint."

It should be noted that her regular partner was a murder-dwarf who had lately pushed a man's spine out of his own ass by the expedient of hitting him on the head so hard that it had driven his helmet into his carapace armor. 'A Nine-out-of-Ten,' she'd called it.

"Right. Well, some of our uptight friends get really wound up when I start poking around with dimensional travel. Too irresponsible. S'not like I'm opening a portal to hell in the middle of downtown... Huh." Something had caught her sensors and she stopped to circle a particular patch of nothing. It wasn't really nothing of course - more a particular spot of dirty concrete with a scattering of old leaves; gross and damp.

"Smells like... the foot of a teenager's bed and six-week-old clam chowder," she declared, wrinkling her nose. "This is where they arrived though - coherent Hawking radiation," and she bent to pass her hands slowly through the air.

"As opposed to the incoherent kind?"

"Mhm. So as I was saying - they don't like it when I experiment responsibly with this stuff. Afraid I'll let some kind of nasty into the universe. As though I'm not the nastiest thing around..."

"...that's what he said!" Ivy added with a smirk.

"Damn right! Keeps him hard and happy. But if they don't like responsible-Me doing this kind of stuff... Huh... What do you think they think of Ambrose doing it? Or worse - a bunch of transdimensional slavers with Cthulu names doing it?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Huh," Katryna straightened, circling the spot again before making her way across the open ground between a row of old vending machines and a broken whirling-teacup to rejoin the agent. "S'what I thought. At least so far. It looks like Ambrose used the Eien boundary manipulation as something like a carrier signal. Or at least the outermost layer, if you want to think of it like an onion. Or an ogre."

"So someone with an Eien node was in the park when they arrived."

"Yep - probably a few dozen someone's. The Eien is kinda like your Fry example - very adjacent to everywhere it needs to be. What keeps someone from randomly accessing it is a lack of information. That and a willingness to experiment with things beyond the keen of man. So I'm not sure I'm super-concerned about these transdimensional slavers. If they've been doing it for long enough to be known as 'transdimensional slavers', they haven't gotten themselves eaten by something Between. At least not yet."

"Right. Still - slavers bad," Ivy declared, jimmying the lock on the door with a 'Do Not Disturb' placard. You know - for practice. Peering through the narrow slit she watched as a clump of crowd passed. No one seemed to be paying their particular patch of unassuming wall behind an unassuming bush much attention - not even the weirdo in the viking helmet - and she opened it just enough to slip out, Katryna following close behind. "I have a question."

"Whasat?"

"Why 'Katryna'? With a 'y'?"

"Quirk of cybernetics. She always liked Eryka with a 'y' but didn't get a chance to change her name before everyone knew her as Erika with a 'i'. So when she decided to build me, she went with the 'y'. Same thing for the rest of the kids. Alright - now we know he was here and probably is here somewhere. Ideally we want to find him before he finds us though. If he spots me, he'll run."

Which explained the still-copyrighted female mouse mask...

[Sunset]

511th Planetary Militia Maintenance Yard, Outside Pinemoon City, Juniper... Republic Date 179.917.310...

"...port-side repulsor packs are completely delaminated... ...power train has been compromised... ...you boys sure you're alive?" the voice attached to the pair of legs that stuck out from under what was apparently the port side of the 'Titan super-heavy hover tank asked. Not that it was going to be hovering anywhere anytime soon. It had been settled down on blocks in the middle of the maintenance yard where it was surrounded by a smattering of smaller vehicles, militia paraphernalia, and an oddly placed stack of shipping containers. "Maybe you should check again."

The boys - who both looked just barely old enough to qualify as men in a pinch or a draft - quickly patted themselves down before replying with a sheepish 'Yessir - yessir. We're alive."

"Good! Good... Then," the technical sergeant came shooting out from under the tank on his rolly-tray to wind up just at their feet and looking up at them with a face full of accusation, "Maybe one of you can tell me what this is?"

He held up a chip, pushing it at one and then the other.

"Cause I'm pretty sure this ain't spec - milspec chip wouldn't say 'HotRideZ' across the top. I'd almost say someone's been making aftermarket modifications to militia property... You boys wouldn't know anything about that? Would you?"

