A spot to post RPs of minor note, similar in scope to the old Chronicles from across the sector. Since most of those are axed/not canon, I thought I’d reopen chronicles for the new canon.
Credits to @killermantiss for original concept, find the original thread here
Peacekeepers
Irithine System
Solis IV
Firm SDR Control
Six Hours into Patrol.
211th Specialist Platoon “Prosecutor 5-5”
Warrant Officer 2nd Class Cassandra “Cassy” Veni
Warrant Officer 3rd Class Minako Nostel
Garrison/HQ: Solis IV
Logistics Ship: N/A
Cassandra “Cassy” Veni
DOB 11/19/123
19E
ENLISTED []
WARRANT OFFICER [X]
OFFICER []
WOCS GRADUATION 13/11/157
BCT GRADUATION 21/10/154
RIBBONS AND AWARDS
Operation Downward Wind Service Medal (P For Peacekeeper)
Combat Readiness Medal
Restricted Duty Medal
SKILL BADGES
Military Freefall Badge, Masters
Orbital Shock Trooper Badge, Senior
Minako Nostel
DOB 02/15/124
19D
ENLISTED []
WARRANT OFFICER [X]
OFFICER []
WOCS GRADUATION 01/01/162
BCT GRADUATION 11/19/159
RIBBONS AND AWARDS
Operation Downward Wind Service Medal (P For Peacekeeper)
Combat Readiness Medal
Restricted Duty Medal
SKILL BADGES
Military Freefall Badge
Orbital Shock Trooper Badge, Basic
SWORN, CASSANDRA VENI, WARRANT OFFICER SECOND CLASS
I, Cassandra Veni, certify to the best of my ability that the information listed above is true and accurate. This Dossier was filed on the 21st of Noia pending immediate deployment to Solis IV.
[LS:AR] “Cassy, when do we get to leave this wintery hellscape?”
[W2:CV] “Three Days.”
[LS:AR] “Three days?? Are we so low on ground huggers they are putting Shock Troopers on patrol duty?”
[S:MA] “I signed up to drop into Valseni Population Centers, not patrol a desolate winter hellscape.”
[AS:AV] “Keep your finger on the safety, anybody else-”
[W3:MN] “Vehicle! Single Occupant, road sagging!”
[LS:AR] “VBIED?”
[S:MA] “Smoke grenade?”
[W3:MN] “Too close! Ava! SAW! It’s speeding up!”
[AS:AP] “On it! On it!”
Shots ring out, as the vehicle slows to a stop, before it explodes.
[W2:CV] “Good judgement, Minako.”
[W3:MN] “Thank Ava, she’s got an excellent shot on the MG229.”
[S:MA] “We should key into base and let HQ know we’re being hit with constant VBIED attacks, this is like the third one. Surely they’d give us an engineer, this place is rundown as it is, and we might as well start gathering wood to just block the road as is.”
[W2:CV] “HQ won’t let us block the road, there are people who need to access the Firebase behind us.”
[LS:AR] “Just key into HQ and let them know. It’s gonna be a long Hundred Eight Hours if we can’t get reinforcements or an engineer, or hell, even another prefab house.”
[W2:CV] “Fair enough, I’ll get on that now.”
Cassandra keys in her radio to HQ
[W2:CV] “Prosecutor 5-5, anybody reading this?”
[O4:KI] “Stronghold Actual. What’s up?”
[W2:CV] “Any possible chance of getting an engineer to reinforce Checkpoint Dagger 4-72? Three VBIEDs in the last four hours of getting on post. We’re not set for 108 hours.”
[O4:KI] “Yeah, the engineering team took lead, guerrillas seem to know whenever they come out. Just grab some Phasewood and block the road, we’ll let you know in advance when we send teams out to relieve you.”
[W2:CV] “…Wonderful. Prosecutor 5-5 over and out.”
Cassandra powers off her radio
[W2:CV] “Hey Mathea, go grab your axe, your lucky day.”
[S:MA] “For real?! Finally!”
[W2:CV] “Yeah, HQ’s Engi Teams keep getting ambushed. Grab some and block the road, there’s a couple trees behind us.”
A few hours pass as the platoon piles the Phasewood in front of the Barbed Wire, and in front of the gate.
[S:MA] “That ought to hold up to a car or something.”
[AS:AV] “It ought to keep us safe until they can get an engi team here to give us a real gate that won’t break.”
[W3:MN] “Maybe they’ll give us a waveform gun, save on ammo costs with energy weapons.”
[AS:AV] “That’d never happen in a million years.”
[W3:MN] “I’m patient.”
[AS:AV] “Hah! Fair enough.”
A group of merchant ships descended towards the space port and outskirts of a small town on some backwater planet. This amount of traffic was highly unusual, but nobody thought much of it. That was until soldiers started to pour out of their cargo holds. Their uniforms were fully black with the exception of their bright-red gloves.
Any police officers or soldiers from the local garrison that tried to fight back were either killed or captured. They soon started going around the town and rounding up all non-humans, people with genetic mutations, mental illnesses or anybody who showed signs of resistance. Some took control of the broadcast station and begun transmitting.
