Post by MLGDerp989 on Mar 25, 2023 1:46:53 GMT
The galaxy is full of many oddities, floating out among its sea of stars. Some of these are grand, and truly alien beyond compare, their nature explored by many nations if they are safe to do so, and their locations marked on every map. But these 1 in a billion celestial phenomena, and ancient megastructures with lost builders are not the only things that can be considered strange in the heavens.
Certainly while the vast array of life in both this universe and others fits this criteria of mysterious existence, there are also the minor anomalies. Stars that exhibit strange, but not incredibly discerning behaviors. Rouge planets that some how support indigenous life due to their many, many moons, and deep freeze resistant oceans, brown dwarfs that flicker into ignition and fade out again despite supposedly reaching critical fusion mass, and much more relevant to current events in this tiny part of the galaxy, planets that seem to be made almost entirely of rare metal ores, and even the pure substances.
On such a world, two factions from across the gulf of stars have both set up a mining expedition. Both the Bulwark, and the Svarthan Trust are hard at work tearing into the metal planet, drawing up its resources and processing them for use in their respective factions. For now both are entirely unaware of the others presence, in part because of the delays that currently stall the arrival of a Svarthan mobile refinery and its accompanying craft which will certainly tip off the Bulwark that they are not alone.
But that is all about to change, as the massive object, along with at least a dozen supporting ships suddenly drops out from FTL as close to the planet as they dare. Unaware of the Bulwark they broadcast their arrival on an open channel, and while the message is in their native language, its very existence still further exposes the presence of the Trust in the system.
AGG-1123-Ī
This was the official name that the body was given by the ministry's planetography division. It was noticed it seemed to reflect abnormal amounts of light, but nothing else of interest was given thought and they simply moved on, letting it be filed away as another potential resource acquisition.
That was over a century ago, and since then, corporations within the Bulwark have gotten a lot more daring with how far they'll stray outside of borders in order to chase leads and investigate points of interest. On this occasion, it was a relatively small cartography and resource handling company, Brickston raw industries, that had gotten what they considered a very lucky break.
The first employees/colonists to arrive in the system very quickly came up with the name 'glimmer' owing to its enticing glint under its distant star. The reason behind this glint however, was the very same that caused that name to stick, its extremely high rare metal content. Once results were brought to the board, the opportunity was jumped on in a matter of hours. Equipment, modular bases, small vehicles, yet in all this excitement, they skipped over the hassle of scanning over the whole planet, such a thing would surely be a waste of time...
The colony had grown into an early stage mining base by now, the purity of the metal that Brickston pulled from the planet being enough to quadruple their stock value in recent weeks and allow for further funding towards the end goal of sucking the planet dry.
The main control tower for their current dig site had only been hoisted up recently, as well as plenty of scanning and communications equipment to make sure their claim was secure. In the top deck, within several of the communications booths, listeners ears were pierced with a sudden and accidentally amplified signifier that no, the claim was not actually secure.
-----
"So...yer tellin' me we're not the only ones here?" The overseer asked, his tone sinking as he realises his job's about to become a lot more complex than he bargained for.
The nod from the security chief only brought forth a groan
"But- but that's impossible, the whole planet should've been surveyed." He pushed a finger against his desk. "No stone left unturned, right?"
"Ahh, wellll" The chief tapped at the softplate covering his legs, hoping the message would come across.
Another groan, a little more annoyed this time.
"So great, th- that's great...just...send a shuttle into orbit or something, a satellite, anything and report it back!"
"Yes, of course sir, anything else."
"Get me the status of that arms licencing, we might actually end up needing it...dismissed."
With a wave of his hand, the security chief filed himself out, closing faux oak doors behind him and making his way to the security wing. A few hours later, a small number of shuttles, equipped with their stock cameras and industrial scanners began to fan out from the dig sites hangars, bringing themselves into low orbits in order to scan the surface quick and dirty, they likely wouldn't ever expect the refinery.
High above, floating in geostationary orbit above the planet the fleet of ships hang poised and ready to receive the shipments from below, meager as they may be without heavy machinery. Among their number are several heavy cargo freighters, each fitted with space to hold many thousands of tons of processed material, a few scouting craft to inspect the rest of the system for potential extraction, and perhaps most pertinent to the upcoming negotiations, 4 Xerdig WM Mk. 4 class defense platforms.
The Xerdig WM Mk. 4 is series of moderately outdated Svarthan medium defense platforms, and is actually incapable of independent FTL travel. Their WM designation means they specialize in wide area minefield creation and the Mk. 4's in particular are known for being among the first to carry Scalar field mines. Of course, they still have other armament, and even as their minelayer drones are launched and they array themselves around their charge, their complement of repeating gauss guns swivel into position towards the outer parts of the system to prepare for any pirate raids on the refinery.
However all of this most likely goes entirely unheeded by the shuttles down below, as they tear across the sky far above the planets surface looking for the Svarthan outpost. And indeed as they arrive close to the other side of the planet from the Bulwarks own operation, they can start to see the traces of the Svarthan presence. Quickly made concrete and steel buildings are arrayed around a mining operation that seems to be roughly equal to that of the Bulwark, and there are no large weapons or defenses as far as the shuttles can see.
But the situation is about to change, as something suddenly plummets down from above the shuttles. The object is wreathed in smoke as it plows through the atmosphere, crashing down a ways away from the strange site, blasting a crater into the land with its barely slowed impact.
Its either an attack, or the operation just got massively upgraded...
Not exactly the event they were planning for, thankfully the signature of the object was obvious enough that the 2 shuttles in its path managed to manoeuvre away, though not without one hell of a panic. The pair of small bulky ships quickly raised altitude above the crater, pilots staring from behind reinforced polyglass and co-pilots making sure the camera's and scanning equipment were well locked to it.
Instead of running home, they stayed to circle, waiting for the dust to clear, it would be good to confirm whether this was actually an attack or a dropped asset, such is common in Bulwark operations. It was also true the shuttles were unaware of the danger of the installations several orbital layers above them, their reports more focused on trying to identify the structures below.
As the metal powder stops drifting down from the sky, they do indeed see that this is an orbital dropped asset, and one of significant scale, as the huge excavator seems to be ready to move quite fast, and slowly works towards the edge of the crater it made, and starts to eat away at it. As those gigantic rotary blades slice away at the metallic crust in a slow but steady rhythm more objects begin to descend from the skies above.
As the objects fall they seem to be aimed both close and a ways away from the main established site, and they arrive with varying degrees of slow down. Some slam into the surface like the first one, while others break hard, and land far more gently. As the shuttles watch the medium sized operation rapidly gorws before their very eyes as both more digging machines and gear are dropped down, but also buildings of numerous types.
Depending how good the cameras on the shuttles are it may even be possible to see little beings scurrying around, connecting fuel lines, power cables, pneumatic transport tubes, and all manner of things, as if they have been expecting this for quite some time. More vehicles are deployed, and containers appear to be getting loaded for lift off from the surface.
Perhaps it may be pertinent to see where all of this stuff is coming from.
It was suddenly very apparent that things were escalating images and video were bounced off of a geostationary SpARC beacon's communication array back to the operations centre of the Brickston mining operation. The overseer paced back and forth, staring at the screens as clouds of particulate settled into views of foreign equipment much larger and more expensive than their own.
"What is this shit, they don't even ASSEMBLE it, it just comes in, unfolds and starts diggin' away at MY metals. Bastards! This isn't the government is it?"
His line manager spoke up from a terminal behind him.
"No boss, no word from the authorities, and well, equipment lads say they've never seen a bucket-wheel quite like that."
"Fuckin' hell, we have claims, don't that mean anythin' anymore?...get legal on the line, NOW!"
"Uh, sir....It sounds daft but...might be worth considering that perhaps this setup ain't from our own borders?"
There was a sigh, he turned toward a nearby window looking out over his operation. It was still in its infancy but they were already on a roll, wouldn't want to add any complications to the mix that'd end up souring the whole thing, they planned to eventually strip the planet to its core and that would take some damn good luck after all.
"...How certain are ya."
"Well, their iconography matches nothin' in our records, equipment doesn't seem to be registrated in any certified way, and the shuttle crews are telling us that what they're seein' down there ain't exactly human"
The overseer winced, clenching a fist as another grabbed the intercom from his jacket, switching the channel to his security chief's office.
"This is Randolph, come in...yeah call off the shuttles, send a bulker over, across the site into high orbit, preferably somethin' with a lot of comms equipment. Yes, I know, but the shuttles ain't gonna cut it and we should 'least have a word with these...what ever they are's 'fore they start eating into our profits or causing a ruckus.
...Good, keep me posted."
---
From the relatively small temporary geostationary loading platform in orbit, a SpARC aperture ripped itself open, a flittering orange ring making way for a ship, one of many which had already pulled in and out of the planet's orbit. Painted red and white in the company's colours, and being rather meagre in size for a cargo vessel at only 200 metres, what it was mostly for was its well endowed Comms suite.
An almost unusual amount of antennae, dishes and laser gimbals sprouted from it in places to form clusters of equipment that would work in tandem for busier or longer range, even high security transport. It was crewed by a variety of employees, including the security chief, who shuttled up to board and put it upon himself to communicate with these unknowns.
Plasma stretched into high orbit as the vessel made its way towards the presumed source of the landings judging from footage trajectory, keeping its eyes and ears well open.
The strange competition has seemingly also noticed that THEY are not alone on this world either, as during the shuttles return, they could just barely spot something lift off from one of the recently dropped structures. It appears to be some form of temporary hangar, judging by its soft impact at the end of a long smooth line made into the metal.
Their launch is witnessed by the Svarthan foreman, who turns to his comms officer with a friendly look, as they move up behind them on their rear legs.o noticed that THEY are not alone on this world either, as during the shuttles return, they could just barely spot something lift off from one of the recently dropped structures. It appears to be some form of temporary hangar, judging by its soft impact at the end of a long smooth line made into the metal.
The objects do not use the "runway" however as it appears they are VTOL capable. They start to fly towards the site of the Brickston operation, rapidly picking up speed, and altitude. They breach trans sonic and even achieve hypersonic speeds with ease as they tear through the upper layers of the atmosphere, under the height of the shuttles.
Their launch is witnessed by the Svarthan foreman, who turns to his comms officer with a friendly look, as they move up behind them on their rear legs.
"So it appears that we are not alone here. Do you have any ideas how we could have missed a parallel operation?
The comms officer turns away from their station and gives a curt nod to the foreman, acknowladging them before they give a reply in a casual relaxed tone.
"Well Belzret, it is entirely possible that their operation is just as small as ours was. In fact I would wager 5 Hrekim that it is the case"
The Svarthan equivalent of a knowing chuckle escapes Belzret's mechanically replaced throat, as they peer over their subordinates shoulder at the status of the new additions. The reports seem to indicate no complications either on the surface or in orbit, and they are ready to rapidly ramp up production
"I will take that action. My theory is that they just got here, and that was their first scouting mission. But lets see what our new scout drones have to say."
"Indeed boss. Man am I glad we shilled out for those SEE equipped models. This will be done in a jiffy."
"Indeed it will. Call me when the reports arrive. I will be out and about to inspect our new gear."
---
As the larger communications craft flies through high orbit and towards the sight of the new arrivals, it is clear they they could have flow with their eyes half asleep, and still not missed the source of all the new gear on the ground.
Looming ahead of them, in as high of an orbit as is possible, hangs the refinery, and its guard platforms. The structure is utterly massive, and looks almost like a small space port brought into position above the world. It is round and ring shaped, with huge loading struts on its exterior edge for the big freight haulers, and hangars surrounding its hollow center for smaller craft. Currently all the struts are full with big, seemingly orion propelled freighters, and as the shuttle draws near, it seems one of them drops its final bit of cargo, which promptly fires up engines and starts to descend towards the dig site.
The structure itself seems to have a bunch of spires and hemispheres along its upper and lower surfaces, although their purpose is unknown, while a fourth of its edge is extended into a rectangular shape, and houses the huge exhaust vents for its engines.
What ever this stuff is, it indicates that the Brickston operation is now immensely outclassed in terms of resource gathering capability.
SLAM
"This is ridiculous, look at that thing!"
The cry of the overseer is met by some concerned gazes, but some in the operations room join with his annoyance, scoffing or groaning at the images they were receiving from the freighter. The ship itself kept moving forward slowly, it seemed to have some form of point defence emplacements near its bridge but aside from this what would otherwise be turret rings were left hollow and sealed.
"I agree sir." The security chief responded, leaning onto a railing at the peak of the small ship's bridge, right next to the captain.* "But legally there's nothing we can do...I still advise we contact the government, it w-"
"And let 'em TAKE this from us? We'd all be fired on the spot! No, we tell 'em that this is our claim, and they either buzz off or- or- or-" The chief's expression drooped at his bosses stuttering and he had to interject.
"Please, boss, hear me out. If we don't contact authorities, and this goes south, who's going to help us from being gunned down and taken prisoner? We don't know what these individuals want or even how they think. This is our last chance to call in the experts, nobody aboard this ship is a diplomat..."
"And? We're practically within home territory, we can send out a distress call. Just- Just tell 'em they're trespassing or something, hand 'em a fine. and do NOT call the damn bureaucrats, hear me?"
"Yes, sure sir."
Communications cut shortly after, the ship continued its slow approach, but now it began to blast an open short-wave radio transmission on a wide number of channels, hoping to catch at their communications equipment and get a reply of any sort.
THIS IS THE BRI FESTERING ARM OF BRICKSTON RAW INDUSTRIES . WE ARE ATTEMPTING TO OPEN COMMUNICATIONS.
URGENT, PLEASE RESPOND IMMEDIATELY
Down below, Belzret receives the news of the new communications, and heads back to their comms officer, peering over their shoulder once more
"So, is the bet settled Narras? Do I owe you some Hrekim?"
Narras wiggles their shell in a symbol of negativity
"Not yet boss. It seems that our competition wants to open communications with us." They hesitate, mechanical limbs still operating the controls of their station even as their focus shifts away, and glance back up at the foreman "Should we let them?"
The foreman thinks for a moment before they respond, their many mechanical limbs twitching as they do
"Yeah, lets see what they have to say. Perhaps we can resolve this little issue."
After a brief nod, Narras turns back to their set, and flips a switch, connecting their boss to the speakers wirelessly. Honiong in on the singal, they pick a channel and reply to the ship on that one, hoping that they are listening
Meanwhile, up above, the Bulwark ship suddenly receives a transmission from the surface, routed through the huge stations comms. It seems that they are receiving a response rather promptly.
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - SVARTHAN MOBILE REFINERY MR-4-1111 - REROUTING FROM SURFACE STATION TP-0001//
Greetings BRI Festering Arm. Your message has been received, and passed onto the foreman. We are now opening communications with your vessel. Please stand by to receive higher bandwidth transmission.
//TRANSMISSION END//
After they receive this, the channel is zeroed down and picked out as to not wear out their transmission equipment. The message is typed out rather anticlimactically on one of the large screens hanging above the bridge. The chief stands up straight muttering as he reads it out to himself.
"...are they putting us on hold?
Bastards..."
While they waited, the ship would come into a stable orbit, still keeping a good distance away as ordered by its captain, everything else remained quiet as they waited for a proper contact.
It seems that the channel being zeroed in on, and picked out was exactly what the "Svarthan" were waiting for, as a few moments after it is done, there is suddenly a new message, this time on the same channel but at a much higher bandwidth. There is also a voice, robotic and artifical sounding, as if being produced by a text to speech or auto translator.
It speaks to them in galactic common.
"Greetings Festering Arm. I am Foreman Belzret, head of this mining operation for Broadclaw Incorporated, a subsidiary of the Svarthan trust. You requested urgent communication with us, so please, do tell me what this is all about."
After than, the voice goes silent, seemingly awaiting their reply. At least they now know a bit more about who they face, and perhaps a search on the Ancnet, if they are able, will turn up even more details.
Unfortunately the ancnet is far from the capabilities of even a corp like theirs at this stage, and as such all they can guess is that another company is stealing their profits.
"Hello, You are speaking to Lucas Toride, Security chief for our mining operation under Brickston Raw industries, established under the Red Bulwark.
We have arrived to...inform you that this planet has already been rightfully claimed by our corporation under..."
He takes a moment to read the notes on his PDA, everything he was told by legal to write down was there (obviously excluding a few important details) so hopefully the jargon would turn some ears.
"Requisition form bundle type B, hash 192832-Cgg-A, official bulwark documentation which a copy of is kept on-site. Following to Red bulwark territorial and corporate claims amendment law in Section 5, sub-section 2, active law 4, such claims within 100 lightyears of the imperial border are to be considered absolute property of the claimee and international claims are to be disregarded due to border proximity.
If an opposing claim is attempted by an outside entity, and is considered external to the imperial borders, the claimee reserves the right to enforce private property trespass actions 1 through 5 as is appropriate at their discretion."
He made a small sigh.
"I hope you understand the issue here."
There is a moment of pause as the message goes through, and then the voice responds, still mechanical and robotic, but clearly not in a bad mood. It speaks with what can even be considered an upbeat and friendly tone for what sounds like a text to speach.