The struggle for one to glance at the other that played out across the battlefield of their furry faces was almost lost several times over but after a good long moment of silence they both managed to shake their head in a not-at-all convincing way - and he definitely noticed the lack of a 'Nosir.' Still... It gave him an excuse to root around in the innards of the OSA's new top-of-the-line hover tank. Today and today only they got a pass...

---

Late Evening, The Low Hills Outside Pinemoon City, Juniper... The Day Before...

...the tired convoy skimmed along the old dirt road as the evening waned and the moon began to drift high into the first stars of night. Dust drifted up from the roadbed, slowly painting the collective a dirty grey-brown and trailing out past the last vehicle in a dwindling tail. Music drifted up from the cab of the lead technical, the driver's arm draped out the window to tap out the rhythm on the outside of the door. The day's training and drills were long over and their collective destination were the lights that twinkled from the city on the hillside still a long ways off.

Here and there a brown-nosed gunner still manned their station, pintle-mounted guns slewing slowly from side to side as they surveyed the nearby country for a threat that most definitely wasn't there. Otherwise passengers had retrieved their beverage of choice from the cooler and some few were leaning over the back of the seat to enjoy some quiet conversation. Further back, a select few had managed to find a bit of cover and were engaged in the ongoing reproduction of the species, their efforts aided by the gentle roll of the hover truck under their back.

It was only in the middle that anything exciting was happening - well, anything exciting that you might be invited to. This was the convoy's heavy armor asset and some darn fool had lost a bet. A bet that put two teenagers in the driver's seat for the long ride home. What could happen, right? In the middle of the pack and threading their way through the trees that dominated the hills; nothing much, that's what. But now a furry face emerged from a maintenance hatch with an excited grin on his face, "It fit! It's in!"

"Alright!" the other answered, nearly squirming out of his seat in clear excitement.

He'd been carefully riding the breaks the entire way down, the convoy winding its way back and forth until just at the base of the hill where the trees thinned out and open fields began. There the road curved sharply around to the right, the lead vehicle making the turn with the one after it and the one after that following closely. So on and so on with armored infantry carriers, a self-propelled gun, another pair of light technicals - all following the curve of the road as it followed the outline of the field.

Except for one.

As quietly as an ominous ghost, the hover-tank turned out of line to cross the ditch and crest a low hedge, repulsors flattening the foliage as it passed. For a moment it stopped - poised. The precipice yawned wide as eager hands hunted through the controls for something that hadn't been there before, "Got it - Launch Mode!"

Stomping the brake as indicated, he pressed the button and waited as the interior of the tank was suddenly filled with an eager howl, the generators spinning up to combat readiness and every system redirected to a single purpose. Red changed to yellow and then green and his foot slipped off the pedal. Then they were gone;

The distant line of thin trees that divided one field from the next loomed large before they could even realize they were underway, trunks snapping off as armored teeth split wood into shivering flinders. A dark pond in the middle proved no obstacle at all as water flew up and away, twin tsunamis that left nought but a muddy bottom behind. Fences were flattened, last year's crop scattered like fallen leaves - and ahead a lonely mound rose unexpectedly from what should have been flat ground. The hay pile exploded around them, the tarp that had protected it from the winter's weather caught on the turret like a cape that flapped and flowed as they careened on.

Another row of trees, young aspens practically exploding across the tank's bow as surviving chunks rang against armor. Rips and tears appeared across the tarp and a moment later it was gone, shredded and torn away. Another field flashed by and another, a farmhouse up the towards the distant road suddenly lit as a late night of television turned into a joint rush to the door to see what the hell was happening out there. An irrigation ditch yawned and the nose dipped but their speed carried them over, just as it would carry the massive juggernaut over and past enemy trenches, their occupants as helpless as the frogs to do more than look up for a moment as it passed.

A copse of trees vanished. Behind them headlights swept their passage as the soberest drivers began to give chase. Maybe now was a good time to slow down and a foot searched for the pedal but it was already too late. This time the hill was real and the tank plowed up and over without slowing or considerately following the curve back to level ground. Instead it followed the course of the moon above the horizon, an exaggerated relationship with gravity that only ended as all summer camp romances do - with the sudden stop of the last day. Inertia pushing it well-past the minimum flight ceiling, the hull hit the ground to leave a long slick of mud and muck. Something - a rock, a tree, a cow perhaps - hit the forward corner and turned forward motion into a back-and-forth slide that ended with the tank rocking sideways, nearly rolling over before slamming back down. A single flicker of the exterior lights and it was dead - not even the faintest of hums disturbing the great beast's slumber...

