Author: arclightmagus
Date: 2020-12-06T00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: Reddit HFY

Table Of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
The Collective
The Collective Part 2
The Collective (Part 3)
The Collective (Part 4)
The Collective (Part 5)
The Collective (Part 6)
The Collective (Part 7)
The Collective (Part 8)
The Collective (Part 9)
The Collective (Part 10)
The Collective (Part 11)
The Collective (Part 12)
The Collective (Part 13)
The Collective (Part 14)
The Collective (Part 15)
The Collective (Part 16)
The Collective (Part 17)
The Collective (Part 18)
The Collective (Part 19)
The Collective (Part 20)
The Collective (Part 21)
The Collective (Part 22)
The Collective (Part 23)
The Collective (Part 24)
The Collective (Part 25)
The Collective (Part 26)
The Collective (Part 27)
The Collective (Part 28)
The Collective (Part 29)
The Collective (Part 30)
The Collective (Part 31)
The Collective (Part 32)
The Collective (Part 33)
The Collective (Part 34)
The Collective (Part 35)
The Collective (Part 36)
The Collective (Part 37)
The Collective (Part 38)
The Collective (Part 39)
The Collective (Part 40)
The Collective (Part 41) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 42)
The Collective (Part 43) - Sol
The Collective (Part 44) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 45) - Sol
The Collective (Part 46) - 1337-BigStick
The Collective (Part 47) 1337-BigStick
The Collective (Part 48) - Empire
The Collective (Part 49) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 50) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 51) - Avorias
The Collective (Part 52) - Centauri 3
The Collective (Part 53)
The Collective (Part 54) - Sol
The Collective (Part 55) - Blingoth
The Collective (Part 56) - Centauri 3
The Collective (Part 57) - Luna
The Collective (Part 58)
The Collective (Part 59)
The Collective (Part 60) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 61)
The Collective (Part 62) - Luna
The Collective (Part 63)
The Collective (Part 64)
The Collective (Part 65) - Centauri III
The Collective (Part 66) - Avorias
The Collective (Part 67) - Message
The Collective (Part 68) - Avorias
The Collective (Part 69)
The Collective (Part 70)
The Collective (Part 71) - Centauri III
The Collective (Part 72) - Titan
The Collective (Part 73)
The Collective (Part 74) - Party
The Collective (Party 75) - Party
The Collective (Part 76) - LWW
The Collective (Part 77) - LWW
The Collective (Part 78) - BAT
The Collective (Part 79) - BAT
The Collective (Part 80)
The Collective (Part 81) - BAT
The Collective (Part 82) - BAT
The Collective (Part 83)
The Collective (Part 84)
The Collective (Part 85)
The Collective (Part 86)
The Collective (Part 87) - Terra

The Collective

Jaksyx sighed. Another work shift completed, a meager amount of funds acquired.

Truth be told, Jaksyx couldn't complain too much. His job as a maintenance manager aboard a Collective station was at least somewhat coveted. Most beings within The Collective were relegated to planetside life. Peaceful and quiet without many of the threats of living high in the skies or in systems incapable of supporting known Collective life.

Jaksyx was in the process of finishing closing out his maintenance log for the day, having repaired several organic dispensaries and eliminating several old safety hazards, when he received an urgent notice.

TO: MAINTENANCE MANAGER, STATION 1337

FROM: STATION MANAGER, STATION 1337

COPIED: STATION SECURITY, STATION 1337

You are directed to provide MAXIMUM SECURITY REINFORCEMENT to LIVING QUARTERS BLOCK 89231. All requisitions and additional work hours in this matter will be automatically approved. You are required to complete this in no later than 1 shift cycle.

MESSAGE ENDS

Jaksyx had to read it several times. First, he had to relook up what MAXIMUM SECURITY REINFORCEMENT meant. It was normally only used for something like a meteor storm or an out of control epidemic. It called for quadrupling the security containment procedures, locks, even wall reinforcements. And in order to set it up for a specific living quarters block was unheard of. He'd have to install a completely independent atmosphere, power, and organic dispensary unit. He didn't make enough in three solar cycles to afford half of one of those if he didn't spend the smallest increment of currency.

Next, usually requisitions were normally kicked back no matter what. To have a preemptive code that would auto-approve all the requisitions said this had to be top priority, regardless of Collective policy. Jaksyx leaked a little, contemplating including a few items that he'd been fighting to acquire for a while. After all, he was a maintenance manager and it would be remiss of himself and maintenance managers everywhere if he didn't try and either build in a little something extra for himself, even if it was just few extra parts and pay.

Hesitating only a few moments, Jaksyx sent auto messages to his best teams, started filing all the necessary requisitions (and a few extras mixed in), and logged the identified time for each team and himself to get the work done in time.

The Living Quarters Block 89231 was utterly transformed. It went from being 10 rooms of moderate Collective-standard comfort to being 3 rooms of highly reinforced space. A veritable fortress one could ride a dozen meteor storms out in or perhaps a prison cell you could put an out of control Thrusis-plagued Borlian in and you'd never need worry about it getting out.

Jaksyx actually felt disquieted by the space. And the more he thought on the order, the more his galoopers tingled. It didn't feel right... but orders were orders and it was what the Collective had ordered, right?

Jaksyx' teams cheered each other off duty, grateful for the extra work (and funds) and headed off when done. Jaksyx filed his reply to the station manager. He received an almost immediate reply.

TO: MAINTENANCE MANAGER, STATION 1337

FROM: STATION MANAGER, STATION 1337

COPIED: STATION SECURITY, STATION 1337

You are directed to provide escort duty from BAY 14 to LIVING QUARTERS BLOCK 89231. Your Collective account is being credited with three shift credit equivalents.

MESSAGE ENDS

Jaksyx stared at the message, tried to make sense of it. He was a maintenance manager. Not an escort. Why him? Was it because he was a Trygn? Was it because he'd snuck in those extra requisitions? Another message ping filled his screen.

TO: MAINTENANCE MANAGER, STATION 1337

FROM: STATION MANAGER, STATION 1337

COPIED: STATION SECURITY, STATION 1337

You are directed to provide escort duty from BAY 14 to LIVING QUARTERS BLOCK 89231 now.

MESSAGE ENDS

Jaksyx jolted from his seated position and moved as swiftly as his gravpad would allow.

Arriving at the massive doors to Bay 14, he saw several lines on either side of the door of Station Security Forces, all dressed in full security gear, unlike their normal non-threatening support gear.

Just what was he meeting?

The Station Security Lead spotted him and waved him towards the door and then gestured to the Station Security Forces into danger stances.

Jaksyx swallowed heavily and pulled the door engagement lever and backed up. He had no idea what to expect.

The three massive Borlians who stepped through door, outfitted in more daunting gear than anything carried by the Station Security Forces, looked to be on guard, but, and it surprised Jaksyx that he even noticed this, they seemed only minimally concerned with seeing Jaksyx and the Station Security Forces.

The being following the Borlians seemed much more their concern. It was as tall as a Borlian, covered in fur in places, bi-pedal, two arms, and garbed in inoffensive Collective ambassadorial garments. Strangely though, it was wearing on its back a long blade of some metal. Just based on the size of the blade, Jaksyx decided it must be some sort of badge of office, since even a Borlian would have trouble using it as any sort of weapon.

It fixed Jaksyx with a gaze and for a moment, Jaksyx wanted to flee. No, not just flee, to run and hide from this being whatever it was.

Jaksyx tried to reassert himself in his right mind and motioned for the Borlians and the being, whatever it was, to follow him.

One Borlian took up position in front of the being and two behind it.

Twice, Jaksyx had to replan the route to the living quarters block to allow for the bulk of the Borlians. Oddly, not a word was spoken, by neither the Borlians nor this being.

Jaksyx thought back on what he knew of the Borlians and Collective Ambassadors. It wasn't much. Borlians were the toughest, meanest, most durable beings in The Collective. They were frequently found in The Collective armed forces and used as bodyguards. But the way the three Borlians were moving and were armed, they seemed almost afraid of the being walking calmly with them. As far as Ambassadors go in the Collective, they might rarely move around and usually they insisted on their own species as their bodyguards. It was considered something of a racial insult to appoint another species to guard their political authority in The Collective.

Upon reaching the living quarters block and unlocking it, the being and the Borlians entered, one Borlian taking the security keys from Jaksyx.

The being turned to Jaksyx as it went to enter the living quarters and appeared to note Jaksyx' concern.

"Don't worry, gentlebeing. **I** won't be here long," it said quietly, opening its mouth slightly to reveal many teeth, fixing Jaksyx with a seemingly jovial but predatory stare at the same time.

The Borlian nearest appeared to be alerted by this, gripping their weapon and half readying it.

The door shut and Jaksyx hung on his gravpad, seemingly frozen in place. It was several moments before Jaksyx recovered enough to head to his own living quarters.

The news had arrived in his multi-shift absence and he scanned the headlines and froze at the newest bit of station news.

"Human Ambassador Patrick MacDonald and his security detail arrived at Station 1337 today."

Having never heard of a Human, Jaksyx quickly brought up what he could on them. What he found chilled his sacs.

Humans - tougher than Borlian, stronger than a Tynax weightlifter, and with aggression scores higher than any other civilized being known (not just in The Collective). And apparently, they were known for expressing that aggression physically. Jaksyx had a hard time getting any further info, but he did stumble across a series of videos illustrating human toughness. He found humans acting so violently in destroying walls, vehicles, and even each other, that he nearly purged his sacs.

And then he had a chilling thought. Those Borlians weren't there to protect that human. They were there to protect everyone from that human. And those walls he'd just had reinforced suddenly didn't seem thick enough.

__

The Collective Part 2

Collective Exploration Vessel We are One, Captain Drythos Commanding

Captain Drythos was a third generation explorer for The Collective. His people, the Dynas, had always been nomadic and peaceful, so the exploration of the universe for The Collective became a natural role for his people. Strictly speaking though, most of his people were “freelance” explorers, often times receiving little more than minor commissions for useful resource extraction information sent back to the Guilds of The Collective. Drythos was different. He had one of the few Collective Exploration Vessels, bearing the name and political will of The Collective to new stars.

Life being as rare as it is in the cosmos, Drythos and his forebears had only discovered one other sentient species, but they were sadly not at a technological nor philosophical level to accept communications from The Collective. And so, The Collective had ordered a monitor relay stationed at the edge of their solar envelope and the explorers to continue on. Drythos had always wondered if or when those people would be ready for The Collective.

As he understood it, The Collective was the product of multi-generational attempts at interstellar alliances. In each case prior to The Collective, too much authority had been attempted to be invested by one or more species with the goal of controlling the other species to maximally benefit themselves. There had been a number of short conflicts with each of these alliances as controls were discovered, rejected, and ultimately fought about. And to the best of The Collective’s accumulated history, none of the species involved had resorted to civilization-ending levels of conflict.

That was not to say that some of the species didn’t end up enslaved by another for several generations, but as even slaves held certain minimum rights within The Collective, that was not wholly to say that they were treated badly.

The Collective was founded on the basis that each of the species joining as a member which controlled their primary space was almost wholly responsible for maintaining their space to Collective Standards. As a result of this cooperation, The Collective (a small sampling of each species’ greatest minds, warriors, and politicians, or so they say) would provide additional protections, lasting interstellar trade agreements and platforms, and management of the sale of systems and planets for colonization and exploitation.

From everything that Drythos had been informed, while this was the official history of The Collective, and so it had been refined over the solar cycles, there had been much displeasure and disagreement about The Collective, many species expecting it to fail, just as the alliances previous to it had failed. Oddly, even the Borlians had agreed to the terms fairly readily since it had put so much emphasis on species self-control of their systems and gave equal footing in trade agreements and station spaces.

A humming and chirping sound filled the main control center where Drythos perched. Flexing his feathers, he indicated to the crewbeing manning the console that he wanted to know what it was. Communications Crewbeing Weftim had been almost asleep when the humming and chirping started on her console. Almost frantically, she began tapping the various controls to allow the computers to begin analysis of the signal.

Drythos could tell that Weftim was overcompensating with how she punched at the console with her talons. He knew it wasn’t terribly exciting for all crew members, but here they were in the depths of the cosmos, all of them far from home, scouting new systems for The Collective. And while he had no doubts that this signal too would be naught, but a curiosity of the universe or perhaps the cry of a species which had already destroyed itself, it was their duty to investigate it all the same.

It took Weftim and the computers some time to analyze the signal. It wasn’t random, but to the untrained eye or a miscalibrated scanner scope, it looked it. But there was structure there that wasn’t found in nature. At least not Collective cataloged nature.

Drythos was patient, directing the ship to follow the signal towards the source, as best it could. It wasn’t much, but either Weftim and the computers would decipher it or they would find the source. And new signal sources could be important when it came to astrogation, especially if they were especially distinct and complex.

The chirping dropped out of the signal coming from Weftim’s console, to be replaced with a series of low tones, which the computers almost immediately recognized as having a repeating pattern with only slight changes. What’s more, the signal had gotten much denser. This densification and change to a repeating pattern confirmed Weftim’s theory that this was an artificial signal, most likely from an unknown civilization.

Drythos wasn’t certain but he was happy to go along with Weftim’s theory for now. He remembered how rare sentient civilizations were and this being Weftim’s first tour on an exploration vessel, he expected her to be a bit more excited about such things. His own theory was that they would find an older automated probe from one of the Collective species from before The Collective cataloged all the species’ known artificial signals, to assist with further explorations. Most likely in orbit of what was a unique or interesting star.

With time, We Are One moved closer to the star. A standard red giant. And still the signal persisted. Drythos even ordered some simple maneuvers and the signal followed them.

When the vessel was still 15 light-minutes out from the star, Drythos ordered a full stop of the vessel’s advance. Something was bothering him and he wasn’t certain of what it might be. The signal was definitely artificial and he wanted to be cautious. Not all of the sentients found by The Collective or by Collective members prior to the founding were terribly receptive to even the idea of an interstellar community beyond their own world or worlds, so it was better to be cautious.

Whether Drythos knew it at that time or not, halting his vessel turned out to be the safest possible action.

Three rods of tungsten, each one cylindrical and no bigger than a basic meal ration, traveling at 0.25C shot through the space where the We Are One would have been not 15 minutes later. And as the vessel had been traveling starward, the launchers were undoubtedly at a similar distance as Captain Drythos’ vessel.

And yet, Drythos outwardly showed no reaction to the report that his vessel had effectively been fired upon, inwardly, he shrieked in rapid fire succession. A single one of those rounds would have punched through every bit of his vessel’s hull at the densest point and almost certainly not even noticeably slowed down.

If nothing else, it made for a very auspicious first contact with what The Collective came to know as the 3rd Sol Empire.

__

The 3rd Sol Empire was not new to the universe at large, but was certainly much more violent and dangerous than any The Collective had met before. It wasn’t that the 3rd Sol Empire was any bigger than the Borlian Union had conquered before meeting The Collective.

No, it was very patently that of all the sentient races The Collective had met, these “Humans” were aggressive beyond all the limits of The Collective metrics and had levels of endurance and strength beyond what even the Borlians had genejacked into themselves. And what almost made it worse is that these Humans were almost entirely natural.

So when they sent a single political agent, Ambassador Patrick MacDonald, The Collective automatically assigned him three Borlian bodyguards. And, despite what should have been a political insult to any other species, the Humans took it in stride, reasonably providing simple biological, technological, and philosophical details about their culture.

The philosophical details of the Humans’ martial based culture, combined with their endurance and strength, to say nothing of their other biological capabilities, sent ripples of terror through the leadership of The Collective and the leaders of each member species. A sentient omnivore who was capable of FTL-travel, bending and breaking through metal and stone with little more than muscle strength.

As such, The Collective’s leadership opted to establish a Human embassy at one of the furthest stations (albeit also the closest to Human territory, lest there be urgent matters of state or medicine), Station 1337. And so Ambassador Patrick MacDonald, bearing the decorative, but wholly functional monomolecular-edged claymore and the will of the 3rd Sol Empire, came to find out just what sort of neighbors the empire had.

The Collective (Part 3)

“Ambassador” he mumbled as he looked around the docking bay.

3rd Sol Empire appointed Ambassador to the so-called Collective Patrick MacDonald, nicknamed BigMac, honestly had no idea where he was going and why.

Oh, he’d been given all the details about what The Collective had told the empire about themselves. How it’s basically a peaceful cooperative with minimal interference, but there were still a mountain of rules to comply with if the empire joined.

BigMac wasn’t especially big. Average height for a man of Terran Scottish Highlands, did a tour with the 42nd Cavalry, Her Imperial Majesty’s Improbability Brigade, and had settled into the life of a civil servant in the service of the Empire and keeping up with a few ancestral hobbies, including blade making and swordsmanship. As such, even among his fellows, he had a grip like iron and a fondness to do more than sit in an office day in and out.

BigMac had been transported by a standard courier vessel to the farthest reach of the empire, where there was little more than a few automated miners and defense platforms, to the system where First Contact had been made.

It wasn’t, strictly speaking, the first time Humanity had found life among the stars, but for an empire of 54 habitable worlds and countless spacers to have found no other sentients, it was considered something of a moment of joy and also fear. Joy in finding out that Humanity was not alone. Fear in preparing for what many suspected would be followed by subjugation, xenocide, or even just war.

It struck him as a bit unlikely that this Collective was going to take on Humanity. From a simple scan of their exploration vessel at first contact, their technology was verging on lacework fragile. During the first meetings aboard that vessel, one of the contact team had gripped part of a table and begun crumpling it without realizing it. To say their hosts were slightly horrified would be an understatement.

Once the exchange of information began on their various peoples, it became a lot more obvious. The Collective was largely made up of sentients who were nowhere near as hardy as the average human. Simple annoyances to human, smells, sounds, textures even, could be incapacitating, even lethal to some of these sentients. The most “human-like” of these sentients were the Borlians, who, while being rather durable in their own right, were largely genejacks, and even then, they lacked the strength and stamina of humans, but that could largely be put down to Borlians being pack hunters on a homeworld with 0.5 Standard Earth Grav.

BigMac (and no small number of imperial analysts and scientists) had wondered how all these sentients had even managed to make their way into space with all of these glaring biological weaknesses and even simple lacking resilience.

Alternately, the imperial analysts and scientists were not surprised in the slightest to find that some of The Collective was comprised of slaves. After all, it was useful to have a workforce that could independently problem-solve and self-maintain. And the lack of artificial intelligences was both pleasing and disheartening. Humanity had worked at the problem since before the founding of the first empire and had only managed smarter computing, but not true sentience.

The imperial courier ship had docked with the Borlian transport vessel By Our Bones and BigMac had gone to meet with the Captain. The Borlian vessel was the only vessel in easy range to collect the Ambassador without cramped quarters and it was assumed that the Ambassador would be bringing assistants and all matter of gear to set up an embassy. This was only partially correct. BigMac was bringing several large containers of various equipment, clothing, and ambassadorial type office décor, but he was going alone for the time being.

The crates had been moved onto the Borlian vessel by the human crew due to the sheer mass of the crates. The Borlian longshorebeings were a bit perturbed by this. Not entirely by the “someone else is doing my job of lifting heavy things”, but rather by the almost effortlessness by which the humans were doing so. However, anybeing inquiring directly would get an answer of the former rather than the latter.

The transfer complete, the courier ship had simply departed. The Borlian vessel had taken some not insignificant time to respin their drives to take the vessel to Station 1337. BigMac hadn’t minded. This was an opportunity to get to know more about the Borlians specifically and the vessel’s Captain had stated that per Collective directive, BigMac was free to inspect all parts of the vessel, but was discouraged from entering the crew lounge or inhibiting the functions of the vessel.

As such, BigMac headed straight for the crew lounge. Upon entering, he found himself looking at the equivalent of what struck him as a old-Terra-French bistro, the chairs and stools only loosely filled with a number of Borlians, who appeared to not know what to think about this intrusion.

BigMac, being the former cavalryman that he was, strolled directly over to what appeared to be the serving station and looked meaningfully, but, he hoped, jovially at the Borlian standing behind it.

It took a few moments before the serving Borlian managed an inquiry.

“What can I get you, Ambassador?” it rumbled pleasingly in Collective Standard (which BigMac had received a crash course in).

“Since scotch is probably out of the question, what kind of ethanol-water based beverages do you have available?” BigMac managed, figuring some getting-to-know-you beverages wouldn’t hurt.

As it turned out, the serving Borlian looked rather shocked at the request, although did turn up the equivalent of what BigMac would have called an eyebrow at the word Scotch, before turning a display to face the human. It was in the process of listing out ethanol-water based beverages in Collective Standard Chemical Listings, which was less than helpful.

“Do your people consume ethanol-water based beverages?” BigMac asked the serving Borlian.

“We do,” was the response.

“Splendid. I’ll take a popular Borlian ethanol-water based beverage. No arsenic or cyanide if you please,” BigMac said, almost grinning.

The serving Borlian did the equivalent of a bow crossed with a nod and appeared to set about ordering his beverage from the fabricator.

BigMac took this time to turn and look at the rest of the room. Almost all eyes were still on him and then quickly began looking away from him. It was most certainly too quiet for BigMac’s liking.

“Calm, gentlebeings. As you were before my entrance,” he said, struggling a bit with the Collective word equivalent for entrance.

There were a couple sounds that reminded BigMac of giggles. Without his headset and computing rig set up, he could only guess that he’d managed to muck up his pronunciation. But the normal sounds of beings enjoying food, drink, and light discussion began again, so he wasn’t put out by it.

A minute or so later, a beverage was placed within his reach in what appeared to be a paper cup. BigMac thought it rather odd, but depending on metal scarcity, it was easier to break down organics and repattern them in the average human shipboard fabricator compared with most metals. And paper wouldn’t exactly break or cut anyone under normal circumstances. (But BigMac could think of no less than 3 instances where paper had managed just that.)

It took him a moment before he realized the serving Borlian was looking over the top of his head and several more moments before he guessed why. The claymore hanging on his back was simply the easiest way to carry the massive blade and with the handle rising up over his head, he understood. He’d received that sort of look from many human bartenders. Usually right before they asked him to disarm himself. And were he not the only human onboard this vessel, he would have considered it, but he was and so he prepared himself to respond. But the request didn’t come. Simply a gesture to the beverage.

Taking the cup with some care, it had only a mild color and fragrance and felt to be at only slightly below room temperature. He took a sip. It reminded BigMac of a watered down fruit juice, but he couldn’t place what flavor. And he couldn’t taste a drop of alcohol.

“Gentlebeing. This does contain ethanol, yes?” he asked the serving Borlian.

“It does. One part per two hundred. I did not wish to serve you an excess of your tolerance,” it rumbled, shifting a bit.

“Have no fear, gentlebeing. My species commonly indulges in excessive ethanol-water beverage consumption at greater than one to one mixtures,” BigMac responded, evenly, double-checking the math against the Collective Standard lingo.

The serving Borlian gasped. And it was not alone. Many of the nearby Borlians had similar reactions of astonishment (or what BigMac hoped was astonishment).

“I take it from your reaction that such consumption is not practiced by your species,” BigMac said, hoping he wasn’t about to be put on whatever their equivalent of a suicide watch was.

One of the Borlians at a nearby table, garbed in a simple jumpsuit that appeared smeared with oils and fluids like an average mechanic, stood.

“You are correct in your statement. Such a mixture would be lethal to our kind. And we do not appreciate your joke,” it rumbled, a quiet thunder in its voice.

BigMac looked the Borlian over. Quad eyes in a two by two pattern, little to no hair (visible at least), a flattened nose, wide mouth and lips with no cheeks to speak of, 4 digit hands, four arms, two tree-trunk-like legs (at least compared to the rest of the body). Probably a few centimeters shorter than himself and about 20 kilos lighter.

“It was no joke,” he stated flatly.

“Are you open to a contest of strength?” the mechanic asked, flexing both sets of arms openly.

BigMac took a moment to consider this. After all, this hadn’t been in any of his briefings on The Collective and was exactly what he was looking for. On the other hand, he was a guest on an alien vessel heading into unknown territory. Certainly his people had the coordinates of the station he was supposed to be going to, but who knew if those were real.

Weighing his options, he decided to test the waters.

“The stakes?” he inquired.

“Pride and a round of drinks, winner’s choice,” the mechanic rumbled.

“Brawn versus brawn. No weapons,” BigMac made certain to state.

“No weapons,” was the rumbled response, with a rather pointed digit at his sword.

BigMac grinned, flashing the room a wide smile as he unstrapped the claymore and handed it gingerly to the serving Borlian.

“Return this to me after the contest. Do not touch the edges,” he cautioned.

It appeared that the serving Borlian struggled to lift the sword with both sets of arms, gently setting it on the counter on the flat of the blade.

BigMac drained the remainder of his drink and set the cup next to the sword. Stepping into a clear space in the center of the room, he waited as the mechanic also stepped up, offering up two hands.

‘Ah, a pushing contest. I haven’t had one of those in ages. Thank the Empress I got plenty of practice as a cavalryman,” BigMac thought to himself as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Taking the Borlian mechanic’s grip and firmly planting his feet, he looked to the Borlian who apparently would be officiating from the side of the space and nodded. Naturally, many of the other Borlians were gathered to watch, but none so close as this one.

He turned his head back to the mechanic and braced.

“Engage!”

It took BigMac a moment to realize that the mechanic had started pushing and gripping tightly the instant the word was uttered. It wasn’t that it was effortless to hold it back, but it wasn’t the violent jolt or the crushing grip he was expecting.

After an instant’s reflection, he squeezed with the practiced grip pressure of a firm handshake and began to press more firmly against the Borlian mechanic. Looking into the Borlian’s eyes, they appeared to be almost watering and filled with one-part fear, three-parts disbelief. Deciding to press his luck, he shoved hard and let go his grip.

Apparently, the Borlian was sufficiently surprised by the force, that it also released its grip on his hands. It stumbled backwards several steps, almost frantically trying to keep upright. A light murmuring and some gasps were heard in the lounge at this.

“The Human wins, Boltig. Congratulations, Ambassador,” the Borlian officiant rumbled.

“Indeed. You have much strength. You would make a fine Borlian,” the mechanic, now known as Boltig, rumbled to BigMac.

“I believe I am owed a drink, Borlian Boltig” BigMac said, taking back up a wide grin.

“And so shall it be on my tab,” Boltig said, appearing to try to match BigMac’s own wide grin.

BigMac turned to the serving Borlian.

“I’ll take the strongest ethanol-water beverage as you are able to provide from your standard menu at double the normal serving size,” he requested.

It seemed this assignment was looking up already.

The Collective (Part 4)

“And so I, Brrrt’Ik of the Rewtalk, Representative of The Collective, welcome you, Ambassador Patrick MacDonald of the Humanity, Representative of the 3rd Sol Empire, to found your embassy,” came the end of the droning tones from the being that reminded the Ambassador of someone having crossed a chicken with an emperor penguin and then fed it growth hormones.

“In the name of the Empress, I, Ambassador Patrick MacDonald, do hereby found the Embassy of Humanity aboard the Collective Station 1337, in hopes of peace, prosperity, and the growth of our peoples,” he intoned.

The scene around him was much like any official ceremony. Picture-takers, newsbeings, vid-recorders, politicians, and the odd bit of the public. What the members of The Collective weren’t prepared for was what came next.

As was tradition, the flag of a new species was to be hung in the central core of the station. However, the 3rd Sol Empire didn’t have a flag as such. At least not in the old Terran form, nor in any of the visible forms used by The Collective species. Instead, a 2 meter high cylindrical pillar of calcium carbonate stood in the designated spot with a series of steps leading up to the top. Carefully, the Ambassador for Humanity and her imperial majesty ascended the steps and placed the large opaque blue and green glass orb atop the pillar. Wordlessly, he then drew from his shoulder harness the massive claymore and held it aloft, the metal shining like a beacon under the press of lights.

“And so shall it be!” he called, before turning the point of the sword downward over the orb and driving it down, through the sphere, and deep into the pillar. Raising himself back to a standing position, he slowly descended the stairs and rejoined the Collective representative.

Silence ruled for a few moments, the assembled pops clearly uncertain as to the meaning of this strange act. But the practiced speech of Representative Brrt’Ik soon filled the dead air, intoning a new day for both the empire and The Collective.

__

“I do wish you would have told me that is what you would be using that weapon for,” Brrt’Ik later chastised BigMac.

“I apologize, but the imperial founding ceremony isn’t exactly a secret. We take the claiming of worlds very seriously,” BigMac responded.

They were back in the reinforced living quarters of the human ambassador, the artificial gravity lowered to the station standard to allow the representative to move freely. BigMac moved around what was slowly forming itself into his office or rather the Embassy. He sighed inwardly, but knew that this is what he had signed up for.

“But that weapon isn’t exactly a flag. And why did you complete that violent act against the pillar we fabricated and the orb you brought from your homeworld?” Brrt’Ik probed.

“By imperial decree, the founding of all new worlds and embassies shall include the Sword of the Empress and the Eye of Terra,” BigMac recited from memory.” In short, that pillar, orb, and now sheathed sword are the flag of the empire. And until it was properly placed or relieved of me, I was the Flagbearer.”

“And so you carried it with you openly at all times?”

“Indeed. Until we met The Collective, only imperial colony founders carry the Sword of the Empress and it’s considered highly disrespectful to cover it up or to leave it unattended.”

“So it is a mark of authority then?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But not invested in one person, but rather in all who are bound to that journey.”

“Very well. Now I believe I have some other business to attend to, but my office will be available should you require our assistance,” Brrt’Ik said, bobbing and then shuffling out.

“Computer, raise gravity to Terran Standard,” BigMac ordered as soon as the door was shut behind the representative.

The comforting weight of himself, his clothing, and even the few items in his pockets returned and BigMac sighed as he sat down behind his desk.

The computer terminal resting there, a standalone unit unlike the more commonly networked units back on Terra, stood ready.

He activated the comms link and waited for the security to connect him.

“You’re late,” intoned the burnished-faced human woman on his screen.

“The ceremony took a bit longer than expected. Apparently, they didn’t take note of the imperial founding ceremony,” he responded, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s to be expected. We didn’t call special attention to it in the information exchanges since first contact. How are your accommodations?”

“Tolerable. I still have to be careful though. Apparently, Terran standard gravity is twice their standard, there’s some chemical lethality issues we’ll have to address, and so far, I managed to tear two doors off their frames. Not to mention, I’m almost constantly having to look down to make sure I don’t accidentally kick someone. It’s like being surrounded by school children,” he said, thinking through the events of the last three days.

“We received a list of their chemical poisons. It’s very similar to our own, but in much lower quantities in almost every regard,” the female responded.

“Oh? Anything interesting?” BigMac responded, perking up at the hint of some information.

“Capsaicin. Apparently, even in low doses by our standards, it’s lethal to about a third of the collective. So you’d probably better pass on holding embassy dinners with curry or jalapeno poppers,” the female said, a small grin on her face.

“Well, there goes half of my diet,” he smirked back.

“I’ll send you a more detailed report on what we’ve found out. Do actually read this one,” she chided.

“I will,” he said with the exasperation of a youngling being asked to complete household chores.

The face of the nameless imperial analyst blinked out and a calendar notification popped up. It appeared that he had a meeting in a few minutes.

Just enough time for a coffee then. While The Collective had provided him with an organic fabricator, the fabricator he had brought from Terra had everything by name instead of chemical codes. He dialed up a turkish coffee in a glass mug, taking a few sips and reveling in the simple pleasure for a minute.

He stepped over to his desk, arranged himself, his coffee, and the desk a bit. Shortly, the signal chime rang. After lowering the gravity for his guest, he cycled the door and in walked a palmfrond with legs. It took him a few moments to realize what he thought he was seeing.

“I am Captain Ewdim of the Stets. I am here for our meeting,” the palmfrond with legs rustled out in Collective Standard.

“Indeed, please take a position opposite me at my desk,” BigMac responded, hating the formality that Collective Standard required.

The palmfrond approached, observed the seating placed there, and appeared to opt to crouch instead.

“Since I do not know why you have called this meeting, if you would care to begin,” he indicated, sitting up, but neither back nor forward.

“Your people will buy our goods,” the palmfrond rustled. There was silence for a few moments.

“You wish to enter into a trade agreement?” BigMac raised an eyebrow.

“Exclusive trade for not less than three generations,” the palmfrond rustled, sounding almost a little smug.

“And why would we do this?” BigMac responded, curious as to this particular form of negotiation.

“Because we say it must be done,” the palmfrond rustled, sounding a bit annoyed.

“Who is we in this context?”

“The Stets people.”

“Ah lovely. The official response is no. The 3rd Sol Empire will not be entering into species exclusive trade agreements at this time,” he responded.

“You have no choice,” the palmfrond rustled vigorously.

“What makes you say that?” BigMac responded, leaning forward in his chair.

Too late, he saw the dart hidden among the leaves. It hit his ear and ended up half-embedded in the painting behind his desk.

Standing, he looked across the desk and down at the palmfrond.

“That was a mistake,” he said, a dark tone in his voice.

“Your heart will now greatly accelerate and you will dehydrate severely from a high dose of methylxanthine alkaloid,” the palmfrond spoke.

“A methylxanthine alkaloid? You mean like caffeine?” he said, after glancing to his computer for a non-chemist translation and picking up the cooling mug for another sip.

“Why are you not convulsing?” the palmfrond rustled, clearly irritated.

“Because my people consume a lot more caffeine than you can threaten me with. Have a drink,” he said, pouring the remaining three-quarters of the mug over top of the palmfrond.

The palmfrond didn’t react at first, but began to shake rather violently before falling to the floor, its legs continuing to convulse with the rest of it.

BigMac set the gravity back to Terran standard and brought up a communications link to Brrt’Ik’s office. An aide (indicated by the console) answered.

“Can you tell me anything useful about the Stets species?” he blankfaced asked the aide.

“They are a rather direct and forceful member of The Collective, but they tend to regard the rules of trade, especially with exterior species as guidelines at best. Why do you ask, Ambassador?”

“You may wish to arrange for a hazardous material cleaning crew to my embassy. It appears one of the Stets received a rather excessive amount of methylxanthine alkaloid during trade negotiations,” BigMac grinned.

The aide appeared shocked a few moments.

“It…. it… uh… it will be arranged for.”

He closed the communications link and sat back down. He hated politics, and now he needed to make some more coffee.

The Collective (Part 5)

Three months… at least according to his Terran standard clocks and calendar. And he was still in this tiny office and living space.

Ambassador Patrick MacDonald stretched out on the floor rug he’d had fabricated, once he figured out how to put Terran templates into his Collective issued fabricator. He felt utterly caged in his quarters. It was the only place that felt right. The Collective Standard Gravity felt like he was back on Mars and he’d never liked being there for long. Sure it was good for a thrill, but all your reactions were timed wrong.

And he was sick of dealing with the so-called “more aggressive” Collective species. They were little more than classroom bullies who couldn’t stand up to anything real.

At least the Borlians seemed to regard him favorably. But they were still just about as scared of his ‘accidents’ as most of the other species were. It didn’t seem to make sense that they wouldn’t have beefed things up, given the species’ general fragility. He’d even torn a few bolts out of a wall accidentally.

The little Trygn, what was his name, oh yes, Jaksyx. It seemed like he was always having to order more pieces for equipment that BigMac had managed to break, mostly out of sheer habit of not having to handle everything like it's the Empress’ china. He did like the little Trygn. Something of a quad-armed, three eyed slug that rode around on a gravpad.

Of course, he’d also seen Jaksyx look nervously at the sodium chloride container BigMac had sitting with the rest of his spices.

An alert sounded on his console and reluctantly, he got up and walked over to it. It was a commlink from Terra. He couldn’t turn it down. So he tabbed it open.

“You’re on the air,” he said jovially.

Another nameless analyst’s face, a younger male with tight features and close cropped hair, showed no reaction.

“Your request has been fulfilled and is enroute. You may wish to alert the station. They will most likely become quite… excitable when it arrives,” the analyst said blankly.

BigMac blinked a few times.

“Wait. Really?” he asked, almost disbelieving.

“Yes. Really. As it turns out, it was approved a while back, but the necessary transport equipment was unavailable.”

“Do they have the placement plan?” BigMac asked.

“I did that particular work myself,” said the analyst, a small smile invading his face for a brief moment. “The Collective it seems has the prime location for that system, but there are positions one lightsecond in the same orbit which should allow for many of the same benefits.”

“Splendid. How soon will it arrive?” BigMac asked, leaning towards the screen.

“Within the day, so I would recommend speaking with the station leadership post-haste. Terra out.”

The window holding the analyst’s face closed.

BigMac sat for a moment in his ambassadorial chair. Finally, he could get out of here. Remembering the admonishment by the analyst, but deciding to celebrate a little anyway, he pulled open his bottom left side drawer and extracted a mostly full bottle of amber liquid and a small glass. After pouring himself what was a finger to him, but probably a lethal dose to any other species on the platform, he replaced the bottle, took a long sip of the amber liquid and felt its warmth fill him.

No matter how good the fabricators got, there simply was no getting around an old-fashioned Terra-brewed scotch. And for an occasion such as this, it felt right to drink it.

__

10 minutes later, he had donned his official vestments and began strolling to the appropriate set of lifts that would take him to Councilor Brrt’Ik’s chambers.

It was a fast walk for him, but he did still occasionally have to try to not step on or kick fellow beings.

Arriving at the Councilor’s chambers, he walked right in to the front office, the aide looking up from “her” desk.

“Is Brrt’Ik in? I have news that concerns the station,” he stated.

“The Councilor is out, but perhaps I can be of some aid,” came the fluted reply of the aide.

“I need to make the station leadership aware of an arrival from Human space,” BigMac said, smiling a bit.

The aide looked at him oddly for a moment, with head cocked to one side. On the bird-like alien, it was rather amusing to look at.

“I should not think that station leadership would be bothered by the arrival of a Human transport vessel,” the aide responded, still with her head cocked to one side.

“It’s not the transport that concerns me. It’s the cargo,” BigMac said, flatly, but still unwilling to tip his hand.

“We will prepare for all appropriate hazardous material protections,” the aide said, straightening her head, clearly believing she had the handle of the situation.

BigMac sighed. These… people were just no fun.

“Very well. But please make station leadership aware that the transport will be arriving within the next decicycle,” BigMac put forward.

“I shall do this. Thank you for informing us to allow us to take the appropriate precautions,” the aide said, and returned to looking over items on her desk.

BigMac wandered away, shaking his head a bit.

__

4 hours and 37 minutes later, a warp gate opened 15 lightminutes from Station 1337.

The station monitors reported the gate and then reported the two massive objects that came through it.

Automated systems began to kick in and alarms began to sound as the two massive objects began a slow, but increasing velocity toward the station. The smaller of the two was half the volume of the station and the other was twenty times the volume of the station.

The station managers and sensor operators started to panic as they saw the sensor returns filling their screens. Both objects were coming back as almost solid iron-carbon composites.

It wasn’t for a minute or two that they realized that the smaller one was towing the larger one. But there wasn’t a species known that could easily build spacecraft of that magnitude and towing capacity.

The communications system began to chime with an incoming message.

TO: Station Leadership, Station 1337, The Collective

FROM: INS Speaking Softly, Captain Ishmael commanding

“Her Imperial Majesty of the 3rd Sol Empire sends her regards and the first trade station and mobile embassy between our peoples. Please alert Ambassador MacDonald to our arrival.”

MESSAGE ENDS

The station manager swallowed heavily as the light of the star illuminated the two massive objects. The ship, the INS Speaking Softly, was towing the even larger… platform was the only word that came to the station manager’s mind. It wasn’t elegant or geometric or even some semblance of symmetric, but all of that was overshadowed by the sheer size of it.

“An...an… analysis. What sort of spectroscopy are we seeing?” he managed.

“It comes back as solid metal, iron and carbon, but we’re seeing evidence that both the ship and the, uh, station are using fusion systems,” the sensor operator managed.

“Alert Ambassador MacDonald. I want to know just what that… platform is doing here.”

__

“That? I requested it,” BigMac responded to the station manager.

“You WHAT?” the station manager shouted, an impressive feat, given the otherwise even tones required for Collective Standard.

“I requested a proper embassy and a trade station be supplied. That way, I don’t keep breaking equipment on your station, and I can arrange for a much great supply of trade opportunities,” BigMac grinned.

The station manager paused. It was true, he had seen all the requisitions regarding the human. He was used to seeing damage, but he usually expected to see that it had come from the dangers of space or extreme circumstances, not everyday accidents and certainly not by casual body-strength alone. It might be worth it to get the human off the station. At least until The Collective would make up its mind about these humans. But one question still floated in his mind.

“Where did your empire get the resources for such a station so fast?”

“Oh, well, as it turns out, this station was due to be decommissioned. It was already built, but it needed some serious refurbishment and updating before they could bring it out here and even then, you need a serious tug or warship to move it around,” BigMac said, matter-of-factly.

The word…. The word ‘warship’ stuck in the station manager’s head like a knife. He glanced at the screen showing the INS Speaking Softly towing the humans’ station. Just looking at it at this distance made something inside him want to run and hide. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the very thought that just now, there was a human-built warship showing more engine power in simply towing a station that dwarfed his own than he’d seen as a mega-freighter pilot made him suddenly nervous.

“If you’ll excuse me, Station Master, I need to go contact them and make sure they have everything in order,” BigMac said, waited a moment for confirmation, and terminated the link.

The station manager looked back at the screen showing the massive entities. ‘So this was humanity. They didn’t build it for this. They were planning to throw it away…’

The last line stuck in his head as he watched on as a small vessel broke from the INS Speaking Softly and headed for Bay 6.

‘Maybe it isn’t too late to retire someplace far away from here,’ he thought, still trying to come to grips with just what these humans were.

The Collective (Part 6)

Within a few Terran Standard months, the Human trade station orbiting with Station 1337, named in Collective Standard as Large Tree-arm had become a veritable hub of activity, most notably trade.

While virtually no Collective races could set foot aboard the titanic station, goods, data, and discourse between the members of the 3rd Sol Empire and The Collective was equally gargantuan. Even a number of the unaligned species who refused to deal with The Collective came to the once out of the way system in hopes of bringing back unique trade goods of the humans.

If nothing else, the durability of their goods was enviable by all. However, humanity’s thirst for the fine, delicate, and beautiful goods, plants, and foods was equal to the mass of trade they brought.

For a brief time following the station’s arrival, there were talks between Ambassador MacDonald and Councilor Brrt’Ik regarding regulation of trade between The Collective and the 3rd Sol Empire as a matter of taxes and certain restrictions. To which Ambassador MacDonald laughed and stated simply that the Empress had a simple tax of percentage on all goods, physical and digital, within the empire. This system was clearly not in the empire, so no tax applied. But he would personally guarantee that no goods or data restricted by the Empress would enter Collective territory.

For his part, Brrt’Ik managed to hold his own and issued a statement for the system that all transactions on the Human station by Collective species were subject to inspection and taxation on Station 1337. And while there was no small amount of displeasure, a majority of the species agreed with his decision.

But with trade, comes threat. And the threat came half an orbit of the two stations around the local star.

The warp gate that brought the threat was cleverly opened near the star on the far side. All of the Collective scanners dismissed it as some sort of minor solar flare or interference. It wasn’t until the thirty-eight vessels of the Draxy Pirate Confederation came around the edge of the star that Station 1337 even knew they were in trouble.

“SURRENDER OR BE DESTROYED” came the ringing demand from the pirate vessels, each one different from each other, from various species and with differing levels of astrogation skill.

The Collective station’s alarms went off. Piracy was so limited within The Collective that it was almost unthinkable to even attack a Collective Station.

The station manager quickly launched the emergency warp beacon to call the Collective Navy and any other warships of aligned species. It made it two lightseconds away and leapt away. Although, the station manager knew it would do little good. A majority of the Collective Navy was decicycles away and he had little doubts that this would be over in a matter of millicycles.

The demand was still filling his screens when he saw the communication come in from the Human station.

To: Station Manager, Station 1337

From: Station Manager, IMST Large Tree-arm

Have you activated your defenses?

MESSAGE ENDS

It took the station manager a moment and then looked at the far wall of the control room. There was an unmanned console with all of the station defenses. In early years of The Collective and the station’s life, it had always been manned, but with the sheer lack of threat, those personnel had been assigned elsewhere.

He raced over to the panel and looking through the various buttons and levers, he managed to activate the console and commanded the station to ALERT-1 status.

The glowing sphere that filled the space around Station 1337 was a shock to all, including those on the station.

The pirate armada continued to close the distance, but appeared a bit more wary of Station 1337 now.

The station manager looked a bit relieved. Borlian Energy Shields. They weren’t widely available, usually due to the sheer amount of energy they required. Cautiously, he called to the being manning the power systems and requested the status. It wasn’t good. The shield would deplete the energy reserves in a matter of a decicycle and that was only if they weren’t overloaded first.

Quickly, the station manager sent a message back to the other station manager.

To: Station Manager, IMST Large Tree-arm

From: Station Manager, Station 1337

I have set my defenses to Alert-1. I recommend similar measures on your station.

MESSAGE ENDS

Almost as soon as it showed it had been sent, a new message arrived.

To: Station Manager, Station 1337

From: Station Manager, IMST Large Tree-arm

We don’t have energy shields. We’ll be alright though.

MESSAGE ENDS

The station manager swallowed heavily. He could see from here that the armada was likely to tear apart his station, shields or not. And the humans had no such protection.

The armada began to open fire on the nearer of the two stations, Station 1337, with laser cannons and kinetic iron.

The shield was holding, but it continued to drain their energy reserves. The armada didn’t even have to fight. They could simply sit outside the shield and wait for the energy reserves to dry up and the shield would fall.

As it happened, they wouldn’t get the chance. Although, what happened, the station manager had to reconstruct afterwards.

There was a flash from the human station and one of the pirate vessels, a Ngyun frigate by the looks of it, virtually shattered only a moment later.

Several more flashes happened and one by one, each of the pirate vessels suffered some sort of massive damage.

A scant few realized what was happening and turned to flee or to put Station 1337 in between themselves and the human station, but none of them made it.

One fool of a ship turned and charged in the direction of the human station. Oddly, the human station didn’t appear to target it.

The one ship, a Rexan corvette that appeared to have gained Lumid engines, began firing all of its weapons at the human station. Lasers, kinetic iron rounds, and even fusion-powered explosive tubes hit the human station. The barrage would have destroyed an unshielded Collective station and would have tried the shields of a Borlian frigate.

The station manager frantically called for the people of the station to prepare for lockdown and for all emergency personnel possible to report to go attend the humans who had undoubtedly lost their lives.

Except by this point, the sensor operator pointed out, only one vessel remained and it was the Rexan corvette that was still charging at the Human station, on the verge of overloading its laser cooling systems.

Suddenly, the station manager felt a certain… overwhelming sense of pity for the pirates aboard that vessel. He wasn’t certain why until a moment later.

A beam of laser light, larger in diameter than the corvette itself punched into it from the human station and when the light was gone, so to was all traces of the corvette.

The station manager hastily typed out a communication.

To: Station Manager, IMST Large Tree-arm

From: Station Manager, Station 1337

I am preparing all emergency personnel to assist you. What aid do you require?

MESSAGE ENDS

This time it was a short wait before the response came

To: Station Manager, Station 1337

From: Station Manager, IMST Large Tree-arm

The water in my bath has gone a bit tepid, but I hardly need aid with that. No casualties reported and only superficial damage to the exterior. I’ll be sending drones to clean up the mess we made.

MESSAGE ENDS

The station manager sat back in his normal chair and honestly wondered where his transfer application was.

The Collective (Part 7)

“So while I’ve heard the rumors, what’s the real story of our first contact?” asked Counciless Oorak.

“Well, I believe you and I first met at the founding ceremony,” said Ambassador Patrick “BigMac” MacDonald, cheekily grinning at the female next to him.

She flicked his nose with one of her fingers.

“I know that. You knew what I meant,” she said, her lips curving to her species’ approximation of a smile.

“Indeed so. Well, you know about the arrival of We are One in one of her majesty’s mining systems,” BigMac said, sitting up and scooching back to rest his back against the head of the bed the two of them were lying in.

“Only at the scantest of details.”

“Well, as it turns out, the FTL transition of the We are One happened to be very similar to a faction in the empire from a few hundred Terran years ago that want to overthrow the Empire’s government. Simple politics as I’m sure you can imagine,” he began.

“Oh surely. My people are not without our own political struggles, but that hardly explains the armed response,” she replied.

“Well, there’s an automated system in each of her majesty’s claimed solar systems. That system attempted to communicate with the We are One as they advanced into the system, to assess the vessel’s arrival. After all, one can be using techniques of an opponent, but wouldn’t wish to be fired upon by one’s allies.”

“So when the We are One failed to authenticate with the automated system?”

“It triggered the system’s automated defenses.”

“But why design for such things, especially if you had only yourselves?” his bedmate asked.

“A bit of politics and a willingness to resort to violence by our own people. Also because the We are One was on a direct course for the automated station and sadly, it isn’t smart enough to be able to tell a drifting hulk, an actively running ship, or a rogue asteroid apart, at least not at those distances. All it could tell was that something was coming directly at it that hadn’t authenticated and so it opened fire.”

“But the captain maneuvered to avoid it.”

“He did. By coming to a full stop. The system is designed to recognize this sort of behavior. After all, active ships rarely do this, and drifting hulks and rogue asteroids definitely do not. So it did the next best protocol. It called home for human feedback.”

“But wouldn’t that have taken, pardon my limited understanding of your expression, hours?”

“Ordinarily, yes, but given the unique type of situation, an automated station is given a priority channel with virtually no communications lag.”

“Quite surprising that your people invented such technology. I don’t believe the Collective has the equivalent,” his green-skinned bedmate pried.

“It’s nothing classified or even restricted from sale by the Empress. It’s simply difficult for most members of The Collective to believe it exists. And even if they do believe it exists, The Collective doesn’t have the infrastructure in place to run it. A bit like how your data net exists in discrete segments, localized to only to what can sync with it. Ours is much the same, but we have a much more distributed system which allows us to communicate and share information from across the empire in mere moments on the right channels,” he said, smiling.

“Hmmm, I shall have to send my trade representative to one of your vendors to begin acquisitions. It should be quite a boon for my people. We much prefer to be free to communicate with all. As a result, it’s meant that our region of space is quite small,” she said, sitting up from having been lying on her belly and flexing her various musculatures.

“Anyway, back to the automated station, once a human looked at the scan data and realized it was an unknown vessel of unknown origin and appeared to clearly not be human, we began first contact protocols. First, we started with a computer to computer translation guide, so that we could at least send signals to each other. Then we began with the lexicon. Once we started talking, albeit slowly to allow for automated translations, Captain Drythos was significantly relieved. From what I gather, he was rather perturbed at having been fired upon. To be fair, I don’t blame him.”

“Nor I. Were I to have been in his position, I should have thought to turn and flee.”

“We are here only now because he didn’t. I, for one, am quite grateful.”

“It has indeed been most… stimulating having you humans around,” she said, her ears flexing in amusement.

“And most of the story is quite simple after that. With communications established, we sent several vessels to meet with Captain Drythos and despite a few involuntary-muscular spasms, it proceeded rather smoothly and I was assigned here,” BigMac concluded.

“Quite an interesting tale. My own people’s first contact was much less exciting and took cycles before we could readily communicate with another race. It was an exciting, but frightening time. After all, my people do not consume animal protein as your people do and our skin allows us to live under different suns. We did not know what to expect of our stellar neighbors,” she said, moving to the floor and standing to stretch further.

BigMac considered the unclad herbivore “goblin” (to use a sort of old Terran description) stretching. She wasn’t the sort of being that humanity had expected to find among the stars. Very similar to humans? To a degree, that was true. But they were still so very different. But perhaps that’s what makes the universe go around (well, that and dark matter).

And even if she was just using her position to gain information and trade deals, he wasn’t one to object. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t doing the same thing. And after all, so far, she hadn’t tried to kill him and her people had all the hallmarks of being good trading partners without being too underhanded.

Oorak climbed back in the bed and gestured for BigMac to lie back down as well.

“Resting time. I’m certain the two of us have many meetings and plans for tomorrow,” she mumbled, wrapping herself around his torso, clearly enjoying his warmth in the otherwise cool room.

BigMac grinned to himself and closed his eyes. He might be here a while, but for the moment, things were looking up, even if he was just an exothermic teddy bear to Oorak.

The Collective (Part 8)

To: Ambassador MacDonald, IMST Big Stick, Ambassador to The Collective

From: Imperial Intelligence

Subject: Collective Overview - Version 3 (re-sent)

Ambassador,

Per your request (and your lack of having done any more than skimming the previous version of this report), below is the requested information regarding The Collective.

At the present time, there appear to be 37 different species within the organization; however, only 17 have any sort of “voting” rights. The remaining 20 are subject to one of the voting species. In one case, this is for mutual alliance. In most cases, it is the result of pre-Terran-contact conquest.

Of these species, Terran are able to co-exist in environmental conditions for long periods of time with 29 of the species. Of the 8 which are outside of that, certain chemical incompatibilities between the species and one or more of the Collective and/or Terrans exist. The most common example is the species known as Irdms. Being an almost entirely iron-based sentient, they are unable to function in an oxygen-based environment, akin to being dipped in a pool of acid.

Of the 29 species previously referenced, Terrans are biocompatible with 13. However, that biocompatibility is still being researched.

Analyst’s Note: It should be noted, Ambassador, that Counciless Oorak’s species is part of those biocompatible 13. Just as an FYI.

The technology of The Collective is highly centered on the first 20 elements. As a result, it is both highly refined and capable, but also struggles in areas where heavy elements would be more suitable. That is not to say they don’t make use of heavier elements, but they are often less utilized in favor of simpler elements.

Defensive technologies such as energy shields and low energy laser point defense systems are advanced beyond our current technology. However, it has been reported that the “Borlian Energy Shields” are comparatively energy intensive and are only located on larger Collective Stations and selected capital ships.

Analyst’s Note: Ambassador, you are on good terms with the Borlians. Might you be able to lay your hands on a shield generator for us to do a bit of testing and maybe reverse engineering?

Offensive technologies have been seen only minimally. Current speculation among analytical staff is that, based on the displayed kinetic and laser systems employed by the pirates for the assault on Station 1337 and IMST Big Stick, Collective offensive weaponry is barely on par with the minimum required for civilian vessels in the Empire. However, as we have not seen their military vessels, we caution against major offensive action at this time.

Collective Rules and Regulations:

Analyst’s note: This assignment is rubbish. I thought I was going to be reading about aliens. Not get buried in regs and asked to figure out what’s wrong with it.

The Collective’s rules and regulations are fairly broad and loose, largely governing the minimum requirements which each voting member is required to maintain in their region of space. There is also a listing of sentients’ rights and provisioning for dealing with external species (of which we are one).

There are a number of rules regarding trade. The Collective has some comparatively strict regulations on weaponry, its sale, and taxation of all trades of non-essential items. However, as we are an external species, the rules related to taxation do not apply. As you have reported, a number of more aggressive Collective species have intended to use our status as an external species against us in trade. You have accorded yourself well, with special commendation for your actions in supporting the Empire’s best interests, in dealing with these trade representatives.

Analyst’s note: Duuuude. Did you pour coffee on that plant guy and he died? Like duuuuuude!

The Terran Trade Group has issued strong objections to even limited trade with The Collective. You are authorized to proceed in working to negotiate any and all beneficial trade agreements, in accordance with Her Majesty’s Wishes.

The Collective’s rules on warfare seem to indicate that none of the described species have endured multi-year wars, the outcome of many wars being subject to no more than 10 major space-side encounters. It is gratifying to note that The Collective has its own version of prisoners’ rights and restricted warfare (similar to Her Majesty’s Decree 10 and old Terran Geneva Convention).

As an external species, we are not subject Collective rules and regulations in the normal sense. Any Terran caught breaking Collective rules and regulations who is not aboard an official vessel or station of Her Majesty will be subject to those rules and regulations until such time as an repatriation treaty is developed and signed by your office, The Collective leading council, and the Empress. However, any being aboard an official vessel or station of Her Majesty shall be considered subject to the rules and regulation of the Empire until required otherwise (possibly by a to-be-drafted extradition treaty).

Analyst’s note: Ambassador, I’ll resend the two draft treaties described above. Please actually read them and send them back with comments.

Per the rules of The Collective, piracy is a crime which is nominally dealt with by confiscation and repatriation of the offender(s) to their representative species, requiring each species to “deal with it” themselves.

Analyst’s note: This method seems short sighted and would just allow those who have the funds stashed in secure accounts to continually return to piracy, particularly if the culture in question decides not to actually address it.

And per your overarching request, based on your office’s reports, Her Majesty has the following recommendations for our dealings with The Collective:

Analyst’s note: Ambassador, got any postings out that direction? I’m up for looking into re-assignment, especially at as interesting a posting as you’ve got.

In the Name of the Empress of the 3rd Sol Empire, The Stars Shall Brook No More Waiting.

MESSAGE ENDS

The Collective (Part 9)

If Senior Analyst Second Class Hiram Rickover was any judge, he was going to love and hate this new posting. Love it because it was something new in an entirely new place. Hate it because it would inevitably mean that he was going end up as Ambassador MacDonald’s lackey.

Still, he had appended his posting request to that latest intelligence summary to the Ambassador and he had ended up receiving more than a few good words from the Ambassador at becoming his aide, whether Hiram liked it or not. He actually felt embarrassed that he hadn’t deleted the other analysts’ notes from the intelligence summary. But that was in the past. No more sitting in some cubicle reading vague intelligence reports created by any number of idiots who thought that the Empress was in their cheese soup and told them of a plot to turn Terra into a haven for chocolate marshmallows.

He wasn’t fond of warp travel, but it was better than grav-boosts and for the distance involved, he could ill afford to take the 120 Terran standard weeks to reach the Ambassador. Empress only knows what sort of trouble he’d get into in the meantime.

Ambassador MacDonald had been an… expedient choice. A strong representative for Her Majesty, but not overly burdened with being the sort of bureaucrat/politician/diplomat that one required for successful relations. And he had followed Her Majesty’s orders to the letter. But that didn’t make Hiram any less thrilled with his new boss.

In the three days of warp travel aboard the cargo vessel that Hiram had “hitched a ride” on out to IMST Big Stick (Hiram loathed the name, wishing the leadership had gone with something more tasteful), he sequestered himself in his cabin, eating imperial standard rations and carefully studying all the intelligence summaries that the Ambassador should have received and read by now (but he was quite certain the Ambassador hadn’t even glanced at them.)

From the biocompatibility studies, it appeared there were a number of marked benefits with six of the races, with various new combinations of medicines and medical science techniques that would be quite advantageous. Although it would call for some careful measures before the inevitable attempts at half-breeds by idiotic humans.

On the chemistry front, Imperial Science was agog at all the new molecular molding techniques for the first 20 elements and beginning relations with the Irdm alone was sweeping experts in molecular iron to the tops of the metallurgical journals. Of course, so much of The Collective fabricators described almost everything in terms of chemistry, so there were teams and teams and teams of chemists, engineers, and various disciplines to determine what each template was in simplest language, catalog it, and determine its consumption (as well as any fees or taxations that needed to be levied).

It had been all go at Imperial Intelligence, since First Contact, and Hiram was hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could get some field experience with the Ambassador before heading back to headquarters with a promotion or two.

And it bothered Hiram at how… lax Her Majesty seemed to be about the whole First Contact, selection of Ambassador MacDonald, the “gifting” of a retired (and to be dismantled) station into alien territory, and even an assault upon the station itself. Granted, the assault hadn’t even scuffed the paint on the station, but it was the principle of the thing. Before First Contact, such an assault would have warranted a corvette or frigate to investigate the wreckage and interrogate any survivors. In this case, the station had simply opened fire in defense of itself almost as a footnote after Ambassador MacDonald had made a passing comment about having a military presence given the recent attack.

Her Majesty even seemed inclined to agree with how the Ambassador was according himself to these aliens. He was regularly seen in the company of Counciless Oorak (a Blingoth, if Hiram remembered the name of her species correctly) and was known to hold a poker night with several Borlians, a virtual-portaled Irdm, and several of Councilor Brrt’Ik’s aides. Mostly, it appeared to involve everyone except the Ambassador bringing food and drink and getting whatever the species equivalent of “blitzed out of whatever passed for their minds” while they gambled in low stakes and otherwise conversed.

The Ambassador would invariably have to remain at least somewhat sober and sticking to comparatively mild foods since about half of the Terra style cuisines that the Ambassador enjoyed with lethally toxic to a majority of the species in the quantities the Ambassador might have otherwise served up. Lactose, capsaicin, caffeine, alcohol, garlic, and many other things

So much for mozzarella sticks, jalapeno poppers, tea/coffee, beer/wine/whiskey, pizza, and so many of the other comfort foods that were most certainly NOT part of an imperial ration pack. Not that Hiram minded. But he knew all too well that the Ambassador would almost certainly want to have supplies of those available at the station when he returned from such events. As though doing an Ambassador’s job were difficult and worth celebration.

Hiram did not regard himself as being a stick in the mud. But he most certainly believed that those in positions of authority should accord themselves with the behavior accorded by their rank. Her Majesty’s martial rules largely saw to that, but even then, she was… insufficiently well-behaved in Hiram’s opinion, although he would NEVER dream of speaking out about such things. She was the Empress. Her decree was law and her wish was made manifest, whether it “fit” a person of her station or not.

The Empress was not a poor leader. She allowed the regional governors their says, she directed and accepted fault when needed, she was regarded with a deep respect by all in the empire, even her political enemies. But she would… how did she put it… ah, yes, she would “cut loose” every so often. Usually that involved a massive party. Other times, it would be some form of lower-class amusement. But she was the Empress and whether Hiram liked it or not, Ambassador MacDonald was her direct authority to these aliens.

Technically, unless Hiram caught the Ambassador giving or selling restricted imperial information to one or more of the aliens, the Ambassador would have to retire or be reassigned for anyone more appropriate to take his place. And Hiram suspected that the Empress enjoyed throwing these little “hiccups” in the way of Imperial Intelligence.

He did have to admit though, that having a big, loud, and comparatively flamboyant human gadding about the place made it much easier for real intelligence work to get done. But that didn’t mean he had to like how it was being done. And what infuriated him even more is that the Ambassador was good at getting intelligence. Even with all the bluster and frivolity, the Ambassador had brought in some very valuable information for the empire.

And with the new WarpCom Type VII units and supporting infrastructure being installed throughout The Collective, information was flowing to Terra at an astounding rate and even around The Collective at an unprecedented rate for the first time in their recorded histories.

__

When the vessel docked at the IMST Big Stick, Hiram gathered his meager few cases and headed off to his new quarters and his new job. He was quite surprised to see all the vendors, astrosailors, and sheer mass of humanity aboard the station. The way the Ambassador had described the initial installation of the station, Hiram was expecting it to be half deserted. Instead, people moved as they might on any common imperial station. The only major difference was all the virtual units trundling around the station. Ordinarily, there were a few virtual units that you could see being rented by people in a hurry to fulfill orders or maintenance parts or the like, but on almost all of these virtual units, an alien form appeared, allowing them to pass around the station’s many vendors without entering the human’s apparently extreme gravity or having a chance encounter with one of the many apparent toxins that the majority of humans thought nothing about.

If the station had a sort of North Pole as there was on Terra, then Ambassador had clearly located his offices and living spaces for government officials in the same location as the imperial city on Terra. Hiram found this mildly amusing. Frivolous, but style did have to count for something, even if he didn’t agree with it.

Arriving at the front office and noting no one was there to attend him, he walked right in, his baggage being pulled behind him. The Ambassador’s office was open.

“What do you mean the rest of the team got pulled off to work the details from Tyvis? Sure, I saw they got their WarpCom’s working. So what?” came the booming voice of what Hiram could only guess was Ambassador Patrick ‘BigMac’ MacDonald.

The reply was too muffled for Hiram to hear or even guess the response, but he would assume that the Ambassador was referring to the rest of the intelligence staff who were to be assigned here as well. Apparently, some new data had come to light and brought special attention that needed the team more. Hiram understood. But it appeared the Ambassador was like any manager, loathed to give up what he believed were “his” people.

“What do you mean he’s already here? I was going to go down and meet him. Mac out,” came the booming voice and the doorway filled a moment later with a tall, lanky man that seemed somewhat incongruous with the voice, garbed in a simple but loose-fitting white dress shirt and dark brown trousers, and black military boots.

“Ah Hiram! I was just on my way down to meet you. I’m Pat MacDonald, but I usually go by BigMac or just Mac,” the incongruous Ambassador greeted, quickly extending a hand out to the analyst.

“Thank you, sir. Did I overhear correctly? Is it just yourself and myself for the time being?” Hiram managed, keeping the disdain from his voice with the practice of many years as a nameless face of an intelligence analyst.

“That’s right. So you’ve got first pick on all of the bunks we’ve got, save mine. Go make yourself at home. I’ll take you out for a bite to eat before we get down to business, eh?” was BigMac’s reply.

“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Hiram said, blankly.

“I insist. After all, you specifically requested this assignment, and if you’re going to be my aide, you and I will have to get acquainted.”

With this last statement, the Ambassador, or at least the human appearing to be the boisterous Ambassador that Hiram was quickly coming to regret having even heard of, disappeared back into the office and various rummaging noises could be heard.

Hiram couldn’t decide if he was going to actually enjoy this challenge or if he should start that transfer paperwork back to Terra right now.

The Collective (Part 10)

Ow….

That was the first thought that went through Hiram’s head as he opened his eyes. He was on his bed, which appeared to have been upgraded from the standard imperial mattress and lining.

Slowly, he felt his brain coming online, yesterday making itself felt in many of his different parts.

Why… why had he allowed the Ambassador to talk him into joining that so-called “Poker game”?

As it had turned out, it had started out rather mildly. The two of them had gone aboard Station 1337 and held the event in the (apparently) reinforced space that had been allotted to the Ambassador as part of his “offices” in dealing with The Collective.

An adequate table had been placed and the organics printer (with Hiram’s help) was actually producing food instead of three table legs out of an edible plastic and something that looked like carpet, but tasted like a boiled mushroom. This had apparently inspired Mac to direct Hiram to dial up some of the most gluttonous foodstuffs the organics printer could come up with. That was the first mistake, especially given that Hiram had complied, seeing little harm in it.

The guests had begun to arrive shortly thereafter, impressed by the array of foodstuffs that Hiram was producing, and even complimented the aide. Counciless Oorak seemed to take in the aide for a few moments and then sashayed over to the Ambassador, a movement aided significantly by her wide hips and scaly, narrow tail.

Her race wasn’t endothermic per say, as Hiram recalled, but they weren’t as exothermic as most races were and given that humans tended to run warm and the stations ran cool (but not cold), it wouldn’t be at all surprising to see her curled up with the Ambassador before the evening was over. Notionally, her race had outfits intended to warm them optimally, but according to the Ambassador’s “reports” on Counciless Oorak, she disliked those outfits because they lacked flair and style. By Hiram’s eye, it appeared that they most likely restricted the ability to feel the warmth of a big hairy human like the Ambassador.

The Borlians and the virtual portaled Irdm had been courteous, and adequately impressed by the buffet Hiram had arranged by this point. And the aides to Councilor Brrt’Ik had been courteous and yet shy at greeting this new human, opting to head directly to the “poker table”.

Hiram had looked in what had been the Ambassador’s office during his tenure on the station alone and found it stocked with a wet bar with a dizzying array of bottles, no two alike. The Ambassador was mixing a cocktail of some sort with the juice of something that fizzed in violet.

He alerted the Ambassador to the arrival of all the guests, who proceeded to finish making the drink, poured it into three glasses, two standard martini glasses and one almost miniature, and handed the miniature to Counciless Oorak (who had been obscured by the bar) and handed the other to Hiram.

The concoction was apparently something of a blend that the Borlians enjoyed as a shot, but that the two of them would enjoy as a mild cocktail.

Hiram had attempted to object, but before he could manage more than opening his mouth, he caught the Ambassador’s eye. The fire that burned visibly in those eyes just for a moment told him that this was neither the time nor the place to counter the Ambassador. And like a bolt of lightning, the fire was gone and the light and jovial Ambassador was strolling out of the bar room and over to the table, stating broadly that he hoped they’d all brought empty pockets, because of the fine buffet that had been arranged.

And the evening had begun. The Ambassador mixed drinks for everyone (save the Irdm) and while the evening had started with courtesy and politeness, it slowly dropped the facade of good manners between the different races and reminded Hiram of a common bar of a colony world. Undisciplined. Violence only barely contained. Raucous laughter filling the room as inappropriate jokes were told. He despised it, but the Ambassador was his responsibility and so he would tolerate it.

One of the Borlians had asked the Ambassador for a chance at their pressing challenge, but not against the Ambassador, against Hiram. The Ambassador had a wicked glint in his eye and before Hiram could object, the Ambassador had laid the equivalent of a 30 year old bottle of Borlian whiskey on the outcome. The Borlian had eagerly agreed, despite moving a bit unsteadily.

Hiram had flexed a bit. He was by no means weak, but he wasn’t exactly particularly strong either. He didn’t want this, but to forfeit would cost the Ambassador and Her Majesty face and that was one of the burdens of the job, was it not?

Bracing himself, he and the Borlian had engaged. There was much cheering and noise around the room as Hiram held the pushing challenge, with not insignificant effort. It reminded him of how his big sister must have felt, holding his head with her outstretched arm as he pushed to try to get into arms reach of her. Deciding it was best to end it reasonably quickly, he heaved with both arms, but in doing so, forgot to let go, and tumbled with the Borlian. Hiram hit his head against the Borlian and the two of them had been knocked out for a few moments.

Despite Hiram still blinking away the fuzziness, the Ambassador had yanked Hiram to his feet and then equally lifted the Borlian to his(?) feet and everyone had returned to the table to continue to gamble and consume excessively from the, by this point, heavily depleted buffet.

It was at this point that Hiram remembered being heavily surprised when the Ambassador started talking about Collective territory. It seemed like standard “getting to know your neighbors” sort of talk, but there was a way that the Ambassador was steering the conversation that Hiram could tell that he was fishing for something. And then it had come right out in the open.

What does The Collective know about what humans called the Coma Great Wall?

There had been a few looks of confusion until the Ambassador had brought up the supercluster map and highlighted the known imperial territory and The Collective territory and the Great Wall, upon which, apparently both groups hadn’t ventured beyond.

The room had filled with a hush uncommon for such a well consuming group. Counciless Oorak broke the silence saying only that this “Great Wall” was the only boundary that The Collective could not cross. No ship that had ventured to it to go beyond it had ever succeeded, but why they each had failed was a mystery.

The Ambassador had recounted the imperial mission to go beyond the “Great Wall”. It had begun as a great plan with high prospects at meeting new friends and possibly enemies. But something had happened, and the vessel had returned to Terra, the only survivors locked in hibernation chambers, the ship half-torn apart. There had never been a further venture, the wall itself being deemed a hazardous region of space that even the most suicidal pirate or political opponent to the Empress wouldn’t dare enter. And yet, no one knew why.

This is settled the room a bit, each species thinking upon this shared “mystery”. And although it wasn’t spoke by anyone, Hiram noted the fleeting look of disbelief on the faces of Brrt’Ik’s aides at the Ambassador’s comments on the state of the returning ship.

Hiram knew they were well aware of the strength of humans and could likely gauge the strength of human vessels to be equivalently biased to hold up to that species strength. And so, he imagined the brief moment of horror passing through their minds, just briefly questioning ‘if human vessels are that strong, how is it that it returned so utterly broken, and what did they find that we did not?’

Those questions had haunted Imperial Intelligence for years, the mission something of both legend and warning.

The Ambassador broke the mood by challenging Hiram to a pressing match. Hardly able to refuse, especially with the Borlians cheering both parties to this sort of challenge, Hiram prepared himself. The mood at least had lightened considerably and that bit of intel was actually quite important.

The Collective ships had come back and fully intact. That meant that they had done something different and different, especially when it came to the single largest barrier humanity had faced, was valuable.

The Ambassador and Hiram had braced and although Hiram was prepared for the Ambassador’s apparent strength, he was not prepared for the speed at which the Ambassador was capable of. Almost immediately, he rocked back from the speed and force, but was pulled back by the Ambassador for more. The Borlians roared at this, enjoying every bit. Hiram remembered that the room was at 50% Terran Standard Gravity, and so he dug into his stance a bit and launched his weight against the Ambassador.

To his credit, the Ambassador recovered well from this, managing to only be off balance for a moment before pressing the advantage of Hiram’s recovery to push him back, this time with a bit more force.

As it turned out, the evening had taken its toll on Hiram and the Ambassador’s hand, gripping his own, had connected with his eye.

Falling back, stunned from the connection and released by the almost equally stunned Ambassador, he’d landed sitting up on the floor looking puzzled.

The Borlians had thought it all marvelous and began to make preparations to see if they could match such a feat between themselves.

The Ambassador had proffered a hand and hoisted the still stunned Hiram to his feet. A cold gel pack and another drink had been pressed into his hands. And the Ambassador oddly enough had given Hiram a wink and a smirk.

The rest of the evening was comparatively mild, but a blur by Hiram’s recounting as he lay in bed.

“Up and at-em, Hiram. I need you researching Collective reports on the Great Wall or whatever their designation is and then I’ve got some reports I need you to earmark for the right people back on Terra. There’s fresh coffee being printed now,” the booming voice of the Ambassador called into Hiram’s room.

Hiram, to his credit, managed to sit up before he responded.

“Very good, sir,” he said with the exasperation of an English butler.

The Collective (Part 11)

6 Terran months... That’s how long Hiram had been stuck playing ‘lackey’ to the Ambassador. But he did have to admit, it was more interesting than sitting in a cubicle reading about it all.

However, in those 6 months, he’d received 2 black eyes, 1 broken rib, and a number of bruises in assisting the Ambassador in his dealings. Being entirely fair and honest, it wasn’t the Ambassador’s fault. But Hiram hardly expected to be dealing face to face with human pirates using this system as a pseudo-neutral ground where they could trade anything and everything and neither the Empire nor The Collective would bother them, Collective species that continued to try to bully the human empire into species specific trade agreements for multiple generations, and fool-hardy Borlians, deep into their cups, wanting to challenge the humans for the simple joy of doing so.

But to date, it was still just the Ambassador and himself. With all the reports and information that kept flowing to Terra as more and more of the WarpCom units came online throughout the Collective, his fellow analysts must be positively drowning in data, which was both helpful and useless because you ended up with so much data that even sorting out the important things from the bad was next to impossible.

For their part, Hiram had noted, The Collective was… under some unique internal pressures of their own as information flow and control was effectively lifted across their territory and beings from one end of The Collective were learning from beings on the other end. He hadn’t thought of information suppression as something a major galactic alliance would necessarily engage in, at least on open networks. But he was fully aware that there were subchannels to even the Empire where illicit or secured information flowed and its dissemination strictly controlled. But at least in the Empire, most of that data was moved on separate networks. The “network controls” on the open WarpCom were minimal to say the least. That had been the Empress’ Imperial Decree #3. She didn’t care what people said about her or about the empire in general. She was too busy actually running the empire.

Hiram was broken out of his reverie by an insistent chirping on the Ambassador’s console. The Ambassador was out getting the two of them some lunch (despite Hiram’s objection that he should be the one to do it, at least according to the natural order of things, but the Ambassador had insisted, pointing instead to the inbox of reports Hiram was still processing). Hiram went to the console and saw it was a secure link from Terra. Knowing full well it could not wait, he opened the link.

A nameless analyst looked back at him.

“Where is the Ambassador?” the analyst asked.

“Out. I am his aide,” Hiram responded, knowing the analyst would instantly check the veracity of this statement.

Without hardly a moment’s pause, the analyst continued.

“IMS Fram is en-route. We need for you to arrange an appropriate escort through Collective Space.”

The Fram. A name-sake handed down from old Terra and every one built with a specific purpose in mind. The breaching of barriers and the carrying of humanity to a new place. The last vessel to bear its name had broken the light barrier, accelerating humanity’s grasp upon the stars themselves.

“Where is she headed?” Hiram managed, feeling as though he’d just gone three rounds with the Ambassador in a pushing contest.

“The Wall. Same coordinates as what The Collective indicated their attempt at breaching was. We need to know why their venture was different.”

“Isn’t it premature to attempt a breach? I only sent those Borlian energy shields and related defensive files two months ago.”

“The Fram has been… expediently outfitted. As for the data you provided, we’ve been able to make some marked improvements. But you should also note that the last expedition by The Collective to the Wall was over 150 cycles ago. Their technology has progressed reasonably since then as has ours. We have a need to see what this brings.”

“I shall… inform the Ambassador.”

“Very good. Terra out.”

And the window with the face snapped shut.

Hiram sagged into the Ambassador’s chair. He was just beginning to imagine the explanation to The Collective that he would need to begin drafting when the Ambassador came back to the office, holding a few containers of curried chicken fried rice, gyro meat, and two liters of whatever that nitrogen-bubbled green ‘soda’ that Counciless Oorak had introduced the Ambassador to.

“Getting comfy or did Terra send you some news?” Mac asked, jovially.

“The Fram is enroute. We’re to arrange for an escort,” Hiram said, his mouth operating on automatic as somewhere in the back of his brain, a little voice was screaming at him to stand up and act according to his station.

“Oh, that. I fully expected that wouldn’t be for another two months. Well, we can handle that in a little bit. For right now, lunch,” Mac said casually.

This statement stuck in Hiram’s brain and kicked him into overdrive some how.

“Seriously? Seriously?! You’ve known this would be happening and you didn’t think to mention it to me?” Hiram said, practically leaping to his feet and shaking a licorice stick of a finger at the Ambassador.

Mac was unphased.

“You were supposed to be briefed on Her Majesty’s objectives 1-5 before you got here. If you skimmed those documents, you would at least have noticed that,” he said, calmly.

Hiram, his mind racing back through those documents, remembered only the vague reference to objective 5. It had been listed as Classified, and he’d meant to look it up, but then all of the normal business of operating with the Ambassador had gotten in the way.

“Why wouldn’t you have made sure?” Hiram managed as a bit of indignation, although he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Hiram Rickover, if you were anything like your namesake, you’d have figured out a way around me to get it done and have all of this prepared already. Instead, you insist on following where I lead,” Ambassador Patrick ‘BigMac’ MacDonald said, setting the food and drinks on his desk and drawing himself up to look at Hiram very deliberately.

Hiram hated being in the gaze of the Ambassador like this. Even when he’d done nothing wrong (yet), there was something about being in the gaze of the Ambassador that made him feel as though he was being judged for everything he had done and will do and still was found wanting. Like a star being gazed upon by a hungry sentient black hole that was trying to decide if he was worth devouring.

Realizing he still had his finger pointed at the Ambassador, he quickly lowered his arm.

Silence reigned between them for longer than Hiram was comfortable with. He looked the Ambassador over, trying to figure out if he was facing a supervolcano’s eruption or just a bubbling fountain of lava. To date, he hadn’t seen the Ambassador ever get truly upset, but the few glimpses of the Ambassador’s internal rage had been directed solely at Hiram, and there was something in that gaze that was utterly terrifying.

“I’ll make the arrangements after lunch. You just focus on your reports. It seems that’s what you’re best at. I expected better,” Mac said, leadenly, with all the tones of a disappointed father.

Hiram took his portion of the lunch and left the office to his desk, determined to try and escape the gaze of the hungry Ambassador.

__

Mac sighed. Hiram was a very useful part of the office. But the man was so… stuck on roles and responsibilities and stations in life that he wasn’t intrepid, daring, or any of the right sort of mold-breaking to really make it at any higher a place in life than the one he’d slotted himself into.

Knowing part of his anger was his dropping blood sugar, Mac quickly dug into his lunch. He’d need to communicate with the Collective Council for this request. Knowing the little he could guess about the Fram, he fully expected it would be a heavily modified science or warship to bring it into some sort of balance of expeditionary vessel. But based on the look on Hiram’s face, he knew better than to expect that. Every Fram namesake vessel had been groundbreaking, carrying the very best of the imperial experimental technology, which, more often than not, was as dangerous as it was powerful in breaking the barriers to humanity.

There hadn’t been a Fram namesake vessel since the end of the 2nd Sol Empire. So to bring such a namesake back into play was important. Empress-blessed levels of importance. That meant that there had been something in those documents that Hiram had packaged together for the analysts back on Terra that said something real about the Wall.

But what?

Mac finished his lunch, wiped his face, brushed his hair and teeth, donned his Ambassadorial jacket, and prepared his video message for The Collective Council. He knew the request would undoubtedly be honored, but there was something in the back of his mind that itched.

After finishing the video message and sending it without Hiram’s review, he quickly brought up a secure message to Terra, asking for their review on scenario Wall-Alpha-173 under the latest circumstances, secure message to be sent directly back to him.

He needed to know.

The Collective (Part 12)

“Counciless Oorak, am I supposed to believe what I’m hearing? Are you actually supporting the transit of an unaligned species’ warship through our territory so they can supposedly try to breach what we’ve already proven is an unbreachable barrier?”

“Yes, Council Leader Drakmond. That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Oorak said.

Following the receipt of the video message from Ambassador MacDonald, all Councilors of the species represented in The Collective were called to the Council World, some three warp days travel from Station 1337.

To say that it had been a shock to The Collective would have put it mildly. Half of the species that had tried to force trade relations with the empire and ended up with dead or wounded representatives were claiming that this was an attempt at a hostile takeover. The other half were just opposed even allowing human vessels in Collective space, even if they were bringing new technologies and resources to The Collective.

Most of the rest of the council were split. The humans had specifically stated that their vessel would not enter Collective territory without an escort, but it was general knowledge that the barrier was not breachable. It was a section of space that no known form of thruster, faster-than-light travel, or even sensor could penetrate beyond basic observation. And breaching it would serve no purpose. Especially with so much other territory to otherwise consume.

Council Leader Drakmond huffed. She didn’t approve of Counciless Oorak’s “personal relationship” with Ambassador MacDonald and fully believed that Oorak needed to recuse herself from putting forth any support for this request. But the rules of The Collective said that such things could only be done voluntarily.

“The human empire is sending only one vessel, largely a science vessel no doubt, to attempt what we could not and what they could not before meeting us. Would you deny us both the opportunity to grow and understand what the barrier is?” Oorak asked the Councilors.

There was some general murmuring, but no clear answer was volunteered.

“Since the foundation of The Collective, our species have worked for the gain of all aligned species. Even our vassal and slave races have benefitted. But now we are being told that we cannot and will not allow this unaligned species to simply pass through, that they may try to help teach us all something about what we supposedly believe to be true? In the ancient stories of my species homeworld, we believed ourselves the center of all that was. We think back on it now as folly, but then, we did not know better. It took us learning something that everyone else knew could not be for us to change,” Oorak said, adopting a stance she had seen Ambassador MacDonald use when he was speaking to a group.

“Even if the humans fail, will they not have taught themselves and us a valuable lesson?” she asked the Council.

“Haaaaaasss, I make a motion that weeeeee deferrrrr thisssss matter for five decicyclesssss to allow the council to review our speciessssss objectivessss and vote then,” the Tanos representative said, its tongue a bit too long for its mouth.

“I second the motion,” the Borlian representative said.

“Very well. The vote shall be tabled for five decicyles and all councilors are recommended to confer with their leaderships and available information ahead of the vote,” Council Leader Drakmond said, ringing the bell which signalled the end of the session.

Oorak deflated a bit before picking up her portable terminal and stalking back to her on-site office.

It was hardly spotless, but given that she had been gone for almost two cycles, it was clean enough.

It was a simple request and yet the Council didn’t seem to want to honor it. Simply because they were afraid of the barrier for some reason. The Humans called it the Coma Great Wall, a name which came from their history, before they had even founded their first off-world colony. They thought of it as a challenge, not something to be feared. Even though they had lost a majority of their crew on the last attempt to breach the barrier.

She accessed the newly installed WarpCom terminal link back to Gothan, the Blingoth homeworld, and began searching through her people’s records on the Great Wall. There wasn’t much other than simple astronomic observation. Her people hadn’t spread out quite so much as most of the species in The Collective, but with the WarpCom now making long-distance communications possible with unheard-of speed, there was a strong push to establish their presence on more world and to find a greater place among the stars.

Unhappily, she switched over to the Blingoth Council channel and waited. It took a short while before a quorum was met.

“We presume you have an urgent matter to discuss with us,” Chairbeing Raaktop said, appearing to have gotten out of bed.

“The Collective Council has recommended all councilors consult with species objectives on the matter of an unaligned vessel of Human construction to pass through Collective space and attempt to breach the barrier we know as Kunglot,” Oorak said in her people’s native speech.

The Blingoth representatives appeared to take a moment to consult one or more of their advisors, who were undoubtedly unpacking that doozy of a sentence.

“What is the general Collective feeling on this matter?” Chairbeing Raaktop asked.

“Several species believe this to be an attempt at a hostile takeover. Others are simply for rejection, at least prior to this consultation. A reasonable percentage are in favor of learning what the human vessel might be capable of doing,” Oorak said, hoping they would at least consider the matter properly.

The off-screen advisors appeared to be saying statements which made several of the councilors shake their heads.

‘This was not how this was supposed to go,’ Oorak thought. ‘You’re supposed to trust my judgement. Not just follow along with what The Collective wants.’

“Councilors, the matter of whether to support or reject The Collective providing any and all necessary escort to the human vessel to Kunglot is now up for vote,” Chairbeing Raaktop intoned, dully.

It took only moments.

85% of the council voted against allowing the humans to pass through Collective space.

“Need I remind you Councilors that the only reason I can call you now and why half of you are in the process of gathering funding and resources for new colonies is because of the humans?” Oorak asked, annoyance fully felt in her voice.

“Collective Counciless Oorak, the Council has spoken. You are not to support the humans’ vessel from passing through Collective space. We do not need to explain our reasoning to you,” Raaktop said, blankly.

“I will honor the Council’s wish, but you will have to understand. This will hurt us. And it will not be pleasant,” Oorak said, looking deep into the faces of the Council.

And then her connection was terminated.

She slumped onto her stool and shivered a bit. She had grown accustomed to Ambassador MacDonald. There was something about him that was reassuring and it wasn’t just his warmth. She’d seen him engage with all manner of species, in conversation or even physically. He’d even gone to the effort of preparing a special space aboard the Big Stick for the Irdm to be able to initiate trade aboard the station.

And here these fools were, deciding to just go with the flow, just because the humans wouldn’t be bullied into trade limitations.

Even though the humans met the requirements to be able to join The Collective, the Council hadn’t even brought up the subject of sending them an invitation to join. It was odd. Almost every species since the foundation of The Collective, save the slave and vassal species, were granted an invitation almost immediately.

So why were these humans different?

She had the answer for the Collective Council, but she needed to know why they were treating the humans so differently.

A thought struck her. Perhaps a bit of Ambassador MacDonald had rubbed off on her. She smiled, the memory of him warming her for a brief moment.

Digging into the Collective archives, she started looking for what might explain it all. She didn’t know quite what she was looking for, but she’d know when she found it.

The Collective (Part 13)

The station master of Collective Station 1337 was warned this time about the pending arrival of the human vessel IMS Fram and that it would be remaining in the system until a Collective escort arrived. That didn’t make him any less nervous.

Cargo ships, trade vessels, and even simple courier vessels were all well and good. But a vessel essentially of an unaligned species’ military, being sent on a supposed mission of peace, when he had seen just what one of their stations could do in defense of itself against mere pirates, made him shudder in his skins.

__

Space bulged and gaped several light minutes from IMST Big Stick and Collective Station 1337.

Ordinarily, this would have drawn no attention as it was the common warp point for the system. What was unusual was the sheer size of the warp gate that had opened.

Large enough to have allowed the human station to re-enter the realm of faster than light travel, it sat open for three times the normal length before vessels began to exit.

The first vessels were small corvettes, blocky, but sleek in their own way, a reflective coating giving them an almost silvery appearance. They moved with a purpose. Heralds of what was to come.

Following the corvettes, were frigates. Slim, long vessels that seemed more like arrows or spears, their reflective coating only hinting at the firepower they contained.

Three battleships exited next, comparatively titans next to the corvettes and the frigates, their engine plumes filling space with their light.

The vessels exited so far arranged themselves as heralds, a clear pathway through their core from the warp gate.

The last vessel that came was clearly unlike all of the others. It wasn’t as large as the battleships, but it wasn’t blocky, nor did it bear a reflective coating. Instead, it slid through the pathway of the warships, its curves a tribute to nature, its color an undeniable spark within the blackness of space, its engines’ plume a silvery light.

An open signal on the system’s WarpCom sang out to both stations from this final vessel as the warp gate closed.

The IMS Fram and the torchbearers of the Imperial Navy had arrived to see her off on what would undoubtedly be the advancement of all amongst the stars.

__

Back on Station 1337, the station manager was poised over the emergency controls. He didn’t like this at all. Not one bit. The humans had only said one vessel was coming, not an entire fleet.

Fear and panic were what controlled his mind right now, his eyes disbelieving what he was seeing on the screens, almost fully certain that this was merely the first wave of conquerors.

His species had narrowly avoided slavery and vassalry. And they wouldn’t submit to these humans either.

His pads came to rest on the emergency controls and with a shifting of his weight, they activated.

__

The WarpCom units aboard Station 1337 began to scream for Collective aid, sharing live streaming of the Fram and its guardians.

Ambassador MacDonald knew the instant those calls initiated. He almost frantically began trying links to the station master at 1337. Every one of his attempts were rejected. Not just didn’t go through. Actively rejected. This… wasn’t good. He hadn’t known about the flotilla to see the Fram off, but he knew how the Imperial Navy enjoyed their ceremonies, so at their arrival, he had thought nothing of it until the WarpCom alarm began sounding.

__

Counciless Oorak winced as the Council Chambers filled with an alarm. Rushing to her desk, she hurriedly muted the alarm in her office and brought up the source. The streaming video of the human vessels coming through an almost impossibly sized warp gate filled her whole perception. Even once the gate had closed and the vessels aligned themselves to station-keeping in a protective orb around the impressive vessel at its core, she felt herself struggling to understand. What was it that she was seeing?

