A Traveller's Stories - Ring of the Angel (0 BBT)



  • 15th of March, 0 BBT
  • Confluence of Empires, Terragen Space
  • United Polities of Rheldann
  • Khulvreijna Star System


The Rheldann Banks Orbital, seen from a distance.



⋆✴︎˚。⋆



Khulvreijna was a highly metallic G0V yellow dwarf, originally surrounded by a relatively small planetary system. The system was colonized in the 6200s BBT by the Terragen Class-3 HyperAI Dream With Me as part of the Coempireal Expansion, who wished to create a new center of urbanized civilization by building a Banks Orbital. Now, in the modern day this might not seem so impressive: after all, such structures are relatively common throughout the Confluence. However, back in those days, solid megastructures of that size could be counted on the hand of a baseline human. Therefore Dream With Me’s endeavor was considerable, but thanks to appropriate system selection and careful planning, the HyperAI facilitated the task considerably.

Arriving in the system on its retooled relativistic MoonBrain after some decades of interstellar travel, the Angel began to seed the system’s asteroid belts and inner metallic planets with self-replicating neumann probes, designed to automatically build a toroidal dyson swarm around Khulvreijna, with little oversight from Dream. At the same time in orbit of Erosthat, the system’s main gas giant, the HyperAI struck one of its major moons with multiple carefully placed relativistic rods made out of magmatter and diamondoid: these objects hit the small moon with such strength and precision that its mass collapsed in onto itself, turning into an artificial black hole.

Using force manipulation technology multiple anti-gravity funnels were created in the gas giant’s atmosphere that, intersecting with the black hole’s orbit in a curve, would lift up the gases and create a highly-energetic accretion disk around the singularity: through oversight from Dream and a couple of specialized magmatter devices, a Monosynthetic Forge was born. Thanks to the extremely energetic environment of the small accretion disk, artificial nucleosynthesis could take place, thus converting part of the gas giant’s hydrogen and helium into heavier elements useful for manufacture and construction, while the rest slowly fell into the black hole in decaying orbits, growing its mass and increasing the energy of its disk.





Additionally, a belt of Conversion Furnaces was built in orbit around the planet, which fed both on the materials extracted from the planet and those synthesized by the Forge: hydrogen and helium were used as fuel for the Furnaces, while part of the elements with an atomic mass equal to or greater than iron were fed inside the main reactor chamber of the furnaces and converted into magmatter through a two-stage process consisting of monopole catalyzed fusion followed by beam core inversion. Materials with masses between helium and iron were instead collected separately, and put together with those produced by the Forge.

The manufactured magmatter was sent in direct orbit of the star, at around 1.3 Astronomical Units, where swarms of specialized drones and projected gravity fields gradually assembled it into the shape of a gridded ring five million kilometers in diameter and 4000 in width: this would act as the Banks Orbital’s support structure, as regular matter would not be able to withstand the rotational energy needed for a day/night cycle and appropriate gravity on the inner surface without using very powerful energy fields on the whole structure. While possible even six millennia ago, said structural fields would have required a considerable portion of the energy collected by Khulvreijna’s dyson swarm, which Dream wanted to allocate to other projects, and would have gone against the Angel’s desire to create a passively stable megastructure.

All the matter that wasn’t used in the Conversion Furnaces was instead directed to industrial nanofabricators in orbit of the magmatter support ring, where they were reassembled into construction materials and structural modules. In the same way as the support structure, these materials were used to build the actual Orbital: in just some decades, the magmatter mesh was covered by vast plates of diamondoid and other alloys, on the inner surface of which geographic features of all shapes and sizes rose out of glittering banks of self-replicating utility fog. Next, vast quantities of water filled out oceans, lakes and rivers, while a breathable atmosphere was introduced, a reproduction of Old Earth’s atmospheric conditions that had become the standard for most of Terragen Space. And finally, rotational energy was gradually imprinted onto the megastructure using arrays of powerful thrusters and force field projectorson the outer surface, speeding up the Orbital until the interior surface experienced 9.81 meters per second of gravitational acceleration.

Now that the ring’s base structure was finally completed, it was time to add a proper biosphere and sophonts to the equation: Dream had publicly streamed the construction’s progress to the entirety of the Confluence, attracting plenty of attention from multiple groups of modosophonts and HyperAIs, both Terragen and other. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to build and design their own new environment and society, many independent groups of colonists arrived in the system even before the megastructure’s completion, stationing themselves in orbit of the star with Dream’s permission as the owner of the star system.

