Axiom Chronicle Compendium (IC / Axiom Only)

[Tshenete]

Beyond the realms of the roaring engines of gargauntaun battleships suspended in the zero gravity of space, some engaged in clashes with other equally gargauntaun battleships, and beneath the veils of anonymity that shroud the countless silhouettes that dot the governmental chambers which participate in endless and blaring debates on matters of astronomical weight in the multitude of astropolitical amphitheatres there lies a silent echo which can be heard if one listens close enough. The echo, whose volume is no greater than a faint whisper, carries the voices of the innumerable masses which sweat and toil unto eternity in the factories, the fields and the spaces of space. This thread is dedicated to all those voices, both inaudible and deafening, it is the dedicated home to stories and narratives that have yet to be told, or which have been banished to the dusty archives of history, and to stories that have been told a myriad of times but which may still be told a myriad more.

Come forth, you murmurs of past, present and future!

[Dethakkan Systems]

Nokval Ser Spaceport

---

The cargo section of the Nokval Ser Spaceport was a massive complex, a vast network of cargo modules and handling equipment floated and maneuvered in the space between the station’s two primary rings. Here cargo unloaded from interplanetary and interstellar freighters would be unloaded, processed, and transferred planetside via smaller atmospheric cargo ships.

Within one of these cargo sorting modules sat a technologist, monitoring his panels. His job wasn’t to sort cargo, the virtual intelligence was far superior in that regard. He maintained the various processes that allowed the system to run optimally. It wasn’t an exciting or dangerous job, but it had its challenges. What’s more is that he enjoyed the idea of sitting in a small pressurised cylinder within an expanse of machinery and space, placed between two enormous rings one and a half kilometers in diameter.

The door wooshed open, and in walked a service technician, a specialist in his field, highly renowned and experienced in his field. Any kind of smile on the technologist’s face slowly distorted itself into a frown as he turned on his chair to greet the specialist.

“What is it Farl?” He rolled his eyes with his head, generally considered a sign of disrespect or of being annoyed.

“Can you explain this!” Farl yelled furiously, pointing at a datapad he held up “Yter! I demand an immediate explanation!” The specialist yelled at the top of his lungs.

Yter sighed as he reached to take the datapad. What could it possibly be? Did one of the sensors fail alongside a piece of machinery and fail to self diagnose? Did a compiling error cause a shipment to be misdirected? Did poor maintenance result in cargo being lost or damaged?
An empty silence filled the room as Yter scanned the pad. He recognised the information, it was a set parameter adjustments he made only two days ago.

“Err…” He slowly looked up at Farl, vibrating with rage “These are the modifications I made at the beginning of the week. A small efficiency increase in cargo transfer speed with an equally small decrease in management efficiency. In line with new regs.”

Farl slammed his hands on the console “Yes!” Yter threw himself back against his char at the display “Your stacking cylinders with cubes!” Farl cried out, gesturing wildly with his hands. Yter’s eyes raced around, looking out the window towards the array of cargo processing equipment. So what? He thought, he did direct the computer how to arrange cargo, only how it makes value judgments.

“Farl, I think we’ve always handled cargo like that.” He replied, thinking how security would react if he called them down.

“You don’t understand! The efficiency lost by stacking Configuration B-26s alongside Type-4M Fluid Storage Units causes! Did you not read the latest computer simulations! Type-4s should be stacked beside and Series 200 or 350 capsules or types six through nine, alternatively Type-10M or A!”

Yter didn’t understand, he got the part about computer simulations, they were regularly used. But if there was any kind of change worth implementing, he’d have known about it. He gave a slow, concerned nod “I’ll see if I can make any adjustments to compensate for your boxes.”
“What did you say?”

“I’ll accommodate your changes.” He began to spin around, but Farl stopped him and turned Yter’s chair to face him.

“Say what you said again.”

“I said that I’d input your changes into the system parameters to accommodate for your crate efficiency concerns.”

“But you didn’t use that term.”

“Well, if you’re being picky, I think I said boxes.”

Farl's eyes lit up in anger as he threw himself back “Exactly!” Yter was very confused now, and still pondering how security would react “They aren’t boxes, they’re crates!”

Ahh, that’s all the difference Yter thought.