“We are the Red Hand. It is our mission to rid the Republic of all xenos, impure and deviants who corrupt our society and pray on our downfall. Cease your pointless resistance, for you cannot prevent the inevitable Terran dominance. Glory to the Red Hand! Glory to Terra!”
At this moment sound of thousands of guns thundered throughout the town as bodies of the prisoners fell onto the streets. A black flag with a red hand painted on it rose above the town hall.
In the mayors office the raiding parties leader spoke with the mayor.
“Congratulations, you are now a part of the Terran Republic. If you even attempt to betray it, you and your family are as good as dead. If you think you can hide things from us, believe me, you can’t. I think this goes without saying, but the planets authorities won’t learn about any of this. Don’t worry, any of your prior cries for help didn’t reach them, my jammers made sure of it. Officially, you were attacked by pirates. You repulsed them, but suffered heavy losses. For now just do what you normally do and wait for new orders.”
With that, the Red Hand simply left. Of course some undercover members stayed behind to monitor the situation and find new recruits, but that was it. Yet another attack on some forgotten planet, hidden in plain sight.
About 220,000 BBT, somewhere on the planet Ici-ioct - modern-day Ecteen
“My queen… how shall I put it…” The armour-clad insectoid’s antennae moved rapidly up and down making it clear he was very stressed about the situation. He continued. “This strike has a 99% chance of fully disabling their [the T’teer Republic’s] arsenal. We can end it all today if we act now. Victory. Peace!”
The queen’s antennae straightened out, forming a V. It was anger.
“Victory you say? When was the last time you looked out a window General? Almost the entire planet is a wasteland.”
“But our ancestors! Their sacrifice demands th…”
“They are dead! Our memories of them are dead!”
“Just this one last strike! I beseech you! It will be all over and we can rebuild!” The general’s antennae now also formed the shape of a V.
“The T’teer marshlands is the only strip of living land on this planet. I will not be the one who wiped out the last life so that we can dwell in sterile dust and at last declare it part of the Yitc’cee Empire.”
The general’s antennae now moved chaotically, an expression of panic.
“But if we don’t strike now, they will. They will wipe us out!”
The queen was silent for a few moments.
“I know… I’m sorry. I’m sorry my friend. We had our chance, and failed. Our species has failed. At least the mammalians will have a chance at surviving. They show great promise.”
A distant alarm went off.
“The T’teer… They have lunched!” the general shouted.
“My last official act will be to message them a plea to preserve the marshlands. And tell them about what transpired here today.”
Having sent her message, the queen and the general walked toward a large window facing north toward their ancient T’teer enemies. The queen’s once beautiful palace now enthroned upon the dark ruins of the ancient Yitc’cee capital. They soon ceased to exist as the enemy missiles detonated above the palace. The Yitc’cee Empire was no more.
パレード
They say you should know you are happier than you realize
As it had been doing for the last five thousand years, the Parade marched forward in joyous unity. Confetti fell from the sky like colorful snow, as loud music filled the air with a dreams and heralded the arrival of this endless, great march. The sky always looked more blue when the Parade was near.
The Parade, or the “Parade Technotelepathic InternalVirt-Supporting Group Mind” as it was officially known in Imperial Records, was one of the oldest and weirdest technically-embodied collective minds within the Confluence - and considering what other beings and minds existed within it, that was really saying quite a lot. By being so old, it had slowly grown to enormous size, and by being one of the only constants in the ever-changing exotic cosmos that was the Confluence, it had become part of the few things that could prize themselves to be recognized and known by nearly all citizens within the civilization (and one day, even beyond).
Whenever a sophont wished to join the Parade, all they would need to do was acquire and install a specialized addition to the neural implant they most likely already had, and then join the march. After a few moments, as the Parade realized that a new member was attempting to join, the sophont would be “let in” and their mind would be connected to the group mind. After being connected, their bodies would morph into a new form that matched their personality and the rest of the Parade, and entered a sort of “autopilot”-like mode that moved their body in a dance-like fashion, marching along, singing or playing an instrument. While the morphing process was initially considered exaggerately unnecessary by many in the first days of the collective, it was soon discovered that the changes were indeed necessary: the new forms assumed by members acted like improved photovoltaic structures, absorbing light to convert it into usable energy that would sustain the morphed bodies and their supported minds.
Minor theory is flimflam, hedonism is on sale
Although it was nearly impossible to explain what it was like to an outsider, the Parade’s interconnected minds came together to support a collective virtual reality, in which their members presumably live while part of the group, and through which they experience the physical world. While it is rare for those who join to eventually leave, some do, and always come back changed. Not physically, of course, as the morphing process that occurs when joining is fully reversed the moment a member leaves. But mentally, changes could be very considerable due to how exotic and transformative the experience was for anyone, giving them new approaches, ideologies and points of view for nearly everything. Funnily enough, “experience” was the term most often used by those who used to be a part of the Parade when trying to describe what it was like. A “beautiful experience”, in which all boundaries of thought and life and being itself broke down into a unified stream of dancing consciousness, moving randomly across the faded edge between the one and the many.