As soon as the sophonts began inhabiting the Orbital, they began to design and create their own environments: intricate and balanced ecologies quickly populated the vast continents and the surrounding waters, while glittering cities rose through the clouds and under the oceans, populated by all kinds of Terragen species and other xenosophont clades. Separate cyberdemocratic polities and associations developed on the ring, with Dream With Me only providing resources to the groups and maintaining their politics and economies stable: after some time, these various polities officially formed a federation aptly known as the United Polities of Rheldann, the Banks Orbital’s new name. The fame of Dream’s project grew a lot throughout the wider Confluence, so much so that Nixhoeils, back then a Class-4 HyperAI and Coempireal Prince, gifted the system a connection to the Wormwork. Tourism and trade exploded for the United Polities, who also saw a sharp increase in immigration from non-Terragen that wished to experience this wide array of Terragen cultures all concentrated into a single megastructure.






In the six millennia hence, despite its fame decreasing considerably from its first centuries of existence, Rheldann has become one of the largest systems of the Middle Regions aside from the Regional Capitals: in the modern era the system possesses multiple wormhole connections and has a population of 916 billion embodied sophonts belonging to many different clades, and more than 7 trillion virtuals that reside in its vast computronium substrates. Dream With Me has also grown along with its creation, turning the dyson swarm’s collector elements into magmatter processors and ascending to the 4th class of hypersapience, thus becoming a Coempireal Prince.

The United Polities of Rheldann, though they were already in the path to become as such many millennia ago, are a highly diverse cyberdemocratic federation of post-scarcity independent polities and HyperAIs: its main constituent clades and cultures are of primarily Terragen ancestry, but considerable overlap with other alien cultures has developed in many of its polities.

Rheldann, as a Banks Orbital, alternates between highly urbanized and densely-inhabited cities, and sparse regions mainly left to their “natural” state. Most settlements are built either on the surface of the continents or underwater, although multiple aerostatic cities move around the ring. Public transportation to and from different settlements and areas of the Orbital is achieved through subterranean or above-ground vacuum trains, which have multiple stations raised high above the surface to connect with the passing flying cities. Transport within the settlements themselves is achieved through a wide variety of means, such as slidewalks, riverroads, maglev trains, bubblepods, submarines, ships, aircars, wingpacks, powerstilts and many others.



⋆✴︎˚。⋆



A plate-shaped HabShip approaching the Orbital.



Following the signing of the open tourism and migration pacts between the Republic of United Worlds and the Confluence, the HabShip No Man Is An Island, But I Am had decided to tour around the Republic to pick up any willing passengers and bring them back to the Confluence, so that they could tour around the vast civilization. After some previous stops, its next destination was the Khulvreijna Star System, home to the renowned Rheldann Banks Orbital and a major centre of Terragen and Coempireal civilization.

On one of the beaches of the plate-shaped island resort, a relatively unassuming human man was sleeping carelessly on a beach chair, under the golden rays of the HabShip’s fusion microsun. He was of slightly below-average height, and had dark curly hair with a slightly tanned complexion: when embarking on the cruise he had hoped to be able to tan more, but the resort’s staff informed him that the microsun did not emit UV-radiation.

Suddenly, the sand besides him began to rise, reorganizing itself in the approximate shape of a floating tetrahedron. An appendage emerged out of one of its faces, and extended itself to gently tap on the man’s arm: it was the HabShip itself.

“Excuse me for bothering you sir, but we are about to reach your selected destination. Tracking procedures will commence in about thirty minutes.”

Startled by the unexpected interaction, Morgan “Starkiller”, the best pilot the Republic of United Worlds had ever seen, woke up.

3 Likes

Morgan woke up, puzzled at first. Getting used to the Confluence’s… uniqueness was going to take some time. He got up and stretched. He must have been asleep for a few hours. According to a travel guide he found, United Polities of Rheldann were to be his first destination. A Terran populated area, it would be just like a home away from home. Something familiar to get started with.

The cirmustances of his sudden vacation were quite interesting. He was “convinced” by his commanders to go on them when the HabShip arrived in the Republic. He planned to visit the Confluence one day anyways, but this behemoth of a ship was a lot more convenient than his plane. This mandatory leave was most likely done so he wouldn’t fuck up a major operation wity his spontainious raids.