"Oh yes, I can certainly see the issue you have with our presence Lucas. As it stands, you being here is a bit of an issue for us too, because..."
The voice has addressed security chief by their first name, not any title or honorific interestingly enough, despite never even having seen the man before. There is a brief pause, much like the one Toride gave, before the voice replies. Somehow it almost sounds smug.
"We have claimed the planet rightfully under STF 0002-45-A77, Request code Z3985319900, ETML-5. Our documentation is likewise on site, both on the ground and in the refinery before you. In accordance with Trust ETML Section 2, sub-section 4, and active law 1, any and all laws that place claims on territory outside the galactically accepted borders of a given state are to be disregarded should they not be directly marked as such by development sufficient to cement them, in accordance to ETML Section 7, sub-section 2, active law 3, outlining conditions for adequate claims holding, due to being deemed as anti competition and promoting of monopolies.
In the event of such "over claiming", the Trust grants the right to both negotiate over the true ownership of the system, and to enforce preventative measures against attempted hostile take over of the subsidiaries assets, to the subsidiary in question, in accordance with ETML Section 9, sub-sections 2 and 3, active laws 10 through 22."
It appears that the legal jargon is not in fact intimidating to the Svarthan foreman, as they respond well in kind. However it is to be noted that negotiation is apparently on the table, or at least the laws states it to be such.
"I hope you see our issue, yes?"
The chief grunts, practically disregarding how he was addressed as his focus is on the following reply. He fully expected a similar response to be thrown back at him but it still definitely annoyed him. Of course though, it wasn't his job to understand all this nonsense, which is why an assigned legal representative in the operations room back on-site was listening in, communicating back and forth with his small team.
They were at a real disadvantage, their claim was technically outside of their nation's borders, and even the proximity laws weren't much help without the backing of their government, pile that on top of their smaller operation and a general lack of knowledge and things became complicated.
There was a couple of minutes of dead air, quiet whispers between co-workers in blue-collars and a mounting tension before a response was formulated.
"Ahem. Right, yes...
However, according to expeditionary records, there is no known galactic national borders here either, Section 5, sub-section 2, law 1, clause 5 states that corporate holdings located within effective proximity, or 100 light years, of official imperial borders, and not within national territory are still to be passed as imperial sub-property by international entities. And encroachment of law 1 and its repercussions, being the detail of corporate trespassing, can be enforced upon any entity by national or corporate enforcement bodies..."
The legal team was looking at each other and sharing shrugs at this point, they couldn't exclude one important detail.
"...With the exclusive permission of the Imperial disputes conglomerate.
...Fortunately, due to...restrictions on that end, it seems we have no choice but to negotiate, an exercisable right encouraged under the Fernholst 2203 corporate warfare prevention act."
The ship remained a good distance away still, the only activity from it being slight stabilisations.
"Section 6, paragraph a5, cl-
OK, i'm tired of that, let me just sell it to you how I understand it."
Much to the dismay of the legal team, they were quite abruptly cut off from his personal communications.
"All in all, we're both sitting on a gold pile, and we both want it. I don't know who you are, but if I were to have my way, and no offense, i'd have the government kick you out of here, and the company would take a finders fee. But the overseer prefers making money in the long-term, so.
We could easily say half-and-half, and forgive me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem the types who'll just take a handshake and live to your word. So we can take your offer for a proper negotiation, but our facility is lower security it seems, so you'll do it on our terms.
Does that sound fair or should I start reading you the drivel legal keeps sending me?"
The bridge fell silent, a lot of them knew this was probably a make or break moment for the chief's career from here on out. Better him than them though.
The Svarthan is quiet for quite some time as they consider the offer, before they respond. Their tone is no longer smug, but now has a colder edge far more serious edge to it. Whoever is on the other end is now taking this far more seriously it seems.
"So it seems you are entirely unware of who we are then. Understandable, and I doubt you will believe me, but let me tell you right now that we WILL honor any agreement that is made, so long as you honor your end of the barging. However, I am certain that as security chief you will see that attempting to break your deal will only put you in a situation where you will lose. You cannot match what we have here at current, and more is yet to come."
Whether that last part refers to security forces present, or simply the scale of their respective operations is not exactly clear from the creatures voice, but either case is true. As they carry on they lighten their tone some, seemingly done with the more serious bits.
"Regardless, yes, I am willing to negotiate with you Lucas, either on behalf of your superiors, or directly with them. However I do want to hear your terms before I commit myself. I hope they are reasonable, for I do desire a peaceful, mutually beneficial resolution."
They pause once more, but just before Lucas has a chance to reply, the add a final statement, their tone near joking as they do
"And, what do you say we refrain from any more legal speak, hmm? As I can surely tell, you find it quite droll, and so do I. I am confident we can speak reasonably and concisely without it."
He almost snorts a little at the last part, easing himself up now they're on more understandable grounds.
"It was a precaution, but I was trying to tell my boss from the start that it would end up like this anyway...
Also want to make sure that while I wanna be buddies here, for the sake of both our sanity's, the imperial government takes an unprovoked attack on this colony like it would any other, so just keep that in mind.
Anyway, let's get on with it, I can certainly arrange a meeting between you, myself and the overseer. But as I said, we want it on our terms and in person, we've got no reason to perform something we'd regret, so call it, idk, a security assurance. As such, We'd like it hosted at our digsite, no more than 2 armed guards, and appropriate security screening beforehand, alright?"
At first, the overseer did not take his security chief's subversion well at all, and almost ordered him to be Employment Terminated at once, but seeing their competitors rationality eventually had him reconsider. Having part of the planet would be far better than having none of it, which would be their fate if they tried either other option. He was still however, quite miffed at his subordinate's disobedience , and such a thing would not go unchecked.
Lucas was blissfully unaware of his manager's frustrations however, simply listening in for a response.
The Svarthan reacts to his warming tone in kind, as their text to speech like voice shifts to be a bit more pleasant when they respond.
"Well, at the least it is behind us now. My legal team can get off of my shell now, as yours can too. And I imagine that violence is the last thing either of us want, so yes, let us keep our weapons to ourselves."
"As to your terms, I find them agreeable for the most part, but I do want to add a few... shall we call them, stipulations. Nothing major I should think, but still adding onto yours. First, I request that you and your chief likewise only have two armed guards present at the discussion. I do not want to stand before a firing line while I speak after all. Second, I desire to know what exactly will be searched for in the screening, and what would trigger any alarms. No point in accidentally brining something we may find mundane, but is profoundly disturbing to you. Can you agree to these conditions?"
Down on the planet below, in a lull in the communications, the Svarthan foreman turns to his comms officer and speaks to them directly via their cybernetics through near field magnetic induction comms, entirely inaudible and undetectable to a ship so far above.
"This corporation seems to use the threat of their parent nation as a frequent way to add weight to their diplomacy. Once they pay less attention to our communications, I want you to inform the Trust of this."
A curt nod is all the receive as a response from their comms officer as they await a reply form the communication ship captain.
There response is met with another pause as the chief thinks it over. He seems ambivalent at first, but only the captain sees the expression on his face light up into that of remembrance. He cracks a smile for a moment before following up...he seemed to be one of the few people who didn't notice their usage of the word 'shell' however. The crew had their concerns now, but they believed their superior didn't mind.
"Fine, you can bring your bodyguards, just keep their weaponry in moderation. As for the screening, I wouldn't worry about it, just some minor stuff, regulation and whatnot. As long as you're not carrying any explosives or hidden weapons you'll be fine."
As he continued, he began typing a message to the captain next to him to begin preparing for a universal docking procedure.
"Now, the order's going to be like this, you'll come to this ship on your own shuttle. We'll dock you just fine, don't worry, and then you can come aboard and stay in the VIP room while we return to our operation. From there we'll take you to a meeting room to be introduced to the foreman and have a proper discussion.
The foreman takes this moment of pause to take a closer look at the report from the scouting drones, as they await a reply. They also transmit Narras the promised payout for their wager, for it is quite clear the operation was indeed about the size of theirs before further assets arrived. After that is settled they just settle down onto the low flat cushioned metal platform that acts as a Svarthan "chair". Finally a response comes and they give their reply.
"Very well, this is agreeable. Give me a moment to prepare my chosen guards, and my shuttle and I will be right with you. It should not be long. And one final thing before I depart. I would avoid sending any ships closer to our orbital assets than you are now. The space is littered with casaba, scalar, and other types of mines, and I would hate to start a fight because you wanted a closer look at our work. "
After they say their peace they get up from their "chair, and head out the door of the communications building. Two guards await by the door and escort them down the path to the barracks, purely to ensure proper sentience is upheld. Once inside, the foreman selects two guards well suited for close quarters crowd clearing operations, and heads towards the hangar. A SEE and nuclear rocket equipped SSTO craft loiters there, and the entourage boards it, engines rapidly roaring to life as the craft taxis down the runway, and rises into the sky, rapidly gaining speed as it plots a course up to the waiting shuttle.
The crew aboard could see the pointy thin craft tear its way into the sky and beyond, swapping from its air breathing engines to a glowing atomic thruster as it draws near and slows, preparing to dock with the ship.
Docking, despite their differences in systems, goes pretty painless, a flexible and adaptable mechanical vacuum seal links the ships hatches on the forward side of the cargo bulker. Once things are connected, a small metal walkway is extended within the sealed tube and airlock hatches are swung open. Once they make their way out their craft and onto the walkway, gravity would shift in the appropriate direction, yet there was mere silence as they approached the open airlock.
Once inside, it closed them in, and only seemed to slightly differentiate pressure before swinging open to the interior of the corporate freighter.
The chief seemed to have a mouthpiece gasmask and a neat beret, as well as a rather plain corporate security suit and jacket, with clear signs of an undersuit beneath.
His face however, almost went through readable phases of mostly negative emotion as he watched the non-human forms skitter its way through the hatch. Beside him, his two guards dressed in light armour, almost swung their guns forwards, but instead reserved to just stepping back a little instead and cursing under their breaths.
"So- y- I-"
He'd stutter, struggling to emphasize how worse this made the situation. There was evidence that they weren't human of course, but he didn't want to believe it, they operated in a way to familiar so him that he held out high confidence that the odd things their observation saw were drones or something. He too k a moment to recollect himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose.
"So you're not human...shit...we don't have...any procedures for this."
Non-human is certainly an adequate term for what comes out of the airlock, as the first thing that appears is a cloud of steam. It wafts out from the chamber and towards the trio of people awaiting the Svarthan delegation, followed closely by the aliens
The Svarthan are not even humanoid it seems, as they appear to be more like some giant, mechanical crustaceans, if the metal shells that cover the top of their bodies are any indication. Each is around 7 feet long, and 4 feet in height from the floor to the highest point of their bodies, although at the moment several attachments jut out from each one of their metal carapaces, which add a few inches. The one in the lead is most likely the foreman, as their body has numerous extra limbs, and manipulator tentacles that are seemingly made of ferrofluid set into it. The limbs look like extra heavy duty kinds, with big magnetic actuators and what look like hydraulic cylinders on them and mount all manner of tools, while the front of their body is adorned with many camera arrays, with all manner of industrial capabilities such as magnification, proper viewing of a weld arc, and more.
The two that stand behind and to their leader's side are most likely the guards, and they currently have their weapons exposed, although it seems obvious that they can retract into their own shells if needed. The one on the right seems to bear two medium barreled coil guns, and judging by the beefy loading assembly yet small caliber they are supposed to be SMG's of some kind. Set in-between these two guns are what looks like two spools of fine wire, currently simply rolled up, but their purpose is unclear. The one on the left has a larger caliber, longer, double barreled weapon mounted to the right half of his carapace, while two hollow, needle-like tubes attached to some kind of tube and ferrofluid pump system sit on the left half of their shell. Both have more military oriented optics, with multi spectrum and wide angle cameras present.
The steam that was present in the airlock seems to come from the creatures themselves, flowing from vents on their back, and gushing out from under the edge of their bodies. 6 drones float in the air, covered in more optics and other types of sensor gear, but no visible weapons. They are shaped like thick disks, with little attachment cables and leads trailing from their undersides. It seems that 3 of each belong to the guards, if the drone shaped slots on their armor are any indication.
The foreman walks right up to the guard chief, making metallic clanking noises on the deck they stand on. The reason is promptly revealed as they rise up on their back half, and expose their underside, with its 10 mechanical legs, 5 of which are currently on the ground, while the others are tucked up against the underside of the shell, and its six additional limbs, two of which are augmented with powerful looking cybernetics and feature large flat claws, presumably for digging or crushing hard shells, while the remaining four are clearly intended for precision work, as evidenced by their smaller, more precise augmented claws.
āGreetings Lucas Toride, I am Belzret Sassamaox, foreman of this Svarthan mining operation.ā
At the chief's mention of procedures, Belzret tilts their āheadā to the left, although it is more like twisting the front of their carapace. It seems they are confused by this statement
āBut, why would that matter? You spoke with me quite clearly before, yet seeing my body somehow changes all that? I am still the same being who arranged these negotiations, even if I am not of your species.ā
Rubbing his temple already, and suddenly seeming quite unprofessional, the chief had to take a few moments to orient himself to their presence as well as its repercussions. He took a large amount of things into consideration, but, soon enough managed to stand himself up straight, shake it off and do an almost apologetic nod.
"This is technically a 'first contact' situation, never seen something like yourselves before." He'd comment, feeling a bit unapologetically disturbed by how...busy their forms seemed, so many moving parts and segments, it was a little off-putting for him.
"Though I'm sure you've seen humans. Usually the government has a bunch of precautions for this sort of thing to prevent the spread of new diseases or other bio contaminants, but to also initiate a diplomatic whatsamaculit...
Thing is this ain't exactly an 'official' first contact. Truth is we can probably pull this off without getting in too much trouble, but the ministries won't like it when they find out."
Soon as he was finished speaking, he reached into his jacket and reached out his chunky PDA, making some very important notes.
Belzret takes a few steps back as they lower down to all 10 of their legs once more, which seems to be more comfortable for the creature. Their camera eyes flick up to look at the chiefs face, while their guards mill about a bit, their weapons folding back down into their shells, now that they have hopefully not set up some incident upon screening.
"I am certain there is a way to avoid such an issue. After all, we are not a species unknown to the galactic community. A quick search on the Ancnet should tell your ministries everything they would most likely gleam from any official "first meeting". As to the spread of plagues and diseases, well you would be hard pressed to find any non engineered plague that can survive our 100 degrees Celsius or more innards, and the copious amount of drugs and cybernetics we use so there is no issue there.
I regrettably do not have any way to circumvent the diplomatic "whastamaculit" issue, but I do not think it should be that great hinderance to our talks no?"
Belzerts voice takes on a more cheery tone, as they continue to speak, the amount of steam they are emitting intensifying for a brief moment.
"So, lets not delay our negotiations any longer. Time is money after all!"
"Ah...right, the uhh Ancne-?" There was a small moment of confusion as the term was rummage-searched through his memories, evident as he peered up for a moment before seemingly remembering, his face lighting up slightly, depsite most the expression being hidden under his mask.
"Ohh! that Ancnet thing, galactic internet right? Yeahhh we don't have that here, heard the infrastructure's on its way, but it'll definitely still be a while."
Despite the shape and appearance of the Svarthan's being so undoubtedly alien, especially due to a first contact like this, the chief seemed to already be at peace with it, though it was clearly still a little hard for him to look at them for too long, perhaps there was something else he knew of that was similar to them.
"But right, right you are, the ship's already returning to the digsite, I'll take you to your quarters, this way."
The chief wafted a hand toward an access corridor to their left, the interior walls painted an off shade of white but interrupted by structural supports, vents, panels and lights along its length, not to mention countless pipes and cables snaking across and into most surfaces.
He seemed intent on leading the way, his guards waiting for the group to pass before following up behind.
"Yes. Although as I said, your ministries could easily discern far more about us in that manner, and it would certainly be enough to serve as a substitute for any first contact meeting they could want. Perhaps you even have relations with some of the factions we associate with, and import goods from."
The three trilobites seem to not be fazed by this, as they all rapidly follow behind the captain, the drones hovering about them, and presumably letting the guards at least see their escorts without turning around.
The simple interior of the ships is interesting to the Svarthan, as once more their many ocular organs plie over every surface, looking not only at its construction, but also to see how if in any way the crew decorates their ship. Their own ships usually sport a myriad of art work and decorations placed there by the crews, with near no exception apart from where they would be a hazard or obstruction to any job that is performed.
The Svarthan utilize their internal NFMI comms to continue to discretely talk to each other, however even if there were any eaves droppers, all they would hear is chatter about how little decoration there is, and wondering what their accommodations will be like. Menial stuff really, the kind usually spoken by visitors to new places. Belzert does however speak audibly to the chief as they walk.
"So, how long of a flight are we to expect? I want to know how comfortable we should make ourselves before the meeting without causing delays."
The reply he gave to their first comment began with a simple shrug.
