A Son of Alvira

OOC: This is my very first post in A1-0, so I’m very open to any criticism and input. This topic will follow the story of Morgan IX, the Grand Herald of the Allied Nations of Alvira from his humble beginning.


85 BBT – Bloudia, Nagkoningin System, Core Sector II, Allied Nations Territory

“Call-name?” asked the elderly female administrator behind the glass pane.

“Uhh, Dalton?” answered the young men, reaching forward to be heard amongst the crowd’s noise.

The arrival terminal in Bloudia was massive, but the volume of people travelling through it eclipses the massiveness of the place. All of this block’s 24 service counters had more than 50 people standing in line, and many more sat around the area on rusted benches while platforms above and below the block were crowded to the brim. Dozen other service counter blocks were similarly crowded. Dalton caught voices of hundreds of different languages and dialects. This was the primary arrival place for migrants, after all.

“Any surname?” she asked again without removing her attention from the holographic interface in front of her.

“Morgan,” answered Dalton. A baby suddenly cried behind him and the family trying to hush it just made more noises. The administrator’s lips moved and Dalton could not listen to a single word. “Pardon me?” The administrator sighed. She then reached over to a button and opened the glass pane separating her from the crowd. “Place of birth?” she asked with a raised voice. “Arnost.” The administrator seemed surprised and annoyed. “Arnost? What are you doing here? Are you trying to waste my time?”

“No, I left Alviran territory years ago, I lost my access to Basic,” answered Dalton. The administrator shook her head. “Did you lose your ability to read? I dealt with residents here. Citizens use those machines over there. If you–” “I’m not a citizen.” The administrator blinked several times in confusion.

“It’s complicated,” Dalton continued. “I’ve just returned, and I need access to Basic, or else I’m going to starve.” a Transit ship passed near the service counter and the voice deafened everything around them. The administrator covered her ear, and her face seemed very sour. After the ship landed on one of the docking platforms in the terminal, she reached a mobile interface pane. “Where did you return from?” asked the Administrator. “I’d rather not say,” answered Dalton. “Then I can’t help you. Step aside please!”

“Wait!” Dalton reached to the small interface pane strapped to his right hand, unplugged his Credit Key and showed it to the administrator. “You just said you’re going to starve!” the administrator sounded annoyed, but she raised the pane again. “How much?” asked Dalton. “18,” answered the Administrator. “Ugh, 12!” Dalton tried to bargain. The administrator seemed insulted. “16 is the limit around here.” Dalton sighed, and set the amount of credit to transfer before giving his key to the administrator; he only have 20 Credits left in his account after this transfer. She gave the key back after scanning it with her key, and then spent several moments inputting data into the pane.

Dalton looked around his surroundings while waiting, seeing the thousands of migrants wishing to apply as residents and gaining Basic welfare access. Above him, he can see several Valtorans soaring high in blue coats, servicing newly arriving ships. Their ability to fly surely made them perfect for that job, Dalton thought. “Hey, boy, here!” The administrator reached her hand outside, with a small key, similar to the Credit Key that Dalton already had. “Use it wisely, the quota will be reset precisely on the next standard month.” Dalton nodded. “Thanks.” The administrator shook her head with an amazed look. “Next, please!”

As Dalton left the service counter block, he plugged the Basic access key to his interface pane. There he can see where he can rent out a place to sleep, where he can get his daily nutrient intake, as well as cheap condiment stores, nearest medical and augment centres, and in small font size on the corner of the interface, where to report if you lose the key. But most of the page was taken by a list of employment available near him. He didn’t need that list though, because he already had a plan.

When Dalton finally arrived in a transit station outside the terminal, he sat down in an empty waiting bench as he observed the sprawling Bloudia Ecumenopolis below him. The landscape was glittering with light, with a bluish colour emanating off the metallic buildings, reflecting the evening shine of the blue star Nagkoningin – The Night Queen – and revealing the stars above. He sighed, as his eyes moistened. “Mother, I’m home.”


76 BBT - Planet I-1151-025 “Hoop”, Peripheral Sector I, Allied Nations Territory

“They’ve escaped, Sir!” said Officer Mar’lor on top of her heavy breathing. The Patrol Frigate halted from its high speed as the small cargo ship they were chasing managed a light speed jump. The Valtoran helmsman sat limply at her chair, her wings slathered limply on the sides, while her breath trying to catch up after 20 minutes of high speed chase with a smuggler ship. Everyone in the ship’s bridge showed similarly disappointed and exhausted faces. Dalton’s lieutenant, Rawson Flint, held his head in frustration, before taking off his uniform cap and left the bridge. The other officers sighed and returned to their routine. Dalton approached the tired helmsman.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. You’ve done a good job,” said Dalton, trying to reassure the young Valtoran. Mar’lor nodded her head in acknowledgement, but her face was still showing emotions of distraught.

“Everyone, you’ve done a good job today. Regardless of what happened today, at least those pirates would think twice when they try to smuggle into this system again,” announced Dalton to the bridge.

“Now, set course back to the Base, I need to file my report to the Governor,”

“Yes, Sir,” exclaimed the officers.

As the ship began to turn back the way it came before, Dalton went out from the bridge. He saw Rawson smoking, leaning to the railings of the landing that connects the Bridge to a set of stairs running down towards the ship’s hull. “Bernard wouldn’t like this, Dalton. Its the third time in a row we failed to get them,” said Rawson when he saw Dalton.

“I thought you were trying to smoke less?” Dalton remarked as he approached the distressed Lieutenant. “I only smoke when stressed,” Rawson seemed annoyed with Dalton’s remark.

“You don’t need to be stressed. I’ll get the reprimand. And if I get sacked, you’re going to replace me, right?” Dalton reassured Rawson.

Rawson shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s unfair if you get a reprimand. It’s that new Valtoran. She should’ve still in training by now, if the Headmaster don’t have any new weird ideas,”

“Rawson! She’s first in her acceleration class. I don’t doubt her skill. We just got bad luck, that’s all,” Dalton reminisced about his own time in the Naval Academy five years ago, in Nuwe Hawe, the bonds he made with other cadets, and the nicer officers there as well. He also remembered the moment Headmaster Kaval’ra announced his new curriculum four years ago after he graduated, and the protest that ensued it from across the Admiralty.

“There’s something fishy about all this. How come those smugglers had prepared their ship to launch when we approached them? Johnson and the Terrestrials clearly reported that they were in the middle of transferring their goods,” Rawson continues.

“I mean, they’re pirates. It’s their thing to have escape plans,” said Dalton. “You should confront him. I think he’s hiding something, I-” Rawson was cut off by the sound of alarms, and the mechanical buzz of the air docks locking to the Base - they’ve returned.

Rawson puffed out some more smoke and sighed. “Good luck with Bernard, though, I’m going to get some Fizzies,” Rawson patted Dalton and left the platform.

Dalton went down the stairs with heavy steps towards one of the air docks. When he passed through them, Governor David Bernard of Subsector I-1151 stood waiting for him in the base of the platform connecting the frigate to the Base, surrounded by several officers and a security detail. “Governor Bernard, I-”

“Apparently you have things to explain to me, Commander, and it better be worth my time, as I will depart to the surface and deal with your shortcomings in protecting this colony from the smuggling of harmful substances,” cut the Governor with an exasperated and angry voice. “Come, and let us decide what kind of punishment I should give to you.” Dalton sighed and followed the governor away from the ship.