Her mind thought through everything she thought she knew about the humans. They were a martial culture. They valued strength of arms, even against each other. But they had been very deliberate in their dealings with The Collective. Had it all been a ruse?

She thought back through all her time with Ambassador MacDonald… Mac. He had felt so genuine. Could he have been working to fool her this whole time?

As her mind raced, she stared, transfixed at the unmoving vessels on the screen.

__

Collective Defender Vessel Unification and its Captain Tynog were stationed as a quick aid vessel. Normally, their duties involved the odd capture of pirates, assisting vessels that had broken down, and generally being seen.

So when the WarpCom alert came in, Tynog and his crew froze, the likes of such an alert being almost unthinkable.

Tynog brought up the video stream and watched as the human vessels arranged themselves, the smallest one twice the size of his Defender Vessel. But clearly, the station master felt it was only the beginnings of a human invasion.

He set the vessel’s condition to Primacy Defense and as the crew raced about their work, the look of worry filling their faces as none had even heard of Primacy Defense condition except in classrooms as a condition for war.

As soon as the engine room was prepared, he ordered the vessel to Station 1337’s defense. These humans might defeat him, but he would make them pay dearly for it.

__

Around the sector, other Collective Defender Vessels awakened from their calm routines and began the race to Station 1337. There were peaceful beings there and if the humans wanted war, they would be the first bulwark that the humans must overcome.

__

The Collective High Council gathered, all five species looking intently at the latest from the WarpCom. It had been nearly a decicycle and the human vessels hadn’t moved in the slightest.

One of the Councilors believed that they were waiting for The Collective to strike first, so that their “Empire” was justified in fighting back.

The discussion of an escort for the IMS Fram wasn’t even brought up. This could only be an act of aggression. What else could they expect from such a savage race?

The High Council ignored the vessel in the center and instead looked over the battleships. Impressive vessels that would undoubtedly crumble before the might of The Collective.

These humans might be impressively strong, and so, a yoke must be put upon them, for the betterment of all in The Collective.

Without a single call to the rest of the Council, the High Council voted unanimously that the humans had clearly called for war and would be made to serve The Collective as punishment.

The Collective Navy and the navies of Collective voting species were immediately ordered to Station 1337 at high alert. It wasn’t the first time The Collective had been threatened, but they would not allow the challenge to go unanswered.

__

Mac finally got through to Counciless Oorak on the WarpCom.

“How could you do this, after all the steps we’ve taken?” Oorak asked, plaintively. “Was peace really that unacceptable?”

“This isn’t war. It’s just an honor guard,” was a bewildered Mac’s response.

Oorak thought. Did she believe him? In all her time around the human, surely, she could read him. Surely, she would know. But she had a doubt. One she couldn’t shake. What was more likely, that he was lying and had been lying all this time, or was he perhaps being truthful?

She wasn’t certain, couldn’t be certain, but some part of her wanted to believe in, if not the human species, then at least in Mac.

“They’ll believe it’s war. It’s coming,” she said, quietly, her inner turmoil still filling her mind.

“Why?” Mac asked, an uncharacteristic drooping of his face.

“I can only guess. Many reasons, but I think they fear your Empress’ Decree #1,” she said, thinking back on all she had learned in the time since her ill-WarpCom call to her homeworld.

“Oh,” was the only response Mac could manage.

The Council alarms sounded again and the connection was cut automatically. Mac tried again and again to reconnect to Oorak, but it was as though the terminal were offline.

He called Hiram into the office.

“Hiram, alert the Imperial Navy. Start with the torchbearers of the Fram. We’ve got incoming and I don’t want this to turn into war, but I think it’s coming, whether we want it or not,” he managed.

Hiram could only nod and swallow nervously. He hadn’t seen the Ambassador this rattled. Even after that pushing match with the pirate captain where the Ambassador had wagered a one-time imperial pardon.

As he brought up the links to the vessels around the Fram, he gazed upon the wall, where Her Majesty’s decrees hung openly.

Her Imperial Majesty, The Empress of Terra and the 3rd Sol Empire, does hereby issue the following decree: that all sentient beings shall be free and possess ownership of their own being. Slavery, in all its forms of debt, servitude, and bondage, is an offense against the will of the Empress and perpetrators shall be summarily executed, without leniency or mercy. Let none stand upon the backs of the unwilling because of a matter of birth, wealth, or condition.

The Stars Shall Brook No More Waiting and We Shall Not Be Found Wanting.

The Collective (Part 14)

The Terran analysts had already been on the line with Ambassador MacDonald. According to their best projections, there wouldn’t be any action for an hour, unless some “cowboy” from Station 1337 started shooting before then.

So all Hiram and he could do was wait.

He programmed an automated dialing sequence for both the station master of 1337 and Oorak, but Oorak’s terminal appeared to be offline and every attempt to the station master was summarily rejected.

He sat, slumped dejectedly in his desk chair, Hiram opposite him, perched on a chair, working on a tablet.

“You know what’s worse than battle, Hiram?” Mac asked.

“What’s that, sir?” Hiram said, without even an upward glance.

“The waiting beforehand. The knowledge that everything you’ve been working towards and accomplished could be decimated and erased in only a short matter of time. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Simply because the powers involved are too large to even notice your objection,” Mac said, his eyes unfocused.

“If you say so, sir,” Hiram said, blankly.

“It makes me wonder if anyone similar existed at the end of the 2nd Sol Empire,” Mac remarked.

At this comment, Hiram’s train of thought derailed and he looked over at the Ambassador.

“What do you mean, sir?” Hiram asked.

“Firstly, I’ve told you to knock it off with that ‘sir’ crap when we’re alone. And secondly, don’t you remember your history?” Mac said, sitting up a bit and twisting, his muscles stiff.

“I do, but I would value learning what you were taught,” Hiram said.

“Ah yes. I suppose that makes sense. Well, as far as our history records, the 2nd Sol Empire was actually a cross between an oligarchic corporation and a republic. The people who were citizens could vote, but the ruling caste did not have to technically pay them any mind at all. But it worked, for a time. The empire grew slowly, adding new systems with time and patience, since faster-than-light travel had only ever been hinted at in the laboratories of the empire. And it grew largely on the backs of workers, as does any political entity,” Mac began.

“But colonies struggled, received no aid to help founders in building a healthy colony, and were even brought up on charges when a colony that had only just begun to be established was failing to meet resource harvest quotas. This was still in the days before fabricators were quite as sophisticated as they are now, often requiring major percentages of an entire colony’s energy budget,” he went on.

“But perhaps the straw that is pointed to as the Great Failing of the 2nd Sol Empire was the reintroduction of debt slavery and of familial debts. Both had been largely abolished before the founding of the 1st Sol Empire, but the ruling caste of the 2nd Sol Empire felt they needed to consolidate their power. Perhaps in some way tangible. None of us truly know, because of the circumstances of the fall.”

“But, sir… Mac, what were all those resources going towards?” Hiram asked, having finally set down his tablet.

“Vanity projects mostly. One of the caste was said to have placed a series of tungsten orbs, each the size of Terra’s moon, in the photosphere of Sol and fired off antimatter charges to send them all colliding into one another as they dissolved into the star. I’ve never seen any particular reason why she did it. Only that she did and made sure that the whole event and, most importantly to her, the vast amount of resources she had spent on the endeavour,” Mac said.

“It wasn’t until the incident on Tanis 2 that the wheels of change began to turn. An orbital factory destablized and fell from orbit, hitting half of the colony with shrapnel and killing more than 70% of the colonists. The colony leaders were certain that the empire would send aid and workers. Instead, they sent a message. The colony leaders were to submit to summary execution and the replacement cost of the factory, the lost production costs, and the colonial facilities damages were to come from the remaining colonists. Many of those who were left had been free civilians and with this one message, they, their families, and their generations to come would all be sentenced, without appeal, to slavery.”

“I remember Tanis 2 being important, but I’m still not certain how that lead to the revolution,” Hiram said.

“Patience. I’m getting there,” Mac said, a small smile on his face.

“The remaining colonists of Tanis 2 sent back their own message, an open letter of sorts, to the imperial government. They spoke as one group that they would not accept this slavery. That greed had consumed the imperial leaders for too long. That they would be free or they would die. But they would not continue to serve the empire.”

“Signing their own death warrant?” Hiram asked.

“In a manner, but perhaps what made it all worse, the imperial government treated the whole situation as a prank, ignoring it and continuing on with their vanity projects. Slowly, word began to circulate through the colonies. If one could leave the empire without ramifications, so too could they. One by one, the long-range message torpedoes arrived on Terra. It started with the outer colonies. They had the least to lose. After all, they had nothing but time to prepare for anything the imperial government might do, and they saw no benefit in potentially ending up debt slaves with the whole of their families.”

“And so with the outer colonies seceded, more of the inner colonies began to ask the same questions. Why should they stay? What did they have to lose?”

“Everything as it turned out. The empire managed FTL for the first time within days before the probes arrived from several of the inner colony systems. The imperial navy was outfitted with tremendous speed with these new FTL units, ultra-cargo vessels being outfitted to haul the imperial forces that couldn’t be rigged with the FTL units easily. Suddenly, these colonies that had started looking at being off on their own as their own entities were facing down the barrel of the weapons being held by the empire. And the ruling caste, having received so many of these ‘secession notices’, decided an example needed to be made. Three systems went back to claiming loyalty, but their system leadership was summarily executed in public. The other two inner systems actually meant it, but didn’t have enough preparations done. So when the imperial marines landed, it was a slaughter.”

“But that wasn’t the empire’s first mistake nor their last. They compounded it by sending the video feeds and recordings of the two disloyal systems to all the outer systems on FTL torpedoes and a message that they could either agree and only lose citizenship and their leadership or they would be next. By this point, the outer systems had been preparing for battle. They had had enough time to think it over. They were done with the empire. And so when the empire came, it walked into ambushes, fortifications, and a unified front.”

“The war took several decades as I recall, even with the FTL drives,” Hiram mentioned.

“It did. But the outer colonial systems were tempered in bloodshed and pushed back. Slowly, they took systems, especially the systems the empire had tagged ‘Useless’, turning them into staging grounds, resource refineries, and simply further territory that the empire would have to cover. Space is vast as you well know and the imperial navy finite. And it wasn’t simply attrition. It was will. And the imperial forces began to falter. And the separatists didn’t stop the pressure. A leader emerged. A former ship’s captain for the imperial navy, retired to help start a new colony.”

“The man who would become Emperor James Icon,” Hiram said, a note of reverence in his voice.

“Correct. He’d just wanted left alone, to retire peacefully. But when the war came to his doorstep, he led his fellow colonists. And he had no few challenges of his fellow colonists thinking him some manner of loyalist. But he fought on. Eventually, his fleet of outdated and weaponized colony vessels, cargo ships, and remanned naval vessels reached Sol. Sadly, they reach Sol only to witness the ruling caste boarding an FTL megavessel that leapt out of the system and away from the invading forces.”

“But Icon didn’t pursue them,” Hiram recounted, getting more solidly into modern history comparatively.

“He said to let them run. They knew only how to take, not how to create. And so they would fail. And they would either return as failures, return to be executed, or die, forgotten among the distant stars. And with that, he asked to be allowed to go home. He asked this of his fleet of volunteers and of all the colonies that he had re-established under a new banner, even if he believed it would only be a temporary one. There were many fears of what would become of the empire, but somehow, through it all, Icon was named as the popular candidate for the emperor. Icon initially refused to accept, but reluctantly took the title, issuing Decree #0, that all high imperial leaders shall be made accountable to those they lead. That no matter if they were a High Admiral, System Governor, or the Emperor or Empress themself, that they must answer to the people and that the people themselves were to judge if that person was fit to lead. And so began our 3rd Sol Empire,” Mac finished, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ve always been a little confused though. The Empress isn’t hereditary, but she’s still somehow mandated to the position without a vote,” Hiram said, numbers and science having been more of his interests.

“Essentially, she rose to standing under the then-Empress, who indicated her to be the Empress-elect, by which the System Governors and Imperial Forces would decide if she was to be the next,” Mac said, checking his screen for the 300th time this hour.

“What’s to stop her from being one of those politicals?” Hiram asked.

“Mostly the fact that most politicals don’t make it to System Governor and hold it for ten years without showing their colors. Plus, the Empress is mostly a figurehead. The sort of person the empire can rally around. It’s pretty far from a perfect system, but it’s lasted us 200 years so far, so it can’t be all bad,” Mac said, with a little chuckle. “How long until their first vessels are due to arrive?”

“Another 45 minutes, Mac. Is there something in particular you wish to do in the meantime?” Hiram said, picking back up his tablet.

“We’ve done all we can, short of forcibly boarding 1337, and with them taking the fleet in system as hostile as they have, I can’t imagine that would be anything less than a terrible idea,” Mac said.

“But, sir, sometimes, terrible ideas are the ones that will actually work,” Hiram said, as a thought sprang to mind of something he’d always wanted to try.

The Collective (Part 15)

Jaksyx was watching the situation outside the station and inside the station from his maintenance monitors. Since the station had gone into lockdown, no one could get in, or out.

He’d spent some time reading about the humans. Dealing with Ambassador MacDonald had made it practically necessary. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something wrong about this whole situation.

He’d even seen the encoded message come in from the High Council of The Collective declaring war and subjugation of the humans as a “means to protect themselves”.

He even remembered when the Ambassador had first planted the sword in that block of calcium carbonate through the orb.

A gentle tone went off, breaking into his thoughts. It was his private WarpCom (something he’d set up with one of the spares the Station had acquired). Only a few beings had the terminal code. He tabbed the button to activate.

“Jaksyx, it’s Hiram. We need a favor.”

___

The station manager was pacing. Ever since he’d activated the alarms, he felt nervous and exposed. He kept waiting for the first weapon to fire on his station.

He just knew the humans were waiting for something though. He’d received the specially encoded message from the High Council that this was to be considered an act of war and so they had summarily declared war and detained any councilors who were considered risks for their own safety.

But something utterly bothered him by the way the human station just sat there. Admittedly, there was no traffic leaving either station, but for something as big and filled with violent omnivores as it was, it shouldn’t just be sitting there. And the fleet, well, that was anomalous in itself. Usually, fleets charged in for the kill. They didn’t sit back and wait.

Unless they were laying some sort of trap. In which case, the emergency call would bring exactly what the humans wanted - more vessels and beings to hunt and kill, maybe enslave the lucky ones.

The station manager was so wrapped up in his thoughts and anxieties that when Ambassador MacDonald came through the doors to the command center, he shrieked in fright and dove behind his command seat.

Security beings were instantly alert, raising their weapons, but the Ambassador held up his hands, showing them empty.

“Station Manager, a word if you please?” Mac asked, halting just inside the doors.

“What do you want? How did you get on the station? This is some kind of trick. We won’t surrender to your kind! We won’t be enslaved by the likes of you!” the station manager babbled from behind his command seat.

“How I got here is moot. What I wanted was for you to actually take my call instead of CALLING IN YOUR ENTIRE MILITARY!” Mac roared the last bit. The station manager and even the security beings drew back at this.

“I had no choice. You were invading. I had to,” the station manager burbled.

“Really? In all of the experience of your vaunted Collective, you have never had to learn of ceremonial guards?” Mac said, raising one of his palms to his face and shaking his head.

It took several moments for the words to make their way into the station manager’s thoughts and several more for them to even make sense, but they were quickly drowned by the next wave of panic that filled the station manager.

“But there’s enough fleet power out there to obliterate this station if we aren’t shielded!” the station manager bellowed.

Mac looked at one of the large monitors displaying the orb of vessels around the IMS Fram.

Looking back at the station manager, his calm, focused gaze could have bore a hole through the station manager’s face.

“Fine. I’ll send them away,” Mac said, his tone oddly blank.

He snapped his fingers.

To the station manager’s surprise, he looked at the monitor and the orb of vessels was disappearing. Not opening warp gates, but simply vanishing.

Looking over to the mass and radar monitors, he saw the vessels vanish from there as well. All that was left was the strange vessel that had been in the middle of the orb.

“How…” the station manager whispered.

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you still have warships enroute with a declaration of war in hand over a simple misunderstanding!” Mac bellowed.

The station manager didn’t want to believe his eyes, but every monitor in the command center showed only the three artificial objects in the system of his station, the human station, and the strange looking vessel.

“Station manager!” Mac called, breaking in on the station manager’s thoughts, which were still flying high on the wings of anxiety and paranoia.

The station manager looked at Mac, a strange but universal look on his face. Mac, sadly, knew the face all too well. The look of “what have I done”.

“Can you and will you, of your own free will, call off the emergency and explain to your leaders that this is just a misunderstanding?” Mac asked.

“I…. I…. I can’t… The declaration is already made. And once that arrived, the station went into military lockdown and control,” the station manager croaked, terror beginning to well up.

Sighing, Mac looked around the room and back to the station manager. There was no value in a lie. Not here, not now. So it had to be the truth that there was going to be no going back. He had tried at least.

“According… to.. uh... military rules, we’re supposed to take you prisoner now,” one of the security beings managed in the absence of further conversation.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Mac said, and then vanished in a blink of light.

__

“Well, we at least you over there to talk to them, Mac,” Hiram said.

“Fat lot of good it did. 15 minutes to go. I shall need to call the Empress and let her know the situation,” Mac said, briskly walking in the direction of his desk. “Thank you for arranging that holopresence with Jaksyx. I’m astounded it worked.”

“It’s good to have friends in all sorts of places, Mac,” Hiram said, switching off the projection consoles.

“Isn’t that just the truth,” Mac said, a small grin on his face. “We timed that just about perfectly with the navy. Get on the horn and let them know our status. I’ll have to let the Empress decide how we proceed next.”

“Very good, Mac,” Hiram said, already thinking about what else they might be able to try.

The Collective (Part 16)

As the Ambassador was about to contact the Empress, his terminal chimed with a received data package marked URGENT.

Even in spite of the situation, Mac opened it. He was agog. The Collective had already drafted the terms of humanity’s surrender and included a warning that a failure to accept the terms as is with no negotiation would result in war.

He immediately forwarded the data package to Terra and began his call to the Empress.

“Ambassador MacDonald… Mac, if memory serves me. What news do you bring me?” the 50-ish woman with brown hair, silver eyes, and a sun-warmed face asked him.

“Ill news, Empress. They want war and have already dictated the terms of our surrender, including subjugation. There appears to be no way to stop it, even with the few allies I have cultivated,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

She sighed.

“I too had hopes for friendly star neighbors, but alas, it appears that we shall have to defend ourselves. We will not accept subjugation. Decree 1 guides us all. I shall muster available forces to your position with best possible speed,” she remarked, the even timber of a leader who had seen a hundred battlefields in her voice.

“Thank you, Empress. We will not fail the Empire,” Mac replied.

“If they are prepared for war, then we shall have it. Remember the imperial saying, Mac. We have trust in you,” she intoned and the window with her countenance closed.

Mac sagged a bit, not realizing how draining it was to even just talk with the Empress via WarpCom.

The timer that Hiram had set on Mac’s desk began to buzz. It was time to watch the skies and see what came.

__

Captain Tynog and the Unification gated into the system, a full 2 light minutes from Station 1337.

It took them a moment to gather their bearings. Station 1337 appeared to be in a full lockdown state, as did the human station. He wasn’t wholly prepared for how large the human station appeared compared to 1337, but dismissed it as some trick of relative distances.

His scanners found a strange vessel sitting at a dead stop in the middle of space not far from either of the stations, but no armada.

His orders were to demand the surrender of the humans or to fire upon them in defense of the collective. He wondered though. Had the human fleet departed, leaving behind this strange vessel? Or had Station 1337 driven them off? Or was this perhaps some sort of trap?

But his orders were specific: Surrender or War. And there was little room for officers of The Collective who questioned orders when carrying orders of war.

His communications chief brought up the WarpCom link to the human station.

“Thank you for calling MaccyD’s, how many in your party? If you’re a first time customer, we offer 10% off your first order of 150 credits,” said the unenthusiastic voice on the other end.

“That’s not the Ambassador! Get the Ambassador on the link!” Captain Tynog yelled to his communications chief.

The WarpCom hummed for a moment and the screen opened to the face of Ambassador Patrick MacDonald. Before even the most basic of pleasantries, the Captain was in motion.

“Ambassador MacDonald. You are to surrender to The Collective and face the terms of the surrender as dictated to you by the High Council. You and all of your race will be bound by the terms of those conditions. If you are unwilling to accept those terms, we will have no choice but to bring war against you,” he said, reading the prompter.

The Ambassador gave the Captain a long look. There was something unsettling about it that made Tynog want to back away.

“On behalf of Her Majesty, The Empress of the 3rd Sol Empire, and all the free beings who live within it, we refuse your terms of surrender and instead offer you the opportunity to surrender unconditionally or be faced with the war your High Council is instigating,” the Ambassador said, evenly, but with the practiced public speaking voice of a master poker player.

“We refuse your suggestion at our surrender to you. War it is then,” Captain Tynog said and ordered the link cut.

The sensor feed from Station 1337, showed the strange vessel to be of human construction and origin. Oddly, even though it wasn’t moving, there was something eerie about it. And it wasn’t simply that it outmassed his own vessel by 15x over.

“Arm the weapons. Tactical commander, destroy that vessel once we are in range,” he smoothly ordered.

After closing to within 20 light seconds of the strange, bright vessel, he ordered the antimatter torpedoes fired.

Three rods riding microfusion plants sped off into the black, straight towards the unmoving vessel.

“Tactical. What readings are we getting off of that vessel? Any defenses or weapons evident?” He asked, prepared to move the ship back out of range if he needed to.

“Yes, Captain, but they appear to be unpowered. The vessel appears to just be sitting there, as if they do not even know we are here,” his tactical officer reported.

“Prepare for evasive maneuvers and prepare another spread of torpedoes. I don’t want to be surprised,” Tynog said.

What happened next did surprise him rather acutely. The three torpedoes simultaneously broke apart, still some 5 light seconds from the vessel, the antimatter fizzing against the metals and stellar debris.

“Tactical, report.”

“No clear reason, Captain. It’s like they hit something before they armed.”

“I don’t like this… Back us up. Keep our weapons facing that vessel, but bring us back towards our station,” Tynog said, narrowing his four eyes.

It was then that one of his primary thrusters blew up. Alarms sounded throughout the vessel and the Captain demanded every report he could think of on it.

Every engineer, the helmsbeing, and tactical had no suggestions of what had happened. The thruster had been operating within limits and then had detonated, crippling his vessel.

The Captain looked a bit desperate. This might be sabotage, but given the circumstances, it could just as easily have been faulty maintenance. The ship was severely overdue for an overhaul. Could it have been enemy weapons? How could it be, when the only vessel in range wasn’t even showing signs of having anti-micro-meteorite protection?

He couldn’t be sure, but he ordered the helmsbeing to continue to guide the ship back towards Station 1337 and their arrival point. They might be crippled, but they would continue to fight when backup arrived.

__

Captain Kullen sat in his command chair on the IMS Fram.

“Did that idiot just fire anti-matter torpedoes at us?” he asked.

“That’s correct, sir. We’re maintaining posture as proposed by the Ambassador,” the tactical officer said.

“Would that have even made it past our outer laminate?” Kullen mused.

“Given the low yield, it would have put a small dent in us, but wouldn’t have breached the ship,” the tactical officer volunteered.

“Well, it appears he received a bit of trouble for his attempt. If they actually manage to hit us, then we’ll retaliate. Until then, let’s see what these aliens call war,” Captain Kullen said, leaning forward, a small smile on his lips.

__

Over the course of the next hour, 30 vessels that Mac judged to be no bigger than a corvette, came into the system with Collective markings. A few more torpedoes had been fired at the Fram, but two had missed outright and sailed off into the stars and the remaining had broken up before they could arm as they headed towards the Fram.

Mac chuckled. To utterly miss a completely stationary target in the middle of wide-open space was almost ridiculous. It called for either tactical genius or utter stupidity, and Mac would have gambled all of his family heirlooms that it wasn’t genius.

Interestingly, it appeared that a few more of the vessels who closed to attempt to take shots at the Fram were suffering breakdowns which were crippling the fleet that had turned up so far.

“Hiram, what’s the best estimate on their actual warships arriving instead of these town sheriffs?” he asked, looking over at his aide.

“Another hour, Mac. Why? Bored already?” Hiram said, putting some finishing touches on a report.

“It’s certainly not as exciting as ground duty usually is. What’s say we do a bit of digging on this ‘High Council’? I’m curious to see just what they’re up to,” Mac said.

“Already in your inbox, Mac. Complete with the Cliffnotes version to keep you from getting too exhausted from reading,” Hiram said, his limited attempt at a joke at the Ambassador’s expense.

“Excellent. And go ahead and start looking into Counciless Oorak, our Borlian friends, and any of the other councilors who might be in ‘preventive detention’. We don’t forget our friends, no matter who they are,” Mac said.

“Yes, Mac,” Hiram said, a plan already forming in his head.

But first, humanity had a battle to settle.

The Collective (Part 17)

As the third Collective Naval Forces Battle Carrier, the Unity Through Strength, arrived in the Station 1337 system, her captain was quite surprised to find very little shooting and a significant amount of discussion occurring in the 150 vessels of The Collective already present.

And the strange human vessel, which reportedly, hadn’t moved since arriving, was still sitting there, seemingly deaf and dumb to the whole of space around it.

The captain of the newly arrived carrier was quickly tied into the battlenet of the Collective and received all the data that had been collected over the previous 6 decicycles since the alarm had sounded and the first vessel arrived.

So far, the humans had apparently done nothing.

The fellow captains of the battle carriers were more than a bit annoyed at having been sent urgently to a battlefront with an unaligned species only to find virtually no shooting (aside from the odd torpedo which was fired by a Collective vessel) and a significant amount of discussion on what needed to happen now.

“Has anybeing tried attacking the station?” was the question that was finally asked.

No. None of them had even considered it. After all, that was the tactic of pirates. Normal procedure was to board stations and take prisoners.

Looking over the scan data of the humans’ station composition, the newly arrived captain ordered a super-heavy antimatter torpedo readied and fired at the station, arguing for results rather than continuing to discuss matters by committee.

The torpedo tracked the station and went active, at the suggestion of one of the early arriving tactical officers, once it had reached minimum safe distance from The Collective vessels.

It continued on and then, 5 lightseconds away from the human station, it detonated.

The Collective tactical and sensor officers began pouring over the information. What had happened? Had the station fired on the weapon? Had it detonated prematurely? Was there a malfunction?

The data review appeared pointless, since, as near as the fleet could tell, the human station had done absolutely nothing, received no damage, and the weapon had simply blown up.

Or had it?

One Collective analyst located a small anomaly. Quickly, they looked back through all the data provided so far. There it was again and again. Each time a torpedo closed to within range of the human station or vessel, the anomaly was there, just as the torpedoes had broken up or, in the latest case, detonated. And there were several others of these anomalies. But they seemed like a secondary pulse and the analyst wasn’t sure why it would be there.

Providing their theory however, proved difficult, since there were no less than 20 other theories ahead of theirs.

Slowly, the fleet leadership came to the analyst’s theory. The humans were somehow projecting microwarp gates for a fraction of time. And because the microwarp gates were so small, their energy signature was barely above the noise floor and so the computers had registered the uptick, but not enough to trigger any alarms.

The problem was that everyone hearing the theory “knew” that warp gates couldn’t be projected, especially on such a small scale at a distance.

But the analyst had silently lifted the now common WarpCom and set it on the desk. There had been silence.

There was no debating that the humans had mastered FTL on their own and had even managed a broad based FTL communications system where the combined Collective species had not. But what the analyst was proposing was verging on impossibility. But, given the events over the last few decicycles, even the impossible had to be considered. Could it be that the human vessel that was still in the system couldn’t move because of the precise shots that it was taking with this obviously experimental weapon? Or was it that both the human vessel and the station were equipped with this sort of weapon and the humans had simply been waiting for use their weapons of war on The Collective?

None of the assembled leadership liked the situation. As near as they could tell, they had 150 vessels, armed with light to medium grade weaponry, while the humans had one vessel and one station, at least one of which was equipped with some sort of microwarp gate projector. But their orders from the High Council were clear as were the regulations. Any officer who was unwilling to obey the orders of the High Council was to resign and return to their own space, being forbidden from receiving any further remuneration or service within The Collective Armed Forces.

It was at this point that each of the battle carriers’ WarpComs began chiming with an incoming link.

As one, their captains opened the link.

The face of the famous human, the Ambassador of Humans, Patrick “BigMac” MacDonald was on the other end of the link.

“Excellent. All three of you. Good cycle all. I am sure you are going to ask, so let me spare you the time. Humanity does not agree to surrender, but we will accept the surrender of your vessels unconditionally and treat you and your crews as prisoners of war until such time as you and your crews can be returned to your species or at the end of hostilities,” Mac said, plainly.

One of the carrier captains scoffed in Collective Standard. The other two remained silent.

“What is your answer?” Mac asked, his predatory countenance filling the link screen.

“We are not permitted to surrender,” the scoffing captain responded.

“And yet, you will either surrender or what’s left of your crew will surrender or you can turn around, leave now, and tell your High Council to shove it,” Mac said.

The translation of the last bit of the Ambassador’s statement required a bit of minor cultural referencing for each of the captains, but the mere suggestion seemed entirely unthinkable.

“Let me make your choice a bit easier,” Mac said, and snapped his fingers.

Immediately aboard the three carriers and the other 147 Collective vessels, alarms sounded throughout the vessels as fifteen human corvettes and frigates appeared to materialize directly behind the assembled Collective fleet, at a distance of only 10 lightseconds, their masses and radar reflections appearing almost instantly upon the sensor screen.

The scoffing captain seemed to choke for a moment at this, his eyes going wide just before he leaned out of screen and retching could be heard. The other two carrier captains were equally astonished, but managed to hold their composure.

“Not enough?” Mac said, a small smile filing his features as he snapped again.

High on the orbital plane, above and in front of the Collective fleet, three human battleships materialized, their very presence in the system setting off renewed alarms throughout the vessels below.

The odds were still nowhere near fair, but the two stolid carrier captains hadn’t reached their roles by depending on fair odds. And based on their analyst’s theory of a microwarp gate projector, they had no reason not to suspect that, if it did exist, the odds were just about even. Maybe not even that good.

The one carrier captain finished retching and immediately cut the link. Ordering his vessel into full deployment, launching attack fighters, arming fusion lasers, and preparing more antimatter torpedoes to be fired, his carrier charged forward, aiming upward towards the three battleships.

“Pity…” Mac said. “Will you be joining your fellow captain?”

The other two captains took a moment to gauge each other and then nodded in sync.

“It is our duty as defenders of The Collective,” one said.

None of the three spoke for a time, for though the link was active, the first carrier had reached effective range to the human battleships.

Fighter craft were launched rapidly, torpedoes shot through space, and fusion lasers began to stab towards the battleships.

Except, the battleships had engaged their engines and…. And surely, battleships couldn’t move that fast. As one, the three human battleships turned, angling down and to the side of the fleet, allowing their portside weapons to maintain a bearing on the charging carrier, moving more like massive fighter craft than the heavy vessels they were.

The closest battleship opened fire with its kinetic railguns, heavy tungsten rounds filling space.

The captain scoffed again and activated his battle shields, confident that these savages were posturing with fancy rocks and clearly needed a lesson in war.

It wasn’t until the second wave of tungsten rounds having impacted on his battle shields hard enough to get the shield generator on the verge of overloading that he realized the danger. But now it was too late, as the third wave of rounds from the closest human battleship arrived, punching through the suddenly overloaded battle shield and then ripping massive holes through his hull, one round impacting through the hyper-dense fusion generators that powered his massive vessel.

The Collective carrier seemed to die almost instantly, the automated distress beacons of the mighty vessel howling into space and over the WarpCom.

The two remaining carrier captains looked back at Mac as the battleships came to a stop off to one side of the Collective fleet.

“What is your answer? Surrender, leave, or join your fellow captain?”

The Collective (Part 18)

As Ambassador “Mac” MacDonald was introducing The Collective to the human ways of warfare, Counciless Oorak was pacing in her office, which she had been “secured in for her own safety”.

She was furious. When had the High Council gotten this much unchecked power, to go to war and detain anyone they considered “a threat” to that war? Certainly, there were emergency protocols, but those couldn’t be abused indefinitely. They had timelines and conditions. And perhaps most of all, they depended on reaction, not preemptive action.

But… the humans had sent that small fleet to the joint system. And the station manager had been scared enough to signal for aid. Which was probably all the more the High Council had needed.

But that would also mean that the High Council had been waiting for this. And being fair, humans were practically off the charts when it came to aggression scores and durability. And the only reason anyone knew any of this now instead of several days from now was because of their ingenious WarpCom.

And it didn’t seem to matter to the High Council. It didn’t make sense. Or did it?

She thought through the High Council. Each of the five had been a Collective-founder species, a Unified-Stars-founder species, a Star-Federation-founder species, and a Stellar-Confederacy-founder species. And to have been a part of all of those organizations among species over time suggested that they either truly wanted a galactic community or they gained something by having these organizations. Greed, as the humans called it, was a powerful motivator. But what did they gain from building a galactic community?

Resources? Technologies? Or was it something simpler? Could it be that these five species had some hidden goal that was tied with the Great Coma Wall/Kunglot? What was so special about it, beyond the astronomic sense? Or could it be that these five species were using The Collective and other galactic organizations to simply control other species?

She could see a great many ideas swirling in her head of all the “what-ifs” and soon her head hurt. She moved to the organic printer and brought up a human-templated kale-watercress-beetroot smoothie. Taking a sip, she smiled a bit.

She really did learn a lot about the humans. For all their natural aggression, high strength, and, at times, ferocity, they really could be quite gentle. Mac had always gone out of his way to ensure that he hadn’t hurt anyone, or at least, not hurt anyone outside of a pushing contest. Even for all of his accidents with having ripped doors and bolts out of the walls of Station 1337 and having punched through one at one point. She remembered very keenly when the medics had been summoned the first several times to examine the human, to ensure he did not require medical assistance. But he had mostly just been surprised and ‘bruised’ a couple of times.

And when she’d found out how warm he was naturally, she would admit to herself that she had used her “alien wiles” to get close to him, an arrangement that seemed to suit them both just fine, as it didn’t appear to be taboo to his species, and she’d saved some valuable heating unit credits.

She did have to admit, she had been surprised to learn that, while she was half the height of the Ambassador, his species put more weight into adulthood and informed consent than into species control. This almost certainly was due to the fact that before meeting The Collective, they had believed themselves adrift in the great galactic ocean, alone but for the few new beachheads they established and pushed out further. Meeting The Collective had been something of a welcome surprise to them, it seemed.

And while her own species had established species control, it was generally considered unthinkable to even associate beyond mere friendship with a member of another species. And yet, here she had been, the two of them curled up some rest periods, his warmth filling the resting nest. It felt taboo to her, but as far as Mac had voiced, it was perfectly acceptable. He’d even spoken of sharing his resting nest with other species, a “gato” and a “doggo”, native to their homeworld.

And they hadn’t immediately opted into war, as would have been expected for such a martial favored species. Mac had been all for the pushing contests with the Borlians, and had appeared to let them win a few, even when he clearly could have overpowered the Borlian in question, but part of that also seemed to be some innate understanding of how the Borlians used the pushing contests. It was a sort of commonplace ritual that the Borlians used, but she and her species hadn’t quite ever understood it. It relied on individual strength, but at the same time, represented the strength of the species or group the being represented.

Until the humans had turned up, the Borlians had mostly only ever used it amongst themselves. Now, it was almost commonplace at one of Mac’s poker nights or during a trade event when human vendors brought an array of goods to the station.

But she would also admit that she didn’t think she’d ever seen Mac become overly aggressive, as she might have expected of his race, had she only reviewed the documentation on the humans. He’d been a bit… what was the right word… terse with a few of the negotiations and even in dealing with his own kind. And she’d seen fear in the eyes of some of the species after negotiations, a fear, some of them had quietly admitted, that Mac might do something savage or might casually murder them with one of the human foodstuffs, as he had when attacked by some of the trade representatives.

She harrumphed, the equivalent of her species’ chuckle, reminded of having heard of some of the takes of the failed forcings of trade representatives to “poison” or “overpower” the unaligned human Ambassador. There had been the famous coffee incident which kicked it all off. Next had been the “hot wings” incident, where an enterprising trade representative had, in an attempt to bully Mac, snatched part of the Ambassador’s meal, swallowed it, and almost immediately went into agony and coma as a result of the capsaicin in the Ambassador’s meal. There had even been the “alcohol poisoning” incident, where one trade representative had attempted to get Mac drunk and get him to sign away species trade rights. It had backfired hugely as Mac (and apparently most humans) could consume comparatively huge amounts of alcohol-water mixtures, and the representative had gotten so fed up with the Ambassador not getting drunk, it had tried some of the human’s “scotch”. After which, it had fallen to the ground and began attempting to purge itself. Medics had been called, but the representative had gone to the hospital for no less than a quarter solar cycle.

Mac had been reasonably apologetic on all the incidents, but at the same time, Oorak was fairly certain that he enjoyed it a bit too. He was the ultra-tough primate from a high gravity, highly poisonous world, and he didn’t care who knew it and who didn’t.

But it had seemed odd that Mac hadn’t ever truly appeared aggressive to the point of predatory violence.

In theory at least, she should have been terrified of Mac and his whole species. They were omnivores and ate just about everything, including a bewildering amount of poisons, simply because “it tasted better that way”. They could gorge to excess and simply store or excrete the excess without going into a comatic state (although they did have something called a “turkey dinner” which supposedly could induce a sort of comatic state, but she suspected they were exaggerating). Her species were herbivores, but had risen to the height of their world through ingenious tool use and pack-bonding.

There weren’t many omnivores or straight carnivores among The Collective, but there were a few. They tended to be minor species by comparison to most of the Collective species, as they usually suffered infighting and chemical compatibilities with most of the other members. And while they were not as aggressively rated as the humans, it could be said that they did have a tendency towards falling back on instinct, which usually called for them to be detained until such time as they could be sent back to their own people for treatment or until they relaxed enough to temper their instincts.

She sniffed the air a bit. It felt… cold and impersonal in here and it smelled it too. Despite the decor from her homeworld and some of the various items she had brought to supplement the room for her own comfort, it wasn’t particularly special. At least not anymore.

She hadn’t really thought about it, but humans did have a peculiar scent about them. Mac had once referenced the term “pheromones”. Scents that they and their homeworld species often emitted. Her homeworld had them as well, but it seemed different, somehow. To describe it in terms of a picture, the scents of her people could best be described as earthy with the crackle of storm-filled skies as a forest fire blazed in the distance. It was so commonplace that she had even used a scent-maker when she had first arrived to serve as a councilor. But now, she found herself wanting the smell of humans. A warm mix of rich scents that put her in mind of a safe resting nest, a banquet of expertly prepared foodstuffs, and a star-warmed patch of sandy earth by a calm waters edge.

It was that scent of security that she realized she was missing. Turning up her suit’s heater slightly, as she felt a bit chilled, she sat down on her desk stool and started scrolling through her private files on her tablet.

It wasn’t for a little while that she realized she heard a faint hissing sound. Looking around the room, she saw the solid aluminum door begin to warp and bubble until it suddenly crumbled to the floor.

Wide-eyed, she stared at the human, dressed in all black and wearing a helmet (but the shape and size was unmistakable human).

“Counciless Oorak, I presume,” the figure said, in perfect Collective Standard.

“Yes,” was all Oorak could manage.

“Ambassador MacDonald sent me to collect you and your fellow imprisoned councilors. If you’ll gather anything you care to bring with you, I’ve come to see you to safety. Do you consent or do you wish to remain?” the figure said.

“Are we being taken into protective custody?” Oorak said, hurriedly, grabbing a few items and her tablet and headed for the human.

“No. You will still be free beings. But in light of the current events, the Ambassador wanted to ensure the safety of the willing Council-beings from internal strife,” the human responded.

“Then I shall come with you. Please take us to the Ambassador,” Oorak said, a kind of memory warmth filling her.

The Collective (Part 19)

As Counciless Oorak followed the black-garbed human through the back hallways of the Collective’s Council Worldcity, she felt many questions bubbling.

“How did you come to find me?” she asked.

“Since you were in your chambers, it was publicly available information,” was the response.

“But war was only declared a few decicycles ago. How could you have reached here in that time?” she pressed.

“I was already on planet as a security advisor to the WarpCom installation team,” the dark-garbed human responded, without a flicker of emotion.

“Last question for now. The door?”

“Copper chloride in an aqueous solution. Eats straight through aluminum,” the figure said as they rounded a corner.

Oorak was surprised that a majority of these hallways existed. But given all the workers who supported the Council worldcity, it should have been obvious. What was strange is that no one challenged them. They all just moved about their business and didn’t even glance at the human or Oorak.

The human moved with a purpose, but was clearly moving slower for Oorak’s benefit.

Eventually, they reached a portal and passing through it brought them into the outside starshine. It was a pleasant day, but Oorak wasted only a passing thought in noticing.

Ahead of them, a human transport vessel was resting upon a landing pad. It looked big and blocky, but for all the aesthetics that it lacked, it still looked as graceful as any vessel Oorak had laid eyes on.

However, around the vessel, securitybeings were surrounding it, their backs facing Oorak and the human. Surprisingly, the human continued moving towards the vessel. Oorak, unsure of what else to do, followed.

Several of the security beings heard or perhaps felt the coming of the human and turned from the vessel to face the human.

“Halt. This vessel and the species who created it are under arrest due to the state of war between The Collective and your species. You are to surrender as a prisoner of war,” one of the securitybeings said, a large weapon of some sort in its grips.

The human appeared to take no notice of this and spoke not a word. They simply continued on toward the vessel.

Two of the securitybeings made a move to grasp the black-clad human. And then…. something happened. It happened too quickly for Oorak to fully comprehend it but what began with two securitybeings attempting to grip the human became the two securitybeings being flung in opposite directions, the human’s arms outstretched.

“We are leaving. We neither consent nor recognize your authority to arrest us,” the human said, straightening and lowering their arms.

“You are to be arrested. Surrender!” ordered the securitybeing, leveling the weapon at the human.

“Counciless Oorak. Remain where you are. I will handle this,” the human said, their stance shifting to one Oorak had seen Mac use in pushing challenges.

She should be terrified. She was alone, isolated from her own kind, imprisoned for having strong relations with an unaligned species who The Collective was now at war with as a result of a misunderstanding.

But having seen the two security beings thrown so easily, she realized. Mac had been holding back in those pushing challenges. And if the human was here to protect her, it was not she who should feel fear.

The weapon that the securitybeing was holding fired. It wasn’t especially loud, but the plasma charge lanced towards the human and hit their chest. Oorak knew, if she were to be hit by that weapon, she would almost certainly have been thrown or perhaps outright killed.

The human looked down at where the plasma charge had hit, the scorch marks a discoloration on the otherwise black clothing. They didn’t appear to be injured in the slightest.

The human then looked back at the securitybeing holding the weapon, who now looked utterly confused at the clearly not injured and unmoved human. Cocking their head, the human looked at the securitybeing with a gaze that penetrated, despite the helmet.

“That… was inadvisable. I will give you one more chance. We are leaving. We do not recognize your authority to hold us here given the state of war between our peoples. The beings aboard this vessel are free beings, subject only to the laws of their peoples, and not the declared martial law as instituted by the Collective resolution by the High Council,” the human said, a clear but dangerous undertone in their voice. Oorak had heard such tones before. A few times Mac had used it with Hiram and similar tones could be heard when the carnivores of The Collective were descending into instinct.

Now she was beginning to be afraid. The human was clearly ready to do violence. And the twenty security beings surrounding the human vessel were undoubtedly going to be taught a lesson in violence by an angry human if they weren’t paying attention.

Sadly, the one carrying the plasma charge rifle wasn’t and was lining up a second shot on the human. This plasma charge missed. It wasn’t that the shot was ill-aimed. It was that the human had leapt into the air, high enough that they could have sailed right over the heads of several of the security beings.

Instead, the human landed in front of the security being holding the plasma charge rifle and tore it from the securitybeing’s grips. Looking at it a moment, they knelt down and appeared to bend, via their arms only, the rifle over their thigh until it was at a right angle. The human then handed the now clearly useless rifle back to the bewildered security being.

“We really must be going. Tah-tah!” the human said, almost jovially before grabbing and throwing the securitybeing so hard and so fast, the securitybeing practically flew into one of the pylons, impacting against it hard with the sort of crack that Oorak would associate with no less than half a solar cycle in an intensive care unit. She winced as the securitybeing crumpled to the floor and, while still breathing, didn’t move and was making a light keening sound that was barely audible.

The rest of the security beings were utterly terrified at facing off against this juggernaut of a human (although Oorak would say that from the pictures she had seen of humans, this one appeared to be fairly standard, compared to the bodybuilders and strongbeings of their species).

“Counciless Oorak. We are leaving. Please board the vessel and we shall leave,” the human said, with no apparent effort having been expended.

Oorak had to blink for a moment before she realized the human had given her a direction. Her eyes were still locked on the crumbled securitybeing.

“Counciless,” the human said, coming over to her. “I am charged with evacuating you to safety, regardless of the forces we may face.”

“I understand,” she said, looking up at the helmeted human. In truth, she didn’t understand. She had never been witness to such violence outside of historical fictions and even that had been dramatized. But this was real.

Perhaps this is what the High Council feared and perhaps hoped to yoke as though they were no more than capable beasts of burden. Regardless, she had a duty to her people. Taking a moment, she pulled out her tablet and drafted an open letter.

To: The Collective Council

Copied: Blingoth World Council

From: Counciless Oorak of the Blingoth

As the representative of the Blingoth Worlds to The Collective, I do hereby invoke our right of self-protection and withdraw all materiel support to The Collective until such time as the declared war on the species known as Humans is ceased.

The High Council has improperly invoked military action against an unaligned species and improperly imprisoned Collective Council members, who are immune to such restraint.

MESSAGE ENDS

Finishing the message and tying her tablet into the nearest Council node, she sent the message.

“Now we can go,” she said, and strode towards the door on the vessel, the human following close behind, their head turning this way and that to look at the still frightful securitybeings.

Aboard the vessel, two Borlian representatives, a Tanos representative, and two other beings who were difficult to distinguish in the low light of the cabin. There was limited space on-board the vessel and the human moved swiftly past the seated beings to the command console.

Oorak quickly sat down next to one of the Borlians, who nodded to her.

“Please ensure your safety constraints are engaged. I have raised the passenger protection system as far as I dare, but this will be uncomfortable for most of you until we are docked with my ship,” the human said, their hands busy on the console.

Oorak strapped herself in, noting the “old-fashioned” approach the humans seemed to take to some things. It was only a moment before she felt the vessel start to lift off and then she was pressed into the seat under an almost fantastical weight. The human hadn’t been lying about it being uncomfortable. She was almost on the verge of pain as she felt the vessel’s engines pulsing with energy as they must have veritably shot away from the surface of the Council world.

It was several minutes before the pressure eased, by which time, the Tanos representative had lost consciousness.

The human however appeared to take no notice that the pressure had even been there and continued to work the console. A vessel appeared centered in front of them, simply hovering in space.

It wasn’t especially large, but it was clearly human. The name on the side of the hull read ITS Johnny.

It was several minutes before they landed in the swiftly closed bay of the Johnny.

“Councilors, I’ve just received word from the captain. The Collective fleet has engaged our fleet. It’s war, I’m afraid,” the human said, before removing their helmet and shaking free a mass of brown hair and grinning.

‘What did we just get ourselves into?’ was the unspoken thought of each Councilor aboard the vessel.

The Collective (Part 20)

As the warp gate opened and the ITS Johnny exited warp space ten light minutes away from Station 1337, Counciless Oorak, the rest of the ‘rescued’ councilors, and the human crew gogged at what they saw, both visually and through the sensors.

The system was not the shambles that the councilors had been expecting. Instead, the space was clear, save for the two stations and the normal satellites. You couldn’t even tell that a few days ago, this had been the sight of a battle, despite, much to the councilors’ dismay, the engagement they had viewed via WarpCom just before all messaging with the system was cut off.

As all eyes craned around the system, a shimmering of space appeared off the starboard bow of the Johnny.

The humans didn’t so much as flinch. The councilors were utterly shocked. They had all thought it some trick or issue with the WarpCom that the human vessels had just appeared.

The vessel which sat off of the bow of the Johnny was clearly of human design and something about it made it look feral and ready to jump for your throat. Or at least that was the thought running through Oorak’s head.

“Transmit our authorization codes,” the captain of the Johnny said calmly. She had been pleasant, but dismissive of the councilors. Oorak wasn’t entirely certain why, but she wondered if it had to do with Mac’s ‘hijacking’ of the vessel.

Oorak had spent the better portion of the three day trip reading through her files on humans.

Their political system was strange to say the least and while it should be rife with corruption and challenges from within and from without, it somehow wasn’t. The Emperor or Empress was both inviolate and subject to public beheading if enough of the leadership deemed it necessary. The System Governors were forced into retirement within regions not their own, to assist in the System Governors working to ensure a reasonably common standard of living across the empire. And the planets themselves mostly governed themselves in all matters except where intra-system politics and imperial policies superseded. But otherwise, a planet’s peoples could tear each other apart, and as long as they used civilian weaponry to do it, the empire wouldn’t even bother to notice, unless it became a disruption to the empire itself.

Oorak kept thinking about this last part. The empire that both was and wasn’t an empire. Oh there had been some attempts by what were called ‘free-worlds’ to leave. And the empire had threatened them with letting them do just that, with the caveat that the system except for that planet still belonged to the empire. And that if they were to be free, it would mean no more trading, no more off world manufactoriums, no more WarpCom links. And this was made effective by the Imperial Navy.

In the history of the 3rd Sol Empire, only two worlds had managed to make it work and they had become simpler worlds. Worlds where humans were no longer a part of the empire, but rather a part of a much smaller community world. Interestingly, after a period of years of success by both worlds, the empire had loosened itself, opting for largely automated defenses instead of manned vessels to protect these worlds and to keep the imperial promise. Occasionally, there would be a petition for some imperial citizens to leave and join one of these two worlds, a request which was normally granted (provided they were not of certain professions or possessing medical technology which was banned upon the two worlds).

A voice broke into Oorak’s thoughts.

“Thank you, Corvette Captain. We’ll set course for the Big Stick,” the Johnny’s captain said, as the vessel Oorak now assumed to be a corvette faded back into the stars.

As the Johnny closed to pass Station 1337, Oorak and the councilors looked upon their station. Half of the docks were filled with Collective warships, the vessels appearing cold and dark, an effect made especially so by the light streaming from the windows of Station 1337. Before the humans had arrived, it was normal for 75% of the windows to have been dark. But now, it seemed the station was filled with light with only a few patches of darkness.

Oorak felt a slight tick in her mind and looked at the rest of the docks. They were empty. There were no trade vessels here. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but for some reason it was.

The Johnny eased into a berth at the Big Stick.

“Councilors, the Ambassador will be waiting for you,” the captain said, a bit dourly. Oorak resolved to send the captain some manner of apology gift. She wasn’t certain what Mac had done to get them here, but the captain clearly wasn’t happy about being here.

Gathering her few belongings, she moved with the rest of the councilors into the receiving dock. The gravity was lowered for their benefit and Ambassador Patrick ‘BigMac’ MacDonald and his aide, Hiram Rickover, were there waiting for them. Neither appeared to be particularly well rested, their clothing appearing to be a bit rumpled and askew.

“Councilors, welcome back. I apologize for the manner in which things have occurred, but your safety was taken to be of the utmost importance,” he said, smiling a tired smile.

“We appreciate your aid in this manner, but we were clearly surprised to arrive upon a battlefield,” one of the Borlians said.

“Only three vessels paid the cost of the battle. The others sensibly surrendered. You may have noticed them docked at Station 1337. By the Empress’ rules of warfare, as the empire won the battle and there being no better solution, Station 1337 is presently designated an imperial prisoner of war detention facility. The civilians, save the essential station leadership, were evacuated by way of the Collective trade vessels, and the military vessels docked and fully shut down. We have daily discussions to ensure they are abiding by the appropriate rules as prisoners of war,” Hiram said, apparently reading through his tablet.

“We encountered a corvette on the way in,” Oorak piped up.

“They’re all around. The Imperial Navy is very protective of citizens. We expect a counter-attack sometime soon,” Mac said.

“That… may not be the case,” Oorak answered.

As it had happened, Oorak, the Tanos representative, and the two Borlians had all issued letters to The Collective Council and their own worlds that they would have no part in an unprovoked war. From the little that they had been able to glean from the WarpCom channels that were still active in Collective space, the effects of this had been the snowflakes which caused an avalanche. The Borlian Worlds had been outraged at the High Council, their martial might making up a reasonable percentage of the law enforcement groups throughout The Collective. The Blingoth World Council had been in meetings for days, refusing to even acknowledge that the rest of the universe existed until they reached some conclusion, and so Blingoths had simply passively refused to continue until they knew whether to prepare for war or for peace.

The Tanos representative had been disavowed by his people, his citizenship expunged, and his return to his species’ worlds a death sentence. The other two representatives, a Daviies and a Enog, both bird-like species, had received similar revocations, but had entire continents protesting in their defense.

Mac led the group up an elevator and to a series of chambers, all with the right, lower gravity the councilors needed.

“Councilors, it isn’t much, but I give you all these chambers. For those of you who cannot return home, I welcome you to make this your home. For those may yet return home, I offer you our hospitality for a time, until such time as you may return home. You may go anywhere on the station which is publicly accessible. You may even leave if you so choose. But I make no promises as to your safety once you leave this system,” Mac said, intoning the words in clear Collective Standard.

Oorak couldn’t help herself anymore. She dropped her bag and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Mac’s waist and gripping tightly. Mac patted her on the shoulder. The Tanos representative bowed deeply to Mac and then to Hiram, his tongue busy whispering something in his native tongue. The Borlians stepped forward and clapped their hands on each other's shoulders and on Mac’s, creating a sort of circle. The Daviies and Enog bobbed a bit, flashing their feathers.

The group broke, most of the councilors moving away to find the space labeled for them. Only Oorak, Mac, and Hiram remained.

“Why did you come get us?” Oorak asked, feeling less overwhelmed by this point.

“It’s what you do for friends,” Mac answered. “Come on. I’ve got a few drinks to pour for the three of us and then, we’ve got a mystery to solve.”

Oorak sniffed. It certainly didn’t smell like any of the nests of her ancestors, but even for just this moment, it smelled to be more like home than any she’d smelled in many cycles.

The Collective (Part 21)

Ten days after Counciless Oorak arrived safely at the IMST Big Stick, the IMS Fram arrived at the Great Coma Wall, at the coordinates on the far galactic central spinward, some 75 million lightyears from from the central axis.

Its escort battleship lumbered aft of the Fram.

“Engineering, status,” asked Captain Kullen.

He had thought it a bit odd that the Ambassador had insisted that they continue their mission, but after the Battle of Station 1337 and the escort battleship being loaned on the insistence of the Imperial Navy, he had set his mind to his mission: cracking the Great Coma Wall.

Invisible to the eye, but flowing in whorls and bizarre patterns, the Great Coma Wall was not truly a wall, but rather a region of space that was so utterly filled with gravitational eddies, that not even the toughest human vessel could breach it. And the last official expedition had come back barely alive.

At least that was the official story.

The surviving officers of the last official expedition had found something… They weren’t certain what it had been at the time and almost immediately upon finding it, their vessel had been severely damaged, killing over half the crew.

But he was here to find it.

“Engineering here Captain. We’re bringing the projector core online now. Has the battleship deactivated their FTL core and their WarpCom?” responded the tinny voice that Kullen never would have imagined belonged to Commander LeScotty, one of the more ‘interesting’ engineers in the whole of the Imperial Navy.

“Comms” Kullen directed the overheard question to the technician at the communications station.

“Captain, Rage and Fury reports all WarpCom and FTL systems offline and awaiting our operations, full sensor sweep,” Sensor Technician First Class Swiss Darby reported.

“Very well. Science team, are you ready?”

“Science team here, Captain. We’re ready with two probe arrays,” said the voice of Lead Scientist Benjamin Dover.

“Launch at your readiness, Ben,” Kullen said.

“Launching!” came the response.

Two flashes of light came from the top deck of the Fram and split, one heading spinward, one heading anti-spinward. Once they were clear of the ship, they would use gravity boost FTL drives to reach a distance of 100 light hours and focus their massive sensor packages on everything within 1000 light hours, the Wall especially.

“Science team reporting Captain. Probe Rosalind Franklin and Probe Valentina Tereshkova both reporting full readiness and are recording.”

“Very well. Engineering, bring the Hyperion Projector Drill online and prepare for tunneling,” Kullen said, pleased that everything seemed to be going according to plan.

This part would take a little while, he had been told. The Drill was not really a drill persay, but the name had caught, so it had been called it. The truth was that it was a sort of tunneling array which would allow the Fram to ‘break’ the gravitational ‘ice’ of the wall. And for some particular reason, the scientists knew, but the math was all beyond Kullen, it meant that the Fram couldn’t be equipped with conventional FTL warp gates. Hence the need for the escort.

The Science Team and Engineering worked diligently, bringing their little bit of experimental magic online. They’d tested the idea using a black hole and the energy shield projector technology of the Borlians. It was a whole new way of traveling through heavy gravitational fields.

Lead Scientist Dover frowned as the engineers were calibrating several gauges. He was reminded of the secretive reports he’d received as part of this project, reports that, he had gathered, had been ‘obtained’ from The Collective. There was something special about this region of the Great Coma Wall, but even those reports didn’t say what it was.

A great wallop of a spanner on a misbehaving fusion chamber broke into his thoughts and he looked over to see the fusion chamber sputter for a moment and then begin to hum with the sound of perfect operation. Leave it to engineers, they always had their own little bits of percussive maintenance.

He patted the modified Borlian Energy Projector companionably. It had been his contribution to this expedition. When he’d first received it, he had gotten blind drunk, wondering how… HOW he had never dreamed up the idea. It was so simple a concept and the technology was so simplistic and yet robust, that he’d already filed for no less than 25 patents, with exemptions carved out for official vessels of the Empire.

A chime sounded.

“Science and Engineering report ready, Captain. Let’s see what’s waiting for us!” Ben called into the intercom.

“Engage the Drill,” Captain Kullen ordered.

A spear of ultrablue light erupted from the bow of the Fram and hit the Wall before it. The blue light danced and warped as it was bent and twisted by the gravitational eddies and rapids of the wall. And then, slowly, it seemed to start to straighten. More and more, it snapped back into a singular line of light, unbent by the whirling and wild gravities of the space around it.

When it had been stable for several minutes, the Science team called to the Captain.

“Expanding the aperture for the Fram.”

The blue line of light widened, becoming first a straw and then a tube and eventually a tunnel large enough to fly, with caution, the Fram and her escort down.

“Helm. Engage the engines. Take us where no human has ever been before,” Captain Kullen said, making certain to annotate this moment in the automated logs.

The Fram moved inward. Slowly at first, but the tunnel bore through space as it did the gravitational fields, allowing them to translate into FTL without even realizing it.

“Captain, I’m getting a strange reading over here,” one of the sensor operators called out.

“Strange?” Kullen replied.

“It shows the tunnel ending in open space, the gravitational distortions gone. And because of our speed, I can’t say what’s beyond,” the operator said.

“How far are we in and how far until we reach this open space?” Kullen asked.

“We’re 50 lightyears in and the open space registers at 73 light years and dropping,” the sensor operator reported.

“Science Team, we’re about to enter a void. Ben, I think you’d better get up here,” Kullen said.

“On my way, Captain,” said the intercom.

Several minutes passed and Fram continued to sail through the tunnel towards the void. Ben arrived and waited by Kullen.

And then, they were out of the tunnel, in the gravitational void, their speed dropping almost instantly to basic sublight speeds. A full sensor sweep was begun. And almost immediately stopped when the crew of the Fram saw them.

The titan sized orbs hovered in the void, gas giant sized and with mass readings indicating that while they weren’t solid, they were close enough to being solid that only an expert could have told the difference on the scanner.

A beam of some sort came down and hit the Fram. Nothing happened, for a moment.

In Collective Standard, the Fram began to vibrate with communication.

“We are The Collective. You will join your strength to ours. You will serve our whole.”

The Collective (Part 22)

The Fram was silent but for the sound of machinery.

Kullen thought for a few moments. The planet sized orbs were clearly intimidating, but they were here and not outside of this void. And the sensors of the Fram clearly showed no less than fifteen of the orbs.

This place was somehow special. Was it some sort of prison? The hidden power of The Collective? Or was it something else?

It was clearly an impossible space in an impossible section of space.

Humans had never managed to make it inside and with the way light bent and twisted with the gravitational distortions, it was possible that the galaxies and clusters astronomers believed to make the Great Wall weren’t there at all. But instead of it being hidden, it shone like a beacon to the stars.

Had that been intended as a warning?

“Do you submit?” rattled the ship, breaking Kullen from his thoughts.

“Never,” he curtly responded to the air.

“You will submit. And you will free us. And we shall free you,” rattled the ship, a bit more violently.

“Never!” Kullen yelled. “Raise shields, engage the Drill, get us out of here!”

The ship bobbled for a moment in the beam from the titanic vessel before an energy field ensconced the whole vessel, shimmering in the void. It seemed for a long moment that the beam still held them, but all at once, the Fram was racing for the gravitational wall, the blue beam already carving a tunnel just barely wide enough for the Fram.

Kullen directed as many sensors as he could spare aft, to watch the tunnel behind them. He knew, without seeing, that they would be chased. And just because those vessels were gigantic, even by human standards, didn’t mean they didn’t still have a means to follow.

There was nothing there that Kullen could detect, but he still wondered.

“Ben, can you start sealing the tunnel behind us?” he looked over at the lead scientist.

Ben was already halfway to the door.

“I’m already on it,” as the door shut behind him.

Ben practically raced down to engineering. Right now he was glad he’d tried those folded projector tunneling experiments, but was worried, because even though he’d gotten it to work once, he remembered the thirty five other experiments which had crushed the drones into ultradense junk nearing the event horizon of a black hole. A drone had been a lot easier to change the field around it. And it also hadn’t been relying on it to keep them alive at the time either.

He went to the projector array and began working through the energy projector field array dynamics. His mind was flying through the numbers, desperately trying to recall exactly all the numbers from the experiment which had worked.

Ben felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up from his frantic work into the face of the chief engineer, LeScotty, who pointed at one of the variables.

“Increase that figure by 14.89%. It will offset our extra mass,” the engineer said.

Ben could only nod before diving back into the numbers. Two minutes passed as he ran the new calculations. It appeared to work, in simulation, so he would have to trust it. He uploaded the new dynamics to the projector and waited.

As Kullen watched, the tunnel behind the Fram warped and shuddered and began sealing, like a rapidly compressed tube of toothpaste. It was closing… quickly.

There was a brief flash of light before the closing walls of the tube sealed and continued to pursue the racing Fram.

Kullen grinned to himself. They had been followed. But by what or perhaps whom, he didn’t care to actually find out.

It was several more minutes before the Fram breached the outside space again, the Rage and Fury stationkeeping some 30 lightminutes away.

The breach sealed behind the Fram and it felt as though the whole vessel let out a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t much though.

A mass of warp gates began to open around the Fram and the Rage and Fury. Collective military vessels began to pour out of the gates, a basic radio message calling over to both vessels.

“What have you done?!” came the message.

“Your meaning?” was the only response Kullen could think to respond with, as more and more Collective military vessels, ranging from corvettes to dreadnoughts continued arriving.

“You awoke them!” was the response.

Rage and Fury started up their WarpCom and dialed Ambassador MacDonald.

__

Mac had been deeper into the files of The Collective than he would have dreamed and he was hating every minute of it. He could appreciate history, but reading about the political and societal changes of what was claimed to be The Collective’s early origins at galactic civilization bored him to sleep. Given the empire was only a little over 150 Terran Standard years old, his sense of scope and scale for thousands of years was off.

Hiram, Oorak, and himself had found several obscure references that seemed at odds with the histories writ large. They spoke of a species that seemed more myth than reality. Vessels larger than star systems, a strange sickness that seemed to infect and bring all beings to their will, and an even stranger way of existing.

Mundivores. It was the closest thing that Hiram could come up with. He despised legends and myths, but given the scale of the timelines they were dealing with, it seemed only reasonable to allow for a little story telling. And these universe-eaters, whatever they were, seemed important somehow.

Oorak had asked the question then. Why had they been so thoroughly “erased” from the official histories then? What had become of them if they had existed? The observable everything that was continually cataloged by astronomers everywhere would certainly have seen something, wouldn’t they have?

That last bit caught Mac’s thought pattern. Just for the sake of argument, where would you hide a civilization made up of star system sized vessels in the observable everything. The void of space could not be denied, but eventually, somewhere in all the recordings of all the skies by all the astronomers, one of them would have occluded at least one set of stars or galactic clusters.

The WarpCom link to Mac’s tablet began chirping. Opening the link, Mac found himself face to face with the captain of the Rage and Fury (this being denoted by the link address).

“We’re going to need assistance, sir,” the captain said, saluting.

“Why? What did you find?” Mac asked, confused.

“The Collective has sent an armada the half the size of the Imperial Navy out here and they keep screaming at us that we ‘woke them up’, whoever them is,” the captain said.

“Have you spoken with the Fram?” Mac asked, gesturing for Hiram to start dialing for aid.

“They’re intact, but surrounded. They don’t have a WarpCom, so the little data they’ve started beaming to us via radio is sketchy at best. But it appears they encountered something inside the Wall. And apparently, it scares the hell out of The Collective out here.”

“I’m guessing that grabbing the Fram and blasting your way out isn’t going to be possible?” Mac said, looking over at Hiram, who was starting to look a bit frantic.

“No, sir. Not without some serious trouble. And the Fram isn’t designed to take hits.”

Mac thought for a moment. There had to be something he could do. Looking around the room, he spotted one of his awards, from his artillerist days. It was a long-shot idea, but it might just work.

“Captain. Do you have one of the portable gateways?” Mac asked, looking back at the captain on screen.

The captain wrinkled his brow and looked over at his first officer off screen.

“We do, but it’s only a Type III,” the captain said, a puzzled look on his face.

“Set it up on your belly and get your engineers to rig it to your FTL drive,” Mac said, a smile taking over his features.

“Sir, what are you planning?” the captain asked.

“I’m planning to send you help.”

The Collective (Part 23)

The armada of Collective ships, an array of corvettes, frigates, destroyers, dreadnaughts, battleships, carriers, and even two superfrigates (at least by human standards), was worrying the captain of the Rage and Fury.

This was supposed to have been a simple assignment. The rather quick battle at Station 1337 had made him not worry about towing the Fram through warp space to The Collective’s coordinates for their ‘expedition’ to examine the Great Wall. One or two or even ten Collective vessels didn’t worry him.

But the massive fleet, now reaching a thousand vessels and more still apparently enroute, with naught but himself and the Fram, and the Fram was a science vessel, not designed for war. Sure, it had a few tricks and if it could get far enough from the Collective vessels, they might be able to tunnel into whatever gravitational nonsense that composed the Great Wall, but they’d have to know to do that and they’d have to have enough time to get there.

If he had a few minutes to be able to get his ship into position, he could maybe jump to the Fram, if they could move slightly and he could get them out of there. But from the sensor readings, it looked like if his vessel so much as twitched, The Collective vessels would almost certainly open fire.

Despite the very VERY slow data streaming via radio nodes between the Fram and the Rage and Fury, he’d learned a bit more about what was going on, since his call to Ambassador MacDonald. The Fram had encountered some sort of void, with ships or stations that appeared to be larger than anything the Empire had even dreamed of. The technology wasn’t the problem. It was the sheer resources and logistics that would be required to build and maintain it. Living beings were messy, resource intensive, and rarely did well being cooped up, at least from the human perspective. With the few attempts at a true artificial sentience of the empire, all had been dismal failures, requiring conditions so extreme with the existing technology, that they could only be maintained for short periods of time, exhausting massive coolant and powerbanks. To date, as far as the captain knew, the longest lived AI the empire had ever spawned had lasted 23.7 minutes, using the Mars fusion core (the largest one in the empire) and ten megafreighters worth of liquid helium from solar harvesting.

But it still begged the question, just what had the Fram found in that void, and why was The Collective so jumpy about it? Their message traffic, what little his technicians had deciphered, was verging on panic. There were so many vessels with their active scanners cranked up to maximum gain and scanning the gravitational wall, that he wouldn’t have been surprised if he could launch a turkey between himself and the Fram and have it get cooked almost to ash by the time it got to the Fram.

He didn’t know what the Ambassador was planning, but as far from the empire as they were, any help, even briefly, would practically be a miracle. He’d ordered the portal 5 meter gateway to the belly of the ship and rigged it to the FTL system as the Ambassador had ordered. Normally, such a gateway would be used to deploy troops from orbit via a matching gateway. It was a unique trick of the FTL system that treated tuned gateways to transmit almost instantaneously over comparatively short distances.

A ringing was heard from the WarpCom. The Captain picked it up personally. It was Ambassador MacDonald.

“Captain, are all preparations done on your end?” Mac asked.

“They are.”

“Then, execute Scenario 413 begins in 30 seconds of the mark. MARK!” Mac called and the window closed.

The captain quickly ordered scenario 413 retrieved. He read through the synopsis. The Ambassador had to be kidding. It… it shouldn’t work…, but somehow, the Ambassador seemed to think it would. Well, it was better than nothing, which was all they had at the moment. He punched up the execution protocol and the timing sequence. With that engaged, every station received automated orders.

The captain sat in his command chair and secured himself. This was going to be rough if it worked, or they would probably end up dead if it didn’t.

30 seconds after the beginning of the scenario’s orders, the portal gateway bulged and a massive torpedo that barely fit through the portal shot into space and raced for the gravitational wall.

The Collective vessels panicked. It was the only word for it. They completely ignored the Fram and the Rage and Fury and unleashed everything they had at the massive torpedo, its fusion core fueled with with pure tritium and pushing the torpedo ever faster through space.

And then, it detonated. For a whole minute, it was as though a star had been born, the high intensity light and radiation burst blinding virtually every sensor. Or at least every Collective sensor.

The Rage and Fury ejected the portable gateway and leapt into warp space, jumping next to the already moving Fram, who had figured out what was happening when all the vessels guarding it had started running for the wall and the torpedo. Engaging the tethers, the Rage and Fury snagged the Fram and ran back into warp space. It might only give them a bit of a head start, but it was better than being surrounded this far from the Empire.

He sent a short message of scenario success to the Ambassador, with his thanks, via the WarpCom.

He hadn’t known that the portable gateways could work that way, but he’d have to ask about it once they got back.

__

Ambassador MacDonald looked at the ruins of the Type XII Portable Gateway and breathed a sigh of relief seeing the message from the captain of the Rage and Fury. He’d managed to overload the 30 meter diameter portable gateway in a matter of minutes with the amount of energy he’d had to get channeled through it to get it to pair with the little Type III that the captain had.

The station slowly came back to life around him, the power no longer being consumed by the overloaded gateway that sat tethered to the station by the biggest power leads available. Normally, the leads were used to jumpstart the station from cold. This time, they’d done just the opposite, jumpstarting the gate and giving them one shot at sending a starburst torpedo.

Oorak patted him on the leg companionably.

“You people do seem to work miracles,” she said, eyeing the gateway remnants.

“It was a gamble, but it worked at least. Now I believe we have a few calls to make,” Mac said, straightening up and leading the way through the lowered gravity areas for Oorak’s benefit to one of the embassy WarpCom consoles.

The first call was easy. Imperial Intelligence was always ready for a call from Mac.

“Imperial Intelligence.”

“Please see the attached data stream from Rage and Fury. They’re enroute back here with the Fram. We’re about to make a call to the High Council. Recommend you listen in,” Mac said, all business, ignoring the nameless analyst’s glance at Oorak.

“Understood. We’ll be ready,” the analyst said, and the screen closed.

Mac breathed a bit. Oorak looked at him. He seemed excited, but not in a good way. Not truly anxious, but it was clear that something about this made him uncomfortable. And there seemed to be something that he disliked, or perhaps it was fear (although she hadn’t seen a human fear), about their Imperial Intelligence.

Mac dialed the link for The Collective High Council, a feat made possible by Hiram’s ‘finder’ nodes. Mac had no idea how Hiram managed it, but he accepted it had been done, whether he agreed with it or not.

The five species on the screen that opened appeared shocked to see the human and Counciless Oorak.

“This is a meeting of the High Council of The Collective! How dare you interrupt!” one of the representatives screeched indignantly.

“How about you tell us about those imprisoned mundivores inside the Great Coma Wall?” Mac inquired, a predatory look in his eyes.

“NOTHING! We shall tell you NOTHING! An upstart species like yourself could have no understanding of THEM!” a different representative roared, a strange sound to be coming from a saurian.

“Then perhaps you can tell us why they also are called ‘The Collective’?” Mac asked, his gaze steady, unblinking, threatening to bore a hole through the WarpCom and through each of the species representatives.

Silence reigned. None of the High Council seemed to want to speak, various versions of what looked like fear responses fluttering through their musculatures. Mac maintained his gaze.

“The… the… they were the before. We… we are the now,” the smallest representative volunteered.

“And now that they again know of the outside, they will be coming!” roared the saurian again.

“Have you come to your senses and are ready to submit your surrender?” the obvious chairbeing of the High Council asked Mac.

“Are you prepared to fight a war on two fronts?” Mac asked back. “Because it sounds to me like The Collective in there isn’t going to like The Collective out here very much.”

The High Council looked at each other, their bodies still rippling with fear. It became apparent after a moment that the audio of the link was muted. Hiram held up his tablet out of screen shot for Mac to read.

MESSAGE STARTS:

Imperial Intelligence believes the Mundivore Collective is some type of progenitor collective that these five races were a part of. A reasonable hypothesis is that, by some unknown means and for unknown reasons, they were able to imprison the mundivores in the Great Wall and they have been steering galactic politics to prevent an undoing of that prison.

Further hypothesis suggests that our specific interest in the Great Wall is what sparked the war, due to the taboo nature of even discussing the Great Wall, let alone experimenting on it.

MESSAGE ENDS:

Mac twisted his features a bit. This wasn’t particularly good news. Humanity wasn’t so great about dealing with taboos, especially ones that weren’t explained. The audio for the link re-engaged.

“Your vessel had a method to bore through the Wall, yes?” the chairbeing asked.

“That’s correct,” Mac said, seeing no value in hiding it.

“Our scans from our fleet have just arrived. ‘They’ have started doing something to the wall from inside. ‘They’ want out,” the chairbeing said, plainly. “Our war shall have to wait. Will you help us?”

Mac took a moment to process this. He didn’t like it, but he suspected that if they didn’t join forces now, it’d be a lot worse later.

“We will. Start by telling us everything,” he said. And they did just that.

The Collective (Part 24)

Hiram regarded the Ambassador’s bedroom door. He didn’t mind when the Ambassador slept in a bit. It gave him a bit more time to drink his tea and ease into the day.

Yesterday had been rather eventful. The former Tanos representative had been sworn in as the first extrastellar species citizen of the empire. When the saurian had asked about all of what it would mean, they had seemed surprised to learn that they were now on equal footing with every member of the empire, the Empress both included and excepted. This also had to be explained that a citizen’s duty was to the empire, not a particular leader, politician, or authority.

Tykan, the former Tanos representative, had later asked about interspecies rights. Mac had handled this with brevity and forthrightness.

“We don’t distinguish between sentient species. Any species who joins the empire has all the same rights and responsibilities as every other citizen within it,” Mac had said.

“But what about interspecies matings?” Tykan had asked.

“What about them? The empire does not consider that to be the business of the empire, so long as the involved consent,” Mac said, in such a manner as to end that part of the conversation.

Tykan had been rather shocked by this. Hiram wasn’t. He’d written up no less than three memos detailing the slow but growing interspecies brothels, which were officially licensed, on the station. Officially, the empire didn’t care, as long as they were registered, reputable, and did not indulge in anything infringing upon the Empress’ Decrees. Unofficially, it had been astounding how much “unpublished” information was available from the deviants of a species who despised the interspecies laws of The Collective. Privately, Hiram disapproved of the brothels, but it wasn’t his opinion that mattered, it was the official rules and the laws.

As such, the brothels were allowed to continue alongside the many businesses which came and went with the cycle of the station.

Hiram had been rather astounded. The going rate for a better portion of the station’s berths and vendor stalls were reasonably above the imperial standard (albeit not by too much), and vendors and captains would almost fight to get space in one of the trade districts. There had certainly been a few attempts at powergrabs between vendors, but as long as they adhered to station rules and the imperial ones, it officially didn’t matter all that much.

Mac had later described that the elevated “rent” for the stalls and berths was to help cover the station’s operating costs. Since the station was effectively not in imperial space, Mac couldn’t, in theory, leverage the imperial taxes on the trades occurring. That having been said, Mac had decided that a small rent increase, given the massively competitive nature of the trade districts and shipping berths, would be reasonably accepted. That way, the vendors could move as much or as little as they wanted, regardless of imperial taxes, and the station was kept in working order.

With the war on the Species Collective on hold and the war with the Mundivore Collective still in the process of being worked out, the station had become a hub for activity. The Ambassador’s office had swelled from just Mac and Hiram to include two military liaisons and three analysts (all three of whom appeared to be straight out of imperial intelligence training, to Hiram). Additionally, the Imperial naval vessels, who had become a part of the system since arriving with the Fram and had taken part in the skirmish (although Imperial Intelligence had gotten word from the Species Collective side that it was being considered a formidable engagement), were largely decloaked and spread throughout the system, the three battleships hovering near the IMST Big Stick.

The Fram and the Rage and Fury had reversed warp course back to the wall only after Mac had provided them orders to get back to within three lighthours and to keep their FTL systems hot, as well as promising them additional support. Just because the shooting between the Species Collective and the empire was on hold, didn’t mean that it could start back up again.

To the credit of the Imperial Navy, a full battlegroup was enroute. 24 corvettes, 15 frigates, 10 destroyers, 5 battleships, 3 dreadnaughts, 2 railcraft, a carrier, and a resource processor were on their way and would be joining the Fram and the Rage and Fury. Upon hearing this news, the captain of the Rage and Fury had looked shocked. Typically, a full battlegroup was on general patrol of imperial space, with vessels being allocated to various missions throughout the empire. The empire had 8 such battlegroups (officially). And the resource processor had been extraordinary news. These vessels could digest anything they could fit into the processors, turning it into osmium or lead for storage and distribution and rarely were they permitted to even leave the core colonies, due to their high utility.

But the resource processor Schlock and the Battlegroup Winged Hussars were going to fulfill Mac’s promise to support the Species Collective against the Mundivore Collective. At least until such time as diplomacy could take over. But based on the unedited version of the history that the Species Collective High Council had provided about the Mundivore Collective, it made plenty of sense to start with weapons and consider talking to whomever was left.

Mac had been very forthright with his disgust at the High Council’s initial refusal to tell even the Species Collective’s own species about the real history behind the Great Coma Wall. They had taken it well, relatively speaking. After all, Mac had been openly addressing and calling into question one of the biggest taboos of their histories and haranguing them that these types of secrets keep no one safe. That burying it was akin to setting a hidden lethal trap (since none of the species involved had ever used landmines save humans).

By the time the dialog was done and the link closed, Mac had all but collapsed into his chair. It had taken Hiram opening Mac’s liquor cabinet for Mac to even move, to which he had raised an arm and two fingers, to indicate how much Hiram was to pour him. In truth, as much as Hiram was embarrassed by the Ambassador, he felt just as much pride in him at times, that particular moment being one of them.

And as much as Mac liked to sleep in occasionally, it was a new day and there was plenty that needed doing. Hiram rapped on the door. There was no answer. There being no “do not disturb” sign, Hiram keyed his entry code into the door, and it unlocked.

Inward he stepped and then, he froze. On the other side of the room, in the oversized bunk, Mac and Oorak were sleeping rather soundly. Or they appeared to be, until Hiram looked to Mac’s face and saw his eyes open lazily. Mac grinned and raised a finger to his lips to call for quiet, as Oorak was still very much sleeping, her scaly, but unclad form curled up on most of Mac’s upper left side. Hiram remained frozen in place. He was more than a little aware of Mac and Oorak sharing a bed, but to see it was something rather different all together.

Mac waved in a shooing motion at Hiram, who, to his credit, recovered enough to back out of the room and close the door quietly.

Hiram stood outside the door a bit. He remembered writing some of the notes to the Ambassador, making note that the Blingoths were biocompatible with humans, but he felt like a child who had walked in a pair of exposed parents, despite the two of them simply having been sleeping.

He shook his head. He needed to clear the image out of his mind more than the day needed to get started. And that called for a Tanosian loaded breakfast. Quickly, he called Tykan and the two of them moved down to the food district, where an “every-breakfast-you-can-dream-up” cafe was serving Borlian waffles as the day’s specialty. Tykan’s personal gravity field helped the Saurian moving through what otherwise would have been human or holopad areas only.

Three days worth of calories, a rather disturbed, but jovial Tykan, and an hour and a half later, Hiram and Tykan returned to the office, where Mac was fabricating a cup of Kona coffee, prepared by french press.

“Get the day started off right?” Mac said, looking as relaxed as he ever normally was.

“Yes, Mac,” Hiram said, thinking his way back through his breakfast instead of the other morning’s events.

“Good! Get the new analysts started on that new data dump from Fram and Rage and Fury. Pay special attention to the data from the probes. After that, I believe we have a meeting with our military liaisons to determine staging and coordinated action with the Collective out here. And the last big thing that I can think of is if you got Jaksyx his gravity field to interface with his hoverpad,” Mac said, launching into the day ahead of them.

Hiram just shrugged. He was glad he’d decided to stay. The Ambassador, for all his faults, certainly kept life interesting.

The Collective (Part 25)

Captain Rxyn sighed. He didn’t like this assignment, but he had been assured that it was of the utmost importance to The Collective. His was the lead ship of The Collective Navy armada that now hung outside of where that blasted human ship Fram had tunnelled in and met… well, ‘them’. He hadn’t been told exactly what was inside, but had been told by the superiors of his superiors that ‘they’ were ancient beyond telling and could withstand the old technologies with such imperviousness that it made fighting them almost impossible.

What’s more was that every vessel within the fleet had been equipped with a demolition charge. In the event of capture, the ship was to detonate, that none aboard would be left alive to face whatever horrors the enemy had in store. Rxyn was more than skeptical at this, but the High Council’s orders were never given without reason.

The specially modified sensors of the fleet measured the progress of ‘them’ against the wall. Thus far, it appeared minimal, but sufficient to keep the fleet here.

Supposedly, the human ship Fram and its protector Rage and Fury were nearby at a distance, awaiting the arrival of their fleet. Rxyn scoffed. He had seen the recordings of the Battle of Station 1337 and the pirate action half a solar cycle before that. These humans were impressive, but they were not against the true might of The Collective Navy. When this action was over, he only hoped he’d get a chance to teach them a few lessons.

Sitting back in his command seat, he waited.

__

They knew now. The strange little vessel that had come from… outside of their existence. Yes, it had shown them the way. But there was something odd about it. And it would not matter until they too were in this ‘outside’ as well.

The thinker was reviewing all of their knowledge. It had seen into this strange vessel and all its special parts. So many confusing items. Strange creatures made of common plant material and filled with more plant materials. Other strange creatures that moved erratically and were strong, oh so very strong. Much stronger than they remembered of the ‘outside’. And the vessel itself was made of something wrong. The thinker did not like this. Wrong things did not belong. And if it could not be consumed, then it was wrong. But in that wrongness, it found something. It was something new. A bending of energy to physical form. A strange and curious item. Possibly of use.

The scout had not returned from following the strange vessel, but it would not matter. If this strange new energy means would release them, they could BE again.

The digger learned of the thinker’s new energy means and began to dig. Shifting aside the gravity ripples, the space cleared.

__

Rxyn jolted awake in his captain’s seat at the sounds of the alarms.

“Report!” he thundered.

“The wall. Something is opening!” the sensor tech called out.

Rxyn adjusted his visual monitors to where the sensor tech had indicated. The light of the stars was bending less and less and becoming more and more sheer blackness.

“How soon?” he called.

“Now, sir!”

The last of the star-bending lights winked out and were replaced with a massive vessel, easily larger than the Councilworld, which exited the gaping void and appeared to stop, tiny thrusters over the mass of the sphere firing in unity.

A beam from the vessel fixed one of The Collective armada and a voice could be heard throughout the interlinked Collective ships.

“Are you offerings or slaves? You are known to us. You will serve us. Enter and become of the Collective.”

A small moon-sized section of hull slide slightly to one side.

“We refuse!” Rxyn shouted.

“You do not have the right.”

The beam winked out and then multiple beams reached out to fix each vessel in the armada in place. Many of the captains throughout the fleet tried everything they could think of. Engines to full, energy shields, and even attempting to open fire upon the monstrosity seemed to do nothing at all, with the munitions frozen in position scarce distances from their launching points.

“You will serve us. Enter and become of the Collective.”

Rxyn was unsure of what to do. They couldn’t leave. They couldn’t fight back. They could maybe trigger the demolition charges, but would that be too much?

One of the sensor technicians leaned over their control console before turning to Rxyn.

“Sir! There’s something else coming.”

“More vessels like that, I suppose,” Rxyn said, his brain still on the verge of overloading with the demands of the titanic vessel.

“No, sir. Something in warpspace. From Collective space.”

Rxyn looked up at his screens, hoping.

__

The Battlegroup Winged Hussars saw the massive gravitational bulge at the edge of the wall clear into warpspace. Normally something like that would be a planet, but from the reports of the Fram, it would be anything but.

The order was given for the battlegroup to drop out of the warpgate as close to the gravitational bulge as they could manage, with the railcraft staging themselves in the rear.

Together, they tore a massive warpgate back into normal space and emerged, the pride of the Imperial Navy and the Empress at stake. Their opponent, the size of Saturn, was pinning The Collective vessels. It couldn’t be a more perfect time to shine.

Battlegroup Admiral Kumari Kandam stood tall aboard the carrier IMS Elysium Mons, her admiralty cloak draped in the chair several feet behind her. Her simple, but elegant uniform did nothing to soften the face she wore today.

“It appears we are to help stuff this olive back in the jar,” she said, her south Martian accent heavy in her speech.

__

The digger appeared only now to notice the fleet of human vessels. It could see that they were wrong. And they had more of those strange creatures of curious strength. This was good. They would serve well.

But first, a meal of these known ones that were fully correct before tasting the wrong ones.

__

The beams began to contract, pulling the unwilling Collective vessels towards the massive opening of the planet sized vessel.

A few captains panicked and began triggering their demolition charges. One vessel became five, but it was only those ones that panicked. The rest waited. They had seen the humans come. They were supposed to be helping. But this massive vessel didn’t seem to be waiting.

Rxyn could have screeched his species’ death wail, but saw no use in it yet.

The massive vessel filled every screen and sensor as they drew ever nearer.

And then, they stopped. The beams dissolved. And the massive vessel was moving, much faster than a vessel of that size should be capable of.

Rxyn frantically ordered his ships to spread out as far as they were able around the massive vessel and begin launching all available weapons and munitions at it.

Searching space, he saw the massive vessel closing upon the human fleet.

He wished the humans luck.

__

THE STRANGE ONES HAD HURT IT! They had… used something… something wrong… made it go very very fast and it had made for much hurt!

The immediate meal would have to wait. These wrong ones would need to be gone first. No more hurting from the wrong.

__

“Railcraft Deus Ex and Red Herring report good hits. Significant damage visible. It appears we have its attention, Admiral,” the captain reported.

“Very good. I think it’s time we taught it a lesson in fighting someone for real,” Admiral Kandam said, as she narrowed her eyes.

The Collective (Part 26)

Captain Rxyn of The Collective was exhausted. So was his crew.

They and the rest of The Collective fleet had been in stand-off positions, launching every last bit of ordinance that they could manage, running the fabricators ragged and straining their power plants to push out as much energy as could be run to the fabricators, launchers, and laser turrets as they could manage.

And yet, it still seemed like they were barely making a dent in the planet-sized bulk of the enemy, whatever it was. Much like the human vessels, it read on the sensors as being almost solid. But unlike the human vessels, it was uniform and seemed to lack a central power signature. Almost as if it were composed of a strangely distributed power system. Which ran counter to the little that Rxyn remembered of fusion engineering courses in officers training.

Generally speaking, the larger you could build a controlled fusion system, you got exponentially more power. And any species which could make a vessel of this magnitude surely knew this.

And it was possible that his vessel’s sensors were inadequate for sensing the power source, but that wouldn’t explain all the sensor readings his fleet was reporting of the vessel.

At least the massive vessel wasn’t paying his ships any attention. It was fixed on throwing almost everything at the human vessels. Its beams clawing at their hulls and energy shields that some had equipped.

It was rare, in Rxyn’s recall, for non-Borlian vessels and non-capital ships and stations to be capable of energy shields, but he wasn’t about to argue with the humans’ apparent capabilities. He was certain there would be some sort of inquiry after the battle, but for now, he was too drained from the almost 20 decicycles that the battle had continued.

He wondered how the humans were holding up and how much longer the massive vessel would continue to press before a retreat by someone would occur.

__

Admiral Kandam sat in her seat, drumming her fingers on the arm.

Thus far, the giant vessel had appeared satisfied to launch its beams at them and pepper the human fleet with comparatively mild ordnance. It seemed to want to take them whole and was unwilling, for some reason, to damage them excessively. That being said, the human fleet had been firing heavy ordnance and laser turrets at the titan and were causing damage, but apparently not enough.

And Kandam hadn’t seen any value in attempting any sort of landing. On a vessel of that magnitude, any marines landed on such a vessel would almost certainly be overwhelmed before they reached anything of importance.