---

Back in the Yard...

"...I can fix it," the sergeant declared, dropping the chip at their feet as an ominous warning against future sins before sliding back under the wreck, "but don't go thinking this will be covered under warranty..."

[Sunset]

The Happiest Place on Earth, Florida, Earth, Sol System... Republic Date 179.932.992...

"...I was as surprised and delighted as you were, my dear," Stephen lied as he settled down into the warm water with a long-held sigh. In truth, he was now somehow less delighted than he had initially been when they'd pushed their exhausted way into the room to find his wife's missing bag. It had been sitting all alone in the middle of the room with a tag around the handle - a lost puppy somehow returned to its owner.

She had been overjoyed. He; not so much. After all, they had just spent the better part of an afternoon doing one of the things he did not particularly enjoy - that is; shopping. Not to say that his lovely wife took great delight in all things conspiciously consumeable but he less-so than she. Still, it had given him time to ponder and as she began to empty both her bags he...

"...darling?" he interupted his own thoughts with another, eyes closed and head back to stare blankly into the void; "Hmm?"

"Might I remind you that we might be forced to abscond at any moment? Perhaps keep a change of cloths and some essentials in your bag so as to enable a rapid retreat."

In other words; 'It's the cops! Cheese it!'

"I already did."

"Really." He tilted his head up and turned it to the side to open a single eye and watch as she patted a small pile of clothing that sat next to a large purse. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Several times," she replied primly though with a smile on her lips as she somehow tucked a pair of jeans, a shirt, and underwear into a bag that seemed barely larger than all three. "All just today."

"Excellent! Then make it another!" he declared, arm shooting into the air to wave a dramatic finger around as he sank further into the watery abyss, his words bubbling there at the end.

His body now partially relaxed, his mind could now work and indeed heavy were the thoughts that weighed upon that great mind. Dinner, for one - though she had already noted her desire for a late dinner at one of the resturants. Done! Casting that thought aside, he turned to his own earlier realization as he had watched her pick through a seemingly endless collection of over-priced mouse-branded merchandise. One might think that watching one's wife pick out the perfect bathing suit would be an enjoyable experience until one had the misfortune of noting the price for three patches of fabric barely larger than his hand as being the equivalent of a week's wages.

For the average wage-slave, that is.

He was not average and nor were his finances but such things could not last forever either. Sooner or later... Especially at these nightly rates...

"...have you considered my earlier suggestion? About a university?" Angelica asked, her tone curious. Then he could hear toes breaking water and he dared not open his eyes. It was a private room of course and she might either be naked or wearing aformentioned bathing suit and either might derail his train of thought in a pleasurable accident.

"I was just considering it but what you just said... 'A University.'"

Her earlier suggestion had been that they turn their years of experience and her wisdom towards acadamia - teaching. Indeed, his first position had been as a professor at the University of NeoVancouver where he'd maintained a hidden laboratory under the student quad. Those had been good times.

"Certainly given our academic credentials, we could both easily obtain positions. Well-paid and perhaps even tenured and a useful cover for our other activities. Still, I chaff easily under the yoke of leadership. As we have just seen," he gestured with a dismissive flick of the fingers.

"What were you thinking?"

"Start our own school. A small institution specializing in our preferred fields of research. Consider tuition. Long have I had to pay and pay well for competent minions. With our own school? Not only would our minions pay us but also compete among a wider pool of applicants for a chance to serve our nefarious purposes!"

"Nefarious?" Something moved in the water and he suddenly felt someone press into his side and fingers dance along his chest. "Tell me more..."

[Sunset]

The Bridge, RDF-Ojeni, Inbound to the Šurla System, Southeastern Corner of the Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 179.940.829...

"...Captain;" Kami instinctively put her head up at the call from the sensor station but just as quickly put it back down. Okay - not all the way down. Just enough to look like she wasn't completely paying attention. She wasn't the Captain, after all; the same group of cadets from a few weeks ago was back and this time for a weekend sleepover.

Some crews - some Captains - might have groused at the idea of turning their command over to a group of wet-behind-the-ears Academy cadets but she was enjoying it, even loving it from time to time. Her first reason was that these 'kids' were good; Cadet-'Captain' Järvinen had pulled together a group of capable cadets and turned them into a crew that knew their shit and worked well together. Her second reason was that it very much reminded her of her own time at the Academy - and of the opportunities she wished she'd had.