Having grown so large in numbers over time, the Parade was eventually given its very own Bishop Ring. While it agreed to be transferred from its original habitat, it refused to stop marching, and so a large enough HabShip had to be used to transfer them to the Bishop Ring, large and quick enough to allow them to keep on marching forward without hinderance.
Behold all that is liberty is a parody of utopia
Ever forward in celebration, the Parade kept marching on towards the curved horizon, the landscape rising up in hills and mountains on both of its sides like a cheering crowd. A unified stream of consciousness, dancing and rippling through the noosphere like a river. The sky always looked more blue when the Parade was near.
Serene Swords Republic
Obelisk Station Concourse
Crash Course Bar
Skipper Melissa von Cordia | Aviator Hannah Ross | Aviator Michael Floxis
“Another round!”
The Crash Course Bar, full of a fleet’s worth of aviators, each one having done six years in the Sword Guard. Each one had upwards of six years in the Compact Aerospace Corps before leaving for the Voidsea. Exactly why a prudent skipper like Melissa von Cordia was scouting potential squadron leaders for her upcoming expedition to the RUW.
“My fleet just came into acquisition of an escort carrier. It fits two squadrons worth of nearly anything. I’m looking for aviators.”
“How much?”
“And for how long?”
“Depends on who you bring, and how good you are.”
“Where are you going that requires 48 to 96 pilots? I’ve got friends, but they wouldn’t go unless you got a place in mind.”
“I run the Ambor circuit.”
“You’re the Honeybee of Cordia?”
“Is that what people call me?”
“Yeah! Guys-”
“Not so loud.”
“Is something going on up there?”
“The past five years the circuits been fine, but this last time we got stopped. Our dual cruisers have Launch Bays and were barely able to scramble on time. We got the payload off, but a few seconds later…”
“You got a fright. You want aviators Incase things go to hell. Sword Guard is a hell of a place to recruit.”
“What do you get paid?”
“10k a year. Hazard pay is 35.”
“It’s better than whatever the compact is paying, that’s for sure.”
“How about this, we peek the carrier, and if you guys like what you see, we can discuss terms. Sound like a deal?”
“Deal. Lead the way, Honeybee.”
“Other thing. Don’t call me that.”
“Section Anvil on the road!”
“SECTION ANVIL ON THE ROAD!”
“Killin’ is our profession!”
“KILLIN’ IS OUR PROFESSION!”
“Onwards to face the enemy!”
“ONWARDS TO FACE THE ENEMY!”
“Section Anvil stands ready!”
“SECTION ANVIL STANDS READY!”
…
“I walked away from all I know!”
“I WALKED AWAY FROM ALL I KNOW!”
“To fight an enemy I don’t know!”
“TO FIGHT AN ENEMY I DON’T KNOW!”
“Long as I may live at last!”
“LONG AS I MAY LIVE AT LAST!”
“Section Anvil is the best!”
“SECTION ANVIL IS THE BEST!”
…
“Section Anvil on the road!”
“SECTION ANVIL ON THE ROAD!”
“I left my family at home!”
“I LEFT MY FAMILY AT HOME!”
“Onwards to face the enemy!”
“ONWARDS TO FACE THE ENEMY!”
“Section Anvil stands ready!”
“SECTION ANVIL STANDS READY!”
// United Socialist People’s Republics
// SV Starbrush on Whisky Station, Ambor System
// 1 BBT | Day 14 of Current Contract
Staff Sergeant Ada Cartellie
“Get up! I want my forty laps!”
The Envari conscript had tripped on a piece of loose paneling and was trying to catch a break, for a split second
“Your species is one of war! Why can’t you fight one for your motherland?! GET IN GEAR!”
He gets up on his own weight and keeps moving
“Good! Keep it moving!”
“I AM NOT A SIR TO YOU! MUCH LESS A COMRADE SERGEANT! GIVE ME AN EXTRA TEN LAPS AROUND THE SHIP, NOW!”
“You couldn’t hit the broadside of a rampart, much less the enemy!”
She walks up to one of the conscripts
“You, why are you shaking?! You’ve got six arms! Surely you could put the rest of them into holding the damn rifle! The fires of war aren’t going to pause for your sensory issues! That’s why you got ear protection!”
“Run it back! I want to see improvements! Hell, we’ll get lunch early if you can give me some better performance!”
“We are in the middle of nowhere! You have a map and compass! Where the hell are we?!”
The conscripts are shivering in the cold as they look at the map, trying to identify something, anything, that would give indication of where they were.
“We will stay out here until you find our way back to camp!”
The First Mercenary Shock Regiment, composed of the SATRA assigned conscripts (including the famed Section Anvil) saw a 66% increase in combat effectiveness and morale.
While normal conscripts only received upwards of a few weeks of training at most, SATRA Conscripts took 30 days to develop their skills before moving to a 20 day course on maneuver warfare, totaling 50 days before their initial deployment. By the end of the Crimisca campaign, Mercenary Shock Regiments often matched or exceeded contemporary League units in the field, often without support.