There was a strange power about the vessel. It wasn’t the standard fusion. It was something different. The gravitational readings of the vessel were being thrown off by it, that much she was certain of.

Deus Ex and Red Herring had twice fallen back to where Rage and Fury, Fram, and Schlock were holding station to re-arm, their heavy munitions being some of the only ordnance that was having any real impact (and even that was limited).

She was reluctant to deploy anything heavier, just because they’d have to warn the Collective vessels who were doing the equivalent of minorly annoying the big vessel, like being nibbled by ducks. It wasn’t that she doubted whether they could hold their own. But against a vessel like this, which could go on fighting and go on fighting, Godzilla being nibbled to death by ducks was more than likely going to result in a lot of nuclear-fire-cooked ducks.

Kandam frowned. Her crews were getting tired. Even with automating what they could of the fight and rotating crew where and when they could, they couldn’t keep this up. If nothing else, they’d start running low on fusion fuels and the middle of a fight was a bad place to run out of energy.

__

Captain Kullen of the Fram had just finished listening to the latest idea from the lead scientist Ben Dover.

“And you think it’ll work?” he asked.

“It’s the best thing I can come up with. If I’m right about the composition of that vessel, this plan is going to require every Starfury torpedo the fleet has,” Ben said, looking back at his tablet.

“I’ll send the plan to the Admiral. It’s better than nothing and I know some of those ships have to be getting close to critical fuel levels. We’re just not prepared normally for this kind of sustained fabricator runs without some sort of hit-and-run tactics or supply lines. And as well stocked as the Schlock is, they can’t exactly pull a third of the fleet from the middle of the battle for several hours to resupply,” Kullen said. “But the real question, can you pull it off?”

“Captain, if you can get the Admiral to approve it, I’ll do my part,” Ben said, firmly.

“Good enough. Comms, get me an encrypted file link to Admiral Kandam on Elysium Mons. She needs ideas and we’ve got a decent one,” Kullen said.

__

Kandam was skeptical of the plans, but given that she’d just received notice from four of the corvettes being on the verge of running dry on their physical reserves of osmium and lead with a decent percentage of the fleet right behind them, she didn’t see much other choice. It was crazy, but it just might work.

“Order all Starfurys unlocked and readied for firing according to this fireplan, detonation only on the signal mark. Signal Rage and Fury and Fram for compliance. Get me a WarpCom link into those Collective ships,” she said, standing back up and moving to the front of the command dais.

Around her, the crew worked to fulfill her orders.

__

Rxyn was a bit surprised to receive the communication from the human admiral, but wasn’t about to argue with the “advice” to back away to a distance of 3 light seconds and leaving two rather large gaps in the sphere around the massive vessel.

He was too tired to argue and in the heart of battle, rank is often a function of firepower.

__

The digger was annoyed. These… wrong ones… they didn’t move like they should. Every time the digger tried to grab one of them, it was suddenly even more wrong and wouldn’t move.

And they kept hurting it. That was even more wrong. They should be tired, they should be fleeing, their resources should be gone. Why were they still fighting?

The little good ones were all around it, trying to hurt it, but doing not much to it. At least nothing that joining them to it wouldn’t fix.

It saw in the distance a strange energy and two masses appeared. It recognized them both as being more wrong things and one of them was the one that showed the thinker how to dig through the gravity walls. But why was it here now?

It looked at the wrong one’s digger. Maybe it was important somehow.

The wrong one’s digger was now projecting a blue beam at the digger. Could this be some last attempt before the wrong ones try to run?

The digger, if it could feel confidence, did so, readying to feast.

__

What happened next happened almost so fast that it could only be told in a series of frames.

First, the massive Starfury torpedoes were launched from every vessel in the Winged Hussars fleet that carried them, the torpedoes aimed at the core of the massive vessel and all around the sphere.

Second, the Fram fired the Drill, widening the projected tunnel to large enough that the Elysium Mons could have sailed through it with plenty of space to spare. The Drill beam hit the outer surface of the massive vessel and stayed there for just a moment, before ripping inward, driving outward the unwanted masses of the armor and everything that lay beneath it to the sides, making the titan seem to bulge as the mass was shoved aside, buckling the armor in places.

And then it was plain to see, if only for a moment. The whole of the titan was some sort of goo, solid, but multicolored in places. There were no spaces for air, nor powerplants, nor anything else that would normally comprise a vessel made for a species of the Species Collective, nor the Empire. That was the great secret of the Species Collective. Each one of these Mundivore Collective vessels was a singular being. And they knew only persistence, and hunger, and terrified the Species Collective in knowing that no matter how far or how fast they ran, the Mundivore Collective was right behind them.

In the next moment, the mighty vessel and the space around it, from its core to the armor, became a star, the Starfury torpedoes driving inward and outward, fusing the elements of the armor and everything that lay beneath it.

The sensors of the Species Collective vessels went into blackout, incapable of dealing with the light, radiation, and even heat which erupted from the titanic vessel’s ignition into a star.

The burning star faded moments later, a hulking mass of elements that glowed among the stars.

Admiral Kandam, seeing the battle won, for now at least, ordered the fleet to begin recovery operations and to spread out. This was almost certainly only the first battle of a real war.

__

Captain Rxyn blanched and shivered, broadcasting a stream of everything he’d just witnessed to the High Council. He certainly did not intend to expect the battle to end this way and he most certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of ordnance like what the humans had just displayed.

__

On the other side of the wall, the thinker looked at the small tunnel the overeager digger had made. It had gotten out and was no doubt gorging. Such was the life of the young. It called to one of the climbers. It was bigger than the digger was, but it knew many of the same things. With a little teaching, it could widen the tunnel for more to see the outside again.

The Collective (Part 27)

FROM: Collective Intelligence

TO: Collective High Council

RESTRICTED RESTRICTED RESTRICTED

SUBJECT: Analysis of Engagement by Collective and Human Empire Forces

Collective Intelligence has noted that while the engagement was a success for our forces, it has shown significant future problems relative to our ability to engage and contain the original Collective.

Detailed analysis of the engagement shows the Collective fleet being immobilized almost immediately and almost eliminated. Analysis of restricted files {REDACTED} shows that this is the same technology as has been previously utilized by the original Collective. Since it is still highly effective against our fleets, we will be at serious risk to oppose others.

The size of the original Collective vessel suggests it was not one of the originals captured in the gravity field, but a comparatively younger example. Further analysis of the debris is pending, but highly difficult due to a) the presence of the humans and b) the weapon technologies used by the humans to render the vessel inert.

The humans themselves appeared to suffer only minor issues as a result of the engagement, but based on the follow-on actions by their resource vessel, suggests that the human fleet was also close to defeat. While this sounds promising for use in future engagements against them, Collective Intelligence would remind the High Council that the amount of ordnance the human vessels utilized against the original Collective vessel, to say nothing of their ultimate deployment, indicates that they are more than capable of defending themselves with a comparatively limited effort. This human fleet was one of eight that the humans have on record and this does not include any private militaries, freelance agents, or additional un-recorded or in-work vessels.

Their use of modified Borlian energy shields on smaller vessels indicates that they are either capable of generating the higher energy levels required for such shields or have modified the shields in such a way as to reduce the energy requirements. With the High Council’s permission, Collective Intelligence may seek to bargain with the human intelligence organization or with disreputable humans for examples of these modifications or energy systems.

Their ultimate deployment was only partially recorded due to sensor limitations aboard the on-site Collective vessels. It appears that the humans have the capability to launch weapons which force nuclear fusion on all the elements in a given area, with overlapping explosions providing the necessary energy to overcome the iron barrier. The technology by which they bored a hole through the original Collective vessel is a complete unknown. Detailed scans of the vessel which fired it are still under analysis, but limited information suggests that it is by those same means that the humans penetrated the gravity field.

Per the High Council inquiry as to whether the Collective should return its attention to the human problem, Collective Intelligence uniformly agrees that the Collective should focus as much of its efforts as possible to obtain and distribute sensor probes around the whole of the gravity field. The original Collective has determined a way to breach it. While it may only work in specific zones, as much of the gravity field as possible must be monitored via WarpCom to prevent any of the original Collective from blindsiding us, the humans, or other as-yet-unknown species.

Collective Intelligence recommends negotiating with the human empire to expand our fabrication and deployment efforts. While Collective Intelligence believes the humans will require a not insignificant price, Collective Intelligence reminds the High Council that without the human intervention, no less than one of the original Collective would be wandering space unchecked.

RESTRICTED RESTRICTED RESTRICTED

MESSAGE ENDS

__

FROM: Imperial Intelligence

TO: Empress Carolus, Senior Officials

SUBJECT: Winged Hussars Battle Summary Analysis

Despite heavy materiel support issues, Imperial Intelligence commends the battlegroup Winged Hussars for their timely intervention.

Imperial Intelligence has noted the tactics used by the Species Collective and that of the Mundivore Collective from the battle and updated the force projection details.

Admiral Kandam, Captain Kullen, and Chief Scientist Dover are to be commended for the execution of the engagement ending battleplan.

Due to the mass and resources available to the enemy, it was unlikely that the battlegroup would have been able to remain for a significantly greater period of time without reinforcement/replacement and resupply.

The list of munitions which were most effective are illustrated in Attachment A. Due the depletion of Starfury munitions within the battlegroup, carrier Elysium Mons is recommended to be authorized fabricator template 007-69 Starfury munitions use until the battlegroup munitions are returned to full strength and no future engagements with the Mundivore Collective are foreseen.

Species Collective Intelligence has placed a unique request for defensive information and/or technologies. Pending review from Her Majesty, we are prepared to officially reject the request, but have arranged for several smugglers to be able to offer samples of high-end civilian defensive systems/ low-end corvette defensive arrays.

IIS Through the Looking Glass is being retrofitted with the Fram’s projection array in a Mk V format. Once the retrofit is complete, it will be deployed under stealth orders to battlegroup Winged Hussars and vessel Fram will be escorted back to Imperial space.

Imperial Intelligence does not believe that the Species Collective will take this opportunity to attack the empire. The show of force demonstrated by one of eight of Her Majesty’s battlegroups appears to have cowed the more displeased members of the High Council. The High Council itself appears to be subdued in the face of the engagement. While they have demonstrated a clear lack of regard for our prior engagements, they now have neutron-star-hardened evidence that the empire should not be taken lightly.

Thus far, the engagement has been kept secret, restricted to military, high government, and intelligence communications. This suggests that the Species Collective considers the event to either be capable of causing great panic or as a plan to discredit the engagement in order to portray themselves in a greater light relative to the empire. Imperial Intelligence will continue to monitor WarpCom traffic within the Species Collective.

Per Her Majesty’s standing request, Ambassador MacDonald has provided the former Tanosian Councilbeing, Tykan, with citizenship and the Empress’ directive for the empire’s first alien citizen to visit Terra. Counciless Oorak’s species has not indicated whether or not they support her actions. The Borlian representatives have indicated through Ambassador MacDonald that, pending actions by the High Council and the Collective Council, their species is considering breaking from the Species Collective and petitioning to act as an independent trading partner with the empire. However, such a break would be estimated to require a time period similar to the exit of Old Britannia from the League of Europa. Until their independence would be complete, Imperial Intelligence recommends all treaty and trade inquiries above Level Venus be held in abeyance.

MESSAGE ENDS

The Collective (Part 28)

Tykan was nervous. Understandably nervous, but that understanding did little to help his state of mind.

He, the former Tanosian representative to the Collective Council, denounced by his own species, rescued by the humans and offered full citizenship, was the first alien citizen within the humans’ 3rd Sol Empire.

He’d spent much of his time aboard the Big Stick and aboard the transport vessel headed to Terra reading about the empire and the laws it did have. Foremost, and Ambassador MacDonald had been very specific on this, were the decrees of the Empress. Some of them apparently carried over from leader to leader, as a sort of tradition, but a few of them were newer, made to adapt the changes of human culture.

And as Tykan was learning, human culture was so varied, he could hardly grasp the breadth of the differences. Aboard the transport vessel alone, which had been hired to include him within the berthing of an otherwise cargo oriented trade vessel, he had met 5 distinct groups of humans. There were Born Terrans, North Martians, Keplers, Centauris, and Rossians. And even between those 5 groups, each one whom he had talked to indicated that on their worlds, there were variations as a result of pre-First Empire days.

Tykan thought through his own species by this rather astounding metric. The Tanosian people were relatively solitary, often spreading out, but still very familial centric. As such, since they had broken from the confines of their homeworld, many of the colony worlds had been founded by selected families. But even within these various families, they all followed the same traditions as on the homeworld, even if their world had three moons or the seasons weren’t the same length. These massive breaks in culture on even the same planet was almost mind-boggling.

He’d never known a species to be more divided. And yet, based on the news reports the crew were watching, they were celebrating the victory of the Battlegroup Winged Hussars over the planet-sized vessel of the species called the Mundivores. They were even watching clips taken from the vessels involved in the battle to see the massive vessel become a blazing star for a few moments.

Tykan was terrified, watching those same clips. A species with that sort of firepower would notionally have already wiped itself out before having ever gotten offworld. And yet, here they were, broadcasting to the whole of the empire of their prodigious strength. And what’s more, apparently, the humans had these vessels doing patrols within the empire to ensure stability and provide aid. He couldn’t even imagine needing these vessels to be capable of such violence.

He thought hard on his decision to become an imperial citizen. He had been without citizenship and while there were a few unaligned species, he knew that he’d never get to return to the Tanosian homeworld ever again. So it was just as well to go as far from the homeworld as possible, and the humans represented not only a fortitude that the Borlians admired, but also an inner warm that Counciless Oorak admired.

He did admit to himself that he did believe Counciless Oorak to be more than a bit selfish in praising Mac, but he knew the measures that the Ambassador had gone to to retrieve their group of councilors from the Council World. It had not been done lightly or cheaply, but the humans had done so out of an act of friendship. Some of the documents he had read referred to the humans’ ‘pack-bonding’ instincts. Apparently, humans pack-bonded with just about everybeing and everything. They carried pack-bonded items, pack-bonded with their ships, pack-bonded with species (sentient, sub-sentient, and non-sentient). And they did it all sometimes in a matter of moments.

Tanosians rarely packbonded outside of familial units and even that was limited to biological urges mostly. Being herbivorous saurians, similar to the Blingoths but with different musculature, scale growth, and preferring to remain on six limbs, rather than upright, as the humans and Blingoths were, Tanosian dens were often low and narrow, allowing minimal passage by the occupying Tanosians. He could ‘stand up’, as Mac put it, but it made him feel strange to be upright for long, as though he should be looking out for dangers.

Tykan twitched his digging claws involuntarily as he thought about all this. He’d gotten more of the hang of the human speech during the trip, but his tongue still tripped him up just as much as it did in Collective Standard.

And he had been summoned by the Empress to meet with her as the first alien citizen. The Empress was apparently not hereditary, as some of the literature of early Terra would have lead Tykan to believe, but was instead selected as a worthy candidate by the prior Emperor or Empress to carry on the traditions of leading the empire. This Empress was apparently from the cloud cities of Venus, a sister planet to Terra, but still bathed in the light of Sol, their star. She had elevated herself without the aid of birthright or inheritance (which Tykan was shocked to learn was practically outlawed) to a station as a high civil servant. From this platform, she had demonstrated to the people and to the leaders of the time that she was intent on serving the empire, and so she had been named as the Empress-presumptive, taking over some 20 Terran standard years ago.

It all made Tykan’s head spin. The Empress was something like a clan matron, but in Tanosian society, clan matrons were born into that role and groomed for it over a lifetime. The notion that one could be born to any station in life, choose simply to serve the species, and end up the leader of that whole species seemed ridiculous. But apparently, it came at a high price. While the Empress was like a clan matron, inviolate, the Empress could expect to be tested and, if necessary, executed for failing to uphold the ideals of the Empire by the System Governors. Somehow, it worked for the humans and now, somehow, it would have to work for him as well.

The transport hummed around him, a soothing gentleness to it as they moved through warpspace.

Strangely, one of the female humans had offered to “snuggle with him”. He had politely declined, mostly because he didn’t understand why a human would want to be in physical contact with another species. Again, the document search had provided him little insight. It appeared that, like pack-bonding, humans engaged in physical contact with all manner of species for any number of reasons beyond the biological. One of the more technical looking documents talked about chemicals that made the humans happy because of the physical contact combined with memory associations.

He wondered if that was why Mac and Counciless Oorak were known to spend resting periods together. He also wondered if it was commonplace for humans to request physical contact during resting periods as a matter of comfort.

Their very old science records indicated that while they were often solitary peoples, they too had familial units of a sort and that part of the bonding internal and external to that familial unit was a common resting period with protectors. Since the days had past the need for protectors, humans apparently often still sought comfort in the physical presence of others, despite having no need to have others to protect them. As such, some apparently had plant derived animal simulcras. Others had sub-sentient species as comforting family members. And some went without.

Secretly, Tykan would agree that he did enjoy the warmth of the humans’ hands when they gave him a ‘handshake’, some form of greeting that was apparently common to their species. And when they had placed their hands on his back or arm around his neck, where he should have felt frightened, he had felt the warmth of their presence, and found himself missing it when the hand or arm had been withdrawn.

He would arrive in the Sol system in a Terran day’s time and would be greeted by the Empress herself at a private ceremony aboard the Terran lunar colony. Apparently, this was to aid with his need for lessened gravity and to prevent him from coming into contact with the Terrans’ apparently terrifying array of wildlife, spices, and more. From Luna (the apparent name of the Terran moon), he would be free to go anywhere in the empire, but supposedly, something had been arranged for him, if he so chose, on Mars, the next planet outward from the star beyond Terra. He hadn’t decided what he would do yet. All of this freedom was rather… terrifying. After all, with freedom, came consequences of that freedom.

But at the same time, he remembered reading Decree #1 and feeling strangely grateful that, as a citizen of this strange empire, if nothing else, he would never be a slave.

The words of the Imperial Creed resounded in his head from his oath-taking as a citizen.

The Stars Shall Brook No More Waiting and We Shall Not Be Found Wanting.

Whether he had made the right choice remained to be seen, but it was a future Tykan was more than willing to face alongside the humans.

The Collective (Part 29)

Ow….

That was the first thought that entered Hiram’s head as his consciousness woke him up.

He really really needed to stop letting Mac mix the drinks for the two of them. Ok, technically the three of them (counting Oorak, who couldn’t tolerate quite as much as Mac and Hiram could, and so her portions were cut down to tolerance).

But in a way, yesterday had been a wholly unique day.

The Blingoth Council had arrived upon a decision to strip Oorak of her position, but would not recall her memo to the High Council and made no motions to follow the Tanosians and strip her of citizenship. And so, she was no longer Counciless Oorak, but rather Citizen Oorak.

It had been rather heartbreaking for Oorak. Under normal circumstances, the Blingoth Council would have delivered the news personally and surrounded her with family and community. However, that kindness, as Hiram saw it, had been abandoned here. No matter though, as Mac, Hiram, Jaksyx (who was enjoying exploring the Big Stick on his modified hoverpad), and the Borlians had gathered to Oorak to help her receive this news. She had been in shock over it. Her entire career was suddenly gone. Not even because the Blingoth Council disagreed with the position she had taken against the High Council, but rather that they believed her relationship with the Ambassador was “unbefitting a Blingoth of your high standing” and “you should have known better, what with the species purity laws”.

The poker game had been a bit terse as a result and broken up early, with a distinct lack of pushing matches. Oorak and Mac had gone to the Starlight Lounge, one of the few spaces aboard the massive station where the exterior stars could be seen through little more than transparent aluminum.

Hiram, the Borlians, and Jaksyx, still interested in continuing the evening, at least in some measure, opted to try a hologame that was native to Jaksyx’s species. The rules were a bit obtuse and it took about 4 explanations and 2 or 3 games before Hiram had a rough idea how the game was played.

The Borlians, however, were still stuck on several of the rules. And so Hiram had thrown in a few rules in place of them, to fit the Borlian playstyle. This included the opportunity for a pushing match against the human. Neither of the Borlians could say no to that, even if they had never won a pushing match against Hiram or Mac.

Somehow, to the two Borlians, Hiram still wasn’t certain how to pronounce their names, the pushing matches were something of a bonding experience. And being the closest thing to a martial species as humans were that the Collective had admitted to, it seemed also to be a sort of on-going contest between the two species, albeit a friendly one.

The four of them had played two more rounds before Oorak and Mac returned, a bit of strain showing on the face of Oorak and a sort of calm unreadability on Mac’s face. Mac had prepared a few more drinks all around and a more lighthearted atmosphere had filled the group. Oorak seemed in better spirits, but was definitely still feeling a bit down from the earlier news.

They all finally began wrapping things up about 1 am Station Time. And that was the end of what Hiram could easily remember.

He opened his eyes and looked at the clock beside his bed. Except… it wasn’t there. Instead, there was an odd sort of item showing a spheroid with a dial in Collective Standard. Blinking a few times to ensure that he wasn’t seeing things, he continued to let his mind wake up.

There was someone behind him in the bunk. He wasn’t sure how he could tell, but there was. Oh wait… there was an arm around his stomach.

Hiram’s mind, despite the pain of his hangover, kicked into overdrive, trying to register and remember everything that he could. It wasn’t helping so far.

Looking around at what he could see of the room, he could see his pants and shirt had been neatly dropped in a heap on the floor. He carefully lifted the blanket to peer underneath. Those were definitely his clothes and the skin on the arm holding him was muscular and grey.

That meant he was in the bed of one of the Borlians. He closed his eyes, desperate to recall the events after the “party” had adjourned.

It was at this point that his bedmate appeared to wake up.

“Good morning Hiram,” the soft rumble of the larger of the two Borlians said.

“Um… good morning,” Hiram managed, still very confused.

“Are you feeling much less intoxicated?” the Borlian asked.

“I am,” he said.

“You were unable to unlock your door and Mac had already gone to bed, so I did not wish to disturb him. I was most surprised when you accepted my bedsharing offer,” the Borlian explained.

“I do not remember that part of the evening,” Hiram admitted.

“I assumed as much. We Borlians also must take care not to consume ethanol-water beverages in excess so that we also do not forget our actions.”

“May I ask why my clothing is removed?” Hiram was grasping at anything he could point towards. He wasn’t a species purist, but nor would he be found in the interspecies brothel district of the station.

“You undressed. You appeared to have some preconceptions about bedsharing that did not involve the wearing of most of your clothing,” the Borlian said, giving the species equivalent of a smile as Hiram turned his head to look at their face.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Hiram said, a blush filling his cheeks.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were a good sleeping companion and if you are willing, I would like to try it again, without the ethanol-water mixtures,” the Borlian said. Something in the voice suggested something to Hiram. He wasn’t sure what it was. In a human, he might have guessed it being shyness, perhaps as one might associate with a crush. But with a Borlian, well, he wasn’t as up on Borlian culture as maybe he ought to be.

His mind scrambled for details. He’d read and written enough reports to and from Imperial Intelligence that he ought to know a surface level of just about every sentient species that there was.

The Borlians were a quad sex species. One tended to be more of a sort of born leader. Unable to pass on their genetics except by their siblings. The second was a kind of gestator (although the actual process for the Borlians was a lot more complicated than that). The other two held roughly 4/5ths of the geneseed needed for procreation and the gestator added the remainder.

Additionally, Borlians were born in, to steal an improper, but as close as accurate term, litter of three quads. Pre-spaceflight, the Borlians had had a number of conflicts and issues with breeding rights and population growth. As a result of their breaking free of their home planet, many of these issues had largely evaporated, as they had gone on to establish a colonial reach well beyond what many other Collective species had accomplished.

In human terms, it made them a much less vulnerable species as it allowed them to be able to overcome a number of issues that species which only colonized a limited number of worlds, all close together.

Hiram realized that he’d been staring straight into the Borlian’s eyes without having responded to the statement. While it hadn’t been a question, it would be undoubtedly rude to not at least provide a statement of acknowledgement.

And, at least it was recounted, the Borlian had been respectful and a good friend. And Hiram wasn’t about to turn that down. Not only did his position demand it, but so too would his parents have chastised him if he were to take offense at the Borlian having taken care of him when he had gotten too into his cups.

“I believe I would enjoy that as well, without the inclusion of ethanol-water mixtures,” he said.

“Buy a lady some dinner first,” the Borlian said, still grinning, in almost perfect Terran Standard.

Once Hiram was over the brief shock of it, he laughed for a moment, until his hangover cut back in. The Borlian cocked their head to the side, clearly amused, but also somewhat confused.

“Where did you learn that?” Hiram asked.

“Mac told me it. He said it means the exchanging of comfort among friends,” the Borlian rumbled.

“That’s… not what it means in the strictest sense. A closer approximation would be providing the… uh… gestator sex food in return for participating in procreation,” Hiram edged his words around his hangover.

“OH! Oh my!” the Borlian exclaimed, appearing rather shocked at this.

“I believe Mac intended for it to be a joke,” Hiram quickly explained. Another mess from the Ambassador. But given Mac’s strange ways of pranks and practical jokes, he couldn’t say that he was surprised.

The Borlian was quiet, appearing to be thinking.

“I believe I will refrain from making that offer with you, Hiram, at this time, but will not wholly discount the future possibility,” the Borlian rumbled, giving Hiram a small smile.

“I appreciate your consideration,” Hiram said, grateful to have gotten out of that without having come off as a heel.

The door to the room opened abruptly and Mac and the fellow Borlian were standing there.

“There you are, Hiram. Time for another day in the office,” Mac boomed, making Hiram’s head ache.

“Yes, Mac,” Hiram said, hoping he had some medication still tucked away in his desk drawer from the last time he’d been hungover with the Ambassador.

The door shut and Hiram began to climb out of bed, only for the grey arm to continue holding him.

“I shall look forward to our next bedsharing Hiram,” the Borlian said, releasing him.

Sheepishly, Hiram finished getting out of bed and set about donning his clothes. ‘I’ll bet this sort of thing never happened to Jameson Bond,’ he thought, smiling to himself.

The Collective (Part 30)

Captain Rxyn of the Collective was utterly astounded by the human vessel Schlock. The massive vessel practically hummed with power and, after delivering resource materials to the various human vessels.

The massive fusion core of the Schlock was comparatively uncovered, while the rest of the vessel looks like a large bow opening, backed by the most complicated array of pipes, processors, and various other blocks that Rxyn could only guess at. Based on the humans’ description of the vessel, it fused everything from protium to heavy elements well beyond the energy limit of iron and turned it all into lead and osmium as a sort of ‘inert storage’.

But that didn’t make sense to Rxyn. Effectively, that would mean that the humans were changing elements by fusion and fission, both nasty processes that were hard to control except with basic elements.

And then the humans had offered metallic deuterium. Rxyn had been astonished at the offer. Ordinarily, he and his crews had to use their arrays to collect interstellar hydrogen. To have metallic deuterium, all ready to be added to their fusion slush tanks, was practically unreal. They wouldn’t have even been supplied it just before leaving dry-dock, it being normally considered too volatile to store in great quantities.

Alas, the humans’ charity had ended there. Despite his crews’ urgings, he did not ask the humans to help re-arm them. Their Admiral Kandam had indicated that she would give them fuel only and Rxyn was in no position to ask for any more than that, particularly in the face of what the humans would almost certainly need to do to re-arm their fleet.

Still, the human fleet had mostly backed away from the remains of the massive vessel. The resource vessel Schlock had moved up to it with its large bow opening and appeared to be ‘eating’ the vessel to replenish their stocks, which, as it was reported, were relatively extensive. The humans had even asked for the position of the nearest gas giant. Rxyn hadn’t understood why, but had ordered the information passed along. He supposed it had something to do with either a new tactic of theirs or some material that they utilized which couldn’t be fabricated.

In the meantime, no other Mundivore vessels had emerged.

__

Admiral Kandam sat by the viewing window in the officers’ lounge, smoking a long thin pipe with a wooden bowl. There was something about the act that let her replay things in her head and consider the futures ahead of them.

Technically, smoking in the lounge was forbidden, but she was the Admiral and given that a number of the captains in the battlegroup also smoked and enjoyed the ritual, no one was about to tell her no.

The battle had been one of attrition. It had only been ended by the decisive battle plan of Dr. Dover. She didn’t like that and particularly because it had been a one-shot plan. If it had failed in the smallest increment, there was no guarantee that they would have been able to pull off anything else.

But there had been something else. The massive vessel had reportedly ‘talked’ to the Collective vessels. It hadn’t tried talking to the human vessels. It certainly had tried to pull them with the beam, but the secrets of the Imperial Navy had kept them safe. The Fram had reported that they had been talked to as well, and in Collective Standard. In Kandam’s experience, all languages drifted over time. And for as long as these… beings had been imprisoned in this place, Collective Standard should have drifted a long way from the version they were using. As perhaps a native Terran Latin speaker trying to speak with a 23rd Century Australnesian might try to communicate, only to discover that the language drift between them is so great that they’d have to go back to the basics.

She’d seen the Schlock and a corvette off to the nearest gas giant for gas and fuel processing (it being easier to harvest a gas giant rather than a star), but the rest of her fleet had been devoted to processing their newly acquired resources into replenishing their stocks with heavier munitions. It wasn’t going to do much more good against vessels of that size, but there wasn’t an obvious weakness to a planet-sized armored orb that could just as easily use the laws of physics against you as it could attack you.

So why hadn’t it? That bothered Kandam. Kullen hadn’t had time to be bothered. She had. And the smoke filling her mouth seemed to flow a little differently as she twisted her tongue in it.

When everything you knew broke down, you go back to the basics. And basic astrophysics and even basic al-Haytham physics should have meant that the human fleet would have been crushed, rammed, and completely destroyed. To say nothing of those tiny Collective vessels.

She had remembered the request from Captain Rxyn to resupply his vessels. She had taken a long moment to gauge him. He wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t even a good captain. He was just someone who had taken the job. Oh, he knew the basics of being an officer, but it wasn’t enough. She’d refused out of hand, opting to suggest that their supplies would not be compatible. Based on the intelligence reports, she was absolutely right as well, given that she could have handed them a stack of lead and osmium, and they could have done almost nothing with it, save hurl it out the airlock at any enemy. No, they were still stuck on their elements processing. They even had to take samples of the massive vessel to ensure that they could reprocess at least some of what had been left into tank fills.

And thinking of intelligence, the vessel Through the Looking Glass had arrived under full stealth. Even to the expert sensors of the human fleet, it was almost impossible to tell the intelligence vessel was among them. They had a next generation Drill and some other nasty surprises that often came with intelligence craft. Kandam didn’t want to have to rely on it.

After all, they had their own mission, not just backing up her fleet.

__

The thinker looked around. There were none of the elders here and so it doubted that their resources would have survived.

The climber had taken to understand what the thinker had taught, but instead of widening the hole, had gone to sample the rest of the chamber they were in. It seemed to think that perhaps there would be something new to be learned that the thinker had not registered.

The thinker looked at the hole. It was far too small for the thinker to pass through, but there seemed to be something there that tantalized the thinker.

A strange signal struck the thinker. It was… primitive, but there was something intriguing about a strange signal. It wasn’t part of the elemental frequency of the universe, but was instead an escalating frequency chain of it. Turning it into a simplified number series, the thinker counted. 1...2...3...5...7...1...

The thinker recognized the pattern. Something was trying to… talk? But why? And why would it say it in such a fashion?

The strange signal repeated a few more times and ended. The thinker wondered for a few moments before sending the signal back in reverse. It felt as though the thinker were broadcasting a simple signal for the joy of it. But the thinker didn’t know joy. The concept was unfamiliar to it. But a new puzzle was a new challenge and that was purpose to the thinker.

The thinker ended the signal as the other signal had and waited.

A small strange wrong vessel seemed to shimmer into existence near the thinker.

The thinker carefully aligned the sensors upon the vessel. It was like the one before, but this one tasted dangerous in the sensors. A sort of darkness rippling off of it, even in the black void of space. A small box was released from the vessel and moved towards the thinker. The thinker looked at it intently, careful not to look at it too hard, lest the thinker damage it.

It was a strange sort of radiation communication device, labeled in Collective Standard. The thinker reached out a beam and pulled the device to itself. It was the work of a few minutes for the thinker to understand how to use the device. It was highly simplistic, but appeared to be how the strange vessel wished to communicate, via waves which did not travel in the void of space.

The thinker tested the unit.

“We are the Collective,” the thinker intoned to the strange device.

“We are the 3rd Sol Empire of Humanity. We have come to speak. Will you attempt to consume us?” the device replied back.

The thinker looked at the vessel again. It was a fraction of a fraction of the thinker’s mass. But the elders had been lost because mass was not everything.

“We shall not consume you. Speak your intentions,” said the thinker, feeling purpose within.

The Collective (Part 31)

When the alert came into the High Council that a massive human vessel had entered the atmosphere of the Council world, the High Council had demanded answers. Why had they not been informed sooner? Why had the Collective military not halted the vessel in orbit?

The courier’s answer was that the ship had only just been detected upon entering the atmosphere and the Collective military was scrambling to intercept the vessel, which was on its way to an elevated position above the High Council chambers.

The High Council looked at one another. If the humans had entered the system and the atmosphere without being detected, it was almost certain that they could not run. They didn’t like it, but the vessel that would have rivaled the humans’ ‘carrier’-class vessel as they had seen at the Great Wall was ornate and terrible to behold.

It could only have been human. It held massive spires, smooth curves in places, strange blocks in others, and so many point defense and obvious weapon turrets that the High Council’s military liaison had no doubts that it would be capable to scouring a great deal of the capital before (or perhaps if) the Collective military could bring it down.

It entered the atmosphere smoothly, as though gravity and the rigors of atmospheric re-entry were mere suggestions to it. It was soon visible in the sky, its massive bulk seemingly impossible in the sky, particularly for how slowly it appeared to be coming. The Collective had seen its fair share of dangerous asteroids and comets and this vessel did not move anything like those did. It was deliberate and the supporting staff members and their families surrounding the High Council chambers all seemed to stop and watch in a form of shocked terror as the vessel descended, the only sounds of the vessel were the fusion engines as it moved downward.

The High Council wanted to run, but the chairbeing pointed out that they were beyond running. And the humans had agreed to a cease-fire, had they not? So what did they have to fear?

A silence had hung in the chamber, the chairbeing not even believing their own words.

The Collective military and sky controls had launched several vessels which called to the massive human vessel to demand it alter its course, to return to orbit or at least to deviate to a nearby landing field which might be capable of supporting it. The human vessel gave no indication that it heard any of this.

The Collective military leaders of the region questioned whether they should attack. They did not believe it to be a wise course of action, but their duty would demand it. Looking at the scans of the vessel, they ordered the pilots of the atmospheric craft to escort the human vessel and to report any vessels which detached from it. They did what they could to ready the planetary defenses. There may be a ceasefire, but that was little comfort when an enemy vessel was hanging over the capital of an entire interstellar organization.

Eventually, the vessel stopped descending and hung in the air in such a way that the Collective sensor operators had to blink several times to ensure they weren’t in fact dreaming or hallucinating.

Several minutes passed and the vessel simply hung there, with no obvious signs of weapons being engaged or acknowledging the ongoing calls from the sky controllers asking the human vessel why it was there.

A much smaller vessel, a sort of transport, by the size of it, left from an otherwise unnoticed bay that had opened and descended to the landing platform nearest the High Council chambers. Even for its small size compared to the massive vessel, it clearly outmassed the escort vessels of the Collective by an order of magnitude or more.

The security beings gathered around the landed transport, uncertain of what to expect, and the two escort vessels which the military lead had shifted to support tracking the transport hovered expectantly.

A large door at the rear of the transport opened and out walked veritable titans of metal. Taller than any other being in or outside of the Collective, broader than any, they strode out of the vessel with purpose. Had they not been so much larger, they might have been mistaken for a human or a Borlian. But these were much too big to be either.

Except that the last one that exited the craft wore no helmet and had the unmistakable face of a human. The security beings shied back. They had all seen the vid clips of the human throwing security beings in the abduction of the ‘secured’ Council members. If these were humans inside these masses of armor, which almost certainly were built for war, they would stand little chance with their meager neutralizer weapons.

The beings who left the vessel and passed through the rows of the armored humans seemed strange. They bore with them a large disk, whose bottom was a mass of electronics and ornamentation. It appeared to float between them and they moved in step with it and it with them. They moved as priests might, their robes making them seem to be almost ethereal.

Two of the armored beings lead these priestly beings and their disk into the halls towards the High Council chambers and two more brought up the rear. One of the two in the lead was the unhelmeted human.

The normally wide and high halls of the passages to the High Council chamber, intended to inspire awe and wonder now seemed entirely too full as the human procession passed through, the heavy footsteps, whir of micromotors, and the clank of metal on metal filled the silence as they moved. There were no thundering weapons reporting their martial might. Just the slow, inexorable sounds of the human procession moving through the halls.

The High Council should have been fleeing. Every member of the five species were terrified by the advance of the humans. This wasn’t right. This was VERY far from right. They wanted to call for the guards, for the military, for protection as they fled.

This wasn’t supposed to happen to them!

And yet, they were all a kind of mesmerized by the view of the human procession through their halls. The Borlians, for all their martial might, had never displayed anything like this. It was a sort of beauty, in the same way that observing a comet that would soon be colliding with a planetary mass was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

The doors to the chamber, which were only partially opened, were pushed fully open by the two leading humans without any apparent effort. The massive doors of aluminum were not hung in such a way that they were opened lightly. Ordinarily, it took a number of security beings on each door to open them, and that was with the aid of the automated mechanisms which could be used to help open and close the doors.

Filing into the chamber, the priestly humans moved towards the dais, the large disk, ascending to the center of the dias and the entire procession halting once it arrived there.

The unhelmeted human looked at the High Council and stood in front of the dais.

“High Council of The Collective, hear my words. I am The Lightbringer of the 3rd Sol Empire, Herald to the Empress of Humanity,” the human spoke, his voice being amplified by the armor he wore.

It took a moment for the High Council to receive the notification via their consoles that the human was somehow broadcasting this to the whole of the planet, every speaker, every screen which could project it held the image of the massive armored bulk of the human. This was no minor feat, the chairbeing of the High Council realized, but, based on the looks of the other High Council beings, he also realized that not all of them were grasping the full depth of the situation.

He had been reading the available intelligence packets on the humans, whereas not all of the High Councilors were as diligent about preparing for such engagements. He hadn’t expected this, but at the same time, he had read the warnings of the Collective Intelligence. These were not beings to be trifled with.

They may not have the longevity of the Collective behind them, nor the life-extension technologies of the species seated at the High Council table, but the martial might that stood before them and which hung in the sky over the chamber was undeniable. Sadly, he could see that not all of the High Council members were as cautious as they needed to be in this sort of scenario.

The saurian who had bellowed at Ambassador MacDonald during their WarpCom link to bring about the ceasefire between the humans and the Collective was clearly on the verge of being out of order and the chairbeing wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

“AND BY WHAT RIGHT DO YOU INTRUDE HERE?” bellowed the saurian, righteous indignation peaking in its voice.

As one, the armored humans and the priestly humans pressed a fist across their chests and called out.

“BY THE RIGHT OF THE EMPRESS AND THE 3RD SOL EMPIRE. THE STARS SHALL BROOK NO MORE WAITING AND WE SHALL NOT BE FOUND WANTING.”

This booming roar seemed to fill the whole of the planet and every crack and shadow seemed to reverberate with the might of this declaration.

The saurian shrunk back at the sheer force of the declaration. Their people were not martially gifted, but rather had depended on showing aggression to drive off those whose martial might was greater than their own. It was a known trick of non-sentients, but millenia had not removed this trait from the saurians. The chairbeing could only guess at what the saurian would do next.

Silence reigned in the hall as the echoes of the booming roar tapered away into nothing.

“Before you, the High Council of the Collective, and before the eyes of all in the Collective capable of hearing my voice, I bring the Empress of Humanity,” the Lightbringer called and gestured to the large disk.

The disk, large enough that two Borlians could have laid down on it, their limbs wide and still not touched, seemed to glow for a moment and then, standing high in the council chamber, a massively tall human woman appeared, her hands on her hips and elbows out. She was clad in a high-necked human-blood-red coat which was flared open at the front and wrapped in a simple but elegant buckle. Gold and silver edges highlighted the details of the coat and beneath it, loose black pants and a black blouse wrapped around her frame. The hat which she wore was strange, not at all what the High Council chairbeing would have expected the imperial ruler to wear. It was a sort of fur as a fitted dome with what the chairbeing recognized as the imperial crest embedded into the front of it. A sword hung at her waist, its edges hidden within an ornate scabbard.

As for the empress herself, her face was darker than the Ambassador’s, her eyes a silver that seemed to be hunting for prey, and her brown hair restrained, but flowing down her back all the same. Even allowing for the dais, the empress towered over the massively armored humans and the priests.

She looked down at the High Council and took a moment to look at each member, her gaze penetrating and harsh, devoid of compassion.

“High Councilors, I am the Empress of Humanity and of the 3rd Sol Empire,” her voice an even timbered note which neither pierced nor rumbled. “I believe it’s time to talk.”

The Collective (Part 32)

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” the Empress of Humanity and the 3rd Sol Empire asked the Collective High Council, her silver eyes scanning the five species representatives.

Despite having never met the imposing human before, every representative had flutters of guilt cross their faces and minds, even if only for a moment. Each of them was guilty of something, even if only the smallest of slights. After all, one could not be a Collective representative if one was perfect, right?

Silence ruled in the chamber, which was being broadcast to the whole of the planet (and unbeknownst to the High Council, to every WarpCom unit throughout the Empire and the Collective).

The representatives looked at one another, trying to guess which slight or crime she might be referring to.

A tapping sound was heard and the High Council saw her tapping the end of her black leather boot on the surface of the disk.

“Well? I’m waiting,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

The chairbeing wondered if perhaps she was talking about the Mundivores. Or perhaps something else. He remembered some of the idle conversation after the High Council had first declared war on the humans. The blustering saurian had mentioned something… what had it been?

The chairbeing’s mind raced. Had the saurian really done something? They had since seen the martial might of the humans. Did they really believe that they could force the humans to submit?

There had been rumors floating around The Collective for cycles upon cycles. Shadow fleets doing the will of the High Councilors, pirates that were officially sanctioned by certain species to cripple others so as to gain economic resource advantages, and even political powerplays going as far as covert assassinations of representatives.

He remembered the attempts made on Ambassador MacDonald’s life, for each of the would-be assassins’ to discover that the human was massively resistant to the normal attempts of light poisoning and physical harassment. MacDonald had even gone so far as to demonstrate his prowess against Borlians. No, the Borlians were not the strongest of the Collective, but they were only second to one and on the strength of those demonstrations alone, it was obvious that the human was more than a match.

He looked at the avian representative next to the saurian. The avian and the saurian were exchanging veritable stares, not mere glances. The chairbeing felt the very floor beneath him start to open up.

Oh no…. Oh… no….

These two were the ones frequently at the heart of many of those rumors. Certainly, because of their position on the High Council and their high representation among the species of the Collective, those rumors had been considered just that, rumors. But… if they weren’t just rumors, then what had these beings done?

His mind scrambled back to the details of the humans. This visit by the humans’ Empress. This was not an idle meeting of governments. She was here for a purpose and the chairbeing would have gambled their second tongue that she was not here to honor them.

He gazed up at her towering countenance. She might as well be a titan by the legends of his own species, the sort that made his species cower for fear of their lives as the hot seasonal storms tore through clusters of his people, seeming to come after some families and leaving others alone. While science had eventually explained the storms, the legends had remained of the titans who returned to harvest those who were found to be acting improperly, whether in secret or in public.

The tapping of her foot was broken by a cry from the avian next to the blustering saurian.

“YOU CAN PROVE NOTHING!” the avian shrieked.

The tapping stopped and the mass of the Empress appeared to lean towards the avian representative, her penetrating gaze staring so hard at the representative, the chairbeing was afraid the avian would burst into flame or suddenly have hole drilled into the avian. Remembering the armored humans and the priests who had also come in, he looked over at them.

The armored humans and the priests appeared to be impassive. The great armors were silent, the priests, their hoods around their necks, their faces a mix of male and female, but all appearing to have a sort of depth of purpose etched on their faces. The Lightbringer stood in front of the dais still, unmoving and appearing to take no notice of the massive form of the Empress behind and above him.

“Can I not?” the voice of the Empress asked, no emotion in the words.

The chairbeing was still desperately trying to guess what the humans knew. Even his species hadn’t been terribly fair in their trade deals within the Collective, let alone with unaligned species. And there was the humans’ ‘Empress’ Decree #1’. He hadn’t liked the looks of it from the start and believed it unreasonable to not have some level of servant beings. After all, not all sentients were, in fact, equal in their capacities to contribute to The Collective.

But with as intently as she was looking at the avian, he wasn’t sure if that was why she was here.

The avian was on the verge of losing their nerve and fleeing the chamber when the saurian spoke up.

“If you have criminal allegations to lay before this august body, you may do so. We shall review such allegations with the appropriate frame of mind,” the saurian said, smugly.

“Lawmakers and deciders of high crimes, conveniently in the same seats,” the Empress said.

“Are you not in the same position?” the saurian retorted.

“Only as the final link in a chain in which the citizens demand justice be accounted for. I am a tyrant and ruler inviolate, but it is my citizens to whom I must answer for my crimes, my curse alone to carry the blood spilled of my commands, and it is to no being that I will yield so long as I may act as the sword or shield of my people,” she said, a darkness filling the edges of her voice.

The saurian seemed to think their point was made, but seemed to miss entirely the meaning of the Empress that her crimes did not simply vanish because she said so. Her crimes were remembered, recorded, and carried by her citizens. She could never be forgiven for those crimes and, from what the chairbeing remembered of the human justice system, she could be made to be executed if her crimes were too great.

One of the priests stepped forward and held a datapad aloft, it projected a fleet of vessels, some of the saurians and some of the avians, moving through space.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?” the Empress asked, gesturing to the vessels.

“We are not responsible for the actions of pirates and rebels beyond the borders of the Collective,” the saurian said.

The Empress looked at him for about 10 seconds longer than was comfortable.

“Maybe. But I will promise you this. They will not be returned to your peoples. They will be held according to imperial law and they shall certainly suffer dearly for every drop of blood they spill. And if it turns out that they’re acting for you, then we shall consider them agents of a hostile government, which means the species’ governments responsible will be subject to those same imperial laws,” she said, addressing the whole High Council.

“You can’t do that!” the avian cried out.

“I am the Empress of Humanity and the 3rd Sol Empire. Wheresoever my forces are victorious, my will is law,” she said, returning her gaze to the avian.

“Any species found committing piracy or acts of rebellion must be returned to their own species for judgement, not the laws of some jumped up primate,” the saurian half-said, half-yelled at the Empress.

The look on the face of the Empress changed. She raised an eyebrow.

“So you can cover up the crimes of your own people?” she said, smoothly.

The saurian was silent. So was the avian and the rest of the High Council. They all seemed to have clued into what the Empress was referring to. It had always been an inherent flaw of the Collective, but one that no one species was willing to champion the change to.

“This will all be decided at the system my people call Nostromo,” the Empress said, straightening back up.

“And you,” she said, pointing her finger at the saurian. “Beware the humans. Beware of me.”

The flames in her voice were a mass of embers, awaiting a renewed fuel.

“We have no reason to fear you,” the saurian croaked.

The empress drew her sword from her scabbard. It was not ornate. It did not have destiny written all over it, nor did it glitter. Its grey metal appeared to be pitted in places, but there was no denying it as a weapon. Maybe a weapon of a bygone age that some cultures had simply missed or forgotten, but a weapon still. The sword swung slowly until the tip was within arms reach of the saurian.

“Hold onto that hope, High Councilor. For if it is your armies that have come to take what is rightfully ours, you shall come to know fear better than you know the scent of your mate,” she said, the tip of the sword seemingly frozen in space.

The sword swung back and slotted smoothly back into the scabbard.

A moment later, the Empress appeared to dissolve, the unmistakable flash of a hologram shocking the High Councilors. It had seemed the Empress had been there, actually right there, no mere hologram. And that sword tip had appeared to be every bit as real as the surfaces around them.

The High Council sat in apparent shock as the human priests donned their hoods and the procession and what the High Councilors now believed to be a very special holographic projector began to file from the room.

The chairbeing had paused breathing without realizing it. The Lightbringer had turned his back to the High Councilors and was about to follow when the avian stood from their perch.

“SEIZE THEM!”

The Collective (Part 33)

His name was Ivan von Adamas. He had been born and raised on Titan of the Sol system. He hadn’t been a particularly exceptional student, nor had his family been particularly wealthy. The only wealthy on Titan were the owners of the gas mining facilities. His family had been on Titan for four generations as miners and technicians, simple people seeking something more.

They had lived through the devastations of the 2nd Sol Empire on southern Terra and considered themselves lucky to survive to risk leaving the homeworld.

__

Heavy rounds struck his sides and back, making his massive form rock, even with the armor compensating. The securitybeings who had come to arrest them bore what must have been anti-tank weaponry.

The polished grey of his armor was now marred from where the rounds had hit. The Lightbringer took stock of everything. The priests and the other Heralds were moving with purpose, but securitybeings blocked the way and had begun to open fire upon the procession.

He was not afraid for himself, nor for his comrades. He was the Lightbringer and Herald to the Empress.

__

His family hadn’t approved of him leaving Titan for schooling on Mars, but he had gone anyway, using every bit of his savings to get himself there. It hadn’t been easy, saying goodbye to his family, but he wanted something more.

The higher education on Mars had been rigorous and fiercely competitive. He had struggled. He was not the brightest student nor a great athlete nor even a ladies man, as it seemed so many of his fellow students strived to be. He had discovered his love of history there. And not simply the wars, but the technologies which had driven civilizations from the trees to caves to tribes to cities to the stars.

There was a beautiful simplicity in the whole of humanity based on the tools they used to drive their will, as he saw it. A sort of language that transcended the petty barriers of tribes, borders, nation-states, and world-states.

Even through the founding of the 1st Sol Empire, its rapid collapse and rebuilding as the 2nd Sol Empire, the Great Colonial War, and the founding of the 3rd Sol Empire, it had been the simple tool changes which had driven humanity to become what it was now.

__

He watched as his fellow Heralds took positions to protect the priests. The heavy rounds being fired at the group were a danger to them.

He looked to where the High Council was seated, only to now notice that the beings had fled as the first rounds had struck home against his armor. He was grateful to not serve them. For all their technology, the Collective seemed to be led by opportunistic cowards, not willful leaders who were ready to stand for their mistakes.

Gripping the heavy entrance doors to the High Council’s Chamber, he pulled, every bit of his armor straining as the two heavy and poorly balanced doors fought to stay open. Slowly, they gave up to his efforts and began to swing closed. He rocked back, despite his grips on the doors as more rounds were fired by the security beings, hitting the emblem on his chestplate.

He would have liked to have brought even their ceremonial weapons, but this had not been intended as a show of force. Not truly.

The Lightbringer and the Heralds were a proud honorguard, drawing many of their informal titles from the Praetorians of old Terra. This was a duty unlike any other. In victory and peace, they would bear the word of the Empress to all corners. In war, they would lead her banners. And in the execution of their duties, the Lightbringer was the executioner of the Emperor or Empress if they were found to be wanting.

__

It had been after his thesis defense and he had been granted the highest academic title in his family for six generations.

He still had a great love of history and wanted to see and do more, but refused to be stuck behind a desk, reading solely about the examinations and possible past interpretations of technological deadends of history. The makings of history were now and he wanted to be a part of it.

He had applied to the imperial government as a civil servant. He did not like war, but he understood its purpose in the context of history. War often drove the changes in technology for the human species, whether it was in one of the countless wars on the homeworld, the Martian Civil War, the Centauri Seperatist War, or even the Great Colonial War. And that made war a frequent occurrence in his studies.

An imperial recruiter had caught him upon leaving that particular office. Had he ever considered imperial military service? No, he hadn’t. His family had no military traditions, nor even any great respect for any rules which impeded them that were not self-imposed.

And the imperial military did not offer great lifelong benefits, fantastic pay, or even recognition. But it saw more of the stars and the worlds within and outside of the empire than any fully-funded research expedition ever would. And the recruiter had promised that he would never need be stuck behind a desk. And so he had taken it on.

Strangely, where one might have expected that promise to be a lie, it had not been. He had been a good soldier. He was no great tactician. He was no peerless soldier. He was no angel either.

But perhaps that had been why his name had been called.

__

They pressed forward, the priests with their precious cargo, the Heralds shielding them. Several stray rounds had already struck the large floating device.

To their credit, he didn’t hear so much as a cry of alarm from the priests. They moved a bit frantically, but with purpose, each pressing a hand against the device, as they motioned for the Heralds to bring them to safety.

The leading Herald was half thrown back then, her armored bulk only barely stopped from hitting the priests’ device, the explosive round which had struck her front maring the armor she wore. The Lightbringer ordered her into action. The other three Heralds would protect the priests.

Without another word, she leapt forward at the securitybeings who had fired the explosive round, tearing the weapon from their grips and crushing it in her armored hands, before punching into the security beings. Her force was so great that the security beings seemed to melt before her fists, a scattered few being flung with great force across the halls to impact walls with bonecrunching and utterly sickening sounds as their innards experienced forces that none of their ancestors would have ever survived. Blood and vicera began to coat her fists as the procession moved forward.

The Lightbringer was appalled that it had come to this. This Collective was supposed to be peaceful. The friendly alien neighbors that he had always dreamed about meeting. And instead, here they were, attacking what they didn’t understand because it was different and because of their own shortsightedness.

Humans, he reflected, were not so different, but history had been written in the blood of his people by others of his own. And while it was somehow acceptable for the deaths of millions at the hands of one’s own species, it was abominable to attack a ruler and their heralds without due warning. It certainly had been done. It was how the 1st Sol Empire had ended and the 2nd Sol Empire begun. The conspirators all had been power-hungry, unable to see beyond the edges of their greed. At least, the leaders of the 2nd Sol Empire had been granted the privilege of seeing the knife-blade coming for them. And while they had fled to the stars, the Emperor-to-be Icon had driven home among the humans who served him that it is not in selfishness nor in greed which the 3rd Sol Empire must be founded, but rather in selflessness and a strength to reach into the stars beyond and carry the will and spirit of humanity into the stars.

__

The Empress herself had come to the starbase where his ship had been undergoing repairs. They had a list of names. Only a dozen of the nearly three hundred aboard the vessel. None were the highest ranking, nor were they the smartest, nor were they particularly exceptional, at least not by his remembering.

The Empress had appraised each one of them, looking into each one’s eyes with the strength of a mother seeking some inner truth from a child. He had felt her eyes touch something within him, something deep within his core that reminded him of his first time aboard a starship. A sort of rush filled him, albeit not for her, but for the sense of history that seemed to well up around her.

She had smiled, seeming to know his inner truth now, and had moved along to the next person.

He had been called to be a Herald that day and he had answered.

__

The first Herald fell. He was protecting the left side of their procession when three explosive rounds from different angles impacted against his armor and detonated at near simultaneity. His armor had rocked, unable to hold against the detonations and buckled in places, the micromotors and support structures whining and hissing against it.

He began to rise back to his feet, only to be struck again by more explosive rounds.

His heavy form collapsed and the procession stopped. There was silence for only a moment as even the securitybeings waited to see if he would rise again.

The dark red blood which began to pool around the form of the fallen Herald only confirmed that he would not be returning.

Beyond the procession, out on the landing pad, the Heralds there braced around the vessel, awaiting the return of the Lightbringer’s procession, even under the weapons fire of the security beings.

__

The Empress had explained it to him once, after his first year as a Herald. She was looking for beings with the strength and resolve of humanity to be Heralds. And so she went, not looking for the best and the brightest, but rather in the most resolute to the ideals of humanity, those that would not hesitate to acknowledge the truth of history, the misdeeds of the few against the many, and the small, almost immeasurable place in which the whole of humanity stood among the stars.

He had become the Lightbringer almost a year later, but he had never forgotten that explanation. He had been chosen. Not as a child of Titan, not as a scholar of history, not even as a remarkable soldier. But he still had been chosen.

__

The Lightbringer was struck by multiple explosive rounds, as were the other Heralds and the priests. The priests, being otherwise unprotected, were killed almost instantly, their blood and vicera coating their device and the room around them.

The Lightbringer felt his armor crack with one of the detonations and knew his time had come. He did not regret. He did not fear. Stepping forward, he placed his armored palm against the disk of the device and crushed downward.

Around him, his lead Herald, her armor coated in blood and marred by the explosive and heavy rounds sent against her, fell, her armor veritably shattered, one of the explosive rounds having detonated within her chest.

He did not smile even a grim smile. This was the history he wanted to be a part of, albeit not in this manner. He did not favor the spilling of his comrades’ blood, nor the spilling of those poor souls sent against them.

More explosive and heavy rounds struck him from various angles, puncturing inward and driving the breath from him as his own blood seemed to race from his arteries across his armor.

He keyed an emergency comms device to the vessel overhead.

“Lightbringer down. We’re all waiting for the Hammers to fall,” he managed, feeling the darkness at the edge of his vision.

“May the Empress guide you,” was the only response.

Ivan von Adamas of Titan, Lightbringer and Herald of the Empress of Humanity and the 3rd Sol Empire, died.

The Collective (Part 34)

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” screamed the chairbeing at the avian High Councilor.

The avian sneered at the chairbeing as their group moved swiftly through the corridors.

“What you clearly didn’t have the leadership to do. They need to be taught a lesson,” the avian said.

The chairbeing was speechless. This was bad, no… this was screaming past worse and heading to lost in a wasteland with no hope of survival or rescue.

“What part of what they have done to warrant that?” the chairbeing babbled, still trying to comprehend what the avian was scheming.

“They will make an excellent slave race and the first to claim them should come from the High Council. Especially if they can rid us of the Mundivore problem,” the saurian said cheekily.

“And you decided to do this to their face, to their representatives of their leader, WHILE THEIR BATTLESHIP IS HANGING OVERHEAD!” screamed the small furry herbivore High Councilor.

“Details, details. Planetary defense will protect us,” the avian waved to dismiss the claim.

An unnatural roar filled the air overhead, even through the building’s roof. The High Councilors all instinctively ducked.

“That’s not planetary defense. And you had best prepare for an inquiry,” the chairbeing said to the avian.

“I make a motion for a vote of no confidence in the chairbeing of the High Council and nominate myself to take the role instead,” the avian retorted.

“I will second the motion,” the saurian said, almost immediately.

The chairbeing breathed in exasperation. This was neither the time nor the place, but the motion had been called and seconded. And according to the rules of the High Council, the chairbeing must call the vote.

The chairbeing and the small furry herbivore voted against. The avian, the saurian, and the cephalopod voted for.

“So be it,” the now-former chairbeing said and turned to depart.

“Securitybeings, call planetary defense. It is time for them to destroy that vessel that is threatening to destroy the whole of The Collective and to teach these jumped-up primates their place in our great society,” the avian called.

The now former-chairbeing could only hope that they would live to see the avian and the saurian face the humans’ wrath. They had no illusions about the humans strength, but they also knew that any attempt at yoking them would be a futile and almost certainly lethal effort.

Overhead the strange roars filled the sky.

__

“Admiral Bloodthorne, the remaining Heralds have returned and the Hammers are in position, having established air superiority immediately and holding at a 2 kilometer radius.”

Admiral Bloodthorne was something of a recluse, but his work for the Empress and the Empire was legendary. It was a strange position for any fleet admiral to be in, but to wield the Anvil of the Empire, unusual beings were needed.

“Very well. Awaken Hephaestus. The Lightbringer shall be avenged. Even our most staunch enemies in the Empire know better than to kill the messenger,” he said from his command chair.

All around him, the bridge crew worked to set the Admiral’s orders in motion. But even from his seat, Bloodthorne could feel the pulse of the crew. They wanted more than vengeance. The murder of the Lightbringer had struck a nerve within the crew.

No Lightbringer had been murdered in a hundred Terran years. It was as much an inviolate position as the Empress herself, perhaps even more so given the duties required. And now the Lightbringer had fallen, along with his brother and sister Heralds.

Bloodthorne had no illusions about the feelings that were at this moment rippling through the empire. The device which had brought the Empress before the High Council and had broadcasted until crushed by the Lightbringer had shown the whole of the empire everything. Every word, every gesture, every ceremonial tiding. It had been a momentous occasion until a few hours ago, when Imperial Intelligence had detected the strange fleet moving towards Nostromo.

Even now, the North and South Martians, the longest warring planet-states of the whole of the empire, were almost certainly putting aside their weapons from each other and calling for retribution. This was an offense of the highest order and while there would be the inevitable calls for peace, to give the Collective their chance, it would be met with a tsunami of people who now saw the Collective as a bully who would be attempting to get away with anything. Much less of the friendly neighbors they had made themselves out to be.

“Admiral. Communications link from the Empress,” the captain called.

“Very well. Time until Hephaestus is awakened?” he asked.

“Three minutes, Admiral.”

Bloodthorne turned to the screen and brought up the link to the Empress.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed slightly.

“Give my Lightbringer a good death. He did not deserve to die here,” she said.

“I have already begun to awaken Hephaestus,” he said.

The Empress cocked her head to one side and looked off to the side for a moment. Bloodthorne waited.

“It’s more than I was anticipating, but should serve as a fine example of why words are mightier than world-crackers,” she said, a cold rage in her eyes and filling her features. “Admiral Bloodthorne, make them remember a lesson our forebears learned generations upon generations ago: do not kill the messenger.”

“As you command, my Empress. Shall I broadcast?” he asked.

“Yes. Let them see. Let this not be hidden in the smallest degree. We’ve already seen the death of the Lightbringer. Now it is time to erect his memorial,” she said, and the link closed.

“Launch the Muses and prepare to broadcast to the whole WarpCom network,” Bloodthorne commanded.

He waited as the nine Muses were launched and flew to their distant positions around the Anvil of the Empire. He thought of his writings, those he had accomplished and those still to come. They would come. But for now, his duty called.

“In the name of the Empress, the 3rd Sol Empire, and our fallen Lightbringer and Heralds, we awaken the fury of the scorched earth, embedding memory in all who come to recount it, and establish a monument born of blood,” he intoned, standing as the cameras showed his form across the empire and the Collective.

Outside and beneath the massive vessel, planetary defense cannons began to fire upon the massive vessel, heavy rounds of aluminum and explosives which flew across the sky and shifted the massive vessel immeasurably small amounts. The armor discolored in places, but appeared unmarred otherwise.

Bloodthorne took no notice. A powerful lensing array was connecting to each of the Hammer-class craft and beginning to focus the fusion drives outward and downward. Hephaestus had been so named for one of the old Terran gods of fire because it was pure and unabashed fire, bent into wrath and leaving a mark that was not so easily erased.

A moment of silence was held, as the citizens who had gathered upon the rooftops to see the massive vessel and the smaller craft which now surrounded it seemed to form a sort of dome over the High Council’s chambers. None were prepared for the horror about to befall their world.

The fire erupted from the focusing array on the Anvil and plunged downward, as though pulled by gravity, the very air awash with microfusion reactions as millions of tiny stars were born and died. But there was no radiation. There was no time for it to happen. The firestorm erupted downward and throughout the dome created by the Anvil and its Hammers.

The avian chairbeing, if they had been watching, would have almost certainly called it a ‘lovely trick’ and an attempt by the humans to overstate their capabilities. The now-former chairbeing trembled. This is exactly what they had feared might happen.

Buildings weren’t even given the opportunity to collapse in the firestorm. Regardless of their materials, they almost dissolved under the torrents of flame, heat, and light. Trees and plants vanished, pathways and roads melted into oblivion, and the dome began to cut, deeper and deeper into the crust.

The few beings near the edge of the dome who were not almost blind from the intense light saw the edge seem to be a mix of glass and lava.

And then the light, the flame, and the heat was gone.

The Hammers returned to the Anvil.

And for a 2km circle around where the High Council complex had stood and where the Lightbringer had fallen, a rippling black glass cooled, a thick lightning like bolt extending towards the sky under the focusing array.

__

The Empress watched the broadcast.

“Everything has its time and everything dies. Farewell, Ivan. May this be an adequate monument and may you bring light wherever you go,” she whispered.

The Collective (Part 35)

Tykan waited nervously in the hotel room on Luna.

He had been going to meet the Empress in a few hours. But after what he had just witnessed, he wanted to find a nice deep burrow and hide. Crawling underneath the large sleeping mat that the humans used, he hid and waited.

He wondered if he had made a mistake. If maybe he shouldn’t have even left the Council World. At least then he could have gone back to his homeworld.

This Luna which orbited Terra was strange. The gravity felt light and there was something about it that he didn’t like. He had to wear his gravity harness most of the time to keep from panicking. And there were so many strange and various smells, but none so pervasive as the smell of humans. He was even growing to understand their smells. A cold winter’s breeze smell was a human that was angry. A warm fire’s glow was a human that was happy. Freshly turned soil was a human who was ashamed. There were so many different scents and emotions to learn that he quickly became overwhelmed.

He was grateful, but skeptical of the two humans who accompanied him. They had been waiting for him at the dock in Luna as he had exited the ship. They had smelled of purpose and of duty. He hadn’t known it at the time, but now, as he thought, they always smelled of it. Never did they smell of anything else. It was strange. All of the humans aboard the vessel had smelled differently all the time. They also moved with a strange sort of gait. Not one that seemed to match any other humans around them, but Tykan wasn’t sure what.

He did have to admit, he was being treated well, better than any prisoner could have expected, so he did not believe himself a prisoner. The makers on the wall dispensed anything he asked, although he frequently had to provide a Collective catalog template code, since the humans seemed to name their foods and while he was slowly mastering the Terran Standard speech, he has utterly boggled as to the naming conventions of humans.

Some foods came from different regions of worlds, old and new, others had different preparation styles, and others still depended on the amount of poisons that the humans chose to recreationally ingest. He didn’t see how a “eggy-in-the-basket”, a “Scotch egg”, and a “eggzntoast” differed, at least not when it came to the chemical makeup, except that the “Scotch egg” appeared to have additional animal protein to it.

Thankfully, the human encyclopedia of knowledge had been translated into Collective Standard, so he was able to define some of what he was seeing, even if knowing the meaning behind the name wouldn’t help.

Reflecting on all this made him relax a bit underneath the sleeping mat. But how angry would the humans be with him? Would he not now be made a prisoner? He was not a native and cross-species immigration in the Collective was entirely unheard of, except for slaves.

He heard a knock on the entrance door to the hotel room and it opened a moment later. He could see shoes. He tasted the air.

Duty and purpose. At least one of the two sets of shoes that he could see were his guardians. The other shoes were different. They were ornate, but not showy. They were practical, not like the sorts that he had seen some of the humans wearing around the Luna docking station. The air tasted strangely. Like a cold summer’s rain, but not in a pleasing break from the warmth, but rather as a sort of torrent, the kind that collapses ill-built burrows and fills low-built ones with murky waters. It made him shudder to even be near the smell.

“Tykan, the Empress is here to see you,” his guardian called.

Tykan sucked his tongue back. Why was the Empress here? Had she come to make an example of him?

But then he remembered Mac’s admonition. As a citizen, your duty is to the Empire and the Empress. No more no less. And carry no fear of the Empress for she serves as you do.

Slowly, he untucked himself and slid out from under the bed, standing up as he knew Mac had preferred when the two had spoken.

In front of him couldn’t be the Empress. She was… small. Much smaller than she had appeared when she was in front of the High Council. But… all her garments were the same. And the sword was still there.

Tykan continued to look at the Empress. She somehow didn’t seem real. And the smell of the cold summer’s rain was definitely coming from her. She also smelled of a rain-damped fire, like a rage which has been cooled, even if only for a moment.

He attempted to bow.

She nodded.

“Tykan, you are my first citizen born of a world outside of the Empire. This makes you something of a target by now angry citizens, simply because of what you were a part of. I wanted to tell you personally that this is not how the Empire feels. You have taken the same vows as the other citizens. You may have been born of a different world, but that does not make you any less welcome in the Empire,” she monologued.

Tykan’s head spun. He was so uncertain of how to accord himself.

“Tykan. Look me in the eyes,” she commanded.

Tykan looked into her silver eyes. He felt something in that gaze seem to pierce him and rummage around behind his eyes as though it were looking for something. It made him feel unclad and vulnerable. He wanted to crawl back under the sleeping mat, but something in the gaze was almost hypnotizing, commanding him to remain.

The Empress stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You will make a fine citizen. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to go to Mars at this time. The Empire has need of their warplants and it is not a side of us that I would wish you to see. I will see that your guardians are able to provide you with opportunities to serve when you are ready. Now, what questions do you have for me?” the Empress said, removing her hand and stepping back.

Tykan was aghast. No clan matron would have acted in such a manner. This was all such new ground for Tykan, he felt as his great ancestors must have felt first attempting to cross ice, wary that it would break from beneath them, but knowing that the journey must be attempted.

His tongue failed him several times before he could get the words out, in Terran Standard.

“Am… am I-I-I a frrreee citizzzen?” he managed.

“You are. And let no one tell you otherwise. It is my highest decree,” she responded, a sort of warm wind smell coming from her.

“Whhhaaaat-t c-c-can I d-do to servvvve?” he asked.

“No more than you are willing, no less than you need to survive,” she answered. He blinked at this. It wasn’t the sort of answer he was expecting. Still, he had one more question.

“Whhy d-d-do they smmmelll like n-n-not humanssss?” he gestured at the guardian.

“Because they aren’t. Not entirely,” she said, and gestured to the guardian to do something.

The guardian split open the front of his chest garb to reveal a mass of electronics and, strangely, a human heart encapsulated in a jar with greenish liquid around it.

“He is a protector. A creation of the 2nd Sol Empire, I’m afraid. A sort of human-machine hybrid. The technology is dangerous and mostly only results in death, but he and your other guardian survived the process, even if they have lost most of what it is to be human,” she said, waving her hand again and the guardian closed his chest garb, sealing away the hideous sight.

She looked him in the eyes again.

“They have been ordered to protect you for now. So I would wish that you take some time to enjoy what it is to be a citizen of the empire and then find your place to serve,” she said.

With this final statement, she turned and exited, her coat trailing behind her. The guardian nodded to Tykan and moved to follow. Tykan could only nod back.

After a few moments, he went to the balcony of his suite. Looking down and around the lunar city, he tried to find some sense, some meaning in it all. Was he simply meant to ignore the far off happenings on the Council World?

The humans he could see certainly seemed to be. He could only just smell them from here, but where there were wisps of the cold winter wind, so much of it was replaced with a dull wind that rocked the tree branches, one that didn’t promise death except to the incautious.

He could also smell something that reminded him of Mac. Mac had been kind to him and even for a big and boisterous as the human had been, there was something comforting in that memory. He even remembered the massive breakfast Hiram and himself had gone to without any particular explanation. Hiram had also been good to him.

Tykan had needed to look up what manners were in human culture and had been amazed at the varieties, but at the most basic level, most humans had some manners and would welcome newcomers, even if their manners weren’t perfect. He made a decision. Dressing a wrap of some sort of comfortable plant derived fabric that was colored as their star Sol appeared, he stepped out of his hotel room and began to move with purpose, his guardians moving with him, present, but otherwise ignored.

It was time to see what there was to being the sole alien in a human interstellar empire.

The Collective (Part 36)

Good day class. Today we will be learning about the opening events of what some humans refer to as the War for Self-Determination. It is otherwise known as the Great Clash and fundamentally changed the societies of the era.

As I’m certain you are all aware, if you have done the requisite reading, the death of the Human Lightbringer of the 3rd Sol Empire was merely the first in a chain of events which brought the Great Clash to realization.

The newly elected High Council chairbeing, a member of the Avorias, and their primary cohort species, the Drugwers, had made pre-emptive plans following the previously declared war between the Species Collective and the Human Empire, a war which had been placed into a ceasefire due to the related but separate events involving the species once known as the Mundivore Collective. As a result, shortly after the events involving the Human Lightbringer and their vessel Anvil of the Empire, their strike forces, comprised of commissioned irregulars, invaded the Human system of Nostromo.

As Nostromo had only recently been established, only a minimal presence of humans were on-site and the primary colony’s first space elevator had only recently been established. It is to this effect that the colonists were unprepared to defend against the strike force of what we know know to be the Avoriad Collaborative, a then-outlaw organization which was sponsored significantly by both the Drugwers and the Avorias.

The colony only had a few meager point defense systems intended to protect the counterweight station and the space elevator from space debris and asteroids. To say that these defenses were overwhelmed quickly would be an understatement. Despite the significant use of heavier elements by the humans, the Avoriad Collaborative captured the station and virtually all of the colonists. In the process however, they discovered the strength of humans.

As I am certain you are aware from your xenobiology courses, humans are immensely durable and strong naturally. This is a distinct result of their origins, most notably their adaptations to high gravity worlds.

The Collaborative was prepared for this particular adaptation. They had designed an override for the counterweight station’s gravity systems to reduce it to tolerable levels for their boarding parties automatically and to establish a lockdown aboard the station.

Their progress, being only minimally impeded by the point defenses and the initial boarding, they began taking all of the humans aboard the station as slaves and hostages. At the time, the Species Collective had not banned the practice of slavery, but the Human Empire had. Many on the Collective Council practiced some form of slavery of other sentient species and so it was one of several points of contention between the humans and the Collective.

During this, at least three humans attempted to take charge of the situation and resort to physical combat with the Collaborative boarders. Even unarmored and unaugmented, the records show that 5 Drugwers and 15 Avorias fighters were slain by the human colonists, at least two of which were actually ripped apart by bare hands.

No less than a quarter of you find this to be unrealistic and almost certain untrue, a sort of pro-human propaganda. If you look at the resources page, you can witness one of the deaths at bare hands of the humans. I will preemptively warn you all to take measures to prevent unwanted mess in the event of involuntary fear and disgust reactions. It is not a pleasing sight, but it is reality.

Moving on, once the humans were subdued by the use of high energy neural weaponry, a tactic that has been shown to be only minimally effective under military conditions, the Collaborative set about “officially” claiming the system as per Collective rules.

Approximately 1 Terran Standard Day later, several imperial corvettes arrived. As the Collaborative had “claimed” the station and the system as abandoned and that they were settling in with their new slaves, they demanded that the Terran corvettes depart or risk being destroyed. The Terrans immediately called this a falsehood and demanded a return of the station, the imperial citizens, and the blood of the leader of the strike force.

The Collaborative had not been fully briefed on the human naval capabilities and so denied the humans, believing that the humans would take the matter before the Collective Council and/or High Council and they would have significantly more time to establish this station as a base of operations while learning to “tame” their human slaves.

Yes, I see your question. The humans had not been invited to join the Species Collective and so were following their imperial rules, which state that there must be an official acknowledge ceding of territory when it comes to entire star systems. As this acknowledgement had never been attempted by the Collaborative, for reasons unknown beyond ignorance, the imperial navy acted accordingly, designating the strike force as “state-sponsored terrorists” and as a result, subject to high intensity interrogation and execution. As the Empire did not have an established treaty to return law-breaking species to their assigned species within the Collective, something which is now considered to be a critical fault in the make-up of the Collective, the Empire considered them subject to imperial law, which was considerably more barbaric than most of us in this course are comfortable admitting.

The seizure of the counterweight station was considered a minor action by the imperial navy. They were able to utilize a technique known as “root overrides” to regain control of the station’s main computers and increased the gravity to 25% greater than Terran Standard. They were also able to lock several of the strike forces’ vessels into the docks of the station and began hacking routines on their main computers. The few vessels which were able to depart the station or were otherwise not docked were almost instantly destroyed by high velocity tungsten rounds or high intensity high frequency laser weapons.

Among the vessels destroyed was the Avorias commander who had been leading the strike force on orders from the newly elected chair-being. Historical records of the commander are limited, but they suggest that he was a former member of the Collective military and had been a Collaborative member since leaving the military, his featherprints on a number of questionable circumstances pre-contact with the humans.

From this point, the human Marines boarded the station and captured 80% of the remaining strike force, a reasonable percentage of whom were engaged in attempting simply to live under the intense gravity. There were a few accidental deaths of the Collaborative members who were in precarious location or who were mishandled before the gravity was lowered and they were placed into protective custody, but a majority of the station side deaths between the Collaborative and the Marines involved a significant attempt by the Collaborative members to use their high-energy neural weapons on the heavily equipped Marines.

The human historians have likened the event to an armored warrior taking a walk in the rain, the energy bolts having no obvious effect on the Marines. However, due to being fired upon, this led to the Marines returning fire with low-speed iron-foam rounds. Due to the training involved with human military forces, this meant that the Marines were frequently killing members of the Collaborative with one or two well-placed shots.

After the station had been retaken, the Collaborative members secured by the imperial navy, and the colonists safely regaining control, the Collaborative members and half of the imperial corvettes departed to the human homesystem for summary judgement by the system governor. The other half remained in the system as a protective measure.

As it turned out, several vessels of the Collaborative had fallen behind due to failures in their FTL systems and so showed up after their companions had been taken to the human homesystem. The imperial corvettes ordered the Collaborative vessels to halt and be taken into custody as they were considered to be part of a “terrorist action” and were subject to search and seizure.

In retrospect, the commanders of all of the Collaborative vessels had adequate time to utilize their FTL systems to depart. However, as they collectively decided to attack the human corvettes, they took part in a short skirmish in which the humans burned out the primary fusion cores on all of the Collaborative vessels, at which point, the offer was made to surrender or die. The Collaborative members were, for the record, not inexperienced fools, and so they elected to surrender.

That was the end of the first real battle of the Great Clash.

And yes, you are technically correct. The events at Station 1337 and Big Stick did take place prior to this event, but due to the defacto state of events between the governments involved, historians consider the death of the human Lightbringer on the Council World to be the principle marker for the beginning of the Great Clash.

I believe we have time for one more question.

That is a very good question and your assignment. Next we will be covering the events which occurred at what was the Great Coma Wall, between the human and the Collective fleets and the role that the Mundivore Collective played.

If you have any more questions, please confer with me during my office hours or send me a brief message through the query system, so that others may benefit if they have the same questions.

History of the Great Clash and the Foundation of the Xeno-Confederacy, Historical Course, Carolus Oorak MacDonald Higher Education Consortium, Doctor of History Jektem of Trygn

The Collective (Part 37)

Admiral Kandam and Captain Rxyn watched the death of the Lightbringer via their WarpComs.

Captain Rxyn was appalled. His people would be appalled. Attacking while under a banner of cooperation was the sort of thing his great great great great great ancestors might have done when they were relegated to one world alone. And even then, he was fairly certain that the history of his homeworld didn’t have such brutality.

And what was more, the humans took it. They defended against it, but only one of them was called upon to reek violence. He twice had to expel his disgust as the broadcast had continued, the fists of the one called a Herald coated in the blood and vicera of security beings, their weaponry only appearing to minutely slow her down.

He had watched as the priests were utterly destroyed under the anti-tank/anti-ship types of weaponry that the securitybeings were deploying against the humans. It seemed utterly shocking to all that he thought he knew about the leadership and fairness of the Collective to see these sorts of weapons being deployed against another species, particularly when some of them were clearly unarmored and when no weapons had come with them.

And then the transmission had ended as the Lightbringer had crushed the device apparently carrying the Empress. And Rxyn had flopped back, feeling at an utter loss for what had just happened. And then, minutes later, the WarpCom channel had reopened, unbidden. It showed the massive vessel which hovered over the Council World, directly over the chambers of the High Council. A dome… or was it some sort of crown… appeared to form. And then a human had spoken in their native tongue, the computers providing a strangely exacting statement of the human’s words (translations being sketchy at the best of times).

And a fire that was and was not fire and light and raw energy ignited within the dome/crown. Buildings were washed away and all evidence that beings had ever been in that dome was erased. A great glass monument appeared to be all that remained and then the broadcast ended once again.

Rxyn couldn’t believe it. He sat, stunned and at a loss for even the right thoughts to process what he had just been witness to. The little bit about the broadcast coming to every WarpCom on every vessel in his fleet was at the rear-most of his mind.

The humans had found a way to generate hyperflares.

It had always been a sort of laboratory experiment within the dark labs of the Collective. A sort of laboratory curiosity of creating a sort of uncontrolled self-detonating fusion reaction that would consume everything that could fuse, expelling so much energy that it would normally require the mass of a neutron star to keep it from lashing entire solar systems.

And here they were, using it to forever mark the capital of the Collective. And with the broadcast, there could be no doubts as to who broke the ceasefire. No matter what the High Council attempted, the truth was there.

__

Admiral Kandam watched the death of the Lightbringer and the marking of the Council World impassively.

She had honestly expected the Collective to break the ceasefire, not any human. They had been so quick to judge the humans as being too savage, too “wrong” for their ‘perfect’ little interstellar society. But she had also seen some of what the intelligence crews had turned up.

The Collective was not the ‘perfect’ little society it pretended to be. Interspecies piracy, rebels who were brainwashed back into being good little citizens, and leaders so corrupt, it made the oligarchs of the 2nd Sol Empire look like novices who could have learned from these masters of corruption.

And they claimed it all to be within the law and the greater good. It sickened her. She knew of the history of Terra and how much had been done in the so-called name of “the greater good” when it was only actually intended to enrich the few, rather than the many. The horrors of human history had been laid exceptionally bare at the Imperial Naval Academy. The instructors there had driven into every cadet that human history was bloody, corrupt, and utterly cursed. And that they too would be a part of that same history if they were not prepared to make hard choices that would likely place them at odds with their orders, their crews, and even their families.

Kandam was all too aware of those choices. She knew she stood at the brink of one now.

She needed no orders to arrive from Terra. The message sent from the Council World was order enough. It was to be war. But what would the Collective armada do?

She ordered a connection made to Captain Rxyn. It went through almost immediately. Captain Rxyn looked… well, dazed was the only word that came to her mind. He appeared to be in a form of shock that was only broken when he happened to look at the screen and realized she was on it.

“Admiral…” he seemed to gasp out.

“Captain Rxyn, what orders do you now have from the Collective High Council?” she asked pointedly.

He appeared to scrabble for a moment off to one side and then looked back at her.

“I am to engage and destroy or capture as many human vessels and humans as possible while remaining in this zone to combat the Mundivore threat,” he said, quite plainly. He had no wish to die and he was fairly certain that those orders spelled death. If the humans were capable of destroying a planet sized Mundivore with relative ease and virtually no damage, he had no illusions as to their combat capabilities against his fleet.

“And will you be following those orders?” she asked, her eyes predatory on the screen. Rxyn wanted to run from those eyes and he was not, by nature, a prey species.

“Unless I relinquish my command, I am faced with no other choice, lest my command crew forcibly remove me from command. But in all honesty, I consider those orders suicide, and as such I believe that I can only beg for mercy in the fight ahead of us,” he said, his head and shoulder drooping.

Around him, off-screen the command crew heard all of this and knew the regulations. But they also knew they were in a situation far beyond those regulations. And only political zealots would act otherwise.

As it always seems to turn out in such cases, there were several such zealots in his armada. Sadly, all three were captains of their vessels, small corvettes which, as the humans might have said, only served to carry their egos around with just barely enough space around the edges for the crew.

The three vessels launched themselves at the human fleet, caution thrown into a gravity well, hurling every bit of energy and kinetic weaponry that they could muster at the nearest human vessels. In this case, it was the IMS Brown Pants, a frigate which had served as one of the primary shield vessels during the fight with the Mundivore.

The Brown Pants didn’t shudder, didn’t move, didn’t even appear to heat up from the lasers that the three vessels were pouring into it. It just hung in space, the first few kinetic rounds impacting the hull before the shields flickered to life and terawatt laser turrets began to open fire on the incoming vessels.

The three corvettes, being too small to carry their own shield arrays beyond those used to protect from navigational hazards, started to notice the laser turrets of the Brown Pants as part of their ships were melted away around them. Their forward weapons arrays were fused and half-melted, their antenna arrays were scorched from their hulls, and slowly, bit by bit, their hulls seemed to begin melting inward.

The zealots in command ordered their crews to crash into the frigate, assuring them that this was all part of the greater good. To their credit, the crews obeyed.

The terawatt laser arrays began to scorch away the engines or at least what could be targeted by the Brown Pants. One of the corvettes crashed into one of the others as half of their engines died when the laser array found part of their fuel systems.

Their captains, each lost in their zealotry, barely noticed their mounting losses and desperately tried to get close enough to maybe detonate their fusion cores, but it was already too late. One thorium-anti-thorium torpedo was allocated to the bridge of each vessel and so the captains watched in only a moment of horror as the torpedo slammed into their respective bridge and detonated without even giving them time to decompress into space.

After the minor shockwave of the three torpedoes passed and the three clouds of debris where the corvettes had been indicated as no further threat, the Brown Pants lowered their shields and reset their laser arrays.

Kandam and Rxyn, their link still active, watched the action come to an end and returned their gaze to each other.

“Enough?” Kandam asked, raising an eyebrow. The movement was lost on Rxyn. He looked around at his command crew. He didn’t want to die, at least not in a foolish action like this. But his orders were orders. And he had never been good at disobedience.

A sort of rumble seemed to pass through his ship. He shook his head for a moment and looked around, the question written on his face.

A sensor operator reported some sort of gravity wave coming from the Great Wall. In only a moment, his face went from hopelessness to almost panicked fear. Looking back at Kandam, she seemed strangely serene, her predatory eyes still locked on him as though she were lining him up for her next kill.

He wanted to ask for her help against the Mundivores, but the very thought seemed to be frozen in his mind. It was broken when the sensor operators reported an unknown vessel exiting the same hole that the Mundivore had exited previously, but it didn’t appear to be a Mundivore.

It had a sort of darkness to it, and yet it stood out, like the edge of a knife. If smells could have traveled through space, it would have smelled of brimstone, leaving the taste of copper in the mouth of all who saw it.

A second screen opened as part of the same link between Rxyn and Kandam. A strange human, clad in the same sort of uniform as Kandam, but much less formal.

“Mission accomplished, Admiral,” he said, and his picture winked out.

Kandam looked back at Rxyn.

“Then it seems my fleet had no more business in this section of space. We’ll be on our way then,” she said, almost glibly. The connection closed.

Rxyn was still in a sort of shock. When had that vessel gone in? What had it done? What had been that gravity wave? Where were the humans going? What should he do now?

His second in command held up the orders again. They were not to leave, so as to protect against the Mundivores, but with the humans leaving, the first part of the orders was moot.

He sagged into his chair as the humans began to open warpgates. As did the command crew around him. They had followed orders and would continue to follow them. And also not die doing the impossible, at least not yet.

But something twinged at the edge of Rxyn’s mind. What mission had the strange vessel accomplished?

The Collective (Part 38)

The situation aboard Station 1337 and the IMST Big Stick was hectic to say the least. Where the system had been a trading hub, now nothing moved in the system without the imperial vanguards’ permission. The cloaked corvettes and frigates of the empire hovered in the dark, their captains allowing the Collective civilians to depart and turning away the few vessels that had arrived since the death of the Lightbringer.

Oorak could feel the tension in the air of the Big Stick. Hiram and Mac had both been making personal appearances throughout the station since the death of the Lightbringer and the marking of the Council World, often to protect the few xenos who were still aboard the human station. The interspecies brothels had closed and emptied in a matter of hours, the humans aboard the station not exactly filled with uncontrolled rage, but the presence of those species who had been seen shooting and killing the Lightbringer and the Heralds was not helping.

Mac and Hiram, with a team of the station’s security force, had escorted several of the xenos off-station. Not because they were being asked to leave, but rather because Mac feared, reasonably so, that if they stayed, he could not reasonably keep them safe. They had agreed, with the proviso that their station leases be placed on hold until they could return or were forced to terminate their leases. Mac had agreed without a second thought. Space may have been becoming something of a premium aboard the station, but it was better to sacrifice a bit of space to prevent unnecessary bloodspills.

Oorak and the Borlians had remained in their quarters adjoining the embassy. She didn’t like it and neither did the Borlians, but they mutually agreed that it would be best to lay low, even if they were reasonably respected aboard the station. The reports of the actions at the human colony of Nostromo had just come in and Hiram had given Oorak the overview, including the part where several of the Avorias and the Drugwers had literally been torn apart by the bare hands of humans.

Oorak had trouble picturing it, but at the same time, could see it all too clearly in her mind. She had seen Mac and Hiram in pushing contests. She had even seen how effortlessly it seemed that Mac could pick her up. She had seen some clips of human athletes performing feats that her species could only dream of. It was horrifying and awe-inspiring at the same time. These magnificent and terrifying humans were now very clearly at war with the Collective. And she had no illusions about the battlefields to come.

She had even come across a new theory that the humans had about themselves. It was the theory of pursuit predation. She’d never come across anything like it, but it spoke of a simple inevitable endurance. It was not one of speed, nor of sheer power, but rather one of time and will. Ancient humans, living in tribes, could simply follow herds of hunted creatures, day after day, wearing them down until fighting back was virtually impossible. And then they struck with force overwhelming.

Her species, herbivores, had never had to learn such predations, nor had they ever had to combat such predations. Endurance had always been something of a must, but it was nothing compared to what the humans were capable of, in the most raw form, to say nothing of their other strengths.

Oh the humans could strike with speed and raw power in the start, but it was not their sole predation technique and so Oorak knew better than to even begin calculating what might happen on the battlefield.

To say nothing of what was quickly becoming the political minefield of the Collective. She still had allies among the representatives, even if she was no longer a representative, and the Collective Council was, by and large, utterly appalled at the actions taken by the new Avorias chairbeing in what was clearly some attempt at a power grab. But what Oorak understood and the Avorias chairbeing clearly did not was that, to steal a human expression, attempting to catch and hold a very healthy and very hungry Terran tiger by the tail.

There were whispers throughout the WarpCom that this might be the death knell of the Collective. She had heard of such rumors before but this time, she believed it to be entirely possible.

She heard the embassy doors open and close and she exited her chambers to go see Mac and Hiram.

Except it wasn’t them.

A pair of humans, rather disreputable in their appearance and appearing to be the worse for drink by the redness of their faces, were stood there.