Over the ten years of his military service he has gained a reputation as an independent spirit, unruly and overconfident. He never followed the plan and often went on week long, solo raids deep into enemy territory. Despite being a bomber pilot, he was more effective than many fighter pilots and already earned the title of an Ace of Aces. Officially his commanders condemed these escapades and punished him every time, but it was mostly out of principle. They liked that he was able to keep up pressure on Republic’s enemies and serve as a sort of “wildcard”. Even if the enemy was aware of the entire plan, there was no way they would know what he was up to. The only thing that really annoyed them were his constant romantic affairs, sometimes with senior military staff or government officials.

He went to the hangar where his plane was. A true marvel of technology, it was the best plane in the Republic, a modified bomber from the times of the Rebellion turned into a multi-role beast. Unfortunately toi expensive for mass production. It was 20 meters in length, 6.5 meters in height and 12 meters in width. It was matt silver in color with decals of a star pierced by a sword on the wings and body, as well as a roundel of the Commando Airforce on the tail. It was equipped with several sets of guns, both front and back, a wide range of missles for taking out other planes, ships or ground targets, laser turrets and swarms of nanites that messed with opponents navigation and targeting. It also had highest quality shields, armor, thrusters and an FTL drive, something unseen in most Republic vessels of this size.

He climbed up on the wing and got into the cocpit. He put on his grey flight jumpsuit and helmet. He checked for his baggage, pistol and knife, a memorial from his brief service in the ground forces during the early days of the Rebellion before he switched to the airforce. They were all there, nobody stole them. After performing the last checks on his aircraft, he took off, heading for the Orbital.

2 Likes

Morgan’s plane pierced the HabShip’s atmosphere spheroid, passing by the vessel’s glowing microsun. Heading towards the megastructure, only now did he realize how big it actually was: if the 15 kilometers long HabShip was a behemoth, then Morgan really didn’t have the words to describe how mind-bogglingly vast Rheldann was. Thank the stars he didn’t have megalophobia.

While he accelerated towards the ring, his plane received an incoming transmission: some sort of automated guidance system, it seemed, hailing him from Rheldann’s primary spaceport. Morgan accepted the transmission: he could get there on his own without any issue, but it was best not to go against protocol before even setting foot on the strange world.



THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTOMATED GUIDANCE SYSTEM OF RHELDANN’S PRIMARY SPACEPORT. PILOT MORGAN OF THE REPUBLIC OF UNITED WORLDS, PLEASE FOLLOW THE HIGHLIGHTED PATH TO THE DESIGNATED TRACKING PORT. IF YOU DEEM IT NECESSARY, A SHEPHERD DRONE CAN BE DISPATCHED TO TOW YOUR SHIP TO THE SELECTED DESTINATION.

WELCOME TO RHELDANN. ENJOY YOUR STAY! :]



Morgan, ever reluctant to obey orders, begrudgingly followed the trajectory now displayed on the plane’s screens, but incontrovertibly refused to be “shepherded” by any other pilot or droid. He may have been in foreign territory, but he would never let anyone treat him like a sheep .

After some minutes of travel, the primary spaceport was finally in view, an admittedly wondrous structure: most of it developed out of the uppermost half of a large spoke that protruded for thousands and thousands of kilometers from one of the Orbital’s atmosphere retention rimwalls. Tracking stations of all sizes could be seen dotting many fractally arranged branching structures protruding from the massive spoke, with swarms of ships coming to and away from them like bees around a flower, all coordinated by the same central guide that had just contacted Morgan’s ship. Rings of tiny lights dotted the side of the spoke submerged in the darkness: it was hard to imagine how many floors the spaceport must have had, even if they were extremely high, and how long the descent to the surface must have been.

The outlines of a very large tracking port’s entrance, practically perfect for the size of the plane, lit up on the screens in front of him. The exterior gravity levels suddenly spiked as he entered the threshold of the structure, where the docks’ projected gravity fields also began: as was standard for many spaceports across the Confluence, these were programmed to make landings and takeoffs easier by gently pulling down ships or giving them extra propulsion during their departure.