“What does the economy run on?” Asked Farl, but before Yter could answer Farl began gesturing wildly, again. “You know what the backbone of the economy is?...Don’t answer! Some arrogant fools say the small business is the foundation of any economy! But they can’t see straight enough. What you see before you...No, not the computer screens! The rows and rows of dozens upon dozens of crates! Not boxes, crates!”

Yter was poised to respond, but Farl continued his manifesto “The packaging manufacturing and maintenance industry is the foundation of our interstellar economy, nay our interstellar society! What happens when someone needs something shipped? It’s placed within ones of these crates! The military, government, citizens, everyone needs things shipped, and needs crates! Crates which you so arrogantly stack in an inefficient manner!”

Farl spun around on his heel and marched off in triumph, while Yter debated whether or not to delay implementing the changes long enough to aggravate Farl into another diatribe, though he’d record this one, and be accompanied by security.

[Tsaivao]

U-Qenti, Lodu Sha Region, Glorious Kingdom of Da Mogshu.
Population: ~2,500

---

Sekun Tenli watched the events transpire once more in her head as she focused on the shrine to her mother. She tossed another lump of sulfur in the brazier, letting the sweet acidic smell of death fill the small temple, reminding her of the napalm bombs the day her village was attacked. Tenli's memory, in her age, was beginning to fail her, but this day she remembered with perfect clarity.

Mother had gone out to fly to the nearby village of Letu, and Father was harvesting succulents from the communal garden in the village center. She remembered being on the dirt floor of their shack, playing Fevu Felu with a couple sticks and some smooth stones. She remembered drawing a circle in the dust and tossing the sticks between the rocks, when she started smelling something burning. Perhaps there was another Jenggi carcass the village would feast on tonight? Tenli kept playing, but the smell only grew stronger, with the sounds of screams and anguish happening outside.

Tenli remembered looking up, not out the window, but at the portrait of the Glorious King Da Mogshu, posed like a patriarch watching over the family dinner table with a sense of warmth and pride. Tenli looked into his eyes and remembered feeling his fire rain down upon her home shortly after. The roof fell on top of her, liquid fire dousing her exposed feathers in godly wrath. The King-Father was disappointed in her, and he had come to exact his place at the head of the dinner table yet again. His portrait burst into flames, along with the rest of her world.

Tenli remembered screaming, but not hearing her own voice. She remembered flapping her wings aggressively, but they did not move. She remembered that searing, agonizing pain, and that wretched, delicious smell of rot and fire and flesh. Tenli closed her eyes, and they did not open again for three weeks.

After waking from comatose, she learned of the dreaded fate of her mother. She had been euthanized like an animal in Letu on suspicion of being a Biaote spy, whom the Glorious Kingdom was at war with. She was cooked to death, burnt over a pyre like a festival carcass, only just to the point of death. She would live the rest of her days in a cell, barely alive with no food or water. She never confirmed their suspicions of her espionage, and she died with whatever knowledge she knew.

An entire village was wiped off the face of the planet on the suspicion of being connected to the enemy. Harboring weapons or something. The feeling made the old Vao sick to her stomach; not even the enticing smell of rot from the sulfur brazier could calm her nerves.

"Madam General," said Bezho Tao, champion fighter and Tenli's adopted son. "Am I... disturbing you?"

"Please, just call me Mother for once," Tenli snapped back, spinning her wheelchair to face her son. "Have some respect for an old woman who mourns."

"I apologize, er, Mother," he stammered. "I was just going to ask about your plans regarding the Kugatai State."

"Do not tell me there was another provocation."

"Unfortunately there was, Madam-- Mother."

Tenli lowered her head, almost putting her beak in the small fire of the brazier. Her voice, though frail-sounding, was backed with her own sense of fiery wrath. "Tell the Eighteenth Warband to dig in at the border in the Yuzig."

"Mother...? I thought you said we couldn't afford a war on two fronts?"

"I did say that, but apparently there are some frightened little boys in my army who get scared by a couple religious nuts on the one border we're not fighting on!" Tenli bellowed, her eyes on her mother's portrait. "The other generals can follow or get fucking eviscerated, it matters not to me!"