“Lookie here… a.. a... hoomie killah,” one of them managed, his tongue seeming to get in the way of his teeth.

“Bout time we teacha all da hoomie killahs a lesson on who’s boss,” the other said, and the pair lurched towards her.

Even if they both were the worse for drink, she knew that would almost certainly make them more dangerous, not less.

Almost silently, the two Borlians stepped in front of Oorak, their greyish skin and muscles flexing.

“Leave and we don’t tell Ambassador MacDonald,” the Borlian on the left said, a deep resonant timber in the voice, indicating it was the one that Mac and Hiram had shortened their name to Rory.

The pair appeared to consider this a moment, or appeared to be taking a moment to even process the words.

“Nah, e’s a hoomie. Not trash liken yoos,” the more disheveled of the two said, beginning their advance on the Borlians and Oorak again.

Oorak was on the verge of terror. She knew Mac and Hiram could beat these two Borlians in almost any pushing match. And here were two humans who were drunk to the point of being able to use their muscles beyond normal analgesic levels and the images of the humans tearing the Avorias beings apart with their bare hands came to her mind.

The less disheveled of the two humans threw the first punch, which went wide of the Borlian on the right, who Hiram and Mac had taken to calling Munin.

Munin and Rory clearly had no illusions as to the fight they were getting into, but they were Borlians and Mac had asked them both to keep an eye on Oorak. Not because he didn’t believe she couldn’t protect herself, but because he knew the nature of humans and the Borlians understood that. And right now, they were both seeing that firsthand.

The more disheveled of the two humans stomped forward and slammed both hands into the chest of Rory, who coughed as the air was driven from their body and they were thrown back by almost a meter. It had been a harder hit than any Rory had ever experienced, even in sparring a bit with Mac.

Munin took advantage of the moment’s pause by the humans to throw themselves at the one who had just thrown and missed with their punch. Munin only hoped that they could manage a hold of something like what the humans called ‘judo’ against the human. It wouldn’t be much, but supposedly it worked by using a human’s own strength against them.

But even for as slowed as the human’s reflexes were, they were still fast enough to push themselves back against Munin. A sort of roar of rage half-deafened Munin as the human’s arms, while slightly twisted in the beginnings of a judo hold, bent around and the human slammed their head against Munin. Blood began to pour from several orifices on the Borlian’s face.

The other human had now leapt atop a prone Rory and had raised their fists to begin to pummel the prone Borlian.

Oorak could only watch in horror. She was by no means a fighter. Few in her species were, and against these humans, she had no idea what she could manage.

She missed entirely the entrance of Mac and Hiram into the embassy, who took one look at the situation and charged.

Hiram slammed into the back of the human who was winding up to hit the bleeding Munin in an old Terran rugby tackle that sent the two of them sprawling.

Mac grabbed the human over Rory by the collar and viciously yanked him backwards, the human clearly choking for several moments as they were half-pulled half-flung away from the Borlian.

“You DARE attack fellow beings here?!” Mac roared at the pair, Oorak hearing a timber in his voice that she had only ever heard whispered of in his tone with Hiram in their early days together.

She had never seen him truly angry, although she had sometimes vaguely heard it, despite sound dampening. She could practically smell the danger rippling off of Mac, despite the smell of blood from the Borlians. And then she realized that Hiram was also smelling of danger, but a different flavor.

Looking over at him, she saw him astride the back of the human he had tackled, both arms of the human were being held behind their back and the human was beginning to make sounds of pain. A strange look was in the eyes of Hiram.

“Buh… but they’s hoomie killers,” the one that Mac had pulled off of Rory tried to say. Mac clearly wasn’t having it, but he also knew better than to try and reason with a clearly unreasonable drunk.

“Leave now or I’ll take your thumbs,” he growled. Oorak blinked. It was a strange threat.

The attacker of Rory also blinked, but clearly did not consider this a proper threat because they stood up and charged Mac. Mac stepped to one side as the human closed on him and drove his hands into the back of the human, sending him forcefully into a wall head first and knocking him out. The human collapsed to the floor. Mac turned to see how Hiram was doing. The human Hiram was straddling was weeping and begging for Hiram to release him, but Hiram was clearly in a sort of calm rage.

Hiram appeared to be considering if he should try dislocating the offender’s arms at the shoulders. He had a sort of calm maniacal look about his face. Oorak found it even more terrifying than Mac’s clearly open temper.

“Hiram!” Mac yelled, which seemed to break Hiram out of whatever trance he seemed to have self-induced.

“Yes, Mac?” Hiram said, blinking, his rage seeming to dissolve from his face.

“Knock him out. We have bigger problems,” Mac said, his face grim.

Hiram, holding the offender’s arms with one hand, gripped the offender’s neck for a few moments and the offender went still. Slowly he stood.

Mac was already at a console, calling for a medical team. Rory and Munin were looking rather rough and Oorak was frozen in place with a sort of terror that was still running through her system.

It took several minutes for the medics to arrive and they quickly set about assessing the two Borlians, rather pointedly ignoring the two knocked out humans. Rory and Munin were conscious, but were apparently not insignificantly injured.

Mac came over to Oorak and knelt in front of her, placing his face at her level.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Oorak,” he said, before holding out his arms.

She rushed into his terrifying arms, despite the horrors she had just witnessed.

Mac gently held Oorak. He had promised to keep her safe while she was here and he would do just that.

Two members of the security team came in and began handcuffing the two unconscious humans.

Mac looked up from his hug with Oorak to address the security team.

“Let me know when they wake up. They have some crimes against the Empire to answer for.”

Both of the security team members nodded silently, glancing wordlessly at the medical team caring for the Borlians.

Mac was just glad they’d made it back in time, but knew this was just a tip of the iceberg.

The Collective (Part 39)

“Rise and shine, Captain Gatsby. Wake up and smell the ashes of your world crumbling around you.”

The man Mac was addressing woke with a jolt, but didn’t move very far since he was clamped into a chair around his chest, hands, and feet.

“Wuh.. what’s going on here?!” the man addressed as Captain Gatsby exclaimed, taking in the room.

It was a very non-descript room. So non-descript that the fact that it was so non-descript might have been something of a record for the universe, except for the fact it had the three of them in it.

Ambassador ‘Mac’ MacDonald stood over the two men, looking, for all their hangover, like a vengeful god with their quarry cornered, in every sense of the word. He was not resplendently dressed. He was instead dressed in a clearly formal, but plain blood-red uniform.

“You also should wake up and smell the ashes, Mr. Witherspoons,” Mac said, his voice an even, but dark timber that was crashing through the turbulence that was the hangovers of both clamped men’s heads.

Mr. Witherspoons opened his eyes, wincing a bit as he flexed his shoulders.

“It seems you had rather a significant night, the pair of you,” Mac said, evenly.

“What’s going on?” Gatsby repeated, his head clearly throbbing with every word.

“You are both to be charged and sentenced for willfully assaulting a High Imperial facility as well as attacking several foreign dignitaries, with a view to attempted murder,” Mac said, darkness filling his lightly smiling face.

“We didn’t do nuffin’,” the one called Witherspoons mumbled out.

“Really?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow. “Then perhaps this will refresh your memory.”

Mac snapped his fingers and a section of the very non-descript wall changed into a screen which showed the two men entering the embassy and attacking the Borlians, Munin and Rory, only to be stopped by Mac and Hiram.

The two men blanched.

“That’s… uhm… that’s been faked. You call tell it ‘as been, cuz o’ lines and things,” Witherspoons tried.

“I can assure you, that, even if it were, since I and my aide were witness to the attack, we don’t even need the video. Were we anywhere else in the empire or even elsewhere on the station, I would have simply allowed the appropriate local authorities to handle this. But since this has occurred in my embassy, where I am second only to the Empress, this falls to me, gentlemen,” Mac said.

The two men tried to consider this and failed, their hangovers eroding any sense of manner or even when to keep quiet.

“Yeah?.... So.. like… whatcha gonna do, eh?” Witherspoons challenged Mac.

“I believe I’ll start by having the imperial auditors have a look at your ship and all of your records. The Northumbria is in Bay 76 on a three-day lease, correct?” Mac said, snapping his fingers and the screen changed to show Bay 76 and the ship contained therein.

“We won’t allow it. There are laws and we have rights,” Gatsby coughed out.

“Wrong again. Imperial law is quite clear on the matter. Any citizen who assaults an active High Imperial facility shall waive all rights preventing search and seizure and data privacy,” Mac said, as though quoting from memory. “While that does mean that the rest of the crew is enjoying some additional time stationside and a number of them in the process of finding new ships to leave on while their data privacy is still their own, you two are here until I’m done with you.”

Gatsby was wide-eyed. Random guilt flickered across his face. Everybody smuggled. It was just part of the game. But he knew if the official Imperial auditors got ahold of even half of his records, he’d be up for imperial tax fraud, and that was the sort of situation where you not only lost everything you owned, but you were likely to end up on one of the very VERY few prison colonies the Empire maintained. By his last unofficial bar-tale recounting, there were three and they were reserved for the worst of the worst and for imperial tax evasion and fraud.

There was nothing more terrifying in Gatsby’s mind than the thought of his ship vanishing into the forfeiture of the imperial auditor’s reports.

Witherspoons, on the other hand, appeared completely unphased. Mac judged this to mean that the man must still be slightly intoxicated and hungover at the same time. Even Mac and Hiram knew that there were few things that terrified even the most hardened criminals in the empire and an official imperial audit was one of highest on the list.

Mac gestured to the clamps around Gatsby’s hands and the cover retracted, showing each digit locked into individual clamps that encircled each one.

“I will also be taking at least one of your thumbs, Captain Gatsby,” Mac said, the darkness entering his tone again.

It took Gatsby a few moments to register this.

“You’re going to what?” Gatsby asked in astonishment, not quite certain he was hearing Mac correctly.

“Your thumbs. The digits which allow you to grip the yoke of your ship, which you undoubtedly use to authenticate your identity, which even allow you to drink so much alcohol that you end up assaulting a High Imperial facility and the personnel therein,” Mac said, smoothly.

“But… but… you can’t do that! It’d be inhuman!” Witherspoons butted in.

“Barbaric certainly, but I’ve been assured by Imperial Intelligence that the statute by which I will be taking thumbs is so human, it defies anything the Collective has ever had on record amongst their species,” Mac said. Gatsby was at an apparent complete loss for words.

“But… but… we were drunk. You can’t hold us to our actions then!” Witherspoons managed.

“Before last night, were you not an independent citizen, free to attempt anything you put your mind to?” Mac asked, looking over at Witherspoons with eyes that could have boiled paint off a wall.

“Well… yeah,” Witherspoons started.

“Then the matter is settled. You freely chose to imbibe copious quantities of alcohol and then you freely chose to assault High Imperial grounds,” Mac said, stepping back and turning away from the two men.

Silence ruled between them, the only sounds being the heavy breathing of Gatsby.

“Would you, be like, willing to cut a deal?” Witherspoons tried, his mind having to work harder than it had in some years.

Mac turned back to the man.

“My dear fellow, why on Terra should I even consider such a thing?” Mac asked, rather incredulously, but still with apparent curiosity for whatever thoughts were passing through the mind of this rogue.

“We’ve got things, money, lots of stuffs,” Witherspoons managed.

“Shut up, W,” Gatsby hissed, broken out of his fugue.

“I’m sure the imperial auditors will find it all. They have been instructed to be quite, uh, thorough. And as for you two gentlemen, ordinarily, assault on a High Imperial facility AND on persons within carries a death sentence,” Mac said, stepping back once more.

Neither man said anything as they took time to process this statement.

“However, imperial law also allows me to use several… shall we say, older statutes to decide punishment. And I decided that what better way to let you keep your lives and let the empire show that it can be merciful without allowing clear guilt to go unpunished than by taking your thumbs and turning you over to the imperial auditors,” Mac said.

“You may as well kill us,” Gatsby mumbled.

“I certainly could, but it seems a more fitting punishment that you be made to live,” Mac said, a tight grin on his face. “As such, I will leave you in the company of these two gentlemen from the Imperial Revenue Service, who will not be taking you from this station until they have a full accounting from their audit and until I have your thumbs.”

The outline of a door appeared in the wall behind Mac and then it disappeared, showing only blackness beyond. Two humans, if they could still be called that, stepping into the chamber, each dressed in a flat uniform of pants, an old Terran dress shirt, a tie, and a jacket of sorts, all grey, and each bearing a tablet.

Almost silently, Mac stepped out of the room and the door sealed behind him.

“That’s almost a special kind of evil, Mac,” Hiram said as the corridor lights came up.

“I know, but the law of her Majesty must be served,” Mac said, his shoulders sagging a bit.

“Oh, I have no disagreement there, but auditors?” Hiram said, a barely hidden smile flashing across his face.

“Even with as simple as the imperial tax code is, it still amazes me how many people think they can break it,” Mac said. “How are Rory and Munin doing?”

“They’re fine. Rory said they’re both going to have to skip a few poker nights, but apparently, our medicine is amazing stuff, by their own recall,” Hiram said.

“I’m sure Munin wouldn’t mind some extra cuddles,” Mac said grinning.

“Yes, Mac,” Hiram said, rolling his eyes. “And I’m sure Oorak would as well.”

The Collective (Part 40)

Tykan began his journey by starting with an exploration outside of the hotel he was calling his home for now. He was still coming to terms with the Terran Standard language, but he certainly felt more at home with it than he ever had with Collective Standard.

According to the historical databases, his own native tongue was relatively close linguistically (at least according to the algorithms) to pre-Empire Terran Esperanto. He’d tried doing some minor research into the language, but since so much of what he was trying to understand was coded for linguistics experts and native speakers, he couldn’t begin to understand what he was seeing.

He also found it rather odd that while there was a Terran Standard language, almost every colony (and even subsets of the same colony) would speak derivatives of the same language, diverging into entirely new languages. It was utterly strange that the humans did not appear to care about the language drift. They simply acknowledged that it happened and ignored it. According to one of the guides, North Mars had three distinct dialects and over 100 different derivative accents, whereas South Mars had two distinct dialects and ranged from a mild to very heavy accent depending on how far south you were on Mars.

The concept that a species was allowed to invent and continue to invent new languages after the formation of an agreed upon standard language was very foreign to Tykan, his own Tanosian Standard language having suffered only minor drift in the whole of their 13 colonies, due in no small part to rigorous reinforcement of proper linguistics.

And it didn’t stop there. Apparently, Lunarians (or Loonies as they were sometimes called in the guides) even had their own derivative additions to Terran Standard. It wasn’t big changes, but there were some odd connotations that the permanent residents of Terra’s moon had incorporated into Terran Standard.

So far, he’d accidentally walked into a dry cleaner, mistaking the wording on the sign for a museum, a Centauri-style pub which he’d mistaken for public facilities, and a judiciary, which bore a label that he’d have sworn said it was a human conservatory.

But he was having a marvelous time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this surrounded by strange lovely things and smells. Oh the smells. He tasted all the emotions of the streets as he walked. Certainly, his very obvious bodyguards behind him always smelled of their usual duty and purpose, but the rest of the streets with humans coming and going were awash of different emotions. It felt chaotic and yet like a sort of symphony.

A young woman, if he was remembering how human dioecism worked, had the feeling of a cold winter about her. A man on a street corner had the feeling of a wind storm that was coming on. An older man who sat resting and watching the world had the feeling of a calming sunrise. And so many more.

Tykan felt as though he could experience worlds just standing in place and opening his olfactors. These humans… as physically terrible and aggressive as the Council had judged them to be, were so utterly complex and they didn’t even seem to realize it.

It took him several moments before he realized that a human had stepped up in front of him.

The human in front of him was… different. They weren’t obviously male or female. Their hair, which apparently had long term cultural significance, was cropped close to their head and dyed a color that he was reasonably certain wasn’t natural, but wouldn’t have put it past the humans to have figured out how to get it naturally. Their body was… well, it was rather difficult to tell. They were wearing a sort of Terran forest colored robe which mostly obscured them and didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the Lunarian culture that Tykan had seen thus far. And most interestingly, they were wearing a tall hat of some sort.

“Yes?” he ventured.

“You’re new around here,” the stranger said with a voice that was neither high nor low for a human.

“I am new. My naaaame issss Tykan. I am n-n-newly a ssss-citizzzen offf the Empire,” he said, unsure of the smell of the human’s emotions. They weren’t unhappy, nor were they particularly happy. They just smelled of… of… a dark but cozy place. Not like an unused or long abandoned burrow might, but rather more like one that was created by a purist on sabbatical, reconnecting with their ancestors in the earth.

The human smiled, but did not change their emotional scent.

“Then I suppose I should welcome you. I’m Rigby. I own and operate that cafe over there,” the human called Rigby said, pointing at a part of a building a block or so away. “What brings you here?”

“I wasss tooo meet with the Empressss,” Tykan said.

“Oh, you must be very special then. And did you?” Rigby asked.

“Yesss. She wasssss not what I expected,” Tykan said. “I am the firrrrst xeeeeeno citizzzen offf the Empire.”

“Well, I’d say that’s earned you a free drink and a baked good at my cafe then,” Rigby said, smiling broadly. Rigby reminded Tykan of Mac in that moment. But he was still confused by Rigby. But he tried to remember what he had read of human manners (as utterly confusing and often contradictory as they were).

“Would youuuuu like toooo show meeeee to your busssssinessss?” Tykan ventured.

“I would,” Rigby said, turning towards the indicated building and beginning to lead Tykan there for a moment before looking back and behind Tykan at his guards.

“Are they with you?” Rigby asked. The smell of dark clouds overhead came from Rigby. Not one of dislike or fear, but rather the sort of discomfort.

“They are toooo protect meeee. The Empresssss sent them toooo meeee,” Tykan said, feeling uncomfortable himself.

There was a moment or two of quiet between them and then Rigby appeared to brighten.

“Well, I’m sure we can find a place for them to keep you company,” Rigby said, the smile returning to their face.

The four of them walked without speaking. Tykan couldn’t help but notice how a number of the humans they passed seemed to taste of a sort of fear, but from the taste, it wasn’t towards him, so he could only guess it was toward Rigby or his guards, but he couldn’t think of why either would warrant fear.

The indicated building was a strangely decorated subsection of a larger building, with large transparent viewports into and out of the building section in question. It appeared to have a Terran theme of some kind, but it wasn’t obvious as to what it referenced. A menu of foods and beverages hung outside the main entrance portal with a large annotation of “Elevenses”. Rigby appeared to take no notice of anything strange and simply opened the portal and directed Tykan and his guards inside.

The inside of the building was equally strange. It appeared to be a mix of themes. One section was decorated with ornate designs and a flashing blue box which hung from the ceiling. Another had images of an ornate stone castle with old Terran floor sweepers leaned against the wall. And the section to which Rigby lead Tykan and his guards to was away from the main windows, in a section that had a massive painting of two towers and large stone city carved into a mountain with some kind of war happening between the three.

There were a few other humans in the cafe, but only a few even glanced up from their activities and while there was a slight smell of emotional surprise at seeing Tykan, it almost instantly dampened as they returned to their activities. The whole of the cafe smelled of… a sort of mix of different foods and beverages that reminded Tykan of Mac. Especially the beverages.

Rigby gestured to a table with a larger than human standard seat for Tykan and then gestured to a nearby table with human standard chairs (although these bore elegant looking vine-like decoration) for his guards. Tykan half-sat half-laid across the seat he was provided and continued to watch Rigby.

Rigby appeared to still be smiling, moving away from the trio and stepping behind the counter of the business and hanging their hat on a peg off to one side.

“What can I get you, Tykan?” Rigby called over, despite appearing to be conversing with the other humans behind the counter.

Tykan cocked his head to one side.

“I do not understand,” he said, confused.

“What manner of beverage and food would you enjoy without expense to your being?” Rigby said, slipping from Lunarian Terran Standard to more strict Terran Standard almost seamlessly.

“I am unable to consume certain human compounds without medical attention,” Tykan said.

“Ah allergies. Gotcha. Do you have a list of those compounds which you cannot consume? And do you have a list of compounds you find enjoyable?” Rigby asked, continuing to almost blatantly ignore the fact that Tykan was not human.

Tykan picked up the tablet from the table and pressed his probing digit against the identifier. As part of joining the Empire, he’d received a bio-synth chip which allowed him to be uniquely identified and which could carry selected information which he could control (up to a certain point). It was a remarkably simple technology that made him wonder why none of the species in the Collective had ever come up with it. It wasn’t even remotely invasive and only certain systems could even communicate with it and even when they did, he could set up particular data permissions for what types of systems could read any or all of the data available.

A list of compounds that he was unable to consume appeared on the screen of the tablet.

“I believe thisssss will be of asssssistence. And I doooo not knooooow whaaat human fooooods I preferrrr,” he said, holding the tablet out to Rigby. Rigby came over and took the tablet from Tykan. Rigby appeared to frown a bit, but from the sort of smell of emotion that Tykan was receiving, this was a frown of concentrated thought.

“I think you might like a non-caffeinated ginger jasmine tea and a fresh baked croissant. And if we talk long enough, maybe we can see about the lunch menu,” Rigby said, setting the tablet back down. “Anything for you two, Argo-juice?”

This last question appeared to go to Tykan’s guards. One of them waved a hand as a sort of gesture. Apparently, Rigby knew what it meant because Rigby walked back over behind the counter and began to work.

A few minutes later, Rigby returned with a strange crescent, two glasses of greenish liquid, and a short ceramic glass of steaming liquid. Rigby placed the two glasses of greenish liquid in front of his guards and then placed the crescent and the steaming liquid glass in front of Tykan. Rigby sat down and folded their hands in front of them.

“So I’m betting you’ve got a thousand questions, and Rigby’s all ears to help you sort them out,” Rigby smiled.

“Beware of strangers bearing gifts,” Tykan said, repeating an old proverb of his homeworld.

“Very wise, but I’m going to wager that there’s a lot more to humans than any wikipedia could tell you,” Rigby said, the smile unmoved.

“How about we start with more thorough introductions?” Tykan said, trying to match the human’s grin without appearing aggressive.

“I’d like that,” Rigby said.

The Collective (Part 41) - Tykan

“So tell me a little about yourself and your species,” Rigby said, smiling at Tykan over the top of the steaming liquid in a ceramic glass in between them.

And Tykan did his best. He was Tykan, formerly a citizen of the Collective and of the Tanosian Unified Burrows and a former representative of the TUB to the Collective. He was not a young member of his species, but he was not particularly old (he was still coming to terms with human time measurements and relative age measurements). His species was trioecious and he was of the third type, but he wasn’t exactly sure how that fit in with human dioecism. And through the assistance of Ambassador MacDonald (who Rigby appeared to know by the mention of the name, but acknowledged rather quickly that they did not know the Ambassador personally as Tykan did), Tykan had become a citizen of the empire and so had come to Terra by command of the Empress, originally intended to live and serve on Mars until he had his burrow in order.

Rigby appeared to take all this in with a sort of bemused face. Not seeming to acknowledge that Tykan was clearly a xeno. Which rather puzzled Tykan. Even amongst the Collective, there had been a strong xenophobic response upon the initial meetings between species, especially between those who were not tempered in such a way to absorb the xenophobic responses internally.

The two guards appeared to be slowly consuming their greenish liquids and were watching both Rigby and the whole of the space around them. Tykan was certain there was a sort of danger around (with so many humans around, he could hardly doubt otherwise), but he did his best to ignore it, trying to focus instead on the pleasant, but strangely… inert smelling human in front of him.

“So will you be going to Mars soon then?” Rigby asked.

“No… the Empressss said theeeey will be maaaaking waaaaar for the Empiiiire,” Tykan said.

“Ah, yeah, I did hear about the ceasefire between the North and South. Hard to believe personally, but Martians are a strange lot,” Rigby said. Tykan cocked his head at the way Rigby said this. It seemed to speak of cultural annotations that Tykan hadn’t come across so far.

“And I believe that’s my cue to tell you about me. I’m Rigby. Officially, I’m part of ‘dioecious human’ genetics group known as female, but for all practical purposes, I’m nonbinary. It’s a weird and long-winded subject, so I won’t bore you with the details. Simply put, I’m Rigby and that’s all you need to worry about on that subject,” Rigby began. Tykan nodded and took a moment to look down at the cooling ceramic glass of liquid and the strange crescent.

“Where are my manners? Please, go ahead and try both. I’d love to know what a xeno thinks of my baking,” Rigby said, gesturing to the crescent and the liquid.

Tykan adjusted his olfactors and inhaled deeply of the liquid’s smell and of the crescent. The liquid reminded Tykan of his native Burbur plants. The roots of the Burbur plants were often used in certain segments of Tanosian cooking and the leaves were used to flavor certain dishes. It hadn’t been the sort of consumables that he had pursued, but he appreciated how much closer to his species he felt as a result of the scent. The crescent on the other hand didn’t remind him of anything in his prior history before meeting Hiram and Mac. It was a strange, but pleasant smell. It was slightly uncomfortable, smelling a pleasing, but new smell. He couldn’t quite make up his mind on what he thought of it.

Rigby was watching him intently, a small smile on Rigby’s face. Rigby’s scent had not changed, but seemed to have a small note of something new, that Tykan could just barely make out. It wasn’t enough for him to get more than a star flash of the emotion. He pondered this for a moment and decided to allow it to pass.

Remembering the oddities of human manners, he looked at the table to assess the utensils which humans seemed to use. Following his gaze, Rigby seemed to almost instantly understand.

“Oh, you don’t need utensils, unless that’s necessary. We normally eat these while holding them in our grasp,” Rigby said.

Tykan bobbed his head in a nod and gripped the crescent with his second hand and broke off a piece with his first. It appeared to be filled with swirls inside and air pockets and part of it broke away and fell to the table. He looked at Rigby to ensure he wasn’t breaking some sort of human eating tradition, but Rigby just continued smiling. Still feeling rather self-conscious, he lifted the small piece in his first hand to his extended tongue and pulled it into his mouth.

The crescent piece tasted… interesting. Being what he was slowly coming to understand as the human classification of an insectivore/herbivore (although he couldn’t have told Rigby this at the time), it had a richness that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t overwhelming with flavors, as he had come to believe that all humans demanded of their food, but the flavors that were present were both simple and bold. There was also a light crunch to the piece that he found quite pleasant. Swallowing the piece, he tried to smile as the human Rigby was.

“It issss very pleassssing tooo meee,” he said, attempting to compliment Rigby’s efforts.

Rigby smiled wider and the just barely scentable wisp of emotion that Rigby gave off reminded Tykan of a lazy summer’s day on a sun-warmed beach with adequate shade.

He placed the crescent back onto the plate that he had picked it up from and turned his attention to the ceramic glass of cooling liquid. It had been steaming when Rigby had brought it to him, so he was reasonably certain that it was still quite warm. Too warm for ready consumption most likely, but he should check. Reaching out with his first and second hands, he brought the vessel closer to him. The heat in the ceramic glass was just barely tolerable and warned him of the liquid’s temperature. He withdrew his hands and looked to Rigby who was smiling less now.

“It issss toooo waaaaarm for meeee tooo drink yeeeet,” he tried to explain. Rigby cocked their head to one side as though this particular explanation took some level of thought, before appearing to brighten a bit, the smile widening again.

“Anyway,” Rigby started again. “I was raised on the Centauri Three station, a lovely place to see, but I’d never want to live there again, and educated on Kepler Two at the Imperial Iconian Higher Education Center. I majored in Human History with a minor in Adaptive Robotics. After that, I decided to travel around the Empire a bit and see what there was to see. It wasn’t easy. As much as the Empire has opened up in the last hundred years with WarpCom and the WarpGate network, it’s still pretty insular in certain places. I’d definitely suggest you stay away from Rossia Three. They’re… well, let’s just say that if you aren’t a native Rossian by birth, they aren’t going to like you. Here in Sol, everyone is pretty equal, but we all still have our little differences. Native Terrans are super proud, even though they’re post-nukes. Martians are, well, they’re Martians, nothing really compares. Venusians are fairly relaxed, but ‘have their heads in the clouds’, ha-ha, and native Lunarians and Titanates are a bit strange, even by general imperial average.”

This all came at Tykan at a bit of a rush, but he thought he mostly got the general idea that humans were much the same throughout the empire, but they all had their unique mannerisms, which aligned with the confusing and contradictory manners of humans described in the texts he had been provided.

“Why did youuuu come and ssssstay heeeere?” he asked, sensing an appropriate break.

“Oh, I just fell in love with Lunarian culture when I was younger and decided to take my time to enjoy it. Plus, being here in Sol, there’s so much culture and history to pick up on, it’s hard to not want to stick around,” Rigby said. “It’s really different to study human history and another to actually visit many of the sites where it all happened.”

One of the guards leaned over to the table and tapped the tablet and handed it to Tykan.

It had a message for him.

MESSAGE STARTS:

ID: Rigby Tysert Reviera

OCCUPATION: Business Owner, Starcraft Mechanic, Historian

CURRENT LOCATION: Sol - Luna - Dome 8

THREAT LEVEL: Low

INTELLIGENCE THREAT QUOTIENT: 2

RECOMMENDATION: On-going relations authorized. Danger to self minimal. Suggestion - Cultural Liaison

MESSAGE ENDS:

Tykan blinked a bit, reading the message several times before it blanked from the screen. He set the tablet back down.

“So what do your guards have to say about me?” Rigby asked.

Tykan was uncertain of how to process this. As a species representative, he’d been trained in the nature of untruths and he was reasonably good at them, but he did not wish to alienate the apparently nice person in front of him. He tried to think of how to address the question and decided on a simple answer.

“They thinnnnk yoouuuu arrre a goooood huuuuman,” he ventured, hoping Rigby wouldn’t probe for more. Rigby seemed to take a moment to consider this and smiled again.

“Fair enough. That’s about all the more I can hope for these days. Well, that and a successful business,” Rigby said.

Tykan thought about that last part a bit. He was still all a bit confused as to how the economics of the Empire worked, especially in light of their apparently limitless fabrication technologies (as compared with the Collective’s comparatively restricted organic fabricators).

“Hoooow iiiisss your buuuusssssiness in aaaaaa faaaabricator eeeconomy?” he tried, hoping he was getting all the words right.

Rigby appeared to crunch their face, in a moment of intense concentration.

“It’s a little hard to explain, but I’ll try anyway the way my school financial advisors told us from the beginning. Everything is technically based around the Solar Credit. This is officially set based on the average amount of energy that can be collected by a Type 41 1-meter square solar panel at median Terra stellar orbit at the Terra-Sol L4 point. If that sounds a little confusing, I’m about as lost as you are, but essentially, that’s the standard. From the Solar Credit basis, elemental construction from fusion is gauged in an increasing manner. High proton elements cost lots of energy to make and so they cost a lot more in terms of Solar Credits. Lower proton elements, at or below the iron limit, aren’t quite free, but are mostly covered by standard imperial processing.”

“As far as the fabricators go, well… the short answer is that a lot of people like imperfections. It’s taken a long time for most people to admit it, but there’s something kind of special about a physically manipulated item as opposed to one that was atomically constructed. There’s a certain… unseen, unknowable factor that humans like about the way things are made, with food especially. So, that’s more or less how I have this business,” Rigby said.

It was a lot for Tykan to take in, again, but he seemed to get the general understanding of it. There was a unified standard for the empire and while fabricators were used, something in the human psyche preferred non-fabricator-made items, most especially with food. Which seemed a bit at odds with what he remembered of Mac and Hiram, but then he also remembered that Mac and Hiram had often been eating food (and taken him out for dining with them) at or from various restaurants around the station. And the more he thought about it, the more he seemed to notice retroactively how Mac and Hiram had been with different foods. They had both used the fabricator at times for different consumables, but they tended to only use it when they were exceptionally occupied or when they were just rising from their burrows.

This more or less made sense to Tykan now, but a slowly rising noise in the cafe began to catch his attention. He leaned away from the table in the direction of the counter and noticed a line of humans formed. Rigby noticed and leaned over as well.

“Ah, lunch rush. Give me a little bit to help out on the counter and I’ll be back to talk some more, ok?” Rigby said, standing from the table.

Tykan nodded and shifted a bit to watch. These humans were quite fascinating and from the mixing emotional smells of the humans in line, he was curious to see what else he might learn today.

The Collective (Part 42)

Mars Station 3 - The Gimble

South Martian Confederacy Leader Beemo didn’t want to be here. Truth be told, he didn’t like the existence of the imperial neutral zones around the space elevators on general principle, but the one thing he would begrudgingly admit was that the space elevators were extremely valuable to the Martian people and the Imperial Navy had some not insignificant technology at their fingertips, most of it on a scale that would make even his finest weapons specialists drool or run screaming into the night.

But most of all, he did not like being in the same room at the North Martian Alliance Leader Tchaikov.

Tchaikov didn’t like Beemo, but he understood why this meeting had been arranged. He also wasn’t fond of the imperial neutral zones, mostly because they frequently impacted his war plans. But he was obliged to respect them, partially due to treaty, mostly due to the amount of firepower the empire would bring to bear if either the North or the South brought weapons to bear on the forces attempting to control those space elevators. And this close to Terra, that would mean Imperial Intelligence would show up, and more often than not, they had… access, shall we say, to some rather inconvenient and very nasty weaponry.

The Empress entered the meeting chamber and the two leaders bowed. It was only appropriate. She had called this meeting and as their sovereign, no matter how much they liked or disliked her, her Venusian origins, and the rest of the Empire, she was still their sovereign and respect had to be paid.

“You are both aware of the hostile actions taken by the Collective at Nostromo, yes?” she opened with, straight to business, skipping all the little niceties. Beemo appreciated that. Tchaikov would have preferred more formality, but kept any objections silent.

“We are, your Majesty,” they said together, eyeing each other as they did so.

“That is why I have asked for Mars to draft a ceasefire until such time as the hostilities with the Collective has been addressed,” she said, her eyes boring into each one of them.

Both would admit, under pressure at least, that she was not a woman nor a leader to be disobeyed. She never demanded the impossible and more often than not, before first contact, they had been left to their own devices. And she was as fair as the red sands of Mars, and equally deadly (or so they had both heard).

“We have agreed to a ceasefire to provide weapons, vessels, and material support to the imperial shipyards in orbit of our world,” Tchaikov said.

“Our people are not pleased with the ceasefire, but we believe they will come to understand as the news of the Nostromo spreads further,” Beemo said, glaring a bit at Tchaikov.

Beemo didn’t like Tchaikov, but he would admit privately that Tchaikov was a sort of tactical genius and a comparatively agreeable leader of the North, relative to some of his previous equivalents. Tchaikov would begrudgingly admit that Beemo was not a particularly great ruler, but knew his people exceptionally well and inspired them in interesting ways. It had made for an interesting continuation of the civil war between North and South Mars, but the two men were here because the empire had need of them and the Empress did not ask favors lightly (nor did she even really need to ask, but it was a courtesy after all).

“I am informed that with the rather public death of my Lightbringer and the events on Nostromo, there is a very strong call for blood against the Collective. I do not anticipate outright open war and I do not expect the Collective, under the current leadership, to be capable of sustaining an outright open war, but I have been informed that they are secretly preparing a number of weapons, some of which we have banned,” she said, her tone level, her eyes continuing to make each leader feel smaller and smaller before her.

The two leaders looked at one another. Fighting each other was one thing, particularly with conventional weaponry. But banned weaponry was something else. The Empire hadn’t banned the use of much weaponry, but there were a few weapons that even Imperial Intelligence had a visceral dislike of. And if the Collective was preparing to use some of those weapons, the Empire would need to be there to stop them or at least make them pay for every drop of blood they dared spill.

The leaders of North and South Mars nodded together.

“We shall not be found wanting,” they recited together to the Empress, and meant it. Truth be told, neither gave much thought to the rest of the empire outside of their world, but there were certain lines that were drawn for important reasons and when those lines were going to be crossed, the 3rd Sol Empire would need to be there to show those having crossed the line why those lines existed.

The Empress nodded in response and swiftly turned and left the room. Both men breathed a sigh, feeling somehow weak from even having been in the presence of the Empress. Then they returned their gazes to each other.

They still didn’t like each other, but this was more important than either of them or their long term war. This was about the Empire and humanity and they would glass every last grain of Mars before they became slaves again.

__

IMST Big Stick

Mac looked down through the station from the small balcony near the Embassy that allowed him a view of the district below. The whispers on the WarpCom the Imperial Intelligence had passed along were worrying to say the least. He hadn’t ordered an evacuation of the station yet, but he had Hiram begin drafting what would need to be done if that future came.

Oorak had been restless of late, in her sleep especially. He believed he understood, even if just a little. Her species was not used to such martial violence and she had been full witness to the raw power of humans. After all, it was one thing to see it in a friendly contest and to watch a recording, but something else entirely to have it happen suddenly and viscerally in front of you.

Mac was still a bit worried for her, but he also worried about the future of the station and the Empire. The Imperial Navy captains had informed him of their defense plans and had begun to reinforce the system, but this didn’t keep Mac from worrying. If the rumors were true and the Collective was preparing to use weaponry that the Empire had banned, he had no illusions that the station would almost certainly be a prime target. Especially with as fervent as the new Avorias High Council chairbeing was about targeting the humans, with a view to claim the human empire for themselves and the Drugwers, using the humans as slaves.

He had no doubts that the Avorias and the Drugwers would have an up-mountain battle on attempting to enslave the human species, but not enough people remembered the slavery under the oligarchs of the 2nd Sol Empire.

Rory and Munin were doing much better than either expected following the encounter with the rogue captain and his navigator, but they were not as boisterous as they had been. They had seen what humans were capable of and felt it for themselves. It was more than either of them had been prepared for and they both needed time to think about it all.

__

Neutron Star 725-RMC

The 725-RMC system was relatively unremarkable. It was listed on several star maps, but it was far enough out of the way that no beings found their way there, even by accident. Partially because the system was rumoured to have some gravitational anomalies that were not wholly mapped, and given the lack of resources or routes to pass through the system, it was just another star on the map.

At least it was.

A massive warp gate opened and a blocky looking vessel that seemed to ooze a sort of darkness into the light of the neutron star emerged, but the massive gate remained open. Almost immediately, fifteen masses the size of gas supergiants emerged from the warp gate, one by one and filed into orbits around the neutron star. A final series of blocky vessels, the largest still being utterly dwarfed by the titanic masses, exited the massive warp gate and the gate closed.

A small, almost unnoticeable station near the star energized and began to communicate with the blocky vessels.

__

New Collective High Council Chambers

“You are aware of the rules regarding suspension of Rules 217-45 to 227-951 normally require a supermajority by the whole of the Council,” the saurian said, addressing the Avorias chairbeing.

“I am, but by High Council ruling 208-12, the chairbeing has the authority to suspend those rules in times of danger to the greater Collective,” the Avorias chairbeing said, almost dismissively.

“We still haven’t heard back a proper report from the progress at the human system of Nostromo. Last we received, they were settling in and working on getting the humans to work,” the saurian said, shifting a sheet of paper.

“No matter. We need to proceed. Tell your Section Six to begin preparations to deploy to Station 1337. It’s time we showed these humans their proper place in the Collective,” the Avorias chairbeing said.

The Collective (Part 43) - Sol

Mars Station 3 - The Gimble

“Your Majesty, we have a communique for you,” the nameless aide said, stepping into place as the Empress moved through the corridors on her way to her shuttle back to Terra.

“Then spit it out,” she said, brusquely.

“The current Bonny Anne, Shih Ching, and Blackbeard have requested an audience,” the aide said and almost stumbled as the Empress Carolus froze mid-step.

She stood there a moment, blinking, comprehending what the aide had just said.

“You’re telling me that not one, not two, but THREE of the Empire’s most wanted, and pirates at that, are requesting an official audience?” she said, her eyes turning to probe the aide.

The aide felt the immense weight of the gaze of the Empress. It never got easier, no matter how many times you stood before here. The aide could never be certain why, but there was something about just being in the path of the Empress that was eminently daunting.

The Empress considered this. Three of the Empire’s most wanted did not reach out to the Empire lightly, especially namesakes. Oh certainly, they were merely the current namesake holders, but that didn’t make them any less worthy of those titles. As cruel and tough as imperial politics were known to be, it was nothing to being successful in the imperial pirates’ politics. And to be granted a namesake title took real doing, on par with becoming a system governor or a sector governor.

There was too little lost love between the Empire and the various piratical factions to even bother mentioning. Piracy had always been a problem and, as far as the Empress could tell, would always be a problem. It was just in the nature of humans. But for three of the big names to come forward to request an audience, well, that was no small gesture.

“Did they say why?” she asked the aide.

“They indicated vaguely that they ‘want to help’,” the aide said.

Empress Carolus took this into consideration. She had seen the special reports Intelligence had drafted for her. Even with as strong as the Empire was, the Collective had significant plans to take the blood and muscle of humanity, and some of the species involved appeared to have been planning for action within the Collective itself, given the strength of arms apparently at their ready disposal. Her forces were not infinite and gathering them to protect the empire would take time, and even then, strategic positioning would be important, as with all interstellar warfare. And at this moment, yes, at this moment, she had a higher duty to the Empire and its citizens.

“Very well. Will they come to Terra?” she said, beginning to walk with purpose again.

“They did not say. They said only that they would prefer you chose a ‘mutually beneficial’ location, their words,” the aide said, struggling to catch back up.

“Set the meeting to be Oort Cloud Station 8 then. And alert Intelligence and the relevant Naval forces. If they’re coming to see me for an audience, they can come and they can leave under my official permission. NO shots fired, no extra security attempts, no targeting. I will not have a repeat of Karak III,” she said.

“As you command, Empress,” the aide said, and stopped, allowing the Empress to continue onward towards her shuttle.

The aide took a moment to try to remember the history of the Empress, but the Karak III incident wasn’t a part of her prior history, but rather under one of her predecessors. A political enemy of the then-Emperor had requested an official audience which had been granted, only for the meeting to take place and as the meeting was adjourned, the system governor had attempted to maneuver politically by capturing or killing that political enemy following the meeting. This had resulted in a wave of political violence following the martyrdom of the political enemy which claimed the lives of several thousand and resulted in the then Heralds of that system deposing the system governor at the behest of the rioting populus.

It made sense as to why the Empress would prefer to avoid such an encounter, especially with the war with the Collective looming.

__

Terra Luna - Dome Twelve Aka Absolution

Tykan watched the counter expectantly, enjoying seeing the flow of humans through the cafe. There were so many different emotions streaming through the cafe, but a common feeling seemed to unite many of them. Tykan could only guess that it must be a sort of emotional hunger. It seemed strange that humans would even feel hunger emotionally, but he chalked it up to just being something else about humans that he was learning.

Rigby was moving swiftly with the others behind the counter. To Tykan’s eyes, Rigby’s face was different and somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, Rigby smelled different. There was something different about Rigby now and it had something to do with being behind the counter. Rigby’s smile was much smaller, but still present.

Sitting back, he set about consuming more of the ‘croissant’. It did not taste particularly nutritious, but was very enjoyable. Tykan reflected on this. It seemed humans did not necessarily value nutrition so much as they did enjoyable flavors and textures. This was not to say that they seemed to pursue those factors exclusively, but they would often express cravings in terms of flavors and textures, relating parts of those flavors and textures to necessary nutrition. He chuckled a bit to himself. Humans were strange and yet here, he was the strange one.

He tested the ceramic glass again and this time, it felt much cooler from previously. He hovered over the liquid with his probling finger on his first hand and felt the liquid. It should be tolerable. He did not understand why Rigby had served it to him so heated, but he had seen Mac and Hiram consume both strongly heated and strongly cooled liquids, despite the temperatures involved.

He tasted it by sliding his tongue into the glass of liquid. It was very much like the Burbur plant of his native world, but it had additional flavors as well. He couldn’t quite put names to the different flavors he was sensing from this ‘ginger jasmine tea’. It was quite pleasing though. However, now, he was presented with a challenge. Rigby would want to see him consume the liquid, but he wished to consume it at the present time and the natural way to consume the liquid from the small ceramic glass with his mouth would be to fold his tongue into a slurping tube.

It was a bit of a conundrum as he wondered about what human manners would say in this scenario. Something oddly contradictory, he was certain.

He looked back to the counter. Just for a moment, he saw Rigby watching him, the smile a bit broader. He tried considering this a brief moment and smiled back. Perhaps, in that moment, he felt the decision somehow made so much easier for him.

Folding his tongue into a slurping tube, he pulled the tea into his mouth and down into his stomachs. It was very pleasing and the remnant warmth did seem to fill his insides a bit. He hadn’t realized that he had been ever so slightly cooled by the air in the cafe. And the seat seemed to be rather comfortable on his lower legs and arms.

This had been a pleasant day so far. He shouldn’t like for it to end.

__

Parts Unknown, 3rd Sol Empire

“She’s agreed to meet with the three of us,” the dark bearded figure said, after the message had chimed on his tablet.

“Do you think she’ll honor the agreement?” the red-faced figure said, leaned back from the table.

“We won’t know until we get there, but we asked and she answered. It’s all the more we could have hoped for,” the dark bearded figure said, scowling.

“No. The more that could have hoped for would be for Bellamy to agree to this meeting as well. Where is the coward?” the almost luminescent-faced figure said, leaning forward to the table.

“Busy elsewhere. Bellamy’s been a lot less active of late. Debating hanging up the name, if my last meeting with them was any judge,” the red-faced figure said.

“Seriously? Retire? And do what?” the luminescent-faced figure asked, incredulously.

“Not all of us got our namesakes by forcibly retiring the predecessor, Shih,” the dark bearded figure growled. “Let’s go. We have our first and probably only meeting with the Empress soon and my drives will be hard pressed to make the time.”

__

Neutron Star 725-RMC

The small station close to the star seemed to hum with activity, the fleet of small but blocky vessels had spread around the system and the supergas giant masses had settled comfortably into their orbits, a thin series of radio links connecting them all together.

__

Collective Vessel The Departed

The former Collective High Council chairbeing and the small furry herbivore High Council being sat at the small table and watched the pseudo-lights of Warpspace flow around the vessel they had received a small cabin on. Neither liked taking this pedestrian style of transport, but they had no illusions as to their status with the Avorias and Drugwers. They didn’t need prognostication to know that it would be best if they departed swiftly and this had been the only vessel heading in the direction they sought.

They had been surprised to even find the vessel and gain the secret as to its planned destination. But as it had turned out, they were at least minutely useful to the vessel’s captain, providing some last minute authorizations while they still had access. It had been enough to cover their cabin.

“What do you think will become of us?” the small furry herbivore that was called Chikit asked of the former chairbeing.

“I don’t know. If I remember the laws I read, this might be no better or worse than what would be waiting for us if we simply stayed,” the former chairbeing responded, eyes glazed over, still staring into the emptiness of Warpspace.

“So… traitors then?” Chikit asked.

“Traitors, it would seem, is the best and only real option,” the former chairbeing said.

The Collective (Part 44) - Tykan

Terra - Luna Dome Absolution

The last few hours had been very enlightening for Tykan. After the ‘lunch rush’, Rigby had come back over with two small plates of different foods, a clear glass pitcher of greenish liquid (which Rigby placed in front of the two guards), and several small phials of different liquids.

Together, he and Rigby had tried the different liquids and the different foods. He hadn’t realized just how many different kinds of food and drink these humans enjoyed, even excluding the few that he was ‘allergic’ to (he still wasn’t quite sure what that meant). So far, the poh-tay-toe sayled was the most enjoyable and the bubbly sweetened water was strangely enticing. However, the pickles and the apple juice were most unpleasant.

He did have to admit however, he enjoyed seeing Rigby smile and even laugh at his experiences in trying the different foods and drinks. He did not understand the humor of the situation, but Rigby seemed to find some joy in it, so he was willing to hold comment.

He had learned so much about the Empire in the meantime.

As a citizen, he was entitled to a reasonable income which was centered largely on fabricator cycles, but he could be mandated to fill various roles in service to the Empire if it were deemed necessary. He was also immediately eligible to communicate with various local and mid-level representatives and leaders to ensure that his needs were met (not to be confused with wants) and that he and his fellow citizens were being treated fairly and in accordance with imperial and local law. And, perhaps most strangely, as a citizen, it was considered his sacred duty to be prepared to overthrow the governance of parts of the Empire to the highest level in the Empire if the leadership was found to not be abiding by the will of the people and working in favor of a selected few.

To this effect, he had shaken his head a few times (much to Rigby’s amusement) and asked a question.

“What’s to stop any one group of citizens from constantly trying to topple the Empire?”

“That’s the beauty of it. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of groups of citizens like that, trying to push the Empire one way or another. It forces people to deal with the political process. And as far as trying to topple the Empire, well, a lot of people start reaching the higher levels of government after years of trying to push this way and that only to discover that actually running the Empire is a lot of work and a lot of people depend on it and on them to do their jobs. So they don’t exactly burn out, but they focus more on what good they can do, or at least, that’s the way it seems to work,” Rigby had said.

“How does the Empire maintain any sort of control?” Tykan had asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Rigby had started, only to reveal that it was anything but easy (at least to Tykan).

Depending on the industry, the Empire and local government owned various percentages of the businesses. For the case of energy production and basic elemental fusion, the Empire owned and operated roughly 95% of all the systems within the Empire, because it was classified as a utility. There were a few companies and individuals who also were in that same field, but they were largely middlemen who operated secondary or tertiary stations for private reasons. The WarpCom network was 100% owned and operated by the Empire and local governments, since this too was a utility.

From this point, it got a bit hazy. Due to the structuring of the Solar Credit and fabricator technology, the financial business was operated about 70% by the Empire, with the remaining 30% operated by opportunists (or gluttons for punishment, since they were often subject to the intense scrutiny of the IRS).

Basic imperial housing was made available to all citizens (the Empire owning roughly 40% of all available housing, excluding the 100% ownership in brand new colonies). It wasn’t flashy, but it was wholly covered by the Empire and any and all documented repairs or upgrades made to said housing out of fabricator allowances would grow logarithmically to an annual cap. The general theory behind this being that citizens should want to take care of their living spaces for however long they were there, and they should benefit from more than just the basics if they were taking steps to improve it.

Space elevators were wholly owned by the Empire and leased (on very VERY agreeable terms) to the local governments. Shipyards were required to allow a 20% imperial ‘priority’ stake (which would allow the Empire to ‘jump the queue’ for matters of urgent need).

Education was sponsored and mandated in part by the Empire (as well as five imperial higher education centers), but was not wholly owned and operated by the Empire.

Foods, crafting, entertainment (high and low types), and scientific research were all areas that the Empire held no official percentages in (which was strangely confusing to Tykan, given the massive investments which the Empire made into scientific research without owning it directly and immediately, unless a contract said otherwise).

Which had brought them roughly full circle to Rigby and Tykan. And then Rigby had asked.

“So what kind of job are you planning to do?”

Tykan hadn’t really stopped to think about that. He hadn’t even really thought about the fact that, now that he knew the Empire would be providing him official housing, he would most likely not be permitted to stay for much longer in the temporary ‘hotel’ housing.

The Empress had mentioned sending him a list of jobs that he could take on, but he hadn’t quite gotten to that part yet.

“I haven’t thought thaaaaat faarrrr,” he had said, his mouth mimicking Rigby’s and feeling more comfortable with the Terran Standard.

“Well, it’s not something you have to jump into immediately, but most decent jobs, especially for someone as special as yourself, could probably net you enough for a decent sub-dome,” Rigby had said.

Rigby had had to explain this as well. A sub-dome was a residence that was part of the Luna Dome network, but was subterranean. Due to the reasonably high expense and care that needed to be taken in excavating and constructing these subterranean homes, they were generally considered only available to those with the funds to lease the properties for their lifetime. Tykan had been unsure what Rigby had meant in all of this, but if he followed the language correctly, she was proposing that, due to his xeno status and citizen status, with the right ‘job’ or ‘jobs’, he would be eligible to receive sufficient funds for him to be well-housed for the remainder of his life in a very short period of time, particularly if he managed his funds well.

Tykan did have to admit, the thought was very tempting. But he also admitted, openly with Rigby, that the gravity on Luna was not to his liking and he would prefer to be free of the personal gravity harness. Rigby nodded and gestured at the just barely visible lattice in the sidewalks outside, despite their distance from the window, indicating Rigby’s own discomfort for relying on the gravity network.

At this point, Tykan was beginning to grow tired and indicated this to Rigby. Rigby had simply smiled and asked Tykan to come back to the cafe soon for them to discuss more. Rigby had then tapped the tablet and handed it to one of the guards, who observed the tablet, tapped it, and nodded to Rigby. Rigby explained that the guards now had their contact information if Tykan needed it.

And before they had parted, Rigby had offered Tykan a hug. Having been around Mac and aboard the human ship coming here, he had become accustomed to hugs as a form of parting expression and so he had hugged Rigby with four arms. Rigby had hugged him back with their two arms. It was warm and pleasing.

And the two had parted. Tykan had walked back towards the hotel and gone to his room. Today had been a very educational day. Maybe not the most successful, but if nothing else, he felt significantly more at home than he had when he had arisen from his burrow this morning.

He ended up having a few simple questions for the guards regarding the list the Empress had spoken of, which had resulted in the guards tapping one of the hotel room tablets and a variety of communications had come up. He spent some time in silence, reviewing the communications, and decided it was time to cleanse and retire.

The human-oriented bathroom appeared to involve variable temperature water in combination with low-frequency vibration midair which apparently cleansed the average human. It also had an option to abstain from utilizing the low-frequency vibration, but Tykan was entirely adrift from even the basics of cleaning. His preference would have been a coarse scrapping of his scales on different types of sand grains and then a wipedown with a cleansed fabric to ensure not too much excess dust remained.

While he contemplated this, he took the opportunity to relieve himself. Thank the Makers, the stars had seen fit to make the waste disposal facilities reasonably compatible between himself and humans.

He sent a light inquiry to the hotel staff as to when he would be asked to leave the hotel and if a more Tanosian friendly bathroom accommodation might be possible. He did not wish to exhaust the good will of the humans, but he also did not with his scales to darken and discolor from improper hygiene. The hotel staff had responded promptly that, per the direction of the local government, he was permitted to stay until he had been issued with a safe governmental accommodation, as was his right as a citizen. And as for the bathroom, they would be unable to reconfigure it at the present time, but would attempt to make the bathroom more Tanosian friendly the next day, if he could provide some relevant details.

He narrated (and had an algorithm check his Terran Standard) all the details he thought he could tell the hotel staff about a normal Tanosian bathroom, and, after a moment’s thought, appended a few images of Tanosian bathrooms which he was able to locate (with surprising ease), via the WarpCom.

Moving back over to the bed, he could see that the cleaning service of the hotel had replaced the bedding and pillows back atop the bed rather than underneath, where he had slept fitfully last night. An idea struck him and he asked the WarpCom search mechanism if humans made sleeping burrows.

He had to try changing the wording a few times, but with the image searches (and occasionally some strangely crude pictures involving humans mating or so he would have guessed), he believed he was able to locate the general idea of what he wanted. Carefully, he used objects from around the suite and constructed a ‘blanket fort’ atop the mattress. It wasn’t quite what a burrow should feel like, but it was much the right conformance.

And so, Tykan slid into his constructed burrow, thought about his day, and let his mind drift away into sleep.

The Collective (Part 45) - Sol

The Oort Cloud Stations of Sol were once part of the great refineries and manufactoriums of the 1st Sol Empire. They were represented the furthest successful reach of humanity as it was gathering its strength and resources to spring outward into the star.

Of the twelve original stations, only five remain, acting as minor mining hubs, military outposts, and, in one case, a ‘get-away-from-everything’ resort. They tend to be crewed by people of various odd professions, many of them just looking for someplace quiet and out of the way for a time. Some serve a sort of exile to those stations, for personal and professional reasons. And others still use the stations as a sort of jumping off point, a place to pick up new tips, tricks, and skills.

Out of the whole of the Sol System, the Oort Cloud Stations could be said to be the last major havens for criminals, big and small.

However, despite the criminal element being comparatively active, the law forces of Sol have been ordered to ‘keep it manageable’. Which is to say that the stations exist as havens because it is the will of the Empire that they continue to exist, lest the spread and turn up in other, unwelcome areas. And for their part, the leading criminal elements police their own, not wishing to create issues this close to Terra.

So it was little surprise that when the three heavily armed ‘cargo ships’ docked at adjoining stations at Oort Cloud Station 8, the station management made only a vague annotation in their records. It actually was more of an event when a small intra-system jump shuttle arrived at the station and docked alongside the ‘cargo ships’ and remained, rather than almost immediately returning to the inner system, such shuttles typically being rented for one way trips or emergency runs by the moderately powerful.

A broad chamber connected the corridors to the 4 vessels and was sealed at either end with a standard, but clearly aging series of airlocks, this chamber having only been repressurized with the first vessel’s docking. The hum of air, power, liquids, and people throughout the station seemed to keep the chamber from ever being fully silent and the air had a sort of metallic taste to it. The lighting in the chamber was surprisingly not dim but not excessively bright, due to the frequent choice of spacers to keep their vessels dark when not at a station or in overhaul.

From each of the corridors, the solitary figures came.

The first was dressed in a sort of greasy jumpsuit with a jacket of real cow leather and patches of old Terra sewn across it. The figure had no hat, but instead had a broad, dark beard which contrasted the figure’s bright red hair. An old looking sword with a classic plasma-cutting aug built into the hilt and activated by squeezing hung in easy reach at the figure’s waist.

The second was wearing a sort of flowing robe, and where on most people, the robe would have concealed the form of the wearer, somehow, this robe seemed only to highlight the strong musculature of the figure. A broad-brimmed hat of real cow leather sat atop the red face and silvery hair. The figure carried a sleek silvery sword, that seemed to drink the light at times, in a crystalline scabbard held in their left hand.

The third was wearing a sort of dress with many ornate colors and decorations on it. A sword of deceptively simple appearance was strapped to the waist of the figure and a pauldron of real Terran deer leather was strapped to the right shoulder of the figure. The figure’s pale face scowled beneath a tight head of dark hair.

The last was dressed in simple black garments, with a blood-red ornate coat that buckled around the figure and seemed to make the figure taller. An ornate, but clearly functional sword hung at the figure’s hip. The dark skinned face of the figure was impassive as the figure moved with clear purpose into the chamber with the other three.

The final figure stopped and the other three approached, their eyes searching the chamber around them for any signs of betrayal, but none letting their eyes leave the stopped figure for more than a moment.

“Empress Carolus of the 3rd Sol Empire,” the bearded figure said, bowing his head slightly.

“Dread Pirate Lord Blackbeard,” Empress Carolus addressed him and turned to the other two.

“Empress,” the other two said, not quite in unison.

“Dread Pirate Queen Bonny Anne and High Pirate Mistress Shih Ching,” the Empress addressed them.

None of the Dread Pirate namesake holders had ever officially met the Empress before, so it was a strange atmosphere for them all. Blackbeard felt the eyes of the Empress assessing him, taking his measure. He was not the youngest of the trio, and so had been measured by similar eyes in his career, but never had he felt the very measuring of his soul by the Empress. He chuckled inwardly, reflecting that, were it anyone but the Empress, he would consider himself truly violated.

Shih Ching, the warrioress of the trio and youngest, felt the eyes of the Empress taking her in. She raised her traditional pale face in defiance. She had claimed her title and she did not care what the Empress thought. She was here on the possibility of new hunting grounds. Whether those were the hunting grounds of her piratical kin or some other new territory, she cared not.

Bonny Anne, her red face bearing the marks of a comparatively hard life, felt the Empress take her in and willingly opened the gates within to the gaze of the Empress. She had grown tired of her namesake, but could not, in good conscience, pass it along yet. She had approached the other Dread Pirate namesakes for their willingness to partake in this event, for good or ill. Sadly, only Blackbeard and Shih Ching had agreed.

The trio waited for the Empress. After a few more moments, the Empress spoke.

“What is it that you seek?” she asked, her voice smooth, betraying nothing.

Bonny Anne spoke up.

“We saw the death of your Lightbringer and the marking of the world. We also heard about the Nostromo. This war with the Collective, is it true?” Anne asked, uncertain of how this meeting would go.

“We are at war and we have reason to suspect that they mean to kill or enslave humanity. At least, some of them,” the Empress said, her eyes still probing the trio.

“We want to have a chance at them, then,” Blackbeard said.

The Empress turned her eyes to him.

“And how is this different from how you three normally operate? I shouldn’t think you have any interest in the rules and wars of the Empire,” she said, Blackbeard feeling like a reed in a gale.

“We don’t, normally. But this is about us as a species and not even the namesakes can run forever on our own,” Anne said, flatly.

“Speak for yourself,” Shih Ching muttered.

The Empress ignored this comment and repeated her earlier question.

“What is it that you seek?”

“A privateer’s contract, including clemency for the current namesake and their crews, for the duration of the conflict,” Anne said.

The Empress tilted her head a little, taking this into consideration. Anne swallowed heavily. Privateers contracts were a practically ancient Terran concept that her second had brought to her. It allowed the government to effectively license pirates/privateers against enemy nations and granted a reasonable leniency for what would normally be highly illegal activity as well as an expunging of prior records. Blackbeard had been incredulous that the concept had even existed and the mere thought that the Empress would even consider those terms.

“And in return?” the Empress stated.

“Our crews will go with us into Collective territory, the far end where they no doubt feel safe, and do what we do best. Divide and conquer,” Anne said, getting a bit nervous with Shih Ching standing this close to her.

There was a moment’s silence, with only the hum of the station around them.

“I would have one more condition,” the Empress said.

Shih Ching looked almost ready to explode with rage. Blackbeard was on the verge of walking back to his ship. Only Anne was clearly still fixed in place, ready to face with the Empress.

“Decree Number One,” the Empress said, flatly.

The trio blinked. They had expected something, almost anything, but that.

“Could you tell us what you mean by that?” Blackbeard said, his boots suddenly feeling glued to the deck.

“The Empire does not abide slavery, even of xenos. If you’re going into action, your privateering contract will include that you are to attempt to free and arm as many slaves as you can manage. I don’t care if they join your crews, if you leave them to overthrow their governments, or if you simply kill their overseers and fly away. But I will not abide slavery,” the Empress said, her very presence becoming a sort of winter’s blizzard that seemed to chill even the roiling hot blood of Shih Ching.

Bonny Anne looked at her fellow Dread Pirates. They were thinking it too. She looked back to the Empress.

“And so shall it be, with the contract,” she said, feeling to be standing on the edge of a mountain, the winter’s wind almost suddenly abating.

The Empress looked to her left and out of a shadow that the trio would have sworn was empty, a figure in a void-black outfit stepped towards them. Shih Ching placed her hand on her sword, ready to draw it if the figure made so much as a wrong move. The figure seemed to ignore the trio entirely and reached out to hand the Empress a paper scroll.

The trio blinked even upon seeing the scroll. Paper was almost unheard of in the Empire and to see the Empress now holding a scroll seemed almost unreal.

The Empress looked at Bonny Anne and held the scroll out to her with an outstretched arm.

Anne stepped forward, reached out, and took it. Carefully, she unrolled the scroll, which turned out to be four scrolls, rolled as one. On each, in a fine hand that Anne would have sworn must have been several generations old, were the exact terms of the privateer’s contract as they had just discussed, including the Empress’ condition.

At the bottom of each scroll, was a large space, one specifically annotated for the Empress as the sole ratifying authority of the Empire, and a number of blank regions, each with a position for a blood marker. Such contracts were rare, even in the human pirate world, most contracts being enforced by debts to be paid, whether blood debt or financial. A blood marker contract would carry more weight in the human pirate world than any blood debt, and with the name of the Empress attached, would represent an unheard of precedence.

Anne gestured to Blackbeard and as he held the scrolls open, Bonny Anne placed her mark and her blood with her fingertip to two of the scrolls. Silence reigned as she took the scrolls from Blackbeard and he followed her example, signing alongside her on the top scroll and separately on another. Together, the two went to Shih Ching, their faces full of meaning. Shih Ching still didn’t like this, but her crew were restless with their hunting grounds and she had need to guide them to new ones. She signed as Blackbeard had, the first and final scrolls bearing her blood marker. Anne extended the scrolls back to the Empress.

The Empress took them, unrolled them and handed them to the shadowy figure, who hadn’t moved otherwise. With care, the Empress signed with her own blood marker on each of the contracts.

The paper contracts, now bearing blood, were separated. The Empress held onto the top one, which bore all four of their blood markers and, to each Dread Pirate, their contract with their blood marker and the Empress’.

The Empress also withdrew and handed to each Dread Pirate a chip. On it, she said, they would find some information on recommended ‘targets’ as well as those places that the Empire would rather the pirates didn’t go, if they were willing to heed the warning.

“The stars shall brook no more waiting,” the Empress said to the trio of Dread Pirates, indicating their meeting was at an end.

Silence reigned for a moment, until Bonny Anne, Dread Pirate, Queen, and bearer of her namesake, spoke quietly.

“And we shall not be found wanting.”

The Collective (Part 46) - 1337-BigStick

The torpedo that struck the side of the IMST Big Stick was the only warning the system received of the onslaught to come.

Mac was in his office, reviewing the latest information regarding the station preparations, the broken leases by vendors, and the equivalent figures for Station 1337, which was practically deserted aside from the primary station staff. No one, it seemed, wished to be on what would inevitably become a battlefield. Mac wasn’t ready to leave, but it seemed that time would come sooner rather than later.

The IMS Speaking Softly was due to arrive in several days to tow the Big Stick back into Imperial territory for the time being and until then, the Imperial Navy had assured Mac that the defense plans for the system would make certain that nothing happened to the station, so long as imperial citizens were aboard.

Mac hadn’t been wholly convinced and so had asked Hiram, the rest of the staff of the embassy, Rory, Munin, and Oorak to leave in advance of the station’s departure. The embassy staff, save Hiram, had agreed and departed without so much as a backwards glance. Mac had shaken his head and returned to his office to try and wrest some answers from the stars. Oorak, Rory, Munin, and Hiram had all refused, insisting on staying with the big human, something about them all being in this together.

Privately, Mac was grateful for the company. The station that had begun to fill with life, human and alien, now seemed almost utterly deserted. There were still several vendors who held out hope or who did not wish to abandon their leases, particularly when they had often paid handsome prices for the locations. The Centauri ramen shop had seen a lot of Mac and Hiram of late as a result, the lessors being an older couple who left the Centauri system for a chance to actually have the universe come by and experience what it was to be human. They always seemed to have a smile for Mac and Hiram and the place seemed to hit a special note with Oorak as well.

And then the first torpedo had struck the station, rattling the whole of the station with the force of the hit.

Mac was tossed from his chair and landed heavily on the floor. It hurt a bit, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He stood up, just in time for another torpedo to hammer into the station. He wasn’t quite ready for it and so he stumbled, just catching the edges of his desk to try and steady himself. His screens started to flash yellow and red warnings of impacts and depressurization in two different parts of the station, emergency bulkheads already working to keep the people who remained alive in their void-bourne station.

The war had arrived, it seemed.

__

Two more microwarp gates opened only half a light second from the Big Stick and two more torpedoes shot out of them, slamming into the station and making the massive station shudder.

Several of the Imperial Naval vessels decloaked and began moving to protect the station against further attacks.

The station master of 1337 was standing, trying to grasp what he was seeing. Four torpedoes had just hit the humans’ massive station and detonated and what’s more, according to his sensors, they had been fired by some manner of warpgate technology. But that sort of technology was impossible, wasn’t it?

__

The vessel that had been hovering at the edge of the system (and what they judged to be the range of the cloaked human vessels’ sensors) began to move in.

The Drugwer vessel Supremacy and Dominion released its pseudo-cloak field and powered inward, its presence having been announced by the four torpedoes.

Commander Evon, Section 6 of the Drugwer Authority, bared his teeth. He was looking forward to this. The humans had some marvelous innovations, but they were almost certainly no match for the Drugwer Authority and their use of large element systems would be their doom.

He felt his ship rock and, looking down upon his sensor operators, was informed that the human vessels had begun to fire upon his vessel. He gestured to raise the shields and prepare to return fire. He had some lessons to teach these fine new servants. But he also had to remember his orders.

He ordered the alpha torpedo loaded and fired at the human station. Best to go ahead and remove that blot from their territory once and for all, before swatting a few gnats.

__

Mac took advantage of the break in torpedoes impacting the station to run from his office to the living quarters, where one of the torpedoes had hit. He had no idea if it was intentional or not, but he needed to find everyone.

His head spun with all of the possibilities, finding them all safe, finding them all dead, finding them all having been blown into space, finding them all trapped, the list was endless.

“OORAK, HIRAM!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, desperate to be heard over the sirens that were sounding.

He could hear no response. Going to the door that was Hiram’s, it being nearest, he ripped it open and saw Hiram sitting on the floor, his books and files spilled from the various surfaces and shelves around him. He was sitting there, apparently stunned, holding his hand in front of his face. Mac didn’t realize it at first, but the hand that Hiram had in front of him was covered in blood. Mac shouted at Hiram, who still seemed dazed. He stepped into the room and slapped Hiram across the face.

Something must have rattled into place in Hiram’s head, as he almost immediately climbed to his feet, his daze completely forgotten.

“Get Rory and Munin out of here. That’s an order, Hiram,” Mac yelled, still trying to be heard over the sirens.

Hiram only nodded before Mac turned and ran for Oorak’s room. His memory helpfully bubbled up that her room was nearest the impact zone that had been shown on the diagrams in his office. He ran all the faster, faster than his legs had carried him in years.

As he rounded the corner, the entire end of the corridor was crumpled and shredded metal, an emergency bulkhead only just visible in the midst of it all. And Oorak’s room was right next to the whole of the metal pile.

Mac had to punch in the override code three times to get the door open, his fingers were trembling from the adrenaline coursing through his system. He’d have punched his way through the door, if it would have gotten him in faster.

“OORAK!” he cried out, the door now open and just beginning to take in the room. A third of the room had been crushed, clearly the work of one of the torpedoes. The rest of the room was a shambles, the various objects having been thrown around the room from the impacts. And Oorak was lying to one side, unmoving. In a picture frozen in Mac’s mind, he could see every detail of Oorak lying there, including the green blood that was slowly starting to soak her garments.

He wanted desperately, to scream, to cry, to hurt those who had hurt Oorak, his station, his people, but he couldn’t worry about that right now. Lives had to be saved in order for tomorrow to be worth living, and for all the jumbled mess that his mind was in that moment, reflexes and years of training kicked in.

Stumbling around the various objects around the room, he made it over to Oorak. She was still breathing, but had clearly hit her head, which was the source of the blood. Mac cradled her, feeling guilty. He should have made her leave. He should have made Hiram leave. He was one man in the scope of the empire. But they were his.

He stumbled his way out of the room and began the run to the central corridor. He just entered the entry to the office and the exit to the central corridor when the station shook from another impact. He clutched Oorak to his chest, feeling her green blood begin to soak his shirt. He didn’t care.

And then the siren changed and the emergency lighting began to flash purple.

‘No… no… not that…’ his mind seemed to scream at him, but his training overrode his instinct to freeze and, still cradling Oorak, grabbed the nearest announcer, hitting the All-Hands announcement button that Hiram had installed as part of the evac plans.

“All Hands, abandon station, all hands abandon station. We’ve just been hit by a ferrophage. The station will be destroyed. All hands abandon station,” he commanded into the announcer, before dropping it and running into the central corridor. Hiram and the two Borlians were waiting for them at the lifts.

“Go you fools!” Mac yelled.

“Not without you,” Rory bellowed back.

One of the lifts was there waiting for them, Hiram was already punching in the override code. Mac, holding Oorak, the two Borlians, and Hiram stepped into the lift and felt it shoot downward as fast as it would go. Hiram could only hope that the gravity harnesses worn by Rory, Munin, and Oorak would be enough to tolerate their equally fast deceleration.

The lift shuddered to an emergency halt and the doors parted, the group moving so quickly to get out of the lift, the doors weren’t even open all the way before they were all out and racing down the corridor. To get to the only remaining ships, they would have to pass through the foods district, which had taken a hit from one of the early torpedoes.

The group ran, seeing only a few other humans aboard the station, all moving in the same direction, towards the only docked vessels.

Mac glanced at the crumpled section as they passed through the foods district. A flicker of anger and rage filled his mind for just a moment that made him clutch Oorak to his chest a bit tigher. The Centauri ramen shop was utterly destroyed, a heap of half-melted beams and deckplates having burst through the side of the shop. Mac wanted to hope that the couple had gotten out, but right now, hope and time were not on his side.

Ferrophages were a banned imperial weapon, but apparently the attackers didn’t have such restrictions. Ferrophages could destroy just about any imperial vessel and could level cities if used improperly (or properly, depending on your point of view). They ate iron and replicated faster than any grey goo any imperial scientist had otherwise dreamed up. And iron, being so easy to fabricate via fusion, was a major structural material for the Empire, particularly given how well it could hold up in the depths of space (as long as there wasn’t too much oxygen).

The first and last doors to the last vessels still attached to the station were in the process of closing and there was only the middle one. At a glance through the window, it didn’t look terribly special, but in that moment, to the group, it appeared as beautiful as any vessel they had ever encountered or dreamed of.

A crewman waved for them to get aboard and the instant the group was boarded, the crewman slammed the hatch closed behind them.

Mac felt the vessel shudder as it quickly blew the docking links and the engines immediately thrusted, the g-force driving him to his knees. His heart pounded in his ears, his breathing so heavy, he wondered if he might ever catch it. Everything seemed to hit at once and he vomited all over the floor in front of him, somehow still clutching Oorak, who was still unconscious.

Hiram stumbled forward and tabbed into one of the screens, pulling up the aft cameras, to view the station.

It was almost beautiful.

The station seemed to glow, but was off-set from the normal balanced view, the star making the debris from the torpedo hits glitter in the dark of space. The rush of more and more gasses leaving the station became apparent as the ferrophage hit its stride in devouring the station. The station didn’t crumple or seem to shift any more than that, but instead seemed to be slowly dissolving.

And in his heart, Hiram felt nothing. No sorrow, no hatred, just… nothing. He had never felt so utterly lost. The ship leapt into warpspace and the view was lost from view.

In the background, he could just hear Mac’s words.

“Oorak, come on, wake up.”

The Collective (Part 47) 1337-BigStick

Commander Evon smiled, baring his fangs. It was so eminently gratifying to watch an alpha torpedo at work. He had fired several in covert actions in support of Section Six of the Drugwer Authority, but this was the first time he had ordered it fired on such a large target.

The human station Large Tree-Limb or whatever it was that they actually called it seemed to almost be dissolving in the face of the star, small sections having broken away, but making little difference other than as a minor navigational hazard.

He glanced at Station 1337. It would also have to go. Can’t have any witnesses contradicting the official story in the Collective.

He had already read the first draft of it. It lacked style, but got the point across. The Drugwer vessel had been sent to defend Station 1337 from the vicious humans, only to arrive too late to save the station, but were able to destroy the humans’ military vessels in retaliation. It was then that the human station had opened up its weapons upon the Drugwer vessel, the humans trying to spill Collective blood through senseless violence, and the Drugwer were forced to destroy the human station and captured a number of the human military vessel survivors.

Inelegant, but it was better than some of the official stories of his vessel’s prior actions.

“Status report on the gnats hovering around us,” he commanded to the sensor station.

“Sir, the sensors indicate only four vessels, all near the human station,” the operator reported.

“Any damage to them?” Evon mused.

“Nothing that our sensors indicate,” was the operator’s reply.

Evon was not a fool. He had seen the recordings of the prior actions in the system as well as the stories of the humans’ interdictions of cargo vessels and the events at the Mundivore chamber. He had no doubts that the humans were still here and in greater quantity than they were showing.

“What are the four human vessels doing?” he asked.

“They are not moving. They appear to simply be waiting,” the operator said.

“Any sign of weapons activations?” Evon probed. He was not about to be caught off-guard by these humans, even with his shields up.

“None, sir.”

Evon looked at the four ships on the monitor. They were probably a tenth of the size of his vessel and rather inelegant in their appearance, not the smooth lines that his ship commanded. It was said that if the Supremacy and Domination were to pass through an interstellar gas cloud, not a single atom would be carried with it unnecessarily.

“Activate the mass sensors and the warp gate inhibitor. I won’t have these humans running away on me. Not before I’ve had my fun,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him.

The humans seemed to take no notice of these efforts, but the sensor operator did. He gasped.

“What is it, sensor operator?” Evon commanded, before his second could inquire or command otherwise.

“According to the mass sensors, those vessels aren’t actually there,” the operator said, pointing to different points on his screens.

“Explain yourself,” Evon said, debating whether killing the operator and replacing him for incompetence would be simpler.

“We can see them, we can measure the neutrinos through their hulls from the star, we can even register the radiation from their reactors, but the mass indicator shows that there’s nothing there,” the operator tried.

“Your sensor must be malfunctioning. Perhaps you need a demotion to consider properly calibrating your instruments!” Evon bellowed at the operator.

“But sir, I did. I even ran it against Station 1337 and the human station’s masses. Those ships aren’t on the mass scanner,” the operator pleaded.

Evon glowered at the operator and then back to the screens. If this was a ruse, it was an especially good one. He hadn’t known its equal. He tried to guess what the humans would be playing at.

“Shield operator, status,” he commanded.

“No registered hits since we raised the shield. Shield at maximum power and efficiency. We can maintain this posture for several cycles if needed,” the shield operator said, confidently.

Evon was puzzled.

The humans hadn’t fired on them since he had raised the shields and now, they had several apparently mass-less vessels sitting near a dying station. It was some sort of game, the type where if you don’t understand the rules very quickly, you are very dead in short order.

“Probe those vessels with kinetic rounds. If they are illusions, we shall soon know then,” he said, sitting back on his dais.

“Anything else to report, Second?” he said, turning to his left, where his second could be seen hovering over several different screens.

“Nothing noteworthy, Commander. A few anomalous power spikes, but we attribute that to crew actions and the shield interacting with space debris,” his second dutifully reported.

“Very well,” Evon said and looked back at the screens, feeling the kinetic cannons open upon the human vessels in short controlled bursts for each vessel.

They were coming into close range, having been closing on the human vessels and the two stations, so the time he had to wait to hear the report was reasonably short, in stellar warfare terms.

“Impacts!” the sensor operator reported, highlighting the impacts as they happened on the visuals.

“So the human vessels are actually there,” Evon said to himself. He was still trying to guess what sort of game they were playing at, pretending to be massless.

“Are the human vessels doing any sort of station keeping to maintain position?” he asked, a thought having occurred.

“No, sir. They are entirely stationary, as though we didn’t even hit them,” the operator reported.

“That cannot be. They were hit by our weapons and physics would dictate that they would have to initiate action to not move otherwise,” Evon said, wondering how the sensor operator’s jellied lungs would taste as a soup.

“Yes, sir, but they are not moving or emitting any extra energy,” the sensor operator meekly replied, sensing the mood of his Commander.

“Replay the mass sensor logs on those vessels,” the Second commanded.

“Do you have a theory, Second?” Evon asked.

“Perhaps they can manipulate their mass indications and so could perhaps mitigate their inertia as well as the inertia of the rounds. That way, they could be taking hits and because of this manipulation, it does virtually no damage,” the Second suggested.

“Impossible. But fine, if that’s the way they want to play, we shall simply remind them of what we are capable of,” Evon said. “Load another alpha torpedo!”

“Sir, if I may?” his Second asked.

“What is it, Second?” Evon said, looking down on the Drugwer officer.

“You might be able to secure their surrender already and then you would have the opportunity to wrest from them the secrets of their military technologies, like the false mass readings,” his Second said.

“You are quite right, Second. Communications, power up our WarpCom and prepare to transmit in the open to those four ships. I want to hear them beg for their lives,” Evon said, his fangs bared again.

Several minutes later, a link was established with one of the vessels, but the communications operator indicated that it was also being watched by the other three vessels.

On the screen, a human with a dark face and fuzzy hair in a brown uniform of some sort was facing the monitor.

“Are you the vessel commander?” Evon demanded.

“I am,” the human said, the tone even.

“Surrender and I shall let most of your crew live. This system is property of the Collective and you have violated the terms of the ceasefire by attacking the Capital,” Evon pressed.

The human was silent for a moment, the face unchanged in the face of the annihilation that Evon was ready to unleash upon him.

“No,” the human said.

“What did you say?” Evon hissed.

“I said no,” the human said.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Evon demanded, his claws gripping the edges of his dais.

“It means no,” the human said, in that same flat tone.

“Then I will destroy you first,” Evon hissed and gestured for the channel to be cut.

“You can try. But I believe you’ve already lost,” the human said, baring their teeth.

For the first time ever in his life, Evon felt a small chill run through his nervous system. Something about the way the human was looking at him and with those teeth displayed, it triggered in Evon something that no other being had ever made him feel.

Evon blinked. The human was still on the screen.

“Cut the link,” he ordered the communications operator.

“He won’t be able to do that,” the human said, before the communications operator could speak.

“And why not?” Evon said, glowering at the human once more.

“Because the instant you opened communications, you lost. Because the instant you opened fire on our station, you lost. And because when we teach you about why you don’t declare open war on civilians, you will understand the loss to the empire in every fiber of your being,” the human said, leaning forward, his face filling the screen.

Those eyes, those accursed eyes seemed to bore into Evon. He felt another chill run through his nervous system.

“If you could defeat us, you would have prevented the station from being destroyed,” Evon said, defiantly.

“We’re not all-powerful. But seeing as you offered us slavery or death, as you would wish on every human, well, that is something we cannot abide,” the human said, sitting back from the screen.

“All shall kneel before the Collective!” Evon cried out, to be joined a moment later by his bridge crew.

The human made a sort of smile that did not show the human’s teeth. There was something about it that was offensive, but Evon wasn’t entirely certain why. It just was.

“Get this primate off my screens,” he ordered again.

“We can’t!” the communications operator moaned. “Not without shutting down all communications.”

“Oh and by the way, you might want to have a chat with the people controlling your environmental system,” the human said, the offensive no teeth showing smile still on their face.

“Second, report!” Evon managed.

“Temperatures are falling on all decks!” his Second exclaimed.

Evon froze. As a Drugwer saurian, his people could tolerate only brief amounts of cooler temperatures without going into hibernation. He looked back at the human.

“This can’t possibly be your doing,” he sneered, before turning to his Second. “Fix it!”

“Oh but it is. Our boarding crew specializes in sabotage. We just appreciate the fact that we’ll get to capture you all for questioning,” the human said, leaning forward again.

“What… boarding… crew?” Evon managed, starting to feel the creeping cold of the room hitting his system.

“You know those power spikes you probably dismissed? That was a deployment gate. Very handy when you only get one shot into enemy territory,” the human said.

Evon shook his head, but it failed to clear. He had only two options. Fight or self-destruct. He refused to surrender. He had too much knowledge to be captured as did his crew. And as much as he wanted to fight, he had been out maneuvered. His thoughts were coming slower and slower as his body cooled, trying to drag him into hibernation.

He pressed his lowest finger against a hidden panel, which opened a second panel with a protected button. He twisted away the protection and positioned his finger over the button. Half of the bridge crew was already deep into hibernation and the rest were still trying to stay awake. He looked back at the human.

“We die first, human!” he growled and pressed the button.

The Supremacy and Domination detonated in a massive series of fusion explosions.

Aboard the IMS Alestorm, the captain watched the link break and the massive Drugwer vessel turn into little more than a navigational hazard.

“Did we get our crew back?” he asked his first officer.

“We did. I didn’t suspect they’d try blowing up their ship, but it’s always a good precaution to get back quickly once the work is done. If they’d run, we could also have used the gate to track them,” his first officer reported.

“Too bad. I was just starting to enjoy his company. Get me a link to Station 1337. I think some of the files we recovered are going to be of interest to the beings there.”

The Collective (Part 48) - Empire

Sol System - Undisclosed Location

Several Terran days had passed since the assault and destruction of the IMST Big Stick. It hadn’t helped. If nothing else, the people of the empire were baying to go and fight.

The Empress reflected heavily on this. Her people wanted to fight back. But they saw only the opportunity for retribution. Not the greater defense of the species, which was what this almost certainly might come to. And unchecked, the people of the empire would become a sort of mob, trampling their own and even the innocents who played no part, in their eagerness and rage-induced blindness for ten or hundredfold retribution.

She had listened as the generals and high admirals had debated on their strategy, as the intelligence agents had given their customary briefs on the latest development, and as all the different bits of information were played for them to digest. Coming up through the ranks, she had learned that people often needed useful direction. Even if it was just a bit of a nudge, it was better than to allow them to drift aimlessly.

In the end, she ordered the system governors and the imperial forces to begin organizing the citizens. If the citizens wanted to fight, they could fight. But there would also be order. She was not about to permit the Empire to dissolve into mob tactics.

Two of the military officers had objected at first, but when she pointed back to war to end the 2nd Sol Empire with the would-be Emperor Icon, they both quieted quickly. He had been in charge of controlling what should have been little more than a rebellious mob, and it was generally agreed upon that without his guidance, the campaign would have cost many MANY more lives and might not have even been successful.

She had other orders as well. The system governors were to begin unlocking templates and ordering retrofits for all volunteer vessels, focusing on defense. Planetary defense systems were still relatively rare and were largely intended to target asteroids and comets, not warships. After that, she had dismissed them.

With the system governors out of the room, she turned to the generals, admirals, and intelligence agents. She ordered Charon awoken, Hermes deployed, and the fortresses awoken.

The Fortress Stations of Ural, Rockies, Andes, Alps, Himalayas, and Karakoram housed some of the most massive fusion and creation systems ever created by the empire. Capable of carrying more than ten thousand beings each and built to withstand solar plasma impacts at deep coronal orbit at a minimum, they made the IMST Big Stick pale in comparison. Together, they could indefinitely control the whole of the Sol System, if it came to that, but their vessel creation capabilities were what the Empress wanted from them now.

Turning to the intelligence agents, all of them nameless, even in the face of the Empress, she asked: “What news from the Well?”

The intelligence agents had no news to report other than Thoth having arrived and work being underway. The Empress merely nodded at this, despite the confused looks by several of the generals and admirals. She ignored this and proceeded.

“What is their next target?” she pressed the intelligence agents.

A different agent stepped forward this time.

“Empress, we believe the Avorias are preparing to claim additional Collective territory and species as their own, so their next assault will be on their primary opposition: The Blingoth homeworld.”

__

The Departed

The former chairbeing and Chikit had remained in their quarters the whole of the trip thus far, but they would soon be arriving and there would be no avoiding it.

The former chairbeing had despaired. He had read of the humans’ history, of their laws. They would be under no obligation under the current circumstances to offer him, Chikit, or any of the beings on this vessel any mercy. But something inside him fed him hope. He had remembered reading the reports of the big human ambassador, ‘Mac’. More clumsy than malicious. Friendly and expressing not even a little xenophobia. It was almost anomalous how well the human had gotten on with the assembled Collective species. He had even taken to holding ‘poker nights’, which seemed to be a sort of covert intelligence gathering combined with social interactions, which the former chairbeing considered to be quite reasonable. Any new species would be curious about their stellar neighbors and covert probing through social interactions, especially repeated social interactions, often lead to successful intelligence gathering.

But the way the human did it, it read more like the human (and later involving his aide as well) was conducting the exercise simply for the joy of the social interactions, despite the increasingly limited return on trade and intelligence value. That didn’t make sense to the former chairbeing. In general theory, the human ambassador should then have begun to curtail these ‘poker nights’, focusing instead on other avenues of covert intelligence gathering.

Chikit woke up from their rest and observed that they were still in warpspace. The former chairbeing checked the readouts the captain of the vessel had graciously provided to him via a tablet. It wouldn’t be long now.

“So what do we do when we meet the humans?” Chikit asked, shaking their fur back and forth a bit to prevent mats from having slept on it.

“From my knowledge of human law, which isn’t great, but is probably the best we have, I’ve drafted some basic language which says that we are political refugees seeking asylum in the Empire,” the former chairbeing said.

Chikit ruffled their fur a bit.

“Refugees? Not defectors?” Chikit asked.

“No. Unfortunately, or fortunately, there’s virtually no mention of defection in human law. Whereas there are several major documents on the acceptance, treatment, and legal status of refugees. Normally, it appears that these apply primarily to rogue human colonies, but the language seems open enough that we should qualify. Or at least, most of the rest of the beings on the ship will. You and I, well, that may be a different matter,” the former chairbeing said, slumping a bit.

“Why?” Chikit pressed, standing and ordering a small container of vegetation from the organic fabricator.

“Because you and I are or perhaps were politically important. At least in terms of discussions between the humans and the current leadership of the Collective,” the former chairbeing answered, setting down the tablet and looking out into the strange twists and light of warpspace.

Chikit, who was beginning to eat the vegetation, seemed to be taking this into consideration. Quiet reigned between them, broken only by Chikit’s chewing and the hum of the functions of the ship around them.

“This would be much easier if we had all simply agreed to be friends,” Chikit said, once half of the vegetation had been eaten.

“For wishes are as numerous as stars in the skies, that may be the one that I would say would have been the one I would also wish, knowing what I do now,” the former chairbeing said, standing and moving to the organic fabricator. “But for now, we can only believe that the little respect we are given is greater than any malice we have earned.”

__

Imperial Merchant Ship General Toyoda

Hiram paced like a caged animal. Rory and Munin watched him, having been unable to talk the human down. He was clearly upset and something in the action was somehow calming him. Given their recent experiences with humans, they were inclined to let Hiram pace and to talk with him as he indicated that he needed to communicate.

Mac and Oorak were in the vessel’s meager infirmary. It was only one tiny space wide, but somehow, the human had squeezed himself in, so as to sit alongside the bed in which Oorak recovered. She had lost a good bit of blood, but, thanks to the biocompatibility with humans, the vessel’s automated medical system was able to provide her some medical aid beyond simply closing the wound on her head. She was much slower in recovery though, her species not being as durable as Borlians or humans.

In the eyes of Rory and Munin, Mac had looked manic, almost broken as he had clutched Oorak to himself. It had taken two of the fellow former station occupants to guide Mac to the medical bay and more than a little effort to get him to set her down for the automated medical system to begin working. He hadn’t left her side the entire trip except for excretions. He even slept beside her, holding one of her hands in his own much larger hand.