Without even noticing the automated assist Morgan masterfully landed his plane in the port, admist massive HabShips and even a couple of what he’d recognize later as military warships. After turning off the engines and gathering his belongings, the pilot got off of his beloved plane and started making his way to the spaceport’s central hub, following illuminated signs suspended in the air or appearing over the walls. Around him large crowds of people moved around, going towards the hub like he was, or to the HabShips they planned to embark on: it would be an understatement to say he had badly assumed what “Terran” or “Terrakin” meant in the Confluence. A dog and a large snake, both floating on glittering clouds and dressed with flowy clothes surpassed him while cheerfully conversing; a very tall “human” woman quickly passed besides him, her skin glowing with the moving patterns and colors of an aurora borealis and her chest illuminated with some strange purple orb; a small group of dolphins, each vastly different from the other, clicked in rapid sequence as they talked to one another abour visiting a new art exposition; an antopomorphic cat dressed in elegant cheeta print (that seemed distasteful) jokingly cackled as she exchanged jokes with some weird humanoid that had a large floating star where their head should have been; two short hexapodal robots exchanged data about a newly developed virtual world in a nearby star cluster through a “high five”; and to top it all off a tree strolled besides him, while they browsed information about some relatively obscure polity located on the other side of the Confluence. The few “normal”-looking humans he saw were of slight comfort to Morgan.





Of course, Morgan wasn’t actually unsettled or unable to withstand such (to use his own words)… uniqueness. The unexpected display was just overwhelming, and a lot to take in all at once: not even the biggest metropolises of the Republic, great melting pots of species and cultures as they were, sported such diversity, and the fact that Morgan hailed from the Capitol, a planet still mostly populated by humans, definitely didn’t aid him in this. Getting used to the Confluence would take longer than he expected.

Walking amidst the flowing masses, Morgan eventually reached the central hub. Consistent with the rest of the spaceport, the room must have been almost a kilometer high: enormous windows overlooked the glowing blue-green arch that Rheldann drew in the skies, while sophonts moved in droves to and from restaurants, entertainment centers, shops and info panels of all kinds. In the center of the room rose dozens of pillars arranged in a circle, that extended all the way to the very ceiling. They were the spaceport’s public elevators, large pods carrying hundreds of people each between the surface and the spaceport’s many floors.

Before going down towards the surface though, Morgan thought it would be best to rest for a moment and freshen up. He hadn’t eaten anything in hours, so maybe getting some food wouldn’t have been a bad idea: before going away on this vacation, he had jokingly asked one of his superiors if he would have had to eat lots of weird alien food, but they actually reassured him with all seriousness that practically all dishes and variations of Terran food were readily available all throughout the Confluence. Furthermore, after the cultural databases were organized and exchanged, many foods native to the Republic were being added to menus all throughout the ancient civilization.

He picked up something quick to eat from one of the nanofabricators close to him, and sat down on one of the large puffy couches in a common sitting area. Suddenly, someone sitting on a large cushion close to him called for his attention. It was a large golden octopus, their skin decorated with neon blue cybernetic tattoos Morgan had seen in a fashion forum a couple of days prior.

”Sorry to bother you, but you must be from the Republic, right? I haven’t seen someone so amazed and confused at the same time ever since I saw a Drakari visit the HabShip I was one some 700 years ago. What made you decide to visit, if I can ask?”

2 Likes

The Confluence brought one story to his mind. Once, when he was at a bar with his Commando friends, Morgan decided to beat them in a drinking game. Despite them being literal super soldiers, he still decided he could do it. Ten shots of Botniak black vodka later, he was too drunk to stand up. He then took at least three different drugs of questionable legality. The hallucinations that followed were oddly similar to some of the creatures he saw at the space port. And he thought the Oblex were weird. At least he will have a head start in making jokes.

He turned to the octopus, trying to make a natural face. Thankfully his sunglasses hid his eyes that were jumping from place to place, trying to take in all the crazy things around him. “Well, the high command got tired of all my bullshit and got me ‘mandatory leave’.” He said while making airquotes with his hands. “And they decided to throw me as far away as possible.” He then realised something. “Did you just say 700 years?!”

2 Likes

The octopus was slightly taken aback for a moment, fearing that he might have said something wrong to Morgan: however, he quickly realized what the situation was, and calmed back down.