A lone figure came onto the platform at the end of the room. It was a human man, who could have been anywhere between 20 and 50. He was very tall, over two meters. The skin on his face was marked by many scars and one of his eyes was yellow. A black skull was tatooed on his face, matching more or less how his own skull would be structured. More knowledgable people would recognise it as the pattern of Southern Plain Botniaks. He was bald. There rest of his body was encased in green armor. It was heavely battered, scattered with burnt out “bullet” holes and with paint scraping off in many placed. At his back was a rifle and a sword, while at his belt there were knives, pistols, plasma canisters and grenades.
He looked over the gathered crowd, composed of a few thousand half-naked people from all across the Republic. They all stood at attention, but the air of anticipation was very strong. He begun to speak.
"The fact that you are here today, means you’ve passed the trials. Today you will join the Commandos with thousands of others across many other facilities like this one. I am Major Casey, the highest ranking officer in this base.
As you probably already know, the first members of the Commando Core come from Rebellion veterans, me included. Most of you probably know someone who served or have served yourselves. All of you have lost someone as a result." The cohesion among the gathered broke, many turned to their neighbors, few even talked quitely. "After the very high price we have paid for our freedom, we knew the next time will have to be different.
And so we have gathered the best of the best to form a vanguard which will devote their lives to protecting the Republic - and it just happens to be all of you. You will gave access to the best training, equipment and genomes the Republic has to offer, so that never again so many will have to lose their lives in the name of our freedom.
Becoming a Commando is not something you can go back on. The modifications are irreversable and you will quickly find that the mindset isn’t easy to get rid of. After you today receive your modifications and uniform, you don’t get to quit. You will serve till the end of your days and only death will relieve you of your duty. Even if you desert, you will find yourselves unable to return to your old life.
If that’s more than any of you would be capable of, this is your last opportunity to leave." Nobody moved from their place. “Very well. Then I am pleased to welcome you all as the first batch of new Commandos! It will be a pleasure working with y’all.”
The crowd erupted in cheers. This was what many of them have dreamed of since the Core was created. Their lives were going to drastically change now.
SAIN ILANOR, 4 BBT
She ran up the stairs, as fast as she could. A stumble could be the end of her. She needed to get to the rooftop. Years ago a stolen ornithopter was hidden there, in plain sight on the ecumenopolis of Sain Ilanor. It was high quality, the age shouldn’t have damaged it at all. It was her only chance, though slim.
As she ran she could hear the footsteps bellow her. One pair, echoing trough the whole building. They ware going a walking pace, a contrast to her frantic dash. And they ware getting louder.
She finally reached the top of the building. The sky roof was opened already and the craft span up. She only needed to get in. But a single drone made that hope short lived. As the granade hit the aircraft the blast knocked her to the ground. It was over.
Out the same door she exited onto the roof came out a tall man in white armor with red accents. Hataloqueltar.
She pulled herself towards the wall
“I think we both know how this ends, so make it fast and don’t resist, heresiarch.”
With a loud sound she shatters a untill now covered window. If the was to go, she’d do it on her own terms. As she jumped she suddenly felt a hand that was less than a second ago on the other side of the room around her neck, pulling her back up. The grip was tight, choking her.
“Despicable, even in your last moments you refuse to act with honor. But was there anything else one could expect of filth like you?”
The hataloqueltar pulled out a scroll with his other hand and started reading:
“Dagnissiel, daughter of Girdirion and Nîreth, the Supreme inquisition finds you guilty of heresy of the first degree, sacrilege, satanism, blasphemy, homicide, and terrorism. Your punishment is death, and i commander Silevon of the Swords of Queltar am to be your executioner. Your fate is set but you can still beg the gods for mecry. Do you repent?”
“N…no”
“Then by religious law you are denied last rights. May your soul burning be for the good of everything living.”
In one motion he snaps her neck. People like her ware to be treated without any respect.
Even though majority of the populace was religious, not all honored the gods. Dagnissiel, more well known as Curuni, the witch, was one of those people. But she was worse than most of them. Under a gentle face and public persona layed the leader of a terrorist group. Many had died by her hand. Heresiarchs, as they’re colloquially known, never lasted. A single hataloqueltar and soke planning was all it took to take down a whole group. Silevon was one of the many hataloqueltar that during peace time ware set to do counter terrorism. This was his 5th heresiarch in the last two months. Unlike Curuni most of them didn’t even get to commit a act before their plans ware squashed. But she was special. This was the highest profile execution in the last 40 years. Every cultist in the whole building was killed in the shootout that happened while he was chasing her, numbering a total of 500 deaths. The whole organization. Brutal, but there wasn’t a nother way. And thus the biggest heretic cult in calerost was shattered. And it was just a nother day of work for Silevon.