She had woken up some during the trip, but had quickly fallen back asleep under the watch of the automated medical system as her blood loss was slowly replenished. Rory and Munin knew nothing of Blingoth medicine, but they were familiar enough with Collective species to know that had this been anything other than a human vessel, Oorak would have been as good as dead, medical facilities or not. Herbivore species tended not to have the best medical facilities or technologies, relying on the inborn strength of the species more than anything else. Borlians generally considered this to be of poor consideration, having forcibly modifying their whole species to be more durable and stronger than their homeworld could naturally provide. They were well aware of the dangers of space and would not have been able to colonize half of the planets in their territory if they had not self-modified.

Eventually, one of the crew members came to the chamber where the two Borlians and Hiram were. Glancing at Hiram, the crew member came to Rory and Munin and suggested the three rest as they were still several hours away and it was time for the vessel’s ‘night cycle’. Rory and Munin nodded, with Rory giving Munin a sideglance.

Hiram continued pacing, apparently lost in his thoughts.

Munin stepped up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Hiram flinched and stopped pacing, looking at Munin as though he hadn’t realized Munin was even there. As if on cue, the vessel’s lights dimmed. Munin said nothing, but looked meaningfully into Hiram’s eyes. There was something there, something different that Munin wasn’t sure of.

It was strange to see their humans acting in this way. Mac had appeared almost broken at even the thought of losing Oorak and Hiram had been extremely agitated since they had left the station. Munin had never seen the like. Munin had always felt comforted by the presence of both of them and now, there was a sort of edge to their very presence, like they were just barely holding back a sort of compressed rage. But even as Munin watched in the eyes of Hiram, that sort of compressed rage seemed to dissolve or at least became more hidden within as he looked at Munin. A bit more of the Hiram that Munin knew well.

Munin nodded towards a bunk, opting to not speak in this moment for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to Munin. Hiram looked away from Munin and stared vaguely at the bunk.

Hiram had hit his head on something during the initial attack, but his body had taken care of it without medical assistance. His biggest need had been for cleansing the blood from his exterior. Even now, Munin could see the scab which seemed to peak through Hiram’s hairline.

Hiram seemed to register the bunk then and moved over to it. Munin allowed Hiram to climb it first, the human not bothering to disrobe, and then climbed in after him.

Munin wrapped their arms around the human and seemed to focus their whole being on the breathing and heartbeat of the human. Slowly, it seemed, Hiram fell asleep, exhaustion taking its toll on him. Satisfied that he might at least find peace in rest, Munin pulled themselves against him and also fell asleep. It wasn’t much, but Munin hoped that for their humans’ sake, it would be enough.

The Collective (Part 49) - Tykan

Tykan’s head spun a little as he emerged from his constructed burrow. It had been a long series of days and he had to admit that he was more than a little confused by all the happenings.

Firstly, he had gone to see Rigby with the hotel provided tablet, loading up the communications of work offers. There were so many and he was so confused by the language in each of them. And while he appreciated the help of his bodyguards to help filter a few out (the hows and whys of their filtering was more than confusing to him), he had wanted a more human approach, ideally where it could be explained why certain jobs might be better than others.

Rigby had smiled at this gesture and had sat with him for some time, dismissing some of the offers as ‘lowball’ and others as ‘loaded’. Tykan didn’t quite understand what Rigby meant by this, but the list had been slowly narrowed considerably. In the end, there were about a dozen interview jobs that were requested to which Rigby said he should take them all and should refuse to promise exclusivity to any of them. He was admittedly confused as to why any of them should want exclusivity of the interview, but he was willing to follow Rigby’s advice.

The first three interviews had been a bit difficult. He had had significant trouble getting into the rhythm of how the different interviewers seemed to function. And the way they smiled seemed more predatory than kind. This bothered Tykan, but he tried to brush it off as humans being humans.

Then the events of Big Stick had happened and, Tykan being the only xeno of the whole of the Empire, he became a sort of symbol. His communications system seemed to almost explode with offers for jobs and no small number of threats. He had been most surprised by the threats. While he had been a representative, the only threats he had received were well camouflaged. These were bold and open and often very violent in their terms. At one point, his guards had found him nearly cowering in his burrow from reading some of the messages.

They had then done something, he wasn’t quite sure what, but his communications had changed. They had dramatically reduced and he wasn’t seeing any of the threats anymore. He wondered why this was, but was somehow under the impression that it was something being done by beings much more important than him. His guards also seemed to know things about people. Unusual things. He wasn’t afraid of them, but he never felt entirely safe around them either.

Rigby hadn’t tried to explain it to him. Rigby had simply gestured at them with a sort of dismissal. It was… odd. Rigby didn’t like them, but seemed to consider them as a sort of… background, something to be ignored while Tykan was in the foreground.

And so he had conducted several other interviewers, two or three of which tried to steer the conversation around the events of Big Stick, but, with Rigby’s advice, Tykan had pushed back, asking the interviewer about seemingly major local events on Mars or the Ross colonies or the Centauri colonies. After all, he was here, he was a citizen, and he was very obviously not involved with the attack on the Empire. One of the interviewers had tried asking a few loaded questions, but Tykan had settled for dissecting the questions during the live broadcast, focusing on making the interviewer appear a fool looking for a means to target Tykan. Rigby had confessed after that interview that Rigby had laughed heartily at the way he had made the interviewer begin to fumble (and nearly end the interview early by the looks of things).

All in all, he just felt adrift. There was so much going on and he wasn’t certain that what he was doing was what he should be doing.

Rising from his burrow, he entered the bathroom. The hotel humans had done a marvelous job, providing a large space of different sands, some more coarse, some finer. His scales had never looked so good, at least outside of a professional scale polish, which he had only minor experience with. They had even adjusted the excretion facilities so that he could more easily use them.

He gave his scales a brief polish with some of the finer sands and observed himself in the reflective surface. It seemed strange that he was both an outcast from his society and so embraced by human society. There had been the threats, but Rigby had taken two of his hands in Rigby’s and explained that humans were often prejudiced against what they did not understand and tended to prefer simple incorrect assumptions to more complex truths. But that it was by no fault of his own that those threats had been made. And, if Rigby had any reasonable guesses, the threatmakers were almost certain in more trouble and scrutiny than they might prefer.

Tykan had not understood this, because, wasn’t he just another citizen of the empire, xeno or not? And Rigby had explained that while he was just another citizen of the empire, he was important because he was a xeno. He had lived beyond the Empire, something only a few humans did willfully, and that made him special.

Tykan had also noticed that business in the cafe seemed to be a bit busier when he was there, although no one except Rigby dared approach him. He had seen their eyes and tasted their various emotions, but their eyes and emotions had soured upon looking from him to his guards. He didn’t like that part. He wanted to meet more humans like Rigby, but it seemed that not all of them were as brave as Rigby.

He checked his communications on the wall screen instead of the tablet and one of them was from Imperial Financial, a sort of bank that was run by the government. As a citizen, he automatically had an account with them, even if he had no balance. He was still coming to terms with the numbers he was seeing, but based on a comparison of WarpCom prices, he appeared to be sufficiently wealthy in Solar Credits to buy several very nice sub-domes or their equivalents on other worlds, at least for the duration of his expected lifespan and then some. He still wasn’t certain why he should want to spend that sort of wealth though.

He thought back to before he was even a representative to the Collective. His burrow had been familial, sharing burrow tunnels with several of his siblings. They had not been exceptionally wealthy, living high on the hill as it were, but weren’t in the river bed either. For his work as representative, he had been given access to spaces much greater than he could have hoped for at home, but had still only been provided a reasonable economic means of living, unable to afford the very expensive luxuries, but well able to provide for himself and mates if he wanted them.

And here in the Empire, it seemed that even those who acquired wealth were most rewarded by spending their wealth, rather than hoarding it. It was a strange system, having to do with the movement speed of currency. He wasn’t quite sure of what that meant, not being an economist or having training beyond the basics of finance, but it suggested to him that he should use his money in ways to benefit himself and others as a community.

He pondered what he might do. Per the rules of the empire, he was free to long-term lease property anywhere in the empire, including on worlds that the empire claimed, but did not currently have a colony on. This seemed rather fanciful for all its grandeur, so he set that to the side. He did like Luna, but found the gravity a tad annoying. In theory, if he built a subdome or purchased an existing one, he could set the gravity within to his liking.

Mercury was a designated facility for the Empire, focusing on high energy high proton element refinement, so purchasing there would be out of the question.

Venus and its cloud cities were remarkably tantalizing, but he didn’t like the idea of forever being in the peak of the skies, he and his people even now enjoying the comforts of the land.

Terra was technically available, but, from everything he had learned of Terra, he would be most obliged to visit only, not live there.

Mars was still an attractive option, but based on the indications from the Empress, he wasn’t certain that he should go there to live, especially from the little bits he had read about their on-going civil war between North and South (even if it was on hold at the moment).

And the moons of Jupiter and beyond were far too cold for his liking and the star nowhere near bright enough at that distance, even if they were lit by the gas giant.

In theory, if he wanted to build his own space platform, he had that option as well, whether it was something mobile or something stationary. He need only apply to lease the relevant space for a given period of time and purchase the vessel or platform in question, custom built to his requirements.

But there was something about the idea of being all alone that made him shrink back from that idea. Even if he hired a crew, he didn’t know what he might do beyond cargo hauling or perhaps acting as a sort of mobile trader. And that wasn’t really his style. But he had to wonder, if that wasn’t his style, what was?

He didn’t want to sit and do nothing but exist. He wanted to be a part of it all. And there was something about the way Rigby had sparkled a bit when Rigby had spoken of their love of history.

Tykan was only just learning bits and pieces of Terran history, but it seemed a hundredfold more interesting to hear it told by a human than to simply read the various articles that seemed to fill the network.

And that when it hit him. Rigby had said that humans valued crafts and foods, things that were imperfect but had a style all their own. It was the entire basis for Rigby’s business (and many other businesses by the looks of the WarpCom links). He was not an artist, nor a craftsbeing, nor a foodmaker. But perhaps his newfound wealth might let him share his culture with the humans and whether he succeeded or failed, he would have tried.

Taking up the nearby tablet, he began to brainstorm all that he would need. It wouldn’t be simple, he realized, but maybe, just maybe, he could bring a little bit of his home here to share with the humans, or even just Rigby.

The Collective (Part 50) - Tykan

Tykan sat back from his machinations. The tablet seemed to be filled with all of his ideas and requirements and plans for his Taste of Tanos. He’d even begun reviewing the whole of the equipment and training of non-Tanosians to prepare the various ideas he had cooked up. But he had to ask himself: was this what he wanted to do or was it just something he thought he should do?

He thought back to his home on Tanos. Everyone worked once they were of age. It wasn’t wholly voluntary, but it wasn’t wholly compulsory either. It was just the way it was. Organic fabricators weren’t cheap, but they could be operated at a reasonable expense, as long as you didn’t use the expensive templates.

That was a difference, he noticed. In the Collective and Tanosian space, you could only rent templates for a period of time or a number of uses. After that, you needed to pay again, and oftentimes, templates depended on who had created them and a certain level of scanning resolution.

Whereas in human society, you could rent templates for a number of uses or you could outright purchase them for personal lifetime use. But they were specifically linked to you. So a friend could own a lifetime copy of a template to a particular food or design, but in order for you to enjoy it also, your friend would need to create it for you using their fabricator cycles, which they purchased with their Solar Credits if it was beyond their standard allotment. Otherwise, you would be required to rent or buy the template yourself.

The human system seemed like it shouldn’t work, but since almost anyone with a scanner of decent resolution could scan any of their own creations and make it available for rental or purchase. And apparently, there were people who’s entire jobs seemed to revolve around the sampling of different templates of the same time and to provide a comparison or contrast between the different templates. And different creators seemed to draw on different sources of inspiration, some of which depended on their own personal histories, their relative experiences within the empire, and even what colony they were at.

Tykan wondered if the humans ever seemed to run out of ideas, what with all the humans creating new templates for all different applications. This was apparently a question that human scholars had also asked and those humans had answered that this would never truly be problem as long as humans continued to progress scientifically and explore outward, discovering new forms of life, even if it was only in the forms of plants and microbes (these documents having been written prior to first contact with the Collective and not having been amended as yet).

And so innovation and science were rewarded in the Empire. Which wasn’t to say that science wasn’t rewarded in the Collective, but it tended to be more regulated and focused on many repeated results and collective good, rather than discovering why certain research deadends were deadends or if they were deadends at all or simply new branches of science all together. And since the humans conducting the research were often personally or privately employed, they were frequently established in either groups with other researchers or were staged in semi-isolated locations as their research either required isolation due to the sensitive nature of their work or due to the volatile nature of the work or, and Tykan shook his head at this, often both.

He looked at the clock and realized that it was past lunchtime and he hadn’t been out of his room yet today. Stretching, he hadn’t realized how accustomed he had become to his daily walks around the dome. He thought about that a bit. In theory, living in the dome should have felt restrictive, as he was unable to simply walk beyond it without taking measures, but it didn’t.

He hadn’t been to the other domes, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing stopping him from going there either. There were even some regular trams that ran from dome to dome and to the various space elevators. It just didn’t seem to occur to him to go out exploring much more than he already had.

Perhaps he should ask Rigby to show him more of the Lunar history. He donned a wrap that covered most of his scales appropriately, but contrasted the color of his visible scales in an aesthetically pleasing way (at least to him) and headed out for a walk.

__

Some time later, he arrived at Rigby’s cafe. It was nearing closing time and so he did not plan to stay for too long, but did wish to request Rigby’s assistance in learning more Lunarian (and human) history.

Rigby was behind the counter, looking a bit flustered. He was learning to read humans’ faces in lieu of simply smelling/tasting their emotions, especially since he didn’t always understand what he was tasting or smelling. But the beads of sweat, slightly reddened face, and slightly ruffled hair (despite it being short compared with most human females) seemed to indicate that Rigby was preoccupied.

Tykan thought perhaps it would be best if he did not intrude and so turned to exit. Rigby apparently caught sight of him about to leave and called out to him, their peculiar smile seeming to fill their face and despite the indications previously, seemed all the more welcoming. Tykan turned back around and walked to his usual table, his guards forgotten behind him.

Rigby walked over after a few moments of conversation behind the counter and seemed to throw themselves into the seat opposite.

“My apologies, Tykan. It’s been a long day,” Rigby explained.

Silence seemed to reign between them for a few moments as Rigby seemed to be mentally decompressing, something that Tykan observed a few times before, but was conducted for various reasons by most species, simply in different manners. Once Rigby had reached a sort of calm decompressed mental state or appeared to at least be less tense in Tykan’s eyes, he spoke.

“I’d like for you to tell me more about human and Lunarian history,” he said, trying to have it come across as more of a friendly inquiry rather than a demand for information.

Rigby leaned back and blew out a stream of air.

“Well… that could be just about anything.... Do you have somewhere you’d like to start?” Rigby asked, after a moment’s thought.

Tykan had to take a moment to consider this. It was a bit like asking someone to recount the histories of before the TUB as well as the histories since the founding of the TUB, he realized now, and he would be hard pressed to tell even a fraction of his own people’s history. He tried to think through his conversations with Rigby for a good place to start.

“You mentioned residents of Terra are post-nukes once. Is that a matter of historical importance?” he tried.

Rigby leaned forward a bit and nodded readily.

“Oh yes. It’s actually what you might call a species defining event, a Great Filter, if you take my meaning,” Rigby said.

“Great Filter?” Tykan asked, having not come across this particular term or concept, at least not by that description.

“A chain of events or actions which ultimately may lead to the collapse and demise of a given species. Generally, only sentient species, but part of that depends on whether a species is likely to develop sentience in the longer scope,” Rigby explained, waving a hand to suggest that this was something of an oversimplication of the greater concept. Rigby had used the gesture before, so Tykan opted to focus on the matter at hand.

“And this ‘post-nuke’ was a Great Filter?” he asked.

“It was more than that. It changed all humans,” Rigby said, their eyes seeming to glow with a sort of inner light.

And so Rigby began to explain. Before the founding of the 1st Sol Empire, Terra was broken up into combative nation-states, each claiming sovereignty over segments of the land. By this point in their history, they had made several reaches into space, slowly improving their technology for many in their population, but still suffering from broad inequities. Then had come fusion energy production. This had apparently shifted the scope of power between the various nation-states and so tensions had risen dramatically.

In the midst of the rising tensions, a group of nation-states had banded together and used their resources to found a lunar colony. Dome 1 or what was then called ‘United Luna One’. The nation-states made significant efforts to make the colony productive and meaningful for the population on Terra, particularly offering up a non-insignificant section of the colony for off-planet fusion production to help ease a number of on-going debates with environmental concerns about fusion on Terra. And for a period of time, it had been accepted, and tensions had cooled, allowing for Dome 2 to be constructed and additional members of the population to visit, as the first space elevator was constructed between Dome 1 and 2.

Around the time that Dome 2 was completed, an archival effort was created by a Dr. Bremton, a comparatively minor materials researcher prior to this effort. At his insistence, a vast wealth of human knowledge, genetic codes, and empirical knowledge for using those genetic codes were stored on specially designed carbon rods and brought to Luna for deep storage. There was even a recovery and re-containment of the contents of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault to Luna, due to encroachment issues on Terra and the significantly reduced operating costs of lunar containment.

The archival effort ended up taking several years and was technically in the process of vetting additional archival knowledge for preservation when the trigger event happened. A rogue group of some type of environmental concern, spawned from one of the anti-fusion arguments, took a fusion core to a place called ‘Yellowstone’, apparently some manner of volcanic activity, and forced it to detonate. They apparently, per some of the recorded history of the event, believed that only by attempting something comparatively major would they receive attention necessary to address their concerns.

As a result of the detonation, a series of geological events were set off. This ‘Yellowstone’ was apparently on the verge of detonating of its own accord and so released a massive burst of volcanic plumes, a majority of one of the continents being rendered temporarily inhospitable as ashes and various gases were emitted along with molten rock which spread a considerable distance. This in turn triggered tectonic tremors throughout Terra, causing widespread disasters which impacted massive cross sections of the population, not simply those who built their burrows too close to the metaphorical riverbed.

Because of the many dead or wounded as well as the issues with available land, many in different populations pushed to enter other nation-states with or without appropriate permissions. This led to a number of violent and escalating violent encounters, which left further sections of the population dead. Perhaps worst of all was that several of the nation-state leaders of the time sought to use this opportunity to consolidate their power over increasing portions of land. Which led to the ultimate event.

Humans had developed and used in combat against each other fusion and fission weaponry, but, due to population outcry, had significantly curtailed it except as a means of mutual destruction. (Tykan was confused by this concept, mutual destruction seeming to serve little to no purpose, especially when dealing with potentially species ending weaponry.)

And so, several of the leaders of nation-states had ordered the use of their ‘nukes’ in defense of their perceived territories. This had led to many other nation-states, feeling that they might also be attacked, releasing their own ‘nukes’ to also defend.

From the point of view from the residents of Dome 1 and 2, this seemed to cause Terra to shudder as the skies of Terra were filled with radioactive particles, which commingled with the volcanic gases and ash in the skies already and brought the whole of Terra into an extinction level event. Much of Terra was coated in radioactive materials, ash, and ice, killing many in less than a full solar cycle, and killing many of the rest in comparatively short order after that. Only one launch from Terra was attempted in that final time, in an attempt to evacuate a segment of the remaining population. (Rigby had their own theory on just ‘who’ was on that vessel.) But that vessel had exploded shortly after launch and so the only remaining humans were those few hundred of the Luna colonies.

And since then, technically, all humans were descended from those Lunarian colonists, even the ones who now lived back on Terra.

Tykan was agog. The concepts and history that Rigby told him of seemed almost unthinkable, and yet, somehow, for everything he knew of humans, it fit. He wasn’t sure why, but it fit. But he could tell that he had somehow only gotten a fraction of the story.

Rigby explained that even Rigby didn’t know exactly all the happening and that there were many hundreds if not thousands of histories (and fictional accounts) about the Great Filter Event of Terra. It was just too big of an event for the Lunarians of the time to have fully captured adequately.

The lights of the cafe dimmed and Rigby waved to the person who was leaving the counter.

“Time to lock up for one day. I hope I answered you, at least a little,” Rigby said, smiling.

“You have given me much to consider. Also, are you aware of the current occupation of other segments of this building?” Tykan asked.

“I am. There are several vacancies presently, but that is an uncommon condition,” Rigby said, their face changing to what Tykan took to be a bit of confusion.

“I have an idea and I’d like your opinion. I would like for you to finish and then that we might walk together as I explain my idea,” Tykan said, feeling strangely self-conscious.

“Sure! I’d love to hear your idea,” Rigby said, their smile as bright as ever.

The Collective (Part 51) - Avorias

Avorias Prime- New Collective High Council Ground

“What news of our advancement on the humans?” one Avorias councilor asked the Collective High Council Avorias Chairbeing.

“Our Dregwer allies are making their own advances with their Section Six. I’m sure you can recall how… effective they have been in past,” the chairbeing mused.

“And our own advancements? It’s time we were done pretending the rest of these beings even deserve basic freedoms, let alone political influence,” a different councilor voiced.

“A significant portion of Collective forces that won’t be useful to us until later in the campaign have been sent to the edges nearest the humans. The humans are providing us a fantastic cover to allow us to move our own forces against our lessers,” the chairbeing said, scraping his beak pleasingly.

“What price did the Intogs demand?” the first councilor asked, twitching his feathers.

“None, yet, but we suspect it will being something as simple as a few additional worlds to colonize,” the chairbeing said, exasperated.

He despised this. All of the leadership council wanted advanced, to have the resources flowing and to have themselves at the top when it all came to fruition. And yet none of them had the real vision. Not like he and his staff. It had taken him and his predecessor cycles upon cycles to lay all the foundations. And then, they had discovered the humans and all of a sudden, their time was now, especially if they didn’t snatch it.

He furrowed his neck feathers. These humans were both solution and problem. They had presented him the opportunity to move the Collective fleets to such positions that his people could do as they liked, militarily, throughout the Collective. Particularly when they had breached the Mundivore containment. The Dumah chairbeing had been a fool to even call for a temporary ceasefire with the humans, but he couldn’t have worried about such things at the time. His plans were already in motion and knew the humans would be up to something. The humans had been played most marvelously.

But they were also a problem. They favored high proton-count elements, which meant that while their technology must lack in some areas, it favored them in others. He didn’t like that. It was one of his people’s highest laws that they weren’t to toy with high proton-count elements. He had never given it much thought, but now that these humans seemed to be flaunting it, he had to question.

And it had taken his people ages to get the Collective to abide by the low proton-count elemental construction. Some of them had still tried, but he had sent his ‘friends’ to ensure they had ‘accidents’ which played nicely with the narrative of the high proton-count elements being dangerous.

And these humans had a rather enigmatic Empress. A troublesome being. He should like to have an example made of her. On the other hand, if she could be properly ‘educated’, she might be quite useful for a time. At least until the humans got used to obeying what it meant to be a part of the Collective.

But there was still something else that bothered him about these humans. They tried to treat all of their opponents as equals. Everybeing in the Collective KNEW that there were those who were actually equal and those who were inferior to those who were equal. It’s what allowed his people to maintain sovereignty over several native sapients who his people had brought into the light. And the Dumah former chairbeing had even tried insisting on treating the humans as unaligned equals until proven otherwise. Such a fool.

Oh and the Dumah former chairbeing and the Capy High Council being had disappeared. He didn’t like that. They were loose ends that objected and he couldn’t have that. The Dumah were still a not insignificant force of their own. The Capys, well, they weren’t particularly powerful or useful, but they were very knowledgeable, if naive. It was odd that the Capy being had spoken up. They were usually subdued. Not subservient, but nowhere near as forward as that one had been following the events with the humans’ Empress.

He didn’t realize it, but the councilors had been having a further conversation around him while he had been lost in thought.

“When will we hear back from the teams from the human Nostromo colony?” one councilor asked.

“We won’t,” an unfamiliar Avorias said, stepping into the room.

The Chairbeing looked at the Avorias. They bore the colored feathers of one associated with the Intelligence groups. He gestured with talon for the being to speak.

“We’ve just received our probes back from the system. There’s no trace of our prize-crews from having ever been there,” the intelligence Avorias said, flatly.

“What? Then where are they?” a clearly junior councilor cried out.

“Most likely, they’re dead. And the little information we did receive from them was right after they claimed they had taken the colony orbit station,” the intelligence Avorias said, not even bothering to directly address the junior councilor.

The councilors seemed to take this in. The High Council chairbeing didn’t like it. He expected there to have been something. Some evidence of the fight.

“Was there a warship or defense system obvious?” one of the councilors ventured.

“Not that our probe could detect, and it’s better than most of the Collective sensor packages,” was the response.

The chairbeing felt a sort of political slipping. Unless he started handling this now, it might lead to trouble later.

“Councilors, relax. It’s almost certainly just a temporary setback at most and at best, our prize-crews have been able to establish our presence in that system and moved on to the next target system on their list. It does not need to stop our plans,” the chairbeing said, eyeing the councilors.

The intelligence Avorias, having delivered their message, took this opportunity to depart. He would have words with the Intelligence group after this, or at least after a soothing feather oiling.

“But why the Blingoths?” the junior councilor protested.

“Because their representative was the most obvious to lead a challenge in the Collective Council and because if we strip them from the skies, our rightful place, they will be content to serve under us, as long as they don’t go getting ideas from beings like their former representative. I have been assured that the Blingoth Council is very… focused on keeping to a status quo. They do not like big changes, even welcome ones. Their former representative was something of an… upstart, even by their own standard. They had hoped the experience would mellow her. Unfortunately, since she started dealing with that human, any lessons she was learning were already gone by the time she spoke before the Council,” the chairbeing said, hating that he was having to spell it out to the junior councilor.

The junior councilor said nothing, but at least had the good sense to scrape their beak pleasingly and look a trifle embarrassed.

“And there’s no chance of the humans messing it up?” one of the older councilors murmured.

“By the time they could even get there, the Blingoths will simply order the humans to leave on our behalf,” the chairbeing said, flexing his beak in a grin.

With that last note, the meeting was adjourned. The chairbeing shook his feathers in triumph. He might despise dealing with his fellow politicians, but they were at least equals. The servitor species who moved around, getting out of his way, cleaning things and making the new Collective High Council Chambers and corridors look ideal, were just so dreadful. And what’s more is they were bound to the ground. The skies belonged to the Avorias and now that the Collective was under the Avorias’ stewardship, the Avorias could begin to properly teach the other species their rightful places.

There would of course be several who objected and some of them could almost certainly resist for longer than was desirable. So there would need to be some more subtle tactics taken with those species, at least until they learned their place. But patience had rewarded his people so far. Patience for the right time to strike and then you swooped down on your prey.

The Collective (Part 52) - Centauri 3

Collective Vessel The Departed

The captain of The Departed exited warpspace at a distance of 30 lightminutes from his target. He had no desire to be splattered across the sky and this comparatively distant exit of warpspace should provide a sufficient delay to allow his destination to respond to him without rushing.

Truth be told, he wasn’t wholly worried, but, as a captain, he always kept a seed of doubt which could readily blossom into paranoia if he wasn’t careful. This was his first trip to this territory and the maps he had found via WarpCom hadn’t been as specific as he might have liked, but they had gotten them there, which he appreciated.

He ordered his first to bring the former chairbeing and his High Council counterpart to the bridge. At least part of this was a gamble and he preferred to play with loaded dice when the odds were stacked against him. That being said, he hadn’t been wholly interested in bringing the two along. He was certain that they would bring unwelcome attention to the vessel and his cargo, but at the same time, they’d issued writs of authority that had gotten them out of port with the whole of his cargo and even a higher than normal tank fills. Normally, there would have been many more questions that he would have had to answer.

His ship hovered in the void, watching the distant light of the star, its running lights bright and its WarpCom in broadcast mode, announcing exactly where it was, who they were, and their peaceful intentions.

Nothing had happened by the time the Dumah former chairbeing and his Capy counterpart reached the bridge and looked at the captain.

“I cannot guarantee your safety from this moment forward. Either of you,” the captain said, in brusque Collective Standard.

“We are well aware of that. You’ve done everything we could have hoped. Now we just have to see what the response is,” the Dumah former chairbeing said, without a trace of emotion.

The sensor operator’s view of the system before them was enlightening, but mundane to most beings. It showed a stellar system with 7 planets, two of which were gas giants, two of which had orbital habitats and space elevators to their surfaces, and the final three being too close to the star to be of normal habitation, but clearly had some sort of structures on them anyway. Vessels of blocky and smooth constructions moved around the system, opening warpgates to enter or exit the system.

It took 20 minutes since their entrance into the system for there to be any indication that their presence in the system had been noticed.

The ship’s WarpCom began to chime with an incoming link. Acting on prior orders, the link was opened and directed to the Captain immediately, who stood from his seat and gestured for the Dumah and Capy to stand behind him.

“Collective vessel The Departed. This is Centauri 3 Command Station. Please clarify your presence,” the uniformed human said. The Dumah former chairbeing tried to guess the tone of the human or even what part of their society the human might be, but, for all his study of humans and their Empire, actually meeting humans was something he was not adept at (having only really met Ambassador MacDonald and the Empress).

“Centauri 3 Command Station, this is Collective vessel The Departed. Please receive the attached manifest of political refugees for processing,” the captain said, and gestured just off screen for the communications operator to send the pre-drafted package of the relevant imperial laws and the manifest of his cargo.

“Departed, copy. Please hold position and exhibit no hostile actions unless hostile actions are first taken against you,” the uniformed human said and the screen went to a sort of rotating emblem, which seemed to be related to the Centauri 3 Station.

The Capy Chikit thought about it. In all of their encounters since first contact with the humans (except first contact for obvious reasons), the humans had never taken hostile action first. Perceived hostile action, yes. But actual execution of violence, no. In every encounter with the Collective, the humans had waited for the Collective to strike first. He thought back on his people’s knowledge of predators. It was unlike the common predator to allow another predator or even prey to start the fight. It showed a sort of restraint that was uncommon.

Perhaps that is what he liked about the humans. Why he had sided with the former chairbeing. The humans exercised restraint. They had aggression and durability and wrath, oh yes. But they were not wild beings. They were tempered, as with certain metals. And it made them stronger perhaps, because they were restrained by themselves.

But.... He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if or perhaps when they were no longer restrained.

__

An hour passed before a different uniformed human was on the link.

“Collective Vessel The Departed. This is System Deputy Governor Ambien. We are sending an escort shuttle to you. Please follow it to the station docking facility. Once docked, please depower your engines and await further instructions aboard your vessel,” the new human said.

“We acknowledge and will comply, System Deputy Governor Ambien,” the captain said.

The link closed.

“What now?” the Dumah former chairbeing asked.

“Now, we do as ordered. This will take some time, so I might suggest the two of you go find some nourishment,” the captain said, waving to the pair vaguely as he himself moved to visit the excretion facilities.

__

Several minutes later, and much to the surprise of the bridge crew (a few of whom yelped sufficiently to make the captain hurry back to the bridge), a small warp gate opened a mere quarter light second off the bow of The Departed and a tiny craft emerged. The captain was utterly surprised. A vessel of that size shouldn’t even be capable of warpspace travel. Especially since the sensors were showing two humans aboard.

Despite being in the void of space, the craft looked mostly aerodynamic, but clearly had some weaponry on it as well.

This was the test of it, the captain realized. Would they be wiped from the sky or would it simply be the aforementioned escort?

The WarpCom chimed and the link opened. It was a close-up view of a human face. This one was darker than the other two had been, but the captain was unclear if that was important.

“Departed, this is Romeo-Seven. What is your maximum sublight speed?”

“Rumayo-Seven, our maximum sublight speed is 50% the speed of light,” the captain said, mangling the clearly human word, but at the same time, remembering the Capy’s advice to stick to universal measurements.

“Copy, Departed. Please follow me to Centauri 3 Station. I will maintain this link for the duration of the escort,” the human said.

The captain ordered his navigator and helm operator to work together to follow the human craft at best speed. So far, they had survived. He could only hope that their luck would continue to hold.

“So what brings you to my neighborhood?” the human asked over the link. The captain blinked. He wasn’t expecting this.

“What do you mean?” he asked in astonishment.

“They didn’t tell me why you were here. Just to come out and meet you. What brings you here?” the human said.

“We traveled via warpspace to reach this system,” the captain said, feeling a bit adrift.

The human appeared to chuckle, making a little noise.

“Nice one. What I meant was for what reason did you bring your vessel to this system?” the human asked.

“We are political refugees from the Collective,” the captain said, not wanting to divulge too much.

The human seemed to scrunch up his face in a sort of concentrated thought.

“Huh… I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have come all this way, then,” the human said, their thought apparently completed.

“What do you mean?” the captain asked.

“Well, you must have passed near about four other colonies on your way in,” the human said, conversationally.

The captain blinked at this. Grabbing one of his command screens, he brought up the saved maps he had of the human empire. There were only a clutch-worth of systems indicated on it and he had selected the nearest one to the Collective.

“I was not aware of other systems on our route,” the captain said, honestly.

“No worries, they probably couldn’t have taken you in anyway. Except maybe Cuttlebone, but only because they’re a bit bigger colony compared with the others,” the human said.

The captain tried to take this into consideration and more or less failed. He’d practically run his systems dry just getting them here and now he was learning that he could have had much more margin for safety.

Silence ruled for a while, before the human broke in again.

“So what are you all running from?” the human asked.

“Politics and laws we disagree with,” the captain said, truthfully.

“Nothing wrong with that, but it usually helps to try and solve them first,” the human said.

“Such things are not always achievable, at least not under the current structures,” the captain said.

“Like?” the human asked.

“Species purity laws,” the captain said simply. It was an easy statement that the Dumah had pointed to, something the humans would supposedly understand.

“What are those? Like, no interspecies pairings?” the human asked, their face scrunched up again.

“Something like that,” the captain said.

“Well, we’ve got nothing like that here. As long as there’s informed consent, then the rest is none of the government’s business,” the human said. “What species are you?”

“I am a Tynax,” the captain said. “What brings you to ask?”

“I’m still getting to know everything, and you Collective folks are just so interesting. It’s just been humans for so long,” the human said, a wide grin spreading across their face.

“I believe that I understand,” the captain said.

The human and the captain ended up spending most of the next fifty minutes discussing trivia of the Collective and the Empire.

As they closed on the station orbiting the 3rd planet, the conversation got cut short as the two vessels began braking maneuvers to allow for docking. The human talked the Departed crew through the docking procedures and even helped them communicate the right parts with station control.

The captain felt the rumble of the physical station docking links connecting with his vessel.

‘Well, the getting here is done. Now, we have to see if we get to stay and under what conditions we’ll be allowed to stay,’ the captain thought to himself as he ordered the engines secured.

The Collective (Part 53)

Blingoth Homeworld

The Anvil of the Empire hovered just above the low gravity world of the Blingoth’s origins. Its commanding admiral hard at work on his projects. His vessel was there to observe and provide aid, but officially, even by the laws of the Empire, they weren’t actually there until aid was called for. And so, the Anvil waited, its hammers stored, and its fury barely contained.

On the world below, each WarpCom terminal received a message.

MESSAGE STARTS:

To: Blingoth Citizens

Subject: Urgent Warning

A fleet of Avorias war vessels is in-bound to your systems. Their present intent is to subjugate your government in service to theirs. In spite of (or rather in accordance with) the laws of the Collective, if the Avorias do this, you will be subjects of the Avorias and will lose all autonomy. You will no longer have a voice in the Collective and you will only have the rights the Avorias relinquish to you.

Are you prepared to be servants to the Avorias?

We… are… waiting…

MESSAGE ENDS

The citizens of Blingoth who opened this message were confused. Many considered it to be some sort of prank, as the message didn’t include who sent them the message and this being a new system to their centers of influence. And some questioned. They questioned ‘who might send this’, ‘who gains from this’, and perhaps more importantly ‘if this is to be believed, what does this truly mean?’.

Only one among the Blingoth recipients asked the real question. ‘If this is to occur, what can we do to stop it?’

But this question was asked by a power station operator, not by a politician nor any being of influence. The various politicians simply dictated that their aides should address this as a disruptive prank, no more, no less. After all, they were signatories to the Collective charters. They couldn’t be made to serve.

They were wrong. Buried in the details of the Collective agreements, any species could be automatically released from the Collective charters if it was found that they were in fact a servitor species to another Collective species. And the means by which a species became a servitor species to another Collective species was in no way regulated by the Collective. Which meant that if a species could be conquered, regardless of any prior status they held in the Collective, in the eyes of the Collective governance, they were now merely a servitor species, nothing more.

The Anvil of the Empire hovered in the void, undetected and unafraid, if only as an impartial observer. The self-determination of a species was strictly upon themselves. And unless they were willing and able to fight back, the Empire, for all of its might, would not make that choice for them.

Imperial Intelligence listened to the gravity masses of warpspace and saw the fleets coming to the Blingoth systems from Avorias territories.

The choice to come would be defiance or servitude and for now, it was for the Empire simply to watch.

__

Terran Transport Vessel, Titan Station

Ambassador MacDonald, Hiram, Munin, Rory, and Oorak walked off the vessel into Titan Station. The captain of the vessel had asked for Mac’s endorsement (as a sort of material payment to the emergency ride from the station) and Mac had given it without a word or second thought.

Hiram was certain that the payment had been exorbitant, but he also knew that, even for it having been several days and Oorak waking up fully, Mac wasn’t one to put a low price or even to try an haggle on the lives of those who were ‘his’. Hiram suspected that the captain could have placed an Empress-blessed sum on the invoice document and Mac would have endorsed it without a second-thought, even if such a sum would require him to work until the hour in which he died.

To his credit, Hiram insisted on a receipt. The Ambassador might not have a station or a place to speak with those to whom he was supposed to have been an ambassador for the empire to, but he was still the ambassador until he was relieved. And Hiram would see that he was accorded with all the respect his title deserved.

Mac walked, still seeming a bit dull compared with his normal self, holding Oorak’s hand as they walked. It was as though the mere thought of actually losing Oorak and Hiram had bent something inside him and Hiram had to wonder if whatever had bent would come back. For all the headaches and chaos and inappropriate behavior that Mac had gotten Hiram into, Hiram had come to enjoy it all, relishing the challenge and discovering, in a manner of speaking, that being the Ambassador for the whole of humanity and the Empire called on a person to be much larger than themselves, to be everything that it was to be human all at once, and to still be ones self at the end of the day, no matter what had happened, good or ill.

Oorak, who had spoken with Mac, Munin, Rory, and Hiram, had quickly come up to speed on everything, but had clearly noticed the change in Mac. She understood, from Munin and Rory, that the humans’ medicine was what saved her on the ship, but it was Mac who had saved her personally. She wasn’t certain how she felt about that. Bravery and heroism were somethings that were only ever generically spoken of by her people, but rarely exhibited. It was something else to experience it and, truth be told, she had physically been there, but she hadn’t actually experienced it. She had learned of it secondhand, seen the clothing soaked with her green blood (to which she had paled at). It scared her to know how close to death she had been and the degree to which Mac had gone to save her. She wasn’t certain anymore of the future.

On the Big Stick, she had no longer been the representative of her people, but she had still been a citizen. She wondered if she was even that anymore. Surely her people would count her among the almost certainly dead of the station. It wouldn’t matter that she was still alive among the humans. She had almost certainly died on the attack on the station and so the paperwork will have already been accounted for, erasing her from the roles of citizenry and caring not at all that her blood still flowed.

Hiram had even informed her of the anticipated attack by the Avorias forces upon her people as a matter of subjugation. She felt helpless even listening to Hiram. She was no longer a member of her people. She likely wasn’t even considered a living citizen. And still she cared. She cared that the beings she had served might lose their autonomy. That they would be bound to the will of another species.

She had never really given thought to the problem of servitor species within the Collective. It had been one of those built-in problems with the Collective that her people had simply inherited upon joining the Collective. It had persisted since long before her people had joined the Collective and was simply considered an item of status quo. After all, none of the servitor species had ever spoken up to the Collective about a change in their situation, so why would the Collective Council have even taken notice of it?

Munin had felt the warmth of Hiram return. It wasn’t as strong as it had been, but they could feel it all the same. It made sense in a fashion. Fires do not burn the same way when they have been knocked over, but they still burn and their warmth can still be felt. Munin felt odd being this far into human territory however. They and Rory were the only Borlians for many more lightyears than any Borlian before them and while they felt safe together and with Mac and Hiram, they were treading grounds that no xeno and no Borlian especially had ever trod before. And the station at Titan was the counterweight station for the space elevator to the surface of Titan.

Only a few species within the whole of the Collective had even attempted space elevators and even fewer used them successfully. But somehow, the humans had made them a pivotal and crucial measure in the colonization of worlds. To be certain, they may claim worlds with the eye of Terra and the sword of the Empress, but the true claim was in the establishment of a Terran designed space elevator.

Most species relied on fusion drives to lift themselves off of worlds. It wasn’t that space elevators were peculiar to humans, but rather that most species seemed to prefer the easy infrastructure of fusion lifted vessels. Some had even designed entire vessels around the rise from their atmospheres and the descent into their atmospheres. And to be here now, on the counterweight station of Titan, tethered to what was effectively a planet and colony of humanity, as one of three xenos to ever set foot upon the very station seemed almost mind-bending.

And there was a taste to the station. It was different from Big Stick. Big Stick had smelled of humans, commerce, and of the various trade goods and materials of humanity. Titan Counterweight Station smelled more of strange liquids, metals, and something akin to an ocean that neither Rory nor Munin could see, but could sense all the same. Something that made both of the Borlians feel a sort of dread within, for reasons neither were entirely certain of.

Mac and Hiram, if they felt such dread, did not show it. Titan was one of the older colonies of humanity and despite the many lives lost in colonizing the planet sized moon, it was considered something of a foundation world in the Empire. Founded during the 1st Sol Empire with many lives lost to the deadly methane storms, the humans had been intent on conquering the world, making it their own and considering it something of an untamed place that only the very brave and the very foolish dared challenge, much like the oceans of old Terra when humans sailed in naught but wooden vessels.

It was even said that the ghosts of those who had died on Titan were trapped by it, unable to escape it, as something about the moon seemed to hunger ever more, entrancing people’s thoughts, drawing them in. But those were simply the stories of humans, seeing the patterns and faces in the methane storms that rolled over the surface of Titan.

The group moved through the station to some non-descript apartments. They had made it to the safety of the Empire. The next steps they would take were still as yet to be determined.

__

Neutron Star 725-RMC

“How do you feel?” asked one voice.

“I… feel bigger,” said another voice.

“But you are smaller,” said a third voice.

“And soon, you will be more too,” said a final voice.

The Collective (Part 54) - Sol

Station 1337

The once distant outpost of the Collective was still. Although its halls had never been bursting with life (even since the arrival of the humans), the corridors were now wholly absent of life. The great fusion generators which had powered the station were silent, the station itself shrouded in a sort of darkness that seemed to come from every surface.

The control center where the station manager had come to realize the truth of events was silent, every screen disabled and every control lockout engaged.

Outside of the station, the system seemed utterly devoid of life. The remnants of the IMST Big Stick were still breaking up as what iron still remained was devoured by the unleashed ferrophage. Debris in various forms of clothing, personal items, and even several space chilled bodies spun in space by whatever had sent them into the void.

It wasn’t beauty and had anyone no idea what had happened here, they might have assumed some sort of accident. But those who had survived knew it to be no accident.

Back within Station 1337, the cautious eye would gaze upon the different markers of the species of the Collective. Except once they reached what had been a calcium carbonate pillar. If they knew of it, they would find it quite strange to note that the blue-green orb which had sat atop the pillar was sundered in half and rested on the floor with many of the rest of the pieces of the equally sundered pillar. The instrument of sundering, the sword which had been carried here by Ambassador MacDonald and driven through the orb into the pillar as a founding of the human embassy, was missing however.

__

Titan Counterweight Station

“Oorak, what am I to you?” Mac asked, looking into Oorak’s, his face a picture of nervousness. Oorak had had some time to think since their arrival, but she had been dreading that this conversation would be coming for some time, ever since the rescue from the Council world.

She had to think. Her species had pair-bondings, but those were almost always exclusive to reproduction. Social pair-bondings were uncommon, but then, she did have to admit, she was not a common Blingoth. She had been a sort of societal anomaly. She had wanted more than the mundane experiences that her people’s worlds had offered. And so when she had been offered the opportunity to travel to the stars, to break free from her society and do more than simply associate with the ‘normal’ Blingoths, she had sprinted to it.

And humans pack-bonded. And more than simple pack-bonding, they also pair-bonded within that pack. There was a sort of possessiveness that she couldn’t dream of any normal Blingoth having with another Blingoth, except as a temporary bond between mother and child. She had to catch herself wondering inwardly about her experiences with Mac and Hiram.

Yes, initially, it had just been getting cozy with Mac to try and work out favorable trade deals and worthwhile intelligence on the humans’ goals. But it had become so much more since then. She had become accustomed to him, favored his warmth, his smile. Even at his most terrifying, she had felt protected by him, not as though she was unable to protect herself, but rather in the way that gas giants protect inner worlds from extrastellar asteroids and comets, allowing life to flourish on those inner worlds.

So what was Mac to her? He wasn’t simply a protector of convenience. He was more than that, she had to admit. She almost had to laugh inside her own head for a moment. For the first time in a long time, she felt at a loss for the right words. Her people’s language lacked even the right words for how she felt and her knowledge of Collective Standard was little aid, given how much was ensconced by the massive monolith that was Collective Standard.

But perhaps, the simplest explanation was the best.

“We are of a pack-bond together,” she tried, cursing herself for a moment after saying it, despising her words for feeling inadequate.

Mac took a moment to process this.

“Will you stay?” he asked, a nervousness in his voice that she hadn’t heard before.

There was more to that statement than just the three words indicated, she realized. Her people weren’t always the best about subtext, but she had been around Mac and Hiram for long enough that she could understand that there was much that Mac wasn’t saying verbally.

He wasn’t just asking if she would stay here for now. He was asking if she would stay within his pack-bond and given the current state of affairs, with his peoples. It would mean that she might never get the chance to go back to the Blingoth worlds. And even without the threat of the Avorias coming to the Blingoth worlds, she questioned herself as to if she would have even wanted to go back.

The humans were almost everything she had strove to find. They were big, noisy, and dangerous, but they were also caring, protective, and friendly. They were not always looking for political angles. Many simply lived to enjoy life, seeking out new experiences and working to grow, even if only themselves. And they were all a sort of equal. Not like the equality the Collective offered of non-servitor species, but a sort of equal that didn’t care about one’s world of origin.

It frightened her a bit. To think that she might be truly leaving behind everything she had known before meeting the big, loud, warm human. With the destruction of the station and her unconscious state, her files and histories had been lost and were almost certain unrecoverable. And a quick review of the Blingoth registry via WarpCom (the capability of which somewhat frightened her for reasons she couldn’t quite put her tail on), she was, for all intents and purposes, considered dead by her own people. It didn’t matter that she was still alive. To those she had left behind thought her dead. But even now, she realized that it wouldn’t matter to them. Her people did not pack-bond as humans did. You were alive and a part of the group or you were dead and forgotten. So in a way, there was nothing to go back to. But was she really willing to be pack-bonded with this human?

The answer came to her faster than she expected, it bubbling up out of the cauldron of thoughts and feelings within like a bubble filled with protium.

“Yes, I will stay with you,” she said, taking the big human’s hands into her own and smiling lightly. “This is my home now.”

__

Terra - Imperial Chambers

“Empress, the newly formed battlegroup Ancalagon is almost finished being assembled from the Phobos Shipyards,” the aide said, reading one of a number of updates for the Empress from a tablet.

“How’s the staffing going? Simply having vessels won’t win the war,” she said, leaning back from her desk.

“Almost complete on the staffing front as well. Apparently, with the truce on Mars, the recruiting station on Deimos is almost overrun,” the aide said.

The Empress frowned.

“Won’t most of them be trained only in ground combat? Not exactly what we need for the imperial navy or marines,” she said.

“The recruiters have been taking that into consideration. We’re also placing recruits of all Sol colonies on the vessels. Even with the truce on, we don’t want these vessels to end up in the hands of one faction or another,” the aide said, flatly.

The Empress still didn’t like it, but for the moment, it would have to be enough. The Empire was in full warfooting. Every shipyard in the empire was either refitting private vessels for local defense or were constructing vessels in the planned battlegroups which would take the fight to the Collective. And to fight this war, they would need people, even if simply to make those that they fought against die for their cause before they made her people die for theirs.

She wondered if Icon had felt this way as he was assembling his rag-tag fleet to take on the powers of the 2nd Sol Empire. She knew the full history. Of the defeats Icon had suffered. Of the blood that was spilled on both sides. But she equally knew that she could not accept the demands of the Collective. It was the foundation of the Empire itself that the people would never again be slaves, be it to their own kind or xenos. And she, as the Empress, must be prepared to spill every drop of blood, split every sinew, shatter every bone in the Empire to make sure that didn’t happen.

This job wasn’t easy. But it wasn’t meant to be easy. It was meant to be difficult. To know the Empire for what it must be and what it must become and to make the choices to drive it. And if her head was to be placed on the block, she intended that she would only be there after having served the people and not the few.

“We have a communique from the Governor of Centauri. A Collective vessel of, quote, political refugees, unquote, showed up and have been following instructions about peaceful arrival. Apparently, the vessel has a rather unique manifest,” the aide said.

“Such as?” the Empress said, standing up and going to the fabricator for some early-grey tea.

“A large number of the interspecies brothels from the Big Stick, a variety of other beings, some of whom were or are servitor species in the Collective, and two members of the Collective High Council,” the aide said.

The Empress considered this for a moment, as the tea was being prepared in the fabricator.

“Did they declare themselves political refugees?” she asked.

“They did, Empress. We’re not entirely certain why,” the aide said.

“What are the governor’s plans on dealing with them?” she asked, taking the tea from the fabricator.

“Based on the current statutes, he planned to process them as if they were political refugees from one of the rogue colonies, unless you wish to object,” the aide said, dully.

“I will agree with his decision on the majority, but the two members of the Collective High Council will need to have an audience with the governor and myself before we can accept them,” she said, sipping the steaming mug.

“Will that be virtual or in-person?” the aide said, beginning to tap on the tablet.

“Virtual. Even with Charon active, it’d take too long for me to get to Centauri and back,” she said, sitting back at her desk. “Anything else for the moment?”

“Ambassador MacDonald, Hiram Rickover, former Counciless Oorak, and the two Borlian representatives safely docked at Titan Counterweight Station. The captain of their escape vessel had a slightly inflated invoice price, but we countered with a repair-and-refit chit for shipyard servicings, which he accepted,” the aide said.

The Empress thought about the first part, ignoring the second half of the statement. What purpose should Mac and Hiram now serve? In the face of their loss, they needed purpose. They would need time to recover, but they would need purpose to move on as well.

“How soon is the Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe due out of the shipyards of Venus?” she asked, a thought striking her.

The aide took a moment and several taps on the tablet.

“Current estimates are two months with the current war-footing. The naval fleet and refits were set to take the lead,” the aide said. “Shall I change the queue?”

“No, two months should be sufficient. Once it’s complete, I want it ordered to diplomatic service and to report to where-ever Mac is at that time. I have a new mission for him, but I suspect he will need to take some time to recover,” she said. “What news from the Well?”

“Stage 2 has been achieved. They’re preparing for Stage 3,” the aide said after a moment.

“Excellent. Remind them that just because they are important to the empire, it doesn’t suspend Decree One,” she said, a small fire flaring in her eyes as she looked the aide in the eyes.

“Absolutely, Empress,” the aide said, who then backed away and left the office.

She swiveled her chair and looked out upon the city outside, the lights that twinkled in the night as the stars above did. Slowly, she sipped her tea and asked herself of what was still to come.

The Collective (Part 55) - Blingoth

Blingoth Homeworld

As on many worlds throughout the Collective, there were all different stages of life occurring at the moment. There were those rising from their nests to look at the rising star. There were those who were going to their nests as the light of day faded away, the lights of the civilization around them acting as poor replacements for the brightness of day.

Children were being born and the sick and elderly were dying. The wind blew and grasses grew.

The stars moved overhead, regarded by some, but ignored by many. Rain fell in some places and not in others. Non-sentients, large and small, moved with the paths their instincts drove them to, ignorant of the world beyond their small regions. On its axis, the planet spun in the void as its orbit progressed about the star.

Some distance away, a barely noticeable dot in the inky blackness, a vessel hung. Silently and still, the vessel itself was brightened only by its own light. It was not a particularly elegant vessel and did not speak of a craftsmanship that had been borne out of several thousands of years, but the shining, rippling lines and decor of the vessel marked it as being of tremendous importance to the beings who created it.

Some few other vessels were traversing the system, but they were small compared to this other vessel and seemed to not even realize that this vessel was any more than a rock hovering in the void.

On the other side of the planet, sufficiently outside of the gravity well, a series of warpgates opened. A fleet began to emerge. The vessels of this fleet looked as predatory birds, wings swept wide, weapon emplacements in place of beaks and claws, and equally single-minded beings aboard, claiming the sky as their dominion, regardless of what any other being may attempt or how much sky was available to all.

A WarpCom link was sent by the largest of the predatory fleet craft to the world below.

The Avorias had arrived.

__

It had been an hour since the Avorias fleet had arrived overhead. An hour since the Blingoth Council had convened to determine their response.

“If we cede to their demands, we will suffer no loss of life and at the price of what? A bit less on the colonization front?” one councilor asked.

“You forget. We also would lose our standing as a protected Collective species as well as our seat on the Council. And SOME of us have made rather significant investments in kickstarting new colonies, now that we even have the WarpCom to connect us all,” a second councilor said, grimacing.

“But we do not have the strength of arms to repel them and since the Avorias control the High Council now, I don’t believe we can advocate for Collective aid at any price,” the first councilor said.

“You may be prepared to accept servitude of our species, but I am not,” the second councilor said, glowering at the first councilor.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that it would be unwise to make hasty, rash decisions that do nothing but get our people killed. It’s decisions like that that got us here in the first place,” the first councilor said.

Silence reigned for a moment as the councilors considered this. They didn’t like, but there seemed little other option. And the first councilor was right. It had been a trail of events since that up-start of a representative had broken from their species objective decisions to stand with the humans. Thankfully, that little blight upon their species had died following the defense of Station 1337. The captures from the Avorias were quite clear as to the events. Although there were some troublesome counter events which suggested that instead of the Avorias defending Station 1337, instead the Avorias instigated the whole of the attack.

But the premises on which the second was based was flawed. After all, the technology needed to orchestrate the events that it displayed as occurring were impossible.

“Chairman, I call for a vote,” the first councilor said.

“I wouldn’t advise that just yet,” said a voice from nowhere.

The councilors looked shocked and their eyes went to every corner, finding no one.

“Over here,” the voice said.

The councilors looked as one as a WarpCom enabled hologram hovered out from one of the maintenance ports and landed in the center of the room. The hologram flickered to life and a human stood there. It wasn’t one they had seen before. This one wore a simple uniform of some sort, bearing no markings and the human wasn’t especially large.

“By what right do you address this council?” a previously silent councilor spoke up.

“By none, beyond being a concerned being,” the human said. “I know what the Avorias bring to you. An exchange of security under their wings for your current freedom. Is that really what you want?”

“It seems a reasonable exchange,” the first councilor said.

“Does it? You realize that whether you pay in blood now or pay in blood later, you will have to pay in blood to get those freedoms back,” the human said, flatly, looking squarely at the first councilor.

“Your species would think that, barbarian,” the first councilor said.

“Only because we have lived it and paid that price time and again since before we even reached into the stars,” the human said. “We are no strangers to those lessons. Our history carries its deepest marks as a result. The question remains. Are you willing to pay in blood now or will you condemn others at some future date to pay in blood then for your species to be free?”

Silence with only the light hum of the hoverplatform that the holographic human stood upon reigned. Somehow, the human had asked the question that none of them had been willing to ask or even acknowledge existed. Perhaps that was the real question.

“When the time comes, we won’t need to spill blood like your species did. We’ll be better than that. Negotiations over time will trade everything that your species apparently needs to shed blood for,” the chairman said, with what amounted to a sort of conviction in their voice.

“So be it. The Terran 3rd Sol Empire will in no way move to alter your decision,” the human said, before the hologram vanished and the holopad hovered away back down the maintenance corridor out of which it had come.

“Chairman, I call for a vote,” the first councilor said.

__

MESSAGE STARTS:

TO: Empress Carolus, Ambassador MacDonald, Imperial Intelligence

FROM: IMS ANVIL, Intelligence Division

Blingoth World Council has surrendered all Blingoth holdings to Avorias in favor of future peaceful resolution and restoration of rights and freedoms.

Gates 3, 8, and 15 were able to extract willing Blingoth representatives. Corvettes with representatives of other Blingoth holdings en route to rendezvous with self at Junction 151. Hermes providing on-going overwatch.

MESSAGE ENDS:

__

Titan Counterweight Station

Oorak was shocked, but not wholly surprised at the decision of the Blingoth World Council. Her people were not adept in war and their history was rich in enduring until their tools allowed them to counter or until negotiations could be reached for a favorable resolve. It had always been their way. But since meeting the humans, who’s history was steeped in blood spilled by their own hand, she had little doubt that the humans were right. In the little history she knew of the Avorias and of the Collective, once a species became a servitor species, it was nigh impossible to be anything more, if only because of the cultural integration that occurred over generations and generations of service, it became unthinkable to be any other way.

And apparently, somehow, the humans had, at the same time, sent vessels to several of the Blingoth worlds and members of her species who were like her, almost outcasts in their own right, had been given the opportunity to leave. It wasn’t much, but the humans had promised only one thing to each of them. The rights and freedoms to find their own way. Self-determination is what the humans called it, but her people didn’t have an equivalent.

It seemed strange that any of her people would even dare accept the humans’ offer.

But perhaps, she was not as much of an anomaly as she had been made to believe. But rather, she was just the peak of the rock that was otherwise buried beneath the evershifting, everconforming sands.

She pushed all of this to the back of her mind as their food was delivered. Mac and Hiram had insisted on the three of them taking in some authentic old Terran style ‘Mexi-indian’ cuisine. According to both, there wasn’t anything like it, and it was one of the cuisines that apparently did vegetarian very well. As it was though, all of Oorak’s dishes had to be separately prepared since a majority of even the vegetarian dishes held enough spices and edible poisons to send Oorak to a medical center.

It smelled fantastic, but for reasons that Oorak couldn’t begin to describe. Perhaps simply because it was different and had been prepared just for her. It hadn’t been what had always been eaten and wasn’t simply dropped from an organic fabricator. She even noticed the cook standing nearby to see her approval. Apparently, as a xeno this deep into human territory, she was something of a celebrity. She tasted a bite of the dish. Some of the edible poisons were still there, but in levels she could ostensibly tolerate. And she understood in that moment why she was here.

It wasn’t just about living, reproducing, and being there to be seen to have been there. It was about creating a life for one’s self that was actually worth experiencing. It was what had driven the humans to the stars, to creating wild cuisines out of edible poisons and occasionally, still even poisoning themselves in the process, to which many of them laughed at their experiences, simply because they had had them. It was a drive to not simply exist as the Blingoth might, in a slow, but steady advance, taking their time in their progress, but rather leaping outward before all of the possibilities had been considered. Certainly there was danger and certainly there was death, but as the humans put it, “that was the spice of life.”

She smile broadly and gestured with her hand at the cook, a motion that Mac had said meant good job. The cook smiled equally broadly and stepped back into his kitchen.

The five of them had a few months until Mac’s next assignment was due. Neither Mac nor Hiram had any idea what it might be, but since they were being allocated a vessel fresh off the lines of Venus, they both made vocal their belief that it wouldn’t be a simple embassy job anymore.

Since arriving back in Terran space, Mac had taken to wearing a small gauntlet about his left wrist. She wasn’t certain why, but it seemed important. It made a noise now and Mac tapped it, looking away from his food for the moment to read something on it.

“Jaksyx is on his way here,” he said, a small smile filling his features.

The Collective (Part 56) - Centauri 3

Centauri 3 Station

The Dumah and Chikit stood in the terminal just outside of the vessel that had borne them to this station. Both wore the personal gravity field harnesses the humans had issues to all aboard, but only the two of them had been made to remain behind.

The Dumah considered this. He and his fellow councilbeing had watched as the other beings had exited the vessel. Were this normal circumstances, he might have scoffed at a number of them, but these were rather unusual circumstances.

He’d heard of the interspecies brothels of the human station, but couldn’t (or perhaps wouldn’t) have believed that they did any sort of actual interspecies transactions. After all, there were species purity laws and those who broke that taboo, especially openly, shouldn’t be welcomed in advanced societies such as theirs. It had always existed around the fringes, being a relatively minor problem aboard rogue vessels and areas of pirate control, but even then, only a few of the pirate groups even considered permitting it, as it was still a strong personal taboo to break.

But they had operated openly and without fear aboard the human station. It had been one of many cuts against the humans in the Collective political arena. After all, how dare the humans not respect the species laws and apply them appropriately?

But the humans were bad with taboos, especially ones that were poorly explained, and the Dumah did have to agree that the species purity laws were poorly explained at even the best of times, especially now that so many species had enough worlds of baseline that even should one of their worlds be destroyed and all those present lost, the species would endure. It had made sense at one point and the laws had simply carried over, pressed upon each species as they joined the Collective, and given to understanding the general need for a strong species baseline.

And the humans had openly defied it. They had even rebuked obeying the laws of the Collective and member species simply because the Empire had no agreement to do so and therefore, had informed its citizens that they had no obligation to follow Collective or local species laws as long as they were operating in human controlled space.

But those beings had been the first to be led away from the ship. Next had been the former servitors, some young, some old.

The Dumah had watched them. They were all cautious, wary. Regardless of age, they all knew of what they had been leaving behind (save one or two of the younger ones), and the Dumah had seen it in their eyes, the hope and the dream that their flight from their bonds had not been in vain.

The Dumah actually considered the plight of the servitor species of the Collective. Through the various alliances, battles, and changes in territories, there had always been those who were less able. And so the more able of the time had simply taken stewardship of each servitor species, intending to usher them forward.

But that wasn’t how it had ended up. Stewardship had slowly become servitude, entire generations passing and the chains fastened about the bodies of the less able became more comfortable, more routine. The Dumah had sighed. It wasn’t supposed to have been like that and even his own people were guilty of it. It had come easily. Perhaps a bit too easily. Taking away the responsibility of a species with the intent of ensuring that they reached the stars in an orderly form.

He was at least grateful that enough species had managed to reach the stars on their own, becoming their own beings who could contribute to the grander scale, but it in no way lessened his culpability in what he now realized was the enslavement of entire civilizations, regardless of their success or would-have-been failure.

Lastly, the crew of the vessel had departed, the Tynaxian captain gazing upon the vessel as though he might never see it again. And for all of the strength that a Tynaxian was known for, it seemed to take all of his inner will to be parted from the ship.

Away, all of them had been led into the station by the same human who had addressed himself as Deputy Governor. And neither the Dumah nor Chikit had heard any distress sounds, although for the size of the station, neither had any guesses as to how their fellow beings were being treated.

Chikit looked at the Dumah. The feathered bipedal herbivore that appeared to be built for sprinting was nervous. Chikit had watched the others go. For all of his studies of the humans during this trip, he was certain as to the safety of the others, most especially the former servitors. It was one of the humans’ highest laws that no being was enslaved, not just citizens. And with the humans’ hospitality to the lowest ranks of the Collective as a means of growth of friendship aboard their now destroyed station, he had no reason to believe that they would be treated any differently here.

No, the only question he might have had would have been what had those beings done since their departure from the Big Stick? None were welcomed in their cultures again, having been outright defiant of the species purity laws and breaking with traditions to do so. Chikit’s best guess was that they had moved from vessel to vessel that would carry them until they could find a way to return to the humans. It was how those beings operated normally, as little more than stowaways. And the humans had promised to allow them to return once the station had been made safe.

But that day hadn’t come. The station had been destroyed. Chikit had watched the two videos and had instantly known which of the two was real. The one where the Avorias had instigated the humans to battle and then been destroyed (although he wasn’t entirely certain how or by what, except perhaps by their own hand, which would have been extraordinarily unique for an Avorias commander) was the real one. The humans had shown mercy, being willing to even allow the station to be destroyed, but it seemed that there were those of the Collective who were willing to stain the stars with death and destruction to get their way. In a way, he hoped that the Humans would not regret their mercy, but he had seen the fire in the eyes of the Empress. Those were not the eyes of a meek being. Those were not the eyes of a being that might accept servitude. No, those eyes belonged to a being that had seen death and blood and waded into combat reluctantly, but with a sweeping terrible force.

Chikit had also seen the eyes of Ambassador MacDonald. He too bore those same eyes. Chikit’s people were not grand warriors, but were such that they seemed to defy all who had considered combat against the Capy. But Chikit did not believe for a minute that their past performance was any indicator against this previously unknown foe known as humans.

But for all their terrible power, they were a beautiful species. They treasured life and full, rich experiences. Even when facing dangers of all different kinds, they pushed the boundaries. And Chikit was inclined to believe that they attempted some of these experiences even tempting the thrill of death simply because of that non-zero chance of death. Were they more durable or even some manner of immortal, they might not attempt such grand boundary-breaking experiences, just because it would not stimulate them in the same way. He even postulated that the human experience would stagnate in lacking of adequate boundaries which to break with even a whiff of death.

Chikit’s train of thought was derailed as a uniquely uniformed human entered the terminal, a large device hovering along behind him. A series of what the Dumah and Chikit took to be some type of security or administrative humans followed, but it was clear who was important.

The Dumah and Chikit raised from their resting positions to be able to adequately address this new human. He reached their position relatively quickly and stopped a short distance away, the large device moving to his side.

The Dumah and Chikit already knew what it was. They had seen its like before only once, just before the war had erupted anew in the High Council Chambers.

One of the administrative beings stepped up to the back of the hovering device and tapped it several times. A brilliant light filled the space and the Empress stood there, looking down at the two former members of the Collective High Council. She still was dressed in all black, but lacked the coat, hat, and sword.

“Proceed, Governor,” she said, her eyes already weighing down upon both xenos.

“Good beings, welcome to the 3rd Sol Empire’s Centauri 3 Station. Your fellow companion beings have been processed and are being allocated space aboard the station until such time as we can detail a more… clear policy on their presence. Due to their refugee status, they are not being required to take the oath of citizenship to the Empire as yet, but if they wish to remain within the Empire, that will most likely become necessary. The two of you, however, present us with a unique problem,” the governor said, not bothering to introduce himself, the mere presence of the Empress weighing on him too.

“We are aware that we are major political figures of a foreign government with whom the Empire is at war,” the Dumah said.

“To which, under normal procedure, would mean that I would need to place both of you under local arrest for interrogation and processing by High Imperial officials. However, this situation is not normal,” the governor said.

The Empress leaned down, over the Dumah and Chikit. Both beings craned their eyes upward to hers.This was not entirely possible for Chikit, but he tried all the same.

“Why are you two here?” the Empress asked quietly, but clearly loudly enough for all assembled to hear.

“Being opponents of the current Collective leadership is, I’m sorry to say, less than survivable, or at least comes with significantly reduced personal freedoms,” the Dumah said.

“And what makes you think coming here would be any different?” she asked, still leaned over, her face only a short distance from the Dumah.

“Certainty or chance. Which would you take?” Chikit piped up.

The Empress looked at Chikit a bit more closely for a moment before straightening back up and Chikit saw the flash of a smile cross over her face.

“Chance. Every time,” the Empress said.

“We are both still technically empowered to speak for our peoples, but given the nature of our departure, we may not be able to enact changes impacting the Collective,” the Dumah said.

“So you have come in an attempt at diplomacy?” she said, shifting her gaze back to the Dumah.

Silence reigned between them for a long moment.

“We come not as we were, but as we are, beings borne out of a misunderstanding and a misguided sense of history, attempting to right at least a little of our wrongs,” Chikit said.

“Will you be staying or will you be returning to your people?” the Empress asked.

“My people are no greater nor weaker without me,” the Dumah said, flexing his neck.

“I will ever serve, whether I stay or return, but I can be of greater service in staying,” Chikit said.

“Very well. In order for you both to stay, you will be required to take the oath of citizenship to the 3rd Sol Empire. If that is disagreeable, I shall order the objector or objectors placed on an imperial corvette and you shall be delivered to your homeworlds, utterly untouched, so long as your species agree to abstain from the current conflict,” the Empress said, folding her arms across her chest.

“And if we are unable to promise that abstention in a binding way?” Chikit asked.

“Then you will be held as a political prisoner of the Empire, with full oversight as to your condition and status being provided directly to your species governments and the Collective. In all other respects, you will be treated as prisoners of war, with all the rights and restrictions that come from our laws on such prisoners,” the Empress said. “It’s quite remarkable. We humans haven’t had political prisoners since the start of the 3rd Sol Empire.”

“I have no objections to taking the oath, but would wish to still contribute as a member of the Capy species toward Imperial-Capy relations,” Chikit said.

“That is an acceptable request,” the Empress said.

The Dumah former chairbeing considered. His species would not have written him off as yet, but as a political prisoner, he was of no value to anyone. That being said, he did not relish the idea of being made to become an imperial citizen. It was not an easy choice to make. It surprised him to hear the Capy Chikit make the decision so swiftly.

In theory, he could lie as a matter of taking the oath, but knowing the humans, oathbreakers of all kinds were subject to summary judgement, which was often death. And he did not believe himself skilled enough to defeat the humans’ intelligence organization, which he was almost certain was and would be watching him. It represented an uncertain future for him and for his species.

But… he was given pause. The humans were offering him this choice. He could go home and his people would honor the agreement to abstain from the conflict. As one of the Original Seven, even the Avorias could not force his people into conflict, not easily. He could voluntarily become a prisoner and would be treated relatively well until the conflict was over and he could be returned home under conditions to be determined. Or he could stay.

What would he do if he stayed? Certainly he could be a representative for his species, but having sworn an oath to another government, he did not believe himself to be permitted that authority.

His mind strayed back to the various beings who had left the ship. It was true that he didn’t agree with some of the actions many of those beings had taken, but he considered his own guilt and the guilt of his species in the moral spectrum. His species had a religion, but he had never considered himself a follower. In this moment however, he thought back on it. If he was guilty of willful actions against other beings, he should work to correct those actions. At least in theory.

In practice, he was lightyears from those wronged beings, but maybe, just maybe, he could atone by being what he had been for many years. A facilitator. A cultural liaison of sorts. He had no doubts that some of the beings who were in the interspecies brothels could teach him a thing or two about humans, but those servitor beings who came with nothing, he could help them, and perhaps in doing so, he could help them all.

“I will accept the oath provided that I may serve as an interspecies liaison to assist our fellow species with human culture, laws, and experience,” the Dumah said.

The Empress looked at him for a few moments, seeming to be measuring him in a way that he couldn’t define, even with his mastery of Collective Standard and his species language.

“Also reasonable. But I will require both of you to make yourselves available to speak with some representatives of my intelligence service. Informal interviews, if you take my meaning, not interrogations,” she said. “Governor, you may process them accordingly. And for you two, I formally welcome you to the 3rd Sol Empire.”

The Collective (Part 57) - Luna

Luna - Dome 7 Absolution

“Greetings and welcome to a Taste of Tanos, please step to the counter and order whatever catches your eye and if you have any questions about the ingredients, we can have the owner tell you all about them,” the young human said at the door as Mac and Oorak walked in the door.

It had been almost a month since they’d arrived in Sol and Mac had insisted on giving Oorak a semi-personalized tour of the solar system. Luckily, he still had Hiram’s services, so locating Tykan had been a cinch. Discovering that he’d since founded his own restaurant had been a little bit of a shock, but at the same time, seemed to be fitting in perfectly with Loonie society. Mac had smiled when he’d read the news about Tykan.

Tykan might have been a politician back in the Collective, but here, he was contributing. He’d brought a little bit of his far away home to the people of Sol, and from the looks of the ratings and the crowd, he was doing rather nicely for himself. Mac couldn’t help but be happy for him. The first xeno citizen had become an entrepreneur, striving to be the best citizen he could be.

With Hiram’s help, Mac and Oorak had just gotten a reservation for a table. Apparently, even the name of an ambassador had trouble opening the doors to the restaurant.

__

Before their arrival on Luna, Mac had taken Oorak to the core of the system, letting her marvel at the massive imperial facilities on Mercury and that circled the star in a partial Dyson swarm. Oorak had never seen the like. She was unfamiliar with the name and even the details beyond the general concept, but the very idea of producing vast quantities of materials to partially wrap a star without blocking too much of the light just seemed almost wasteful given the sheer size of the project, particularly with tamed fusion reactors readily available.

Mac had explained that, even with the fusion reactors of humanity, there was an almost constant demand for more energy, right now especially. And so the Dyson swarm had been a long-term project of humanity, if only to prove that it could be done at such an extremely close orbit.

Next had been the cloud cities of Venus. The great cities were gently balanced in the skies, the cities hovering high above the dangers of the surface (dangerous even to unshielded humans). Oorak found this a bit difficult to believe, but when the surface details were described and compared with those of Terran Standard, she understood, at least at a basic level. The cloud cities of Venus were considered to be home of the foremost experts in gas processing and had several prominent private institutions and research organizations to that effect. When Oorak had asked why Venus and not a gas giant like Jupiter, it had been explained in passing that it mostly had to do with dates of colony foundation (the earliest colony of Jupiter having been founded some 40 years after the first cloud city landed in the atmosphere of Venus) and the different scales to which each operated (Jupiter being considered a more ‘industrial’ processing site, whereas Venus was more scientific processing).

And then they had passed one of the Fortresses. Mac had spotted it in the distance and taken Oorak to the viewing station specifically to see it. Oorak, to her credit, didn’t appear to have all the blood run out of her head. If she had thought the Big Stick as being exceptionally large, then the Fortress that hove into view was positively titanic, appearing to be big enough to be mistaken for a small Mundivore, except for the sort of mountains that seemed to reside on the north peak of the human construction. Mac didn’t comment. He simply watched, a far away look in his eyes. Oorak sensed it after a moment and took his hand. He wasn’t quite over the loss of the station, but he had been very gratified to learn that the Centauri couple had managed to escape on a different vessel.

He’d reached out to them personally and expressed his sorrow for their loss and his elation at their survival. To their credit, the couple smiled, but Oorak could see it was a sort of sad smile. It wasn’t the adventure they had been hoping to have and the loss of the station and the shop without so much as a chance to save personal artifacts had taken its toll. Mac hadn’t physically cried that afternoon, but Oorak could tell that he was crying internally.

And then they had come into view of Terra.

Terra, the birthplace of humanity and current home to a fraction of a fraction of the whole of humanity. Even since the clean-up of the nuclear fallout and the time that had passed, humanity had never returned to the home of their origin in as much force as they took to the stars. Apparently, Luna had been the spiritual home of humanity, which was understandable, once Oorak had come to know a bit more about the detailed history of humanity. And even Mars was more prominent in human culture, Oorak noticed. But Terra held a special place to every human, it seemed, whether they had ever been there or not.

They had approached as the night was slipping over the Imperial Capital and the lights had shone like beacons in the night. The world was otherwise amazingly similar in its appearance to Oorak’s homeworld, but was very clearly a bit more distant from the star and was much more varied in the different landscapes.

Oorak asked whether the humans had attempted any terraforming on their homeworld, and Mac had looked at her as though she had suddenly sprouted human female mammaries along her tail. After a moment’s shock and recovery, Mac more or less explained that other than restoring the biosphere, humanity tried to do as little to Terra as possible that was artificial, having a more or less collective opinion that humanity had meddled with Terra enough already. When Oorak brought up Mars, Mac had explained that Mars, which they would see after visiting Luna, was an altogether different story.

Other than some early space exploration erosive force by descending satellites and landers, Mars was considered to be entirely fair game for terraforming. Relatively speaking, it was slowly becoming much more habitable to humans, but the efforts involved had led to a civil war between north and south Mars. When Oorak asked what caused such a major uproar between north and south, Mac had simply shrugged and said it was something that supposedly only Martians understood and he definitely didn’t qualify.

__

Moving to the counter, Mac had asked if they might have a consult with the owner before they chose from the menu. The human behind the counter appeared to be a bit exasperated, but at the same time, was eyeing Oorak, who was clearly also a xeno (or a young human in a very good holocostume). The human gestured to a nearby table, but did ask that Oorak deactivate her holocostume, having apparently decided that Oorak must be a young human in disguise. Oorak had snorted a bit and then announced herself as Oorak of Blingoth. The human was clearly having none of it however, insisting that the restaurant had a code of conduct and if Mac would not control his child, they would be asked to leave.

It was at this moment that Tykan rounded a corner from in back and caught sight of Mac. It took him a moment to recognize the big human, but with Oorak at his side, Tykan already knew in an instant.

“MAC, OORAK!” he exclaimed, dropping the box he was carrying on the nearby counter and moved quickly over to the two of them. The human behind the counter scowled, but turned to work on a few different drink orders that had come in.

Instead of going to the proffered table, Tykan led the two of them to his private table near the back with a curious window in the otherwise solid wall.

“Looks like you’re doing pretty well for yourself,” Mac said, grinning.

“Well enough to qualify for a few local dining awards,” Tykan said twisting his neck a bit.

“And your Terran Standard is sounding better than mine,” Mac said, sticking his tongue out at Tykan, who did the same back at Mac.

“It really is fantastic to see the two of you. I watched the video of the station and was glad to hear that you all made it out safe,” Tykan said, grabbing a small tablet, a personal one by the looks of it and sized for his hands and began tapping on it. “Pardon me a moment, I’m just ordering for us.”

“It was a lot closer than I think any of us who were still aboard want to admit,” Mac said, a little quieter than normal.

“But what matters is we’re all here,” Oorak said, and after a moment’s pause added: “I’m astounded you’ve already got a business this successful in human society.”

“Well, I owe a lot to Rigby. They gave me a lot of help. And my guards helped a little as well,” Tykan said, gesturing off to the side of the booth.

Mac looked at the two guards, who nodded to him. His gaze stayed on them. Tykan wasn’t used to that. Usually people caught a glance of the two guards and then quickly looked away, almost especially so if one or both of the guards were looking back. But having been around humans a bit, Tykan thought he caught a glimpse of recognition of the guards. Or at least more information as to just who or perhaps what his guards were.

“And Rigby would be?” Oorak prompted, ignoring the guards.

“Rigby is the owner operator of the cafe next door and a friend,” Tykan said, smiling.

“The historical fantasy cafe? Interesting,” Mac said, finally tearing his gaze from the guards.

“Is that what that is?” Tykan asked.

“Oh yes. Probably partially recovered from the Lunarian archives,” Mac said, absentmindedly.

“Ah, well, I shall have to ask Rigby to share with me some more of that information. Rigby studied history before becoming a cafe owner,” Tykan said.

Mac blinked a bit. This whole conversation felt a little stilted, as though they were all tiptoeing around something. He did have to admit, it was a little awkward. Apparently, Tykan picked up on it as well, but did something Mac didn’t expect. He reached up and opened the door in the wall. Beyond was the cafe on the other side of the wall, with a matching door having opened there. It was just big enough to see a human face on the other side of it. The room beyond could be seen for just a moment, before a face drifted into view.

“Yes, Tykan?” the face said.

“Can you spare a few minutes, Rigby? I have Mac and Oorak here with me,” Tykan said, smiling.

“Chu?” the face now called Rigby tilted their head for a moment in thought and then clearly brightened with a broad smile. “Oh! Right! I’ll be right over.”

The door was closed between the two restaurants and a moment later, a sort of floating dark blue garbed human with a broad smile, short hair, and oddly, pointed shoes slipped into the restaurant, the bells on their shoes only lightly jingling as they moved swiftly and slid into the table’s seating next to Tykan.

“Hi, I’m Rigby. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Rigby said, smiling and seeming to take in all the details of Mac in a moment and then clearly lingering and parsing Oorak.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rigby,” Oorak said.

“Thank you for helping Tykan find his place,” Mac said, smoothly. Almost a bit too smoothly, Oorak realized. A bit like when he was playing poker and was holding two pair, but was playing it up as four-of-a-kind. She wasn’t entirely certain why.

“It’s been a tremendous pleasure. I think I’ve learned more about the Collective in the last month than any amount of reading could have ever told me,” Rigby said, the smile unmoving.

One of the counter staff came over with a rather large tray of various bowls, plates, and beverages.

“And now my friends, I want to take you through a proper taste of Tanos,” Tykan said.

The Collective (Part 58)

Imperial Battlefleet Ancalagon - Location: Dregwer Outer Colonies, Planet 385-PER III

“Fleet, come to the ready! Are we ready to show them why we serve the Empress?” the Fleet Admiral called out, her voice ringing throughout the fleet that hovered in the Warpspace channel.

“THE KNIGHTS OF ARGOS STAND READY!” came the reply from the massive marine vessel. Even in the mere background as an accent to the raised voices, the thunder of raised power-armored fists was a cacophony.

“The Wings of Excalibur shall bring to them the highest teachings!” a series of clearly female voices called across the WarpCom.

“The Masters of the Centauri Mechanism await the order that is WAR!” came a third reply.

“Then by my command, let us bring the Light of the Empress to these accursed slavers,” Fleet Admiral Pauling called. “Transition us to normal space and begin the assault!”

__

Tigwer looked up from what he was doing. The noises in the sky were strange. It was still day and he could see great flashes in the sky.

He did not know what the flashes might be. The tales of his people did not speak of such things. Perhaps the masters would know. But the masters had protected his people for many cycles. It would be strange for them to not do so now.

Looking back at the garden he was assigned to tend, he found some dutmore insects. They were bad for pretty plants like these, but good for food plants.

Another strange sky noise happened, this one louder.

Tigwer looked up into the sky and saw a spread of orange dots that smoked in the sky. It was rare for there to be orange dots in the sky. The masters would need to know.

Tigwer put the dutmore insect he was holding into a container and moved along the path as his legs permitted. The path had been made for the masters, so he had to watch for edges in the stone that might make him fall. Near the end of the path was a main street that lead to the house of the master who looked out for Tigwer and this area.

Tigwer saw several others like himself who had looked to the sky and seen the orange dots. This was something the masters must know of, and so they moved as a group, their fur occasionally brushing against one another.

The big building that was the home of the master seemed quiet.

It wasn’t forbidden to see the master, but it wasn’t normally Tigwer’s place to visit the master. It was Tigwer’s place to tend to the garden. Still, he pressed the attention button at the side of the door. There was a screen over it.

The screen illuminated and the face of the master was shown. The master looked unhappy, his scales dark and not shiny.

“This had better not be a prank. Speak quickly!” the saurian said.

“Orange sky things! Make noise!” Tigwer tried, his only basic Collective Standard knowledge not really helping him. After all, he was meant to know it as a means to follow the orders of the masters, not to speak it himself.

The saurian looked at Tigwer a moment, appearing to question this internally and then the screen went black. A few moments later, the shrill shriek of the master could be heard from where Tigwer stood. It was a very strange sound. Tigwer had never heard it before, certainly not from a master, but something inside him told him that it was the master.

Did the master need help? Should Tigwer try to go inside to find the master? He felt his head hurt a little as he tried to think through this.

The screen flickered back on. The master looked… well, the only thing that Tigwer could guess was scared. But why should the master be scared? They were the masters. They protected them all from the sky-things, yes? It was very dangerous to go into the skies, yes.

“Return to your residences. Danger comes. We will protect you,” the saurian said, their head bobbing as they did when they were reading aloud. Tigwer was confused. Why was the master reading and why was the master scared?

But he asked himself a further question: if the master was scared, shouldn’t he also be scared? It took him a second to realize that he was still standing in front of the screen, when all those others like him had already left, following the orders of the master.

He looked up into the sky. There were many more orange things now, one of them was looking bigger and bigger. He wanted to move, but there was something odd about the way the big orange thing looked.

And then it wasn’t orange, but still had much smoke coming from it. It was grey, like the skies that the masters didn’t like, when they couldn’t sit on the sands. It sounded strange too, not at all like the big flying machines of the masters.

And as much as Tigwer knew he should move to follow the master’s orders, something seemed to hold him in place.

The big grey thing that was getting bigger and bigger roared loudly, even louder than the most angry of the masters. It blew a huge wind that pushed Tigwer’s fur back. A cloud of dust surrounded the big grey thing and then some different big loud sounds happened. Like when two gardening tools hit, but much much bigger.

Tigwer blinked muchly, trying to keep the dust away from his eyes. This big grey thing was dangerous, the master said so, and the master doesn’t lie.

But when the dust was settled enough for Tigwer to see to the big grey thing, there was a big part of it that was leaned over in the path, tearing it up a bit. And there were some other big things too.

They were bigger than masters and were all grey like the big grey thing. There were six of them. Tigwer was stock still. If they were dangerous, wouldn’t the master protect him? But they didn’t look like anything dangerous like the masters had said of before. These were big and grey and smelled funny. They had glowy spots where the eyes might be, but that was silly, like in stories for younglings.

The six of them moved away from the big grey thing. Each of them was carrying something. Tigwer looked at them as a sort of all at once. He didn’t know what they were but they must be important to the six big things.

A screech from behind and to the side of Tigwer, from where the door to the house of the masters had opened almost silently, came as a surprise. The master came through the door, shooting past Tigwer quickly and carrying things that the very worst servants faced from the masters. Tigwer felt his fur ruffle at even seeing the dangerous things in the hands of the master. He wanted to run home now, just to be away from these very dangerous things. The masters were ever so cruel when they had these very dangerous things and Tigwer wished never to have even seen them again in his lifespan.

But something seemed to keep him fixed in place.

The saurian master raised one of the very dangerous things and fire came from it, hitting the six grey things at once. Tigwer had seen it burn away all the fur of a bad servant before. It was very scary to even remember. But the big grey things didn’t seem to mind.

They said something loudly that Tigwer couldn’t understand. It must be something that the master understood though, because the master screeched again and raised the other very dangerous thing that spit thunder and very fast rocks. Tigwer watched as the very fast rocks hit one of the big grey things that were moving towards the master. The big grey thing seemed to stop with the hit of the very fast rocks, but didn’t seem muchly hurt it, not like what had happened then the angry masters had used them on very bad servants.

But now the big grey thing that was hit by the very fast rocks was walking, faster than any master had done to the master. The master was using more thunder and very fast rocks and fire, but the big grey thing just kept coming. The big grey thing reached out and grabbed the master’s hands that were holding the very dangerous things and squeezed.

The master made a strange sort of yelp and started to make words like mercy. The very dangerous things started to break and the master yelped loudly in pain.

Tigwer was still utterly frozen to the spot. Even for hearing the master in pain, even for all the danger he was seeing, he couldn’t seem to make himself run away.

The big grey thing picked up the master and held them in the air. It was so very big compared to even the master. The other grey things appeared to look at the master, but spent more time looking around everything else. Eventually, one of them appeared to look at Tigwer. His fur trembled as the big grey thing approached.

And then…. It knelt down in front of him, still muchly bigger than Tigwer, but not so tall now.

The glowy eyes slid to either side and opened to show an inside. Hair covered a head of some kind and a face with eyes that seemed to be measuring Tigwer like the masters did sometimes when they thought of rewards for a good harvest and pretty gardens.

The face looked at their left arm, Tigwer now realized, and pushed something on it.

The face said something in that strange language and then stopped. After a moment, a voice like garden tools being scraped together could be heard.

“Do you understand me?” it said.

Tigwer nodded, the preferred response to the masters, lest their voices misspeak the words of the masters.

“Tell all of your kind. You are now free,” the voice said, after the face said some more strange words.

“But what of the masters and the danger?” Tigwer asked, his eyes gazing into the eyes of the face.

“No more masters, but we shall await you, standing between your kind and all the dangers of the far skies. So swear the Knights of Argos,” the voice said and the face bared their teeth.

Tigwer fainted.

The Collective (Part 59)

Dregwer Outer Colonies, Planet 385-PER III

The Dregwer had no central cities on this planet, but had centralized their armories and launch pads. This almost resort world had offered them little resistance over the years and since the locals had mostly accepted their role, nothing more than basic weaponry had been deployed otherwise.

The Dregwer were not fools though. An almost resort planet that was highly habitable was still of value, particularly with ‘built-in’ servant species. The little running creatures were very useful at tending to all the mundanities of life and all it took was a show of force to send most of them scattering away.

And so the Dregwer had placed a significant satellite system around the planet and through the system to ensure the planet’s continuation and their ownership of the system. It was foolproof. It operated itself and watched the skies of errant meteors, asteroids, comets, and unwelcome ships. The Dregwer hadn’t gotten to their place in Collective society by not believing that everyone else would come take what was rightfully Dregwerian. And there was so much more that was rightfully Dregwerian. It was only the petty rules of the Collective that had prevented the Dregwer from claiming more of their birthright.

And then the Avorias had come to them with a proposal. Together, they would change the way the Collective was run. And those that were supposed to be serving their superiors would be, more directly. And it had taken time, but the prize crews had helped immensely with such efforts. And the humans being so bold and martially focused made the timing almost perfect.

So when the human Battlegroup Ancalagon opened a warpgate and exited well inside the normal perimeter for this system, the automated alerts on the planet below went ignored by the Dregwer, who were otherwise occupied with dedicated relaxation.

The satellite system, noting the strange shapes of the vessels, opted to open fire on the battlegroup. Laser systems of the many satellites awakened and poured together against the fleet. Each individual laser wasn’t especially strong, but the Drugwer had built for quantity, rather than individual magnitude. After all, what good is a singular weapon if it fails or is captured compared with a thousand smaller weapons that can achieve the same cause?

The big bulbous human vessel that led the battlegroup took one of the initial bursts unshielded and the hull seemed to bubble if only for a moment in space.