"Mother, your language, you're in a shrine--" Poor choice of words on Tao's part.

"I DO NOT CARE IF I AM IN A SHRINE, OR IN THE VILLAGE SQUARE, OR SPROUTING NEW LEGS AND TAP-DANCING ON MOGSHU'S PISS-STAINED CORPSE!!" she erupted, sulfurous smoke billowing out her nostrils. "We are the WINGCUTTERS, stop piddling my damn time with your mannerisms and platitudes! And stop calling me Mother, I am a GENERAL dammit!!"

"You just ordered me to call you Mother..."

"I did no such thing!"

"Yes... yes you did, Moth-- Madam General..."

"Hmph! Just do what I told you to do! Maybe the Vukshao will provide us with more equipment if we take on their great enemy."

"Yes, Madam General, I will inform the troops..." In Tao's head as he walked away, he wondered how Tenli is still considered the great Eastern Typhoon. She's clearly lost it...

[Dethakkan Systems]

Dethakkan Capitol Complex, Lokken Sol
Meeting Chamber 32

---

The Capitol Complex was a massive structure, built atop an artificial island surrounded by a city of artificial islands. The complex had several buildings, the largest of these was the central assembly hall. Aside from the great chambers where the assemblies debated and created legislation, many key offices were also directly adjacent to the complex. The offices of the Commissary of Foreign Affairs and Interstellar Relations, Commissary of Trade and Commerce, and even though central command was situated on Lokken Tonil, much of the defense administration was handled on the grounds of the complex. It is within its halls that issues which affect the entirety of the Dethakkan Systems are debated.

“Honourably, I would like to begin this subcommittee session.” Vanhir spoke to the government officials and statesmen seated at the round table “What we are discussing today has ramification through all of the Stellar Assembly.” Present officials included ones from Public Safety, Construction and Engineering, Urban Planning and Transportation “This issue was brought to my attention with a flare of nuclear fire! It scorched my eyes and nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Vanhir motioned, and the holographic display in the table’s center displayed a white building, a typical dethakkan design, a round building connected to a square-based spire. “This is the issue at hand, this jeopardizes us all!” He motioned towards the projection.

“The new communications security building across the canal?” Asked Talarl, an official from the Commissary of Construction and Engineering.

“Yes! And buildings like it!” Vanhir looked at her then focused his gaze on the holographic structure “This is why I’ve called this subcommittee to order. This committee, the Assembly Subcommittee on the Application, Usage, and Alteration of Frontally Aligned High Reflectivity Colourant.”

As the magnitude of the committee’s importance began to sink in with its members, Vanhir continued “Buildings such as the one presented should not be allowed to exist. Just the other day-”

“I’m sorry-” He was cut off by Talarl and her look of sudden realisation “-is this a committee on white paint?”

“What?” Baffled Vanhir.

“‘Assembly Subcommittee on the Application, Usage, and Alteration of Frontally Aligned High Reflectivity Colourant’ sounds like an overcomplicated way of saying white paint committee. So is this committee about white paint?”

“Well to put it in simplistic terms…..Yes.” Replied Vanhir, trying to sound intelligent.

Talarl held her head in her hands “Never thought I’d be reduced to sitting in committee about white paint.”

Vanhir looked around at the other committee members, who were beginning to question the value of their time spent here “This is a crucial committee.” Vanhir reassured everyone “White paint is clearly visible and when poorly used can cause strain to the eyes. Right?” He looked to the official from the Commissary of Health.

“Ehh… I guess.” He shrugged.

“And can pose a risk to low flying aircraft by...Blinding them.” He looked to another official.

“Um, no. ‘Low flying’ is still well above the skyline and aircraft don’t-”

“Thank you.” He desperately looked through his notes, while Talarl kept mumbling about how she should have stayed a civil engineer. “I was thinking we could select some shades that could be authorised-”

“-I’m sorry” A legal specialist raised his hand “A subcommittee doesn’t have that kind of authority.”

Vanhir replied “Well of course, we would present our findings to the Populaire Assembly-”

He was cut off by another official “I don’t think it’ll pass. I might be shot down in the primary speakers list….Probably will.”

“Vanhir, you know…” Talarl raised herself up “..It just sounds like you really don’t like that building and are trying to get rid of it.”