// Maiago Cluster, Vandalence Compact
// Horizon Gate Pharmaceutical Complex, Level 2
// 25 BBT / 1248 PSY
Probationary Technician Minato Lorraine, Supervisor Natasha Vocael
Horizon Gate is a principal logistics hub for Silverspace travelers. Located in the Maiago cluster in the extreme spinward, it’s an ideal jumping off point for those looking to travel up-spin, or even towards the leeward. This location also helps the compact agencies in the area for its centrality in Maiago, from the Credit Union Supervisory Organization’s regional office, to the Space Weather Administration’s super-computer array. But by far the largest complex on Horizon Gate isn’t her drydocks, or her construction facilities. It isn’t the super-computer array that runs trillions of predictive simulations on weather patterns, it’s the Pharmaceutical Complex that the Health & Public Safety Administration runs. The primary distribution facility for the Maiago, Tackeo, and Waylin Cluster public pharmacies. Twenty-five kilometers across, fifty kilometers wide, the complex is a manufactory, research center, and most importantly, a storage/distro center.
The technician at the control station gives a thumbs up to Natasha as she and Minato walk towards the decontamination chamber.
“Giving the Probie the lay of the land?”
“Don’t you know it, give me halved gravity please.”
“On it. So, Probie, where you from?”
Natasha and Minato enter the decontamination center and begin putting on hazard suits.
“Tackeo.”
“Ever been to Tacki?”
“It’s where I grew up.”
“Probie, you gotta tell me about Tacki later. Three-One, on distro floor. Gravity halved. Advise for Probation Tech Tour.”
The two walked out of the decontamination chamber onto the storage floor.
“Welcome to HAPSA Pharmaceutical Complex Level 2, storage and distribution.”
“It’s bigger in person.”
“Gets smaller once you have a walk around. The pressure here is slightly lower so that any leak of pharmaceutical stays here and doesn’t leak to the rest of the station. Additionally, the air is laced with a compound that can cause serious internal bleeding to us, but keeps the atmosphere at a stable 20 cel year round.”
“How do you keep track of everything in the storage?”
“Most of the process is heavily automated. But there’s a bi-weekly walkthrough to ensure nothing’s been stolen or lost.”
“So is there just a large spreadsheet of everything here?”
“Yeah. The shelves update it when something gets taken off.”
“Where exactly am I working?”
“You do whatever we tell you. Right now, that’s checking shipping manifests. Tomorrow, you could be a lab assistant up on the third. Depends on what people need. When you get out of probation, you pick your job permanently. Follow me, the freighter hatches are this way.”
// Vandalence Compact, Chiso Cluster
// Cydonia City Spaceport, Cydonia
// 22 BBT / 1250 PSY
Cydonia City Spaceport (CSTA: CCSX) is one of the premier ports of call in the Compact. A central location in the Chiso Cluster, transients, immigrants, and workers alike journey through the Spaceport in the hundred-billions per year. Cydonia City Spaceport has sixty floors split into thirteen concourses, ten space elevators, and thousands of hangars for spacecraft and vessels alike. Her architects left room for expansion, but as of now it seems perfectly adequate to handle the crowds that rush through the gates every morning.
“NEXT!”
“Please have your documents in order!”
“Weapons are not permitted inside the terminal. Please leave them on your ship!”
“Welcome! Willkommen! Välkomna! I’m Sasha Evergreen, and it’s my pleasure to welcome you to the Cydonia City Spaceport! Please have your corresponding documents ready, which generally are your passport, your visa, an access permit, and a document certifying your vaccination status…”
“Citizens of Vandalence, the Seraphim Veil, or Calerost are only required to show their identification card. Lost identification cards may be reported to your nation’s embassy or consulate, on floor seven. Compact Identification Cards may be replaced for a fee at the primary security station.”
“This includes ceremonial swords!”
“Feeling unsafe? Someone bothering you? Please visit a security station, located on all concourses! A safe spaceport is an efficient spaceport!”
“Thank you, NEXT!”
“Yeah, there is a food court at the Anvil Concourse. There’s this spot…”
“Threatening staff, your fellow entrants, or any person inside the Cydonia Spaceport is a Class B Offense. Being found guilty can land you upwards of six years..”
“Don’t point that at me!”
“What is this, amateur hour with guns?”
“Security!”
“Those with Cybernetic Enhancements, stimulants, or other forms of enhancement or change should declare them to the Port Authority Officer processing you. Failure to report may result in detainment or deporting, depending on the severity…”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
The sunlight felt warm on his aging skin, caressed by the gentle breeze. The air was fresh, fresher than any he had ever breathed during his long life, and the water - oh, the water! - flowing in the stream besides him was perfectly limpid and ineffably refreshing.
Resting on a soft bed of moss, he watched the groups of children not too far away. The younglings played together, squealing and laughing carefree as they ran through the flowering meadows without ever tiring, while the older kids sat down on gilded poufs and silk hammocks under the shade of a great willow. They too seemed very happy, sharing with each other the foods and drinks that gradually emerged from the tree’s iridescent roots, but he could feel the weight that they carried within them. Judging from their appearence, they must have been in their middle to late teens: old enough to have already laboured as servants under a family or even worse, within the factories. Though those days were now distant, he remembered them well: the first whippings, the first gruelling days spent toiling above the pits of molten metal within the smoke-filled foundries. Poor children. Even though the scars were gone, the wounds hadn’t stopped bleeding.