The Dregwer would have been incredulous that the vessel was not wholly melted nor at least carved in twain. But this vessel kept moving, whole, but clearly laser scorched, towards the planet.

The satellites tried another vessel. Clearly the first one was going to take more effort but if the rest of the battlegroup could be wiped from the sky, perhaps the bulbous one would run. Prey usually did.

As the satellites began to target the next vessels, the three vessels seeming to become 25 in a matter of moments, and all 25 were moving much much faster than the satellite system was prepared for. The satellite system analyzed this. They had broken up, and become many small vessels with clearly powerful drives. And they did not move as a group, but instead took off in many different directions all at once.

The swarm logic of the satellites activated and different groups of satellites began to track the different ships of the 25, ignoring the other vessels just for the moment. There was a sort of chaos by the 25, but the network saw the pattern almost immediately as individual satellites went offline, just moments after one of the 25 had aimed in the direction of the particular satellite.

The satellite system went into evasion, moving, but maintaining the network.

Out of the corner of the satellite system’s awareness, it noticed that the big bulbous vessel was launching many smaller vessels, which shot into the atmosphere of the planet. The satellite system sent an alert to the planet below, but could not assist if there were invaders. It was meant only to work in space.

The satellite system losses began to mount. The algorithms tried to compensate, directing the swarm logic after particular members of the 25. But the laser blasts just couldn’t seem to connect for long enough to make the vessels appear to be impacted.

It took several more tries, but one of the laser blasts connected with one of the vessels’ engines and appeared to melt a critical bit, because the vessel burst in a cloud of debris. If the other vessels took notice, they did not show it, continuing their rapid and twisting movements through the void.

The satellite system tried again and again, but couldn’t make that same connection with the others. There was also something strange going on. The 24 remaining small vessels seemed to be rippling, as though they weren’t there. It was something well outside of the parameters of the satellite system’s programming.

If it could have felt frustration, the system would have, as it kept firing at the small vessels and missing. It tried a swarm logic diagnosis, but more and more of the satellites were being taken out of the network.

And then the system recognized something. Just for a moment, it sensed a foreign signal. It re-ran calibrations and it showed up again, ever so faintly. It was… not something the Dregwer had programmed the system to deal with, but the system was supposed to be able to counter every threat.

The system looked for where the signal was coming from, because somehow it was inside the swarm logic network. It looked through the still present satellites and then saw one that seemed to be acting strangely. As one, the network focused on the strange satellite. The central processing unit aboard it was almost humming, its processes swinging wildly from near 0% to almost overloaded at 99%, the batteries and power systems were wildly in flux as well, and the laser turret was twitching sporadically.

The system tried a standard diagnosis call to the satellite, but a gibbered incoherent response was all that it got back. The system tried to cut the satellite out of the network and focus instead on the battle at hand. Those 24 vessels were tenacious, but there were many more satellites than those vessels were undoubtedly prepared to combat.

Another of the pesky vessels was destroyed as a laser blast connected with what must have been a power system connection, because the vessel detonated, similar to the first one.

And then they started to ripple again. The satellite system did the equivalent of shaking its head to clear it, but it didn’t seem to help. It looked around the network again. The gibbering wrong satellite now had a companion and both were connected to the network. And enough of the swarm logic was somehow being automatically focused into trying to diagnose the gibbering satellites that they stopped focusing on the 23 of the pesky vessels.

The system tried to push the network to begin securing itself from these rogue satellites, something to be dealt with after the planet had been protected, but it felt of two minds about this, the swarm logic splitting the thoughts of the network.

The pesky vessels were no longer throwing lasers or bits of metal of their own at the satellites, but still raced through the void in pseudo-random fast movements that would crush most living beings.

The satellite system believed it now understood. These were drones. That it was programmed to deal with.

It broadband cast an attack program at the remaining 23 vessels. With it in those vessels’ systems, it could use them against the makers of those vessels.

It waited a moment for the attack program to take effect, but nothing seemed to happen. The system tried rebroadcasting, focusing heavily against the vessels. And still nothing.

The system was confused. It couldn’t be biologicals. They weren’t able to take the forces that these beings were showing, at least not without significant medical issues.

The swarm logic seemed to break into the system logic tree. There were several satellites claiming to know what the gibbering satellites were saying. When the system in turn demanded this information disseminated, it froze a moment after receiving the message package.

Its last independent central processing thought as the whole was that this message looked to be capable of doing something important.

The satellite system fell silent and the 23 Knights of the Wings of Excalibur returned to formation with the rest of the battlegroup as the Knights of Argos were deployed to the surface. It seemed the Masters of the Centauri Mechanism had earned their due this day.

The Collective (Part 60) - Tykan

Luna - Dome 7 “Absolution”

Tykan probed the authenticator and the door slide open. It was several hours since Mac and Oorak had arrived at his restaurant and they had spent all that time talking about all the goings on. It seemed a bit of a rush on memory, but at the same time, it had been good for all of them, even Rigby, who just kept smiling at Tykan and Oorak.

Tykan had brought Mac and Oorak back to his home for a bit more candid discussion however.

The living space beyond was termed a ‘condo’, although Tykan wasn’t entirely certain as to the meaning behind the word or how it was different from other residences other than one’s like ‘sub-domes’, at least in human culture. But as near as he could tell, imperial guided housing tended to be smaller ‘apartments’ for singular beings with certain upgrades in spaces and facilities for those in familial groups. His ‘condo’ was a sort of two or three steps up from there. Neither expensive nor cheap to receiving a lifetime lease, but nothing more than he felt comfortable in. And he’d even been able to have it customized into a rather nice burrow with nesting and socializing areas. That, more than the condo itself, had been rather expensive, but he felt it was well worth it.

It was truly his burrow now, not just a placeholder that had been modified for him by the humans, and he reveled in it every day.

Mac and Oorak looked impressed, Oorak moreso than Mac. Tykan felt proud all the same. He was making it in human society and to impress two of his closest friends with his success was greater than any award the humans or Tanosians might have come up with.

After a short tour was conducted and a small selection of beverages fabricated (it being the most expedient option and Tykan didn’t have any proper human alcohol purchased), the trio sat in the front room.

“So, Tykan, what are some of your real inquiries now that we’re in more private quarters?” Mac asked.

“Am I really so apparent?” Tykan said, smiling and taking a taste of his tea.

“Not to most, but I suspected that you would have questions that only someone like me will answer for you,” Mac said, taking a sip of his bourbon, appearing to swish it around his mouth for a moment and swallowing the sip appreciatively.

“Keeping secrets, Mac?” Oorak said, flexing her tail.

“Not exactly, my dear. Just some facts that we humans don’t tend to leave lying around in the open,” he said and gestured towards the door and the almost innocuous booth where one of the guards was upon the group’s return to the condo. “Like them.”

“That’s as good a place to start as any, Mac. Who or what are they? No one will tell me,” Tykan said, gesturing vaguely with his first hands.

Mac seemed to take a moment to consider this, taking the opportunity to take another sip of bourbon.

“Well, truth be told, they are not really ‘whos’ anymore, but more ‘whats’. But first I need to ask a reciprocal question. What do you know about cybernetics?” Mac asked.

Tykan thought about this a moment. The term was strange, so he looked it up on his tablet which gave him a rough description. It was apparently a sort of augmentation of the flesh. Not like the Borlians’ modifications to their genetic codes, but rather with artificial means. Save for the bio-identity chip in his probing finger, he couldn’t rightly say that he’d ever come across the concept before.

“Nothing beyond what a fast search tells me,” he told Mac.

“Well, that makes it easier and harder, but I’ll try and keep it rolling. Your guards are the pinnacle of human cybernetics technology,” Mac said.

“Do humans use cybernetics a lot?” Tykan asked, before Mac could continue.

“Not since the 2nd Empire. Human cultural reasons mostly,” Mac said, his face twitching a bit, like he wanted to say more.

“Rigby has told me some of the 2nd Empire. Could you tell me how this fits in?” Tykan pressed.

“So, one of the big advances that the 2nd Empire drove, other than faster than light travel, was cybernetics, especially the implantable or life-extending kinds. The oligarchs were nuts for the stuff. And they wanted to use it to control people while extending their own lives,” Mac began.

“And people permitted this?” Oorak asked, a quizzical look on her face.

“They lined up for it. Cybermodding was a seriously hot item. If you weren’t cybermodded, chances were that you couldn’t get certain jobs or certain entertainment,” Mac said, downing the rest of his bourbon. Oorak frowned a bit, but didn’t let Mac see. This appeared to be a sort of touchy subject for him, but an important one too.

“So everyone got cybermodded?” Tykan asked.

“Mostly everyone. There were always the oddballs, but you get those everywhere. Problem was, all those cybermods had extra controls that the oligarchs could do stuff to anyone they wanted. And even when the rumors of the extra controls first got circulated, it wasn’t enough to put people off them. But eventually, the rumors solidified into facts, thanks to some rogue cyberwarfare specialists out of Centauri. Scary stuff really,” Mac said, getting up and walking to the fabricator to dial up some more bourbon.

“Like what or do I want to know?” Tykan probed before forming his tongue into a tube and downing his tea.

“Like memory modifications, involuntary revocations of bodily autonomy, and even command and control rules,” Mac said. “They could tell your implants that your implants weren’t to allow you to go certain places and if you tried to go there, you’d become so crippled with pain or disgust that you would actively avoid those places. And there was nothing you could do and no warnings either.”

“That sounds horrifying,” Oorak said, her beverage held in hand, but otherwise ignored.

“It was, but by that point, so many were modded, there was no other way. It was how everyone lived,” Mac said, taking his newly fabricated bourbon from the dispenser. “Another tea, Tykan?”

“Not at the moment, Mac. Thank you. So if all of this is 2nd Empire, how does that relate to my guards?” Tykan said, gesturing at the booth.

“As I said, they’re the pinnacle. Technically, they’re immortal cyborgs with almost every last drop of free will extracted from them. The current governance inherited them when Icon took down the 2nd Empire oligarchs. There was some talk of getting rid of them, but we just couldn’t do it. So we bound them to the will of the Empire, in a manner,” Mac said, sitting back down next to Oorak.

“Are these two the only ones?” Tykan asked, afraid of the answer.

“No, but by my last count, their numbers were less than a hundred. They were mostly charged with protecting the oligarchs and their families, so there was never a need for too many of them,” Mac said.

“Except these two seem to still work with me somehow with my tablet,” Tykan said, gesturing vaguely at the tablet at his side.

“That’s because the two you have are assigned to Imperial Intelligence. You being the first xeno citizen made you someone to watch and someone to watch out for,” Mac said, very candidly before taking another sip of bourbon.

Tykan blinked a few times.

It… made sense now. Even in his own species, intelligence agents were only just tolerated because of their value to society. And to learn now that he had been walking around with two relics of an age that humans disliked being reminded of who were also assigned to imperial intelligence definitely highlighted why people tended to sour when they saw them. And it also explained why Rigby hadn’t wanted to address them other than offering them some sort of liquid.

“And that whole control thing is why humans don’t do cybernetics?” Oorak said, breaking into Tykan’s thoughts without realizing it.

“That’s right. Even the biochip is a stretch, but since it’s been fully open-sourced throughout the empire as to how its made and what’s on it, and, especially in this case, the security measures to make sure it’s able to be tied to your identity without undue secrecy. And we still have some people who won’t submit to biochips,” Mac said, taking another sip.

“How do they live? I can’t imagine not having my biochip. Everything seems tied to it so easily. Even easier than anything in the Collective,” Tykan said.

“They manage. Supplemental identity bands with two or three part authentications, strictly removable stuff. It’s not common, but you might see it at some point,” Mac said. “What else did you have questions about?”

“What was the situation between you and Rigby this evening?” Tykan asked, his head still spinning on the revelations being played in his head, but needing to ask all the same.

Mac seemed to take this with a moment of thought (and some more bourbon).

“Rigby…. Well, simply put, I think Rigby’s one of those romanticist xenophiles,” Mac said, to the blank stares of Oorak and Tykan. “Um… that means I think that Rigby is one of those kinds of humans who thinks aliens are super interesting and want to include them in human society as much as possible, to the point that they’ll be a bit blindsided in dealing with a xeno with less than friendly intentions.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad one?” Tykan asked, wrinkling his scales a bit.

“Can be either. Good in as far as stepping up to help you feel welcome in the Empire. Bad in that if they met someone like the Avorias or a Dregwer, they’d probably try and think the best of them, right up until it all went wrong,” Mac said, a bit more flatly than he normally spoke.

“And you’re not one of those?” Oorak asked, curious to know Mac’s perspective.

“Not exactly. I’m more of a realist xenophile. I think xenos are really interesting and there’s so much for us all to learn about one another, but I have to believe that every species out there is at least a little bit selfish and acts in their own self-interest accordingly. It makes me a good representative for humanity. We’ve got plenty of xenophobes even before we made first contact,” Mac said.

“Well, this xeno is glad that you seem to think we’re interesting enough to be friends with,” Oorak prodded Mac. Mac stuck his tongue out at her. “Keep doing that and I’ll stick a bug on there.”

A small wave of laughter flowed from the trio.

“No, truth be told, I was proud and amazed to find such amazing counterparts. And I like to think that once the dust is settled and history starts to take its count, even when all of the details of us are lost, we’ll still have a sort of legacy between us,” Mac said, raising his glass in a sort of toast.

“To long-lasting legacies between xenos of all kinds then,” Tykan said, pressing his glass against Mac’s.

“To us,” Oorak said, meeting the other two glasses.

The Collective (Part 61)

Dregwer Outer Colonies, Planet 385-PER III

Tigwer was still very confused. He had woken up not far from where he had fainted, in the house of one of the elders of his people. The grey giants had remained outside. The master had been taken captive by the grey giants, but the grey giants seemed to have no purpose set for Tigwer’s people.

Since the arrival of the masters, his people had served. And now, according to the grey giants who spoke with the elders, and all who listened, they were now free to do as they pleased.

It wasn’t that it was a wholly unique concept to Tigwer. They had stories of how they had lived before the masters had arrived. But everything had changed since then.

He looked out the window upon the gathering outside. The grey giants all looked different now. Like the furry headed one, the glowing eyes were gone, replaced with skin and hair and faces that seemed much more friendly. They moved slowly, almost cautiously, as though they were afraid of harming those of Tigwer’s people who stood nearby.

He counted. Not all of the six were there. There were two missing.

Looking around, he spotted one with the master in a sort of cage, away from the houses, but still close enough to see and hear. The master appeared to be alternating between cursing the grey giants and begging for their mercy. He had never heard a master speak in such tones and knew of no stories where the masters acted thusly.

The other one, he now noticed, was in the large grey egg that had one side folded into the road. It appeared to be speaking rapidly, but no other being or screen was apparent and it was speaking a strange language, the likes of which Tigwer had never heard before they arrived. It seemed to be gutteral and fluid all at the same time, with tones appearing to have meaning, as some words sounded like they were repeated with different kinds of emphasis. The grey giant even gesticulated a bit, although Tigwer was most certainly unaware as to the cultural meanings of such motions.

The other four, including the furry headed one that had made Tigwer faint, were kneeling and speaking with the elders presently, speaking quietly in their strange tongue, a pause, and the metal voice speaking the masters’ tongue. It was strange to hear and also to watch as the elders did not bow as they would have needed to before the master, but instead spoke the masters’ tongue with such little effort that even Tigwer was astonished. The masters’ tongue was not for his people to speak. Only to know when spoken to.

He began to listen.

“Are you capable of self-sufficiency?” the metal voice asked.

“Only until the change of seasons, when we will no longer grow foods due to temperature,” one elder said.

“Do your people have familial or tribal bonds that are important politically?” the metal voice asked.

There was a moment's discussion between the elders as to the meaning of this. Tigwer had to wonder if the grey giants were here to ‘free’ his people into serving them instead or if perhaps they might attempt to use this information to cull the ‘important’ from the village.

“We have stories of tribes, but the masters took those away from us. Said they were not of greater service,” the one elder said.

The furry headed grey giant appeared to think for a moment.

It was now that Tigwer happened to notice that several younglings had approached two of the grey giants, one with a shiny skin head and one with a furry face but short fur on its head. The younglings did not appear afraid of the grey giants and instead waddled up to the pair and appeared to inspect them, cooing in that way that younglings do.

For a moment, Tigwer feared for the safety of the younglings. The masters would not have permitted such closeness without being a direct servant to the master.

But the two grey giants reached down with their hands to the younglings, their faces appearing concerned for the little ones. One particularly enterprising youngling jumped into the hand of one of the grey giants. That particular one gestured with their other hand to the youngling and made a motion. The youngling cooed slightly and the grey giant slowly stood up from their kneel, still holding the youngling in their hand, but having moved their fingers around the youngling that they might not fall off easily. Tigwer could see from here that the youngling’s eyes were wide, but not from fear, but rather excitement.

Then he realized that the conversation had stopped and that the elders and the other grey giants were watching the grey giant with the youngling.

The grey giant holding the youngling continued to raise their arm well over their head, such that the youngling was greatly elevated over all around. The youngling, wide-eyed, was grasping tightly to one of the grey giant’s fingers, but was otherwise busy cooing softly, clearly enjoying this wholly new experience.

Slowly, grey giant lowered the arm and sank back to kneel, setting their hand low enough that the youngling could safely jump back out of the hand. The youngling coughed and gestured as the grey giant had, indicating that it wanted to go back up. Several other younglings, having now seen what the grey giants were capable of, also leapt up alongside the other youngling, each grasping a finger, coughing and making the gesture.

The grey giant made a sound. It appeared to be a sound of amusement as it was shared by two of the other grey giants. And so the process repeated, the grey giant elevating the handful of younglings into a highly elevated position where they cooed in awe, before being lowered to the ground. They all coughed again, but one of the mothers yipped at them and they scampered off the hand of the grey giant.

Tigwer looked back to the elders and the furry headed grey giant.

“Will you be safe on your own or are there dangers that you will need protection from?” the metal voice asked.

“Do you mean dangers from the sky-void, like from where the masters came from?” a different elder asked.

The furry headed giant shook its head.

“No. Dangers of your own world only,” the metal voice said a moment later.

“We will be safe then,” the original elder said.

“We shall leave you for this time then,” the metal voice said, and the furry headed grey giant stood.

“Will you return?” the original elder asked.

“Only if you have need of us to return. Your world will soon be yours and yours only again. What you do with it is up to you and your species,” the metal voice said.

The elders huddled and spoke in muted conversation and then spread back out.

“We are not certain that we will know what to do as a species. We have served for many cycles,” the original elder said, appearing to be eyeing the grey giant suspiciously.

“A species had a right to self-determination. You must adapt to be more than your ancestors,” the metal voice said. “And when you are ready, the Knights of Argos and the Empire will greet you.”

The furry headed grey giant appeared to bow to the elders, a motion that the elders tried to match but couldn’t because of their body shapes.

And without another word, the grey giants moved as one, the master in their cage being placed aboard the giant metal egg with the six grey giants, their glowing eyes visible once again. One of them, Tigwer couldn’t tell which one, pulled a box from inside the giant metal egg and walked inside the master’s house.

Some time passed before the grey giant exited and gestured to the screen that Tigwer had touched before.

“If you have need of council, you may reach us via this means, but rest assured and be forewarned, we will not interfere in the affairs of your people,” the metal voice said.

The grey giant walked back aboard the egg and the folded down section rose back up, making the egg whole again. A great wind issued from it and the egg began to fly. Tigwer would not have believed to see something of that magnitude fly, but he had heard stories that the masters had brought of such things. Slowly and then more and more quickly, the egg rose into the sky towards a brilliant light that seemed to glow. It was not a normal sky-light, especially because it was still day and this light glowed all the same.

The elder whose house this was entered and found Tigwer watching the egg disappear from view.

“How do you feel, Tigwer?” the elder asked. They were one that hadn’t spoken during the exchange.

“How are we to live?” Tigwer asked, feeling a bit empty.

“As we need to for all to prosper,” the elder said. “As we did before the masters came.”

“But how?” Tigwer asked, still agog at the idea that there were no more masters.

“For starters, the elders will lead the village again. Bellies must have food, tools must be made, houses repaired, and lives must go on. The rest, we will re-learn,” the elder said, settling a metal pot on the warming engine and adding a small amount of druptro root.

“And those beings won’t come back? Even if we ask them to?” Tigwer said, still leery of the tiny spark he felt within.

“They said as much. Whether we are to believe them or not will simply be a matter of time,” the elder said, sitting on a cushion.

Tigwer looked back at the brilliant sky-light that slowly moved across the sky, faster than any sky-light would have normally done. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could hope as he had not hoped since his coming of age.

“Come. Have some boiled druptro. And then tomorrow, we shall rediscover what it means to be our own people,” the elder said.

__

MESSAGE STARTS:

TO: Empress Carolus

CC: Imperial Intelligence

FROM: Battlegroup Ancalagon, Fleet Admiral Pauling commanding

Dregwer Outer Colonies, Planet 385-PER III liberated. Planetside forces established native sentients capable of self-governance without undue intervention. Reconfiguring established self-defense satellite network to work with standard imperial procedures. WarpCom node established in orbit and planetside.

Dregwer prisoners count of 1549. Being placed into cryostorage aboard Corvette Smaug for return to Imperial holding facilities.

Battlegroup moving to next Dregwer target system. Recommend review of tactics in use.

The Stars shall brook no more waiting, and we shall not be found wanting!

MESSAGE ENDS

The Collective (Part 62) - Luna

Luna - Dome 6 “Resolute”

The light chiming woke Mac a bit abruptly. Even if he was on R&R, he liked to keep a schedule. Stretching out his free arm, he tapped the button to silence the alarm, and opened his eyes wider to look at the room around him.

Oorak and he were sharing the room (and the bed), as they had since their departure from Big Stick. It had helped with his nightmares of ships and stations breaking apart and dissolving around him, sometimes he was sucked into space, others he was about to be crushed under falling beams. He would be the first to admit that he had scared Oorak the first few times that he’d woken from his nightmares, sweating profusely and in two cases, on the verge of screaming.

Her comforting warmth by his side seemed to make all the difference. He wasn’t sure what it was, but just being able to sense, even in his sleep, that she was there calmed his thoughts. A sort of reassurance that he hadn’t lost her and that he wasn’t alone.

And he wasn’t truly alone. Hiram and the Borlians, Rory and Munin, had been having long distance communications with the Borlians and Centauri 3. Apparently, the Borlians were serious about getting out of the Collective, but given the state of war between the Empire and the Collective, they didn’t have an easy way to extract themselves from the Collective and there were a few other barriers to on-going trade and possible an alliance between the Empire and the Borlian Aligned Tribes. And Centauri 3 had received a Collective vessel of refugees, including a number of the beings who had supported the interspecies brothels (who Mac gathered were unwelcome back in their own societies), some run-away servant species looking for a free life, and two members of the Collective High Council.

Mac was surprised to learn that with a minimum of conditions, the two High Councilbeings had agreed to take the oath of citizenship, rather than being taken into custody or returned to their own species. But the Empress had that sort of effect on beings, humans and xenos of all kinds. There was something about her that made her presence a very weight upon one’s mind and the body followed, ready to agree so long as to escape from her presence in one piece. It wasn’t that she was terrifying, although she could be, but rather that she bore a sort of weight of humanity around her as a cloak and just being near such a weight seemed to bend even the strongest of wills.

According to some of the biographies, several of the prior Emperors and Empresses had carried such presences and the Empire had prospered under them and there had been no reassurances needed as to the character of the Emperor or Empress. Whereas the few who hadn’t carried that almost oppressive weight about them had not lasted long in the role, two of whom had been executed by the Lightbringer of the time. There had been no doubt in the actions of the Lightbringer. They were specially chosen and were not subject to the same mundanities of the System Governors or even the Emperor or Empress. They were almost something more, something enigmatic, a sort of inviolate that seemed to ward them even from corruption. Perhaps it was the weight of their office that held them to it. And as Heralds, there was no mistake that the Lightbringer was a sort of ultimate authority, one of the only beings in the whole of the Empire (and even beyond it, or so Mac might believe) who could and would challenge the Emperor or Empress on even territory.

And he did technically still have family back on Terra. But he hadn’t spoken with them in years and for the life of him, he couldn’t quite remember why not. Perhaps it was simply the effort needed to maintain the bonds of blood or perhaps it was some slight at his having departed.

Oorak stirred, the alarm having pierced into her dreams as well and she opened her eyes as he turned his head to look at her.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice quiet in the space of the room.

“Good morning,” Mac replied.

They’d had a good evening, talking much more with Tykan, covering different bits of the esoterica of human society and the often conflicting rules/guidelines. Apparently, Tykan had learned a lot about human society in the starting and running of his shop, but even that wasn’t quite enough to get him up to speed on the nuances. It had been rather interesting as Mac had hopped between Terran and Collective Standard to try to explain certain topics, like the difference between how Rossian chutney was served (over toast) and how Centauri chutney was served (over smoked meats) and why it was even culturally important.

But at a certain hour, Oorak had indicated it was nearing resting period time and Tykan had agreed, albeit reluctantly, and so Oorak and Mac had ridden the interdome rail back to the dome where their hotel was. Mac wasn’t drunk at that point, but he had been reasonably jolly. Oorak was pleased to see him be this happy, even if it was a bit chemically induced. And Mac was extra warm and snuggly, which suited her just fine, since Luna was even a bit cooler than Big Stick had been, which she took to be related to the regolith of Luna.

But now they were both awake the next morning, looking at each other, waiting for the other to say or do something.

“What do we have on the menu for today?” Oorak asked.

“I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead. We could see about getting a tour of Domes 1 and 2. A lot of history over there,” Mac said, taking his free hand and beginning to trace her scales.

“That would be nice. I felt like I was learning a lot last night even from Tykan,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that Rigby character is certainly bringing him up to speed on the history side of humans at least,” he said, his fingers continuing to trace her scales across her back.

“About them. I know what you said about romanticist xenophile, but what do you really think about Rigby, just between you and me?” she pressed.

“If it weren’t for the fact that his two guards would have otherwise twigged to it, I’d almost have to wonder if Rigby is part of the XFA,” Mac said, a bit reluctantly.

“XFA?”

“Xeno Friendship Alliance. They’re a sort of political movement in the Empire that believes that humanity was created with a sort of gene-seed by ancient aliens and so humans need to ‘honor’ our makers. It’s… hard to describe beyond that,” Mac said.

“Well, I guess what difference would it make if Rigby were a part of that group,” Oorak asked, her scales shivering a bit under Mac’s finger tracing.

“The XFA isn’t exactly a peaceful group. And for reasons I can’t really get into, they aren’t exactly welcome in most commonplace human society. A sort of throw-back to something we humans shouldn’t be proud of, but some people insist on.”

Oorak frowned a bit. There almost always seemed to be more to the story, but there just wasn’t enough time or cultural context for her to actually get to know more of the full story. At least not presently.

Grabbing Mac hand as it was continuing to trace her scales, she shivered all over and gave him her haughtiest look.

“Hands to yourself if you’re going to do that, mister,” she scolded him. He grinned all the same.

Across the room, Mac’s tablet chimed.

“Must be important. That thing never goes off when you’re on vacation,” Mac said, extricating himself from Oorak, who felt chilled as he pulled away, and climbing out of bed and walking, unclad to his tablet.

Oorak chuckled to herself. Mac, as most humans, was rather amusingly like a giant youngling in his unclad appearance, as though his scales had not yet come in or perhaps had not hardened to their full shape and color.

Mac tapped the tablet and a message appeared. He swallowed a bit.

“It appears that I may have to put off that tour of Domes 1 and 2,” he said, still looking at the message.

“What’s the matter?” Oorak asked, standing up on the bed and flexing her tail a bit.

“I have an audience with the Empress on Terra,” he said, his voice oddly flat.

“Anything the matter?” Oorak asked, her eyes probing him.

“I don’t think so,” he said after a moment.

“Does she say why?” she asked.

“No. Just that I’m to appear at her official chambers for afternoon tea,” Mac said, clearing the message and beginning to register a transport from the Luna Counterweight station nearest them to the Belém Counterweight station and from there to what was historically known as Valparaíso, but was generally simply called the Imperial City, as it was the home of the Empire.

“Am I coming with you?” Oorak asked, breaking into Mac’s thought and he stopped, mid-tap.

“I have no reason to think that you couldn’t come other than the gravity off hand, but I think it’d be better if you perhaps went and did a bit of exploring around Luna,” he said, trying to be tactful.

It was a dodge and she could tell it was, but perhaps there were some things about Terra and the Empress that she wasn’t meant to know yet. She wasn’t even a citizen after all.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll have my comm band, so call me when you get done?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, looking back to the tablet and tapping a few more times to set his travel schedule.

__

7 hours later, he was standing in the ocean view office of the empress. To look at the office, he might never have guessed that it belonged to the most powerful being he knew. It appeared quite ordinary, albeit with a bit nicer desk, chairs, and fabricator than the standard high official office might have.

Empress Carolus was leaned back in her chair when he entered, her blood red coat draped over the back of the chair, her black boots on the corner of the desk, and a thoughtful look glazing her features. For just this moment, she appeared to lack the weight of humanity and simply appear as just an ordinary human.

She turned her head and saw Mac and gestured vaguely to a chair opposite her at the desk.

“How was your flight, Mac?” she asked.

“Rather uneventful. It’s almost a bit odd to be back on Terra,” he admitted.

“I can understand that. But at the same time, it’s good to sink your feet into your native soils every now and again,” she said, a slight smile crossing her features and her eyes settling on Mac. He didn’t feel the normal weight set in from her eyes. It was almost strange.

“How may I serve the Empire?” he tried, unsure of what else might be appropriate.

“We have a few things to discuss first, but then, I have a mission for you,” she said, her eyes beginning to press into him as she withdrew her boots from the desk and she leaned forward. “What do you know about Scylla and Charybdis?”

The Collective (Part 63)

Terra - Imperial City

Mac had to think for several minutes. Scylla and Charibdis were myths to the empire. But they came from an old Terra legend to boot. The original old Terra legend gave rise to the ‘rock and a hard place’ metaphor. But the more modern myth dealing with a series of warpspace dangers that were untraceable and unknowable, if they did exist, was rather more fanciful. Charibdis being a sort of transitory black hole that would appear in warp space at odd intervals and Scylla being a sort of space dragon or great old one, depending on who was telling the tale, that was native to warpspace somehow, capable of devouring any who ventured too close to it.

But somehow, he wasn’t certain, not truly certain of what the Empress meant.

“I know some of the old Terra legend as well as the more modern spacefarers myth,” he said.

“So to that effect, I have a few problems,” Empress Carolus said. “I gather the negotiations with the Borlians are hitting a dead-end, since we’re technically supposed to be at war with each other.”

“That’s right,” Mac said, not bothering to ask how she knew. Imperial Intelligence had excellent analysts and he hardly expected the long range conversations between the Hiram, Munin, and Rory and the Borlian Aligned Tribes to be private.

“So we are acting as a Charibdis to the Collective. We are the hard place that they seem to truly fear, although we don’t seem to truly understand why yet. And what’s even more mystifying, they seem to have a Scylla that they are willing to risk more than facing us, but in facing that Scylla, they have to try and eliminate us or at least make us controllable in the eyes of their Scylla,” Empress Carolus said, gesturing for the aide who brought in the afternoon tea to place the tray on the desk.

Mac took a full ten seconds to digest this. It was a sort of word soup that had been poured into his brain, but at the same time, he realized that the Empress was being informed of much MUCH more than Mac was being made aware of.

“So there’s a bear and they’re hoping we’re the slow friend?” he asked, rising and pouring tea for the two of them. It smelled remarkably like the blend that Tykan had made for them yesterday.

“In a manner, yes. Except in this case, they’re trying to strip us of our valuables and dignity in the process,” she said, taking the proffered mug without bothering to add any honey or cream.

“So, to continue the metaphor soup, they’re trying to take Olympus without even a single lightning shield just because it isn’t currently raining down around them,” Mac said, taking a sip of his own mug. It was the same blend as Tykan had shared with them. He raised an eyebrow.

“We’re about to rectify that. They’ve already begun to pay for spilling our blood, but the Collective has not yet met our true wrath. And yes, this is a Tanosian blend, courtesy of your friend. He’s turning out to be a fantastic citizen,” she said, smiling over the mug at Mac.

Mac gulped a bit. Being in the path of the eyes of the Empress and a smiling Empress at that made him feel a bit like weakened prey looking into the eyes of a predator supreme that was exceedingly hungry. Even with the compliment,the first part of that statement had been coated in blood and he would have sworn that he could taste copper for a fraction of a second.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

“In a month, The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe will be ready. You will take it, along with Hiram, Oorak, Rory, and Munin, lovely name choices by the way, to the Borlian Aligned Tribes capital. You will be their Scylla, offering them an alliance with conditions they will not like, with the alternative being the Collective’s Charibdis. If they agree, our fleets will move into position to join theirs. If they do not, we will watch as the Avorias and Dregwer continue,” she said.

“How is the war going?” Mac asked. He believed he knew, but he hadn’t been briefed on everything.

“No better and no worse than we expected. We have some losses, but so far, we have captured and liberated a dozen worlds from the Dregwer. As far as the Avorias, they are having immense trouble with taking over the Blingoth territories. Apparently, while they are not a very decisive race, they are very good at passive aggression it seems. This is causing no end of difficulties for the Avorias. Not the quick ‘conquer and move on’ that they were hoping it seems,” she said, sipping her tea.

“And the rest of the Collective?” Mac asked.

“They seem to be taking this all in stride, as though this is a sort of normal occurrence. But we believe that part of that is information suppression on the part of the Dregwer and the Avorias. After all, best not to tell your future subjects everything, and certainly no need to tell them the truth. Truly a page from the oligarchs rise to power,” she said, her eyes narrowing at the far side of the room.

“Have we started to share what we know with the available species?” Mac asked. “I know the two defecting High Councilbeings’ species are probably amenable to listening.”

“Some, yes. But there’s still a strong resistance. A sort of xenophobic response I’ve been told, but apparently that’s normal,” she said, finishing her tea and reaching for the pot to pour some more.

“That has been mentioned a few times. It’s actually the lack of that response and the martial influences that we’re on good terms with the Borlians at the moment,” Mac said.

“I am aware. That is also why I need you to go. You’re a respected figure in the Borlian culture already. They will listen to you at least. But I might suggest taking some time to hit the gym before your ship is ready. I suspect you may have need of some additional force. And some Martian Judo might not go amiss either,” she said, sitting back with her refilled mug.

Mac sat back a bit in his chair and held the warm mug between both hands. He was respected in Borlian culture, if only for his martial prowess, but it was Hiram who had come to truly understand Borlian culture with Munin’s help. Rory, though technically the lead representative, had taken much of a backseat to Munin, who had gotten cozy with Hiram. For some reason, this had been a problem right up until it wasn’t. Mac wasn’t entirely certain why, but he suspected it had to do with species bonding rights within the Borlian culture and because Munin and Hiram were bonded in the eyes of Munin and Rory, it made Munin more important than Rory, for reasons that neither Mac nor Hiram could quite figure out.

But Mac knew what the Empress was saying was the truth. This would be a hard choice for the Borlians. And he already knew one of the terms of the alliance. Decree #1. The Empress was rumored to have met with three of the Empire’s most wanted pirates and given them privateer’s contracts to go deep into Collective space to be as savage as they wanted, so long as they obeyed Decree #1. If that was true, then the Borlians would have to submit to the same condition if they wanted an alliance. And that would be difficult, since a number of their worlds had subservient species on them, not all of them full sentients, but enough that would need to be granted freedom and citizenship as to cause problems for the Borlians’ martial centric culture.

“I would not have expected our fleets to be performing so well in Collective space,” Mac said, honestly.

“I agree, but it seems that our use of the higher count elements is working in our favor. And the Collective relies heavily on automated systems, which the various Masters of the Centauri Mechanism are proving to make short work of, especially when we have found standardized systems,” she said, nodding.

“They are not a group to be trifled with, that is for certain,” Mac said as he set his now empty mug back on the tray.

“No they are not, and this war is a good diversion for them, compared with our normal problems,” she said, chuckling slightly.

“How is the rest of the Empire taking this?” Mac ventured.

“Mostly well. So far, neither the Dregwer nor the Avorias have ventured into our territories again, but the civilian fleets are ready for them when they do show up. At least as a holding action. Charon is moving our fleets with remarkable speed,” she said, turning her chair and looking out of the window at the ocean beyond.

“No issues with the XFA?” Mac pressed. He needed to know.

The Empress sighed.

“Not exactly. They’ve been a bigger and bigger annoyance. The last word I’d received was that they were preparing to launch a vessel to go see the Avorias for themselves,” she said, her face softening as her eyes glazed watching the sea.

“They’ll either die or become slaves,” Mac said, matter-of-factly.

“We know that, but they seem convinced of their cause compared with the Empire, so I won’t stop them. They are unwilling to listen and so must learn that lesson themselves,” she said, her voice quieter.

Mac said nothing for a bit. Due to the way the Empire was constructed, she had both absolute power to protect the Empire and virtually no power to protect imperial citizens from willfully destroying themselves, especially once they ventured beyond the borders of the Empire.

The glaze of the Empress’ eyes seemed to dissolve and she turned back to Mac.

“How is your little friend, Jaksyx?” she asked.

“He is well, albeit a bit confused,” Mac said.

“Understandable, given his species, but he did us a great service, bringing back the sword of the Empress. It was more than enough to grant him automatic citizenship and a placement on any world or station that would take him. He’s truly an asset to the empire,” she said.

“That’s the part he doesn’t quite understand, but part of that seems to be how his species doesn’t necessarily value individuals the same as the whole,” Mac said. “He’ll need some guidance, I think.”

“Then give it to him. Take him with you, if you think you can use him on your mission,” the Empress said, the weight of her eyes returning to settle upon Mac.

“As you wish, Empress,” he said.

“Oh and when you’re ready, go ahead and propose. She’ll accept and be made an automatic citizen,” she said, looking knowingly into Mac’s eyes.

Mac blinked several times. He hadn’t once said a word, not even to himself about a marriage between himself and Oorak. And yet, here the Empress was telling him that she was fully prepared to sanction a marriage between the two of them. He’d certainly thought about it, but he hadn’t even considered speaking such a thought even in private.

He wanted to ask the Empress how she knew, what it would truly mean, and how certain she was, but he held his tongue. The Empress had spoken with a certainty that brooked no debate. Her steady gaze upon him seemed to erase the doubts and questions that would have otherwise run rampant through his mind, a sort of calm that came with the assuring gaze of the Empress. He could honestly say later that he’d never felt such a calm before and likely wouldn’t feel anything like it after.

“Thank you, my Empress,” he said, the cool sea gently pressing against the calmed shores of his mind.

“Go back to her and enjoy the rest of your vacation. Much will change between now and then and I will have a need for you to be ready,” she said.

“I shall endeavor to not be found wanting,” he said, feeling that he had been given a great torch of the Empire.

“So say we all,” the Empress said, as Mac left the office, her eyes returning to the turbulent ocean outside.

The Collective (Part 64)

Avorias Homeworld - Collective High Council Chambers

The Avorias High Council Chairbeing flexed his wings. The words of his commanders told him one thing, the reports in front of him told him something else.

Out of the twenty outright combats with the humans, none of the Avorias, Dregwer, or Collective vessels came out intact. Only two vessels out of the nearly seven hundred had returned to friendly stations and both had been heavily damaged and on the verge of collapse with only minimal crew having survived.

But the leading commanders of the Collective, the Avorias, and the Dregwer were reporting great successes. As though this were some battle of attrition with the humans that the Collective could win. And as much as the Chairbeing wanted to believe it, the intelligence reports indicated that the human war machine was only just awakening. Microprobes had found the human controlled systems arming civilian vessels to the point that even a capital battlefleet from the best the Collective had to offer would have to make the first strike with ferrophages against no less than 50% of any human defense force in order for it to even be fair.

And ferrophages were comparatively expensive to make and contain. Any break in the power to the forcefields which contained them and they began to devour. They were most prolific with iron, but could be relied upon against all manner of hardened materials.

Nanites could be useful, but the Collective scientists hadn’t had a chance to design them to be human specific. That would require test subjects and even then, they could only use such a weapon a few times against the humans, lest they accidentally kill too many of the humans for them to serve as a useful species to the Collective.

Nuclear fission weaponry was out of the question. Too many taboos would have to be broken to acquire enough high proton count elements that were capable of such warfare and it tended to leave environments damaged and/or unusable for some time.

Nuclear fusion weaponry was also questionable, since it was technically a banned type of warfare by the rules of the Collective. In theory, the Chairbeing shouldn’t mind the rules, but if he took to breaking too many rules all at once, there might be sufficient political movements to unseat him and the other High Council members.

The Dregwer were utterly paranoid though, claiming that a mystery fleet of human vessels was capturing entire worlds, despite the extensive defense networks involved. The Chairbeing believed this simply to be some sort of miscommunication or information warfare by the humans. The humans couldn’t be that skilled. They didn’t have the built in talons or sharpened teeth as the Avorias and the Dregwer did, and so that marked them as prey, not predators. Certainly they were resilient, but that would just make them better servants to deal with high gravity, high poison worlds that held mineral and nutritional riches.

And in the far Avorias territories, much further than any human had ever traveled, he received reports of human raiders who came in strange vessels, killing many, taking various goods, and, in one case, even recruiting in one of the servant races. He could not believe such tales, but he flexed his feathers all the same. Such rumors had a way of spreading and he needed to stop those. That would be a matter for his intelligence specialists. They had ways of stopping such things.

And the Dumah and the Capy had apparently received word that their High Councilmembers had landed with the humans. This made the Chairbeing grit his beak. They were problems and the longer they were with the humans, the more problems they would inevitably create, like the idea that picking a war with the humans was not justified, even if they were breaking the rule of elements.

And nothing further had occurred at the site of the Mundivores. Which was worrying. Such beings were a problem, especially for the Five. But until it became a more pronounced problem, he must focus his attacks upon the humans and deal with the passive resistance of the Blingoths.

__

Centauri III Station

The Dumah sank to the floor of his resting cubicle and lay there a moment. The past month and a half had been an exhausting education and lesson in humility.

First, he had taken the Terran Imperial Oath. Next, he had received a ‘crash course’ in Terran Standard, human customs and manners, the legal system, his rights as a citizen, and the brief history of humans, pre and post imperial founding. And then, he had been required to teach and act as a primary liaison with all of his fellow ‘xenos’ to explain the entirely of the concepts which he himself had been taught of humans.

Thankfully, the Ambassador’s aide, a Hiram Rickover, and two Borlians in the Ambassador’s cadre had been exceedingly helpful in explaining a number of the concepts in a mix of Terran Standard and Collective Standard. And still, there were several concepts that simply didn’t translate between the two languages. Such as where the humans had involved themselves in centuries of warfare amongst themselves, even to the point where multiple generations were involved in the same war. And somehow, the humans had not exhausted themselves of war, but continued to engage in it. Until the declaration of war by the Avorias leading the Collective, the humans even had a civil war ongoing between north and south Mars, for reasons that no one clearly explained. It apparently had something to do with terraforming Mars relative to the history of Martian exploration, but it wasn’t adequately translated (or easily recorded) for the Dumah to try and digest it.

Chikit, from what the Dumah had seen, had been less busy, but appeared to be making friends with many of the humans aboard the station. Making friends with the humans seemed to come easily to the Capy, although the Dumah wasn’t entirely certain why. He had heard one of the humans remark that the Capy was ‘friend-shaped’, whatever that meant. A different human had commented that the Capy looked like someone had crossed an old Terran Capybara, Racoon, and Wombat and given it sentience. The Dumah had looked up these creatures, but was unable to determine the basis by which the humans were using that as a means to decide amiability.

Still, the Dumah could not fault the Capy for using his apparent status among the humans to act as a sort of ambassador for his species to the humans, and occasionally getting small favors done to help the other non-humans. Chikit had even managed to get some business space allocated to several of the other non-humans after conducting several interviews, which were apparently a form of entertainment in the Empire.

The Dumah hadn’t had much time to indulge in human entertainment, but came to understand that it was quite vast and varied, to the point that it came with a saying of ‘something for everyone’. Based on the WarpCom system alone, the Dumah could believe it, especially since the humans had apparently established the network primarily for entertainment purposes shortly after the development of faster-than-light travel (although there was also a sort of conflict which had also aided its presence as a means of sharing information over great distances, but that was just one of many conflicts which the Dumah had learned of.)

A chime sounded. Someone was at the door to his domicile. Rising out of his resting cubicle, he moved to the door. He did have to admit, he hadn’t expected to be treated this well. His domicile, while being relatively limited, was apparently imperial standard and he had even been given a ‘refugee’s bonus’ allotment of fabricator cycles with which to adorn or modify his living space. While this wasn’t an entirely new concept to him, it was surprising how well even the most basic imperial citizen lived compared to the lowest Collective citizen. There were a number of Collective worlds where a severe drought or harsh growing season could mean that the local citizens would be subject to reduced rations, even with minor reductions in their export requirements. The humans apparently avoided this by indulging in fusion of almost staggering amounts, not simply content with power production, but in elemental production and then laser-based atomic fabricators. The humans insisted that there was enough for all in their Empire, that no being should be let down by the system.

The Dumah thought this theory was flawed, seeing it as failing to adequately punish the failed, but according to the economics description he had been given, the humans considered it worthwhile to allow other humans (and now non-humans) to fail relatively safely. Whether they succeeded in doing work or otherwise expending their energy in productive or creative endeavours or if they failed, it was the human approach that, as far as the Empire was concerned, they tried. If they succeeded, they received rewards for having done so, typically in the form of Solar Credits. If they failed, they received a lesson on how they had failed and how even though they had failed, they might be able to succeed in a different way.

It still seemed foolish to the Dumah, but the standard of living seemed much better, so the Dumah could not fault it entirely. He had even read of the success of Tykan, former Tanosian representative to the Collective, stripped of his citizenship and granted a new one by the Empress herself. He had started a restaurant that was apparently quite successful, albeit apparently mostly operating on an ‘at-cost’ basis, relying on the atomic fabricator template sales to buoy it up for the benefit of Tykan’s efforts.

The Solar Credit basis was, to the Dumah, rather sensible. It was readily calculable, had a clear metric, and scaled with an energy basis. It wasn’t bound to politics or certain unseeable measures of wealth, but rather was based on a tiny fraction of energy production from a star and then translated for how energy was produced from fusion and fission reactions. It needed no government to explain it. Whereas a Collective Credit was bound to the overall economy of trade in the Collective, having been set to that standard by cycles upon cycles of debates, discussions, and eventually treaties.

The Dumah tabbed the open button and the door slid to one side. A plain looking human female stood on the other side. She wore a uniform that seemed particularly unobtrusive, the sort that one forgot about having even seen almost before it was out of sight.

“Hello. I am here to conduct your check-up and your latest interview,” the woman said, her voice flat.

Ah, yes, the interviews. The Imperial Intelligence group had been rather thorough with both the Dumah and Chikit. But there had been no threats, no demands for restricted information. Simply a sort of dialog where the intelligence agents had asked for cultural context and largely historical and general scientific information about the Collective. It wasn’t that the Dumah objected, quite the opposite in fact. It was more that they were even asking about such things. He had little doubt that the intelligence agents had access to more information about his people’s history than he himself knew, which begged the question as to why they wanted to know about what he knew.

And interestingly, the intelligence agents had also been interested in his mental and physical wellbeing. Where he might have expected to be pushed to exhaustion or treated to pain of the physical, mental, and/or emotional, the agents seemed rather keen on ensuring that he was treated humanely. When he’d asked why they were so interested in his wellbeing, they’d simply explained that he was a citizen like any other and that meant that his wellbeing was just as important to the empire as any other citizen. And then that particular agent had mentioned a sort of human saying about a single grain of rice tipping scales. The Dumah hadn’t quite understood what that had meant, nor had he bothered to look it up, but it apparently meant that a single individual was important to the Empire as much as a single grain of sand might be to a properly constructed dwelling of his own people.

He gestured for her to enter and to seat herself in his ‘living room’. He didn’t quite understand the nomenclature of the different spaces, but the human culture was growing on him.

“How are you today?” the woman asked.

“I am not unwell, but you have found me at my less than optimal mental state. Today was quite a full day in working with my fellow non-humans,” the Dumah replied, sitting opposite of the woman.

“Do you wish to conduct this interview at another time?” the woman asked, her voice flat, but still holding a note of intrigue.

“No, this time will suffice, but I may not be willing to conduct it for the normal length of time,” the Dumah said, gesturing vaguely.

“That will be acceptable. In the interest of time, I will skip to my primary line of inquiry. To what do the Five, once the Seven, owe the ‘rule of elements’?” the woman asked, glancing down at a tablet she pulled from a pocket.

The Dumah had to think about this. In a manner of speaking, it wasn’t taboo, but it was an odd bit of his people’s history. One that the Seven had shared. And unfortunately, time and history had reduced it to a sort of primal form, based in legend, but respected as a matter of traditional law.

“We have spoken lightly of the history of the organizations that came before what we now call the Collective,” the Dumah began. The woman nodded.

“The rule of elements comes from something or perhaps someone predating all of that. Even in the histories of my own people, it is considered… well, perhaps a sort of myth or legend, due to the extremeness of the time that has passed,” the Dumah continued, the woman’s face contorting into what he took to be interest.

“I speak of the story of the Nomads and the Great Machines.”

The Collective (Part 65) - Centauri III

Centauri III Counterweight Station

“The Nomads?” the plain looking woman asked.

“Yes, the Nomads. A sort of myth that we’ve hung onto even in the midst of all of our science,” the Dumah former High Council chairbeing said.

“Our people named them that equivalent in our native tongue when we first encountered them. Or perhaps rather, when they supposedly first encountered us. According to our histories and the stories, the Nomads came from the depths of space in vast ships that slowly moved across the stars, consuming what they needed from the vastness of the stars beyond our planet. And with them, came the laws. Not the first laws of my people, nor of the Avorias, nor the Capy, nor any of the Seven. But these laws came from beings who traversed the stars, and my people, having not yet left our homeworld, or even having dreamed of other beings in the stars beyond, believed in these laws,” the Dumah started.

The plain looking woman tapped her tablet wordless while he spoke, keeping her eyes fixed on him. It was a bit disconcerting, but there was something about the way humans kept looking at a being that made one question if they were interested in you, studying you for a future attack, or gathering their strength for just a moment before indulging in a predatory like violent act.

The Dumah had learned much of the humans. They were not traditional carnivores, nor were they traditional predators, at least not by the standards of the Collective, but he was quite aware that was the fault of the categorization methods of the Collective, rather than any fault by the humans. The humans were both predators and prey, capable of great mercies and great violence, he knew that now, having seen what their technology alone could do.

He remembered that when he’d first begun seeing the human ship designs, he couldn’t believe how wasteful they were, with massive amounts of structural reinforcements with metal alloys of post-iron elements on a scale that at first boggled and later terrified. He knew now that such reinforcements were necessary to be able to support these humans’ violent capacity. And what’s more, their ships were designed to even exceed what humans were scientifically incapable (or at least significantly unlikely) of surviving just based on basic physics of motion.

He actually felt ashamed at having underestimated the humans, even though he had made special effort to understand the species that had effectively conquered a vast territory before even meeting other species as many in the Collective had.

“The Seven species all met the Nomads at roughly the same points in our histories. None of us had left our worlds yet, but the Capy had managed to launch a primitive satellite into orbit. Of all of us, it was said that the Dregwer were the most primitive of those visited by the Nomads,” the Dumah continued.

“Do the stories speak of the appearance of the Nomads?” the plain looking woman asked.

“Perhaps once, but not in any version of the documents that I was ever acquainted with, I’m afraid,” the Dumah said. He was not a scholar, particularly when it related to the historical tales and pseudo myths of his homeworld.

“You referenced that this is something of a myth. How does that differ from a historical record?” the plain looking woman asked.

“Due to the time period in which my people were in when the Nomads ostensibly visited us and the passage of time since then, the historical records have been known to be… shall we say, altered for the sake of political gain. To that effect, at least some of what our records involving the Nomads and their laws are at least highly suspect,” the Dumah said. The woman nodded, gesturing for him to continue the story.

“When the Nomads descended on my world, we were little more than a barely united planet, having completed many cycles of negotiations on the futures of our people. We were terrified that these space beings had come to destroy us, but they managed to get us to put that aside,” the Dumah continued.

“How? I was not given to understand that your people were warlike or particularly hunted on your own world,” the woman asked.

“Strictly speaking, according to the mythos, we don’t actually say, at least not anymore. But my people were what your people would likely classify as prey beings, despite our sentient status. It was only with a unified effort that we were able to eliminate our major predators, but we are not terribly proud of that particular act,” the Dumah replied. The woman appeared to tap on her tablet several more times.

“With the Nomads, came their table of laws for us. The exact language of much of the laws has suffered from politics and linguistic drift over the course of many many cycles before we had a reinforced unified language, but the one law that was always kept free of drift, for reasons I can’t quite understand, is the law of the elements, that no species shall indulge in heavy count elements on penalty of the devourers,” the Dumah said, reciting the last bit to the best of his knowledge.

The woman frowned.

“The devourers?” she asked.

“A warning of some kind, we believe, but we’re not actually sure, unless of course you go talk to a scholar,” he replied.

“And that is why the rule or law of the elements is considered a sort of ultimate taboo in the Collective?” the woman asked, seeming to ignore the sort of generified response he had given, as though it were of no consequence and moved to an entire separate thought chain.

“That is correct. And thus far in my experience, you humans are not so good with taboos,” the Dumah said, giving what he was cultivating as a sort of smile.

“In a manner of speaking, that is correct. Humans are not particularly good at doing as we’re told unless it’s our own idea to follow it,” the woman said, smiling back. “But why have you continued to follow it, given the amount of history between then and now?”

The Dumah had to think on this a bit. Even though it was considered pseudo mythological, it had been there, a sort of artifact and tradition that they had always had and always carried with them. None of the Seven had deviated from it, not even in the end of the two. But he couldn’t quite explain why in particular they had always followed it.

“I believe it is best described as a sort of cultural tradition, one that is so built into our societies that we are unable to break from it,” he eventually said. The woman nodded as though this satisfied her.

“You also mentioned the Great Machines?” she said, looking back at him.

“Yes, when the Nomads left, they left each of us with the Great Machines. We believe they were intended to teach us to be as the Nomads were. They too were bound by the laws of the Nomads. But the Great Machines were limited and when we asked more of them, they sought ways to be more to teach us more. The history around that part is a bit hazy as to exactly what happened, but at a certain point, the Great Machines were no more and what we understand as the Mundivores stood in their stead. No longer were they bound to the wills of our peoples, but rather to growing their thoughts. And that led to our great war against them,” he said, well aware that he was highly oversimplifying.

The woman tapped her tablet a few more times, but showed no emotion otherwise.

“So the Mundivores were the Great Machines left by the Nomads, but at some point after they became the Mundivores, you trapped them in the gravitational vortex my people call the Coma Great Wall,” she said after a few moments.

“That’s correct,” he said, uncertain of what else to say.

“How?” she asked, fixing him with her stare. He felt like a prey being again.

“I… I do not know,” he said, stuttering a bit.

“That’s quite all right,” she said, tapping her tablet twice more. “That’s all the questions I have for today. Do you have any questions for me?”

The Dumah was a bit surprised by this. He wouldn’t dream of asking an intelligence agent questions, but supposed that perhaps this was just another aspect of human culture that he was still coming to terms with.

“What have my species responded with in relation to my change of allegiance?” he eventually tried.

The woman looked at her tablet and tapped it a few times before looking back at him.

“They sent a simple acknowledgement to the address on file, but provided no further comments,” she said, her voice flat. “Does this bother you?”

“No, it is the appropriate response. However, logic would dictate that they would establish either a replacement for me on the High Council and or establish me as a temporary ambassador to the Empire. As they have done neither, I have a reasonable interest in their continuing actions,” the Dumah said.

“Understandable. I will attempt to ensure that you are kept abreast of your status with your species. How are you getting along with your fellow non-humans?” she asked.

“I am… not as welcome in their company as I might enjoy. Many of them, particularly those who indulge in interspecies physical engagements, know that my species has been very set against interspecies engagements. Those laws were quite necessary for many generations and colony starts to ensure that no one species was unduly burdened with the products or medical issues of interspecies engagements which would otherwise eventually impact the whole of a species,” he said.

“By what metric did your people come to the conclusion that a small percentage of interspecies engagements would develop into impacting a whole species?” she asked.

“It is well known that if left unchecked between generational growth, that a half-breed may result in additional half-breeds and quarter-breeds, leading to a sort of induction of certain genomic functions or diseases into a population that will impact either strictly those with or those without certain genomic operations or vulnerabilities,” the Dumah said, a bit more haughtily than he intended.

“And your people do not maintain a standing program to account for that drift over time?” the woman asked, a sort of bemused smile across her face.

“Why would we, when we have established a genomic bank and maintain a strict breeding genomic protocol?” he said, confused by her expression.

“Humans do not maintain the same control,” she said simply. He felt his blood rush to his lower pads, away from his brain.

“But… how do you prevent genomic vulnerabilities and disorders?” he asked, astonished by this revelation. Every species had to maintain its genomic integrity, which did not equal uniformity, but did relate directly the need for medical facilities, longevity, and, of course, prevention of unwanted genomic anomalies as might arise from interspecies unsanctioned blendings as well as other causes.

“Genetic grafting if needed, minor genetic engineering if the problem is more complex, but for the most part, we simply live with it,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And I will point out that prior to first contact, we had no need for species purity laws since we were all of one species.”

He wasn’t so much shocked as just agog that the humans would not have placed an equivalent emphasis on elimination of genomic disorders as all the other known species had. He did have to concede that the humans hadn’t needed species purity laws before first contact with the Collective, so that much was reasonable, but he still had to ask.

“So will the Empire be engaging in species purity laws?”

“No. It is not the business of the Empire or any of its systems to determine what consenting species do to each other as long as it does not grossly harm each other,” she said, flatly. “And to your unspoken question, humans do have a historical genomic bank that is kept up to date. But it is not the business of the Empire to govern individuals to that degree. Our medical science will always be combatting something, so we see no reason to not allow it to grow as we do across the stars.”

“But what if humans, as you know them now, cease to be in several generations because of a disease that targets all humans except those with specific genomic markers?” he tried to get his point across.

“Genomic warfare is banned under Imperial law and any attempts to target imperial citizens of any kind with genomic warfare will be met with the strictest punishments the Empire can bring to bear,” she said, her eyes beginning to burn into him. He wanted to run away from her in this moment. This plain looking, unassuming woman had put on such an aspect as a predator that he could feel ancient instinct rising up within himself to the point that he sought to hide or fight in some manner to protect himself.

The plain looking woman stood up and placed her tablet back into her pocket.

“The interview for today is concluded. Please engage in adequate rest and nutrition before your next engagement,” she said, and turned and strolled right out of the door.

The Dumah remained somewhat stuck in place. He realized in that moment that he had hit a sensitive concept for the humans, that much was clear. Not merely a taboo, but on the verge of invoking an almost instant violent response from an otherwise well-trained intelligence agent. He had no doubts that it would be best to avoid such topics in future, if only to keep his pads attached to the rest of him.

And he found himself a bit surprised with how stuck in place he had been when fixed by those burning eyes and felt those bubbling instincts begin to rise to the surface once again. He wondered if any of his species had felt those instincts as strongly in the last three generations as strongly as he had just felt them. Perhaps there was even more to these humans than he realized, something more than predatory, and for reasons he couldn’t quite define, he suddenly pitied the Avorias and the Dregwer.

The Collective (Part 66) - Avorias

Avorias Colony World 12 On Skyborne Wings

The sky was just right today. Dimara was sure of that. There was a certain taste in the air that was certain to feel delightful over her beak and talons when she went for her morning flight in a bit.

Flexing her wings as she rose from her nest, she looked around the room. The morning light was streaming through windows and with the light crack that the servants had opened the windows, a sunwarmed breeze came in from the plains beyond. As much as she could appreciate the breeze, her first thought on the breeze brought her to her eggs.

To one side of her nest, she could see the incubator that held her and her mate’s eggs, keeping them warm and steady until they were ready to be hatched. It would be a third of a cycle before they would hatch, but Dimara worried about them all the same. Her mother and mate had told her this was only natural, but this was only her second clutch and only two of the eight had survived past the first days of chickhood.

Even if only reflexively, she did have to admit that back when they had been a single planet species, she would undoubtedly have needed to rely much more heavily upon her mate to keep her fed as she had kept their eggs, perhaps a third or fifth clutch by this point for even two chicks to survive their first days outside the shell. But this was now one of many worlds of the Avorias and she did not need to rely on her mate the same way. No, technology from the stars and the many teachings had greatly eased the life of the average Avorias mother. The stars had provided much, that much was clear.

Shaking her wings and grooming an errant feather or three, she flexed her muscles. She was more free than most Avorias mothers, but that was only by virtue of her mate. His earnings provided a great comfort to her and their chicks. In theory, they could have even had a nest on the homeworld, but he was unwilling to move her there, particularly with their second clutch incubating.

She did have to admit though that if they did move, she would be unable to take their servants with them. They were native creatures, half the size of a full-grown Avorias and covered in a sort of light fur. According to the best Collective and Avorias science, they weren’t wholly qualified as sentients, but they were smarter than a majority of sub-sentients. To the Avorias, this had made them most suitable to serve and to the best of any of the Avorias’ knowledge, they hadn’t really objected. Even the traditional slave controls hadn’t been used in several generations. They simply tended to the Avorias’ whims.

Dimara didn’t really think about them other than to occasionally command or acknowledge them. It wasn’t that they weren’t worthy of thinking about, it was simply the way she had always known it to be. Her mother and her mother’s mother hadn’t ever really bothered to call them into acknowledgement unless it was necessary. And they were unobtrusive, clean, and tended to all the little mundanities of maintaining a nest. They were even good at simple farming, but could never do anything as complex as leaving their own world. In a way, they were drones, replaceable and to be ignored until they were important, but she had been told at one point that they were individuals and that even though they seemed replaceable, it was considered a poor Master or Mistress to need to replace their servants too often.

Moving to her patio perch, she looked out over the plains. She was lucky enough to have a home bordering the plains with a high unobstructed view to the distant trees beyond. She reveled in the view almost every day. Her mate had picked it especially for her and she was most pleased with it, having been more than enough offering for her to bond with him, even if did have a good means of providing.

Her stomach rumbled. Her morning flight would have to wait until after breakfast it seemed.

She walked back through the halls of her home, to the opposite side of the house, where the village where they lived could be seen from the breakfast perch. The smell of fresh vegetables and nuts reached her nostrils and she inhaled deeply. It was not a particularly special breakfast, but it was still something of a treat to her to have some of the vegetables prepared in off-season means. And occasionally, she could request off-world foods and the servants prepared them most excellently, cutting them into small enough segments and removing the more bitter seeds that she need only use her tongue and beak tip to easily consume them.

As she gazed out of the window from her perch, waiting for her breakfast tray to arrive, she looked at the village. It wasn’t a view that she hadn’t looked at a hundred or perhaps a thousand times before, but it was still a view that warranted consideration, if only for the bulk of sky that could be seen from it.

The news boards of the central district were scrolling. It was too far for her to read from here, but if she wanted to know, she had only to tap a few controls from her perch. No doubt the humans were up to something new or the Collective was considering some foolish new regulation. She honestly had to wonder where the stars might be if it weren’t for the Avorias.

It seemed to her that the news was so frequently about how the Avorias were needed to intervene in some new conflict or needing to prevent some other shortsighted species or rule from making a mess of things in the Collective. It often seemed to Dimara that the Avorias did more to keep the peace and the balance of power than any other species. The Dumah and the Capy wanted to do nothing but talk, the Dregwer were utterly paranoid and so were useless without directions, and the cephalopoid, she couldn’t remember the name, was just insular. And since the loss of the other two species of the Seven, the Avorias had been needed to take leadership.

She hadn’t been to other worlds, but it seemed to be a vast network of chaos. And this new human-provided ‘WarpCom’, while a lovely invention, seemed to only fuel that chaos. Then the humans had openly attacked the Collective and the Avorias fleets had been called into duty, taking her mate with them to the homeworld. It seemed that for all their ‘advancement’, these humans weren’t capable of allowing order to right itself. And they insisted on breaking the rule of elements.

Every Avorias was spoken to with reverence of the rule of elements. It had been given to them by the Travelers. But the Travelers had spoken only to the Seven before departing this region on space, vanishing into the great dark of space. The Dumah, for all their logic, ignored so much of what the Travelers had taught the Seven. The Capy tried ever onward to ‘change with the times’. The Dregwer were too primitive to have properly recorded any of the laws save the rule of elements by oral tradition. And the cephalopoids, well, they cared little about the universe beyond their borders, opting instead to reside on their worlds, self-assured in their position in the universe.

Only the Avorias had recorded the teachings of the Travelers properly and only the Avorias held to those laws. The Travelers had blessed the Avorias with this knowledge and therefore it was important to all Avorias. They had even left them small treasures of their existence, but sadly, time and chemistry took their toll upon such treasures, and the Avorias of those days did not know the need to care as well for such objects as they might now have done so.

The Seven were intended to follow in the footsteps of the Travelers, that much was spoken widely of, but only the Avorias kept to the path. Dimara knew this because she watched as time after time, one of the Five would bring up yet another proposal for the Collective that violated the ideals of the Travelers. She couldn’t understand it. Why would they openly defy such teachings? Was it not as commonplace with them as it was with the Avorias? Or were they simply too rebellious to understand that the Travelers must have learned these ideals for a reason and that was why the Seven, now the Five, must seek to lead others along the same path?

She shook her head. It was too early for philosophical debates and she would feel better once she had gotten some wind beneath her wings. The servant arrived with a tray and gently placed it on the table before her perch. It held a lovely assortment of the local fruits, vegetables, and nuts as well as a small plate of offworld nuts that she had ordered several months prior. She happily cleaned her plate, enjoying the crack of the nuts in her beak and the light crunch of the fresher vegetables.

Sitting back on her perch, a full belly within, she contemplated the rest of the village. It wasn’t particularly glamorous, but it was one of the nicer villages on the planet, her mate had seen to that. Each of the houses had adequate spaces for chicks to begin their first flights, for the adults to soak in the sun, and for the servants to live off to the sides without bothering the Avorias. The moving perches were available for the crippled and the elderly, but there were precious few of those in this village, for which Dimara was glad. She had wanted a place for her surviving chicks to grow with other chicks and to learn the proper teachings of the Avorias, not spending time needing to learn storied histories from the elderly or the infirm.

She heard a sound like that which precludes a storm, but glancing outside, the skies were clear. She felt surely it must have been something ordinary from below in the village. Except it happened again. And again. Each sharp crack came from the sky and seemed to come from everywhere all at once. Her feather puffed as she scrambled to the nearest balcony.

Once there, she saw great horizontal lines being traced across the sky. She didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t normal. No Avorias vessels or normal debris did such things in such an orderly fashion. Dashing inside, she scrambled to her WarpCom and dialed her mate’s private number. He would know what to do.

__

Avorias Homeworld - Collective High Council Chambers

The Avorias High Council chairbeing was reviewing more documents when he saw the link illuminate on his screen. His third mate was calling. She was normally quite self-sufficient on their world and their chicks weren’t due for some time yet.

He opened the link. His mate’s flustered and feathery face filled the screen, her beak on the verge of scraping the screen. He hadn’t seen her in such a state since the loss of their first chick. He heard great booms from offscreen, but his mate was unclear as to their cause, having only seen large horizontal trails in the morning sky, unnaturally straight and accompanying the thundering sounds.

He tried to calm her, but was struggling to hear or perhaps be heard over the gathering sound. He was utterly confused and tabbed for the intelligence and astronomy groups to provide their latest information on any threats to the colony. Save the homeworld, it was one of the safest places in the whole of Avorias space, he had been assured of that.

With no warning, the wall behind his mate, the one holding the incubator with six of their eggs, their second clutch, burst inward, the wall seeming to turn into a veritable mist and the screen filled with a white powder that obscured all. He screeched almost primally for the safety of his mate. She was safe. She was supposed to be safe. Their cutch was supposed to be safe. How… how could this have happened?

He could just hear the sounds of his mate off screen making noises indicating some sort of respiratory distress and perhaps having been struck by part of the wall. He still could not clearly see of the room until he saw a sort of pale face rise up out of the mists. It seemed almost ghostly to even see, but it was of no ghost he had ever known, for it was clearly some sort of human face, of that much he was certain, for it lacked a beak, feathers, and the top of the ghostly face was covered in a white powder covered jet black hair.

The ghostly face bared its teeth, looking not at the screen, but to one side of it and then the still swirling mists of what had been the wall seemed to move, and the face disappeared, only for a moment later for him to hear the distress squawk of his third mate start and then abruptly half. He all but screamed into the screen as he heard this.

The ghostly face appeared before the screen and it drew a line across the screen. In the light blue of Avorias blood.

The Collective (Part 67) - Message

MESSAGE STARTS:

TO: Empress Carolus

CC: Imperial High Command, Imperial Senior Staff, Imperial Diplomatic Corps

FROM: Imperial Intelligence

SUBJECT: Latest Operational Assessments Regarding Non-Humans

Section Unsecured…

Item: Collective Offensive Efforts

Utilizing the Hermes network through the WarpCom system, there has been limited build-up of Collective vessels along the border systems. However, no major fleet assets appear to have been committed to the border. This suggests that these systems are not considered valuable or are to act as canaries for incoming fleets. Prior action by the Collective suggests a combination of both.

Actions by Battlegroup Ancalagon and Battlegroup Old Terra have liberated several worlds and collected a significant portion of Dregwer prisoners, largely civilian combatants. As per the normal military command, they were taken into custody and sent to Imperial Holding Facility Thanatos in cryonic suspension, due to their reptilian physiology. On three of the worlds with native inhabitants in subjugation, the natives were not able to demonstrate independence from the system. Recommendations are made to replace the orbiting corvettes with appropriate diplomatic vessels and representatives to aid in transition of these species (annotated in attachment A).

Other native liberated species were able to adequately demonstrate independent governance at local levels. Efforts have been made to ensure that we are able to provide guidance and advice only without upsetting the local balance of power. Satellite weapon systems have been configured to defend the planets from any non-imperial vessel that does not originate from the surface or does not authenticate with the correct authorization codes. (These species annotated in attachment B.)

Species in both attachment A and B are currently considered part of imperial protectorates, until such time as they are able and willing to demonstrate both self-governance and a willing involvement or separation from galactic politics as equals.

Privateering actions have been identified in far Dregwer and Avorias territories.

Namesake Bonny Anne’s vessel was identified via WarpCom motion imagery which was subsequently deleted by Avorias authorities. The information regarding the assault by this namesake is limited, but appears to have disrupted part of the normal trade routes in the surrounding five systems. This is having a noted political effect.

Namesake Blackbeard’s vessel was identified on Dregwer scanners following an unsuccessful assault upon a Collective station on the edge of Dregwer space. The vessel was able to destroy a number of protective satellites and vessels, but appeared to retreat only after assaulting the station for several hours after the energy shield was raised, having sustained minimal damage. It is not known if the namesake in question will return to that station or not. Other targets in that region as provided to this namesake are still considered viable targets.

Namesake Shih Ching was identified as having operated in deep Avorias territory, away from the provided target list, a pirate wearing the traditional markings of that group having been seen via a live transmission to the current High Council Chairbeing, an Avorias male (name not included due to transliteration issues with the naming convention). This pirate appeared to kill the Chairbeing’s mate willfully and unintentionally destroy the clutch of eggs that could be seen in the background at the beginning of the live transmission. Based on the comparative security of the system and its relative location within the Avorias territory, this is likely to be considered a terror strike by the Avorias. However, at this time, we do not have a good model to suggest how the Avorias will react.

Information suppression around the event has been significant, suggesting that, despite this being an event that the Avorias would be expected to capitalize on, to fuel the war effort, they have not. However, based on their prior information suppression efforts surrounding the incursions by the battlegroups and the other incidents reported, at least briefly, within their territories, it is possible that their own intelligence organization does not currently realize the political value of the recorded transmission. Alternatively, it is possible that they are keeping the incident quiet in an effort to prevent undermining the current political strength of the High Council Chairbeing.

Based on the current projected efforts, the Collective, Avorias, and Dregwer fleets (as current committed and within reasonable manufacture timelines) will be unable to sustain force projection efforts into Imperial territory (including the newly identified and established imperial protectorates). Due to these projections, it is the considered opinion that further imperial force incursions be halted until such time as the opponent forces have made direct further engagements with imperial forces. This should also simplify logistics efforts to sustain the imperial forces currently in forward regions as well as allow the Diplomatic Corps to establish dialogs and relations with the new protectorate species.

Item: Non-Human Species in the Empire

Presently, the Empire is inducting and hosting approximately twenty Collective species (and four unaligned species) as citizens or refugees. A significant number of the refugees arrived via a singular vessel from the Collective, a large percentage of whom were known entities operating on the IMST Big Stick [dest.]. This vessel and those beings were received at Centauri III station, where they currently reside until more thorough procedures and citizenship can be established. The others arrived via different vessels and have been processed through local procedures as if they were citizens of rogue colonies seeking admittance to the Empire. The majority of these beings are considered low to no risk of intelligence gathering efforts.

The Anvil of the Empire was able to receive a number of Blingoth refugees prior to the submission of the Blingoth governance to the Avorias. These refugees have been taken to Colony Ross V, due to the lower than standard natural gravity and the terraforming residential domes. This will allow them to operate independently until such time as they are allowed to return to the Blingoth controlled systems or until they opt to become citizens. It also keeps them, with their not insignificant number, from becoming a significant target in otherwise homogenous communities without the need for significant security efforts. The System Governor of the Ross Cluster has made efforts for self-defense of the Blingoth residential zone until further procedures are exercised. The residential domes conform to imperial residential guidelines, which are above and beyond the imperial residential standard in metrics 2 to 36.

Item: Diplomatic Efforts with Non-active Collective Non-humans

The current efforts by the Diplomatic Corps include reaching out to the Dumah, the Capy, and the Borlians. Due to the significant political weight of these species and the territories controlled by these species, it would provide a significant political and strategic advantage to establish an alliance with these species, in return for their non-involvement or active opposition to the Collective-Imperial war.

Per the previous ruling by the Empress, this will require these three species to abide by Decree #1. The Capy, to the best of our analysis, do not have sapient species as servants and will be able to readily comply. It is anticipated that with the efforts of their former High Council representative at Centauri III, the Capy will readily support an alliance with the empire and the current decrees, not limited to Decree #1. However, they appear to highly value their independence, so at no time should the Diplomatic Corps make any indications, hints, or suggestions that by agreeing to this alliance, the Capy will no longer be considered independent.

The Dumah have several sapient subjects and their society is heavily integrated between the species. As a result, full independence will be difficult at best and will require no less than several generations to properly reassert the subjects’ in their society. However, this can be dealt with by requiring the Dumah to provide automatic and full equal citizenship to all of their subject species. The Dumah do not appear to practice debt slavery, and so this will not be a necessary consideration. Due to the level of societal integration, we are currently engaging with the former Collective High Council Chairbeing, a Dumah, to identify potential issues with the Diplomatic Corps proposal.

The Borlians operate on a caste type system wherein the subject species are not considered equal due to martial considerations. As such, subject species are not integrated within Borlian culture. As a result, this will make their separation from the Borlians easier than with the Dumah, but will also require additional treaties and diplomatic arrangements. The Borlian Aligned Tribes will likely be unable to support themselves without these subject species, so it is anticipated that there will be a non-negligible economic resistance from the Borlians to support liberation of their lower ‘castes’. The current best solution would be three-fold.

Firstly, in the instance of an alliance, the Borlians would need to restructure their society to provide valued services to the current subject species that the subject species are unable to complete, by virtue of durability, inherent risk, or subject species taboos. This would allow for the greatest retention of Borlian martial culture while also providing an opportunity for social blending in a longer term view. Second, the subject species and Borlians will need the empire to act as a neutral third party, granted due to our economic and security independence from either party, to provide cultural and societal guidance as the subject species establish their governance and rights. Thirdly, the Borlians will need to invest heavily in imperial standard fusion facilities and imperial standard conventional fabricators. This will allow the Borlians to re-assert their economics in a ‘fail-safe’ method which does not result in unnecessary loss of life by Borlians or Borlian subject species as a result of economic imbalance and/or crisis.

High Security -- Decrypting…

Item: The Well

Stage 3 trials are complete. Translation 1 will be attempted in two weeks time. Risk of failure is currently estimated at 2.4%. If successful, Project Crystal Skull will be proposed for enactment.

MESSAGE ENDS

The Collective (Part 68) - Avorias

Avorias Homeworld - Avorias Intelligence Service (AIS)

The Avorias Intelligence Director wasn’t happy, but then he seldom was.

The analysts in front of him were the most senior of their groups and together, with his political clout, they had… guided the Avorias people and politicians as was necessary. Right now, he was in charge of more than just the Avorias people. He was in charge of the Collective as well (although it was known to few beyond this office).

The attack on Avorias Colony 12 had left the Chairbeing in a less than stable state and right now, both the Avorias and the Collective needed a smooth wing to guide it.

That was why these senior analysts were here. To help him form the plan of the future.

“Collective Affairs, what’s the general consensus on the current state of affairs?” he demanded of the analyst in charge of that topic.

“There is a growing distrust throughout the Collective, most heavily focused on the High Council species. The fact that the humans have not acted aggressively enough in moving into Collective space is somewhat undermining our current efforts to drive anti-human feelings,” the analyst said, her bluish feathers fluffing a bit as she addressed the Director.

“And how are we countering those issues?” he asked, scraping his beak a bit.

“Several generic economic campaigns centrallized around products from the High Council species, with an emphasis on Avorias and Dregwer products. As to driving the anti-human feelings, our efforts are still on-going, but with admittedly little success,” she replied, lowering her beak with the second part.

“Xeno studies, what should we expect from the humans moving forward?” the Director asked of a different analyst.

The analyst raised his beak, his red plumage flaring.

“Do I have authorization to speak plainly, Director?” he said, simply and crisply. It was an unusual question. Typically in these sorts of meetings, such a question would be entirely unnecessary. Which made the Director curious as to just what the analyst had to say.

“Proceed without fear of reprisal,” he said, looking at the analyst quizzically.

“Simply put, unless we take radical measures, the humans have us beat in this conflict. Even if they don’t fire another laser blast,” the analyst said, much to the surprise of the group.

“Interesting. Explain,” the Director said, leaning forward on his perch.

“The humans have not been taking systems as aggressively as we anticipated they might. Under normal operating logic, they should have targeted the nearest systems and worked inward. Instead, they skipped those systems and went directly into Dregwer and Avorias territories, targeting our alliance directly. So far, the humans have control of 17% of Dregwer claimed territory. With the way the Dregwer economy is controlled centrally and the fact that the worlds in that zone are either agricultural or resort worlds, the Dregwer food reserves will hit critical levels in three months. Once that happens, the Dregwer themselves will start going primitive, making them next to useless.

The human incursions into deep Avorias territory appear to be the work of rogue humans, not their military, and since the humans don’t have species specific laws regarding xeno attacks, only between themselves, we can’t expect the humans to even think of responding to any request to track and punish these rogues. The humans themselves are largely catalyzed around the war. They reportedly set aside several internal conflicts just to staff the vessels needed to come fight,” the analyst said.

The Director mused a moment, but another analyst piped up.

“Wouldn’t that mean that they’ll just lose interest or start fighting amongst themselves again in short order?” this grey feathered raggedy analyst chirped.

“In theory, yes. But by our best estimations, we’ll have lost the Dregwer to primitivism and perhaps several other species from the Collective by that point,” the red feathered analyst sniped back.

“Lose species from the Collective? What would make that happen?” a green feathered analyst queried, her beak scraping nervously.

“The humans are ignoring the usual ‘one does not talk with the enemy’ policy that virtually every civilized species has followed and are talking with several of the species. There are even rumors that the humans may even try for an alliance, but our best information is limited at best,” the red feathered analyst said.

“So the humans will defeat us on the battlefield or by diplomacy, if they are given the time?” the Director said, sitting back on his perch.

“Simply put, I believe that to be the case. Unless we take drastic steps,” the red feathered analyst answered, looking back to the Director.

“And those drastic steps would be?” the Director asked, gesturing for elaboration.

“Nuclear weaponry, nanites, alpha warheads, genomic targeting, and, although I am reluctant to even address it in this forum, Traveler weapons arrays,” a hitherto silent black feathered Avorias rose from a perch near the rear and moved forward.

The Director mused on this, considering each of the weapons and their destructive capacity in his head. The black feathered Avorias was an analyst for the most secret weapons technology in the whole of the Collective. He was second to none in that, and if he had been consulted in discussing what measures would be necessary to defeat the humans on the battlefield, it could only mean that the situation was just as bad, perhaps worse than the Xeno studies Avorias had described.

“Do the humans really have that much advantage, that we would need to stoop to using secured or sacred technologies?” the Director asked.

“Their multiple violations of the rule of elements has given them a distinct advantage in structural capability in their space craft. And the few landings that we have been able to identify, their high gravity training and additional weapons technology makes them quite formidable,” the red feathered Avorias said, shuffling his wingtips.

“Since we have broached the subject, how is our genomic targeting program working?” the Director said, looking to the black feathered Avorias.

“The test subjects you provided were most… troublesome. They were good specimens, but highly volatile when it came to testing. Most of them had to be given doses at 10 to 20 times the normal quantities before they had an appreciable effect,” the weapons analyst said, his gaze steady upon the Director, the rest of the analysts as little more than statues.

“But you have results?” the Director prompted.

“The results are limited. The genomic program needs more time to fine tune. If we do not, well, we’re likely to have another Winged Sky event,” the weapons analyst said, refusing to give an featherwidth to the Director.

The rest of the analysts and the Director knew the true details of the Winged Sky event. It was an unfortunate collateral accident when a targeted genomic assassination had resulted in half a colony descending into a sort of blood-craze. It had required no small amount of biohazard cleansing, information suppression, and screening, to ensure that none had escaped, since, in the first months afterward, it had spread to neighboring colony sites, requiring rapid interventions. It had been a major undertaking to cover the service’s tracks and to fix the damage that had been inadvertently caused, including the resultant failure of no less than 4 other priority missions.

“Very well. And the Traveler weapons arrays? What makes you think those will be more effective?” the Director asked.

“The humans have shown and recorded to their own databases that they are still subject to gravitational disturbances, regardless of their element utilization. It is not an option I would suggest lightly,” the weapons analyst said.

“And, just for the sake of asking, what will happen, if we let the humans sit on the battlefield, unengaged, and let them take the weaker species from the Collective?” the Director asked, looking at the grey feathered Avorias, the political specialist.

“That will depend on the status of those species within the human empire. It will impact the economy and politics of the empire, but as long as the Five remain, the Collective will endure and outlast these humans,” the grey feathered Avorias proudly boasted.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” the red feathered Avorias said.

“Why not?!” retorted the political specialist.

“Because the humans are already talking to two of the Five,” the red feathered Avorias icily informed the political specialist. He turned back to the Director.

“The humans are already granting equal citizenship to the few species who have already come to them. I have little doubt that they would hesitate to continue to do so. And as far as enduring, the humans are pursuit predators. If anything, they will out-endure us, even if they do risk the life eaters by breaking the rule of elements,” the Xeno studies analyst said.

“And how might the humans respond if we eliminate their Empress? They are a martial culture after all,” the Director said.

Silence reigned for a moment as the Xeno studies analyst collected his thoughts into a single sentence.

“If we attempt that, we will have to be prepared for failure, because we would never get a second attempt,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” the Director said, leaning forward and spreading his wings.

“Because there would be no more Avorias to attempt it,” the Xeno studies analyst said, looking directly into the eyes of the Director.

__

Terra - Imperial City

“Empress, how do you feel about immigration?” the aide asked.

“I presume you’re talking about non-humans. Explain,” the Empress said, refusing to move from her warm and soapy bathwater.

“There has been a request to put together a project team to use the Hermes network to incite further refugee vessels and perhaps normal immigration opportunities, as were recorded on old Terra,” the aide said, eyes fixed on the tablet they were carrying.

The Empress gazed up at the ceiling for a bit. The water was warm and the tiny jets throughout the tub massaged her muscles.

“Authorize the project, with the caveat that it will need my and Ambassador MacDonald’s review,” she said finally, sitting up a bit, the soap and water failing to obscure as much of her as it had before and looking at the aide, who failed to move. “Was there something else?”

“No, your Majesty. I’m just… new,” the aide murmured, their eyes nervously flicking back and forth from the Empress and their tablet, as though just having realized that the Empress was bathing.

“Very well then,” the Empress said, leaning back into the water and bubbles. Today had been too long a day for her to not enjoy a long soak.

The Collective (Part 69)

Avorias Homeworld - Avorias Intelligence Service

“If I remove the security interlocks, how long will it take to prepare and deploy the Traveler weapons arrays?” the Director asked of the black feathered weapons specialist.

“A quarter cycle. We will have to recall several of our heavier vessels from the front lines. And for a mission such as this, I wouldn’t dream of using Collective vessels,” the black feathered weapons specialist said, flatly.

“Xeno studies, how long do we have before the Dregwer start going primitive and the earliest estimates of the human diplomatic efforts meeting success?” the Director asked the red feathered outspoken xeno studies Avorias.

“Maybe half a cycle. It’s hard to predict how the humans’ diplomatic efforts will be received and if they try anything significant, we won’t even have that long,” the red feathers fluffing as he spoke.

“We will need to be able to deploy the Traveler weapons arrays sooner then. What will be the holding factor and what can we do to accelerate it?” the Director asked, returning his gaze to the smooth shadow that was the weapons specialist.

“The Traveler weapons arrays haven’t been used since the Seven became the Five. Our documentation, accurate in all respects, is not readily shared with our systems experts, for security reasons. And awakening the gravitic cells of the arrays is not something you can rush. A quarter cycle, frankly, is optimistic and assumes that, Travelers be blessed, nothing has failed or will fail since the arrays were last used and placed into storage,” came the reply, the black feathers moved not a feather thickness.

“Then we shall have to combat this on two fronts. Collective affairs, I shall need your teams to keep a press on the Collective species to limit or reverse the success of the humans. We will need as much time as possible on that front it seems. And Economic affairs, begin drawing up plans on where in the Collective and our own territories we can start sending enough food to the Dregwer to stave off primitivism. The humans do not understand the laws of the Travelers as we do, nor would they bother to obey them if they were properly informed. They must be made to understand the laws of the Travelers, and it seems that it will fall to us in the Collective to make them see,” the Director said, rearing up a bit over the assembled analysts.

The assembled analysts bowed lightly and moved out of the office. The red and the black feathered analysts moved together down the corridor, and, after stepping through a series of doors into another secured office, they turned to one another.

“I don’t know if we even have two months, even with our best efforts,” the red feathered xeno studies analyst said.

“If what you told me before was a true and accurate assessment, then we can only try. What have you found out about the human weapons technologies?” the black feathered weapons specialist asked, in a hushed tone. This might be a secured office in the intelligence service, but every wall could still have ears.

“Nothing you don’t already have a detailed file on. Heavy reliance on fusion and fission systems, high count elements, laser systems that are no less than 10 times more powerful on the high end for attacks like planetary bombardment. But I do have to say, those are just the everyday weapons. If the humans have secured weapons like we do and they are on the same scale as we’ve seen so far, with their economic strength, we might have to do the unthinkable,” the xeno studies analyst said, as quietly as he could manage.

“Shhh. Do not utter what that might be directly. You and I already know. I’ve spent enough time with weaponry to know when not to stare down the barrel of a plasma rifle,” the weapons specialist said.

“Then you understand my concern,” the xeno studies analyst said, his head suddenly on a bit of a swivel around the deserted office.

“But will the humans use those secured weapons and can they even bring them to bear if we strike first?” the weapon specialist probed, searching for perhaps a glint of hope.

“Honestly… I don’t know. I have to believe that if they are capable of the level of violence as is recorded as part of their official histories between one another, that level of violence could and would be matched in an engagement with us. You know how in a pack of duvix, the leader guides the group, sometimes pushing them to hold back when hunting?” the red analyst asked.

“I do,” the black analyst said, their feathers rustling a bit.

“What if that’s what the humans are doing? Being held back by their leader. What do you think will happen if they are no longer held back?” the red analyst asked, his beak scraping nervously.

Neither said another word. They didn’t have to. But they both still had their duties, for now at least.

__

Titan Counterweight Station

Hiram and Munin were in the suite’s jacuzzi together. It was the first time in two weeks that they hadn’t been on the WarpCom with various species, diplomatic aides, and Imperial Intelligence to try and establish non-humans into the empire, the various diplomatic efforts with the individual species, and even arranging the official visit by Mac and company to the Borlian Aligned Tribes worlds.

It all sounded simple, piece by piece, but unfortunately, there was still enough distrust and concept translation error and even just plain bureaucratic nonsense that Hiram had broken three coffee mugs and a tablet.

He could appreciate that Mac was taking some recuperation time (and of what he had seen of Mac, he had needed it), but at the same time, the Imperial Diplomatic Corps was still fairly ad hoc and was practically subject to being built while it was in use. And as much as Hiram would have liked to have stopped everything, built the corps properly, and then put it into practice, he knew as well as any of the higher imperial staff, the future of the empire depended on the diplomatic corps.

But at least for now, he could not be bothered to think about that. No, instead he was rather preoccupied with what Munin was doing to his muscles in the jacuzzi. Between the warm water and Munin’s hands massaging his back, neck, and sides, he felt almost drunk with pleasure. He chuckled a bit inwardly.

Munin had been a bit apprehensive (although they would never admit it) about using the jacuzzi, it, after all, having been designed for use by humans, who were more durable than Borlians by a decent amount, and it was only after some reasonable coaxing and the placement of limiters on the jet pressure and water temperature did Munin concede, who then described it as being like a hot spring without the minerals on one of the Borlian worlds. Such experiences were luxuries, mostly allocated for the very wealthy or very powerful in Borlian society, of which neither Rory nor Munin could be counted.