"Well, if the government's got access to the Ancnet, that's none of my business. Diplomacy ain't either, and my boss shares that sentiment to a high degree, not our problem. This planet is our problem, so we'd prefer to focus on that."
Apart from the occasional wall covered in laminated posters or pipes that have been painted oddly either deliberately or not, the walls of these corridors are quite sparse. In fact, the most interesting thing about the corridors overall is the heavily organised pipework and mechanisms. They soon reach a large cage elevator and are brought inside, where one of the guards press on a physical button, causing the cage to jolt and begin ascending.
In the meantime, the chief listens to their guest's question, cocking a brow down at the foreman.
"Well, shouldn't be more than an hour. Bit of a wait I know, but this is a freighter, after all."
The 3 mechanical creatures keep up the pace with the chief easily enough as more wisps of steam curl up from their shells. Belzert emits a larger gout, perhaps in approval at the Chiefs statement as they respond.
"I quite agree. Political interactions and more formal diplomacy is best left to the larger Trust as well. Let us remain focused on our own interactions."
The ergonomically designed and well laid out pipes and mechanisms seem to appeal the the Svarthan, as they periodically emit a slightly larger burst of steam, which floats in the hallway like a fogbank. They do wonder at the lack of worker made decoration, and in turn at how the workers of this company are treated, but they do not comment on it. After all the lack of decoration could easily be explained away by issues such as it being damaged by ship operations, and as such it is just present where that would not happen.
"I quite understand. An hour will be quite sufficient to get in a bit of a rest as is."
"Very well."
Were the only word said for a while as they were brought up to the freighter's forecastle area. Down a few more corridors and up some stairs and they emerged into a nicer looking part of he ship, red walls highlighted with black stripes against flat, bevelled walls. After passing a number of doors they were led into a larger corridor toward a double set of sliding doors. The chief opened them for his guests and stood aside, actually showing some respect as he gestured them inside.
The room itself was unquestionably human and decently large, with 2 bedrooms and a curved window out into space to the fore of the ship. It had fairly decent accommodations overall but wasn't quite 'luxurious'. Either way the security chief turned to face them as they entered.
"Do you have any questions? Because I'll just be in the room down the hall, and I'll come tell you when we're about to arrive."
As the group repsesses on in silence, the foreman casts glances around at the decorations lining this part of the ship. While this is more familiar to him than the austerity of before, it is still unusual, as it does not seem to be made by the ships crew, but rather simply pre painted. the foreman decides to ask for a tour of the ship on the way back, to inspect the working conditions of the crew. It is important to know who they are dealing with after all.
Upon entering the room, the two guards rapidly move around to inspect the furnishings and accommodations, taking stock of what they can find. They move through both bedrooms, their drones peering into spaces their odd bodies cannot enter, before they finally settle down in the center of the room, and seemingly wait for the foreman. Little vials full of blue and grey liquid with what look like attachments for injectors are produced form an integrated compartment on one of the guards, and slotted into special ports along the edges of their armor. The other takes out what appears to be respirator with canisters of some kind from a similar compartment.
The foreman thinks for a moment before responding to the chief.
"I would ask if you care to join us in relaxing a bit during the flight, but I assume you are busy yes?"
He watches the two guards, but doesn't seemingly question their behaviour too much and assumes it's some sort of alien security precaution, still not his job in his eyes after all. His attention is soon caught by the foreman though, and he takes a moment to respond.
"Mm, no, not at all actually. My job right now is to make sure you get to the digsite, so that I will do. If I'm needed, I'm sure the crew will let me know."
Managing a few steps in behind Belzret, he looks around the room before moving one of the seats near to the bed and sitting politely.
"In all honestly I would've just been sitting on my arse in my room anyway, so better to do it with company I suppose."
After speaking, he reaches into his jacket and retrieves his PDA, looking over it for a second and then typing at it.
Belzret follows him into the room, stopping to close the door if it is not automatic, before taking some of the cushions from the furniture and arranging them on the floor the way his guards have by now, before climbing atop the resulting mound, since climbing onto a chair would be neigh impossible. he turns slowly about on his pile of pillows to face the chief, as the cylinders inject their contents into the first guard with a low hiss, and the second starts to breath softly through the respirator.
"I quite agree. With my guards taking a small break, it would have been rather boring for me as well as there would have been no one to converse with."
Belzret looks at the Chief typing on his PDA for a moment before speaking again
"May I inquire what you are doing on your device there? I assuming informing your superiors about our situation, yes?"
"That's right, Also need the captain to know I won't be in my room."
He finished up rather quickly, eyeing over the notification before relaying and huffing a little.
"Wanted to get an implant that does this sort of thing in my head, but I don't even have a license yet..."
He looks back at the two guards and then back at Belzret before furrowing his brow a little. Thinking about it he did find the vials a little odd.
"Hm, actually let me just ask this so I don't make the mistake later, are you...some sorta cyber...netic race?"
With a bit of a wince, his tone raised slightly as he conveyed the guess. So far he'd been somewhat comfortable comparing themwith R-SAM's, though he likely wouldn't admit it, considering how bad it sounded in his head.
A slight puff of steam flits from the foreman's shell as they bob the front plate of their carapace slightly up and down in what probably is supposed to be a nod, given their lack of a head, neck, or really any human body features at all. As if by way of demonstration their arms move about, grasping at the air with big, beefy clamps, warping their ferrofluid tentacles into strange shapes, or whirring and sparking the tools built into the ends of some of their arms.
"You are quite correct. All Svarthan are heavily cybernetically modified from a young age. While at first the mods only account for a simple light exoshell, with basic manipulators or mechadendrites depending on preference, upgrades to innards such as the respiratory system, and proper chemical administration, monitoring, and cleansing units of course, later in life and based on career the modifications can grow quite vast. The perfect example of this would be the MHEA juggernauts, who are far more machine than flesh, and even what little flesh they have is coursing with all manner of chemicals."
The foreman says all of this as if its quite natural, and simply the way things are. Which for them is most certainly the case.
"I see, that'll make screening more complex...luckily I think we actually have a way around that. Don't worry it's nothing malicious, but I think you'll like it."
He observes the little demonstration with a raised brow but not much else, believing he's seen something similar somewhere before.
"Either way, sounds like you have your integration procedures all settled nice and simple. It's an absolute pain to get proper implant surgery for...us. DNA tests, stem cell checks, chemical preparation, it's a whole process before you can even get the spinal link installed and you need that for anything else that wants to talk to the brain and all that."
He waves his hand and sighs, clearly familiar with the process, the Svarthan might have at some point noticed the the odd polymer plate in the back of his neck, seemingly featureless apart from a single dim light
Indeed the foreman did notice the little plate back there, but elected to not bring it up until it was mentioned by the chief. However, since it has, he decides to question further, mostly to pass the time, but also to learn about their hosts before they get down to actual diplomacy.
"Well, I am eager to see what methods you have devised to streamline this process. It is always interesting to see the workings of other polities, and compare or learn from their strengths and weaknesses. If you do not mind my asking, why is the process so much more complex for your people? Have you only recently begun to implement such upgrades within your population, leading to the technology not being as advanced as those who have done it longer, and perhaps clashing with older religious or philosophical notions, or are there perhaps, more sinister motives that keep your people from augmenting yourselves?"
That last statement is given in a somehow ominous tone, despite the robotic voice that speaks it, and the Svarthan foreman tilts their frontal plate a bit to one side, as if trying to imitate and inquisitive tilt of the head
Lucas raises a gloved hand to scratch under his beret for a moment, seemingly having to ponder the question, despite how obvious the answer should probably be.
"Welll, I dunno. Pretty sure augmetics have been around for a long while, probably gotten better over time of course, but maybe it's just that our biology hates havin' foreign objects sutured into it worse than your own does or something. They're also pretty damn expensive too, the installation, hardware and wetware is all pretty pricey. 'course there's older model stuff still produced, but never as often and it's never as good, there's only a few big companies that make the stuff after all."
After stretching his neck as he spoke, he'd reach into his jacket and retrieve a cigarette box, pulling a something akin to a thin cigar with a bronze band from it. Despite their nature, he remembers his company for a moment and looks back up toward the Svarthan, tilting the cigarette in his hand a little.
"Oh, do you mind if i?"
The Svarthan uses one of its arms to make a "go ahead" style motion, before the arm folds back down out of the way.
"I do not mind at all. If you were not here I would be partaking in my own recreational substance, much like my guards are. I would even offer you some, but I am fairly sure our differing biology would mean that the drug does not have the desired effect on you, if it even has one at all. Not to mention your lack of control systems and chemical scrubbers would mean it could incapacitate you for hours upon end if it actually works. And I doubt you want to be on an entirely different world for the duration of our diplomatic talks, do you?"
The Svarthan laughs a little, but it seems they are quite serious about their warnings to the chief and the strength and effects of their recreational substances in comparison to those that the Bulwark officer may be used to.
"Although, I could be mistaken on that front of course. Do your people use recreational drugs often? And if you do, what kind are they?"
He chuckles awkwardly at the string of information on this whole drug thing, an inch away from lighting the cigarette.
"Ha...yeeahh..."
It's unlikely he'd be able to guess what kind of chemicals they were using, but the detail he goes into makes him glance at the guards and ponder for a few moments how illegal these substances would be within imperial borders.
"But no, i'm fairly sure most recreational drug use is banned...I suppose it depends which sector you're in though. Sector 2 lifted its ban on stimleaf recently, as a sort of test to its viability...think it's some sort of genetically engineered variant of some old earth plant. I think the issue just tends to be that a lot of stimulants have side-effects on our bodies and end up being addictive, never a healthy combination and all."
He lights the cigar with a silver lighter in his pocket and takes a short drag from it before raising his brow a little.
"Though I suppose the stuff they put in these could be counted as recreational drug use...alcohol still works too, yeah, just became so normalised people don't see it as a drug.
Uh, what kind of stuff do you all use then anyway, is it good for you?"
He half jokes, keeping the cigar in his mouth.
"Yes addiction is quite the pain it is true. We struggled with it greatly in the formative years of the Trust proper. It is a pharmaceutical company after all, and a large deal of its profits came from marketing recreational substances to the masses. However it seems that the ease of access, availability of support, and the unparalleled quality of the products we use have reduced cases of addiction to something seen in only the most sever of users."
As the chief takes his smoke, the foreman tilts their head, pondering their question for a bit. Then they respond with another short bout of steam from their shell, perhaps their equivalent of a chuckle, given their lack of conventional mouths or voice boxes.
"If I listed every drug that is available in the Svarthan Trust, we would probably be here all day. We use just about everything, from accelerants to depressants, hallucinogens powerful enough to make you lose your very sense of self, relaxants of a strength commonly seen only in medicinal practices in other polities, and even memetics based off those from one of our neighbors. Delivery methods, and production methods likewise vary to an immense degree. With few exceptions, every drug can be taken through injection, inhalation, drinking, and tablet or otherwise edible form. Some are purely chemical in nature, while some are made of bacterial or viral agents that produce the active chemical for a longer duration while the "infection" persists. We can even create hardware and software to enable machine races to experience these same effects.
As to the drugs being "good" for us, yes, they are very good. Nothing quite compares to the sensations you can experience with them, and all Svarthan cybernetics come standard with equipment to properly administer the drugs, monitor the users health, and when the time comes, adminster counter chemicals to ensure a quick, and side effect free return to normalcy."
The information he was being told was strange to him of course, but what irked him the most, and that he wouldn't comment on, was that it all began simply because this 'Trust', their whole government, is a pharmaceutical. It was definitely one way to keep loyalties, he thought. He also found the steam a little annoying, it was no doubt messing with the humidity, but he was able to hide any sort of scowl, keeping an easy expression.
"It sounds like impressive stuff no doubt, still not so sure of the idea myself. I like to stay grounded...well as grounded as you can be out here."
He follows the sentence with another smoke, blowing out his nose.
"Surely ther're individuals like that around your home. Y'know, people who think that substances aren't worth the time. I mean you and your guards here probably have your own selection and knowledge on the stuff...does that make the, and pardon my phrasing, 'clean' ones eccentric you or somethin'?"
"Not at all! Everyone is free to live their life the way they want to. If they choose not to use substances, then that is entirely their choice to make. After all, hobbies and what we do to pass the time vary wildly."
It seems that the foreman is unaware of the Chiefs annoyance at the steam their body is emitting, and they continue on, their mechanical voice having taken on a rather upbeat tone as they chat.
"Some devote their spare time to creating art, painted, sculptured, or otherwise. Some write stories about work, or fantastical realms beyond reality. Yet others make music. Just because they do not partake in recreational substances does not make them eccentrics. Now, if they rail against their use, and constantly tell others off for using them, or otherwise interject in the pass times of others, that is odd. Same with those who try and dodge work or such things. They are the ones we find out of the ordinary, not those who do not enjoy a good hit of some chemicals, and just spend sober time after work with their friends."
Nodding along, Lucas taps his cigar into a small funnel inset into the table off to his side, taking a small drag and blowing it off to the side, his eyes wander to the expansive window peering out over the horizon of the sparkling planet rushing along far below them.
"Honestly, sounds rather much like our own way of life...with less drugs of course. Same surprise came to us when we first met the Sylthas so long ago I think, seems as if things just have a way of developing like that. Say though, I'm sure you have the number archived up there somewhere."
He smiles, motioning his hand towards the Svarthan's head
"How far away exactly did you come from...and uh, this trust of yours? Is it native to this galaxy or?"
He tilted his head a little, seemingly quite intrigued with this particular question.
"Yes, it appears that our particular usage of drugs is almost entirely unique. Those with similar levels of usage use it to oppress the masses, and almost all others have far far lower usage rates."
The Svarthan looks out the window themselves, gazing at the planet down below with interest. It seems they are trying to spot any features on its surface that would indicate their location, as as they do, some of their eyes begin to click and whirr as powerful telescopic lenses activate, giving them a much clearer view. Some of their camera eyes still rest on the captain however, and even as their gaze passes over the world outside they give a reply.
"It is quite far away from our current location, although at present I am not at liberty to give you exact coordinates. I hope you understand. As to the other question, this is in regards to that stupid war going on I assume? Well, no, we Svarthan are not native to this galaxy, at least as far as fossil records from both our own and other planets dictate. But we are native to this universe near as we can tell, unlike some other factions."
The chief glances over to them viewing the window too, he knew they were getting close to their operation by now, so at least they'd be able to see it.
"Huh...no it was nothing to do with the war, whatever it's about. Don't think our government has much interest in it anyway, was just curious. Far as I know we're colonials as they're called. As kids we get taught in history everythin' about how we're the offshoot of a much larger empire that we lost contact with some centuries ago. Just find it odd is all."
Eventually, they start seeing specks of civilisation. Lights from outpost bases and drones, artificial trenches and small bases, forming pipelines toward quarries in their infancy with numbers of vehicles parading the surface. Clearly they were growing closer to the centre of their operation.
"Ah, looks like we're almost there, that's the epsilon line...a uh, omnitram line to get to the outer western bases."
The crab looks out the window, in the direction the chief does, spotting the site easily enough. The lenses of their eyes whirr some more, magnifying the image a great deal as they gaze upon it. They watch a tram depart from the Epsilon terminal, speeding off towards its destination. After seemingly having watched enough, the Foreman returns their attention to their current host.
"Hmm, that reminds me in a way of the legends surrounding our origin. Near as we can tell our ancestors were abducted from their home world, and held captive for generations upon generations, experimented upon and made into our "modern" selves. Eventually our captors dumped us on our new home world, and simply left, and we arose as a civilization there."
Upon spotting the tram line the foreman comments conversationally
"A most interesting arrangement, and until recently, quite the same size as ours I must say. We mainly utilize our maglev craft to travel around if we are needed, rather than setting up a tram to do so. On this metallic terrain they can function even without their sprayers. Of course such travel is rarely needed apart from collecting finished resources as most of the machines can process what they mine easily enough. Now I do suppose we will start to set up more infrastructure given the bulk of our operation has arrived.
How long do you expect the rest of our journey will take? That will determine whether or not I rouse my guards from their break."
Raising an arm, Lucas pulls back a sleeve and looks at a small holographic display watch, taking a drag as he does. Once he's tapped off the cigar he rocks his head a little.
"Eeeeh, 10 minutes give or take. Time flies by and all that."
He'd pull the sleeve back and lean into his chair again, furrowing his brow.
"Yeah, I'm not too familiar with the whole logistics side of things myself, I know it'll get a lot more elaborate, but that's about it...though that origin story sounds tragic, if it's all true even I'd be a bit curious why they'd leave you all here. Maybe they're still watching you or something, hehe."
Quite suddenly, the chief's PDA began beeping for a few seconds, he pulled it out almost immediately to check on it and seemed almost disappointed as he read, reaching over to snub the cigar and drop it down the funnel.
"Agh, looks like i'm needed to report on the bridge. Ah well."
Pulling himself up and dusting himself off, he'd reach forward trying for a handshake, and partially curious which limb the foreman might use.
"Pleasure chatting and all, perhaps we can talk again at some point when this whole mess is sorted."