”Oh, forgive me. This must not be something possible within the Republic. Yes, I did say 700 years: I was born 1120 years ago. Here in the Confluence, lifespans can be freely extended indefinitely through nanorobotic medisystems and genetically engineered augmentations, and practically all non-baseline species have natural lifespans lasting centuries. And that’s not even considering mind uploading…”

The golden octopus thought to himself for a brief moment, then returned back to conversation, changing the subject. It was as if something had told him that maybe dumping more information than that to someone that was already overwhelmed wouldn’t be the best of ideas.

”Anyways, high command, uh? Oh wait, you do look quite familiar to me! You’re Morgan “the Starkiller”, right? I recall hearing about you on a piloting forum I was on recently. You know, you’re growing quite a reputation here in the Confluence. Your maneuvers and endeavors were really impressive, even more so for a baseline. And my admiration does have credibility, considering I’m a pilot myself. My name is Khalir, by the way.”

2 Likes

“Nice to meet you Khalir. I guess it was only a matter of time before my fame reached this place too. And if you ever find a pilot with mods, tell me. Only ground troops get those.” Morgan said, as if he was stating something obvious. “We definately don’t live up to a thousand. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to. According to some it gets boring after fifty.”

2 Likes

”Do you really think it ever would, in a place like this? There are so many different people to meet, and so many different things to do. None of us have to work if we don’t want to, so we can truly spend our long existence pursuing our desires and fullfillment. And again, that’s not even considering virtual reality, where most of the Confluence lives after all.”

Khalir thought for another short moment, shorter than the previous one.

”You know, instead of just trusting my word, you should probably go and see it for yourself. Now that you’re on Rheldann, do you have any plans or specific places to visit, or were you planning on just winging it? If the latter is the case, then I could give you some recommendations on what to do while you’re here on Rheldann. I’ve spent a lot of time on the ring, and have many friends all around it who would love to show you around.”

2 Likes

“I’ve got a travel guide, but I plan on mostly winging it. The most interesting places don’t feature in these sort of guides, you have fond the by yourself. Go off of the vibes. Or ask the locals, that usually works too. Unless they try to rob you. Most stay away from a Commando, but you never know.”

2 Likes

”Oh trust me, you won’t encounter that problem here: material theft doesn’t really happen in the Confluence. And nobody will stay away from you out of intimidation either: threats of physical violence are void here, since you can’t physically harm anyone…”

Khalir thought for a moment, and realized that Morgan was truly out of his element here. As far as he could tell, he didn’t have a neural interfacer, not even an etiquette regulator! At least he had an universal translator of some kind, but he was still way too underprepared to travel throughout Rheldann, much less the non-Terrakin worlds and habitats of the Confluence.

Not wanting this overconfident baseline to be shunned, Khalir intervened accordingly.

”Listen Morgan, I’d hate to assume wrongly, but just to be sure… did you get a neural interfacer or etiquette regulator before arriving here on Rheldann? Because if not, you need to get them as soon as possible.”

2 Likes

“We already have neural interfaces in the Republic. We ain’t that backwards.” Morgan said, while holding his left hand up. From under his sleeve Khalir could see a sleek metal bracelet. “And I don’t even know what an etiquette regulator is. It ain’t so complicated to have a whole gadget for it. It’s pretty easy to follow if you aren’t a total dick.” Despite Morgan’s reputation as a playboy and a “cool guy”, he was an overall good person, helping people in need and adhering to a moral code (not stealing other’s girlfriends, etc.).

The whole thing with Rheldann giving out free tech was pretty weird. Neural interfaces were relatively cheap, but not free. The only thing the Republic gives you is a tourist advisory map detealing active conflict zones and areas with high degrees of organized crime.

2 Likes

”It’s not about just not being a “dick”, Morgan. Listen, the cultures of the Confluence are innumerable both in numbers and diversity. Some sophonts, clades, and even entire societies can be extremely exotic compared to what you or even I are used to, so their cultures follow suit. What we may consider perfectly innocuous they might see as an horrendous affront. Etiquette regulators are a mediatory tool used when two or more people of vastly different mode of existence, physiology and culture wish to interact without accidentally offending eachother. So that’s why you’ll be needing one. I don’t know if you’re planning to interact with the most unusual parts of this civilization, but even here on the mostly Terrakin and relatively mild Rheldann the diversity can be considerable.”

”You’re free to not follow my advice, but seriously, you should get one now. You can try installing a regulator app on your interface, or if that doesn’t work go get an external regulator from one of the distributors here in the spaceport: there are multiple versions that look like jewellery, or simpler ones that resemble your bracelet.”