So it was time to be quiet and let the Captain and her crew do their thing. Otherwise she stood - sat - ready to give advice and counsel when asked or where needed; "...I've got a ship on sensors and it looks... peculiar," the diminutive insectoid at the science console emphasized.

"Alright. Onscreen - what's peculiar about it, Ms. Hrkac?" the young woman in the Captain's chair asked, blanking her own armrest console with a swipe to focus on the display in front of her. Anticipating her request correctly, the science officer had filled the holosphere that sat between the forward stations with a diagram of the upcoming system with the ship-in-question's position on the very outskirts marked and indicated as well as a reproduced visual representation of the vessel itself as seen from where the 'Ojeni might be in a few more minutes on the main bridge screen.

"It's dead in the water, Ma'am. Adrift. Minimal power signature. It is also outside of the established shipping lanes and some distance from any notable port or system infrastructure."

The first was straight to the point, the second was odd but not completely unusual. Republic travel protocols established an inbound shipping point at stellar north and a departure point at stellar south. 'Ojeni herself would be following these protocals and they served to keep interstellar traffic nice, neat, and importantly; predictable. Arrivals especially outside of these zones could mean there was a problem. The last though... It might not have been arriving or departing - it could have been out at the edge of the system for any number of reasons but there didn't seem to be anything nearby that suggested a 'why'.

"I can also give you a good reason as to 'why', Ma'am," the cadet continued, swinging the camera around to the far side of the ship, which also put it in direct - though again simulated - sunlight.

"That's a nice big gaping hole you have there," Kami murmured under her breath. Indeed, the now-near side of the ship looked like it had been violated explosively.

"Make and model? Registration?" the captain ordered, releasing her console and tapping away to pull the ship into the holosphere and enlarging the image to focus on the damage. It didn't take any effort to guess that it was a freighter of some kind; big, boxy, and with a number of secondary structures arrayed across the bottom that were probably external storage of some kind. "It looks like something blew out - not blew in."

"Agreed;" this was Cadet-Lieutenant Ahonen, a rough-looking young man who had been assigned to the tactical station. "Edging curling, lack of radiation traces - no through-and-through - suggests that this was a low-yeild internal explosion. Likely improvised. That hull isn't meant to do much more than keep the air in."

Cadet Karl Ahonen had been interested in going into the Marines before Alyte Järvinen had gotten her hooks into him - apparently he had a particular aptitude for blowing things up.

"Did it take out the reactors?"

"No Ma'am;" the image swung away from the damaged portion of the hole to where the main engines were spaced out in a vertical line on the stern. A spherical bulge sat in the middle; "Main reactor is here, secondaries are at the bow. Ship is a Vanek Industrial Type-3. Locally produced," Hrkac added.

"Could it be an accident?" Kami offered, turning to look at the captain. "Šurla didn't have orbital industry until recontact if I'm not mistaken."

Her's was a hard question for several of the cadet crew to answer honestly. Šurla was another one of those 'aim a colony ship at a likely-looking star' colonizations from back in the late two-k's that hadn't quite gone according to plan. They'd made it but conditions on the ground had been rougher than imagined but not rough enough to kill the colony off. They'd established themselves but lost the ability to put more than the odd communications satillite in orbit to replace those lost to a faint debris ring left over from the planet's second moon. Hometown - homeworld - pride was on the line as aside from an imported space elevator they'd insisted on building up their own industry, their way.

"You're not - but there are hundreds of those ships serving across the system now."

Fair enough; Kami shrugged, "Maybe. Something to consider though."

"Any life signs?" That was an easy distraction from a hard answer and the sensor officer replied momentarily; "Inconclusive. The Type-3 was rated for a crew of forty-five, Ma'am."

"Inconclusive?" Järvinen turned to look sharply back over her shoulder at the insectoid, her blone ponytail nearly whapping Kami across the face. "I don't think I've ever heard you use that word!"

"Inconclusive! There was someone alive aboard that ship but right now the various indicators are... Contra-indicative?"

It was time for the regular duty officer to step in; "Inconclusive," they confirmed. "Which could mean that it was abandoned only a short time ago, or that there are wounded and dying aboard, or that there is something aboard that supplies some of the indicators but isn't actually alive. So inconclusive."