It seems that the limb of choice is actually not one atop the Foremans body at all, as the crustacean suddenly starts to rise up, revealing their underside as their legs front half of their legs fold into tucked positions under their shell. Steam pours down the front of their body from more vents on their "belly", as as the Chief can now see the powerful digging claws mounted on the leading edge of the creatures body, along with its other arms tucked behind those. One of them extends, opening a 3 clawed "hand" that they use to shake.
"Yes I do hope so, you were very interesting to talk too. I shall rouse my guards momentarily and prepare for the official meeting at once. May this venture be beneficial for the both of us in the long run."
The Chief can also now see the centrally mounted, very crustacean like "mouth" of the Svarthan, and their mechanical voices suddenly make far more sense, as the horrible orifice with its many inner grabby looking parts and lack of any form of tongue, teeth or lips would most certainly prevent speech unaugmented.
"Mhhm, of course. I'll probably be seeing you at the meeting, by the way but I won't be permitted to talk so keep that in mind."
There was a little reluctance as he reached his hand forward to shake, but managed to convince himself it wouldn't be too different from a Sylthas...probably, and followed through with a respectful nod and smile, though he found it hard not to stare at the plainly odd mouth a little with morbid curiosity. Either way, he composed himself and began walking for the door.
"Uh, oh, You'll get a ring once it's time to depart, you get the drill, good luck!"
He'd raise a hand in a static wave, facing him from the door before turning to leave, off to co-ordinate whatever situation had emerged.
"I understand. While we usually greatly appreciate input from all levels of the work force, sometimes leaders alone must speak."
The Foremans mechanical grasp is firm but not crushing as they give the hand a few shakes. They grasp the chiefs hand more from the top than around the middle but it is not to terribly akward even given the differing biology. Once finished the Foreman drops back down to all their legs hiding their belly again.
"Of course. I assume we will be leaving the way we came in?"
The crab returns the wave with one of their top mounted arms, turning to their guards once the chief gas left. A quick signal is broadcast to the cybernetics of their guard and several injectors around the base of their shell hiss as they inject their contents into the guards before ejecting the spent containers like shell cases. The foreman picks these up as their guards return to their wits and he fills them in about the situation.
"Someone will come for ya!"
His voice fades as he turns, walking off to attend his station and letting the door close behind him on his exit. The rest of the journey is a bit uneventful, but it does take a little more than 10 minutes. The ship creaks and groans quietly, remaining in low orbit and slowly descending as it approaches their destination.
Outside, the view finally cascades towards the gaping visage of the primary dig site. Most of all, it's a huge quarry, a gaping, tiered pit stretching for kilometres in every direction. Massive machines of red and yellow rove about on the tiered roads supported and kept stable by complex structural towers and bracings, keeping the glimmering substrate from spilling out where it isn't meant to. In the distance, they see a cloud plume into the air, its size hard to determine, but clearly the result of a massive controlled explosion.
Yet despite all of this there isn't any huge refining facilities and their equipment is relatively little in number. and considering the much smaller size of their other dig sites, this one must have been where they started. Though they can't see it from their window, ahead of the ship is a wide and relatively simple drydock for cargo ships capable of landing, such as this one, its built completely into the side of the quarry, looming over several dig tiers below.
The vessel groans and shakes as plasma engines on its belly ignite, vectoring to allow it to come to a stop over its berth and then throttling down to lower its bulk into the clutches of great hydraulic arms and magnetic alignment fields. There's another large shake as it finally makes contact and settles down, as well as the honk of a PA siren.
Not seconds later, 2 ship guards, merely lightly armoured, would buzz on the door, making themselves known.
"We'll be taking you to the meeting, ready to go if you are"
With the guards now fully awake the foreman and his companions gaze out the window at the terrain bellow, watching it draw near. The similarities to their own operation are quite interesting, and they make note of them.
The quarry is noted, its size much like their own, however the lack of heavy equipment does surprise them. While it can be assumed that trully large planetary stripping machines have yet to arrive they expected at least a few more machines to be present. As the explosion rocks the landscape, sending up the cloud of metal dust high into the sky, the foreman wonders how the soon to occur tectonic mining and mass crust destabilization will affect the operations here.
Spotting the dock down within the quarry the foreman smiles, pleased to see a structure built in much the same location as Svarthan structures are. It reminds him of his home, and also his own worksite and all the friends he has there. For a moment he considers if perhaps this deal was not the smartest idea. The seeming willingness of this company to throw the weight of their parent nation around disturbs him, but if they are anything like the Chief he just spoke with all should be well.
As the ship shakes he turns away from the window, moving back to the center of the room, with his guards flanking him. He wonders how long it will take for someone to come get them, when the door to his accommodations buzzes. He moves to and opens it.
"Yes indeed we are ready to go. Lead the way, and we shall be right behind you."
The guards quickly nod and both turn, one waving for them to follow. They both stay quiet as they lead them, likely not interested, or maybe even a little reserved about speaking to someone and something that's been relayed to them as so important. Soon reaching the elevator, the party is brought back to one of the ship's main corridors, and toward one of the docking gantries.
They pass through some sort of terminal reminiscent of airport security and through a sort of waiting room into the gantry and deeper into the base. They only get glimpses of the structure they're in for a while, which seems to overlook the majority of the operation and soo enough they stop seeing windows at all. Being led through a large causeway and passing a couple of checkpoints, they find themselves in another elevator, this one seemingly a bit sleeker and more 'corparate' compared to the industrial bareness of everything else.
It seems they pass a good number of floors before arriving in a rather well decorated corridor, passing a few doors they reach one in particular that seems important, made of solid (likely synthetic) wood. It reads as an office for Vosk Fernis, Chief Overseer.
"Go on ahead, he's waitin' for you."
The doors opened seemingly automatically as they approached, the guards looking at each other before turning away back to where they came. Inside was a rather typical office; big desk, a few shelves, decent space, but importantly, a large sweeping window that looked over the main pit. They appeared to be quite high up in some sort of tower.
A bald man in a dark olive suit stood with his back to the Svarthan, watching the activity below.
"You know, we just had this tower hoisted recently, a few days ago in fact. Great views, so I had my office moved up here. Also closer to all the operation control and command gubbins."
He turned, it was more clear to see the implants embedded into the side of his skull now and the seams running across his skin. He walked around his desk as the doors began to close, putting on a solemn smile and extending a hand as he got close.
"I'm sure you saw my name on the door, but I am Vosk Fernis, though most just call me Vos...not Fern though, that one's reserved for the wife."
He'd chuckle with a bit of a grin.
It was all an act, of course. He was furious, more so than he had been in most of his career, but he knew one of the basic rules quite well: good business is always done behind forced smiles and white lies.
The Svarthan do not mind the silence, talking among themselves as they move through the halls of the facility. While the maintain themselves entertained, their many extra eyes wander around the passage, soaking up the details as they go, silently taking pictures of interesting sights as they have been doing all this time. Of course, there is hardly much to take pictures of, and they are not here to spy.
Assuming the terminal has metal detectors, all of the crabs would set them off, however since they are simply rushed through, this would be no issue. They once more gaze out the window with electronic peepers before there are no more windows at all. After that they go back to discussing the decoration, how their families and friends are doing back at the base, and so on, all the way until the reach the door to the Overseers office.
With a nod to the guards they step inside, and gaze around at the space, taking in the scenery and most importantly the window and the man before it. The Foreman moves forward, his guards following but not quite steeping directly next to him.
"Indeed it is quite the lovely view, a very commanding one if I do say so myself. And practical at that, the best of both worlds."
Belzret is not phased in the slightest by the augmentations. Even the most "naturalist" Svarthan bears more augments than all the Bulwark humans he has seen so far put together. At the approaching hand, the foreman once again rises up onto his hind sets of legs, exposing his belly, in orer to shake with what can be assumed are his "proper" or "original" arms. He quickly settles back down to the floor after letting go.
"A pleasure to meet you Vos. I am Foreman Belzret. I hope you and your family are doing well, and not missing you so far from your home I imagine."
If the Svarthan sense the hidden rage, they do not show any sign of it, simply acting polite and upbeat, their robotic voice conveying such.
He'd shake his head a little before backing away toward his seat behind the desk at the centre of the room, with papers and utilities on it not quite as neat and orderly as one might expect.
"Nono, they agreed to move out here with me for a few months while I work. We have some very lovely habitation a few kilometres to the east and it's a nice change of scenery."
He'd sit quietly, crossing his arms but putting out one to silently gesture the svarthan to sit. It seems he had one of his couches moved in front of the desk likely in an attempt to accommodate him a bit. While they were observing the office however, one thing might catch their eye, a pair of clear circular sections of the ceiling separate from the rest, each with an affixed camera. These were obviously sentry emplacements, but there'd hopefully be no reason to worry about them. The security chief was also there in the room, standing to the side against one of the walls silently, simply observing as his eyes glanced between everyone.
"What of yours? You must be very far from home out here."
The Overseer asked with a bit of confidence, having to assume their species held family binds due to how they asked the question in the first place.
The Svarthan nod at his story, before the foreman approaches the couch, and tries to climb up onto it, his guards remaing on the ground. The semi humerous affair takes a minute, as they pull and heave themselves up, before finally ending up on it sideways taking up its entire length, about a fourth of their body hanging off the side.
Something that would probably only ignite Vosks rage further would be the steam from his guests body slowly moistening the cushions of the couch. The cameras of the guards have no doubt spotted the sentries on the roof, but pay them no heed as they rest next to the couch.
"Oh yes, my mate is here with me. We all work for the same subsidiary, which is how I met them. My young also came with us, to continue their studies in a more practical way."
Though he barely even used the furniture, and could easily have it dried later, it did still annoy him a fair amount as he watched billowing steam condense across it's rather expensive fabric. At least their embarrassing little display raises his spirits a little beforehand. Either way, the Overseer simply took a bit of a deep breath and raised his head back in acknowledgement.
"Well, that's nice to hear. Hopefully once this is dealt with we can get back to our homes, so let's try and get it over and done with, hm?"
His had reached under his desk for a moment in order to flick a switch, and shortly after, a holoprojector in his desk is uncovered and begins projecting an image, grainy at first but it soon forms into planetary map of glimmer. What's noticeable are the blue and green splotches, on the opposite sides of the planet, clearly representing their operations.
"I'll make sure you know, but we were relayed details on your current operation, everything that was allowed to be disclosed anyway, so I'm not sure how accurate the data on this is. Either way though I'm sure you'll agree this isn't going to be a simple matter.
Ok though, I'll get this off the table first, makes thing easier going forward, also just curious. So if you don't mind me asking, uh, what was your end goal with the planet...and actually what do you call it, too? Our early colonists gave it the name 'glimmer', appropriately enough."
As the foremans camera eyes move to keep the foreman in sight, it seems the flow of steam from their back vents starts to lessen ever so slightly, while the flow from their belly increases. Perhaps the carb is getting a bit of clandestine revenge for said embarrassing display. Regardless, they say nothing about it and the flow change is just enough to be noticeable yet still easily deniable. They do respond to the statement however.
"Of course, I would like nothing more. I am sure that your security chief has told you of my dislike for... "beating around the bush", as I have heard it called."
The Svarthan takes a look at the hologram with most of their camera eyes for a while, then leaves only a few looking at it as they return their gaze to the foreman. It seems they are interested in the comparative size of the two operations, and just how much the humans know about their operation as well.
"Yes, I am aware of it, I gave the order and selected the information I was able to give myself. It is up to date enough for our negotiations, so there is no need to gather more information. And yes I am quite certain it will not be easy.
Our end goal you say. Well to put it simple, total excavation. There would have been many more steps along the way, and certainly many would have been added or removed as we continued our operations here, but in the long run the goal was always to have this world no longer exist. To mine it all so to say. As to a name well, it only really has a designation. Lots of numbers and the like, so I think we can just call it glimmer during our talks."
A clock ticked away on the back wall as if counting down his patience, was it always so loud? His nostrils flared a little in a deep breath, that turned into a loud 'hmph'. His eyes turned to glance at a screen on his desk and some papers to its side as he idly tapped a finger a few times. It wasn't clear if he was genuinly checking something, or just letting his emotions simmer.
"I feared that...You know, out in the southern frontiers, they're pretty big on mining. A few planets hold a bit of a festival where they hang up a large paper decoration some call a piƱata." He adjusts his tie for a second before clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. "They call it a terrastrom, and it's meant to represent the recent full excavation of a nearby planetary body in an operation we call core stripping. It's usually painted like the planet, pretty big, too.
People in a community take turns 'cracking' open its layers, and they get whatever goods lay inside of course, tends to be candy. However the person that cracks the core, the final layer, often gets a big prize payed for by local companies or family members, like a trip or something, and it tends to be pretty well remembered.
Like our situation here, no matter how well we split the resources, only one side's gonna be able to actually perform late-stage cracking."
A finger would flip a switch, and the hologram would shift. The sprawling green areas, representing the Brickston facilities seem to show their primary pit as the size of a small island nation, with regular sized quarries growing at the periphery in satellite areas as expansion nodes. They flicker from view. Sections of the planet raise from its surface like a cake, leaving the inner layers exposed. Numbers such as available surface area and statistical safety probabilities are listed at various points.
"Neither of us want to give this up, of course, and neither of us have to. I have a fairly decent initial solution to our conundrum, but i want to hear your thoughts on this first."
As the man whiles away a few seconds, the crab scoots about on the couch, puressing the rim of their shell back against the rear rest to try and get more of their body onto the sofa. Steam hisses softly as it continues to progressively moisten the sofa, while some of the guards eyes flit around the room as if they are bored.
"Quite an interesting festivity. We have similar games, only ours generally involve an actual facsimile of the planet, with the core of the model being the last unrefined chunk of the actual world. The challenge is who can extract the most material with a single use of mining explosive. The size and construction of the planet are intended to represent it quite accurately so a great deal of work can be done with a well placed blast.
There are no sweet treats inside of course, but we were never big on sugar as is. The winner is the one who can generate the biggest reduction of the planet after several elimination rounds, and they are also usually compensated. It is quite fun I must say, and I wonder if under differing circumstances we could have combined our two events.
But yes, much like in yours, generally only a few are able to actually attack the core directly, due to numerous reasons."
As the information is brought up, the crab compares it with their own data, adding and subtracting from it based on this new information along side updating the notes on the capabilities of their rivals. More data, and more additions occur as the projection changes, before the crab gives a reply.
"Very well. First, I will address the major point of contention, and the reason we are here in the first place. Currently, the peak optimal strategy for me would be to simply walk out of here right now. With the arrival of my new machinery, and more on the way, I can out compete you, barring any major changes from the data you have shown me. In the end I will be able to mine more and faster, and most likely get to the point where my operations hinder yours before the opposite is true."
They pause for a moment, perhaps to gauge their competitors reactions, but continue before any interjection can be made by the human.
"However, that will just invite conflict, and most likely drag our parent nations into this, which is something I think we both want to avoid. So I suggest that we cooperate extensively. Treat the operations as a single combined effort, and pool our resources, splitting the final cut according to the amount of effort each party inputted, which ideal would be 50 50. Basically for the duration of this operation, our two groups would operate as one with the only distinction being that we split the profit as I just mentioned."
Leaning forward a little, Vosk seems to raise a slight brow at the Svarthan's own description of their version of the game. It seemed a little less community based, but what did he know? Either way he seemed rather interested, but made an ever so slight scowl at what he saw as a boast. He hadn't much of an idea of what his competitor here was capable of and what resources they had available, even so far away from their home, but his logical side knew there was a possibility that it was far more than what Brickston could manage, still being quite small in the grand scheme of things.
It was true that their new income had attracted investment from across the territories however and their growth was phenomenal simply due to their profits from glimmer, but it was still a major risk. Being outpaced here could cripple the company's future. He'd have to speak to the board about it, but the idea that the foreman made seemingly surprised him.
"That...and you'll have to take my word for it, was the exact same idea I was ruminating. We gather our harvest to a central facility, like a space elevator, and have it sorted and exported from there. Of course the coll-"
A crash sounded through the room, the doors behind the Svarthan's were flung open and a voice, boosted in volume poured from that direction.
"Enforcement! Everybody stand down! Raise your arms and limbs in the air, I don't want to see any movement!"
A group of 6 individuals in full body suits holding bulky pistols flooded into the office. Vosk seemed to almost reach down for something under his desk, terror and anger drowning his facial features as he stood. from his seat.
"What the hell is the meaning of this!" He'd shout as one of the officers, his suit black and decorated with yellow rings approached him and pointed a pistol.
"Hands up! now!" The overseer gritted his teeth and did so, very hastily.
"Right yes! why though?!"
"Vosk Fernis, you are under arrest for the unauthorised contact, movement and communication with a non-officially registered high-order sentient species while withholding from government authority. Other charges include unregistered mining operations, utility tax evasion and diplomatic endangerment.
your actions are being recorded as potential court evidence and you are permitted vacancy for a defensive committee, if you are unable to procure a committee, one may be provided for you."