2 Likes

“Eh, I’ll think about it.” Morgan answered nonshalantly. “It was nice to meet you Khalir, but I’ll get going now. There is still a lot to see here.” Morgan said while getting up. “Maybe you will visit the Republic one day.”

Morgan walked to the exit from the spaceport, wondering if Botniak alcohol already made its way here. It is probably too strong to really catch on in a place like this, but you never know.

2 Likes



⋆✴︎˚。⋆



Almost a week had passed since Morgan had first stepped foot on Rheldann. Though his arrival in the Confluence had been quite the experience, it didn’t take much for him to find the seemingly right footing for this weird and exotic world. One of the first things he did after leaving the spaceport and getting to the surface of the orbital was asking through a public information helper (those would come in handy throughout his stay) for his plane to be relocated to one of the many surface hangars that Khalir had recommended him: this one, located in the city of Heoridel, had many hotels and resorts close to it, and an aerial battle arena if he ever wanted to put his piloting skill on show. Suffice to say, he took that chance almost immediately.

It didn’t take long for Morgan to try out the Confluence’s drugs: it quite honestly dazzled him how psychoactives of all shapes and sizes were readily available in practically every establishment, often directly included into their drinks and menu items. These were the “engineered drugs” that the Confluence was already becoming known for back in the republic: products made from countless varieties of plants and organisms genetically modified or directly created to serve as ingredients for them, cognitive enhancers that could make you think faster and better than you ever had before, virtual programs that directly accessed your brain’s activity through direct interfacing to achieve effects regular drugs could only dream of, and many others. All of them without any significant side effects, many completely without them, made to be safely and easily enjoyed even by those of weakest constitution.

Despite this decadence, however, Morgan was surprised to see how lively and active Heoridel and some of the other cities he had visited were. People played all kinds of games and sports in the many parks, as laughter music poured out of coffee houses and tea gardens; painters, sculptors, musicians and artists of all kinds brought life and ever-changing color to the plazas and promenades. Humans, uplifted animals, robots and alien creatures he had never seen before all coexisted side by side with an ease that he had only seen on the most diverse worlds of the Republic. Though his interest was often moreso focused on the endless specimens of female beauty throughout the city, he was cognizant enough to notice the lack of social barriers that existed there.

The lack of money and the need to pay for things was another thing he was still getting accustomed to, but being on what was essentially a forced vacation definitely helped him in that regard.



⋆✴︎˚。⋆



Spectators watching an intense game of gravball within the Maell Game Arena.



“Oh goddamnit, not another strike! If things keep going like this the Caramel Stranglers are going to lose the game!”

Yesterday evening, Khalir had invited Morgan out to watch a game of gravball between two popular teams that was being held in the Maell Game Arena, a large stadium on the sailing cityship of Flyrill that was passing close to Heoridel that day. Since the amicable golden octopus had advised him through text multiple times, he thought it would be nice to return the favor and take him up on the offer. Besides, he was curious to see what kind of odd games coempireals liked to watch in their weird technoutopia. Alongside them were also two of Khalir’s friends, Nistami and Zandlephon.

“What can I tell you dude? Seems like you’ll be the one losing our bet today!”

“I still don’t know how you even managed to convince him to make a bet with you on something as unpredictable as gravball.”

“I have my ways.”

Misinformed consent is what you have.”

“Excuse me, its not my fault someone here didn’t think to make a quick DNI-search about a thing before betting on it.”

“Lots of big talk from the blue chicken today, uh?”

As the two of them continued their bickering, Zandlephon sighed and turned towards Morgan.

“So, Morgan. Is this your first time watching a game of gravball?”

1 Like

“Yeah. We don’t have it back home. But we have countless other sports! People can get very creative when the only thing the leaders expect of you is to eat, sleep and work. Not as chaotic as gravball, but still gets the adrenaline going.“ Morgan looked Khalir and Nistami, a wide grin spreading on his face. “Its usually harder to stop people from betting. Fans can get very devoted.“ He eyed nearby fans of the Stranglers expectantly. At least a few fights should have broken out by now, but nothing. Coemperials were strangely docile sometimes.