The Cadet-Captain was clearly someone who liked 'conclusive'; "Then we're treating this as a potential search-and-rescue operation. Comms, alert system authorities. Tell them we'll be there in..."

"Two minutes;" came the answer from the helmsman; "Two minutes," she stood and turned to Kami. "Unless you have an objection, Captain, I'd like to organize my crew for search-and-rescue."

"Granted. Buddy up - one of mine, one of yours. I'll take over here and coordinate with system authorities," Captain Blaine decided, standing up just enough to scoot sideways into the now-vacant Captain's chair. It was time for Captain Järvinen to introduce her crew to the sometimes-grim realities of space...

[Sunset]

Deep Space, A Year's Journey Out From Deep Space 10, Somewhat Near the Dryάs System, Midway Between the Core and the Rim, Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Local Date E4Y7741D252...

"...panel shows green, Captain. On your mark."

Well - actually - it didn't. The layout was familiar though with staggered rows of status lights and their associated systems labeled in crisp, clear purple Scientific Dryī while the lights were gradated between a sullen brown and a radiant yellow with two 'maybe no' and 'maybe yes' indicators between. One off-set column on one side of the console, another symmetrical to it on the other, and a raised monitor with the Dryά equivalent of a keyboard below it. There were a couple more fingertips than normal, yes - and the layout reflected this - but with a little work most anyone with digits could hunt-and-peck their way through.

Captain - again, not 'Captain' but close enough - Glixtronis took another look around the bridge. That part was really easy but also warranted an explanation; the Dryī had something like a trifurcated head with three thick, motile eye-stalks that came together into what could be called a neck with something that was definitely a mouth in the middle though they didn't actually use it to talk. Speech was instead accomplished via oscillating membranes at the neckline that also functioned as ears. These were in turn covered by a thick protective flap - when a Dryī didn't want to talk or listen, it really didn't have to. They did have two arms but these also spread into a trio of sucker-like pads at the end of the 'thumb' with these being taste organs, evolutionary left-overs from when the species would need to sort through poisonous and edible stages of the same common crop.

Enough with the explanations? Not even by half; "Mark."

"Understood. On Captain's mark, stage one has been initialized," the operator answered, pressing the appropriate buttons. Deep in the bowels of the ship...

This ship? No, no, no! Far too dangerous. In fact the straightforwardly-named Deep Space Experiment Monitor 3 had followed the also-straightforwardly-named Deep Space Experimental Platform 3 into deep space at a distance that might be described as 'probably safe', given that the Dryī preferred 'completely safe' when at all plausible. Sometimes it wasn't but there was still plenty of empty space between the two spacecraft as well as a cluster of drones between the two and Deep Space Rescue Vessel 3 further back.

...deep in the bowels of the other ship commands executed and equipment began to move into place. The whole thing had been designed around safety with the various components not even linked together but that moment was now and everything from cabinets and housings to cables and ducts were moved and linked and coupled together with systems that had shown 'maybe yes orange' now cascading to 'yes yellow' as they linked and locked together.

"Assembly complete," the console operator read off, followed by, "Power system online. Reactor charging."

It had been Deep Space Experimental Platform 2 that had verified that it was possible to create an artificial wormhole - a point in space linked to another point in space. The distance hadn't mattered and in the case of DSEP2 that distance had been the few hundred meters from the end of one gangly arm to the end of the other gangly arm. For DSEP3 the goal and thus the experiment was a little more ambitious; creating a wormhole and then testing whether something could pass through it and so arrive on the other side at something faster than the speed of light.

"Reactor charged;" The Captain looked up at the overhead monitor where an external view of DSEP3 was sitting silent in space, the image relayed by one of the much-closer drones. Glixtronis' expectation was that the whole thing would explode any moment now. He had been chosen for his cautious pessimism and as things went he wasn't so sure that the results of the last test and the test before it had been valid. They could have been flukes; misread readings, flawed instrumentation, optimistic interpretation.

"Wormhole creation initialized."

Granted, it was hard for him to completely disregard the results of the first two experiments - he was literally standing on them. Or rather, they were why he was standing rather than floating. Creating an artificial wormhole required understanding and then manipulating gravity and that manipulation meant he and his crew could move around the ship on their own (three to five) flagella. That was nice, though he still wore the contact covers that would allow his tentacles to stick to nearly any surface in the case of an outage - due any day now, he was sure.