As he spoke, his hands were grabbed and his wrists pulled together and a single-bar pair of handcuffs were affixed around his wrists
It seems the Foreman is about to reply, when the doors are kicked in.
In an instant their guards react, not even turning their bodies as their weapons pop up on robotic arms, and pivot to target the newcomers with blinding speed. Just before there can be an international incident, their boss seemingly gives them some kind of signal, and their weapons turn to the celling, along with their other arms, and those of the foreman. The crabs wait until the armored figures have moved completely around them and begun to speak, before their weapons lower back down into their housings, and their arms return to their normal positions on their backs.
Waiting until the, presumably, security officer has said his piece, the foreman gives a mechanical cough, and speaks up.
"If you don't mind my good sirs or madams, could you perhaps explain who you are, and what is going on here? This is certainly an unexpected intrusion, and we were just in the middle of negotiations."
As they speak, a very short long range radio ping is emitted from their body, directed towards some of their new communication satellites, and back towards their own facility. Despite their question, they have a fairly good idea who these people are given what they said, and it may be time to call in some backup of their own, should this situation go poorly.
The leading officer, stares at them, a blank stare from his mask lasting a second before he looks back toward the doors and gestures without a word. A voice comes back from the same direction, thankfully much quieter than the officers.
"My deepest apologies for all of this! Uh, you can lower your appendages now."
Standing in the centre of the doorway is a fairly short, smartly dressed man with a red tie and a golden eagle lapel adorning his chest. He definitely bears a guilty expression, but seems to be smiling through it. He gestures to the team of officers to wrap things up and they begin marching out into the corridor, dragging vosk, who shouts the usual tirades about lawyers, phone calls and regret.
The man promptly returns his attentions to the Svarthans and raises his palms as he walks around to the front of the couch.
"Again, I apologise, my name is Trent Thronesworth, but just Trent will do fine. You must be Belzret, if I've pronounced that right."
He would, as is customary, extend a hand but continue to speak. He seemingly fails to notice Lucas in the corner, or is purposefully ignoring him, either way the security chief seems rather amused.
"To quickly clear your doubts, that whole situation was due to Vosk's wrongdoings, not your own, so we can understand why you might be confused."
Belzret clumsily gets down from the couch, an odd looking affair that terminates in them almost simply falling off the bit of now quite sodden furniture. They move past the more heavily steaming, and seemingly tense guards, and approaches Trent extending one of their manipulator arms to shake
"Yes you got the name quite right Trent. A pleasure to meet you as well. So, if I had to guess from what you said to Vosk, it seemed he tried to avoid your interaction in this affair yes? I assume you would take a portion of the profit, if he had followed proper procedure?"
One of Belzrets camera eyes flits over to the security chief in the corner, but it quickly returns to the front as he continues the conversation.
"While I will not tell you to release him, nor interfere in your judiciary process, I would like to know what will happen to this world. I was just about to close a deal, but now I doubt I will be able to do so if the person I was negotiating with has become a criminal."
"Nonono, don't worry about that."
Trent smiles, performing a very respectful shake as he continues.
"Vosk was paranoid, we'd only take the planet if they began to underperform during extraction, much more effective for the economy that way. The company still has full hold, he was just going against procedure when encountering your kind, and was also evading a hefty sum of taxes.
We used the opportunity to observe the characteristics of your kind a little, but then waited for a good moment to intervene, which happened to be this one."
Quietly, he turned to the desk and looked out the panorama window into the still active pit.
"Someone from Brickston's higher up will be along to replace him some point soon, so you can continue with your deal then. In fact, I'd believe it a good opportunity for a diplomatic shoeknot as it's called. Say we establish that orbital station, it could be a good temporary embassy, for example.
He'd gesture up into the dark sky , holding for a moment before returning at ease.
"Quite hopeful of course, but we've already seen such tenacity from your operations, it would be a shame not to use it for larger aspirations, wouldn't you agree?"
"Right, right. I guess this is what happens when you are afraid of any loss in profit. Well I suppose we will wait here for now. Do you perhaps know how long it will be until Vosk's replacement get here?"
Belzert seems to be happy the deal will continue, but still a bit on edge, most likely due to how swift and relatively forceful the arrest of Vosk was. At the mention of an embassy, another more forceful puff of steam fires out of their condensers.
"I like that idea a lot. It will certainly help further relations with another friendly power in the galaxy, and perhaps even lead to grander collaboration down the line. If I may, I would like to suggest Lucas over there to be the official ambassador to my people. I have grown to like him and the way he sees things quite a bit."
They motion at the security chief in the corner as they speak, hoping that they will not accidentally bring down the new arrivals wrath onto him as well by doing so.
"Oh?"
Raising a brow, Trent turns to face the chief and gives a frown of consideration before nodding a little. Lucas stands still ,but seemingly still doesn't speak, just giving a curious expression in response.
"Well, it should be a couple of hours before a new overseer gets here, and he'll have to go through the paperwork, but if you'll accept, Lucas, i'm sure we can get you into the right position via recommendation. You lack some qualification of course, but that shouldn't be a problem with the right procedure and training."
The chief seemingly stops in thought. His eyes drift toward the ground before he turns and takes a few steps toward the window, standing parallel yet distant to the diplomat. A moment later he shrugs.
"You know, it's not like too much else interesting happens on a far out dustball like this. Though I'd probably have to step down a rung here, I think it'd work out...ehh, yeah why not."
His head turns to the both of them to give a brief nod.
"Right, well once your boss gets here we can set you down the path for it, foreign recommendation can go a long way after all."
"Sounds great...sooo I guess we're just waiting then."
"Mmhmm. About an hour and a half, and that's just travel time"
Lucas scoffs slightly, and almost immediately turns for the door.
"In that case I'm off to the exec cafeteria, you're all welcome to join me unless you want to sit in here."
Listening to everything that was said, Belzert gives a nod, or rather a more directed up and down motion of their frontal carapace, and moves towards the door themselves, with their companions close behind.
"Oh don't worry about "stepping down" I am sure you will find it quite enjoyable and eventually gain more prestige than by being a mere security officer. In any case, yes I think going to eat will be lovely while we wait. I wonder what kinds of dishes are common among your people."
It seems that Belzert is all finished with the negotiations. Now all that is left to do is wait and continue the path they have set themselves on.
Certainly while the vast array of life in both this universe and others fits this criteria of mysterious existence, there are also the minor anomalies. Stars that exhibit strange, but not incredibly discerning behaviors. Rouge planets that some how support indigenous life due to their many, many moons, and deep freeze resistant oceans, brown dwarfs that flicker into ignition and fade out again despite supposedly reaching critical fusion mass, and much more relevant to current events in this tiny part of the galaxy, planets that seem to be made almost entirely of rare metal ores, and even the pure substances.
On such a world, two factions from across the gulf of stars have both set up a mining expedition. Both the Bulwark, and the Svarthan Trust are hard at work tearing into the metal planet, drawing up its resources and processing them for use in their respective factions. For now both are entirely unaware of the others presence, in part because of the delays that currently stall the arrival of a Svarthan mobile refinery and its accompanying craft which will certainly tip off the Bulwark that they are not alone.
But that is all about to change, as the massive object, along with at least a dozen supporting ships suddenly drops out from FTL as close to the planet as they dare. Unaware of the Bulwark they broadcast their arrival on an open channel, and while the message is in their native language, its very existence still further exposes the presence of the Trust in the system.
AGG-1123-Ī
This was the official name that the body was given by the ministry's planetography division. It was noticed it seemed to reflect abnormal amounts of light, but nothing else of interest was given thought and they simply moved on, letting it be filed away as another potential resource acquisition.
That was over a century ago, and since then, corporations within the Bulwark have gotten a lot more daring with how far they'll stray outside of borders in order to chase leads and investigate points of interest. On this occasion, it was a relatively small cartography and resource handling company, Brickston raw industries, that had gotten what they considered a very lucky break.
The first employees/colonists to arrive in the system very quickly came up with the name 'glimmer' owing to its enticing glint under its distant star. The reason behind this glint however, was the very same that caused that name to stick, its extremely high rare metal content. Once results were brought to the board, the opportunity was jumped on in a matter of hours. Equipment, modular bases, small vehicles, yet in all this excitement, they skipped over the hassle of scanning over the whole planet, such a thing would surely be a waste of time...
The colony had grown into an early stage mining base by now, the purity of the metal that Brickston pulled from the planet being enough to quadruple their stock value in recent weeks and allow for further funding towards the end goal of sucking the planet dry.
The main control tower for their current dig site had only been hoisted up recently, as well as plenty of scanning and communications equipment to make sure their claim was secure. In the top deck, within several of the communications booths, listeners ears were pierced with a sudden and accidentally amplified signifier that no, the claim was not actually secure.
-----
"So...yer tellin' me we're not the only ones here?" The overseer asked, his tone sinking as he realises his job's about to become a lot more complex than he bargained for.
The nod from the security chief only brought forth a groan
"But- but that's impossible, the whole planet should've been surveyed." He pushed a finger against his desk. "No stone left unturned, right?"
"Ahh, wellll" The chief tapped at the softplate covering his legs, hoping the message would come across.
Another groan, a little more annoyed this time.
"So great, th- that's great...just...send a shuttle into orbit or something, a satellite, anything and report it back!"
"Yes, of course sir, anything else."
"Get me the status of that arms licencing, we might actually end up needing it...dismissed."
With a wave of his hand, the security chief filed himself out, closing faux oak doors behind him and making his way to the security wing. A few hours later, a small number of shuttles, equipped with their stock cameras and industrial scanners began to fan out from the dig sites hangars, bringing themselves into low orbits in order to scan the surface quick and dirty, they likely wouldn't ever expect the refinery.
High above, floating in geostationary orbit above the planet the fleet of ships hang poised and ready to receive the shipments from below, meager as they may be without heavy machinery. Among their number are several heavy cargo freighters, each fitted with space to hold many thousands of tons of processed material, a few scouting craft to inspect the rest of the system for potential extraction, and perhaps most pertinent to the upcoming negotiations, 4 Xerdig WM Mk. 4 class defense platforms.
The Xerdig WM Mk. 4 is series of moderately outdated Svarthan medium defense platforms, and is actually incapable of independent FTL travel. Their WM designation means they specialize in wide area minefield creation and the Mk. 4's in particular are known for being among the first to carry Scalar field mines. Of course, they still have other armament, and even as their minelayer drones are launched and they array themselves around their charge, their complement of repeating gauss guns swivel into position towards the outer parts of the system to prepare for any pirate raids on the refinery.
However all of this most likely goes entirely unheeded by the shuttles down below, as they tear across the sky far above the planets surface looking for the Svarthan outpost. And indeed as they arrive close to the other side of the planet from the Bulwarks own operation, they can start to see the traces of the Svarthan presence. Quickly made concrete and steel buildings are arrayed around a mining operation that seems to be roughly equal to that of the Bulwark, and there are no large weapons or defenses as far as the shuttles can see.
But the situation is about to change, as something suddenly plummets down from above the shuttles. The object is wreathed in smoke as it plows through the atmosphere, crashing down a ways away from the strange site, blasting a crater into the land with its barely slowed impact.
Its either an attack, or the operation just got massively upgraded...
Not exactly the event they were planning for, thankfully the signature of the object was obvious enough that the 2 shuttles in its path managed to manoeuvre away, though not without one hell of a panic. The pair of small bulky ships quickly raised altitude above the crater, pilots staring from behind reinforced polyglass and co-pilots making sure the camera's and scanning equipment were well locked to it.
Instead of running home, they stayed to circle, waiting for the dust to clear, it would be good to confirm whether this was actually an attack or a dropped asset, such is common in Bulwark operations. It was also true the shuttles were unaware of the danger of the installations several orbital layers above them, their reports more focused on trying to identify the structures below.
As the metal powder stops drifting down from the sky, they do indeed see that this is an orbital dropped asset, and one of significant scale, as the huge excavator seems to be ready to move quite fast, and slowly works towards the edge of the crater it made, and starts to eat away at it. As those gigantic rotary blades slice away at the metallic crust in a slow but steady rhythm more objects begin to descend from the skies above.
As the objects fall they seem to be aimed both close and a ways away from the main established site, and they arrive with varying degrees of slow down. Some slam into the surface like the first one, while others break hard, and land far more gently. As the shuttles watch the medium sized operation rapidly gorws before their very eyes as both more digging machines and gear are dropped down, but also buildings of numerous types.
Depending how good the cameras on the shuttles are it may even be possible to see little beings scurrying around, connecting fuel lines, power cables, pneumatic transport tubes, and all manner of things, as if they have been expecting this for quite some time. More vehicles are deployed, and containers appear to be getting loaded for lift off from the surface.
Perhaps it may be pertinent to see where all of this stuff is coming from.
It was suddenly very apparent that things were escalating images and video were bounced off of a geostationary SpARC beacon's communication array back to the operations centre of the Brickston mining operation. The overseer paced back and forth, staring at the screens as clouds of particulate settled into views of foreign equipment much larger and more expensive than their own.
"What is this shit, they don't even ASSEMBLE it, it just comes in, unfolds and starts diggin' away at MY metals. Bastards! This isn't the government is it?"
His line manager spoke up from a terminal behind him.
"No boss, no word from the authorities, and well, equipment lads say they've never seen a bucket-wheel quite like that."
"Fuckin' hell, we have claims, don't that mean anythin' anymore?...get legal on the line, NOW!"
"Uh, sir....It sounds daft but...might be worth considering that perhaps this setup ain't from our own borders?"
There was a sigh, he turned toward a nearby window looking out over his operation. It was still in its infancy but they were already on a roll, wouldn't want to add any complications to the mix that'd end up souring the whole thing, they planned to eventually strip the planet to its core and that would take some damn good luck after all.
"...How certain are ya."
"Well, their iconography matches nothin' in our records, equipment doesn't seem to be registrated in any certified way, and the shuttle crews are telling us that what they're seein' down there ain't exactly human"
The overseer winced, clenching a fist as another grabbed the intercom from his jacket, switching the channel to his security chief's office.
"This is Randolph, come in...yeah call off the shuttles, send a bulker over, across the site into high orbit, preferably somethin' with a lot of comms equipment. Yes, I know, but the shuttles ain't gonna cut it and we should 'least have a word with these...what ever they are's 'fore they start eating into our profits or causing a ruckus.
...Good, keep me posted."
---
From the relatively small temporary geostationary loading platform in orbit, a SpARC aperture ripped itself open, a flittering orange ring making way for a ship, one of many which had already pulled in and out of the planet's orbit. Painted red and white in the company's colours, and being rather meagre in size for a cargo vessel at only 200 metres, what it was mostly for was its well endowed Comms suite.
An almost unusual amount of antennae, dishes and laser gimbals sprouted from it in places to form clusters of equipment that would work in tandem for busier or longer range, even high security transport. It was crewed by a variety of employees, including the security chief, who shuttled up to board and put it upon himself to communicate with these unknowns.
Plasma stretched into high orbit as the vessel made its way towards the presumed source of the landings judging from footage trajectory, keeping its eyes and ears well open.
The strange competition has seemingly also noticed that THEY are not alone on this world either, as during the shuttles return, they could just barely spot something lift off from one of the recently dropped structures. It appears to be some form of temporary hangar, judging by its soft impact at the end of a long smooth line made into the metal.
Their launch is witnessed by the Svarthan foreman, who turns to his comms officer with a friendly look, as they move up behind them on their rear legs.o noticed that THEY are not alone on this world either, as during the shuttles return, they could just barely spot something lift off from one of the recently dropped structures. It appears to be some form of temporary hangar, judging by its soft impact at the end of a long smooth line made into the metal.
The objects do not use the "runway" however as it appears they are VTOL capable. They start to fly towards the site of the Brickston operation, rapidly picking up speed, and altitude. They breach trans sonic and even achieve hypersonic speeds with ease as they tear through the upper layers of the atmosphere, under the height of the shuttles.
Their launch is witnessed by the Svarthan foreman, who turns to his comms officer with a friendly look, as they move up behind them on their rear legs.
"So it appears that we are not alone here. Do you have any ideas how we could have missed a parallel operation?
The comms officer turns away from their station and gives a curt nod to the foreman, acknowladging them before they give a reply in a casual relaxed tone.
"Well Belzret, it is entirely possible that their operation is just as small as ours was. In fact I would wager 5 Hrekim that it is the case"
The Svarthan equivalent of a knowing chuckle escapes Belzret's mechanically replaced throat, as they peer over their subordinates shoulder at the status of the new additions. The reports seem to indicate no complications either on the surface or in orbit, and they are ready to rapidly ramp up production
"I will take that action. My theory is that they just got here, and that was their first scouting mission. But lets see what our new scout drones have to say."
"Indeed boss. Man am I glad we shilled out for those SEE equipped models. This will be done in a jiffy."
"Indeed it will. Call me when the reports arrive. I will be out and about to inspect our new gear."
---
As the larger communications craft flies through high orbit and towards the sight of the new arrivals, it is clear they they could have flow with their eyes half asleep, and still not missed the source of all the new gear on the ground.