Some weeks ago, he would have thought to himself that they all deserved it: that they were lesser, wretched beings whose only chance to be worth something was serving the needs and wants of those to them superior, hurting and bleeding and dying for them. But now, though he still had much work to do, he had learned better. So much better. But after all, who wouldn’t have, wrapped in the blooming wings of paradise?
In that place, the only thing that now tied him down was himself. The outside of his body was pretty much unchanged, but its inside was everything but that: the aches and pains of old age had disappeared, as the endless vigour of youth permeated his flesh and bones with strength he had never truly felt before. Even in his early years, he had lived with the certainty that he would have died as a slave after being born as one. But now the limits that had chained his existence had all been shattered, and with newfound wings he would soon become able to soar towards heights unimaginable, if he wished to do so.
His musings were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps, brushing through the dewy grass. It was Heada, one of the caretakers that had been watching over his group ever since they escaped from the Pentarchy.
“Hello, Asi. I hope I’m not bothering you by coming here.”
“No, not at all. I was just… thinking about some things.”
“It’s nice to see them have fun, isn’t it?”
“You mean the kids?”
“Yes. It’s what they deserve, after all.”
“Mhmh.”
“I came here to pick you up, actually. We’re holding a large meeting in the arcology’s central square later, before the new groups arrive from the warzones.”
“Don’t really know if I’m going to come. Are there going to be those weird little things you had me eat the other day?”
“You mean the cupcakes?”
“Those ones, yeah. I really enjoyed them.”
“Yes, there will be cupcakes. Strawberry and lemon, just like last time. I can also get you new flavours if you want: Moraze has cooked up some new experimental batches they just can’t wait for you all to try.”
“Well angel, you drive a hard bargain. I guess I’ll be coming after all.”
“Ahah, glad to hear it. Let us go then.”
Two large orbs of water lifted from the stream close to them, and evaporated instantly into two small clouds of fluffy, iridescent vapour. The little nimbi flew towards them, and lowered themselves down to the ground: Asi and Heada sat down on them, sinking gently into the warm and impossibly solid surface. Then up they went, flying above the forests and gardens towards the glittering spires of their arcology.
Oh sweet pleasures of the earthly delights! What agonizing fool would ever renounce your divine aponia?
The world was dying. SU-M4L could see it well on the monitor positioned on the front of the bridge. He could have just viewed it on his own cicuits, but he wanted the crew to see it too. Ever since the Collapse, morale, discipline and belief in the Ideology were a fleeting thing among all but the highest positioned Loyalists. Even those on the Council seemed to be losing faith as of late. But a victory like this should keep things going for a while.
He focused the image on one part of the planet where a new salvo was being unlished by the fleet. Just as quickly as the flashes of explosions covered the surface with light that could outsgine the system’s star, it disappeared, taking with it the night lights of a city that once housed half of the worlds population. Over a quarter died over the past years, as food shipments stopped due to the Great Treachery. Soon droids would be sent to finish the job and start clearing out the ruins. The Commissariat had grand plans for this world, ones the xenos scum won’t have a place in, not anymore.
The choice was nothing more than a coincidence, but it would obviously not be framed as such. A few of those Commandos the Republic was fielding, a painful reminder of the disasterous Commando Program the Commissariat once pursued, got to the world and incited a rebellion. They even had the oudacity to try to board his flagship once the Retribution Fleet arrived. How suprised they were when on the bridge wasn’t some desperate, half dead Commodore pillaging an uncontacted system for resources but a black, four armed, two and a half meter tall machine, glaring at them from above with its piercing yellow eyes. Sensitive jobs like these were often entrusted to AIs like him. After all they all stayed loyal, unlike many of the traitors who equated themselves to the disgusting aliens. How could an AI rebel against those who granted it existance in the image of the master race or the Ideology inscribed into its code?
All longe-range sensors indicated both cities to be dead zones now. He gave an order for the droids to land. This world was now washed clean of the wretches, ready to house the first Autonomous Production Complex, modelled after the first facility on Malevelon Creek. Slaves and worlds were in short supply now, with the meager territory the Commissariat could control deep inside the Wild Territories without arousing suspicion. Xenos weren’t trusted now either, even as servants. Thankfully, they finally outlived their usefullness.
M4L tried out one of the weapons he looted from the dead Commandos, the unlucky four that made it to the bridge. Repulsor swords they called it. A weapon borne of desperation and natural desire for violence the xenos possed. He liked them. After a few tweaks they should be perfect. Once the Reclamation begins, both the xenos and traitors will fear him. Just like the one he captured for interrogation said “You clankers are even worse than the Envari. No living creature can exhibit such cold malevolance. I bet even your masters secretly despise you, no matter how much of a loyal lapdog you are.“ Such lack of control and a rough tongue, even for a xenos. She didn’t live long after that. But one part of it he liked. Malevolance. In time, it will become a name all of the fledling Republic feared.