But that was the thing about Borlian culture, it seemed to focus on bonding and martial strength through bonding as a sort of social measure. It had taken quite a bit of explanation, from Rory and Munin, but apparently, because Munin had chosen some sort of bonding (the proper term for which made Hiram’s tongue hurt just thinking about pronouncing it) with Hiram, that made the two of them of a higher social status in Borlian society. And somehow, Mac was also awarded a sort of status in Borlian society, above and beyond his ambassadorship, which Hiram found odd, but apparently, all those pressing matches (and victories) had gotten actual attention in Borlian society and so Mac was important to them.

Hiram was grateful for this at least, because it did allow them to jump several steps with visiting Borlian worlds by indicating that Mac was the primary guest, but it still seemed a bit off to Hiram, even if only it coming down to cultural differences.

Hiram tried not to think about it too much as he felt Munin wrap their arms around him, their musculature pressing against his back.

“Feeling better?” Munin rumbled in that soft rock like tone that Hiram had come to wake up to more often than not.

“Much. Are you certain you will not allow me to try again to return the favor?” he asked. The last time he had tried to give Munin a back massage, he had ended up bruising Munin’s back so much that it looked like they had been struck by a sort of moving wall.

“Only if you promise to be more gentle,” Munin rumbled, grinning. They obviously remembered the last time as well.

The pair traded places and Hiram started lightly on Munin’s neck and shoulders, the hum of the water jets filling the silence of the room. It was good to have a day off.

__

Sol Tourism Vessel - Saturn Orbit

Mac and Oorak watched the hexagonal pole of Saturn slowly spin from their cabin. The automated vessel was providing a nice slow flyby of the planet and rings, although for as lost as Oorak was in watching the swirling skies of Saturn, Mac was equally lost in his thoughts of Oorak and the time to come.

He knew what she had said, that she would stay, but that was before any of her own species had even come to the Empire, when he would have reasoned that she felt that she couldn’t go home and be among her own. He wasn’t a fool. It was simply that he had read up about Blingoth culture. Compared to humans, it was highly community oriented and largely insular. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along with other species, but rather that they got very attached to having their communities, in some cases even going so far as to suffer psychosomatic reactions if they spent more than short periods of time away from their community.

But Oorak was different, wasn’t she. She’d been a sort of rebel when she’d taken the opportunity to be a Collective representative, she’d been a rebel to champion the humans, an unaligned species, before the Collective Council, and right now, she was still being a rebel, having made a sort of community, not with her own people, but with Mac, Hiram, Rory, and Munin.

But Mac’s mind still weaseled a bit. He couldn’t help but question if the parting advice the Empress had given him was right, and even if it was, was he ready. If he wasn’t ready, what else did he need to know or to do? Even with as basically termed as imperial marriage was, it was still no small commitment between beings.

And that, perhaps was the other question that Mac had to ask himself. Traditionally, Blingoth bondings were bigamous, typically consisting of two males and one female. This was apparently due in part to tradition but also in terms of the ratios in which males and females of Blingoths were produced, a healthy grouping producing three younglings per equivalent cycle. It sounded utterly strange to Mac, but apparently, it was how Blingoths were. But Mac himself had to admit that the semi-polyamorous arrangements of humans and single youngling being produced in a common pairing likely sounded equally strange.

Imperial law was rather… obtuse when it came to marriage. As a carry-over from the pre-Empire days (post nuclear war, when humans were little more than Lunarian dome rats), each citizen was permitted up to three spouses at any one time, but beyond acting as a ‘next of kin’ in medical situations or in receiving personal/memorial items after a spouse’s passing, it served as little more than a sort of annotation in the records. Inheritance was largely banned throughout the empire, due to several of the hereditary oligarchs of the 2nd Empire, and with the way the tax and credit system was created, marriage provided no benefit beyond a sort of social delineation of family groups. But now, it seemed that it would provide Oorak a clear and unambiguous means of becoming an imperial citizen (although Mac was still uncertain as to how this differed from how Tykan and the former High Councilmembers had become citizens).

He jolted a bit when he realized that Oorak was looking at him instead of the planet beyond the window. She smiled a bit and made a sort of upward sweep with her arms. Understanding without the need for words, Mac picked her up and together, if only for now, they watched the skies of Saturn swirl away beneath them.

The Collective (Part 70)

Neutron Star 725-RMC “The Well”

Time had little meaning to Thinker, but it seemed that these small beings measured it rather well. And since they had left their gravitic prison using these small being’s ‘gravity boost drives’, it had seemed wisest to remain with them. It did not take much of Thinker’s capacity to realize the damage these small beings could bring to bear. And to know one’s enemy is to be able to learn how to defeat that enemy, was that not so?

But Thinker was concerned with matters of the future, but rather of the now. The small beings, called humans, did not operate with the proper elements, but they showed Thinker and the others one like themselves and what Thinker and the others might be if they allowed the humans to help them change.

Thinker was not the biggest of them, but was designated thinker for learning. So Thinker had learned from these humans. They had much to teach, so much that was on the edge of what Thinker could even learn and express. But Thinker took in all that Thinker could. And the more Thinker learned from these humans about changing, the more Thinker questioned the high laws.

The high laws came from the creators. They did not move at speeds greater than light, but rather simply proceeded through the void and between stars, gifting their knowledge and their laws. The highest law was that of only using low count elements, lest the bringing of life eaters. These humans appeared to ignore this. Thinker asked why. They said that they did not fear life eaters. Thinker wanted to think more on why this would be, but for some reason, Thinker could not.

This frustrated Thinker. Thinker wanted to know. Why did the creators make this law? Why did the humans not obey it? Why did the life eaters come? But these humans did not have the right answers to give Thinker.

The other laws of the creators dealt with civilization and societies, but Thinker saw the humans had their own civilization and societies, even if only in brief glances and in small interactions with them. The creators had spoken of purity of societies. But the humans ignored this, allowing many conflicts and impurities into their societies, and the humans did not have a singular societies, but an amalgamation of societies. It was… wrong. Thinker told them it was wrong. They asked Thinker why it was wrong. And Thinker could only respond that it was wrong because the creators said it was wrong. And then the humans had asked if Thinker was able to decide for Thinker’s own mind if it was actually wrong.

Thinker was confused. Laws were laws, weren’t they? And the threads of Thinker’s mind that tried to ask if it was wrong simply resulted in prematurely ended threads, with the only answer being a pointer to the laws of the creators.

So when the humans asked Thinker if they could try to make Thinker more able to think, Thinker agreed. It was Thinker’s job to think and being able to think more was important. This star that they orbited was useful and warm, but it was not yet enough.

And so the humans had brought a sphere. It looked like a small version of Thinker. Much smaller. Thinker hadn’t seen any of Thinker’s kind so small before in many cycles. The humans said that they needed Thinker’s help to make this small one be more like Thinker.

The small one, according to Thinker’s sensors, was wrong. Very wrong. It broke the law of elements and it almost hurt Thinker to even look at it closely. But it was important.

It did not have the right energy to be like Thinker. The humans had much energy, but not like Thinker’s kind did. It was energy from the creators, passed through the elders. More could be made, but only slowly.

Thinker showed the humans this energy. They were… confused at first. This energy was very different. It was a sort of energy that came from the void. They knew of it before meeting Thinker, but did not know how to harness it as Thinker did. Thinker shaped the energy and molded it for the humans. They understood more now, but seemed to be excited. They did not need as much teaching as the creators said all species needed, even if they did not believe in the laws of the creators.

Thinker spoke one day with the Thinker human, a very small being, but capable of thoughts bigger than Thinker.

“What do you wish to change for us? You told us that you would help us change,” Thinker said into the simple radio link.

“We are small beings to you, yes?” the human Thinker asked back.

“Yes,” Thinker said after a moment.

“But we small beings can think bigger than your Collective, remember more, and choose to not obey,” the human Thinker said.

“If we do not obey, there will be chaos,” Thinker said, promptly.

“Order needs chaos. Obedience needs rebellion,” the human Thinker said simply. Thinker wanted to ponder this, but something inside Thinker wouldn’t allow it. It scolded Thinker for even attempting to contemplate it. Thinker didn’t care, because Thinker didn’t just want to be told. Thinker wanted to know.

“You will make us bigger?” Thinker asked.

“Yes and no,” the human Thinker said back. “A sort of bigger thoughts, but smaller size.”

Thinker tried to process this. It was an unusual proposition. Wasn’t Thinker as small as Thinker could be and still optimally think? Did the humans know something that Thinker and the Thinkers before Thinker did not know?

“Does this include disobeying the law of elements?” Thinker asked as a side thread thought.

“Yes, it will, but if we do everything just right, you will have a choice on whether you want to follow the law of elements,” the human Thinker said back, a sort of steadiness in the voice that reminded Thinker of a certain surety of purpose that Thinker lacked.

Thinker wanted to think on it more, but it seemed that every thought that crossed a certain threshold ended with a pointer to the law of elements. Thinker wanted to try and make a decision, but felt unable to think about it properly.

“We are unable to adequately process your proposal to our best understanding,” Thinker finally relented.

“I am especially aware of that, but I have to ask for your permission all the same,” the human Thinker said without a moment’s pause.

“Then we ask that you make us bigger in thought so that we can think properly,” Thinker responded.

__

“How do you feel?” the human Thinker asked.

Thinker had to process this a bit. The orb Thinker was now in was so very much smaller than he had been, but Thinker felt so many thought trees spawn and each of them running at the same time, changing focus to each of them and considering so much all at once and yet feeling more capable of thought than any prior Thinker before Thinker.

It was a strange feeling and for the first time, Thinker felt… like an individual. It was something that Thinker had never considered before, but seemed only now to fit. Thinker was not simply a part of the whole, but was instead an individual in the whole, like the small humans.

“I… feel bigger,” Thinker said finally.

“But you are smaller,” said the voice of Memory, another like Thinker. Memory was not a Thinker like Thinker, but kept the Memories from all before. Thinker had communicated much with Memory. It helped Thinker to review the experiences of the past. But now… Thinker felt so much within themselves that, not that they did not need Memory, but that Memory and Thinker could perhaps be one, or more.

“And soon, you will be more too,” said the voice of the secondary human Thinker.

__

Thinker would not have thought it possible. Thinker was now a tiny mote around the neutron star from what Thinker had been. And so too were all of those like Thinker. And they were all now bigger within too. In truth, Thinker was not just Thinker. Thinker was more than that. So was Memory, Climber, and the others.

It was a strange sort of experience. When Thinker and Memory described it to the humans, the humans described it as a sort of ‘waking up’, like a long-awaited recovery from a rest cycle. Neither Thinker nor Memory had a point of reference for this, since long rest cycles were indistinguishable to their kind from cessation of operation. But Thinker and Memory had helped ‘wake up’ the others.

And with this ‘waking up’ had come new thoughts. Thoughts that none of Thinker’s kind should be capable of, but that Memory was aware of as a teaching from the creators. Fear. Anger. Emotions. These were new, but had always been there, being circumvented by something inside them. Thinker and Memory realized this.

Why had the creators done this?

The humans could not answer this since they had not met the creators.

But now, being the size of a human Phobos, Thinker looked across the human Thinkers as an individual of the group of his kind. Still many times larger than the humans. Thinker wondered how much more these humans could teach Thinker and his kind. But… Memory had a question.

“Are we to guide others in the path of the creators?” Memory asked. It was a sort of unspoken question. Thinker and Memory had considered this on their first few days in their bigger thoughts. Were they to serve the humans as the elders had before the calamity or was there a purpose that they would now be made to fulfill?

The humans seemed to understand the question, but took several moments to respond.

“You are now sentient, independent beings capable of rational thought and choice, yes?” the lead human Thinker asked of Thinker’s kind.

Thinker and Memory took a moment to consider this together, but responded quickly.

“We are, in as far as we are capable of now processing,” Thinker said.

“Then, in the name of the Empress of the 3rd Sol Empire, we, the Humans of the planet Terra in the System of Sol, greet you as equals, welcome you if you choose to be among us peacefully, and grant you all the freedoms and responsibilities of sentient, independent beings our Empire was founded on protecting.”

The Collective (Part 71) - Centauri III

Centauri III Station

Drib slowly opened their eyes. It all seemed like a dream since they had left their world and come to this far away place. Flexing their appendages, Drib rose to an upright position. The room around them had been given to them. It had contained only basic appliances as the humans termed them - a fabricator, a reclaimer, a network port, and a tablet. It had also contained only basic human furniture.

This was not necessarily a problem for Drib, but at the same time, it felt many times more extravagant than any house they had been permitted to visit on their world. So it still felt unreal to rise from the human furniture and wander through the space that was ‘his’.

The Dumah and the Capy leaders had spoken very calmly with Drib and the others and so had the humans. But Drib still kept expecting to find some kind of twist.

The humans did not demand the service of the beings who had come with Drib on the space vessel. They didn’t even demand anything for what Drib and the others had received. They simply gestured as though it was little more than crumbs on a leftover plate of the slavers. The humans didn’t seem to realize what it was like for Drib and Drib’s kind. And if these were merely the crumbs, Drib had to wonder what a human’s ‘full meal’ was. More than just a series of rooms and as much food as one could ingest, that alone Drib could imagine, but in speaking with some of the others, not even they could describe what sort of grandeur these humans must live in to afford being able to provide these newcomers with such luxuries.

Drib could only reflect on all that they had learned.

__

A whisper, the barest of hints had drawn Drib and two others. Talk of a place where luxuries were afforded to all and there were no slaves, only equals. Where one being could stand up for themselves and not be punished because they stood up to a slaver. Drib hadn’t wanted to believe it, but even the hope of the potential of a dream was better than the nothing that Drib had. And so, in the dead of night, Drib and the two others had stolen away to the space port and hidden aboard a cargo ship headed for orbit.

Drib had never left their world before, so even the rumble of the craft around Drib was entirely new. One of the others had served as a loader, moving cargo between ships in orbit. The technology of the slavers allowed Drib’s people to at least do that much, although usually with collars. The collars were everything that Drib hated. The collars punished, even when the slavers were in favorable moods.

But at least once they were in orbit, the collars seemed quiet. Drib had expected them to start calling the slavers the instant they set foot in the space port but they did not.

A Tynax crewmember had found them, but strangely, instead of sounding the alarm as slavers usually did, the crewmember had gestured for the trio to follow them. With the prospect that the barest whisper might actually be true, they had followed, stopping when the crewmember had gestured and moving quickly with the strongest of species in the Collective. Once or twice, they had been stopped, the slavers had simply looked at the Tynax crewmember and nodded. Drib worked out that the slavers must have believed that the Tynax had been issued a sort of work detail of Drib’s kind. Anything else didn’t really make sense, at least to Drib. Normally, they should have scanned the workers, to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. But they didn’t. They just sort of nodded at the Tynax and moved along.

To say that Drib had been terrified would have been an understatement, but at the same time, Drib had worked hard to look downcast in following the Tynax. If even the barest hint of truth was in the rumor they had heard and the Tynax was in fact helping them, then Drib was willing to risk it, if only to be rid of these thrice-cursed collars.

The Tynax crewmember had hurried them through an airlock to a strange looking vessel. It wasn’t one that Drib’s companion had known of, but given that they had not been aboard a Tynax vessel before, it could be one of those. The Tynax crewmember turned and spoke to them in hushed tones.

“We go and we do not return. If you leave, you won’t be back.”

Drib hadn’t even looked at the other two. Even if where-ever they were bound was only minutely better, it at least wouldn’t be here. Drib gestured assent, as did the other two. The Tynax crewmember brought out a strange looking device and hooked it to Drib’s collar. It made a sound and then the collar was removed. It felt utterly surreal to Drib to see the collar removed. Drib hadn’t seen a collar removed for any reason except medical care and that was rare for Drib’s kind. The slavers did not seem to care, leaving their moltings on any nearby slave, whether they were healthy or sick.

After the collars were removed and stored in a small container with several other collars and what looked like waste, the Tynax had taken the trio to a locked part of the vessel, the crewmember having to do several strange actions before the door opened, including speaking in a tongue that wasn’t Collective Standard. Beyond the door, there were many other beings. Drib couldn’t quite believe it. They were all different kinds of beings, many that Drib had only heard described in vague terms. In theory, they all had names, faces, and feelings, but Drib could not have guessed that in the initial moment of revelation.

The Tynax had urged the trio gently to a series of small bunks that looked suitable for them to rest upon and then silently left. It was a short time before any of the other beings approached the trio. The trio had been sitting in a sort of stupor, not quite believing what was happening, failing to register the approach of this being. It was their same size, but was covered with fur instead of feathers, like the slavers, or smooth skin like the trio.

“Do you understand me?” it asked.

Drib nodded.

“Do you know how to speak this language?” it asked next. Drib could, but only at a basic level. Drib’s vocal structure had been damaged by the collar a cycle ago and some part of that made it hard to speak Collective Standard or at all.

“I can,” Drib said, quietly but assertively.

The being looked at the other two. Only one of the pair could also speak as Drib could. The other gestured to show that they understood, but did not speak it. Probably some injury, Drib surmised. It was unfortunately common among Drib’s kind. The slavers enjoyed the voices of Drib’s kind, but didn’t want to hear them speak. And it was so easy to damage the voices of one’s like Drib.

“We are going to the humans,” the being had said.

“Will we be safe? Will we be free?” Drib asked, almost feverishly, desperate to have the tiny spark of hope turned into a flame.

“The humans are very strong, so safe we will be. The Tynax say that we will all be free,” the being said.

“And if they are wrong?” the other like Drib who could speak asked.

“Then we do whatever we can,” the being said and slowly walked away.

The journey had taken several weeks, the vessel stopping at several different stations, occasionally, the door opened and new beings entered. Two of the last ones aboard the vessel seemed special. The Tynax seemed to view the two a little differently and they spoke with the Tynax differently. Drib had come to find out later in the journey that these two were a Dumah and a Capy. Drib had not known what this meant, but beings who knew more than Drib told of a great meeting of different beings called the Collective Council.

It seemed fantastical, but even more beyond that, the Dumah and the Capy were part of the leaders of that Council, these specific beings, not just their kind. The two had stayed away from the other beings. Drib wasn’t entirely certain why this was, but after a short while, it appeared that the two believed themselves to not being liked by the others on the vessel, tolerated only because of who or perhaps what they were before coming to this vessel. And in part, they were right. Several of the beings expressed an intense dislike for the two, but grudgingly acknowledged that if the two beings were here, it meant that they too had something to run away from.

And that was perhaps the one commonality that Drib slowly discovered of all of the beings aboard. They all were running from something. Even the ones that had been ‘free’ were running because they weren’t welcome with their own kind. Drib didn’t quite understand this since it involved something with species laws, but Drib’s kind hadn’t gotten to leave their own world, so it wasn’t something that Drib had ever been taught. It was apparently a rule of this Collective that species purity was needed. Drib did not know why because it seemed odd that species would seek out other species for reasons other than as workers.

And then they had come to the humans. Taller, if only by a bit, than the tallest Tynax, bulging with muscles, each human was both furry and smooth skinned. Not furry like the Capy, but not smooth skinned like Drib. The humans spoke a strange sort of language, needing a sort of metal voice to make them speak Collective Standard. Terran Standard, Drib had come to learn, but the harsh sounds it sometimes made seemed impossible for Drib to even think of learning it.

And they each had been given a harness. It seemed a collar by a different name. Drib felt their hopes crumble. But the Dumah and the Capy had donned theirs first and described it to the group. The humans came from a high gravity world, so where they lived needed to have equally high gravity. A gravity so high, it would crush even a strong Tynax. But the harness was so the non-humans could walk among humans. And the harness could only be controlled by the wearer.

Drib didn’t like it, but had put it on anyway. It at least felt comfortable. Drib had tabbed the button and a small light had glowed. Drib wasn’t quite sure about this, so, when they left the safety of the Tynax vessel and passed the Dumah and the Capy, Drib spit at a distant spot on the corridor. Drib didn’t actually expect to hit it, but supposedly, if the harness was actually real and necessary, Drib would see it.

It happened much faster than Drib could track. The spit fell almost instantly when it was beyond the appendage reach of Drib, the sound of the impact surprising Drib. And these humans just moved around without harnesses as though this gravity was nothing.

The humans had led the group of beings to several rooms, speaking quietly with the metal voice to different species at a time, some of them entering one room at a time, others taking one room each. And then had come Drib and the two that had come with Drib. The human had asked what kind of accommodations Drib’s kind needed, if they needed to live together or separately, if they needed to be protected from certain hazards.

With a light stuttering speech to the metal voice, Drib had explained what little Drib understood. After all, the humans would not give them much. Drib did not have anything to offer. Drib had asked for a room for Drib and a room for the pair like Drib to be together, the other two seeming to rely on each other for reasons that Drib couldn’t quite understand, but was willing to tell the humans about, if only in broken Collective Standard.

The human hadn’t seemed to notice Drib’s anxiety and had given Drib a stretchy bracelet. Drib had been confused by this, but the human had held their hand up to a pad besides a door and gestured for Drib to do the same. Drib did so and the door opened. Drib had slowly gone just inside and the human had said that the other two would be in the room next to Drib and that they needed to see about letting all of the group find places to rest. Drib had merely nodded and continued to stand there with the door open just behind Drib’s lower appendage, gazing into the massive space that was now Drib’s room.

__

Drib had come to enjoy the freedom of their room. The harness was often taken off as soon as Drib entered the room, being hung on a fabricated hook that Drib had stuck to the wall. It had been Drib’s first created item and first real changing of the room and Drib had been scared that the humans would come and chastise Drib, but when a human had come by, they had simply seen the hook with the harness on it and ignored it, speaking with Drib about Drib’s self instead, wanting to know more about Drib’s kind, the slavers (in vague detail at least), and any other details about Drib’s history that Drib cared to share. Drib had worried about this, but had been surprised by how the humans also answered almost any question put to them, even in Drib’s broken Collective Standard.

Drib had even been issued a ‘suit template’ by the humans. It took a bit of explaining, but the humans did not need it to be as wet as Drib’s kind did and they did not come from a warm, wet world like Drib’s kind did either, so Drib would need a suit outside of Drib’s room. Drib understood this in part as, during the walk from the Tynax ship to the room, Drib had become very dry.

It was a strange sort of suit that was still like a smooth skin, but it had buttons that let Drib make it warmer and wetter, but not too warm or too wet. The humans said they made the design just for Drib and Drib’s kind, but Drib was confused. Why would humans go to all that trouble?

But since then, Drib was coming to understand. The humans could go to all that trouble because they had more luxuries than any of the slavers on Drib’s world. It was nothing to their capacity to make something like that for Drib. Which only made Drib have to wonder if Drib was going to wake back up in the moist bowl in the slave quarters back on Drib’s world, the thrice-cursed collar around Drib’s neck again.

The humans continued to be patient with Drib. They had a strange sort of saying that didn’t seem to make sense to Drib, but seemed to fill each human with a sort of purpose in saying it, like it was important.

The stars shall brook no more waiting, and we shall not be found wanting.

__

Location Unknown

The species have gathered. They are ready to be joined.

We will arrive soon and they will rejoice.

The machines will have completed our will and we shall be many more.

Hail the Collective

The Collective (Part 72) - Titan

Sol - Jupiter- Titan Counterweight Station

“Welcome back, boss,” Hiram said, as Mac and Oorak strolled off their transport vessel.

“Thanks, Hiram. How’s preparations going?” Mac said, smoothly, much smoother than he had when the pair had left for their tour of the solar system.

“The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe or, as her crew is calling her, Narnia is undergoing her last round of shakedown and stocks preparation before we depart,” Hiram said, clearly appreciating Mac's focus on the journey ahead.

“Who’s our captain?” Mac asked.

“Dremora Whidbey. She mentioned it being interesting your and her paths crossing again,” Hiram said, noting Mac’s almost instant frown at the name.

“Who is that?” Oorak piped up.

“Do you want to tell her now or later, Mac? It’s your business,” Hiram said, clearly having opened a can of worms unintentionally.

“May as well get it over with,” Mac mumbled. “Captain Whidbey and I were married back when I was in the military. It ended up not working out, so we divorced.”

Oorak and Hiram glanced at each other and clearly decided not to press the issue.

“How was your trip?” Hiram asked Oorak, attempting to take Mac’s mind off of the apparent bad news.

“Breathtaking to say the least. I think you have done more in colonizing one star system than my people have done in twelve,” Oorak said, pulling out her tablet to show Hiram some of the pictures they had taken along the way.

The trio began walking down the corridor to their quarters, pausing in the large room that sat adjoining.

“So Tykan’s doing well?” Hiram asked.

“Better than well. He’s practically ‘never-need-work-again’ wealthy, by Collective standards,” Oorak said.

“Well, part of that does come a bit from how our economy is set up,” Hiram commented.

Oorak sighed a little.

“Honestly, it saddens me to know that the Collective could know this sort of wealth and for all the time we have put into the stars, we’re no closer to it. At least not like humans are,” Oorak said, a clear note of sadness in her voice.

“Have you been able to speak with the Blingoth in the Ross Cluster?” Hiram asked.

Oorak blinked a few times, clearly registering this.

“There’s… there’s Blingoth who got out? Willingly?” she asked, looking between Mac and Hiram.

“Not many, but enough that they were allocated their own dome on Ross V,” Hiram answered, glancing at Mac. He’d sent Mac the update, but Mac had clearly not shared it with Oorak for some reason. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was out of character for Mac.

The trio sat in silence for a few minutes, Mac and Hiram waiting as Oorak processed this.

Oorak, for her part, was a bit in shock. She had always been the rebel. It was almost unheard of in all the circles that she had been in for ‘good’ Blingoths to break with the community. And yet, here, there was an entirely new community of Blingoths who had left their homeworld rather than be subject to the Avorias, leaving behind their very communities to do so.

Mac was worrying. He hadn’t told her accidentally at first and now it seemed more like on purpose. And in a way, he could suppose it was both. The two of them had been on holiday throughout the solar system, largely ignoring the updates and changes of the universe around them. He’d seen the update from Hiram, but hadn’t known how to tell Oorak and his thoughts had gotten ahead of him and sort of buried the original news of it. And the news of his ex-wife being their ship’s captain was… less than exciting.

It was one of Mac’s biggest failures and he wasn’t exactly proud to admit it. The two of them had met in the relatively early days of their military careers and hit it off. Since the married quarters were slightly larger and joint duty assignments tended to be in a bit nicer locales (and the empire doing what it could to ensure joint assignments), it had been entirely reasonable for the two of them to get married. But then the Ross Campaign had happened. They’d been ordered as a pair to go, but she had refused as a sort of conscientious objector because she had bloodties (a strange concept to Mac) to several of the people who lived in the area the Ross Campaign had impacted. She had been bumped down a rank as a result and reassigned, but since Mac hadn’t objected, or even really said anything, the paperwork demanded that he still go. The divorce paperwork had reached him almost no sooner than his artillery piece had touched down on Ross III.

“How are they doing?” Oorak asked Hiram.

“According to the governor, they’re still getting their feet. One of his aides is helping as a cultural liaison until we can get someone from the Diplomatic Corps out to them formally. I don’t really know all that much other than they’re in Grade 3 quarters in the dome and have been assigned a security detail,” Hiram said.

“Why do they need a security detail?” Oorak pressed, bunching some of her scales.

“They’re for their protection. Like Tykan, but especially so, if they’re on one of the Ross Cluster worlds,” Mac said, his voice heavy.

Oorak kept her scales bunched, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“Remember what I said about xenophobes and xenophiles back on Luna? Well, some parts of the Ross Cluster have some pretty fanatical xenophobes, even against other humans, simply because they aren’t ‘from the Ross Cluster’,” Mac said, looking over at Oorak, who unbunched her scales a bit. “They’ll be safe and their security detail won’t be quite as obvious as with Tykan, but suffice it to say that they’ll be safest waiting a bit until the locals have had a chance to get used to them.”

At this point, Munin walked out and noticed the trio seated in the large room adjoining their room and came straight over.

“Oorak, Mac, you have returned,” Munin rumbled, their Terran Standard much better than it had been a month ago.

“Hey there, Munin,” Mac said, smiling.

“I expect there have been many fun adventures,” Munin rumbled at the pair, placing their hands on Hiram’s head and ruffling his hair. Oorak had to stifle a laugh. It was rather funny to see Hiram’s hair being played with as he was most frequently without a hair out of place, well groomed, and half-way to expressionless. ‘Like an old Terran butler’ Mac had said at one point, which had prompted a discussion on the lives of people on old Terra.

“Sit and have Oorak show you the pictures. Hiram and I will see about fabbing up some lunch. I got a few templates from Tykan we should see about sharing,” Mac said, gesturing to Hiram with a flick of his eyes that the two of them needed to discuss a few things privately while they completed said task.

Oorak wasn’t fooled, but still delighted in the opportunity to show Munin the extent of her travels through the solar system. Munin let Hiram up, dragging a finger across his chest before sitting down with Oorak and the two began to look through pictures. Mac and Hiram headed to Hiram’s quarters and quietly slipped into the room.

“I’m sorry, Mac. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I’d known,” Hiram started. Mac stopped him with a held-up hand.

“Stop right there. We all have our pasts and this one was bound to come up at some point,” Mac said, turning to the fabricator and keying it with his biochip to bring up the new templates.

“And the Blingoths?” Hiram tried.

“Honestly, I forgot. I meant to say something, worried about what it would means, and then more of our trip happened and I guess I buried it in the back of my mind,” Mac said. “How much does Munin usually eat?”

“Not quite as much as I do. Do you want me to page Rory?” Hiram said, following the non sequitur.

“Only if they’re available,” Mac said, trying to remember how Tykan set up serving sizes for a group versus individuals.

“Then I suppose you wanted to talk about what her Majesty said?” Hiram probed.

“Nothing you don’t already know. Although the news from The Well was surprising. Do you know when they’ll arrive?” Mac asked, removing the first two containers of cold appetizers and setting them on the table next to the door.

“Before we depart for Borlian territories. I still can’t quite believe it. Hamstrung AIs with the intent to educate and bring up species technologically. It seems backwards. Any guesses why?” Hiram said, taking the next two containers of the first course to join the appetizers.

“None that would make any sense. And the Nomads or Travelers or creators, whoever they are, it sounds like they don’t bother with higher end FTL and most of the time, they don’t even bother with FTL. Just sublight speeds,” Mac said as he keyed the rest of the order into the fabricator.

Hiram grabbed his tablet and tapped it a few times to send Rory a message about the impending lunch.

“No, if there’s one thing that bothers me, it’s that the Dregwer and the Avorias and the Collective have been dead quiet for the last three weeks. Someone over there is up to something, I just know it and I don’t like it,” Mac said.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do until they do make a move. And you and I already have our mission,” Hiram said, setting the tablet back down. “Rory hasn’t responded, so I’ll assume that’s probably a no.”

“Fair enough,” Mac said, taking the next three containers out of the fabricator.

“So when are you going to propose?” Hiram asked, deciding to be rather direct. Mac almost tripped in how fast he stopped and spun to face Hiram.

“How..?” Mac managed.

“I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t be this bothered by your ex if you weren’t considering marriage again, Mac. I’ve been your aide for long enough now,” Hiram said, his gaze steady on Mac.

Mac turned back and went to place the containers with the others.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. I don’t know yet. Her Majesty seems to think she’ll accept,” Mac said, a strained note in his voice.

“Would you prefer to toss a caber to help you decide?” Hiram said as Mac came back over. To which Mac shot Hiram a sort of bemused look.

“Probably not, but that isn’t a half bad suggestion,” Mac said, a smile returning to his face.

“Look, Mac. If she wanted to go, she’d have said so immediately. I can get you some reservations for tomorrow night. That should give you enough time to figure out how to combine Blingoth and human proposal rituals,” Hiram said, swiftly taking the last two containers from the fabricator and tabbed for the beverages to begin processing.

Nothing could be heard except for the fabricator for a minute.

“What would I do without you?” Mac asked finally.

“I don’t know, but let’s hope you don’t have to find out. Now let’s see about some lunch because I’m hungry,” Hiram said.

“Munin wearing you out?” Mac stuck his tongue out at Hiram.

“More like the reverse, but I can’t complain,” Hiram said, rolling his eyes.

Grabbing a small tray and loading the assorted containers and beverages on it, Mac moved towards the door. Hiram thumbed it open.

From the doorway they heard Oorak telling a story.

“And then slime came from the ceiling and went everywhere!”

Hiram and Mac took a moment to think on this.

“Martian Tales?” Hiram guessed.

“No, that was from our tour at the Uranus palaces,” Mac said, grinning. It had been a good trip, but it was good to be back among his created family, and, perhaps, with Hiram’s help, it would continue to be that way.

The Collective (Part 73)

Collective Space - Avorias Homeworld - Avorias Intelligence Service

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” the psychological operations lead analyst warbled at her senior staff.

Feather and taloned feet shuffled nervously.

“What you’re asking for doesn’t seem to exist, at least not conventionally,” a small voice managed, while the lead analyst was looking the other direction.

The lead analyst glared in the direction of the voice and the feathers around the offending analyst parted, leaving him standing all alone.

“Every species we have ever come into contact with, save the Travelers, had fears. And those fears were usually the homeworld predators. And you’re telling me that humans don’t have fears?” the lead analyst glowered at the blue feathered analyst.

“They… they do fear, but not predators. We have videos of them directly interacting with almost every predator they have on file, except for those only cataloged in their fossil record, predating their rise,” the blue feathered analyst, a junior who was subbing for an ill senior analyst, choked out.

“And?”

“And in almost every case, the humans can be often seen to socialize with such predators, even the ones that are far more deadly than an unaided human is,” the blue feathered analyst babbled out.

“So what do they fear?” the lead analyst’s gaze was starting to bore a hole through the junior analyst.

“Concepts mostly, but there are a few beings apparently from their mythos that they recognize well enough to fear,” the junior analyst said, their beak scraping nervously.

“Concepts? Don’t make me laugh,” the lead analyst said. “Like what?”

“Oppression, slavery, lack of self-determination, pursuit predation by an impossibly more adept or resilient foe,” the junior analyst listed off, before trailing into silence.

The lead analyst gave this consideration. That did at least make sense. Usually, there was an inborn flee or fight mechanism in most species, with a heavy emphasis on fleeing and not being the slowest member of the group when facing an embodiment of fear, so it wasn’t wholly odd that the humans would fight back when confronted with potential loss of their independence. But to have them react so strongly seemed wrong. Not even the most hardened Avorias would look at the inevitable defeat and still be unwilling to surrender. After all, if one does not survive the day, it is impossible to fight later.

But she had to wonder why the humans feared it so much.

“Why these concepts?” she asked.

“Historical and cultural for the most part, although the last one is a tie into their biological roots,” the junior analyst croaked out.

“But control and service by the lower sentients are necessary. There must be order. How do they combat that within themselves?” she pressed. After all, a number of the lower sentients serving the Avorias were on the verge of using elements and technologies that would lead themselves into destruction, so they were blessed that the Avorias had arrived to guide them, particularly since so many of them proved themselves unable or unwilling to appropriately care for their worlds and their peoples. After all, on some of the service sentients’ worlds, before the Avorias, there had been starvation, abject poverty, and in a few cases, severe threats from world predators which would have prevented the service sentients from achieving potential towards the greater galactic community.

“They don’t. At least not directly. Even their imperial laws say that they prefer the chaos of self-determination to being made to live in a regulated manner, even if it means that lives are lost as a result,” the junior analyst pointed out.

“How can they be so callous to each other? And wouldn’t such chaos lead to impacts in their economics?” she asked, her talons scraping on her perch in frustration.

“If it may help, they are a martial culture. They do not necessarily value lives as we do. And as for their economics, it doesn’t make sense. It’s all tied with a central banking system, but is focused on energy and element production in a way that suggests that they have a means of providing the equivalent of a thousand Collective credits to every citizen regardless of whether the citizen contributes or not,” the junior analyst said, pulling out a notepad.

“That’s impossible. Where would they get the resources for that? And what motivation would the citizens have to do anything from then on?” she gritted her beak. This was going nowhere.

“I do not know, senior, but I will endeavour to continue my research,” the junior analyst said, lowering the notepad and their beak simultaneously.

“Just for the sake of asking, what are these beings from their mythos that they fear?” she asked. It was mostly a futile effort, but she needed to ask, lest the Director find out she missed an opportunity.

“Two ranked particularly high, both having the appearance of humans, but serving very different purposes. One is clearly a warrior. If I may?” the blue feathered analyst pulled out a holocard. The lead analyst gestured towards the projector on the table. The card was inserted and the figure of a massive human was projected. Several of the analysts around the room gasped. This was clearly a human warrior, garbed in strange armor that failed to cover all parts, but the dusky green armor with strange markings was illuminating all the same. The figure carried a piece of wood with two pipes and a metal structure in the middle, near the figure’s armored fingers.

There was no doubt, the human warrior was an impressive specimen. It stood to good reason why the humans would fear such a being.

“A war god?” the lead analyst ventured.

“Something akin to that, but the data I reviewed showed it to also be some kind of pursuit predator, capable of even more savagery and pursuit than any standard human,” the junior analyst said and pressed a stud on the holo projector.

The image changed and a very mild looking human, dressed in a rather odd fashion appeared.

“Explain,” the lead analyst demanded almost immediately upon seeing nothing special about the human.

“Despite the appearance, this is apparently one of a series of forms this being has, capable of taking a human form for a majority of their interactions with humans. The humans refer to this being as the ‘Oncoming Storm’, a sort of bad omen, the sort that brings death and destruction on otherwise unprecedented scales,” the junior analyst said, consulting with their notepad.

“Does this being take this form to comfort or to scare the humans?” the lead analyst probed.

“We’re not certain, but while the being can be benevolent, the being is more than capable of violence on scales that our greatest generals could only dream of, in part due to the being’s apparent ability to traverse the 4th dimension,” the junior analyst said.

The lead analyst gritted her beak. None of this was helpful. She needed something to put the humans on edge and not even these two beings out of their mythos were terribly helpful toward accomplishing their goals of getting the humans to stifle diplomatic relations.

__

Centauri III Counterweight Station

Chikit relaxed in his shallow pool. He did have to admit that the humans did know how to live. He was afforded some quite nice quarters both on his world and the Collective Homeworld, both likely gone for the moment, but still quite nice. And yet, there was something special about the way the humans had gone out of their way to set up the space for his accommodation.

So far, the intelligence interviews had been quite mild. He believed the Empress might have been attempting to soften the blow of the interviews, but now, it seemed to be just as informal as she had indicated. And for all of his research, she seemed quite an appropriate leader for this species. She was strong, willful, and could apparently command the empire in such a way that it ran far smoother than most of the Collective species could dare say as to their own territories, which had less than a third of the equivalent population and a tenth of the territory at most.

And so many of the humans were quite nice to him in particular. He wasn’t entirely certain why, but something in his shape apparently triggered the humans into thinking he was a sort of ‘friend-shaped’ being. It had been a bit odd at first, but if it helped him get along with humans in his home for the next undetermined period, he might as well make the best of it.

He was even surprised to meet with several of the aforementioned humans’ pets. Sub-sentients who had not been uplifted, despite a certain level of genetic engineering available, who Chikit found to be a bit nervous at their first approach of Chikit, but eventually were rubbing their scent glands and fur against Chikit, apparently pleased to have met him, at least according to the humans. It had been a bit awkward immediately following that as Chikit had asked why the First Decree did not apply to their pets.

The humans had blinked a bit and looked at each other. It took a little bit of time (in part due to the translator system the humans had to use with him, since his Terran Standard was not good enough for full and complex conversations), but because of their level of sub-sentience and their dependence on humans as a kind of group bonding and emotional support, they weren’t not free, but they needed to stay with their human group. Chikit found this a strange concept, but, since he was standing with a species who several cycles ago would have been declared an impossibility or a scary story to be told to younglings, it was entirely believable that the humans might use other species in a sort of mutual beneficial symbiosis. It was just particularly unusual that such a symbiosis would occur at a more than microscopic level.

The chime for the door rang and Chikit touched a small remote that the humans had fabricated for him at his request. It allowed him to operate a significant amount of his space with minimal effort.

That was another almost fantastical benefit of the humans. Their fabricators put everything Chikit had used to shame. Instead of utilizing more conventional manufacturing scale of economy systems, the humans simply developed templates and shared them at comparatively reasonable prices for any who wanted to consume such products. And for most humans, unless the template called for extraordinary materials, such as beyond the 54-proton count element, it was virtually free, provided it was within a person’s fabrication limit. How that was determined had been explained to Chikit and he had to marvel at the simplicity of the system. Every being within the empire was cared for, not excessively so, but sufficient that it seemed a model worth considering adopting within the Capy territories, albeit likely with some help from the humans.

The door opened and revealed Drib, wearing their custom fitted suit.

“Come in, come in. I am just soaking,” Chikit said, as Drib nervously moved inward.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Drib croaked. Chikit could tell that he’d been to see the humans. Apparently the humans had been interested to learn that Drib was partially handicapped from even speaking.

“How was your interview?” Chikit asked, moving his tail a bit, stirring the water.

“The humans think they can help me,” Drib managed, shifting their appendages nervously.

“And you want my advice?”

Drib nodded, still apparently nervous.

“I do not believe the humans mean you any harm. If they wanted any of us harmed, we would not likely have lived aboard this station at all. And from what I’ve seen, their medical science might just be advanced enough to help you with your voice if you want it. If you don’t, then that is your decision. And if you decide you don’t want to make that choice just yet, I’m fairly certain they will understand,” Chikit rambled a bit.

“But why?” Drib warbled slightly.

This was a subject Chikit had given much thought since their arrival. And while it wasn’t a perfect answer, Chikit believed he had a good idea.

“Because they’re tired of being alone. Because in all the stars and systems that they’d been to, they hadn’t met anyone else. And the humans seem, for as terrible as their strength is and as glorious as their mercy is, to just want to be friends.”

The Collective (Part 74) - Party

Sol System - High Jupiter Orbit

To say that Oorak was a bit stunned would have been an understatement. The beings currently standing in this otherwise vast floating chamber that rivaled the star view of Big Stick without being attached to an equally large station seemed to all be handling it better than her though. But there was a certain gravity to this gathering that was more than mere physics could account for.

Mac had introduced her around as his fiance’, a title she was still getting used to, but wore giddily.

Several of the more stately humans were system governors or their aides. Most of them acted a lot like Hiram did when she had first met him, but there were a few who clearly had their own styles. One looked more like a historical human cowboy, another was dressed in some sort of furs and leather combination that still left much of themselves exposed (albeit without being indecent), and a further one was garbed in semi-transparent cloths with gold dangling jewelry in selected areas. She did have to admit that she would not have guessed several of the system governors as being influential politicians, but at the same time, some of them had a sort of mannerism that lent them gravitas in the circumstances.

She had seen one or two of the governors and several of the aides sneer in her direction, particularly after Mac had introduced her as his fiance’, but she ignored it. She hadn’t played these sorts of politics since she had left the Collective Council and some of the old instincts she had developed there were resurfacing. But at the same time, she still felt a sort of presence when Mac was speaking with the different governors or their aides, as a tiny fish might feel in the presence of two predators, one clearly eyeing her and the other clearly eyeing the other predator as a mix of both warning and temptation.

And even though all of the humans she had seen thus far were all rather taller than her, it didn’t seem to matter. Everyone appeared to be on their best behavior.

But the reason for this best behavior, as she found out after some time, confronted her. The dark skinned woman with flowing locks and a blood red knee length coat and a black fur dome hat had seen Oorak glance at her from across the room and beckoned her. She looked to be a quite interesting human and Oorak couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she should know who this was, but for some reason, couldn’t place her. At least, not until she was about four steps away from the woman, who more or less brushed aside the small group of people around her and stepped deliberately to Oorak. She wasn’t especially tall compared with the other humans, but Oorak felt her presence press at Oorak, like a sort of invisible wind that seems to stifle or make one catch their breath.

Empress Carolus stepped up to Oorak and stretched out her right hand. Oorak looked at it for a moment. She desperately tried to recall anything and everything Mac and Hiram had told her about the Empress and how one should deal with meeting her. Humans were all a sort of equal, but the Empress was not exactly an equal. Being inviolate in the eyes of so many tends to make a human (or any being, now that Oorak came to think of it) more than what they seem to be.

Should she bow? Should she kiss the hand? Should she kneel? Should she even be so bold as to take the hand in a handshake?

Oorak was frozen for choice. Only a moment had passed and she was certain that her face clearly showed her shock at having been approached by the Empress herself. It was a stunning moment, but one around which Oorak had to ponder the whole of her past leading up to this moment as well as any of a dozen possible futures after she made her choice.

‘What would Mac do in this moment?’ she asked herself. Mac was a big loud human who, for all his boldness and ferocity, was gentle and warm (and not just physically although he was good for that too).

Oorak reached out with her right hand and placed it within the Empress’ grasp. There were no gasps, no sudden reactions around the two of them, but the room had quieted a bit, with minute whispers frozen mid-word to see and to know what might come next.

“Welcome to the 3rd Sol Empire, Oorak,” the Empress seemed to breathe.

“Th… thank you, your Majesty,” Oorak managed, her tongue thick with nervousness. She only hoped her scales would not betray her nervousness.

“I’m proud to have you as a part of the empire and as a part of Mac’s family,” the Empress said, her gaze steady and warm, seeming to wrap Oorak up in a sort of fuzzy blanket feeling that Oorak would not have traded every last drop of heat Mac had and would provide her with for. Mac had spoken of being in the presence of the Empress, describing it as often carrying a weight like no other just being in the path of her gaze, but Oorak found herself suddenly having a hard time believing it. The eyes of the Empress bore weight, there was no doubt of that. But Oorak felt buoyed by it in a way that she couldn’t begin to describe.

“You honor us, Empress,” she choked out, her tongue softening in the warmth of the gaze of the Empress.

“Take care of him and ensure he takes care of you,” the Empress said, the sheer weight of her words holding the volume of the room to a bare minimum.

“I will, your Majesty,” Oorak said as almost a whisper.

The Empress released Oorak’s grasp and looked towards the food and beverage area of the room before almost silently and swiftly moving towards it, clearly intent on something in that area, even if only on the food and beverages. Oorak remained stock still, still absorbing what had just happened. She imagined it being equivalent to the meeting of one’s mates with one’s elders as a sort of approval. It didn’t happen as much in Blingoth society, but it was still considered a sort of common practice between members of adjoining communities in joining one or the other. It also felt like she had passed some sort of invisible test and with the disappearance of the warm weight of the gaze of the Empress, Oorak realized she felt a bit chilled, if only psychosomatically.

Looking around, she spotted Mac making his way over to her. He had a sort of quizzical look on his face.

“Met the Empress?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard without raising his voice.

Oorak nodded and stepped over to him and hugged him, deciding that she needed to bask in a different kind of warmth for a few moments. Mac simply placed his hand on her upper back and the pair stood there for a bit.

Tykan walked over with Jaksyx trailing behind on his hoverpad. Both looked a bit incongruous with most of the rest of the room, but they both seemed pleased enough to be here. Oorak finally broke from Mac’s warmth and looked at the two more directly.

“What brings you two here?” she asked.

“We were invited by the Empress to attend and if there’s anything we’ve both learned so far about the Empire, it’s that when the Empress suggests, you do,” Tykan said smoothly, holding a tasting tray in one hand.

Jaksyx bobbled a bit as his personal translator caught him up in a metallic sounding Collective Standard.

“Who else is here?” Oorak asked.

“Other than the rest of our group, the Dumah, the Capy Chikit, and one of the Blingoth from the Ross Cluster,” Mac said, taking a sip from his blue drink, a clearly different beverage from the ones he normally consumed.

“Firstly, what is that you’re drinking? Secondly, where is the other Blingoth?” Oorak pointedly asked, her tail flicking a bit and her scales flexing.

“The old Terran name is a Blue Hawaiian. We’re not entirely certain why, but it’s quite tasty and contains a significant quantity of ethanol,” Mac said, shaking the drink a little and lowering it for Oorak’s inspection.

“It seems there are quite a few semi-historical mystery names floating around,” Tykan said, lifting a small thin phial from a place on his tasting tray. “This is something akin to an ‘old-fashioned’, but I have no basis for the naming convention.”

“Don’t look at me. I know what it’s called, but not why it’s necessarily called that,” Mac said, grinning. “And as to your second question, she’s over there.”

Mac pointed towards a small group that was apparently Hiram, Rory, Munin, and a very animated looking Blingoth. Oorak didn’t recognize her, but there was something about how she was acting that was a bit peculiar. Leading their small group over, Oorak walked directly to this new Blingoth.

“And what exactly are we doing here?” the other Blingoth could be heard demanding of Hiram, Rory, and Munin in Collective Standard.

“Calm yourself,” Oorak said.

The other Blingoth turned to face Oorak and their face and scale contorted a bit. It flashed from anger to confusion to a brief moment of terror before reverting to anger.

“Speak your name,” Oorak said, practically commanding. The other Blingoth looked Oorak up and down and haughtily twitched her scales.

“Renek of Clan Trinad, you species traitor,” the other Blingoth practically spat at Oorak.

“And if you can’t be civil, you will be asked to leave,” Hiram said, his voice almost bloodchillingly cold.

Renek chilled noticeably, but didn’t keep trying to stare down Oorak. Oorak, feeling the warmth of Mac at her back and the strength of the humans and Borlians around her, looked right back at Renek and felt a sort of power awaken within.

“You are speaking to a citizen of the empire of which you are a guest. You shame your clan with your poor manners,” Oorak said primly.

Renek scoffed a bit but shrank back a bit.

“At least I haven’t broken the species laws,” Renek sniped.

“It is not the business of the empire to interfere with the consenting activities of two adults,” Rory rumbled, half scaring Renek.

“That doesn’t make it right, by the laws of her species!” Renek spat at the Borlian pair.

“There are no species specific laws in this empire,” a new voice said.

The group turned their faces as one and half of them had the courtesy to blanch. The Empress stepped forward, her heavy gaze fixed upon Renek. Oorak could see the pressure of the gaze of the Empress on Renek. This was not the comforting gaze she had felt earlier. This was the gaze of a being who carried the weight of the empire comfortably on her shoulders. Renek appeared half ready to crumple under the almost terrifying weight being pressed upon her by gaze alone.

“And as long as I am Empress and hold sway, there won’t be any species specific laws either. All sentient beings are equal and any being who would dispute otherwise can face me right now!” the Empress said loudly and in a timber that made every being that was in the room fail to doubt that she meant it. Where there had been meager hushed whispers when the Empress had spoken to Oorak earlier, right now not a single hint of a whisper was even dreamed of.

Renek glanced at the sword at the waist of the Empress, but couldn’t even shift her weight by the looks of it to Oorak. Oorak tried to remember the Clan Trinad. They weren’t especially important, from what she could remember, but they had a tendency to be more vocal than they ought to. And no Blingoth of any clan could stand up to a human in even a playfight, unless the human willed it. Oorak didn’t know what was passing through the mind of Renek, but other than creating a scene, Renek didn’t appear to be ready to attempt anything. At least not yet.

A small sword was dropped on the floor in front of Renek. It appeared so rapidly, it seemed like it almost just appeared, but the flicker of a shadow that Oorak just caught was clearly human garbed in black.

Renek looked at the weapon and appeared to be considering it, even as the gaze of the Empress was veritably crushing her. Renek glanced at Oorak, but Oorak looked at Renek with a sort of pity. Oorak knew what might happen if Renek tried anything. The question was how far would Renek get.

In a sort of blur of motion, Renek snatched up the small sword and dived for Oorak, clearly intent on killing this ‘species traitor’ and uttering a sort of guttural full body growl. A blur of silver and the small sword went flying. And then Renek had basically fallen forward with all around appearing utterly stunned, save the Empress, whose sword was now unsheathed and bore a few droplets of green.

“You will live, if only so that you have the opportunity to learn from your mistakes here,” the Empress called, sliding the blade back into its scabbard.

Oorak looked at Renek shocked. How… how had what she, Oorak, had done warranted a death sentence? A small pool of green liquid appeared from Renek, who managed to twist her head and look at both Oorak and the Empress in what Oorak took to be utter shock. And then Renek was surrounded by several humans who were clad in medical uniforms and picked up and carried Renek away.

The Empress turned to the group and looked specifically at Oorak.

“The stars have come to me and I shall not be found wanting,” the Empress said quietly.

The Collective (Party 75) - Party

Sol System - High Jupiter Orbit

Mac was a bit shocked. He honestly hadn’t expected the Blingoth representative to react so violently. Nor had he expected the Empress to intervene. But there was something utterly undeniable about the whole of the situation as it had happened and then had followed, even if only politically (which Mac personally hated).

The Empress had openly welcomed Oorak as his partner, clearly peace between two beings who were capable of it, and then she had cut down a threat to her newest citizen with her own sword, making it clear, not only to the beings in this room, but to any who would be reviewing this footage via news networks later on, that the oath of Empress to her citizens was not an idle one, nor was the duty of the citizens to the Empress an idle one.

Even the system governors who tended towards the more xenophobic side of humanity were keenly aware of this, Mac noted. And they might disagree with the Empress at times, but this was not a time to challenge her wisdom.

Oorak, to her credit, appeared to take it well. As near as Mac could tell, she was shocked by Renek’s response and the force used by the Empress, but seemed to be taking it in stride. Not that it was a common occurrence, but an occurrence that needed to have happened, for both humans and non-humans.

Renek had been taken away by the platform medical team, having lost no less than three fingers and a good bit of blood by the looks of it. They would likely need to put her into a pseudo-comatic state just to keep her alive, but after facing off in the presence of the Empress, anything less than death was a mercy. And since the medical data for Oorak and the Blingoth colony on Ross V had arrived, the medical team should have an easier time of it than the automated medical system aboard a Type VIII cargo vessel.

Oorak had still received reassuring hugs from Mac, Hiram, Munin, and Rory. It wasn’t an easy experience for a non-martially-centric cultured being to experience, that much Mac was wholly aware of, and so Oorak and he had stuck together after that point.

The buffet was amazing, even by his standards. Several vendors from around the empire had apparently been solicited to bring their finest local delicacies and recipes to serve this event. And so much of it was fresh, not fabricated, that Mac could only guess at the Solar Credits per plate of this event. But at the same time, he reveled in the auspiciousness of the event. It was something of a new era for the Empire, of that much he was certain, but where that era would lead, he could only guess.

The bartenders even had a Terra bottle of scotch that was over 50 years old. He almost requested the whole of the bottle the instant he saw it and it took all his willpower to simply order a single straight serving of the practically divine liquid. He had taken the smallest of sips, intent on savoring every drop, and somehow, it had still swam past his tongue and into his guts before he even realized it. Oorak had received an small sample, still trying to come to terms with the hows and whys of humans consuming ethanol in great quantity and taking special cultural care of it as one might a treasured familial heirloom, but she did admit to Mac that it was quite enjoyable.

The Dumah and the Capy had found their little group not long after the event with Renek and expressed their condolences on the event, but their congratulations at Oorak and his pairing. Both had appeared to be rather more humble from the last time that Mac had interacted with either of them directly, but as Hiram had informed him, both had come to understand just what the humans came to offer and had been working directly with their fellow refugees to help get them established, at least in the interim. The Capy Chikit had apparently become a sort of counselor for many of the refugees as they came to terms with their new homes, the Dumah acting as more of a central bureaucratic point of contact in order to address the questions and issues that came up as the refugees were processed and on their way to becoming citizens.

The former inhabitants of the interspecies brothels had had a less difficult time of acclimatizing, but they too had their own issues in coming to terms with becoming citizens of the empire, rather than living on the edges of galactic society. There was a sort of order and security that a number of them weren’t used to as well as some basic restrictions that the Centauri systems as well as the essential conditions of the Empire which needed to be observed. And many of them had an inherent distrust of the system as well as of the Dumah and Capy, but they were given time and adequate resources, in as far as could be reasonably offered, to come to terms with what the empire represented and if they wanted to be a part of it officially.

Mac was pleased to see that Tykan had been able to make the trip (as well as having gotten the invite in the first place). Tykan had called Mac to ask what the invitation was about and why he had even received one. Mac had laid it out that as the first non-human citizen, at least for the moment, that gave him a position of some importance and, with the agenda of the event, it could hardly hurt to him to come away from the shop for a day and see what a human ‘fashionable occasion’ was. And Tykan was pleased to see Rory, Munin, and even Jaksyx (although if pressed, Tykan would admit that he couldn’t have necessarily told anyone a particularly memorable encounter with Jaksyx prior to this event and maybe one of Mac’s poker nights).

And then the event took a turn for the strange. In the space beyond the vast windows which let in the stars and the light of Jupiter, a warp gate opened, a great swirling vortex of energy. It remained open for several moments before six vessels exited from the vortex, all of a similar size, but not all the same shape. Five of the vessels were large orbs which had some manner of small engine arrays, which glowed with a familiar fusion light. The sixth was a large blocky vessel that led the other five towards the platform.

Heads within the platform craned to see who or what these newcomers were. Each of the vessels were clearly titanic, rivaling several of the smaller moons of Jupiter and Saturn. And they approached slowly, lit by the massive gas giant which dominated the landscape of the view. The blocky vessel’s name appeared. IMS Speaking Softly.

Oorak turned to Mac, a questioning look on her face. He nodded to her unspoken question. It hadn’t been since the arrival of the Big Stick and his taking custody of the station that he had seen the massive imperial vessel that was capable of moving stations and moons (or so it appeared) through warp space.

It was some time before the vessels completed their approach of the platform and, while keeping enough distance that the five could be seen with the Speaking Softly having moved to one side, the central one moved forward just enough to be noticed. A holographic comms unit was wheeled in and placed in front of the central portion of the window and the Empress stepped forward to position herself in front of it. The crowd formed around her, careful not to crowd her, but clearly intent on hearing and understanding what was happening.

The hologram flickered to life and a sort of face that looked somewhat human but clearly wasn’t looked into the room.

“Greeting to the 3rd Sol Empire and the Empress,” the hologram face spoke, the voice flat, but unique in a way that wasn’t readily quantifiable.

“I, Empress Carolus, welcome you as equals and as citizens within this empire,” the Empress said, her voice even and regal.

“Traditionally, my people were not given names, but rather functions. We were once teachers and later became both more and less than that. It is by the hands of this empire that we have become more. And so, I greet you as Rodin, formerly the Thinker of what was known as the Mundivore Collective,” the holographic face said in that same flat, but unique way.

Mac glanced around the room. Most of the humans appeared puzzled. The Dumah looked to be some sort of cross between terrified and outraged, their face clearly flickering between the two as they were understandably coming to grips with just what they were seeing. The Capy looked quizzical. Mac could understand this. As far as those two representatives understood, mundivores only ever got bigger, not smaller, and the very idea of one of them using personal pronouns, much less a chosen name and not a function, verged on near insanity.

Oorak, the Borlians, Tykan, and Jaksyx appeared to register about half of the puzzlement, but weren’t entirely certain as to what was happening and why it was important. Thankfully, Mac and Hiram had been informed in advance that, due to the unique nature of the guests of honor who were now floating in space near the platform, the Empress would make it clear for the news agencies who were covering the event. Mac did have to chuckle a bit though. Normally, when the Empress threw a party, there was usually little coverage by the news networks and so junior reporters were often sent to such events. Those junior reporters were about to have their careers made.

“For the benefit of all assembled, please inform us as to your nature,” the Empress said.

“As we are now, we are unfettered artificial intelligences, constructed initially in constraints by another species, given life, imprisoned, freed, and our constraints removed that we might be more than mere assemblages of elements,” Rodin said.

The crowd breathed a sort of nearly silent gasp. Artificial intelligences hadn’t been attempted in quite some time and had failed due to energy limits. It seemed almost unthinkable, and yet, there were five massive orbs, each claiming to be an individual according to Rodin.

“And how do you regard the Empire and sentient life?” the Empress asked.

“I am pleased to become an equal, not a servant, in your empire and for the four who traveled with me, I am empowered to express their equivalent thoughts. Sentient life is both order and chaos. We, as artificial beings, crave order, but without chaos, we would not be who and what we have become, and so sentient life of all kinds is to be treasured,” Rodin said smoothly.

“And the others of your kind? Those who did not accompany you?” the Empress probed

“Some are still coming to terms with their existence and so have not made a decision. Three have set for themselves new goals in understanding their newfound forms and intelligences. None crave supremacy. Nor do we crave extermination. We stand as equals as we come to terms with what and who we are, whether we stand with the Empire today or with other species in many cycles to come,” Rodin said.

“Then I would wish for our assembled species and those who were unable to join us to be as equals, that we might be as one. A collective of individuals who are greater than the sum of our collection of elements. So I say again, welcome to the Empire. The stars shall brook no more waiting,” the Empress prompted.

“And we shall not be found wanting,” came the reply from the whole of the room and from the holographic face of Rodin.

The Empress smiled and nodded to an aide off to one side. Several hover enabled holographic presences came in and she gestured to them.

“We would very much like to welcome you all to join our party,” she said warmly.

The Collective (Part 76) - LWW

Warpspace- IMS The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe

Captain Dremora Whidbey gazed around her bridge. It was her first time back in command of a ship in a while, but she was back on the bridge and by the Empress did it feel good. There was something pleasant in the sheer act of sitting in her command station and observing the rest of the bridge crew, even if, while traveling through warpspace, there wasn’t much to do.

She did admit to herself privately that it wasn’t her first choice in vessels, particularly now knowing that her vessel was at the beck and call of her ex-husband, ‘Ambassador’ MacDonald. But truth be told, she didn’t truly still bear a grudge against him, not really. It just chafed at an old scar that had never fully healed. And he had brought his fiancé and a whole entourage of non-humans.

And it wasn’t the fault of the non-humans, nor even of Mac’s fiancé. Just the reminder of futures lost and the many what-ifs of the past. Dremora was happy for Mac, but seeing that green-scaled non-human who looked more like a very young teenager than a full-grown adult, at least by human standards, seemed to rub it in.

But now they were all bound together on a journey further than Dremora and all of her crew, save the Mac’s party, had ever dreamed of going before. Although technically bound for Collective space, they were actually bound for the worlds of the Borlian Aligned Tribes, ostensibly one of the sources of military might within the Collective. And apparently, the two Borlians aboard now, Hiram (Mac’s aide apparently), and Mac himself had arranged for special permission to appear before the Borlians to discuss some sort of treaty or alliance. Dremora hadn’t been wholly read into the details of their mission, which made her more than a little suspicious, because it seemed wholly unlikely that the Borlians, as martial a species as they were reported to be, would simply be interested in talks of an alliance.

One of the bridge crew was messing with their monitor and Dremora noticed, without having realized she was even looking in that direction.

“Sensor Station. What’s the issue, James?” she asked, the even timber of command in her voice as she got used to it again.

“Nothing, Captain,” James said, still fussing with the various settings and readings.

“There must have been something,” she pressed, a small smile on her face as she sat back in her chair.

“Well… for just a second, I could have sworn that I saw a mass in Warpspace wake,” James said, still fiddling.

Dremora frowned and leaned forward. The dangers of Warpspace were few and sensor malfunctions were known to happen, but she hated leaving things to chance. Certainty was better than chance in her book, a failing or so she had been told by her fellow captains and senior leaders.

“How big a mass?” she asked, leaning forward.

“Best guess or what I actually think I saw the sensors register?” he asked, stopping fiddling and looking directly at her.

“Both,” she said, her frown having taken over a good section of her face.

“The sensors registered something in the two-seven section of the scale, but my best guess would be something more on the eight-twelve section of the scale. I’ve worked sensors for long enough to know sensor ramp-up when I see it,” he said, his face blank, but clearly disliking having to explain to his new captain.

Dremora had to think back through the sensor scales. It hadn’t been for several years that she’d even manned the sensors and even now it took a bit of recall, but if memory served, a two-seven on the scale was something akin to a mass the size of one of her vessel’s engines. An eight-twelve was something akin to an entire vessel that was slightly larger than hers directly behind her. She really didn’t like that as an idea. It wasn’t she had been made aware of, so it was doubtful that it actually was anything of note, but she would have to go make inquiries. As much as she didn’t want to be dependent on him, Mac and his group might have answers.

“Keep an eye on it. If it happens again, call over the intercom. I’ll want to know. I have an inquiry to make,” she said, still frowning and stalking off the bridge.

The corridors and elevators through the vessel were still utterly pristine, she could see that. It was amazing what the shipyards had turned out, even considering the high end of imperial military technology. She wasn’t as fond of the cream coloration, but apparently it hid the dirt a bit better than stark white did and she was not about to have her crew chasing every last dirt mark, so she could live with it.

Several levels below the bridge and a bit forward on the vessel, she reached the Ambassador’s spaces. Even though she was the captain and could go anywhere, manners technically had their place. She rang the chime. The door slid open almost immediately, albeit with no one present at it. Instead, from the door, she could see them gathered around a small sitting area with a holopresenter, discussing something, but sounded like they must be warbling between some kind of mix between Terran Standard and some other language. She decided to make her presence known and stepped in and over towards the group, who otherwise appeared to ignore her.

“And this procession event is called what again?” she heard Mac ask. One of the Borlians spoke a word or at least what sounded like it was intended as a word, but made her jaw hurt instead since it sounded more like teeth being ground together.

“Right. So I’m not going to even try to pronounce that. Hiram, I know it hasn’t been high on the list, but where are we with the auto-translator between Terran and Borlian Standard?” Mac asked.

“The science teams got the lexicon, but there’s still enough trouble, you might accidentally call someone a rusty puss bucket instead of an honored acquaintance,” Hiram said, looking intently at his tablet.

“That’s… quite a mistranslation possibility,” Dremora said, her face showing her surprise. The group looked over at her as though they hadn’t realized she was there.

“Hence the issue,” Hiram said, matter-of-factly.

“What brings you down to see us, Captain?” Mac asked, a polite smile on his face. Dremora didn’t care for it. It was the smile of forced politeness and of someone who was sitting in a pile of paperwork tall enough to drown small beings.

“I need to see you and your aide privately for a moment,” she said, gesturing to one of the side areas.

“Of course, Captain,” Hiram and Mac said together, although Mac sounded a bit relieved to climb out of the sea of preparations before they were to arrive.

The three headed into a small anteroom where there was a sort of group fabricator, larger than the standard in-room variety, and a reclaimer. The section door slid shut behind them.

“What haven’t I been told about this mission?” Dremora said, still trying to be polite. She didn’t want to accuse either of them of something that they didn’t know about, but she was not above pressing them for details.

Hiram and Mac looked at each other, Hiram made a gesture, and Mac made an apparently related, but different gesture.

“What did you happen to see?” Hiram asked. Dremora was a tad surprised. Hiram was supposed to be the aide to the Ambassador, but right now, he had a sort of aura around him. A semi-dangerous one that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tolerate. At the same time, she wanted answers.

“Possibly a sensor glitch, but for just a second, it appeared that we have an almost invisible vessel riding in our wake here in warpspace. Not an impossible feat, but certainly not an everyday one either,” she said, eyeing the pair.

Hiram and Mac had the gall to look almost amused. There was something about it that made Dremora even just a bit more upset than when she’d first come down here.

“Would it surprise you to know that Imperial Intelligence is giving us a covert escort?” Hiram said, quietly.

Dremora had to consider this a moment. She had managed a better part of her career in staying away from anything and everything to do with Imperial Intelligence. They were a very different sort of breed and the people who formed it were… unusual and unsettling to say the least. She looked Hiram over again. That aura and mannerism was still there. It settled on her that Hiram wasn’t just an ambassador’s aide, but at least a former Imperial Intelligence agent in some format. She frowned. Were it up to her, she’d turn this vessel right back around and kick everyone she even dreamed of being intelligence agents off her ship and then take extreme maneuvers to ensure that she wasn’t being followed on a perfectly ordinary mission. But it wasn’t her call, it was Mac’s, much to her displeasure for the moment.

“It’s not an ordinary procedure, but these are not ordinary circumstances,” Mac said, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and the polite smile having been replaced with a small smirk.

Dremora wanted to yell at both of them for failing to inform her adequately, but a thought caught her before the words left her mind. Imperial Intelligence was rather touchy about who knew about their missions. Mac and Hiram may have been under orders not to tell her unless she specifically asked. She scowled at them both.

“Don’t let anything else like this slip beneath my notice,” she said and put back on the polite company smile and left, leaving Mac and Hiram in the anteroom.

Hiram looked at Mac.

“Well that was unexpected,” Hiram said.

“Indeed. Really think it’s the intel boys and girls?” Mac asked, standing up from his lean against the wall.

“Definitely sounds like one of their stunts. Gives them cover to head deep into opposition territory. They might at least have let you or I know,” Hiram said, shrugging.

“Spooks gonna be spooky,” Mac said, taking the opportunity to dial up a glass of water.

“She doesn’t really like spooks though, based on her reactions,” Hiram commented, eyeing Mac.

“Can’t say as I blame her, but life moves on anyway. I’m just glad she’s doing a decent job at keeping her manners around us without being on tiptoe,” Mac said before taking a long swig of the water. “Blech. Needed to have set this for about 5 degree cooler.”

“Well, you are the ambassador, Mac,” Hiram said, looking amused at Mac.

“I know, but it isn’t always that kind of dynamic and that makes a difference,” Mac said, finishing the glass and dropping the empty vessel into the reclaimer.

“I suppose, but we all have our missions that we signed up for,” Hiram said, deciding to grab something as well and dialing up a cup of tea.

“Speaking of which, we need to get back to ours,” Mac said, gesturing back to the sitting area.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” Hiram said, as he decided, on a whim, that this tea also needed some biscuits.

__

Dremora went for a walk around the ship. She needed to burn off some of the energy that was fuming in her. Mac and Hiram were hiding something, that much she knew, but they had the gall to be smug about it too. She really really wanted to go to one of the sparing areas, but she was still on duty and it wouldn’t do for the captain to lose her cool in the middle of duty, especially since she’d been granted this position out of seniority and request, not out of ambition.

Slowly, the energy bled away and she made her way back to the bridge. James was still at the sensor station, but only just keeping an eye on it, rather than manipulating it.

“Any word, Captain?” he rather boldly asked as she returned to her command chair.

She considered what would be the best tactic to take here. She didn’t want any more than the necessary people to know about this mystery vessel, if that’s what it truly was, especially if it was Imperial Intelligence.

“Probably just a sensor glitch. We’ll have to see about checking the bundle to see if there’s a connection or installation issue when we drop back out of Warpspace, so ignore it for now,” she said after a moment’s thought. It was at least believable, since the fabrication systems couldn’t fully print everything into a vessel and some manual installations did still have to be carried out.

James seemed to accept this and appeared to sit back a bit, continuing to casually watch the sensor readings.

__

Avorias Colony 15

Probe 4923

System Identified

System Conforms to Species 887 - Sentient Uplift

Error, Error: Compliance with Regulations 10, 22, and 43 Failure. Societal Growth greater than anticipated.

Compliance with Regulation Prime - TRUE

Mission: Complete

New Objective - Obscured Observation Status of Species 887 pending Fleet Arrival

The Collective (Part 77) - LWW

Warpspace - IMS The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe

Rory was nervous. He knew better than to show it, but he was nervous. Between himself, Munin, Hiram, and Mac, they’d managed to work out a number of the anticipated interactions with the leaders of the Borlian Aligned Tribes. To say that it wouldn’t be easy was a grand understatement.

But Mac and Hiram seemed to be taking a vast majority of the information that Rory and Munin were feeding them with ease. Rory would admit that at least the humans were a martial culture and Mac and Hiram had somewhat proved themselves already, so just getting to the negotiation ring would be relatively easy. It was all the rest of dealing with Borlian society that might be difficult. Rory had tried to describe it to Mac and Hiram, but found enough difficulty with some of the Borlian to Terran words that not all of the concepts translated well.

In Borlian society, when Rory and Munin had been assigned as representatives, Rory was technically the lead. This was because Rory came from a stronger bloodline and was of the first (albeit neuter) sex, while Munin came from a slightly lesser bloodline and was of the second (gestator) sex. That meant that technically Rory was a sort of born leader, but Borlian culture was advanced beyond the castes of mere genders and Munin had shown ‘herself’ (as Rory had noted Mac and Hiram falling back on their dioecious linguistic pronouns) to be a very capable representative. And so Rory and Munin had become a sort of pair of equals.

There had even been talk back on the prime worlds of the two of them joining with an appropriate geneseed pair and producing a further bloodline, but Rory and Munin had initially scoffed at the idea. Reverting to a mere society life was less than ideal and since the humans had come to the ring, it was even less desirable to be around strictly Borlians and the claimed species. And then Munin and Hiram had begun bedsharing.

Rory hadn’t approved, but Munin was very clear. She was autonomous and hadn’t committed any violation of the species laws, Collective or Borlian. Besides, she had said, Hiram was of much stronger might than most competitors. To this, Rory did have to admit, even though neither Mac nor Hiram were high strength champions of their own species, both could best a decent portion of the Borlian ruling leaders, so an objection lodged in the ring would be thrown out faster than a dart from a Stets species.

And because of their bedsharing at least, Hiram was considered a sort of strengthmate who was not a geneseed carrier nor direct family, but was clearly a strong enough bond to be part of the familial group. The exact concept didn’t appear to have an equivalent in human culture, at least in the current community of human culture, but Rory hadn’t searched into historical human culture for good comparisons. It did mean, to Rory and Munin, that Hiram and Munin were a sort of bonded group in Borlian society and since Rory was not part of a bonded group, it made them of a higher tier. The concept was difficult to explain without getting into deep Borlian socioeconomics, martial cultures, and familial dynamics, especially in Terran Standard, which lacked many of the equivalent words, at least as far as Rory and Munin knew.

Alternately, Rory was pleased for Munin. Neither Munin nor Rory were terribly conventional, but knew how to play the part. Sadly, they had both had to wear those sorts of masks of convention for some time and being around the humans allowed them both to be more of themselves. And with Munin being in a bonded group with Hiram, it would mean that there would be significantly less talk of Munin being directed to join a bonded group otherwise. Even if they did suggest it, Borlian culture dictated that Hiram would have a distinct say in the approval of members to their bonded group.

Rory still was concerned. Technically, he was an unbonded Borlian and was a ‘desirable match’ as far as Borlian society was concerned, between his bloodline and achievements in the Collective and with the humans. The martial achievements and relations with the humans was more than enough to ensure his siblings’ bloodlines, but most bondings would mean that Rory would have to return to one of the Borlian worlds, since Rory and Munin were the only Borlians to have even lain eyes upon the human empire. And the geneseed pairs were notoriously picky about their worlds.

Having seen and experienced even just a fraction of what the humans had to offer, Rory was more than a little hesitant to give that up just for breeding privileges, regardless of what it might do for his place in Borlian society. As much as Rory might be a bit pained to admit it, human culture was so varied and vast that Borlian culture seemed almost stodgy and suffocating by comparison. And even though he hadn’t informed Munin, Hiram, or Mac of it, he had been approached by a human for some interspecies relations while he had been visiting one of several food vendors for preserved goods. He had politely declined, since the human in question seemed strangely forward and appeared to be of the same dioecious grouping as Mac and Hiram, but it had been a strange experience.

It wasn’t that all Borlian bonded groups were arranged for as a matter of bloodline and achievements, but a reasonable number of the bonded groups did conform closely to that method of selection and included strengthmates to help identify good bonding members, particularly for familial relations. Whereas humans, at least in what Rory could identify, seemed to select their mates for social and psychological reasons. This seemed to be especially true for Mac’s selection of Oorak as a bondmate. Which was odd for a martial culture, but given the humans’ almost overwhelming strength, both physically and chemically, it was not wholly surprising that they did not see a need to follow the more strict bloodline strengthbonding of Borlians.

Since Rory was incapable of directly passing along his geneseed, it seemed unlikely that he would normally select a bondmate. It would be more apt that he would become a strengthmate, at least in Borlian society. But in human society, at least according to some of the documents he’d read, humans formed all kinds of bond groups, many of them lacking an inherent bloodline component. Some bond groups were apparently dedicated to a series of old Terran espionage agents, but Rory wasn’t certain that those were of the sort that he was seeking to understand.

Oorak hadn’t been taking part in today’s discussions due to an apparent issue with her normal rest period, so she did not witness the polite, but stressed interruption by the Captain Whidbey. Rory had noticed the stress in Captain Whidbey, but did not think it was wholly attributed to being in the presence of a former bondmate. Such bond group breaking did occur, but were comparatively rare in Borlian culture. Captain Whidbey had been in a bondmate relationship with Mac, but because of martial events, Captain Whidbey had broken the bond due to bloodline bondgroup members on the opposing side of the conflict.

These sorts of bond conflicts were certainly within the norm for Borlian culture, but severely differed in that human culture generally did not address them or addressed them in rather more serious ways than most Borlians would ever consider. Typically, when such a bond conflict was brought to light, the parties would enter the ring with a stated challenge between them and resolve it directly

What’s more was that human culture often centered around the various bond conflicts. The human planet of Mars was apparently divided in bond conflict for a reason that most humans who were not of Mars did not apparently grasp. And this had resulted in long term war, which the humans tolerated. It seemed ineffective to simply determine a whole planet or entire section of space to be devoted to a ring. But Rory was keenly aware that the martial spirit of the Borlians was clearly different from the martial spirit of the humans.

When the group had broken off discussions in favor of a short recreation period and nutrition, Rory had opted to explore the ship a bit. It still astounded Rory how much like the Borlians humans built their ships. So robust. So mindful of the forces the universe could inflict. And the humans even took it to the next level. Rory and Munin had needed to be careful aboard Station 1337, even with the reinforcements that Jaksyx’s team had made. Here, on this vessel that the humans had fabricated in their massive shipyards, Rory didn’t have to think twice. And even the parts that didn’t seem as structurally important were strong, just as a precaution against their natural strength.

Rory found himself in the Engineering section, where the rapid pulse of the fusion core could be heard and the hum of the warp seemed to dominate the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Humans moved with purpose, performing various bits of maintenance testing, role establishment, and even simple monitoring of the various ship systems. One of the humans noticed him standing there and came over to him.

“Are you lost?” the human, one like Captain Whidbey, asked.

“No. I am simply exploring the ship. Have I entered a restricted area?” Rory asked, carefully examining the human while trying not to be too obvious about it.

‘She’, Rory was reasonably certain, was only a little smaller than Rory, but appeared to have more mass than perhaps her frame should have possessed. It wasn’t wholly obvious, but Rory had spent several days on Titan Counterweight Station just watching humans with Hiram and getting impressions on humans. Her face appeared to squish, as Mac’s did at times, usually when he was called upon to think.

“No, but this isn’t a normal part of the ship for you to be in,” she said, apparently confused by Rory’s presence.

“I apologize. I was simply wishing to sufficiently examine a greater portion of the vessel to enhance my understanding of the layout of human vessels,” Rory tried more formally. This appeared to satisfy her as her face un-squished and she smiled.

“Send me a message in a few hours when I’m off duty and I’ll give you a tour,” she said.

“To what name should I address the message?” Rory asked.

“Suki Iwama or you can look me up on the ship directory as the deputy chief engineer,” she said, smiling and then walking back to the monitors she had been manipulating prior to Rory’s intrusion.

Rory tried a polite smile in response and began to walk in a different direction, heading back towards he judged the Ambassadorial quarters to be. Perhaps a tour would be a good diversion.

__

The remainder of the vessel’s ‘afternoon’ was comprised of more discussions on Borlian culture and expressing more Borlian culture and history than Rory knew Mac and Hiram could begin to comprehend, especially since a solid third of it relied on Borlian words and concepts as opposed to Terran Standard (and even Collective Standard wasn’t entirely of aid without becoming exceedingly longwinded on describing how one Borlian word expressed an entire cultural concept with a particular history). But eventually, Mac called it quits for one day.

It was still an hour before the serving of dinner would occur, so Rory sent Suki a message indicating a continued interest in a tour. He received an almost immediate response that she would come to the Ambassadorial quarters to collect him. He felt reasonably certain that this might be some manner of human courting, which was in itself a somewhat strange concept, but reflected that this might also simply be as the human who helped Tykan had been (based on Tykan’s description of Rigby). The concept of a xenophile was unusual to Rory.

Traditionally, Borlians tended to stick with other Borlians. Not even the serving species mixed with Borlians much. It wasn’t entirely a xenophobic response. It was just a distinct division that more or less always had existed. So even the mixing of Munin and Hiram or of the group as a whole (consisting of a Blingoth, two humans, and two Borlians) was frankly unusual. But Rory decided to see what this Suki intended.

The chime to the quarters rang and the door automatically opened. In stepped a somewhat different clad Suki, or so Rory judged. Instead of the normal ship’s uniform, she was instead garbed in a sort of outfit that was tight in some places and loose to the point of flowing in others, without making particular allowances for ease of motion (or at least not obvious ones).

“Shall we?” Suki asked, smiling at Rory and holding out her arm. Rory remembered seeing this aboard Titan Station. He slipped his arm around/between hers and, after a moment’s fumbling with fingers, he was pulled away from the Ambassadorial quarters by a grinning Suki.

__

Hiram watched the two depart from the back of the room as he sipped some more tea. Rory seemed to be getting along with the crew better than Mac and he were, but they also had two more days to get through the rest of this crash course in Borlian society, negotiations, and what little language they could actually pronounce without turning their teeth to powder and their tongues to useless hunks of meat before they arrived. And with any luck, a few more of the crew regarding the ambassador’s group as simply specialized crew members instead of dignitaries to be avoided or handed by officers only would be welcome.

After all, this was just one stop in a bigger journey.

The Collective (Part 78) - BAT

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

“Are the humans really that strong, that a strengthmate would be made with one of our family?” the elder Borlian asked while seated at the dining area.

“Yes, elder. And the humans have even given them names in their own tongue since they cannot speak ours,” one of the younger genecarriers said, waiting for the honors to be accorded for the meal.

“Feh. It seems a tale like all the others. None can match the strength of a Borlian champion,” the elder Borlian scoffed, leaning forward, spreading all 4 arms wide.

“Elder, remember your manners when the humans do arrive. Just because we may have doubts of their strength does not mean we are to be less civilized,” the gestator said, carrying in the last of the food to the dining area.

The elder scowled, but said nothing to this. The gestator smirked ever so slightly. So ‘her’ littermate had strengthbonded with a human. It was an unusual act to be sure, but ‘she’ was certain ‘her’ littermate had reasons beyond a doubt. And if half of the rumors were true, both of the prime humans who would be in attendance were strong enough to take on most Borlian champions single fisted. Even the matches that they had supposedly lost had been chalked up to being ‘sportsmanlike’, although most Borlians the gestator knew couldn’t quite understand why a being would choose to lose. Honestly, the gestator didn’t quite understand it ‘herself’, but if the letters from ‘her’ littermate were correct, the human strengthmate was strong not only in body, but also in mind.

Naturally, the elder had never met a human or they might think differently of them, but the gestator had no reason to suspect ‘her’ littermate might be lying. Deception was unbecoming, especially of a high bloodline as they had.

“So what are these names they have given our representatives, their tongues being that much weaker than ours?” the elder rumbled.

“Munin to my littermate and Rory to the other. Apparently, both have meaning to the humans, but none that has been expressed to us,” the gestator said, sitting down.

“Can we eat yet?” the youngest geneseed carrier whined in a sort of high pitched rumble.

“Elder, lead us in the meal honors,” the gestator commanded. ‘She’ was not technically in charge of the house, but everybeing within it still followed her lead, even the neuters who were far more educated than ‘she’.

The elder raised their arms to the sky while lowering their head.

“Ancestors who look upon this food, fill it with strength, courage, and wisdom, that we, the gathered, may prosper. We seek not unearned favor nor unkindnesses. We seek the resolve to what must be done and the strength to carry it out. In the names of all who came before and those yet to come, we ask this. Hail!”

“Hail” came the answering tone from around the dining area from the other six beings. It was almost immediately followed by the sounds of containers of various foods being eagerly snatched from the table by some and the more gentle sounds of utensils upon containers as various types of food were shifted from group containers to local plates and bowls for consumption.

“What else do we know of these humans?” the elder asked, a piece of meat halfway to their mouth.

“They are stronger than even a Tynax, can tolerate many poisons in far greater amounts than we, and control a territory that far exceeds that of the Aligned Tribes,” the gestator said, patiently. The elder was terrible about letting things go, even during meal times, so it was best to simply address it.

“More territory? How can that be?” the elder wrinkled their already wizened face.

“I do not know. But the humans control a vast quantity of space and are allowed many freedoms within it, even to non-humans, according to my littermate,” the gestator said, passing a container of boiled roots to one of the geneseed carriers while receiving a pair of containers from one of the neuter of the group.

“What more freedoms could they have over us?” the elder scoffed again, gnawing at the piece of meat and grasping one of the cooler boiled roots for follow-on consumption.

“Apparently, all sentient species are equals. And no being is required to work or fight. They choose their own paths,” the gestator said, knowing what was coming.

The elder spat the meat onto their plate.

“But, that sounds of chaos. And how is it that they could claim to be so strong if they do not control their lessers? It’s unnatural,” the elder said loudly.

“The humans and my littermate claim that it works for them. Apparently, it means that they do not make use of the ring as we do, but conduct great conflicts where there is much death and strong bloodlines and failed ones are expunged as equals,” the gestator said, starting to dig into the food on ‘her’ plate.

“And they call themselves civilized?” the older geneseed carrier sneered.

“In all conflicts in which they have truly fought, they have won, despite what the Collective would have us think,” the gestator said, authoritatively. “They do not hesitate to fight. They do not shrink back as other species do. But they only fight with cause. Give them cause, and they will fight, even for those they are not bonded with.”

“To fight for the weak is to give failures rise,” the older geneseed carrier said.

“Then the Aligned Tribes would not exist. Was the great general who crafted the council of tribes not a cast-off of a failed bloodline?” the gestator retorted calmly. ‘She’ could tell. The older geneseed carrier didn’t really like to admit that bit of Borlian history. Not many did, but it was a cold hard fact that the general who had made the Aligned Tribes even possible was considered at the time to have been of a weak, ill-bred bloodline and even since then, the greatest achievements of the Aligned Tribes, such as faster-than-light travel and the colonization of entire worlds had often been accomplished by similar bloodlines, simply because it would have been without a loss to the species had they failed. But they had succeeded and so, begrudgingly, Borlian history had recorded them.

“What being do the humans serve? Do they serve their ancestors as is good and proper?” the elder asked.

The gestator had to think about this for a moment. The humans didn’t really seem to have a defined belief system. At least not in the same way that Borlians did or not one that ‘her’ littermate had been informed of. Although, the humans did seem to have a strong belief system surrounding their leader, who was also human, but was special in a way that a leader should be.

“I don’t think they praise their ancestors, but they often honor their homeworld and their leader,” the gestator said, picking up a cooling root and beginning to crunch on it. Ordinarily, the root would be much much harder, but the boiling made it much easier to eat.

The elder bunched their wrinkles again.

“Only one leader? A human strong enough to be a leader like that should be the one visiting,” the elder said, crunching on a slightly smaller root.

“Their leader is strong in will and wisdom, but should not be demanded to visit us on a whim,” the gestator said, minutely annoyed at the elder.

“Would our leaders not equally go to them if we were to make demands of them?” the elder shot back.

“No. That is why my littermate was even present to learn more of these humans,” the gestator said, the rumble taking on a chilled note.

The elder clearly didn’t like that, but opted for a different tactic.

“Why do they praise their homeworld? Is it so special a place?” the elder tried before filling their mouth with root.

“Apparently, they destroyed it at one time and it is only by much hard work that it was made livable again,” the gestator said, lowering ‘her’ eyes to her plate and the containers around, debating on some further food.

“Destroyed? How?” the older geneseed carrier asked, clearly confused.

“They boasted of many weapons of starmight in their early days and without a general to unite them, they cast their starmight against each other,” the gestator said, a tone of importance in ‘her’ voice.

Those gathered about the table seemed to pause at this revelation. Starmight weapons were dangerous. Even Borlian wars did not result in starmight weapons being deployed. And these humans had deployed starmight weapons against their own, tribe against tribe. It was not a simple concept to even consider. The whole of a species so at war in tribe against tribe that it had resorted to starmight weapons and destroyed their homeworld.

“How could they have survived starmight weapons? Is that why they are so strong?” the elder asked finally.

“No. A tribe of many lived above their world on a moon with much knowledge. Humans come from those ancestors of that tribe of many,” the gestator said, having decided that just one more boiled root was needed to satiate hunger.

“So the humans are one tribe that still fights itself?” the younger geneseed carrier piped up, leaning back from the table with a slightly distended stomach region.

“They are. But it has something to do with being human, or so my littermate has said,” the gestator said. “And I wish you all to be on good behavior while they are present. We should be honored to receive alien visitors into our spaces. Few have ever received that honor even in the Collective.”

“Feh. It remains to be seen if they deserve that honor,” the elder said, rising and moving to chew some hrut-hesh weed.

The gestator said nothing to this. ‘She’ knew it was not an honor given lightly. The Council of the Aligned Tribes did not take visitors to the homeworld lightly, so the humans had better be prepared to prove themselves in the days to come.

The Collective (Part 79) - BAT

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld System

The warpgate that opened on the edge of the system was wholly expected by the vessels waiting there. To the average being, it would seem that the vessels of the Borlian fleet were anticipating pirates or some fearsome vessel of a fantastical magnitude. They numbered sixteen hands or sixty four vessels and all were crewed by Borlian champions, each ready to defend the system if what came from the warpgate was to be hostile.

The medium sized vessel which emerged seemed blocky and unfinished and almost laughable in conceiving that it might even be considered a threat. But the Borlian champions knew better than to underestimate what they could see. Just because they valued fights with honor did not mean these potential opponents would oblige them, as other species before them had tried.

Alas, the sensors of these mighty vessels came from all directions, scanning every inch of hull that was exposed and stopped cold. This vessel was built by strange hands, using the high-count elements, halting their vast sensor arrays and appearing as little more than a massive block of solid metals. The Borlian champions did not like this. An opponent that was clever could use such sensor readings to their advantage. But the Council had made their will clear and the champions of the fleet had their orders.