Looming ahead of them, in as high of an orbit as is possible, hangs the refinery, and its guard platforms. The structure is utterly massive, and looks almost like a small space port brought into position above the world. It is round and ring shaped, with huge loading struts on its exterior edge for the big freight haulers, and hangars surrounding its hollow center for smaller craft. Currently all the struts are full with big, seemingly orion propelled freighters, and as the shuttle draws near, it seems one of them drops its final bit of cargo, which promptly fires up engines and starts to descend towards the dig site.
The structure itself seems to have a bunch of spires and hemispheres along its upper and lower surfaces, although their purpose is unknown, while a fourth of its edge is extended into a rectangular shape, and houses the huge exhaust vents for its engines.
What ever this stuff is, it indicates that the Brickston operation is now immensely outclassed in terms of resource gathering capability.
SLAM
"This is ridiculous, look at that thing!"
The cry of the overseer is met by some concerned gazes, but some in the operations room join with his annoyance, scoffing or groaning at the images they were receiving from the freighter. The ship itself kept moving forward slowly, it seemed to have some form of point defence emplacements near its bridge but aside from this what would otherwise be turret rings were left hollow and sealed.
"I agree sir." The security chief responded, leaning onto a railing at the peak of the small ship's bridge, right next to the captain.* "But legally there's nothing we can do...I still advise we contact the government, it w-"
"And let 'em TAKE this from us? We'd all be fired on the spot! No, we tell 'em that this is our claim, and they either buzz off or- or- or-" The chief's expression drooped at his bosses stuttering and he had to interject.
"Please, boss, hear me out. If we don't contact authorities, and this goes south, who's going to help us from being gunned down and taken prisoner? We don't know what these individuals want or even how they think. This is our last chance to call in the experts, nobody aboard this ship is a diplomat..."
"And? We're practically within home territory, we can send out a distress call. Just- Just tell 'em they're trespassing or something, hand 'em a fine. and do NOT call the damn bureaucrats, hear me?"
"Yes, sure sir."
Communications cut shortly after, the ship continued its slow approach, but now it began to blast an open short-wave radio transmission on a wide number of channels, hoping to catch at their communications equipment and get a reply of any sort.
THIS IS THE BRI FESTERING ARM OF BRICKSTON RAW INDUSTRIES . WE ARE ATTEMPTING TO OPEN COMMUNICATIONS.
URGENT, PLEASE RESPOND IMMEDIATELY
Down below, Belzret receives the news of the new communications, and heads back to their comms officer, peering over their shoulder once more
"So, is the bet settled Narras? Do I owe you some Hrekim?"
Narras wiggles their shell in a symbol of negativity
"Not yet boss. It seems that our competition wants to open communications with us." They hesitate, mechanical limbs still operating the controls of their station even as their focus shifts away, and glance back up at the foreman "Should we let them?"
The foreman thinks for a moment before they respond, their many mechanical limbs twitching as they do
"Yeah, lets see what they have to say. Perhaps we can resolve this little issue."
After a brief nod, Narras turns back to their set, and flips a switch, connecting their boss to the speakers wirelessly. Honiong in on the singal, they pick a channel and reply to the ship on that one, hoping that they are listening
Meanwhile, up above, the Bulwark ship suddenly receives a transmission from the surface, routed through the huge stations comms. It seems that they are receiving a response rather promptly.
//TRANSMISSION BEGIN - SVARTHAN MOBILE REFINERY MR-4-1111 - REROUTING FROM SURFACE STATION TP-0001//
Greetings BRI Festering Arm. Your message has been received, and passed onto the foreman. We are now opening communications with your vessel. Please stand by to receive higher bandwidth transmission.
//TRANSMISSION END//
After they receive this, the channel is zeroed down and picked out as to not wear out their transmission equipment. The message is typed out rather anticlimactically on one of the large screens hanging above the bridge. The chief stands up straight muttering as he reads it out to himself.
"...are they putting us on hold?
Bastards..."
While they waited, the ship would come into a stable orbit, still keeping a good distance away as ordered by its captain, everything else remained quiet as they waited for a proper contact.
It seems that the channel being zeroed in on, and picked out was exactly what the "Svarthan" were waiting for, as a few moments after it is done, there is suddenly a new message, this time on the same channel but at a much higher bandwidth. There is also a voice, robotic and artifical sounding, as if being produced by a text to speech or auto translator.
It speaks to them in galactic common.
"Greetings Festering Arm. I am Foreman Belzret, head of this mining operation for Broadclaw Incorporated, a subsidiary of the Svarthan trust. You requested urgent communication with us, so please, do tell me what this is all about."
After than, the voice goes silent, seemingly awaiting their reply. At least they now know a bit more about who they face, and perhaps a search on the Ancnet, if they are able, will turn up even more details.
Unfortunately the ancnet is far from the capabilities of even a corp like theirs at this stage, and as such all they can guess is that another company is stealing their profits.
"Hello, You are speaking to Lucas Toride, Security chief for our mining operation under Brickston Raw industries, established under the Red Bulwark.
We have arrived to...inform you that this planet has already been rightfully claimed by our corporation under..."
He takes a moment to read the notes on his PDA, everything he was told by legal to write down was there (obviously excluding a few important details) so hopefully the jargon would turn some ears.
"Requisition form bundle type B, hash 192832-Cgg-A, official bulwark documentation which a copy of is kept on-site. Following to Red bulwark territorial and corporate claims amendment law in Section 5, sub-section 2, active law 4, such claims within 100 lightyears of the imperial border are to be considered absolute property of the claimee and international claims are to be disregarded due to border proximity.
If an opposing claim is attempted by an outside entity, and is considered external to the imperial borders, the claimee reserves the right to enforce private property trespass actions 1 through 5 as is appropriate at their discretion."
He made a small sigh.
"I hope you understand the issue here."
There is a moment of pause as the message goes through, and then the voice responds, still mechanical and robotic, but clearly not in a bad mood. It speaks with what can even be considered an upbeat and friendly tone for what sounds like a text to speach.
"Oh yes, I can certainly see the issue you have with our presence Lucas. As it stands, you being here is a bit of an issue for us too, because..."
The voice has addressed security chief by their first name, not any title or honorific interestingly enough, despite never even having seen the man before. There is a brief pause, much like the one Toride gave, before the voice replies. Somehow it almost sounds smug.
"We have claimed the planet rightfully under STF 0002-45-A77, Request code Z3985319900, ETML-5. Our documentation is likewise on site, both on the ground and in the refinery before you. In accordance with Trust ETML Section 2, sub-section 4, and active law 1, any and all laws that place claims on territory outside the galactically accepted borders of a given state are to be disregarded should they not be directly marked as such by development sufficient to cement them, in accordance to ETML Section 7, sub-section 2, active law 3, outlining conditions for adequate claims holding, due to being deemed as anti competition and promoting of monopolies.
In the event of such "over claiming", the Trust grants the right to both negotiate over the true ownership of the system, and to enforce preventative measures against attempted hostile take over of the subsidiaries assets, to the subsidiary in question, in accordance with ETML Section 9, sub-sections 2 and 3, active laws 10 through 22."
It appears that the legal jargon is not in fact intimidating to the Svarthan foreman, as they respond well in kind. However it is to be noted that negotiation is apparently on the table, or at least the laws states it to be such.
"I hope you see our issue, yes?"
The chief grunts, practically disregarding how he was addressed as his focus is on the following reply. He fully expected a similar response to be thrown back at him but it still definitely annoyed him. Of course though, it wasn't his job to understand all this nonsense, which is why an assigned legal representative in the operations room back on-site was listening in, communicating back and forth with his small team.
They were at a real disadvantage, their claim was technically outside of their nation's borders, and even the proximity laws weren't much help without the backing of their government, pile that on top of their smaller operation and a general lack of knowledge and things became complicated.
There was a couple of minutes of dead air, quiet whispers between co-workers in blue-collars and a mounting tension before a response was formulated.
"Ahem. Right, yes...
However, according to expeditionary records, there is no known galactic national borders here either, Section 5, sub-section 2, law 1, clause 5 states that corporate holdings located within effective proximity, or 100 light years, of official imperial borders, and not within national territory are still to be passed as imperial sub-property by international entities. And encroachment of law 1 and its repercussions, being the detail of corporate trespassing, can be enforced upon any entity by national or corporate enforcement bodies..."
The legal team was looking at each other and sharing shrugs at this point, they couldn't exclude one important detail.
"...With the exclusive permission of the Imperial disputes conglomerate.
...Fortunately, due to...restrictions on that end, it seems we have no choice but to negotiate, an exercisable right encouraged under the Fernholst 2203 corporate warfare prevention act."
The ship remained a good distance away still, the only activity from it being slight stabilisations.
"Section 6, paragraph a5, cl-
OK, i'm tired of that, let me just sell it to you how I understand it."
Much to the dismay of the legal team, they were quite abruptly cut off from his personal communications.
"All in all, we're both sitting on a gold pile, and we both want it. I don't know who you are, but if I were to have my way, and no offense, i'd have the government kick you out of here, and the company would take a finders fee. But the overseer prefers making money in the long-term, so.
We could easily say half-and-half, and forgive me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem the types who'll just take a handshake and live to your word. So we can take your offer for a proper negotiation, but our facility is lower security it seems, so you'll do it on our terms.
Does that sound fair or should I start reading you the drivel legal keeps sending me?"
The bridge fell silent, a lot of them knew this was probably a make or break moment for the chief's career from here on out. Better him than them though.
The Svarthan is quiet for quite some time as they consider the offer, before they respond. Their tone is no longer smug, but now has a colder edge far more serious edge to it. Whoever is on the other end is now taking this far more seriously it seems.
"So it seems you are entirely unware of who we are then. Understandable, and I doubt you will believe me, but let me tell you right now that we WILL honor any agreement that is made, so long as you honor your end of the barging. However, I am certain that as security chief you will see that attempting to break your deal will only put you in a situation where you will lose. You cannot match what we have here at current, and more is yet to come."
Whether that last part refers to security forces present, or simply the scale of their respective operations is not exactly clear from the creatures voice, but either case is true. As they carry on they lighten their tone some, seemingly done with the more serious bits.
"Regardless, yes, I am willing to negotiate with you Lucas, either on behalf of your superiors, or directly with them. However I do want to hear your terms before I commit myself. I hope they are reasonable, for I do desire a peaceful, mutually beneficial resolution."
They pause once more, but just before Lucas has a chance to reply, the add a final statement, their tone near joking as they do
"And, what do you say we refrain from any more legal speak, hmm? As I can surely tell, you find it quite droll, and so do I. I am confident we can speak reasonably and concisely without it."
He almost snorts a little at the last part, easing himself up now they're on more understandable grounds.
"It was a precaution, but I was trying to tell my boss from the start that it would end up like this anyway...
Also want to make sure that while I wanna be buddies here, for the sake of both our sanity's, the imperial government takes an unprovoked attack on this colony like it would any other, so just keep that in mind.
Anyway, let's get on with it, I can certainly arrange a meeting between you, myself and the overseer. But as I said, we want it on our terms and in person, we've got no reason to perform something we'd regret, so call it, idk, a security assurance. As such, We'd like it hosted at our digsite, no more than 2 armed guards, and appropriate security screening beforehand, alright?"
At first, the overseer did not take his security chief's subversion well at all, and almost ordered him to be Employment Terminated at once, but seeing their competitors rationality eventually had him reconsider. Having part of the planet would be far better than having none of it, which would be their fate if they tried either other option. He was still however, quite miffed at his subordinate's disobedience , and such a thing would not go unchecked.
Lucas was blissfully unaware of his manager's frustrations however, simply listening in for a response.
The Svarthan reacts to his warming tone in kind, as their text to speech like voice shifts to be a bit more pleasant when they respond.
"Well, at the least it is behind us now. My legal team can get off of my shell now, as yours can too. And I imagine that violence is the last thing either of us want, so yes, let us keep our weapons to ourselves."
"As to your terms, I find them agreeable for the most part, but I do want to add a few... shall we call them, stipulations. Nothing major I should think, but still adding onto yours. First, I request that you and your chief likewise only have two armed guards present at the discussion. I do not want to stand before a firing line while I speak after all. Second, I desire to know what exactly will be searched for in the screening, and what would trigger any alarms. No point in accidentally brining something we may find mundane, but is profoundly disturbing to you. Can you agree to these conditions?"
Down on the planet below, in a lull in the communications, the Svarthan foreman turns to his comms officer and speaks to them directly via their cybernetics through near field magnetic induction comms, entirely inaudible and undetectable to a ship so far above.
"This corporation seems to use the threat of their parent nation as a frequent way to add weight to their diplomacy. Once they pay less attention to our communications, I want you to inform the Trust of this."
A curt nod is all the receive as a response from their comms officer as they await a reply form the communication ship captain.
There response is met with another pause as the chief thinks it over. He seems ambivalent at first, but only the captain sees the expression on his face light up into that of remembrance. He cracks a smile for a moment before following up...he seemed to be one of the few people who didn't notice their usage of the word 'shell' however. The crew had their concerns now, but they believed their superior didn't mind.
"Fine, you can bring your bodyguards, just keep their weaponry in moderation. As for the screening, I wouldn't worry about it, just some minor stuff, regulation and whatnot. As long as you're not carrying any explosives or hidden weapons you'll be fine."
As he continued, he began typing a message to the captain next to him to begin preparing for a universal docking procedure.
"Now, the order's going to be like this, you'll come to this ship on your own shuttle. We'll dock you just fine, don't worry, and then you can come aboard and stay in the VIP room while we return to our operation. From there we'll take you to a meeting room to be introduced to the foreman and have a proper discussion.
The foreman takes this moment of pause to take a closer look at the report from the scouting drones, as they await a reply. They also transmit Narras the promised payout for their wager, for it is quite clear the operation was indeed about the size of theirs before further assets arrived. After that is settled they just settle down onto the low flat cushioned metal platform that acts as a Svarthan "chair". Finally a response comes and they give their reply.
"Very well, this is agreeable. Give me a moment to prepare my chosen guards, and my shuttle and I will be right with you. It should not be long. And one final thing before I depart. I would avoid sending any ships closer to our orbital assets than you are now. The space is littered with casaba, scalar, and other types of mines, and I would hate to start a fight because you wanted a closer look at our work. "
After they say their peace they get up from their "chair, and head out the door of the communications building. Two guards await by the door and escort them down the path to the barracks, purely to ensure proper sentience is upheld. Once inside, the foreman selects two guards well suited for close quarters crowd clearing operations, and heads towards the hangar. A SEE and nuclear rocket equipped SSTO craft loiters there, and the entourage boards it, engines rapidly roaring to life as the craft taxis down the runway, and rises into the sky, rapidly gaining speed as it plots a course up to the waiting shuttle.
The crew aboard could see the pointy thin craft tear its way into the sky and beyond, swapping from its air breathing engines to a glowing atomic thruster as it draws near and slows, preparing to dock with the ship.
Docking, despite their differences in systems, goes pretty painless, a flexible and adaptable mechanical vacuum seal links the ships hatches on the forward side of the cargo bulker. Once things are connected, a small metal walkway is extended within the sealed tube and airlock hatches are swung open. Once they make their way out their craft and onto the walkway, gravity would shift in the appropriate direction, yet there was mere silence as they approached the open airlock.
Once inside, it closed them in, and only seemed to slightly differentiate pressure before swinging open to the interior of the corporate freighter.
The chief seemed to have a mouthpiece gasmask and a neat beret, as well as a rather plain corporate security suit and jacket, with clear signs of an undersuit beneath.
His face however, almost went through readable phases of mostly negative emotion as he watched the non-human forms skitter its way through the hatch. Beside him, his two guards dressed in light armour, almost swung their guns forwards, but instead reserved to just stepping back a little instead and cursing under their breaths.
"So- y- I-"
He'd stutter, struggling to emphasize how worse this made the situation. There was evidence that they weren't human of course, but he didn't want to believe it, they operated in a way to familiar so him that he held out high confidence that the odd things their observation saw were drones or something. He too k a moment to recollect himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose.
"So you're not human...shit...we don't have...any procedures for this."
Non-human is certainly an adequate term for what comes out of the airlock, as the first thing that appears is a cloud of steam. It wafts out from the chamber and towards the trio of people awaiting the Svarthan delegation, followed closely by the aliens
The Svarthan are not even humanoid it seems, as they appear to be more like some giant, mechanical crustaceans, if the metal shells that cover the top of their bodies are any indication. Each is around 7 feet long, and 4 feet in height from the floor to the highest point of their bodies, although at the moment several attachments jut out from each one of their metal carapaces, which add a few inches. The one in the lead is most likely the foreman, as their body has numerous extra limbs, and manipulator tentacles that are seemingly made of ferrofluid set into it. The limbs look like extra heavy duty kinds, with big magnetic actuators and what look like hydraulic cylinders on them and mount all manner of tools, while the front of their body is adorned with many camera arrays, with all manner of industrial capabilities such as magnification, proper viewing of a weld arc, and more.