“What?..Such a dishonourable accusation!”

“Regardless, this committee is a waste of time.” Said a statesman as he rose from his seat, soon joined by others.

“Wait! But safety! The people! White paint!” Vanhir was all alone in the room and frowning “I really don’t like that building.”

[Sheeb Al Hashar]

ASN-Danyal, Somewhere over Izmir

Keel stood in the bridge, overlooking the long, smooth deck of the Dantal, almost invisible with the inky blackness of space. Mazzer was at his side, looking along with him.

“Ironic, isn’t it, Keel? The people we serve, who themselves have pledged to protect our civilizations at all cost necessary, to overcome the odds even when tilted significantly in the opponent failure, have tasked us with a mission that could very well shape the end of the Sheebrew kind.”

Keel nodded, as he had the several other times Mazzer had brought up the subject of their mission. There was a reason they were tasked with it, for Keel was one of the most skilled captains that Al-Sele could get their long-reaching fingers on. He was responsible for a great part of modern Sheebrew “diplomacy”, which usually had to do with sneaking behind enemy blockades and covertly stealing something of value to later hold ransom, be it organic or otherwise.

“Shall we check on the Swords, Mazzer?”

Below the bridge of the Danyal held a large storage area, and within that storage facility held one of the most important artifacts of Sheebrew history, an artifact when if in the wrong hands, could mean death for almost 20 billion individuals, for this object was the 86-sided sword. Keel was never fond of artifacts such as this, he never gawked at the Holy Madfe’Allah when his Al-Sele instructor brought his class to observe it. He though physical constructions that united a people were nothing but targets for those to steal, but he was taught otherwise by his employers. He stared at the large statue, he couldn’t deny that it was impressive. Next to him was a small board that detailed the swords intricacies, which read;

“The 86 Sided Sword is the only remaining artifact from the pre-Sheebrew era, it is a gigantic statue crafted from iron, gold and platinum. The statue itself is 86 multicolored, gold swords pointing into a semi circle held by a mass of iron. In the middle of all the blades there is a 20 foot tall platinum sword, said to hold all of the celestial power that the Sheeb controls. It is thought that if the sword is destroyed, the Sheeb will come shortly after in a horrific flame. The statue is highly coveted by pirates and other powers, and whoever has the 86 swords has the power over the Sheebrews.
The swords reside in a highly secreted vault underneath the Sele guildhouse on Hamesh, it is guarded around the clock with all kinds of advanced weaponry, it is likely that the swords will never come above the surface again.”

He knew that the latter text of the board was for only for the eyes of the highest ranking officials in Al-Sele, and most likely the entirety of the Sheeb, and he knew that even he wasn’t getting the full story on the 86 Swords, as Al-Sele preferred to keep such a low profile that some on the high council most likely didn’t even know the full story. Even many of the crew of the Danyal, despite mostly consisting of the most trusted pilots of Al-Sele, were given a cover story on what they were carrying, to them, it was simply an advanced piece of weaponry which wasn’t stable enough to be put into combat. Along with that, he knew the very last sentence of the board was in no way true, as he was disproving it right now.

His mission was simple, to deliver the 86 Swords to an undisclosed location in the Izmiri Ocean, likely a small, uninhabited island where Al-Sele operated. But the importance wasn’t in the mission, but rather the contents of the mission. Keel thought that this transport of such an important idol implies something very important was about to happen, something that he, nor anyone else but that small group in Izmir knew about.

[Dethakkan Systems]

En route to Yuvi
DSV Lokken Nadir Varet

---

From the couch in the ship’s lounge he watched the news broadcast they’d received hours ago when they’d linked into the dethakkan comm buoy network. He grinned faintly at the news.

“The hospital confirmed today that Commissary of Defense Thorlam Lorod Thilmignir has suffered an unexpected major attack of Saren’s Syndrome, the cause of which is still under investigation by the medical investigator. Doctors warn that until the cause can be determined, it is unlikely that they can wake him from his comatose state any sooner than fifty days. In the interim, High Commander Talka Loronar Vohim, formerly Defense Affairs Director, has assumed the position until a new Commissary can be selected by the Supreme Defense Committee.”