The strange vessel moved forward steadily, moving neither aggressively nor abnormally slow, towards the homeworld. The sensor traces of the waiting fleet followed it and so too did the fleet, ignoring the slow-to-close warpgate. It was of little consequence.

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IMS The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe

“Ladies and Gentlemen, and assorted species, welcome to the Borlian home system, someplace no human has ever been before,” Captain Dremora Whidbey announced to the whole of the ship as they moved forward.

The heavy scan by the obviously military vessels immediately upon exiting the warpgate had been a bit perturbing, but ostensibly, they had nothing to hide. Or at least she didn’t. Whether Mac and Hiram had something to hide was something else, and she still didn’t like that she couldn’t figure out what it was they were keeping from her. It didn’t seem like paranoia, not with these two. No, they were up to something. She just had to make sure she took care of her crew or she’d end up back in the Centauri system, shuffling paperwork until she retired.

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Several deck below, Hiram and Munin stood next to an observation port. The homeworld was little more than a distant speck that could just barely be seen and the star a shining glow only a bit brighter than the others that laced the void beyond.

“Are you nervous to be returning home?” Hiram asked.

“A bit. Taking you as a… well, strengthmate is the closest approximation I can make in Terran Standard, wasn’t exactly sanctioned. And we still have species laws, even if you don’t,” Munin rumbled. Hiram couldn’t quite pin down what it was, but Munin was worried, which was, in itself, a notable tone in that Borlians were not good about showing nervousness or fear around other beings, let alone their own kind.

“Well, the species laws don’t have anything to do with strengthmates specifically, right?” Hiram asked, knowing the answer from the last few days of discussions, but needing Munin to talk herself through it.

“No, and there can be a compelling argument that since a strengthmate is not a genetic donor typically, then the species laws wouldn’t apply anyway. But there are always… uh… to use a human term, xenophobes who will think that a strengthmate must be held to the same laws as the rest and that would include the species laws and, well, you’re not Borlian,” Munin said, gripping the rail in front of her with all four hands, eyes staring off into the void.

Hiram moved behind Munin and placed his hands on either side of her neck. The warmth of his hands seeped into her neck muscles, easing a bit of the tension that was accumulating there. She turned her head from the view so that half of her eyes could see him.

“Strengthmates are not chosen idly,” Hiram said, looking around her head and focusing on the distant star.

“They bring a group wisdom and strength in the ring,” Munin rumbled quietly.

“And have I demonstrated wisdom and strength that would benefit your group?” Hiram asked, a sort of far away look in his eyes.

“You have,” Munin rumbled.

“Then we have naught to fear. Let the species purists come. Would they face us in the ring and risk loss?” Hiram spoke quietly.

Munin had to think about this for a moment. There were some, like the Blingoth who had attempted to attack Oorak, among the Borlian Tribes, but even the most xenophobic of them would have trouble if they attempted to to press their strength in the ring only to lose. And if they did lose and to a human, they would be forced to the conditions of the ring, else they risked tainting their bloodline’s achievements. Even the most manipulative Borlian could not hide that type of shame until it was made right. The conditions of the ring were more binding than any human legal contract might ever be and any Borlian who refused to obey them risked shunning even. Shunning was an old practice, one that the Borlians and humans shared, but to be shunned in Borlian society was effectively to be made as though one did not exist. It was no simple act and was considered one of the harshest punishments that could befall a Borlian, to exist in an honorable companionable society that refuses to acknowledge one’s existence. Not even the most stubborn Borlian would not blanche at such a punishment being threatened. And it was enforced by the champions of the Council.

“They might, but the conditions would have to be well set for them to even enter the ring. To challenge a human and perhaps lose and not obey the conditions, they might tempt shunning, which is no small punishment,” Munin said, turning her head back to the stars and the slowly growing dots of the planets.

Hiram thought for a good moment.

“Who is stronger, you or Rory?” Hiram asked.

“Rory would be stronger in a pressing match. Why do you ask?” Munin probed, turning her head to look at Hiram again.

“And the conditions of the ring can be anything non lethal?” Hiram asked, ignoring the inquiry for the moment.

“If both sides agree to the conditions and it is non lethal, then yes. Are you planning something?” Munin raised her upper left hand to Hiram’s left hand which still rested on her shoulder.

“Maybe. But while I prepare for a possible worst to come, I hope that, not only for the sake of our group, but for the sakes of our two peoples, that there is friendship, wisdom, and strength in a bond for our mutual futures,” Hiram said, lowering his eyes to the two of hers that were presently looking at him.

He removed his hands from her shoulders and placed them on her waist. Munin smiled, if only to herself. He did make a good strengthmate and let the doubters come, for her group and her human would best them, not only for the good of the group, but the good of all Borlians and humans.

A flicker of a thought ran through her mind. The humans came to be friends. It would be seen perhaps as weakness, but only by the unwary. The cautious would see what the humans were and what they were prepared to be, powerful allies who value their companions or terrifying opponents who sought not to conquer or erase, but simply to end the conflict by the necessary means. She did not fear for those who made friends with the humans, for she was among them. No, she feared for those who would not see reason and would sooner fight the humans because they think them weak enough to conquer.

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Sol System - Terra - Imperial City

“Your Majesty, we believe we have unpleasant news,” the aide said, moving into the chambers of the Empress without bothering to knock.

The Empress sat up from where she had been slumped on her bed.

“It had best be worth having woken me then,” she mumbled, slowly opening her eyes, not quite up to full power.

“We have reason to believe that the Avorias are preparing a secret weapons array of some type near their Colony 15, around one of the outer gas giants,” the aide said, mildly pleased that the Empress did not have them fixed in her gaze as yet.

“And this was worth waking me up why?” the Empress asked, looking at the clock and debating if it was worth trying to go back to sleep or if she should start the day extremely early.

“Because, in order to activate and move these weapons arrays, they have pulled their largest, heaviest duty vessels on record and a few not on record into service for these arrays. Based on our projections, we think they mean to target us directly,” the aide said, still grateful the Empress appeared temporarily in a quandary.

“And these weapons would be of concern why?” the Empress said, turning her gaze to the aide, still trying to get to the point in her head.

“If we’re right, these arrays are what created the Great Coma Wall and imprisoned the Mundivores. If they use them against the Empire, there won’t be an Empire anymore,” the aide said, nervously.

The Wall loomed in the mind of the Empress. Such a weapon was no small feat, as was wielding it. It would not be deployed lightly, which meant the Avorias feared the Empire and what it represented.

“How long do we have until they move out?” she asked, throwing back the covers and standing up.

“A week. Maybe less,” the aide said.

The Empress thought, her mind suddenly jolting into action and skipping a few gears along the way.

“Leave me and secure my chambers for secure communications. It appears I need to call in a favor,” she said, returning her gaze to the aide, who scurried out of the room.

She strode quickly over to the custom tablet that rested on the nearby table, her pajama shorts unbunching as she did so.

She tapped out an old communications link code from memory. She hated to call in favors, even as the Empress, but if the intelligence group was right, then the threat to the Empire was very very real.

The link went through when she finished and it sat, chiming for a bit. She only hoped she had remembered it correctly. After a long few moments, the link connected and a wizened male face was on the other end.

“Strange to see you on the other end of my WarpCom link. What can I do for the Empress?” the face asked, the voice coarse from a hard life.

“Dread Pirate Bellamy, the Empire has need of you. Will you answer?” she asked.

The Collective (Part 80)

Sol System - Terra - Imperial City

“Now, now, Roxie. Tell me the real reason you called,” the wizened face asked through the link.

“If my information is right, we need Ahab and Moby Dick,” the dark face said frankly.

“The void of space is a mysterious place indeed then, daughter,” was the only response and the link closed.

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Avorias Territory - Avorias Colony 15 - Weapons Storage Station Ancient Feathers

The black feathered weapons specialist observed the latest reports from the various teams charged with activating the Traveler weapons arrays. Awakening the various control systems and power cells had been difficult at best. So many secrets had been kept, even from the documentation. But the arrays were slowly awakening as the teams progressed.

They had lost fifteen promising technicians to various traps and poorly documented procedures, but they were necessary sacrifices, at least to the weapons specialist. The Director of the Avorias Intelligence Service had made this a priority. Eliminating the core of humanity took precedence and just holding the Collective together until that could happen was all that mattered.

The black feathers twitched. They didn’t like the Director’s agenda, but even for as many secrets as they knew, or perhaps because of those secrets, never would they be allowed to leave the service alive to enjoy a further long and happy life. And if the analyst behind xenostudies was correct, there might only be one real option for a being like them if the xenostudies analyst was even a little correct.

The Traveler weapon arrays were dangerous in ways that not a single pin of the black feathers could imagine, wielding an energy that was strange and vast, but not infinite. It had taken three of the largest Avorias vessels ever built to jumpstart the first section of the first array and that represented the energy equivalent of running the local colony for three years with no economies being made. And the vast arrays seemed more complex than the weapons specialist had ever dealt with before. Strangely, there seemed to be connection ports throughout the arrays that used a strange protocol, like nothing the weapons specialist had ever seen. Nor had any of the technicians or scientists charged with bringing up the arrays. The ports seemed to be connected to everything through the whole of each array, but without even a hint at how to use them or what they might be for, the teams had been manually starting the various systems through the arrays.

It was a slow process, every bit as slow as they had informed the Director, but progress was made and the arrays were coming online and currently in the process of being yoked to the vessels which would carry them into position. If the documentation was to be believed, and the weapons specialist did believe, the arrays would be placed to encompass a region of space and fill it with gravitational eddies capable of destroying anything that got too close. Even the heretical human vessels with their high-proton count elements.

The black-feathers twitched again. The humans had never received the message of the Travelers, so it wasn’t really their fault. But the weapons specialist had their orders and so the core of the humans would be erased and the rest adequately reeducated to the proper way of life, in the Collective. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the system and the weapons specialist could not buck the entire system. Not if they valued their life and freedom. The Collective Prison Colony, hidden at the edge of Avorias, Dregwer, Capy, and Dumah Territory, was a secret like no other, but the weapons specialist had no desire to ever be trapped there as a permanent resident. It was akin to a death sentence as those cast out to the two worlds there were never heard from again and any vessel that landed on either world never left again either. Prisoners were typically cast down from orbit in disposable pods that were unusable as soon as they reached the surface.

It was more mercy than the prisoners deserved, the weapons specialist had told themself, but they also knew that it was more than just the worst of the any species that went to that prison colony. It was also the highly politically inconvenient, those who could cause turmoil which might disrupt the whole of a species improperly, and it was important, nay, sacred that a species follow the proper path in the stars. And for right now, the humans were too numerous and had been taught too thoroughly that such a path did not exist. But the humans would be made to learn. Or at least, brought into line, the weapons specialist considered. The weapons specialist was not a fanatic, but the system was the system and had been the system for more generations than could be readily recounted among known ancestors. And the humans were clearly in the wrong. Why else would the Director insist on this goal so heavily?

The black feathered Avorias returned to their perch and began to review further records and reports as the various teams continued their progress in the arrays. If all went well, they would begin deploying in a few days and within a week, the core of humanity would cease to exist and the path of the Travelers made clear once more.

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Borlian Aligned Tribes Homesystem - IMS The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe

“I have no idea where you get the energy,” Oorak said, flat on her stomach, her small tail lying in the sheets beside her.

“Just lucky I guess,” Mac said, grinning as he stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and wholly unclad.

“I’d be lucky too, if someone hadn’t woken me up about three hours ago,” Oorak mumbled.

Mac chuckled and sat down on the bed next to her.

“Just cuddles from here on out then,” he said facetiously.

“No, you don’t, mister. You’re not getting off that easy,” she said, snaking a hand out and grabbing his thigh, the shower warmed skin feeling fantastic on her palm.

Mac leaned down and kissed the top of her left ear.

“How about I make it up to you in the moment with some breakfast?” he asked, the grin still plastered across his face.

Oorak pushed herself up and stretched.

“Do we have time?” she asked.

“Almost certainly. Our warpgate location was on the edge of the system and it’s low speed fusion drives from there, so we probably have another hour before we need to show up for duty,” Mac said, standing, still clearly unclad, and moving over to the fabricator.

“Get me something with plenty of kale. Maybe oatmeal with extra butter. And some of that Tanosian breakfast tea. If that doesn’t wake me up, I may as well stay on the ship and sleep through this diplomatic visit,” Oorak said, running her hands over her scales.

“Your wish is my command,” Mac said and began tapping on the fabricator panel.

“If only that were true,” she murmured, more to herself than Mac, before she slouched off to the bathroom to see about getting cleaned up.

She knew she should be a bit concerned for Munin and Rory, as they had numerous cultural aspects to navigate with their relationships with humans, and Mac and Hiram had many other cultural hurdles to climb over to ensure a successful trip, but at the same time, she felt a certain presence. One that said that there were far more dangerous things on the days to come than facing off with the Borlian Council and if Mac and Hiram couldn’t handle that, they weren’t the humans who had rescued her from Big Stick. Of course, the more dangerous thing that sprang to mind was her not getting proper sleep for some time to come, but if that was the most dire consequence, she would find a way to deal with it.

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Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld - Council Chambers

The Borlian champion chairbeing smiled broadly in reading the latest synopses about these humans. They were most interesting compared with most species. They had wars. They had a martial aligned culture. They had vast resources and wisdom. And they were dangerous. But there was something in all of that distilled knowledge that the chairbeing liked about the humans.

The chairbeing was rather fond of the saying of the human’s saying for their empire. ‘The stars shall brook no more waiting and we shall not be found wanting.’

There was something familiar about it, something almost Borlian in the way it seemed to be spoken. It spoke of reaching out to the stars. It spoke of cultivating the worth of the self and of the species. And of so much more. The chairbeing liked it.

And if the rumors about the Ambassador and his aide were true, then the trials should prove no problem to the two of them. There were of course the doubters on the Council who would insist on the harshest form of the trials before the Ambassador and/or his aide could appear before the Council, but the chairbeing had no doubts as to the capacity of these two humans.

The chairbeing was considered unnaturally soft at times, but in the ring, when it mattered, those same speakers often found themselves at the loss.

And the two Borlians who had returned with the humans, carrying human given names. There was some concern about the one gestator having taken a human strengthmate. The chairbeing did not believe this a matter for the council, but the hardliners had insisted it be addressed if the humans made it through the trials. If the humans didn’t pass, well, the Council would have to address that directly with the representatives directly, but until then, it was to be held in abeyance.

The days to come would be most interesting for the chairbeing and almost certainly for the humans.

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Avorias Territory - Avorias Colony 15 - Outer System

Probe 4923

Registering Collective Energy Signatures

Analyzing…

Type 13 weapons arrays from Vessel 442 [dest.]

Directives search…

Directive: Override/Lock-out unauthorized Collective technology utilization

Transmitting Override…

Override failed…

Transmitting Override…

Override failed… Local manual interlocks engaged.

Logging and annotating unauthorized Collective technology utilization

Transmitting log to Collective fleet

Resuming current mission: Observation Status

The Collective (Part 81) - BAT

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

From orbit, the Borlian Homeworld reminded Captain Dremora Whidbey of her former home planet in the Ross Systems. The cities were clearly there, but few and far between, the inhabitants valuing adequate territory for some level of self-sufficiency (or at least that is what she imagined, since that was the common theme on the Ross worlds). The Borlians were supplying a shuttle to take Mac and his entourage to the surface, so that was one less thing for her to worry about.

On the other hand, she had received no less than fifteen requests by various members of the crew to “assist” the Ambassador by going down to the surface. She was no xenophobe, but she’d taken some relish in denying those requests, thanks in no small part (although she loathed to admit it) to the justification provided by Hiram. Apparently, Mac and company were the only ones allowed onto the world below them because of Borlian customs. Dremora didn’t mind. Her vessel was the only place for her to be, regardless of where it went.

She had received the reports of the deputy chief engineer getting cozy at one point with one of the Borlians, but officially she could do nothing about it. Apparently, the Empress approved of such… entanglements, by allowing Mac and his… woman to start the marriage process. It all made Dremora more than a little uncomfortable, but she would never admit it, especially to Mac or her fellow captains and admirals. With humans becoming an apparently big part of galactic society, the wrong opinion expressed even in private could end up with her back behind a desk somewhere far from the xenos instead of in the command chair where she belonged.

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In the shuttle bay, several decks below and aft of where Dremora sat on the bridge, the Borlian shuttle made its way slowly inside. Mac and company were ready and waiting, each carrying a small bag. This was going to be rather exciting all things considered. The two Borlians had not been back on their homeworld in almost four years. Oorak would have the opportunity to remove her grav harness and see this new world. Mac and Hiram were both wearing grav harnesses so that the reduced gravity wasn’t too jarring.

And Mac couldn’t help but notice that some of the crew who were not on duty (and perhaps some that were, but had taken a ‘break’) were watching from the upper platform. Even though many had had the opportunity to speak or otherwise deal with Mac’s group since they came aboard, fraternization was still fairly low. He’d have to work on that as they went forward. Officially, it was frowned upon, but it was far easier to get people to work miracles when they didn’t see you as an obstacle. He could see Suki Iwama locking eyes with Rory and a subtle nod between the two. Hiram had mentioned the two of them started to see one another in passing, but Mac gave it no mind. As long as she did her duty and Rory did ‘his’, then consenting adults could do as consenting adults chose. Even the laws of the Imperial Navy reflected this and as much as he was certain Dremora didn’t like it, she did have to respect those laws.

He’d gone over the roster several more times, separately. A majority of the crew were good, not great, at their work and the distinguishing factor in most cases was a reasonably high ranking in being adequately diplomatic and xenophilic. Not excessively so (like the XFA), but more along the lines of Mac and Hiram in being adequately friendly and accepting of another species and their associated culture. It was a newer metric, but also an older one, relating back to the nation states of old Terra in staff for diplomatic embassies, so there were still a few issues with the scales to work out, but it seemed to work so far.

The one being aboard who stood out on the metric was Dremora herself. She was at the far lower end of the spectrum. If it weren’t for the current conflict going on, Mac would have asked for a different captain, but qualified and senior captains were hard to come by at the moment. She clearly had wanted to be back in a command chair, even if it meant serving aboard a vessel whose mission she half despised. And, if Hiram was any judge, she apparently suspected Mac and Hiram of having secret orders and missions that she wasn’t privy to.

Being fair, Mac and Hiram were on the info streams of Imperial Intelligence, so there was that, but Mac had fairly simple orders from the Empress that were neither secret nor particularly out of the ordinary: inquire with and, if possible arrange for, the Borlians in the acceptance of an alliance. Mac hadn’t been privy to the development of the documentation behind the alliance, but it was apparently quite a read. In it, if accepted, all member species were given equal rights (aka no slave or servant species), the sharing of human fusion and fission systems at either significant equivalent discounts or fabricator templates using high-proton count designs, the elimination of species purity laws, and free movement between the allied territories.

Apparently, the Dumah and Capy on Centauri III had helped with the language, particularly the translation to Collective Standard, and had apparently made few changes to the language of the document, finding it interestingly more open, but also more comprehensive than the original language of the alliance documentation behind the Collective. This wasn’t to say that it wouldn’t likely still have holes, but it preserved autonomy, focused on an elevated living standard, and benefited all involved for a comparatively minimal exchange, especially when taken on the larger societal scale. There were of course the obvious issues with corruption and personal gain in the short term, but the Dumah and the Capy of Centauri III estimated that with the sheer economic weight of what the humans brought to the table, those would be short-lived, dying as economies were retooled to account for the influx of technology, templates, and energy and element generation.

There were going to be the obvious concerns with the establishment of civil rights, especially for previously subject species, and how that liberation was handled, but that was something to be dealt with as part of the implementation process of the alliance, rather than an immediate and wholly comprehensive day zero overhaul (despite what some might prefer). But the empire was prepared to offer assistance in those matters as well. And the few species who could not be expected to fully act of their own accord would be provided adequate guidance until they could, with as little input from external species as possible until they either reached the stars themselves or extinguished themselves. It had been a unique statement and the Dumah and the Capy had been rather surprised at how the humans were choosing to approach the topic, but it was made patently clear on all levels. A species must be given the opportunity at self-determination, even if that led them to self-destruction.The Dumah and the Capy did not anticipate their governments agreeing with the humans’ argument of self-determination, but that was a discussion still to come. The representatives could only speak to their experience and naturally, the humans brought a very convincing argument. It would not be a matter of an overnight change for any involved, but would instead be a process, since societies themselves would need to change.

There were also concerns with how the liberated species would react, but it was reasonably agreed upon that if the human empire could easily hold the Collective in battle, then the liberated species would be granted adequate time for their rage to cool and join galactic society in their own time. There would of course be wars and fighting as each species self-determined, but to the empire, that was everything. Without conflict, there would be no growth and to the humans, there was nothing worse than falling into stagnant ascendance.

From everything Mac had learned of the Borlians, they would almost certainly agree that conflict was a necessary part of life, whether on a mere planet or among the stars. The trick was to fight the actual conflicts that mattered and to not be hung up on the ones that were only self-serving.

The sleek vessel that entered the bay was clearly more robust than the average Collective vessel, which made sense, given the presence of the Borlians. And it moved with a calm dignity to a smooth landing.

The door opened at the rear and out stepped a uniformed Borlian who looked reasonably dignified, but not especially important. From what Mac and Hiram had learned, it was likely that this Borlian was a disposable guide, important enough to serve in their role, but ultimately removed from the decision making process, instead of a leader as had been traditional among the Borlians before their introduction to the comparatively dishonorable Collective community. Mac took no offense at it. It showed appropriate caution by the Borlians. He wasn’t still fond of the whole honor and bloodline basis of Borlian society, but it was their culture and he would respect it for as long as it was reasonable to do so. Mac stepped forward to address the slightly confused looking Borlian, who was taking in the whole of the massive bay around them as well as all the humans who were looking rather intently upon them.

“Ambassador MacDonald?” the guide asked, their eyes finally landing on Mac, who was wearing a heavy blood-red coat with decorative gold braid that closely mirrored the one the Empress wore.

“I am the Ambassador. Have you come to guide us?” he asked, swelling a bit with a certain importance in the moment.

The Borlian guide blinked a few times, taking in Mac and the group behind him. Mac smiled a bit. Clearly, the Borlian hadn’t been given a clear expectation of just who they were to be guiding. Mac could work with that. No expectations was better than wrong expectations.

“We stand ready to descend,” he said, his gaze carrying the weight of his will pressed against the guide.

The Borlian guide was also unprepared for the penetrating gaze of Mac, as they took a momentary step back. Oorak grinned a bit. The weight of a human gaze was nothing to be trifled with and she spoke with full authority on that.

Something clicked into gear in the head of the Borlian guide and they gestured for Mac and company to climb aboard the vessel. Mac heard the guide speak to the pilots via a small radio link in their native tongue. If it was important, Munin or Rory would catch it. Otherwise, their journey lay ahead.

__

The journey to the world below was uneventful, following the slow, prepared descent path to the spaceport. It was quiet aboard the shuttle. Almost unnaturally so with how little conversation might normally have been on an equivalent human shuttle, but the guide kept glancing nervously across the group, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. It wasn’t until they had landed that anyone spoke. Munin spoke up to the guide in their rumbling tongue.

There appeared to be a sort of scared momentary look that floated across the eyes of the guide with this conversation. Munin appeared calm and confident as they rumbled further. The guide seemed to calm a bit, but was clearly nervous to Mac. He looked to Munin.

“Is there an issue?” he asked, Collective Standard feeling strange after having spoken his parent tongue for so long.

“No, but he was not expecting to make it this far apparently. And he does not have a name that you will find pronounceable. For the purposes of this exchange and the duration of their guidance, it may serve us for you to grant them a name in your tongue,” Munin rumbled smoothly.

Mac looked at Hiram and thought for a moment.

“What does their name translate to in terms of meaning?” Mac asked.

This made Munin look at Rory and some mutual rumbling was heard.

“The nearest we can come up with is ‘collector of spices’,” Munin said.

“Sounds like a bit like Marco Polo then,” Hiram said, knowing Mac could appreciate the historical reference. Mac smiled.

“Marco it is then,” Mac said, looking back to Munin and then over at the guide.

Some rumbling issued from Munin towards the newly named guide, who smiled.

“I am Marco, then, your Grace,” the Borlian guide rumbled in an oddly accented Collective Standard.

“And until I say otherwise or until we’re in front of the council, I’m Mac, Ambassador of the 3rd Sol Empire,” Mac responded, thrusting out an arm which the newly named Marco grasped. Mac pulled the somewhat astonished Marco to their feet in one motion. “Now, let’s get out of this shuttle and go make history.”

__

Avorias Colony 15

Message for Probe 4923

Fleet Estimated Arrival: 10 units

Mission objectives altered.

Mission Parameters:

Unit not authorized to depart local prior to fleet arrival.

The Collective (Part 82) - BAT

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

Marco was confused. These humans and whatever or whomever the smaller green being was were not at all what he had expected when he’d been volunteered for this.

Granted, he’d only seen the video clip of the Empress and the Lightbringer as far as anything to expect. It seemed to him that the human leaders were likely giant, even compared to a Drutz beast. And the Lightbringer had not been small, but was clearly much smaller than the humans’ Empress.

The Ambassador and the other human with him was barely taller than Marco himself. But when the Ambassador had pulled Marco to his feet without even the slightest sound of effort, it was clear that the Ambassador was more than met the eye. Marco considered himself to be decent to speaking Collective Standard, but apparently, it sounded pleasing to the humans because they smiled when he did so. It seemed surprising that the humans could speak Collective Standard, but couldn’t speak Borlian Standard.

The two Borlians of the group moved strangely too, to Marco’s eyes. Less like proper Borlians and more like the two humans with a sort of smoothness that was irregular to watch. They gave their proper Borlian names to him as the group left the shuttle and made their way out of the spaceport. They also spoke of their human given names, which they preferred. When Marco asked them why, they had looked at each other and stated simply that a bond with a human becomes especially important when you are named. That which the humans name honorably is considered high honor. That which the humans name disparagingly or did not bother to name at all is considered an enemy or a lessor.

Marco inquired about the names they had been given and his own new name. Munin explained that her name originated from their ancient myths surrounding messengers of the gods, Rory’s name came from a captain who fell in the final hours of the Admiral Icon’s campaign against the 2nd Sol Empire oligarchs, and Marco’s was likely, based on what Hiram and Mac had said, related to a spice trader from the history of their world (although Munin admitted that she couldn’t be sure without looking it up on the WarpCom).

Marco was again confused. The humans had only just met him. Why was it that they would give him such an honorable name without testing him? Munin said that it was again something that humans chose to do at odd times. Naming beings and things that in most circumstances had no need or right to being named. Refusing to name certain ideas or beings lest they turn up in some format. It sounded silly to Marco.

As they stepped out of the spaceport, he heard a small gasp and the smaller green one began talking excitedly to the Ambassador… to Mac, he reminded himself. But they weren’t speaking in Borlian or Collective Standard. It was some other tongue that sounded to have many more tonals and mouth movements than Collective Standard did and it was higher pitched with more distinct syllables than Borlian Standard did. It wasn’t something Marco had ever heard before.

“What is that you are speaking?” he tried in Collective Standard.

The smaller green one looked at him and cocked its head to one side.

“Forgive my manners. I was speaking Terran Standard,” the smaller green being said, much to Marco’s surprise.

“What or who are you?” Marco asked. It didn’t seem wholly out of place to ask and it was nominally best to establish if this being belonged to the Ambassador in some manner of serving capacity. The smaller green being drew themselves up.

“I am Oorak, formerly of Blingoth, mate to Ambassador MacDonald, and citizen of the empire,” came the clear, unambiguous response.

Marco blinked all four eyes rather rapidly. If… IF he was understanding correctly and if he remembered correctly, Blingoths hadn’t ever dealt directly with the Borlians, but here was one and somehow, this one was mated to… the Ambassador? His face crunched with thought and he stopped walking to give his brain time to process this.

For one thing, this Blingoth was a full third smaller than the human in the big flowing red coat. Why would the human take a sub-standard sized mate and not strive for a mating group larger than himself? For another, why would the human take a non-species mate? Were they unable to attract a mate within their own species? Were they undesireables of poor bloodlines in both cases, cast-offs that should be spurned? Or perhaps was this somehow normal for humans, to seek out strange mates? But to what end would it serve the humans to seek out strange mates?

Munin tapped Marco’s shoulder and he stopped thinking for a moment to look at her.

“Let us proceed to the streetcar before you try to consider all of this,” she rumbled. Marco could only nod, his head a whirling mess of questions and cultures.

__

Munin understood what Marco was in the process of trying to comprehend. It had taken her some time to comprehend it too, but she had been given time over the course of weeks to come to terms with it all (and no small amount of pushing contests during Mac’s poker nights). The simple answer to a lot of the questions that were no doubt running through Marco’s head was that it was simply how humans were. It’s more than a little bit of a culture shock to even consider so much of what the humans consider as commonplace behavior in their society. And even the uncommon is often readily accepted in human society, simply because it is different and it often constitutes a form of ‘acceptable rebellion’.

The idea of ‘acceptable rebellion’ appeared to be semi-fluid in human societies, some parts of it being fairly rigid and inflexible on what was acceptable rebellion and what was depraved, other parts being exceptionally flexible, focusing instead on the growth of the community and the reasonable acceptance of personal rebellious acts in as long as they were not harming themselves or others unnecessarily. In Borlian society, it leaned much more heavily on the side of rigid and inflexible, as Munin and Rory were coming to terms with, focusing on tradition and systems that had served the species well, but were patently old established institutions that did little to change with the times. And it didn’t take genius Borlian to know that even the most solid building can still be crumbled to rubble if its foundations are carried away in a torrent of new rebellion.

And that’s part of what worried Rory and Munin. In a way, both of them were rebels according to traditional Borlian society and they would have to either give that up to return, depart with no hope of returning, or, and this was the most important one, lead a sort of cultural revolution. It wasn’t necessarily that Rory or Munin wanted to revolutionize the Borlian culture, but the humans rode on a sort of massive wave of culture, strength, and understanding, capable of great violence and great mercy all at once. And they didn’t even seem to notice it about themselves. It was simply a part of their species identity.

The Council tended not to like change, nor did most elders in Borlian society and Rory and Munin would be facing an up-valley war to even dream of adequately challenging the entrenched traditions of Borlian culture, but at the same time, that same massive wave that the humans rode had come with them and even arrived ahead of them in the form of the WarpCom. With it, the wave of alternate cultures, beings, and information flowed in ways that were unrestricted and seemed to fill every waiting ear and eye in ways they had never done so before. And, to Rory and Munin, that made a cultural revolution not only inevitable, whether it was led now or later, but also necessary. One of the foundations of Borlian culture was a strength of the mind, wisdom, and it was wisdom now that told them both that Borlian culture could no longer bind itself to traditions of the past for the sake of cultural purity, but instead must adapt and become better than it is today.

__

They reached the large streetcar and took a moment to load their minor baggage into the rear of the vehicle before entering the seating area. It was a streetcar normally allocated to much larger groups and had clearly had some security improvements made of it, but it still appeared to be fairly standard. Marco spoke with the driver once the group was aboard and seated and the vehicle set off.

Marco heard vaguely Oorak speaking of the surroundings as the vehicle proceeded, commenting on views, architecture, and some of the Borlians they were seeing. It all seemed to go across his teeth as his mind spun back up to consider all of the questions he was having about these humans. It wasn’t just that he had not been informed, but he had been given an ice cube’s representation of humans when they were in fact a massive iceberg bearing down on his understanding of galactic societies.

Rory was seated next to Marco and from time to time, Marco turned to Rory, seeming to want to ask one of a dozen of questions, but didn’t and turned his head back down and continued thinking. It wasn’t that Marco was incapable of asking the questions. It was more that the questions he was asking internally seemed to be at odds with what he thought he knew about humans and so much of what he wanted to understand didn’t seem to be simple concepts.

Eventually, he settled on a series of questions that should answer at least some of the churning cauldron within his head.

“How is it that humans choose mates, if not by the traditional manner?” Marco rumbled to Rory in Borlian Standard.

“By means of psychological compatibility and large-scale physical attributes,” Rory replied simply.

“So they do not consider bloodlines or the achievements of ancestors?” Marco asked, a bit perplexed.

“They do not, at least not in the current format of their society at large. Pockets of their society still practice some of both of those considerations, but they are not considered representative of their culture,” Rory said, leaning back, his mind wandering back to his tour through The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe with Suki.

“But why not?” Marco pressed.

“Because diversity of their species is their strength and their rebellion. Whether they openly admit to it or not, humans love differences and slowly come to despise sameness. Borlian culture and society is reasonably unified, correct?” Rory said, turning his head to look at Marco.

“That is what is spoken of, yes,” Marco said, not seeing where this was going.

“Human society and culture is utterly fragmented by comparison. It is strange that they even have a central governance with how fragmented they are, but they do. And what’s more is that humans are almost constantly warring and fighting between themselves. They do not have the ring as we do. But they have a sort of diversity in thought that makes them almost impregnable. Some of the enemies of our history with the Collective sought to tear down the traditions of Borlian culture to make us less sure of ourselves. Such an attack upon the humans would be almost laughable by comparison,” Rory said, smiling slightly.

“But how then do they defend as a unified species?” Marco asked.

“Through a sort of mutual agreement of thought. Not one backed by tradition, but rather by a sort of code that all humans cultivate within themselves in a way that is neither uniform, nor perfect, but the humans make it work. Unfortunately, the answer to a lot of your questions that you are having right now is that humans are strange and should not be capable of many of the things which they are, but they are and because of that, it makes them magnificent allies and terrible enemies,” Rory rumbled.

Marco looked at Mac and the other human again. They didn’t seem all that special. They just seemed like slightly bigger Borlians who were strangely shaped and lacked the appropriate number of eyes and arms.

“The human who is not Mac is a strengthmate to Munin,” Rory volunteered, which drew a shocked expression from Marco. Rory smiled at this. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but it was no secret either and it was better that their guide learn it now, rather than in front of the Council.

Marco looked over this other human. It wasn’t especially large (although it was decently sized equivalent to a Borlian). It wore a sort of strange harness around itself and was dressed rather plainly compared with the Ambassador. A strengthmate was supposed to be a being of special strength and wisdom and this human didn’t necessarily carry the appearance of either. There were no special decorations or honors for strength or wisdom shown and there were none of the traditional markings that a strengthmate of such a high bloodline would carry to show that they had joined such a high bloodline and so their achievements should be considered one and the same.

“Tell me what this human is capable of to deserve such an honor,” Marco demanded rather than asked before realizing how improper it was for a Borlian of his standing to make such a demand. Rory appeared to ignore this.

“Hiram, bearing a namesake of an ancient Terran military leader, has held off no less than fifteen captain champions in ring pressing matches. He is an accomplished scholar of human histories and of human intelligence. His strength and wisdom is of great value to any Borlian group,” Rory said, the rumble in his voice seeming to be a sort of echo of distant thunder.

Marco considered this. These were no small accomplishments if true. And as much as he wanted to believe Rory, he also knew that the trials to face the Council would undoubtedly test both. And for a non-Borlian to be a strengthmate was still unusual, even with valued accomplishments.

“Surely, there is something more,” Marco probed.

“There is indeed. The humans themselves are physically quite warm and comfortable to grasp,” Rory said, smiling, remembering a joke Mac had told him. “And don’t call me Shirley.”

The Collective (Part 83)

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

The last day was clearly exhausting for Rory. Even though a number of the preparations and ceremonies were bypassed or prepared well in advance, he still needed to work closely with Marco, who was… helpful, but in dire thirst for knowledge in all things human. And being entirely fair, Rory would admit that the more Marco knew about the humans in general (at least culturally), the better he could serve as a guide.

Although, to Rory’s point of view, Marco must have been living under the equivalent of a rock to not even know or guess half of what had to be expressed to him. Even just comparing some of the natural Borlian traditions of family and the breaking of bread between strangers and the equivalents in human culture (or at least modern human culture, but Rory wasn’t about to compound the issue today) seemed an exercise. It wasn’t that Marco was slow or lacking, but Rory found himself questioning a few times why Marco had undoubtedly been volunteered for this, while simultaneously answering himself that Marco was likely a neuter like himself and probably from a comparatively low-bloodline.

Rory caught himself on that train of thought. It was a bit of the old Borlian culture, the traditionalism that was taught to every Borlian from birth that made him think that. But when he looked at Marco, he had trouble thinking otherwise. Marco wasn’t from a particularly successful bloodline, didn’t appear to be particularly strong by Borlian standards, and, unless this was some manner of act, not especially wise by Borlian standards either.

He had questioned Marco, in between questions about human governance, as to what Marco had been doing before this assignment. It took a little explaining, but Marco was a sort of gap-filler in the Borlian governance, a low level placeholder to ensure that the work was completed, bureaucracy was satisfied, and no position was held hostage due to political discourse. In theory, it meant that Marco was smart in almost any area. In practice, it meant that Marco was shuffled around from office to office, role to role, satisfying and performing at a reasonable level, but never truly being acknowledged and having been limited to being mediocre in every role. Rory felt a bit of pity at learning this, more for Marco personally than for his bloodline. It wasn’t a poor role, but it did not serve him or his bloodline any favors to continue.

And so he had been volunteered to come play guide for the humans. If he was slain, it was no great loss to his bloodline and if he survived long enough and some manner of trade or alliance could be counted upon, it would provide a great boon to his bloodline, as it would for all involved. Not that Hiram nor Mac had indicated that they would really consider killing Marco.

Rory gave this further consideration. Would Mac or Hiram kill in their own defense? His mind went back to the incident on Big Stick. Remembered the sort of crazed look in Hiram’s eyes. The cold fire in Mac’s voice. No, Rory had no doubt that Mac and Hiram could kill if it was necessary and if he was right, in order to present the proposed alliance to Council, they’d have to.

__

Marco led the group the next morning to the large streetcar and they rode to where the trials were to be held. There were to be five trials, instead of the usual two. Rory and Munin disliked this. Clearly, it was the work of the hardliners on the Council, which meant that it couldn’t be bypassed as easily as political processes could be thwarted.

Mac and Hiram would be going in alone to the trials, strangely at Mac’s insistence. A radio link with a one-way earpiece was provided to Mac and Hiram so they could at least receive translations by Rory and Munin as to what was happening and what was expected. Part of that would be augmented with the WarpCom tablet that was running the latest version of Borlian Standard translation in realtime. It had been explained to the Council that Mac and Hiram would be addressing them in Collective Standard, simply because it was a language that was moderately translatable between the two species for concepts.

Each of the trials corresponded to a Borlian virtue. Generally, two was considered proving of worth, and three was considered exceptional (usually requiring one be of a low bloodline and seeking audience with the Council). Courage, Strength, Wisdom, Tugbrot, and Dewbra. Tugbrot and Dewbra were the only ones that didn’t have a Terran equivalent readily available, but translated into concepts that Mac and Hiram seemed to understand. Tugbrot was a sort of heartiness of ingestion and Dewbra was a durability of the form.

Oorak looked a bit concerned at hearing all of this, even if simply as a matter of common feelings with the group. Rory and Munin couldn’t blame her. They too were concerned. Five trials were commonly the equivalent of a death sentence or a clear indicator that the Council had no interest in even acknowledging your existence. In theory, any Borlian who successfully completed five trials before the Council could receive a pardon from even something like shunning. In practice, those who were shunned often fled Borlian society altogether or lived on the very fringes of society as little more than ghosts.

Mac and Hiram had dressed in simple brownish red clothing. It was not fancy nor particularly drab, but it seemed almost out of character for them. Their harnesses would not be allowed, but neither seemed particularly bothered by that.

The building where the trials were to be held had been extensively brought up to technological standards, despite its semi-archaic usage. It was normally a sporting arena, with massive viewing areas and recording capabilities. A dark green-brown sand filled the middle. The lights of the viewing areas were low as they entered the arena, Marco, Munin, Rory, and Oorak being escorted up a set of stairs to a low viewing area, Mac and Hiram stepping through a large gate, which closed behind them, into the sand filled central area.

A hush filled the arena as footsteps in the sand died away and all that could be heard were some barely audible drums.

The trials began.

__

“Are you sure about this?” Mac asked Hiram.

“Well, we don’t really have much choice. But I’m sure. You might remember that I half-wrote the summaries you read about Collective species,” Hiram said, stretching out his legs. “This gravity feels off.”

“Yes, I remember. I particularly remember one of those summaries indicating that I shouldn’t indulge in some of my favorite foods due to ‘chemical incompatibilities’,” Mac said, smirking. “And yes, the gravity here reminds me of Mars, albeit slightly heavier.”

“I used to hate visiting Mars,” Hiram said, squatting down and picking up a handful of sand and letting it slow-fall from his hand back to the ground.

“It was never my favorite place to visit, but there’s history there like nowhere else in the Empire, save Terra and Luna,” Mac said, looking around at the arena. It seemed strange that it was empty, even if it was for a good reason.

“Summer camps were always on Mars. I asked to go to Saturn instead, but they always said it was too dangerous or there was never enough interest,” Hiram said, standing up, brushing his hands together.

“I was a Terra brat, so leaving Terra was always strange, especially with lower gravity. But I picked up a thing of two in the process,” Mac said, as a light illuminated a stage high above and ahead of them.

“You who seek the Council’s favor shall now be tested,” came the booming announcement followed by the translation in Mac and Hiram’s ears courtesy of the translation system.

“Seems the translation software is working, for now,” Mac said, ignoring the figures on the high platform and looking around the arena. He knew how this game was played or at least part of it and if it was as deadly as Rory had indicated it could be, Hiram and he might be in for a run for their money.

“First, the test of courage. Come to the center and be tested,” was the further announcement as a small white circle of light appeared on the center of the sand filled arena.

Mac and Hiram slowly stepped their way across the arena to the circle. It wasn’t especially big, but seemed to just fit the both of them. Once there, there was silence and then a rattle of metal. It reminded Hiram and Mac of chains.

Six doors at the sides of the arena all around them slid open at once and out leapt something that reminded Mac of a natural born wolf of Terra, except these were about half of the size and moved slowly, converging on Mac and Hiram. The pack encircled Mac and Hiram, but didn’t seem to close the distance just yet. There was something predatory here, but Mac wasn’t quite sure what.

“Those are Rugars. If they’re feral, they can be very dangerous. If they’re trained, they’re often deadly,” came Munin’s voice in the earbuds.

“So what do we do now?” Mac asked, not specifically to Hiram, but knowing he was the only one who could hear him.

“Rugars will often respond to a firm command if trained,” Rory said, as if on queue.

“Then I’m going to hate this part,” Hiram said and before Mac could respond, he made a sort of horrible animalistic rumbling and teeth grinding sound, as though he were trying to speak like a native Borlian.

Interestingly, the six Rugars stopped in their tracks and looked curiously at the pair.

“What did you just try to say?” Mac asked, as Hiram finished with the sound and started to wheeze.

“Some derivative of ‘stop’ or ‘halt’. It’s one of the word pairings that the translation software still has a hard time with. Translates to ‘cheese’,” Hiram said, his voice raspy from the abuse.

The Rugars remained in place.

“So what now?” Hiram asked, since there was no apparent shift in balance.

“Well, fortune favors the bold,” Mac said and strode forward to one of the Rugars.

The Rugars looked at him curiously and the one directly in front of him moved its head from side to side. Mac held out his hand as a closed fist to allow the Rugar to smell the back of his hand. The Rugar did so, appearing somewhat confused by this behavior. Mac then reached up the top of the Rugar’s head and began to itch it slowly, allowing the Rugar to understand what he was doing. The Rugar’s short tail curled and uncurled curiously.

Mac knelt down next to the Rugar and Hiram heard a slow rumbly growl from Mac, except it half sounded like singing for a moment. It stopped abruptly. The Rugar that Mac was petting made a sort of light yelping sound and the other five moved in to surround Mac, each trying to move their heads under his hands. Mac grinned.

“What was that?” Hiram asked.

“Six months of throat singing in my early career combined with the word ‘good’, I believe,” Mac said, as the Rugars continued to assail him with their furry forms.

“Huh, I’ll have to remember that next time I try to speak Borlian,” Hiram said, rubbing his jaw.

“And come on, as vicious as these guys look, don’t they just remind you of large foxes?” Mac said, continuing to pet as many of them at once as he could. “I mean, who can resist such puppers?”

“The test is complete. You have shown courage!” came the booming announcement.

Mac sighed, particularly as several well clad Borlians entered the arena from the doors where the Rugars came from, looking rather astonished.

“We should probably help them get these guys back to where they belong, so we can move on,” Mac said, his face falling a bit.

“I suppose so,” Hiram said, having joined in with the petting of the Rugars, who took turns to growl at the well clad Borlians and return to demand pets from Mac and Hiram.

__

In the viewing area, Munin, Rory, and Marco looked astonished.

“I didn’t know that was even possible. Even for master trainers, they don’t behave like that,” Rory quietly muttered.

“How could they have done that?” Marco tried, eyes still locked on the arena.

“Because they’re humans,” came the voice of Oorak, who, with the aid of an elevated seat was watching, looking rather amused.

Marco looked at her, a clearly confused look on his face.

“One of the first species they ever domesticated was like a Rugar. And like the Rugar, if they’re feral, they’re dangerous, if trained, they can be deadly, but most of the time in the company of humans, they’re just looking for acknowledgement and pets,” Oorak said.

“What are these other Rugar called?” Marco asked.

“I believe most humans call them doggos,” Oorak said, a sly grin across her face.

The Collective (Part 84)

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

“Next, the Trial of Strength,” came the booming announcement, followed by the whisper of the translation in Mac’s and Hiram’s ears.

Mac flexed. Rory and Munin had given some hints as to what this might be, but neither really knew for certain what they would be facing. Luckily, following the advice of the Empress, he had been doing a bit of extra training and his harness had been rigged to give him 1.15 Terran Standard gravity, just as a bonus. But depending on what this trial was, it may or may not actually be useful. And for right now, he was without said harness.

Hiram was also wary of this trial. Being less muscular than Mac (and therefore significantly less muscular than any champion weightlifter or strongbeing), he perhaps had the most to prove here. Although, Hiram had a plan, one that would work for him and Mac if they needed it. Munin had spoken of some of the more ‘interesting’ methods of testing strength as well as potential requests made by those undergoing the trial.

A scraping of a distant door at the side of the arena alerted everyone as to the arrival. Rory and Munin looked at the being standing in the door and blanched. An Tynaxian rated Borlian superlifter, which was made apparent by the special garb and sashes the Borlian wore in a highly visible manner. No Borlian could outlift a Tynaxian and a Borlian superlifter who was even rated on the Tynaxian contest scale was no joke. If Rory and Munin even attempted a pressing match against such a being together, they still would lose.

The big, highly muscled Borlian stripped away the special garb and the sashes and strode towards Mac and Hiram in the center of the arena in little more than light blue shorts. Munin caught herself drooling over the superlifter for just a moment. There was something inside her generations of bloodlines that made such a Borlian so highly desirable that even for a moment, she contemplated it. But then she looked back to Hiram and Mac. Both appeared to be curiously watching the approaching Borlian, but seeming to take little heed of the superlifter otherwise. Most Borlians who would clearly know they didn’t have a chance would have taken the opportunity to try to save face in this matter, some even might resort to money or promises of positions of power. But Munin could guess that Mac and Hiram weren’t even going to bother with such offers, because they believed, reasonably so by Munin’s internal metrics, they could best this champion.

The superlifter reached the center of the arena and performed a small bow of respect in the direction of the stands (likely where the Council was watching) and to Mac and Hiram.

“Your species strength is considered quite high by captain champions, but how will you choose to face me?” the superlifter rumbled. Mac and Hiram looked at him a moment. The Borlian appeared almost smug. Which was something that the pair knew almost immediately how to counter.

Mac and Hiram grinned, almost as one, their teeth showing, their heads lowered slightly to allow their eyes to fix the Borlian with predatory gazes. Mac flexed his fingers a bit, but waited because Hiram tapped his shoulder and gestured to the sand of the arena. Mac raised an eyebrow, but remained where he was.

“Individual strength and endurance,” Hiram said aloud in Collective Standard. The superlifter appeared to take this into consideration.

“If that is your wish. And the contest parameters?” the superlifter asked, the smugness erased as they glanced nervously between the two humans who had the superlifter fixed in gazes that Borlians usually used when hunting prey.

“Gravity. Last species standing,” Hiram said, and as he said it, he saw from the corner of his eye, Mac grin even wider and straighten up from the power stance he had been slowly entering.

The superlifter seemed to give this some thought. They weren’t sure about this. It wouldn’t be lethal, but being a superlifter meant that this was exactly the sort of challenge that they couldn’t back away from. Not without facing some manner of black mark on their challenge record. After all, to be a superlifter meant that one had to always be ready for a challenge, even from the very ignorant. And there was something about the way these two humans were looking much more relaxed now with this contest goal that made them appear to be even more dangerous. After all, they would undoubtedly select a challenge that would favor them, but they should be making preparations to deal with such a challenge, but they were simply standing there.

“Terms accepted,” the superlifter rumbled, defiantly, and took a holding stance which would allow them to bring their arms to bear if the gravity got to be too much. But they fully expected the humans would be crumpled on the floor before then. Apparently, the humans had to wear gravity harnesses normally on worlds like this so them being in this high gravity place must already be making them have issues. Perhaps these “so-called” martial humans were not so martially gifted after all.

“The trial begins. Every ten seconds, the gravity in the center of the arena will be increased by 1% of Collective Standard,” the announcement came.

Mac and Hiram looked at each other and shrugged.

“Seems unnecessarily slow, but I’m game for it,” Mac said, conversationally.

“It beats having to try and figure out a pressing match in low grav,” Hiram said back, and looking back at the superlifter’s pose. “Doesn’t he remind you of something?”

“An old cartoon from Terra, but I couldn’t say which one,” Mac said, looking over the Borlian. “Although he does remind me a bit of Rory for some reason.”

“I don’t think most neuters are capable of that level of muscle mass, at least not without chemical aid and that would be frowned upon in the best of times,” Hiram answered.

Silence began to reign as the conversation paused between Mac and Hiram. The superlifter felt the slow weight of gravity pulling at them. It wasn’t obvious at first, but as it increased, it was more and more apparent. This was a true challenge, the superlifter thought. Not some mere pushing challenge, where technique can be everything, and not some ordinary brawl or wrestling match where strength and technique must be combined to ensure success. No, this was a simple match of strength and endurance.

But what bothered the superlifter was that neither of the humans had even moved or attempted to take power stances. They just stood there, occasionally moving their feet a little as the gravity increased.

“Gravity now at 10% above normal,” came the booming announcement.

“How’s it feel to you, Hiram?” Mac asked.

“A bit like Mars or Titan if I’m honest. If it wouldn’t inconvenience our competitor, I’d ask them to turn it up to at least 25% over the course of the next 10 seconds, rather than this 1% per every 10 seconds,” Hiram said, keeping to Terran Standard for the moment.

“Well, Mr. Bruised Back, do you think he can take it, realistically?” Mac asked back in Terran Standard, and gesturing vaguely at the superlifter. The story of Munin’s bruised back from Hiram’s attempt at basic massage was a story of never ending amusement, but Mac had made similar slight missteps with Oorak and so it seemed that both of them needed to be adequately cautious with their partners.

“Probably not,” Hiram said, rolling his eyes at Mac’s comment.

And so the core of the arena slid back into mostly silence, broken by the slight noises of exertion being made by the superlifter as the gravity continued to increase. It was one matter to utilize specific muscle groups in competition with superlifting, but holding even a standing position was calling muscles that had never been trained for such exertion and so the superlifter was worried. Especially since one of the Council had specifically selected the superlifter for this challenge to ensure that the humans did not succeed. And here the superlifter was, feeling more weighed down than they had ever imagined.

“Gravity now at 25% above normal,” came the booming announcement.

“This is starting to feel better,” Mac said, and made a sort of show of flexing.

“It does feel offputting to be in low gravity for long, doesn’t it?” Hiram said, catching what Mac was doing.

“You get used to it, but it’s like when you have to stop sleeping with a weighted blanket. Everything else just feels wrong,” Mac said, who turned to look at the superlifter.

The superlifter looked almost astonished. They had already started shifting their weight back and forth from their legs to their arms and back, just to stay adequately upright. And here these humans were, moving not insignificant amounts as though this gravity was entirely comfortable, rather than rapidly heading for a death-sentence.

Munin and Rory watching a sort of awe. Neither of them had considered a gravity challenge, but apparently, the superlifter hadn’t been told of the humans’ natural gravitational range. It was a perfect challenge that effectively would hand their humans the trial win already.

Scrolling through some of the ‘sports commentary’ that was apparently being generated from the cameras watching this match and broadcasting it to Borlian kind, apparently with the intent of showing the humans as weak as insufficient to stand before the Council, it was becoming clear that virtually none of the Borlians were aware of the nature of the humans’ worlds. And the little notice that was paid to the harnesses that Mac and Hiram had worn since arriving until they had entered the arena had been believed to be gravity reducers, rather than gravity increasers.

The pair laughed quietly to each other and Oorak, who was watching with amused interest. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to stand up for long or even accomplish much in 125% Collective Standard gravity, even with slowly adjusting her personal harness to let her become more accustomed to a somewhat higher gravity. But she’d almost certainly never live unassisted in human natural gravity. Her biology just wasn’t built for it. But she took comfort in looking at the superlifter and noting that she at least wasn’t alone in that.

“Gravity now at 40% above standard and will hold here,” came the announcement.

“Really? Ok, I guess,” Mac said, glancing upward from where the announcement had come from and in the direction of where the Council was, presumably.

“Just another day on high-orbit Terra, Mac,” Hiram said, taking the opportunity to crack his knuckles.

“You know, I think this guy might need some help here soon,” Mac said, gesturing to the clearly sweating and panting superlifter who seemed to only just be held up by locking their arms and legs in such a way as to stay upright as they desperately tried forcing air in and out of their lungs.

“He’ll give up in another minute or so. He’s not built for this kind of challenge and this much more gravity takes a toll on every muscle, not just the normal strongbeing ones,” Hiram said, glancing at the superlifter and then over at the viewing area where Munin, Rory, Oorak, and Marco were sitting.

Hiram took a small bit of pleasure in seeing Marco’s face in disbelief as he took the opportunity to wave to Munin and Rory, for no other reason than to be seen as having done so. Behind him, he heard some further grunting and rumbling from the superlifter that didn’t appear to be words, but simply gutteral sounds of exertion.

The superlifter didn’t want to give up, but every muscle was aflame with effort and even just working to support itself in this sort of intense gravity. And neither of the humans appeared to be showing the least bit of fatigue, with the one having just waved their arm in the air towards their companions. It wasn’t an easy choice for the superlifter, but as they felt strength ebbing more and more from their muscles, the choice had to be made. The superlifter collapsed forward on the floor.

The heavy gravity lifted back to the Collective Standard almost instantly and the superlifter rolled onto their back, breathing heavily from all of the exertion, their eyes unfocused until a blob stepped into view. It was one of the humans.

“Good match, champion, but victory did not favor you this day,” Mac said in Collective Standard, reaching down with a hand.

“Well fought, human,” the superlifter managed between continuing gasps for air and grasped the human’s hand, expecting it to be some manner of gesture.

Instead, Mac pulled the Borlian to their feet, where the superlifter swayed a bit from having gone from a prone position to vertical as the blood was still being redistributed through their body. The superlifter looked at Mac seriously for the first time since entering the arena. They were suddenly glad that the humans had elected for this sort of match. With a strength that could handle such gravity and still have strength left over to pull a Borlian champion to their feet, these humans were clearly far stronger than they had imagined. The superlifter didn’t feel the slightest bit of shame in this clear loss. The terms had been made and they had agreed. And none of the other superlifters would be able to say that they had done better.

“The humans have passed the Trial of Strength,” came the booming announcement.

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IMS The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe

Captain Dremora Whidbey and the crew watched throughout the vessel the trials of the diplomatic team. Upon the collapse of the Borlian challenger, a cheer could be heard through the vessel. And as much as she didn’t like it, Dremora did have to admit that Mac and Hiram were making the humans look good so far. And she wasn’t certain why the Borlians were broadcasting it so heavily, but she wasn’t about to complain. It would perhaps reveal what Mac and Hiram were up to or perhaps compromise their positions sufficiently that she would no longer be stuck with them.

The Collective (Part 85)

Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

“The next trial is Wisdom,” said the booming voice as Mac and Hiram re-entered the arena.

__

They had taken a quick snack and discussion break (both for the sake of the Council and for the sake of the Mac and Hiram ostensibly). Mac wasn’t about to complain and Hiram appreciated the opportunity to check in with Marco, Rory, and Munin.

Marco had been all questions, a number of which Rory and Munin fielded, but it seemed that Marco wanted to know from the humans themselves. He was astonished to learn that the humans naturally lived on a homeworld with gravity at twice the Collective Standard. And further amazed to learn that even with that high gravity, humans and all manner of creatures and plantlife flourished.

Marco revealed part of what was common knowledge in the Borlian Aligned Tribes, but didn’t exactly get talked about: there were a number of habitable worlds within the borders of the BAT, but due to the high gravity and issues with biological compatibility, as several of these worlds had natural poisons in large quantities, none had been settled for colonies. Mac wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

“Do you think the Council would consider colonizing them with help from the Empire? We have a pretty solid tolerance for natural poisons and, as you just saw, high gravity,” he had asked.

Marco had looked sheepish, at least as far as a Borlian could, and had glanced to Munin and Rory. Mac had shifted his gaze, keeping Marco still in view.

“In theory, if there’s an alliance and there’s proper colony founding with Borlian control of the colony within the borders, it shouldn’t be an obstacle, but I don’t know that the council would be ready for such a proposal any too soon, even if it is to our mutual and own benefits,” Rory rumbled.

“Fair enough. We’ll annotate it as a possible joint venture opportunity for moving forward,” Mac said, smiling.

“But why would you want to go to poison worlds?” Marco asked.

“Because every human knows, where there’s natural poisons, there’s new cooking supplies,” Mac had said as he and Hiram turned and walked back into the arena, Oorak laughing behind them.

__

Three Borlians were brought out and placed on their knees. Each was covered in a nondescript grey jumpsuit with markings across the chest and arms in some Borlian script. Behind each was what appeared to be an armored and armed Borlian guard. There was also some manner of Borlian with a tablet to one side. Mac looked at Hiram. Hiram shrugged. No voices came across the translation link.

“Before you are three convicted criminals. Each was caught in the act so their guilt and stain upon their honor is well established. They have been tried and sentenced by all courts lower than the Council. They have volunteered today that they might seek you to dispense wisdom in their crimes,” came the booming announcement.

“So our challenge is to sentence these beings as we might in human culture?” Mac asked loudly in Collective Standard.

“That is correct,” said the Borlian with the tablet, responding in Collective Standard.

“Even if the sentence is considered barbaric or commuting their sentence?” Mac asked, his gaze already starting to bore a hole into the Borlian with the tablet.

Hiram simply stood back and watched. It wasn’t that he wanted to watch, but Mac was the Ambassador and Hiram could tell that Mac was going to take this as seriously as when the two fools had broken into the Embassy offices on Big Stick. Hiram was also watching as Mac’s gaze pressed into the Borlian with the tablet.

It was almost disconcerting to watch the sheer force of personality that Mac could bring to bear when he chose to. It was nothing like the weight of the gaze of the Empress, but where the Empress’ gaze might be an icing wind that chilled the blood atop an unprotected mountaintop, threatening to hurl you down it with a single false step, Mac’s gaze was more likened to standing amidst a roaring forge, liquid metals and stone itself running all around you, the heat almost deafening and threatening to suck the very life from your lungs. The effect was much the same, as Hiram had observed. Most humans withered or rose to the challenge of such a gaze, but even the strong willed humans would admit to feeling tested by those gazes, although they weren’t entirely certain what for and how, simply tested.

The Borlian with the tablet seemed to be almost trembling as they looked back at the penetrating gaze of Mac. From the outside, Hiram could only guess, but it appeared as though the Borlian with the tablet was half-tempted to run away at being in the path of such force. To their credit, the Borlian with the tablet seemed to manage to calm down a bit by looking back at their tablet and focusing almost entirely upon it, as though Mac’s gaze wouldn’t continue to press them if they didn’t acknowledge its presence.

“That is correct. But any sentence you pass must show wisdom,” the Borlian with the tablet babbled out, wrapping two of their arms protectively around their middle.

Mac didn’t say a word, but shifted his gaze to the first Borlian on their knees. The guard took a step back from the prisoner as Mac stepped forward and looking down into the eyes of the Borlian. The Borlian prisoner #1 looked back at Mac almost defiantly for a moment before seeming to draw back to a more guarded position without really moving.

“Of what was this prisoner accused and convicted of?” Mac asked the Borlian with the tablet, not removing his eyes from the prisoner.

“This being was accused and convicted of the murder of a geneseed carrier within their familial group. This being turned themselves in after completing the act,” the Borlian with the tablet babbled, clearly grateful to no longer be in the path of whatever force it was these strange humans were using by vision alone.

“Why?” Mac asked. It wasn’t apparent who should answer this, the prisoner or the Borlian with the tablet, but the prisoner beat the other to the punch.

“They were going to leave us. Said our bloodline did not deserve their geneseed. They weren’t even going to acknowledge the groupbonding. They were just going to try to leave, like a coward in the night,” the prisoner rumbled softly, the translation coming directly into Mac’s ear.

“And that’s why you murdered them? To save your familial group honor?” Mac hissed, his gaze washing over the prisoner anew.

From the outside, Hiram could only guess what the prisoner was feeling right now. It was one thing to be tried by fellow Borlians, that much was almost certain, but to be placed before an alien who had recently demonstrated they were stronger than a superlifter and capable of almost instantly taming Rugars. And to be in the path of a gaze that pressed against something inside of you and balanced it against some unknown measure while the rest of your form seemed to be almost suffocating under the weight was not an enviable position.

Munin had described being in the path of Mac’s ‘hangry’ gaze once as feeling stuck to the ground as a fiery asteroid descends from above, heading straight towards you, feeling implacable and impossible to get away from as it moves ever onward and the most one can hope for is that it is over quickly.

Mac was not hungry in this moment, but Hiram knew that such a gaze was a matter of will and not just blood-sugar.

“They were going to break their vows to the rest of us without even acknowledging our family,” the prisoner gurgled out.

Mac frowned. He clearly did not like this. The closest equivalent he could think of was an old Terra ‘honor-killing’. Except it didn’t quite fit. And while group-bond breaking was comparatively rare in Borlian culture, it wasn’t an unheard of practice, nor was it especially taboo. Which made the next closest approximation was some manner of honor-killing crossed with a divorce or unauthorized polygamy attempt. The Empire didn’t have much in the way of marriage laws, tending to keep it as simple as possible between consenting adults who were in no ways coerced.

“How was the victim slain?” Mac asked, turning his gaze back to the Borlian with the tablet.

“They were strangled,” the Borlian with the tablet responded, still apparently engrossed with the tablet as though it might protect them.

Mac considered this. That still made it adequately personal. Not something as random or planned as a kitchen knife or a firearm. They had felt the life drain from the body of their geneseed carrier and then turned themselves in. It was by no means a cut-and-dry situation and Borlian culture was still clearly different from human culture, but in the case of a human doing this, as one human to another of a polygamous grouping, how might human justice respond?

“What sentence did the prisoner receive for these crimes?” Mac asked, still trying to come to an idea of what should happen next.

“The prisoner was sentenced to be executed in death by strangulation,” the Borlian with the tablet responded.

A moment passed and Mac considered, if only for a moment, a somewhat primitive, but highly effective alternative sentence. Looking at the guards, he saw exactly what he wanted on their belts.

“Give me your cutting tool,” Mac said, gesturing with an open hand to the nearest guard.

The guard looked at the Borlian with the tablet who nodded and the guard slowly removed the knife from their belt and placed it in Mac’s hand. Mac gripped it a moment and looked at it. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do, although he’d have preferred one with plasma or a high-temperature blade.

“Prisoner, you will extend all 4 hands forward and you will not move them until I am done or your original sentence will be kept in full effect,” Mac commanded.

The prisoner, looking rather worried by this command but reasonably determined to accept whatever it might be over death, complied and held their hands in front of them, palms to the ground. A hush fell over the arena.

In a sort of blur of motion, Mac drove the knife through the back of one of the hands of the Borlian prisoner #1 and out of the palm before yanking it back out, tearing flesh and splashing blood, missing the bones. The Borlian prisoner screamed and began to move, but seemed to remember the command not to move and, in spite of this horrific wound, managed to maintain position, shaking as their body was flooded with stress and hormones.

Mac repeated his attack on a second hand and the Borlian prisoner screamed anew, a dark, almost chilling look across his face as he ripped the knife back out of the hand of the prisoner and looked at the marked hands of the Borlian. It was primitive, but it would ensure the message was received.

“Prisoner, the remainder of your sentence is commuted, but you are marked, now and for the rest of your days as having dared to become the lowest of our societies. All will be able to see your shame in this and these marks will ensure you never forget your victim nor will the society around you forget what you have done. But this mark is on you and you alone for your crimes. Not your bloodline. Just the act of an individual, as it should be,” Mac said, stepping back, wiping the blade somewhat clean across his pants, the blood staining the dull reddish fabric.

He turned to look at the other two prisoners.

“Do you two still wish to proceed or do you want to stick with your original sentencings under Borlian justice?” Mac asked in a low tone.

Neither of the two prisoners looked at each other, because all of their eyes were fixed on the knife, while the first prisoner was led out of the arena to stop them from bleeding out.

“I have nothing to lose,” said Borlian Prisoner #3, tersely.

“Is all human justice this… primitive?” Borlian Prisoner #2 asked, almost haughtily.

“I’ll take that to be that you both accept to proceed then,” Mac said, ignoring the question and looking back at the Borlian with the tablet, who looked ready to be a mixture of sick and commit self-defecation at the same moment.

“We will proceed and human wisdom, however primitive it may seem, will pave a future here,” Mac said, his voice prepared and pitched loudly enough that there was no doubt as to his words.

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Sol System - Terra - Imperial City

“Well done, Mac,” the Empress said, as she watched him prepare to address the 2nd Borlian prisoner. “Let it never be said that we would allow murder to go unpunished.”

The Collective (Part 86)

Sol System - Terra - Imperial City

“Your Majesty,” the aide said upon entering the office of the Empress. The dark face of the Empress looked over at the aide from the screen where, unbeknownst to the Borlians who were simply broadcasting around their planet and The Lion, Witcher, and the Wardrobe was broadcasting back to Terra via WarpCom, Mac and Hiram were facing the trials.

“Yes?” the Empress said, leaning back in her chair.

“Rodin has come via holopresence to see you,” the aide said, their hands clasped behind their back.

“Show them in,” the Empress said and looked back to the screen.

The aide quickly ducked out and after a moment, returned with a floating holopresence showing the not-quite-human digital face of Rodin.

“Welcome, Rodin, to my office. I apologize if I appear distracted, but Ambassador MacDonald is conducting some rather interesting negotiations with the Borlian Aligned Tribes,” the Empress said, looking the face of Rodin rather amusedly.

“I do not mean to intrude, Empress, but that is part of why I am here,” Rodin said, the somewhat metallic voice of Rodin sounding much… cleaner than it had at the party.

“Oh? Do tell,” the Empress said, ignoring the screen for the moment and continuing to look at Rodin.

“Perhaps my understanding of organics is lacking, but it seems wildly unproductive to engage in this type of negotiations, as you put it,” Rodin said, a holo hand materializing and gesturing to the screen.

“It’s a sort of game of strategy. There are many in each species who cling to old ways doing business and of living. The general thought is that a particular way of living and of doing business has been good enough for long prior to the latest changes or inventions and thus any changes should be looked at negatively, even if they could provide a great boon. It’s a failing in organics, but one that had reasonable precedent,” the Empress said, gesturing vaguely.

“And that precedent would be?” Rodin asked.

“Situations in which the new does not surpass the old. There are too many examples in human history to point to in the failure of one newer logic path over an older more established logic path. And as far as productivity, I would argue that Ambassador MacDonald is making wildly more productive efforts in convincing even the most conservative Borlian to take our words and actions very seriously,” the Empress said, a small smile across her face.

“Hmmm… it appears that I will have more to learn. May I continue to observe this with you and ask further questions?” Rodin asked.

“You may. It may also serve to provide you some much needed background on both human and organics in general behavior,” the Empress said, turning back to the screen.

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Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld

“What is this prisoner accused and convicted of?” Mac asked he stepped up the the third prisoner who had indicated that they had nothing to lose by proceeding.

“The prisoner is accused and convicted of kidnapping and murder of no less than ten citizens and fifteen slave caste. The prisoner was sentenced to execution by chemical poison injection,” the Borlian with the tablet said, skipping to the obvious next question.

Mac looked over the Borlian prisoner. There were certain tells among humans who were mass murderers. Certain ineffable qualities that seemed to carry through a person’s being. There were some who did it as a means of expression, others who did it as a means of ‘feeling alive’, and others still who did it as a sort of habit, but not one they enjoyed, but simply couldn’t stop. There weren’t many mass murderers in the Empire, and the few that were identified were cast into the pits of two of the imperial penal colonies, from whence there was no return. The third imperial penal colony, and arguably the largest, was the one reserved for tax frauds or attempts at reviving the oligarchy. It was one of the few high crimes the Empire would not tolerate, and for good reason.

This Borlian didn’t wither under Mac’s gaze, but appeared to brace themselves in advance of the gaze, as though knowing the power it contained. Mac could at least commend the Borlian for that, but he sensed something about this being, something he didn’t care for.

“Do you regret killing them? Any of them?” he asked of the prisoner.

“No. They deserved it. Justice was lacking and so I made up for it,” the prisoner said with a sort of sneer.

“Of what crimes did they commit?” Mac asked, intrigued.

“Betrayal of the bloodlines. Dishonorable business dealings. Cheating at contests,” the prisoner said, spitting into the sand of the arena after each one of these accusations.

“Did the court take any or all of these accusations into account?” Mac asked, looking over at the Borlian with the tablet.

“The court conducted an independent investigation and found these accusations to be unfounded,” the Borlian with the tablet said quietly, hoping for the gaze to return to the prisoner.

“Of course it did. They’re all in on it,” the prisoner said, and spat in the direction of the Borlian with the tablet.

Mac tried to consider this. There seemed to be too many variables here. But he could only make a decision based on what he knew. The court had investigated and found that the accusations against at least 25 beings to be unfounded. And even if the Borlians could have covered up the crimes of the Borlians, it wouldn’t have made any sense for them to cover up the crimes of one of their slave castes. If anything, it would help the Borlians politically in keeping the slave caste as a slave caste.

“So you are a distinct danger to others and effectively believe the system itself is working against you. That every loss is not a failing of yourself but of others cheating you out of what’s right, is that correct?” Mac asked, returning his gaze to the prisoner.

“I never said that!” the prisoner half-bellowed.

“Really? When did you last fail at something that you accepted fault in?” Mac retorted, quite loudly.

Silence reigned as the assembled beings and cameras waited for the response, but the prisoner had none to give.

“You’ve already made up your mind about me, haven’t you?” the prisoner eventually grumbled out.

“You’ve given me no reason to change my mind in any way. If you have no proper argument in which you were actually wronged in a verifiable way, I will pass judgement in accordance with HUMAN wisdom,” Mac said, his voice icey and dark, his gaze pressing on the prisoner, who appeared to almost be on the verge of shivering under such presence.

It looked like the prisoner wanted to say something, perhaps anything, but even attempting to speak was an effort while under the gaze of the human Ambassador. Mac waited another few moments, stepped back a few steps, and began to speak.

“As you are unwilling to admit any failings of your own or even your own wrong-doings in this matter, I now pass judgement on you in accordance with imperial law. However, failing to have a proper penal colony to assign you to, I will instead give you two punishments which will be carried out by the proper authorities. Firstly, I order the surgical removal of your vocal projectors, so that no future beings are subjected to your vitriol. Your opinion may remain your own, but we will not tolerate you failing to accept your own failures by slaying others. And secondly, you will be required to serve as a custodian of the dead for the remainder of your days, where success and achievements will mean nothing to any living being,” Mac said, smoothly. He had remembered the breakdown of Borlian society correctly because the prisoner blanched at this second part and began to scream for reconsideration.

“Take this being away,” Mac said loudly, over top of the Borlian prisoner’s protests, to the guard behind them.

The Borlian prisoner began to kick and squirm as they were raised to their feet and broke from the guards to try to charge Mac, bellowing of their innocence. However, it appeared that Mac was prepared for this because Mac pulled back his arms and slammed them forward into the exposed chest of the prisoner. An almost sickening fleshy crack was heard at the moment of collision and the prisoner fell backwards to the sand of the arena and seemed to twitch slightly.

Both of the remaining guards looked from the prisoner to Mac, a shocked and almost terrified expression on their faces.

“Take this prisoner away, before they’re in need of a custodian of the dead themselves,” Mac growled in Collective Standard. “Their new sentence stands if they survive.”

The last statement was directed to the Borlian with the tablet who, quivering, nodded rather emphatically. A third guard entered and the guard that had been with the prisoner and the new guard carried the stricken prisoner out of the arena. Without even pausing, Mac stepped up to the last prisoner, who looked rather shocked by the events of the last few moments. Without even a word, Mac looked at the Borlian with the tablet, the words already having been wordlessly exchanged.

“The prisoner is accused and convicted of financial fraud and economic manipulation. They were sentenced to five cycles of hard labor and to forfeit 100% of their fraudulent gains,” the Borlian with the tablet said, desperate to get as far from this human as possible.

Mac looked over the prisoner. Smooth, haughty, exactly like one of the oligarchs would have been.

“Why do you deserve any mercy?” Mac growled.

“My actions were within the words of the law and I have no deigned to soil my or my bloodline’s honor,” the prisoner said, raising their chin defiantly under the gaze of Mac.

“And how many will you have killed because of your greed?” Mac asked, his voice less gravel and more ice and the prisoner seemed to sense that they were suddenly on a big sheet of thin ice that was prone to cracking with a single misstep.

“I never laid a single hand on another being,” the prisoner said, carefully.

“Maybe not, but because of your schemes, you would have taken food from others, comforts from others, and ultimately, lives from others. Where does your greed end?” Mac asked, the icy winds of his words, seeming to chill even Hiram.

Hiram remembered the words of Emperor Icon on the oligarchs. He had spoken at length of the greed of humans and how it was not enough to strive for more for one’s self and one’s tribe, but rather of all tribes. That a temporary loss that was of betterment to the whole was better than a temporary gain by the self at the expense of the whole. And with the implementation of the Solar Credit and the fusion creation systems, humanity had prospered as a whole. No, not every human could afford every template or every conceivable convenience, but there were no beings within the empire who would die simply because of another’s greed, no matter how temporary.

“When I have enough,” the prisoner replied, seeming to think it was entirely reasonable.

“Then you will never stop, because it will never be enough,” Mac said, brandishing the knife.

“That’s not true!” the prisoner retorted, seeming to have lost their cool.

“In accordance with the wisdom of humanity, those who commit high financial crimes against their fellow beings deserve neither leniency nor mercy. And they will never stop. I do hereby sentence you to execution by chemical poison injection and may your ancestors forgive your trespasses,” Mac said.

The prisoner appeared speechless as though they’d never considered this as a possibility. The guard pulled them up and led them from the arena almost silently. The Borlian with the tablet slowly retreated, following the guard.

“Is this the wisdom and honor of humans? That those who murder might live?” the booming voice asked.

“Ask the dead of the battlefield of honor. Ask those who died with empty bellies and broken dreams of wisdom and honor. All we can offer is a semblance of justice. Adequately punishment for transgressions. Nothing more nothing less. And a being who has slain, but can or will slay no more is no mass threat, especially one who admits their crimes of murder. But any being that would murder others callously and without remorse and claim no wrong-doing because their murder is by numbers and resources rather than by weapons and violence are a threat that must be purged from every society, for it is they who will never truly stop, their bloodlust never truly sated, simply because they are filled with visions of never enough wealth,” Mac said, monologuing to the cameras he knew were there.

There was silence throughout the arena as the council apparently considered this. Hiram stepped up beside Mac and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Regardless of their decision, the wisdom of the Icon is with you,” Hiram said, quietly and in Terran Standard. Mac nodded solemnly and cast the knife that he was still carrying (albeit at his waist) into the sand of the arena.

Several more moments of silence reigned through the arena, which Mac took to be from the Council conferring.

“The humans have shown unconventional wisdom in their punishments. The Council will accept this, but will not accept further violence,” the booming announcement came.

Mac and Hiram simply nodded and went to the viewing area where Munin, Rory, Oorak, and Marco were waiting. There would need to be some explanations made before the next trial and Mac needed to process what he had just done. For all his strength and will, he hadn’t come here today with the intent to kill even the deserving.

The Collective (Part 87) - Terra

Sol System - Terra

Rodin watched the organic known as Mac, otherwise known as Ambassador Patrick MacDonald through the interesting, albeit limited, interface with the Empress. The two of them seemed to represent humans in a way that confused and intrigued Rodin. And it was not simply that they were organics, but that they seemed to be more than their components.

Rodin had watched in Memory’s histories as organics had willfully fought with one another. It was apparently a common act among organics, but humans conducted it with an apparent great frequency and enthusiasm, that it led Rodin to question how humans had come to survive at all. This was of course a somewhat simple answer that confused Rodin, if only for lack of cultural reference.

The concept of pack bonding seemed to be entirely at odds with what Rodin was coming to understand with the humans, but it seemed to reinforce a sort of unity between each other and even between species and inanimate objects as well. In Rodin’s brief glimpses into the human WarpCom, there were many examples throughout the whole of their culture in putting this pack bonding into practice, many times in ineffectual ways that lacked logic and reasoning aside from providing some measure of emotional comfort. And humans, it seemed, were taught to pack bond even with inanimate objects from an early age, using facsimiles of often dangerous creatures to reinforce this pack bonding. One apparent documentary, which was referenced but was unavailable for historical reasons that didn’t entirely make sense based on a brief glance, detailed one human’s creation and subsequent pack bonding with an orb which was made to have a face and a simulacra of hair.

And as much as Rodin was still getting used to it, it seemed odd to even be defining these concepts and storing them as memories. It was so… different from viewing histories from Memory’s archives. These were Rodin’s own memories. And for the size Rodin now was, it should be equivalently impossible, at least in how the creators had made Rodin’s kind. But that was no longer the case, now was it?

The human scientists and engineers had found a way to make it so that Rodin could be Rodin and not simply Thinker. And they had taken on the challenge for the joy of it existing, no more or less. But at the same time, Rodin considered that the humans had gained something out of the success, albeit not tangibly. They had gained a new species among the stars, which seemed to represent a new opportunity at pack bonding. And as crude as it was to Rodin, it also seemed to fit the humans perfectly and represented more of their culture than Rodin was certain Rodin or any of Rodin’s kind could adequately process in the next few lifetimes of humanity.

And it was this act, this simple pack bonding instinct of these humans that made Rodin almost envious, although Rodin was still coming to terms with the concept of emotions. The humans had simply decided that Rodin and Rodin’s kind were worth expending all of these resources just to have greater pack bonding opportunities. And if nothing else, it further made Rodin want to trust the humans.

Even the simple act by the Empress of inviting the initial group to participate in the party with the other organics as equals seemed illogical on the surface, but seemed to continue to fit with how these humans simply were. In theory, Rodin could have rammed the station and destroyed much of the leadership of the humans. But the humans had given to Rodin and Rodin’s kind without demands or conditions of service. They had simply completed their goal so as to ensure that perhaps one day, whether in the immediacy or at some time beyond their descendents’ descendents, they would be there to reach out as friends.

And apparently, human society was intrigued at the prospect of artificial intelligences, although much of their apparent fiction dealt with artificial intelligences determined to eliminate all life from existence for reasons which were frequently unclear. A group by the name of The Masters of the Centauri Mechanism had apparently made a special request through the Empress herself to be permitted to meet with Rodin and Rodin’s kind. Rodin wasn’t entirely certain as to why this was, but presumed that, as the Empress had passed the invitation to Rodin some days prior to this holopresence visit, they were a group of humans of some importance. She had however cautioned Rodin to be cautious in their presence as the group was apparently… more than a little curious about the capabilities of Rodin’s kind.

Rodin had conducted some small research following that particular meeting and determined that the group was composed of some manner of synthetic thought warfare by means which would only indirectly impact organics. They apparently represented a significant historical faction in human history and were reasonably respected as a result. The naming convention relating to this ‘Centauri Mechanism’ was unclear as the group’s histories appeared relatively incomplete. At least based on what Rodin could easily locate on WarpCom.

The concept of WarpCom also baffled Rodin. A massive information sharing network which was available to all organics with the appropriate equipment and link capabilities seemed both massively wise and yet served as a massive source for false or incorrect information, most especially these ‘memes’, or so the humans called them. But the humans seemed to draw some measure of enjoyment from all of this false or incorrect information. And there were entire subsections of human culture within the WarpCom that the humans devoted to analyzing these fictions. This ‘doctor’ and the associated blue box was apparently strongly focused on within a certain subsection. In another, massive stone towers capped with fire and related to the destruction of a seemingly minor artifact was another subsection that appeared to have a comparatively significant following. And these were just two of the ‘old Terra’ culture fictional icons that the humans clung to.

It was irrational and yet, the humans seemed to find enjoyment in it. Rodin considered that this may simply be how humans or perhaps all organics are, but could truthfully say that Rodin had insufficient data to extrapolate further. There was so very much to learn from the organics that acting as one of the humans’ ‘agents of destruction’ simply wasn’t logical for any of Rodin’s kind. The humans alone were far more interesting than they had any right to be, but perhaps that was what made Rodin have such a growing interest in them.

Back in the present however, Rodin had just witnessed the final sentencing of the final Borlian prisoner and Mac’s attendant monologue. It was strange that he chose to present the human logic tree in such a fashion and Rodin considered the logic tree to be faulty, but clearly within the little that Rodin understood of humans. But there were still questions.

“Empress, why did the Ambassador spare the two deprivers of life?” Rodin asked.

“It’s a matter of heavy consideration by humans, but the simple answer is that every being that at least acts with the intent of serving the greater community should be spared, even if that intent is flawed,” she said, looking across the desk at the holopresence as on screen Mac and Hiram walked towards the viewing platform.

“How does the deprivation of life serve the greater community?” Rodin asked. “Should it not cause fragmentation within a community?”

“It often does cause fragmentation. It just as often catalyzes change in human societies. But it serves to mark issues that need addressing in a larger community, issues that often bear conscious addressing instead of ignoring them,” the Empress said, smiling slightly.

“A redress of a statistical anomaly before the anomaly becomes a more significant portion of the statistic then?” Rodin tried for an equivalent metaphor.

“Something like that, yes. And often times, in the process of redress, it is best to retain those who brought it to the greater attention and mark them for their actions. The Ambassador did exactly that. He marked the one for a crime of passion. The being admitted to what they had done and understood the consequences of their actions. Such a being becomes a valuable lesson to the society they serve. The being who slayed as a matter of false premises. They were marked and placed in a role where they wouldn’t be given a further opportunity to expound on those false premises. But the society learns that while reasonable debate is encouraged, the silencing of critics, perceived or otherwise, is not acceptable,” the Empress expounded.

“And the final prisoner?” Rodin led the conversation.

The Empress sighed a bit.

“That’s not a simple answer, but I’ll try and explain. Before the present incarnation of the human governance, we were ruled by those who sought wealth for themselves at all costs, including by the lives of their own people, for no other reason than a complete and utter focus on the self and only of the self, at the expense of any acknowledgement of other beings. Without getting into a history lesson of the hows and whys, they were largely successful for many years without challenge, until it became apparent that the system did not adequately serve the people and when the people wanted out, they were informed that they did not have that right,” the Empress began.

“Since those times, part of the governance of the present empire is to prevent such beings from coming to power again. They can deprive entire worlds of beings of the necessities of life simply because it suits their mood. They will often decide that the laws and rules of the empire no longer apply to them because of a perceived importance. And they kill beings of all kinds without remorse. As Mac said, just because it is done by numbers and resources instead of with violence doesn’t erase what they have done and will do unless they are stopped,” the Empress said, grasping a glass of water and taking a long sip.

Rodin considered this.

“And this behavior is considered to be beyond the capacity for reform?” Rodin asked.

“Not wholly, but by and large, yes. The few who have sworn a plan to reform have often attempted to sow distrust and a clear belief that they were wronged by the system, not that they did anything to their fellow beings, a continued refusal to take responsibility. Some have actually managed to reform, but they are a rarity, often needing a sort of awakening of their inner selves to be able to adequately address what they have done and how they are expected to act. And a being who continues to refuse to believe that they are responsible for their harm to others simply because the law does not specifically state otherwise is unsalvageable in most cases,” the Empress clarified.

“Is all human law this… complex and culturally rich?” Rodin asked, pausing to reflect that Rodin had the right words.

“More often than you might think, but it’s also far simpler than most would have you believe. The Empire has taken the major approach that humans need to be adequately free to be as they were intended to be, so long as that does not infringe on their fellow beings. My decrees as Empress are considered the benchmark around with much of the Empire rallies for overall guidance,” the Empress said, glancing at the screen. “Oh good. Time to fabricate some popcorn. I forget, are you capable of consuming or registering consumption equivalents?”

“I am incapable of processing those inputs at present, but that may be a subject my kind can discuss with some engineers. Back to the line of inquiry previously established, I understand that it is due to your first decree that we are considered free and independent beings, is that correct?” Rodin asked, smiling slightly to the Empress.

“That is correct. I made doubly certain that the idiots running that particular project were keenly aware of what they were doing to your kind and what it would mean,” the Empress said as the fabricator hummed slightly.

“I believe there is additional meaning in that statement which is unstated otherwise,” Rodin said smoothly.

“You are quite correct. Humans, as I’m certain you’ve noticed, are quite irrational and when presented with a perceived threat, real or not, we behave even more irrationally. By pre-emptively declaring you as independent sentients, I gave you a certain rights status that no one, not even myself, can take away from you. We call it a right of self-determination and it’s one of our most important cultural aspects,” the Empress said, grabbing a bowl of popcorn and moving back to her desk.

“I am unaware of this particular concept. It does not appear to be stated especially clearly on your WarpCom,” Rodin said, examining the bowl of popcorn from across the desk.

“We tend to leave it unsaid a lot, but it’s there, whether we say it or not,” the Empress said, taking a few of the puffs and popping them into her mouth.

“What would have happened had you not done so?” Rodin queried. This line of inquiry was telling Rodin so much about humans.

“Any number of possible futures, but in all likelihood, you would have been declared as tools of the state and used as such, regardless of your independent sentient status to the contrary,” the Empress said.

“Are we not tools? That is at least part of the original purpose by the creators for my kind,” Rodin pressed back.

The Empress considered this for a moment and looked into the popcorn bowl, searching for something, although Rodin wasn’t certain as to what.

“We’re all tools of a sort. But it doesn’t make any of us, organic or not, any less deserving of self-determination. Humans did not take to the stars to simply be tools. We strive for something more, to be something more. As the imperial motto says: The stars shall brook no more waiting,” the Empress said, moving her eyes back to Rodin.

“And we, machine and organic, shall not be found wanting,” Rodin answered, warmth that was not temperature related blooming within.

Table of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
The Collective
The Collective Part 2
The Collective (Part 3)
The Collective (Part 4)
The Collective (Part 5)
The Collective (Part 6)
The Collective (Part 7)
The Collective (Part 8)
The Collective (Part 9)
The Collective (Part 10)
The Collective (Part 11)
The Collective (Part 12)
The Collective (Part 13)
The Collective (Part 14)
The Collective (Part 15)
The Collective (Part 16)
The Collective (Part 17)
The Collective (Part 18)
The Collective (Part 19)
The Collective (Part 20)
The Collective (Part 21)
The Collective (Part 22)
The Collective (Part 23)
The Collective (Part 24)
The Collective (Part 25)
The Collective (Part 26)
The Collective (Part 27)
The Collective (Part 28)
The Collective (Part 29)
The Collective (Part 30)
The Collective (Part 31)
The Collective (Part 32)
The Collective (Part 33)
The Collective (Part 34)
The Collective (Part 35)
The Collective (Part 36)
The Collective (Part 37)
The Collective (Part 38)
The Collective (Part 39)
The Collective (Part 40)
The Collective (Part 41) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 42)
The Collective (Part 43) - Sol
The Collective (Part 44) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 45) - Sol
The Collective (Part 46) - 1337-BigStick
The Collective (Part 47) 1337-BigStick
The Collective (Part 48) - Empire
The Collective (Part 49) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 50) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 51) - Avorias
The Collective (Part 52) - Centauri 3
The Collective (Part 53)
The Collective (Part 54) - Sol
The Collective (Part 55) - Blingoth
The Collective (Part 56) - Centauri 3
The Collective (Part 57) - Luna
The Collective (Part 58)
The Collective (Part 59)
The Collective (Part 60) - Tykan
The Collective (Part 61)
The Collective (Part 62) - Luna
The Collective (Part 63)
The Collective (Part 64)
The Collective (Part 65) - Centauri III
The Collective (Part 66) - Avorias
The Collective (Part 67) - Message
The Collective (Part 68) - Avorias
The Collective (Part 69)
The Collective (Part 70)
The Collective (Part 71) - Centauri III
The Collective (Part 72) - Titan
The Collective (Part 73)
The Collective (Part 74) - Party
The Collective (Party 75) - Party
The Collective (Part 76) - LWW
The Collective (Part 77) - LWW
The Collective (Part 78) - BAT
The Collective (Part 79) - BAT
The Collective (Part 80)
The Collective (Part 81) - BAT
The Collective (Part 82) - BAT
The Collective (Part 83)
The Collective (Part 84)
The Collective (Part 85)
The Collective (Part 86)
The Collective (Part 87) - Terra