The two that stand behind and to their leader's side are most likely the guards, and they currently have their weapons exposed, although it seems obvious that they can retract into their own shells if needed. The one on the right seems to bear two medium barreled coil guns, and judging by the beefy loading assembly yet small caliber they are supposed to be SMG's of some kind. Set in-between these two guns are what looks like two spools of fine wire, currently simply rolled up, but their purpose is unclear. The one on the left has a larger caliber, longer, double barreled weapon mounted to the right half of his carapace, while two hollow, needle-like tubes attached to some kind of tube and ferrofluid pump system sit on the left half of their shell. Both have more military oriented optics, with multi spectrum and wide angle cameras present.
The steam that was present in the airlock seems to come from the creatures themselves, flowing from vents on their back, and gushing out from under the edge of their bodies. 6 drones float in the air, covered in more optics and other types of sensor gear, but no visible weapons. They are shaped like thick disks, with little attachment cables and leads trailing from their undersides. It seems that 3 of each belong to the guards, if the drone shaped slots on their armor are any indication.
The foreman walks right up to the guard chief, making metallic clanking noises on the deck they stand on. The reason is promptly revealed as they rise up on their back half, and expose their underside, with its 10 mechanical legs, 5 of which are currently on the ground, while the others are tucked up against the underside of the shell, and its six additional limbs, two of which are augmented with powerful looking cybernetics and feature large flat claws, presumably for digging or crushing hard shells, while the remaining four are clearly intended for precision work, as evidenced by their smaller, more precise augmented claws.
āGreetings Lucas Toride, I am Belzret Sassamaox, foreman of this Svarthan mining operation.ā
At the chief's mention of procedures, Belzret tilts their āheadā to the left, although it is more like twisting the front of their carapace. It seems they are confused by this statement
āBut, why would that matter? You spoke with me quite clearly before, yet seeing my body somehow changes all that? I am still the same being who arranged these negotiations, even if I am not of your species.ā
Rubbing his temple already, and suddenly seeming quite unprofessional, the chief had to take a few moments to orient himself to their presence as well as its repercussions. He took a large amount of things into consideration, but, soon enough managed to stand himself up straight, shake it off and do an almost apologetic nod.
"This is technically a 'first contact' situation, never seen something like yourselves before." He'd comment, feeling a bit unapologetically disturbed by how...busy their forms seemed, so many moving parts and segments, it was a little off-putting for him.
"Though I'm sure you've seen humans. Usually the government has a bunch of precautions for this sort of thing to prevent the spread of new diseases or other bio contaminants, but to also initiate a diplomatic whatsamaculit...
Thing is this ain't exactly an 'official' first contact. Truth is we can probably pull this off without getting in too much trouble, but the ministries won't like it when they find out."
Soon as he was finished speaking, he reached into his jacket and reached out his chunky PDA, making some very important notes.
Belzret takes a few steps back as they lower down to all 10 of their legs once more, which seems to be more comfortable for the creature. Their camera eyes flick up to look at the chiefs face, while their guards mill about a bit, their weapons folding back down into their shells, now that they have hopefully not set up some incident upon screening.
"I am certain there is a way to avoid such an issue. After all, we are not a species unknown to the galactic community. A quick search on the Ancnet should tell your ministries everything they would most likely gleam from any official "first meeting". As to the spread of plagues and diseases, well you would be hard pressed to find any non engineered plague that can survive our 100 degrees Celsius or more innards, and the copious amount of drugs and cybernetics we use so there is no issue there.
I regrettably do not have any way to circumvent the diplomatic "whastamaculit" issue, but I do not think it should be that great hinderance to our talks no?"
Belzerts voice takes on a more cheery tone, as they continue to speak, the amount of steam they are emitting intensifying for a brief moment.
"So, lets not delay our negotiations any longer. Time is money after all!"
"Ah...right, the uhh Ancne-?" There was a small moment of confusion as the term was rummage-searched through his memories, evident as he peered up for a moment before seemingly remembering, his face lighting up slightly, depsite most the expression being hidden under his mask.
"Ohh! that Ancnet thing, galactic internet right? Yeahhh we don't have that here, heard the infrastructure's on its way, but it'll definitely still be a while."
Despite the shape and appearance of the Svarthan's being so undoubtedly alien, especially due to a first contact like this, the chief seemed to already be at peace with it, though it was clearly still a little hard for him to look at them for too long, perhaps there was something else he knew of that was similar to them.
"But right, right you are, the ship's already returning to the digsite, I'll take you to your quarters, this way."
The chief wafted a hand toward an access corridor to their left, the interior walls painted an off shade of white but interrupted by structural supports, vents, panels and lights along its length, not to mention countless pipes and cables snaking across and into most surfaces.
He seemed intent on leading the way, his guards waiting for the group to pass before following up behind.
"Yes. Although as I said, your ministries could easily discern far more about us in that manner, and it would certainly be enough to serve as a substitute for any first contact meeting they could want. Perhaps you even have relations with some of the factions we associate with, and import goods from."
The three trilobites seem to not be fazed by this, as they all rapidly follow behind the captain, the drones hovering about them, and presumably letting the guards at least see their escorts without turning around.
The simple interior of the ships is interesting to the Svarthan, as once more their many ocular organs plie over every surface, looking not only at its construction, but also to see how if in any way the crew decorates their ship. Their own ships usually sport a myriad of art work and decorations placed there by the crews, with near no exception apart from where they would be a hazard or obstruction to any job that is performed.
The Svarthan utilize their internal NFMI comms to continue to discretely talk to each other, however even if there were any eaves droppers, all they would hear is chatter about how little decoration there is, and wondering what their accommodations will be like. Menial stuff really, the kind usually spoken by visitors to new places. Belzert does however speak audibly to the chief as they walk.
"So, how long of a flight are we to expect? I want to know how comfortable we should make ourselves before the meeting without causing delays."
The reply he gave to their first comment began with a simple shrug.
"Well, if the government's got access to the Ancnet, that's none of my business. Diplomacy ain't either, and my boss shares that sentiment to a high degree, not our problem. This planet is our problem, so we'd prefer to focus on that."
Apart from the occasional wall covered in laminated posters or pipes that have been painted oddly either deliberately or not, the walls of these corridors are quite sparse. In fact, the most interesting thing about the corridors overall is the heavily organised pipework and mechanisms. They soon reach a large cage elevator and are brought inside, where one of the guards press on a physical button, causing the cage to jolt and begin ascending.
In the meantime, the chief listens to their guest's question, cocking a brow down at the foreman.
"Well, shouldn't be more than an hour. Bit of a wait I know, but this is a freighter, after all."
The 3 mechanical creatures keep up the pace with the chief easily enough as more wisps of steam curl up from their shells. Belzert emits a larger gout, perhaps in approval at the Chiefs statement as they respond.
"I quite agree. Political interactions and more formal diplomacy is best left to the larger Trust as well. Let us remain focused on our own interactions."
The ergonomically designed and well laid out pipes and mechanisms seem to appeal the the Svarthan, as they periodically emit a slightly larger burst of steam, which floats in the hallway like a fogbank. They do wonder at the lack of worker made decoration, and in turn at how the workers of this company are treated, but they do not comment on it. After all the lack of decoration could easily be explained away by issues such as it being damaged by ship operations, and as such it is just present where that would not happen.
"I quite understand. An hour will be quite sufficient to get in a bit of a rest as is."
"Very well."
Were the only word said for a while as they were brought up to the freighter's forecastle area. Down a few more corridors and up some stairs and they emerged into a nicer looking part of he ship, red walls highlighted with black stripes against flat, bevelled walls. After passing a number of doors they were led into a larger corridor toward a double set of sliding doors. The chief opened them for his guests and stood aside, actually showing some respect as he gestured them inside.
The room itself was unquestionably human and decently large, with 2 bedrooms and a curved window out into space to the fore of the ship. It had fairly decent accommodations overall but wasn't quite 'luxurious'. Either way the security chief turned to face them as they entered.
"Do you have any questions? Because I'll just be in the room down the hall, and I'll come tell you when we're about to arrive."
As the group repsesses on in silence, the foreman casts glances around at the decorations lining this part of the ship. While this is more familiar to him than the austerity of before, it is still unusual, as it does not seem to be made by the ships crew, but rather simply pre painted. the foreman decides to ask for a tour of the ship on the way back, to inspect the working conditions of the crew. It is important to know who they are dealing with after all.
Upon entering the room, the two guards rapidly move around to inspect the furnishings and accommodations, taking stock of what they can find. They move through both bedrooms, their drones peering into spaces their odd bodies cannot enter, before they finally settle down in the center of the room, and seemingly wait for the foreman. Little vials full of blue and grey liquid with what look like attachments for injectors are produced form an integrated compartment on one of the guards, and slotted into special ports along the edges of their armor. The other takes out what appears to be respirator with canisters of some kind from a similar compartment.
The foreman thinks for a moment before responding to the chief.
"I would ask if you care to join us in relaxing a bit during the flight, but I assume you are busy yes?"
He watches the two guards, but doesn't seemingly question their behaviour too much and assumes it's some sort of alien security precaution, still not his job in his eyes after all. His attention is soon caught by the foreman though, and he takes a moment to respond.
"Mm, no, not at all actually. My job right now is to make sure you get to the digsite, so that I will do. If I'm needed, I'm sure the crew will let me know."
Managing a few steps in behind Belzret, he looks around the room before moving one of the seats near to the bed and sitting politely.
"In all honestly I would've just been sitting on my arse in my room anyway, so better to do it with company I suppose."
After speaking, he reaches into his jacket and retrieves his PDA, looking over it for a second and then typing at it.
Belzret follows him into the room, stopping to close the door if it is not automatic, before taking some of the cushions from the furniture and arranging them on the floor the way his guards have by now, before climbing atop the resulting mound, since climbing onto a chair would be neigh impossible. he turns slowly about on his pile of pillows to face the chief, as the cylinders inject their contents into the first guard with a low hiss, and the second starts to breath softly through the respirator.
"I quite agree. With my guards taking a small break, it would have been rather boring for me as well as there would have been no one to converse with."
Belzret looks at the Chief typing on his PDA for a moment before speaking again
"May I inquire what you are doing on your device there? I assuming informing your superiors about our situation, yes?"
"That's right, Also need the captain to know I won't be in my room."
He finished up rather quickly, eyeing over the notification before relaying and huffing a little.
"Wanted to get an implant that does this sort of thing in my head, but I don't even have a license yet..."
He looks back at the two guards and then back at Belzret before furrowing his brow a little. Thinking about it he did find the vials a little odd.
"Hm, actually let me just ask this so I don't make the mistake later, are you...some sorta cyber...netic race?"
With a bit of a wince, his tone raised slightly as he conveyed the guess. So far he'd been somewhat comfortable comparing themwith R-SAM's, though he likely wouldn't admit it, considering how bad it sounded in his head.
A slight puff of steam flits from the foreman's shell as they bob the front plate of their carapace slightly up and down in what probably is supposed to be a nod, given their lack of a head, neck, or really any human body features at all. As if by way of demonstration their arms move about, grasping at the air with big, beefy clamps, warping their ferrofluid tentacles into strange shapes, or whirring and sparking the tools built into the ends of some of their arms.
"You are quite correct. All Svarthan are heavily cybernetically modified from a young age. While at first the mods only account for a simple light exoshell, with basic manipulators or mechadendrites depending on preference, upgrades to innards such as the respiratory system, and proper chemical administration, monitoring, and cleansing units of course, later in life and based on career the modifications can grow quite vast. The perfect example of this would be the MHEA juggernauts, who are far more machine than flesh, and even what little flesh they have is coursing with all manner of chemicals."
The foreman says all of this as if its quite natural, and simply the way things are. Which for them is most certainly the case.
"I see, that'll make screening more complex...luckily I think we actually have a way around that. Don't worry it's nothing malicious, but I think you'll like it."
He observes the little demonstration with a raised brow but not much else, believing he's seen something similar somewhere before.
"Either way, sounds like you have your integration procedures all settled nice and simple. It's an absolute pain to get proper implant surgery for...us. DNA tests, stem cell checks, chemical preparation, it's a whole process before you can even get the spinal link installed and you need that for anything else that wants to talk to the brain and all that."
He waves his hand and sighs, clearly familiar with the process, the Svarthan might have at some point noticed the the odd polymer plate in the back of his neck, seemingly featureless apart from a single dim light
Indeed the foreman did notice the little plate back there, but elected to not bring it up until it was mentioned by the chief. However, since it has, he decides to question further, mostly to pass the time, but also to learn about their hosts before they get down to actual diplomacy.
"Well, I am eager to see what methods you have devised to streamline this process. It is always interesting to see the workings of other polities, and compare or learn from their strengths and weaknesses. If you do not mind my asking, why is the process so much more complex for your people? Have you only recently begun to implement such upgrades within your population, leading to the technology not being as advanced as those who have done it longer, and perhaps clashing with older religious or philosophical notions, or are there perhaps, more sinister motives that keep your people from augmenting yourselves?"
That last statement is given in a somehow ominous tone, despite the robotic voice that speaks it, and the Svarthan foreman tilts their frontal plate a bit to one side, as if trying to imitate and inquisitive tilt of the head
Lucas raises a gloved hand to scratch under his beret for a moment, seemingly having to ponder the question, despite how obvious the answer should probably be.
"Welll, I dunno. Pretty sure augmetics have been around for a long while, probably gotten better over time of course, but maybe it's just that our biology hates havin' foreign objects sutured into it worse than your own does or something. They're also pretty damn expensive too, the installation, hardware and wetware is all pretty pricey. 'course there's older model stuff still produced, but never as often and it's never as good, there's only a few big companies that make the stuff after all."
After stretching his neck as he spoke, he'd reach into his jacket and retrieve a cigarette box, pulling a something akin to a thin cigar with a bronze band from it. Despite their nature, he remembers his company for a moment and looks back up toward the Svarthan, tilting the cigarette in his hand a little.
"Oh, do you mind if i?"
The Svarthan uses one of its arms to make a "go ahead" style motion, before the arm folds back down out of the way.
"I do not mind at all. If you were not here I would be partaking in my own recreational substance, much like my guards are. I would even offer you some, but I am fairly sure our differing biology would mean that the drug does not have the desired effect on you, if it even has one at all. Not to mention your lack of control systems and chemical scrubbers would mean it could incapacitate you for hours upon end if it actually works. And I doubt you want to be on an entirely different world for the duration of our diplomatic talks, do you?"
The Svarthan laughs a little, but it seems they are quite serious about their warnings to the chief and the strength and effects of their recreational substances in comparison to those that the Bulwark officer may be used to.
"Although, I could be mistaken on that front of course. Do your people use recreational drugs often? And if you do, what kind are they?"
He chuckles awkwardly at the string of information on this whole drug thing, an inch away from lighting the cigarette.
"Ha...yeeahh..."
It's unlikely he'd be able to guess what kind of chemicals they were using, but the detail he goes into makes him glance at the guards and ponder for a few moments how illegal these substances would be within imperial borders.
"But no, i'm fairly sure most recreational drug use is banned...I suppose it depends which sector you're in though. Sector 2 lifted its ban on stimleaf recently, as a sort of test to its viability...think it's some sort of genetically engineered variant of some old earth plant. I think the issue just tends to be that a lot of stimulants have side-effects on our bodies and end up being addictive, never a healthy combination and all."
He lights the cigar with a silver lighter in his pocket and takes a short drag from it before raising his brow a little.
"Though I suppose the stuff they put in these could be counted as recreational drug use...alcohol still works too, yeah, just became so normalised people don't see it as a drug.
Uh, what kind of stuff do you all use then anyway, is it good for you?"
He half jokes, keeping the cigar in his mouth.
"Yes addiction is quite the pain it is true. We struggled with it greatly in the formative years of the Trust proper. It is a pharmaceutical company after all, and a large deal of its profits came from marketing recreational substances to the masses. However it seems that the ease of access, availability of support, and the unparalleled quality of the products we use have reduced cases of addiction to something seen in only the most sever of users."
As the chief takes his smoke, the foreman tilts their head, pondering their question for a bit. Then they respond with another short bout of steam from their shell, perhaps their equivalent of a chuckle, given their lack of conventional mouths or voice boxes.
"If I listed every drug that is available in the Svarthan Trust, we would probably be here all day. We use just about everything, from accelerants to depressants, hallucinogens powerful enough to make you lose your very sense of self, relaxants of a strength commonly seen only in medicinal practices in other polities, and even memetics based off those from one of our neighbors. Delivery methods, and production methods likewise vary to an immense degree. With few exceptions, every drug can be taken through injection, inhalation, drinking, and tablet or otherwise edible form. Some are purely chemical in nature, while some are made of bacterial or viral agents that produce the active chemical for a longer duration while the "infection" persists. We can even create hardware and software to enable machine races to experience these same effects.
As to the drugs being "good" for us, yes, they are very good. Nothing quite compares to the sensations you can experience with them, and all Svarthan cybernetics come standard with equipment to properly administer the drugs, monitor the users health, and when the time comes, adminster counter chemicals to ensure a quick, and side effect free return to normalcy."