He smiled upon hearing Talka’s name and knew everything had worked out as he hoped. Another dethakkan entered, this one's face stoic and expressionless, a cloth draping down over his right arm.

The seated politician looked to one who entered “Viras, we aren’t in negotiations. You can show some emotion.” He said, turning off the monitor.

Viras’ eyes scanned the lounge “Eighty minutes untill we drop out of FTL. I received a coded message from my source inside Strategic Supply Command.” He marched forward, still swinging his head, searching the room. “Records on the storehouses are already being falsified and altered. Twenty-five thousand disassembled 400 series Striker assault rifles will be transferred discreetly via secondary channels. Mostly out of Tharak.” He finally stopped scanning the room with his eyes, satisfied he’d checked all places any listening bugs could have been planted.

Lenku Ve, Tsaivao

---

Every great light, no matter how bright, casts shadows. For most of the wealthy and/or traveling class, Lenku Ve is a quaint city of lights and order. Colorful Vao painted beak to talon in vibrant and stunnning colors walk through the chilly air of the luxurious Munbei park, passing between the legs of the larger-than-life bluestone statue of Emperor Mun Lagushen, father of current Emperor Mun Zakaoten. Other Vao pass into the office spaces of the Tsaivao Kotun and act as the representatives of not just the empire, but the planet as a whole. In this haven of art and science in a world torn by conflict, it is easy to forget that the Shon'o, or "Snow District," is right outside the high concrete walls of the Hotag Palace. Maybe the nobles sometimes enjoy seeing those below them squabble in squalor, or maybe it's a stern reminder of how well they have it, and how hard they must hold on to it.

Shon'o is not the glamorous city that Lenku Ve wants to be. Although some parts of the city like those near the somewhat wealthy district of Lapa Zen look more like normal townhouses, most of the slums are heaping masses of metal sheets and stone and wood haphazardly thrown together into towering spires next to claustrophobic streets. Some of these slums even reach four or five stories high, with the lower floors sinking partially into the muddy streets below. This, of course, is a ripe position for individuals of unsavory nature to set up shop and dole out their wares of crime and unrest.

One such place was Bilutao Kensaeguk, or "Red-water Tavern," in reference to the polluted well-water of this particular district being contaminated from the industrial zone down the road. It was a modest establishment, on the second floor above someone else's home, and below two other homes of the local barstaff. Vao regularly came and went to discuss "business" in dark occlusion and serene privacy under the dim light of the oil lamps that swayed with the frigid wind.

Two dethakkans entered the upstairs room of the Red-water Tavern, their faces stoic and expressionless, a favoured negotiating tactic by dethakkans to show the other party that they're entirely business. But below their masks of determination, there was a slew of emotions and thoughts running through their heads. Surprised that they'd attracted so few stares from the locals, concerned that they were in what was clearly a slum, negotiating within a tavern. But the dominant feeling within them was mixture of disgust and pity. Disgusted by the disorganized streets and sub-par housings, disgusted by the display of wealth and despotism surrounding Hotag. The pity was for those unfortunate enough to be found living within Shon'o, not knowing anything beyond their lives within fiefdoms controlled by a collection of deplorable feuding tyrants. Regardless, they kept their masks.

The Dethakkans saw a few Vao in the room, sitting around short tables, sipping their own toxins from tiny cups clutched in their wings. These Vao had their histories printed on their faces, and their short glares at the outworlders showed contempt and disgust, before being replaced with idleness as they lost interest.

A blue Vao burst through a door in the side, wearing a crude and beat-up leather apron as he approached with pots full of sweet-smelling bubbling alcoholic tea. "Outworlders!" he exclaimed, rather clumsily slamming the pots down on a nearby table. "Splendid meetings! Am Zulek Hao, owning of this... eh... Kensaeguk ao lashu he?" The Vao stumbled over his broken speech, interlacing it with frustrated Vaove, before shaking his head. "You are of drinkers the drunk, no?"

Though this Vao's eccentricities were amusing, he wasn't the target. Upon contacting the individual earlier, the Vao left the Dethakkan messenger with a coded message to find him: "He Votunkonki Shihuai." Long live the enemies of wealthy sleepwalkers
A gray faced dethakkan, face covered in the faint residue of battle scars, was preparing a salvo of degrading comments when his partner, who's complexion was a greenish-gray, answered "He Votunkonki Shihuai."