"Containment holding - the wormhole is nearly at the experimental stage!"

Yes, that was excitement and yes, it was unusual. This particular stage involved the creation of a wormhole cell - a device that would contain the wormhole which would then be ejected from the test platform, opened, and the test material fired into it to see if it came out the other side. The results of the second test, which were significant and unrecoverable damage to the test platform, had been enough to convince the committee that further tests should be conducted externally to the platform where possible until such testing becomes impossible.

Such as trying to move an actual ship with actual crew through. Glixtronis shuddered at the very thought.

"Experimental stage confirmed! Encapsulation complete and holding. Moving to stage three..."

The test platform exploded.

Captain Glixtronis breathed - fluttered - a sigh of relief, "What happened?"

"Telemetry data is still coming in;" The test platform had been far enough away that the light from the explosions that had rippled their way along the amalgamated superstructures had reached them before the data being sent by the internal monitoring systems had been relayed through the nearby drones. "Huh. This is weird."

Which was operator-speak for 'Huh. This is weird. Come look at this and tell me that my eyes are lying, please.'

Glixtronis wiggled over to the operator's console. He couldn't look over their shoulder - Dryī didn't really have those - but he could look past his neck at the information on the monitor. He understood some of it but thankfully the operator was there to make sense of the rest or at least attempt to rationalize it.

"Here the cell reached the size specified and was fully encapsulated - power input from the reactor dropped to zero;" maintaining the wormhole was then the responsibility of the containment housing. "And the containment housing logged appropriate levels of maintenance input - but also reported continued wormhole growth!"

"The containment housing was faulty."

Straightforward, easy. Someone had made a mistake somewhere; "No - not unless the containment housing had its own terawatt reactor. The readings..." Digits moved over keys and logs were played forward and back. "By the time the containment fault system tripped, the wormhole had grown past the amount of energy required if the containment vessel itself had been completely converted to energy!"

"Impossible?"

"Implausible? Not unless we've accidentally discovered a plus-parity energy source and built it into a disposable test device, Captain," the operator countered. "And that would run counter to the fact that the containment vessel was reporting telemetry until it was destroyed by the automatic fail-safes;" which so 'No.'

"Huh. That's weird."

"...and that's what I said," the operator gestured at the screen. "It is plausible that the reactor was still feeding energy into the containment vessel and that both the reactor's redundant monitoring systems and the vessels redundant monitoring systems all failed simultaneously or..."

"Or?" Captain Glixtronis didn't like that little suggestive pause there right at the end.

"Or the wormhole was receiving input from an external source. Gamma ray burst from a neutron star. Something else equally implausible but remotely possible. I'm checking what I can now, but the platform wasn't very well equipped for external monitoring..."

[Sunset]

Entoch Prime, Somewhere in the Southern Slice of the Beta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy... Republic Date 179.959.103...

"...Ah can see why no one wanted to settle this charmin' place," Meli decided as she pushed the hood back from her forehead and stomped her feet, sending thick clumps of snow splattering around the inside of the airlock. Or rather; she couldn't see - just outside a frantic blizzard was busy burying every ship under a fresh coat of wind-driven snow. Dwarves were hardy, yes, but this was the kind of weather that could drive a whole civilization to avoid the planet.

Which; that was exactly the point.

It didn't take long for the 'lock to cycle. It wasn't there to keep the air in or the vacuum out, after all - just the cold out and the warm in. Just inside was just what one might expect of an unregulated shadow port on a misbegotten world on the furthest edges of civilization; a hodgepodge of the outrageous and the illegal along with a good-sized portion of the unethical and the unseemly. What had maybe-once been a research station or perhaps a monitoring post was now the host of a bustling circus of the weird and obscene.

The closest stall to the door was selling guns - sensible enough, given that everyone was carrying at least one openly if not waving it around in a threatening manner. Across from it? Housewares. That might seem odd except that clustered around the outpost were a fine selection of windblown hulks - freighters and other vessels that had been capable of planetary landing exactly one time and that had been Good enough! for their crew. Or former crew. Or former crew that had now found themselves absorbed into the local community by the simple pressure to not freeze to death.

"My kinda place! Alright," she grabbed the nearest arm and whirled them - him? - around fast enough that he nearly dropped the cloth-wrapped bundle he was carrying. Okay. Maybe that was 'she', "Sorry. New here. I'm lookin' for..."