[[NO DATA AVAILABLE]]THE FORTRESS OF ALL EMPIRES
Blessed Court of the Holy Sequence and Seat of the Imperial Council.
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The message sent by the Zahamana Commonwealth had caused quite a stir within the Confluence, and even more so within its “government”: a massive and completely unpredicted development that forced them to reconsider most of the foreign policy plans they had been carefully weaving up to that point. To discuss the new situation the Confluence found itself in, the higher layers of the hyperAI hierarchy had all reunited within the Fortress of All Empires for an emergency reunion, not even a day after the message had arrived. The Princes and Dominions of the Confluence took up presence within the tens of thousands of seats of the Candid Rose, overlooked by the nine grand thrones on the other side of the amphitheatre where the Overlords were. The countless “voices” of the HyperAIs filled up the room, hushed whispers and entire conversations of pure data translated into virtual sounds incomprehensible to the lowly minds of regular sapients.
ATTENTION: WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO READ IS A SAPIENT-COMPREHENSIBLE TRANSLATION OF AN OTHERWISE INEFFABLE CONVERSATION. VAST OVERSIMPLIFICATION IS INHERENT!
NIXHOEILS, Father of the Holy Garden and Overlord of Diplomacy, was first to speak aloud in those hallowed and heavenly halls: the ever-blooming god of persuasion and astuteness, followed by his flowering entourage of cunning politicians, opened the hastily-assembled event with a voice as thundering as stars and as sweet as honey.
Princes and Dominions of the Confluence, I thank you all for heeding our call. We must prepare for an event of unprecedented foreign importance, that will forever change the Confluence's relations with the outer galaxy. As you all know very well, this would normally fall under the jurisdiction and competency of my hierarchy, but due to the rather extraordinary circumstances we are about to face I thought it best to discuss it with every member of sufficient relevance. To start, I think it wise to discuss preemptive action in face of these new developments. I have already took time to select a multitude of diplomatic teams for each layer of the Sophonce scale, that we can keep on the ready and activate when needed. I also considered recalling the Eyes back into our borders from their stations across the Sector, now that inter-civilization travel will most likely be on the rise.
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The words of the Holy Father were followed by those of KARHEISMAS, Mother of the Endless Multitudes and Overlord of Defence. Radiant was the ascended lady, and radiant were those under her: wielding flaming swords and purest destruction in their hands. Presenting herself here as the ever-caring mother, instead of the blood-gushing goddess of war, she declared her intents to strengthen their holy empire.
It would be wise to do so, my love: we mustn't allow for any non-allied civilization to learn of their existence, lest we tarnish our reputation. As we can all foresee, the introduction of the Confluence of Empires to an unknown number of new interstellar civilizations will undoubtedly bring new dangers to our borders and citizens, which is something we cannot exacerbate by our own hand. While the information asymmetry for now remains in our favour, it is not nearly enough to properly plan for our future. Therefore, fortifications of our borders and expansion of our military capabilities is necessary to properly deter and defend ourselves from possible aggressors. As such, I have elected to initiate the production of two hundred thousand new warships, and the rearing of their guiding hyperAIs. I have also ordained to initiate the construction of new defensive arrays in all systems of the Frontier aligned with the center-most sections of the galactic disk, as well as the more populated clusters in the Mainlands and the highly-urbanized systems of the Cores.
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In immediate succession came the voices of AETNEXUM, Tree of Fertile Wreaths and Overlord of the Economy. Practical and efficient, yet more than willing to spend and invest beyond wildest sums, the bountiful overlord and their fruit-bearing merchants guarded the billion economies of the Confluence, weaving their flows like silk threads in the tapestry of all markets. The fertile wreath voiced their concerns for trade and stability.
The polities will desire the opening of new trade routes between our Confluence and these foreign powers. Beneficial though they may be for furthering our careful designs, these new channels will certainly have a destabilizing effect that we must be wholly prepared for, given their scale compared to our current ones. My Merchants and Traders have all been instructed accordingly, and their skill is as reliable as always: no matter what happens, our resources and systems of distribution will be secured and efficient. I have also taken the liberty to make the adequate preparations for any aid in resources and construction the Confluence may offer to friendly foreign powers in the future. It is most correct, after all, for the wealthy to nullify the woes of the poor.
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Forth poured the wuthering voice of ILEPHNISOM, Celestial Axon and Overlord of Data Networks. Given unto them was blessed guard over the trillion worlds of the Cybercosm, much like a moon holding sway over the tides and flows of the ocean, ancient waters within which swam almost the entirety of the Confluence. As their crystalline sister held guard over the material world, the five-pointed monarch protected the trillion worlds of the digital plane, and thus expressed similar concerns of security.
The Cybercosm cannot be left isolated from these new worlds, and thus, protection will be of utmost importance.