The Vao froze in his rambling. "Ah..." he muttered. "No drinks... 'Business'." He motioned to the Dethakkan's to follow him through the side door. He led them through a modest kitchen to a dim backroom. The two could hear loud arguing on the other side of the door, devolving into frustrated squawks and barrages of insults. "This happens," the barkeep muttered, shrugging his shoulders. After a moment of silence in the argument, the barkeep poked his head through the door and informed the Vao inside of the agents' presence.

"Bring them in," said a deeper, grizzled voice from inside the room in much more fluent language.

Before the agents could be let in, another Vao, tears streaming down his face, pushed through the door and barged past the agents. He gave a quick glare at the outworlders before running upstairs.

"Zulek va, juqie baotu kesetaolai," the black-feathered Vao inside called. "Zulek, be hospitable and get some strong tea."

The green faced dethakkan entered the room, his partner followed, his eyes scanning the rooms walls and ceiling. The green faced dethakkan looked to the Vao "I presume the time table is suitable for you?" He asked, purposefully limiting his words to a single pitch and tone.

The black-feathered Vao leaned forward on his desk, splaying out his feathers to look a bit larger. "Not something I'm used to here. Why don't you sit down and explain it to me?" The Vao pointed to two small crates that acted as stools in front of his desk. "I apologize for my son. Sniveling and bawling his eyes out, such a disgrace. I hope it did not disturb you."

Zulek came back with the alcoholic drinks. He started to pour from the larger pot into the smaller cups set out in front of the agents, but the other Vao held up his wing and motioned for the barkeep to leave.

"Help yourselves. And tell me what you want from old Bolag," he said, pouring a drink for himself and downing the entire cup.

The green-faced dethakkan looked briefly at the cup, then picked it up, taking a small sip. His gray-faced partner did the same, though like Bolag he downed the entire drink. "Bolag..." the green-faced dethakkan took another conservative sip "We require that your assets launch an incursion into the soon to be named Etlak system, which is currently developing an increasing presence from the Dethakkan Systems." He placed the cup of the table and corrected his seating "The third planet in the system, Etlak Erm, is planet site for a semi-autonomous Etkarav colony."

The gray-faced veteran poured himself more of the beverage, partially downed some of it, then looked at Bolag "The Etlak system has a limited Stellar Navy presence... What's more- and this is the important part- is that the navy hasn't yet deployed any early warning array."

"An incursion against the colony on Etlak Erm...Etlak III.... And its spatial infrastructure, is what we are asking." The green-faced dethakkan added.

Bolag looked at his cup and swished around his second drink. "Seems simple enough. Something me and my boys can definitely handle." Bolag leaned back on his stool, propping his legs up on the table. "I take it you can't do it yourselves. Too risky for yourselves, doesn't look good when a nobleman firebombs a small village, but that doesn't stop him from doing it if he really wants to."

Bolag took another large gulp. "So what's holding you back? What's keepin' ya out of the Authority? You can just as easily go hop on down to one of the commissioned captains over in the good part of town and get this shit done."

Bolag laughed. "Nah, I can tell this isn't normal for ya. Greenie over here looks like he's trying to stifle a cough, hahah!"

"Your Authority is decentralised and unrefined. Any actions it would take would invariably lead back to us." 'Greenie' took a more daring sip of his drink "A less formal organisation like yours leaves either fewer clues, or too many."

Gray-face leaned forward "But don't take the few defenders on Etlak Erm for nothing, and keep especially close eye on the scattered patrol ships, less it get ugly." He downed another cup and poured so more alcohol "To put things in perspective, while you were struggling to put people in space, dethakkans were breaking the laws of physics."

"I do my job," Bolag said. "It doesn't impress me that you were bending spacetime while I was still in my eggshell. No xenos intimidate me, not even you."

Bolag leaned forward and cracked his neck. "If you and I are gonna be working together, there needs to be some trust. I need to see some documents, I wanna know what fleet's over there and how many I need to worry about. And once you've given me all I need to know, and you pay me handsomely in spare parts, weapons, food, the like, I'll make sure that there's nothin' left of that colony but a heaping pile of space junk and floating bodies."