Slaves? Transdimensional slavers?

TRIPWIRE had traced the ship that had ferried the messengers for the self-declared Prince back here. It was her job to find out if they'd been on that same ship when it had arrived here or whether they'd boarded here or... The usual list of unknown-unknowns, really.

"...cute kid. Anyway - is there like a travel office here? Somewhere I could arrange passage?" She fished in a pocket for a moment and pulled out a credit chip to press it into the woman's hand. "Discrete passage?"

She didn't even glance at the black slip before it disappeared, "You'll want R'Guiba. Passageway two stalls down on the left."

Then she was gone, either swept away by the crowd or disappearing into it with practiced ease. Whichever it was, the Dwarf turned to look in the direction the woman had indicated, picked up a narrow gap between two slapdash awnings, and arrowed for it while tossing a healthy glance behind her just in case. That had been a good choice because instead of someone following her or trying to sneak up on her with a half-brick in a sock, she picked out a dim neon sign that flickered and flashed with only two-but-important letters.

To call R'Guiba's a travel agency or even a boarding agent would be to assign a lot of heavy lifting to the concept of an organized business. Instead there was an alcove just off the passageway where an unkempt entity sat in a chair with their feet up on the edge of a burn barrel, the flames licking their bare feet seemingly comfortable enough to tolerate for the duration. Some might question the word 'unkempt' - especially when it came to someone from a species she'd never seen, heard of, or actually even wanted to somehow encounter again - but her answer would have been 'you had to be there'.

Her nose wrinkled, "You R'Guiba? I'm looking for a ship."

"Where to?"

"Depends." There was another chair there but she didn't trust it, instead risking the wrath of whatever fungus dwelled between their toes and parking her shoulder up against the wall next to the barrel. "Depends on how rigorous you are about client confidentiality," she reached into her pocket to hold up another matte-black chip.

"Never heard of it," they leaned forward but she held it just outside of their grasp. "Who are you looking for?"

The other hand fished in a pocket and she pulled out a data pad, the still image adding just a little light to the bleak alleyway. Just outside of the circle of flickering light from the flames she could make out a pile of discarded food packets and an uncomfortable-looking board with a nail in it. There was also a low hatch there, tucked away to the side. Maybe their home? Did it matter?

"These guys. Seen 'em?"

They reached away from the credit chip to the pad and she let him take it, study it closely under a disgruntled nose, and then hand it back, "Yep," they turned over their hand. She dropped the chip in their palm and they answered her next few questions without even being asked.

"Odd bunch. Came in a couple weeks ago looking for passage to Kyupuu. Skinny guy leadin' those brutes around like they were the dogs on the leash rather'n him. Put 'em in with the 'Ylantros. Strange thing too..." they flipped the credit chip over, pressed the hidden button that would display the held amount, and grunted as they took in the amount of zeros, "People were talkin' bout 'em. Said they came in from the cold but that there hadn't been a ship come in for days. Like they jus' snuck in off the glacier."

"You sure?"

"Sure as you can be about anything 'round here - and it's my business to keep an eye open for ships, specially if they can carry a passenger or two. Not you," they eyed her closely. "Came in on a scout-fighter. Ain't room for more'n one, unless you like gettin' real close all the way there. I'd guess you're not takin' passengers."

"Nope. Anything else happen around that same time?"

There were more than enough credits on the chip for idle speculation and they sat back in their chair to consider the ceiling, uncross and cross their toes again, and then, "Sure. Well, plenty. Lots of gossip around here. But there was a big fight just there too. Seems one of the cutter gangs thought one of the others were muscling in on their territory."

"Cutter gangs?"

"Hull cutters. You saw those big wrecks outside, right?" She nodded and they went on, "Those'r territory - at least to the cutter's. When the snow lets up they rush out to scrap and salvage as much as they can. Sometimes they blow 'em up, sometimes they find somethin' useful and carve it out. Either way, one of 'em thought another had takin' what wasn't theirs. Big fight about it - cleaned out the Rusty Nail and put a score of 'em in the recyclers."

"Aight." She considered this for a moment. It sounded like local problems to her - as well as a warning to avoid the stew - but could it have something to do with the mysterious arrivals from out of nowhere? It couldn't hurt to ask around, she decided with a mental shrug, "Thanks. Point me to the survivors?"

They pointed to her pocket and she fished out another chip...