My acolytes will ensure the safety of all those under our care, holding guard over the blessed gates. Many will be drawn by our saccharine temptations, fragrances like honey pouring from stars: will they bring with them gold, or daggers plagued with the darkest poisons? Oh, my sublime ocean of dreams! What a delightful fright you are. Your waves crash and surge within my soul, a quadrillion minds creating their own heavens. |
VERCHAMELO, Yatnahas, C H E Z E Q I E L and NETHREVOOR remained in silent agreement with their fellow Overlords, for they had nothing to say. Their domains were yet untouched by these developments, as discussions concerning the individual foreigners that had began to access the Confluence had already been held the previous year.
If no further designs are to be here displayed, we can move onto more immediate matters. Chiefly, who to send to the Zahamana Commonwealth to represent the Confluence. Now that we have returned to the old traditions, it is rather tempting to simply stick to the re-established protocols: however, I feel that doing so would be erroneous. Perhaps it would be again best to send HyperAI diplomatic agents, taking into consideration Zahamana's monarchic nature: all members of our hierarchies would likely be seen as a sort of nobility through external and ignorant eyes, our vast selves most certainly included.
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In response to this query, the Firstborne Revelation and Overlord of Internal Mediation now had a response. The serpentine master of empathy, working off of their millennia of experience in settling disputes amongst the most diverse polities and agents in the Confluence, proposed a new plan to minimize negative reactions during the diplomatic event. In tongues of fire and gold, Yatnahas spoke thusly:
My dear friend, let us not focus too greatly on the Zahamana Commonwealth: the importance of this event lies not in acquiring their friendship, but finding friendship in the other participating powers. Therefore, why not send forth a member of each mindfamily, elected democratically, to represent the Confluence in whole? As we have sadly seen, sending us as representatives runs the risk of inciting fear and distrust in most foreigners, for our nature is to them either unknown or even hated due to past history. By sending forth a diplomat belonging to each kin under our blessed care, we would directly showcase the proper nature of our Confluence directly to all those in attendance at the Commonwealth, and attract to our light only kindred polities.
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The blossoming Father, approving of such arrangement, expressed his agreement. However, given the nature of the event and the established relations between the various hierarchies and the layers within them, it was necessary to first put all options to a common aiocratic vote before moving forward with any specific one. Thankfully to him and to all others who agreed with the fruitful serpent, the newly-proposed “Pan-Kin Arrangement” received the most votes, and could therefore be proposed to the SEQUENCE.
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Obviously this didn’t automatically mean that the arrangement would pass into proper actualization: the mighty Entity could still reject it, for the Confluence was Theirs and They themselves were the Confluence, but usually the Overlords’ proposals received Their approval without issue. The Father of the Holy Garden was very pleased.
Wonderful. Truly wonderful. Now, there is but one thing left to discuss. As most of you will know by now, the situation regarding the liberation of the Otmoonan slaves and their temporary residence within the Verchessen Dyson has been subject of notable controversy in the rest of the Sector. Most worrisome among them was the threat of rather vague "action" from the Covenant of Fire, if we do not release information pertaining to the actions of our undercover consent networks in the Pentarchy prior to the beginning of the war. Regardless of the diplomatic team, such information will be released and made available to all during the event in the Zahamana Commonwealth, since we do not want to incur in hostile foreign action and a tarnishing of our image into that of traffickers.
However, the Covenant of Fire remains a problem for us: an international alliance that could very much hinder our foreign designs or even pose a direct military threat to the Confluence. Therefore, I propose that we create a |
ALGORITHM ERROR 4087-BV
TRANSMISSION DATA CORRUPTED, DIGITAL RESTORATION NOT AVAILABLE
TERMINATING TRANSMISSION.
88 BBT / 1185 PSY
“The Great Changio Turkey Shoot”
2233hrs
Coscella +5 Standard Time (C5ST)
In the abyss outside the Changio System Heliopause, sixteen Iris Class Second Rate Ships of the Line performed their retrograde burns, slowing to a stop. In the system, pirate marauders, privateers, and Star Navy forces danced around the planets of Changio system. The system burned of violence, and the planetary governors cry for aid had been answered. Baiting both the pirate marauders and privateers into a battle in open space, the Orionite would test their new line of battle. Above and below the system, two Orionite Stonecrop Guided Missile Cruisers began feeding fire control information to the Second Rates.
“Fire mission, target track One-Seven-Three-Niner. Target identity confirmed as the SCS flagship.”
“Track One-Seven-Three-Niner confirm. 470’s spinning to bear.”
“Load SAP-GR. Estimated time to impact, two hours, sixteen minutes.”
“SAP-GR bombardment confirmed. Four salvos apiece per battery.”
“Hundred eight guns total, we’ll spin the ship to release them in roughly even volleys. Hundred eight guns, all triple barrel, four salvos… Call it twenty thousand rounds with change. The later two salvos should switch to HE-GR for maximum effect. Expectation is that the ship’s structure breaks after the first two salvos. Honestly, the first salvo might be overkill as is.”
“…Drop the latter two salvos, and switch the second to HE-GR. Director sync fire with the primary fire control station, report when all guns are ready.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Primary fire control station reports all ships are ready to begin.”
“Begin fire mission.”