Bolag turned around and looked out a small porthole in the corrugated metal wall. His tailfeathers bore some strange emblem in white paint. He was a Wingcutter. "Gimme the coordinates and any intel you can scrounge up. I'll give my fleet the order once you get me some supplies. After that, we never spoke to each other, understand?"

Gray-face removed a data rod and placed it on the table "Etlak is garrisoned by elements of the 12th Fleet, under Commander Tholar Lorod Armin. All relevant details can be found here."

Greenie nodded "We have for you: Striker 400 series assault rifles, dethakkan S-98 alcubierre string drives, liquid metal cooling systems, and much more." He was reading from a datapad, which he promptly dropped on the table.

[Tsaivao]

Loyalty is a fluid concept in Vao culture, which is ironic considering that the world powers of Tsaivao formally demand unquestionable loyalty at all times without fault. In reality, they know that Vao do what is best in their own self-interests, like any other Vao would. The problem, therein, relies on convincing someone what their best interest is, and that is something that every power knows how to do. For the Majai, Leks, and Kugatai, the answer is "serve or be eternally damned/cursed/dishonored." For Da Mogshu and Vukshao, the answer is much the same except in a more mortal sense of imminent physical and psychological harm. And for the UMF and the various Ronin Fleets of Tsaivao, the answer is nothing but cold, hard coin.

It wasn't very hard for Bolag to drum up his fleet. Even commissioned captains are often lacking in funds, and only the most chivalrous and highest in personal integrity would turn down a cheap way for some good profit. There were, of course, some problems, namely that he'd been turned down by a few of his good friends on (correct) suspicion that he was a Wingcutter. In the end he elected to wear an officer's cape to cover the Wingcutter branding on his back as he met with his subordinate mercenary officers.

The six of them had all experienced the horror of war in varying degrees. Bolag and Husek knew each other from a long and brutal campaign against the Uraya Pirates in Gaazi-controlled space several years ago. Usho and Komi were also close in the very literal sense that they were a pair of competitive brothers who fought together against Sharmpeans and Maldurii insurgents for money. Mugae was a transfer from the GKDM armed services to the greater Tsaivao Navy, known by the other five as being a quiet and unnerving Vao with a legacy of making undesirables disappear. Finally, there was Vetung, a member of the Zai Republic who enjoyed simple pleasures in life, and could be bribed with a fancy dinner and nothing else.

The six of them met back in Bilutao Kensaeguk to pour over their battle plans. All of them meticulously scanned over the documents and sat in relative silence in the creaking establishment, drawing plans and maneuvers on a large sheet of paper, until Vetung piped up. "I got the mining company," he declared out of nowhere. "I can drum up some Majai mercs to get in there."

There was a period of silence. "We're supposed to take the mining facility?" Komi asked.

"No no, I thought we were blowing it up," Usho said, "I thought the document said to take out the local infrastructure."

"It did, it's just that I think Vetung wants to make it more difficult on us by giving us another objective to think about," Husek grumbled. "We already have a shit-ton of xeno vessels out there, I'd rather not split us up more than we already have. The kid's a damn idiot for wanting to go after a civilian outpost."

"Now, now, hang on, Vetung may have a point," Bolag said, chuckling a little. "The lad just wants some extra funds, or maybe even an extra challenge, I think. Don't worry, we can make it happen, one way or another."

"So long as I get a cut of whatever you get."

"Same here."

"Now then," Bolag said, pressing his wings on the table and looking over the plans they'd been drawing up all night. "If I'm right... Husek and Mugae, you're both after the spaceport to blow up their docked vessels. Komi and Usho -- why am I not surprised -- you two are working together to hound down any light vessels after the drop. And Vetung... I guess you're going to the mining facility. Seems fair enough to me, any questions?"

Most of the Vao in the room nodded their heads no. Mugae looked right in Bolag's eyes and said in his meek little voice, "This is a conflict of ethnicities, correct?"

"Uh, I think so."

Mugae lit up, and asked in the most polite and excited voice he could manage, "May I please slaughter them?"

The others looked disturbed. "I don't think that's in the op..." is all Bolag said.