Overall, the stay in the Confluence was pleasant. He made new friends, met some nice girls and saw truly incredible constructions. Their use of AI was concerning, but as long as they were kept in check there wasn’t much to be done about it. And these strange virtual people. One more week should be plenty enough te experience it all anyways. Morgan was already starting to miss the more rough-around-the-edges social life of the Republic amd the thrill of combat. There were simulators sure, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Maybe he could invite Khalir or one of the other guys for a holiday in the Republic?

The audience cheered as one of the teams scored again. Morgan cheered too, no matter the team, as he often did when the game didn’t have any special stakes. Makes for good conversation starters with fans of both teams.

1 Like

The rest of the game went on to be rather disastrous for the Caramel Stranglers: while they did have some brief saving moments of glory, the Arvardeers were simply far more skilled and in the right mindset than they were. About an hour or two afterwards, when the game was over, fans of the Arvardeers came out from the arena cheering and radiant, while most fans of the Stranglers (such as Khalir) sluggishly made their way back to see the sun.

Morgan and the guys stopped to sit around a picnic table on one of the many promenades outside the game arena, eating the lunch they had grabbed from some stalls in the area while watching the coast move past them as Flyrill cut through the waves. By now Heoridel was only a vague detail in the distance, still barely visible some two hundred kilometers away through the atmospheric haze due to Rheldann’s curvature going upwards and not downwards. With the sea breeze gently blowing past him as the massive cityship sailed the circular oceans of the orbital, Morgan munched on one of the best sandwhiches he had ever had. Khalir defeatedly ate a basket of fried shrimp while Nistami triumphantly pecked some glistening alien fruits mixed with more recognizable seeds. Zandlephon looked at both of them with fond unamusement, fractal tendrils extending from their back and pulsing faintly with shifting colors as they literally tasted the sunlight. Morgan had not noticed in the slightest that Zandlephon wasn’t biological: sure, he expected some cybernetics here and there like with the golden octopus and blue crow in front of him, but he had no idea that the greenish feline humanoid besides him was entirely made out of nanites.

Ughhhhh… laying down all the strips is gonna take so long to do…”

“Nistami, out of everything you could have picked for your end of the bet, did you really have to choose a flower-themed cloisonné censer?”

“Listen dude, I needed a new piece for my living room! I’m planning to revamp the whole space and give it a more archaic style for the big party I’m hosting at my place for the rest of my archeology club. And besides, Khalir likes doing that kind of work: the only reason he’s complaining about it is that he’s doing it because he lost a bet.”

“Next time I’m gonna ask you to paint me an animated airal, 60 frames per second. Let’s see if you’ll still be laughing then.”

“Well that, my dear friend, would imply me losing a bet to you.”

“You’re such a headache…”

“Trust me, you both are.”

After another little bickering session with Khalir, Nistami realized that Morgan had been staring out longingly towards the moving land, deep in thought. She had noticed in the past few hours that, though he had been clearly enjoying himself, Morgan definitely also missed some of the aspects of life in the Republic: from what she had seen on the cybercosm, life definitely had less stakes in the Confluence than it did over there, and that was most likely what the pilot was missing during his stay. So, an idea manifested into her mind, one she was very quick to present to the rest of the group.

“You know guys, Heoridel is going to be hosting the Rheldann Aerial Battle Royal in a few days. Since the contestants have to be grouped into teams of at least three, and we just so happen to have a wonderfully skilled foreign pilot with us, what would you guys say to participating? We still have time to sign up for it.”

1 Like

“I usually fly solo, but fuck it, why not. I still remember some group maneuvers from the early days.“ It was hard to imagine its already been nine years since Morgan started flying. If he didn’t push as hard as he did to get into the pilot program, he would have stayed as an infantry soldier. And he was glad he did, flying was the best thing in the world. But women and bars were a close second. “Just try to keep up. My callsing isn’t some dumbass joke for a reason.“

The tournament will most likely be harder than most of his engagements. Morgan was skilled and talented, yes, but that wasn’t everything. In the Republic, most fighters, doctrines and training models were the same Rebellion era ones at their core. Predictable and no match for his heavely modified machine. But in the Confluence, everyone had to stand out and didn’t even think about estabilishing some sort of standard. And then there was the team aspect. Khalir, Nistami and Zandlephon were nice, but it usually took months for pilots to get the proper cohesion. And there was no way to tell what was their actual skill level. “I will be the one to carry the team then. Typical.” He thought.

“So, how do we sign up?“ He asked eagerly. No matter the difficulty, he is still gonna kick some ass.

1 Like