The information he was being told was strange to him of course, but what irked him the most, and that he wouldn't comment on, was that it all began simply because this 'Trust', their whole government, is a pharmaceutical. It was definitely one way to keep loyalties, he thought. He also found the steam a little annoying, it was no doubt messing with the humidity, but he was able to hide any sort of scowl, keeping an easy expression.
"It sounds like impressive stuff no doubt, still not so sure of the idea myself. I like to stay grounded...well as grounded as you can be out here."
He follows the sentence with another smoke, blowing out his nose.
"Surely ther're individuals like that around your home. Y'know, people who think that substances aren't worth the time. I mean you and your guards here probably have your own selection and knowledge on the stuff...does that make the, and pardon my phrasing, 'clean' ones eccentric you or somethin'?"
"Not at all! Everyone is free to live their life the way they want to. If they choose not to use substances, then that is entirely their choice to make. After all, hobbies and what we do to pass the time vary wildly."
It seems that the foreman is unaware of the Chiefs annoyance at the steam their body is emitting, and they continue on, their mechanical voice having taken on a rather upbeat tone as they chat.
"Some devote their spare time to creating art, painted, sculptured, or otherwise. Some write stories about work, or fantastical realms beyond reality. Yet others make music. Just because they do not partake in recreational substances does not make them eccentrics. Now, if they rail against their use, and constantly tell others off for using them, or otherwise interject in the pass times of others, that is odd. Same with those who try and dodge work or such things. They are the ones we find out of the ordinary, not those who do not enjoy a good hit of some chemicals, and just spend sober time after work with their friends."
Nodding along, Lucas taps his cigar into a small funnel inset into the table off to his side, taking a small drag and blowing it off to the side, his eyes wander to the expansive window peering out over the horizon of the sparkling planet rushing along far below them.
"Honestly, sounds rather much like our own way of life...with less drugs of course. Same surprise came to us when we first met the Sylthas so long ago I think, seems as if things just have a way of developing like that. Say though, I'm sure you have the number archived up there somewhere."
He smiles, motioning his hand towards the Svarthan's head
"How far away exactly did you come from...and uh, this trust of yours? Is it native to this galaxy or?"
He tilted his head a little, seemingly quite intrigued with this particular question.
"Yes, it appears that our particular usage of drugs is almost entirely unique. Those with similar levels of usage use it to oppress the masses, and almost all others have far far lower usage rates."
The Svarthan looks out the window themselves, gazing at the planet down below with interest. It seems they are trying to spot any features on its surface that would indicate their location, as as they do, some of their eyes begin to click and whirr as powerful telescopic lenses activate, giving them a much clearer view. Some of their camera eyes still rest on the captain however, and even as their gaze passes over the world outside they give a reply.
"It is quite far away from our current location, although at present I am not at liberty to give you exact coordinates. I hope you understand. As to the other question, this is in regards to that stupid war going on I assume? Well, no, we Svarthan are not native to this galaxy, at least as far as fossil records from both our own and other planets dictate. But we are native to this universe near as we can tell, unlike some other factions."
The chief glances over to them viewing the window too, he knew they were getting close to their operation by now, so at least they'd be able to see it.
"Huh...no it was nothing to do with the war, whatever it's about. Don't think our government has much interest in it anyway, was just curious. Far as I know we're colonials as they're called. As kids we get taught in history everythin' about how we're the offshoot of a much larger empire that we lost contact with some centuries ago. Just find it odd is all."
Eventually, they start seeing specks of civilisation. Lights from outpost bases and drones, artificial trenches and small bases, forming pipelines toward quarries in their infancy with numbers of vehicles parading the surface. Clearly they were growing closer to the centre of their operation.
"Ah, looks like we're almost there, that's the epsilon line...a uh, omnitram line to get to the outer western bases."
The crab looks out the window, in the direction the chief does, spotting the site easily enough. The lenses of their eyes whirr some more, magnifying the image a great deal as they gaze upon it. They watch a tram depart from the Epsilon terminal, speeding off towards its destination. After seemingly having watched enough, the Foreman returns their attention to their current host.
"Hmm, that reminds me in a way of the legends surrounding our origin. Near as we can tell our ancestors were abducted from their home world, and held captive for generations upon generations, experimented upon and made into our "modern" selves. Eventually our captors dumped us on our new home world, and simply left, and we arose as a civilization there."
Upon spotting the tram line the foreman comments conversationally
"A most interesting arrangement, and until recently, quite the same size as ours I must say. We mainly utilize our maglev craft to travel around if we are needed, rather than setting up a tram to do so. On this metallic terrain they can function even without their sprayers. Of course such travel is rarely needed apart from collecting finished resources as most of the machines can process what they mine easily enough. Now I do suppose we will start to set up more infrastructure given the bulk of our operation has arrived.
How long do you expect the rest of our journey will take? That will determine whether or not I rouse my guards from their break."
Raising an arm, Lucas pulls back a sleeve and looks at a small holographic display watch, taking a drag as he does. Once he's tapped off the cigar he rocks his head a little.
"Eeeeh, 10 minutes give or take. Time flies by and all that."
He'd pull the sleeve back and lean into his chair again, furrowing his brow.
"Yeah, I'm not too familiar with the whole logistics side of things myself, I know it'll get a lot more elaborate, but that's about it...though that origin story sounds tragic, if it's all true even I'd be a bit curious why they'd leave you all here. Maybe they're still watching you or something, hehe."
Quite suddenly, the chief's PDA began beeping for a few seconds, he pulled it out almost immediately to check on it and seemed almost disappointed as he read, reaching over to snub the cigar and drop it down the funnel.
"Agh, looks like i'm needed to report on the bridge. Ah well."
Pulling himself up and dusting himself off, he'd reach forward trying for a handshake, and partially curious which limb the foreman might use.
"Pleasure chatting and all, perhaps we can talk again at some point when this whole mess is sorted."
It seems that the limb of choice is actually not one atop the Foremans body at all, as the crustacean suddenly starts to rise up, revealing their underside as their legs front half of their legs fold into tucked positions under their shell. Steam pours down the front of their body from more vents on their "belly", as as the Chief can now see the powerful digging claws mounted on the leading edge of the creatures body, along with its other arms tucked behind those. One of them extends, opening a 3 clawed "hand" that they use to shake.
"Yes I do hope so, you were very interesting to talk too. I shall rouse my guards momentarily and prepare for the official meeting at once. May this venture be beneficial for the both of us in the long run."
The Chief can also now see the centrally mounted, very crustacean like "mouth" of the Svarthan, and their mechanical voices suddenly make far more sense, as the horrible orifice with its many inner grabby looking parts and lack of any form of tongue, teeth or lips would most certainly prevent speech unaugmented.
"Mhhm, of course. I'll probably be seeing you at the meeting, by the way but I won't be permitted to talk so keep that in mind."
There was a little reluctance as he reached his hand forward to shake, but managed to convince himself it wouldn't be too different from a Sylthas...probably, and followed through with a respectful nod and smile, though he found it hard not to stare at the plainly odd mouth a little with morbid curiosity. Either way, he composed himself and began walking for the door.
"Uh, oh, You'll get a ring once it's time to depart, you get the drill, good luck!"
He'd raise a hand in a static wave, facing him from the door before turning to leave, off to co-ordinate whatever situation had emerged.
"I understand. While we usually greatly appreciate input from all levels of the work force, sometimes leaders alone must speak."
The Foremans mechanical grasp is firm but not crushing as they give the hand a few shakes. They grasp the chiefs hand more from the top than around the middle but it is not to terribly akward even given the differing biology. Once finished the Foreman drops back down to all their legs hiding their belly again.
"Of course. I assume we will be leaving the way we came in?"
The crab returns the wave with one of their top mounted arms, turning to their guards once the chief gas left. A quick signal is broadcast to the cybernetics of their guard and several injectors around the base of their shell hiss as they inject their contents into the guards before ejecting the spent containers like shell cases. The foreman picks these up as their guards return to their wits and he fills them in about the situation.
"Someone will come for ya!"
His voice fades as he turns, walking off to attend his station and letting the door close behind him on his exit. The rest of the journey is a bit uneventful, but it does take a little more than 10 minutes. The ship creaks and groans quietly, remaining in low orbit and slowly descending as it approaches their destination.
Outside, the view finally cascades towards the gaping visage of the primary dig site. Most of all, it's a huge quarry, a gaping, tiered pit stretching for kilometres in every direction. Massive machines of red and yellow rove about on the tiered roads supported and kept stable by complex structural towers and bracings, keeping the glimmering substrate from spilling out where it isn't meant to. In the distance, they see a cloud plume into the air, its size hard to determine, but clearly the result of a massive controlled explosion.
Yet despite all of this there isn't any huge refining facilities and their equipment is relatively little in number. and considering the much smaller size of their other dig sites, this one must have been where they started. Though they can't see it from their window, ahead of the ship is a wide and relatively simple drydock for cargo ships capable of landing, such as this one, its built completely into the side of the quarry, looming over several dig tiers below.
The vessel groans and shakes as plasma engines on its belly ignite, vectoring to allow it to come to a stop over its berth and then throttling down to lower its bulk into the clutches of great hydraulic arms and magnetic alignment fields. There's another large shake as it finally makes contact and settles down, as well as the honk of a PA siren.
Not seconds later, 2 ship guards, merely lightly armoured, would buzz on the door, making themselves known.
"We'll be taking you to the meeting, ready to go if you are"
With the guards now fully awake the foreman and his companions gaze out the window at the terrain bellow, watching it draw near. The similarities to their own operation are quite interesting, and they make note of them.
The quarry is noted, its size much like their own, however the lack of heavy equipment does surprise them. While it can be assumed that trully large planetary stripping machines have yet to arrive they expected at least a few more machines to be present. As the explosion rocks the landscape, sending up the cloud of metal dust high into the sky, the foreman wonders how the soon to occur tectonic mining and mass crust destabilization will affect the operations here.
Spotting the dock down within the quarry the foreman smiles, pleased to see a structure built in much the same location as Svarthan structures are. It reminds him of his home, and also his own worksite and all the friends he has there. For a moment he considers if perhaps this deal was not the smartest idea. The seeming willingness of this company to throw the weight of their parent nation around disturbs him, but if they are anything like the Chief he just spoke with all should be well.
As the ship shakes he turns away from the window, moving back to the center of the room, with his guards flanking him. He wonders how long it will take for someone to come get them, when the door to his accommodations buzzes. He moves to and opens it.
"Yes indeed we are ready to go. Lead the way, and we shall be right behind you."
The guards quickly nod and both turn, one waving for them to follow. They both stay quiet as they lead them, likely not interested, or maybe even a little reserved about speaking to someone and something that's been relayed to them as so important. Soon reaching the elevator, the party is brought back to one of the ship's main corridors, and toward one of the docking gantries.
They pass through some sort of terminal reminiscent of airport security and through a sort of waiting room into the gantry and deeper into the base. They only get glimpses of the structure they're in for a while, which seems to overlook the majority of the operation and soo enough they stop seeing windows at all. Being led through a large causeway and passing a couple of checkpoints, they find themselves in another elevator, this one seemingly a bit sleeker and more 'corparate' compared to the industrial bareness of everything else.
It seems they pass a good number of floors before arriving in a rather well decorated corridor, passing a few doors they reach one in particular that seems important, made of solid (likely synthetic) wood. It reads as an office for Vosk Fernis, Chief Overseer.
"Go on ahead, he's waitin' for you."
The doors opened seemingly automatically as they approached, the guards looking at each other before turning away back to where they came. Inside was a rather typical office; big desk, a few shelves, decent space, but importantly, a large sweeping window that looked over the main pit. They appeared to be quite high up in some sort of tower.
A bald man in a dark olive suit stood with his back to the Svarthan, watching the activity below.
"You know, we just had this tower hoisted recently, a few days ago in fact. Great views, so I had my office moved up here. Also closer to all the operation control and command gubbins."
He turned, it was more clear to see the implants embedded into the side of his skull now and the seams running across his skin. He walked around his desk as the doors began to close, putting on a solemn smile and extending a hand as he got close.
"I'm sure you saw my name on the door, but I am Vosk Fernis, though most just call me Vos...not Fern though, that one's reserved for the wife."
He'd chuckle with a bit of a grin.
It was all an act, of course. He was furious, more so than he had been in most of his career, but he knew one of the basic rules quite well: good business is always done behind forced smiles and white lies.
The Svarthan do not mind the silence, talking among themselves as they move through the halls of the facility. While the maintain themselves entertained, their many extra eyes wander around the passage, soaking up the details as they go, silently taking pictures of interesting sights as they have been doing all this time. Of course, there is hardly much to take pictures of, and they are not here to spy.
Assuming the terminal has metal detectors, all of the crabs would set them off, however since they are simply rushed through, this would be no issue. They once more gaze out the window with electronic peepers before there are no more windows at all. After that they go back to discussing the decoration, how their families and friends are doing back at the base, and so on, all the way until the reach the door to the Overseers office.
With a nod to the guards they step inside, and gaze around at the space, taking in the scenery and most importantly the window and the man before it. The Foreman moves forward, his guards following but not quite steeping directly next to him.
"Indeed it is quite the lovely view, a very commanding one if I do say so myself. And practical at that, the best of both worlds."
Belzret is not phased in the slightest by the augmentations. Even the most "naturalist" Svarthan bears more augments than all the Bulwark humans he has seen so far put together. At the approaching hand, the foreman once again rises up onto his hind sets of legs, exposing his belly, in orer to shake with what can be assumed are his "proper" or "original" arms. He quickly settles back down to the floor after letting go.
"A pleasure to meet you Vos. I am Foreman Belzret. I hope you and your family are doing well, and not missing you so far from your home I imagine."
If the Svarthan sense the hidden rage, they do not show any sign of it, simply acting polite and upbeat, their robotic voice conveying such.
He'd shake his head a little before backing away toward his seat behind the desk at the centre of the room, with papers and utilities on it not quite as neat and orderly as one might expect.
"Nono, they agreed to move out here with me for a few months while I work. We have some very lovely habitation a few kilometres to the east and it's a nice change of scenery."
He'd sit quietly, crossing his arms but putting out one to silently gesture the svarthan to sit. It seems he had one of his couches moved in front of the desk likely in an attempt to accommodate him a bit. While they were observing the office however, one thing might catch their eye, a pair of clear circular sections of the ceiling separate from the rest, each with an affixed camera. These were obviously sentry emplacements, but there'd hopefully be no reason to worry about them. The security chief was also there in the room, standing to the side against one of the walls silently, simply observing as his eyes glanced between everyone.
"What of yours? You must be very far from home out here."
The Overseer asked with a bit of confidence, having to assume their species held family binds due to how they asked the question in the first place.
The Svarthan nod at his story, before the foreman approaches the couch, and tries to climb up onto it, his guards remaing on the ground. The semi humerous affair takes a minute, as they pull and heave themselves up, before finally ending up on it sideways taking up its entire length, about a fourth of their body hanging off the side.
Something that would probably only ignite Vosks rage further would be the steam from his guests body slowly moistening the cushions of the couch. The cameras of the guards have no doubt spotted the sentries on the roof, but pay them no heed as they rest next to the couch.
"Oh yes, my mate is here with me. We all work for the same subsidiary, which is how I met them. My young also came with us, to continue their studies in a more practical way."
Though he barely even used the furniture, and could easily have it dried later, it did still annoy him a fair amount as he watched billowing steam condense across it's rather expensive fabric. At least their embarrassing little display raises his spirits a little beforehand. Either way, the Overseer simply took a bit of a deep breath and raised his head back in acknowledgement.
"Well, that's nice to hear. Hopefully once this is dealt with we can get back to our homes, so let's try and get it over and done with, hm?"
His had reached under his desk for a moment in order to flick a switch, and shortly after, a holoprojector in his desk is uncovered and begins projecting an image, grainy at first but it soon forms into planetary map of glimmer. What's noticeable are the blue and green splotches, on the opposite sides of the planet, clearly representing their operations.
"I'll make sure you know, but we were relayed details on your current operation, everything that was allowed to be disclosed anyway, so I'm not sure how accurate the data on this is. Either way though I'm sure you'll agree this isn't going to be a simple matter.
Ok though, I'll get this off the table first, makes thing easier going forward, also just curious. So if you don't mind me asking, uh, what was your end goal with the planet...and actually what do you call it, too? Our early colonists gave it the name 'glimmer', appropriately enough."
As the foremans camera eyes move to keep the foreman in sight, it seems the flow of steam from their back vents starts to lessen ever so slightly, while the flow from their belly increases. Perhaps the carb is getting a bit of clandestine revenge for said embarrassing display. Regardless, they say nothing about it and the flow change is just enough to be noticeable yet still easily deniable. They do respond to the statement however.
"Of course, I would like nothing more. I am sure that your security chief has told you of my dislike for... "beating around the bush", as I have heard it called."
The Svarthan takes a look at the hologram with most of their camera eyes for a while, then leaves only a few looking at it as they return their gaze to the foreman. It seems they are interested in the comparative size of the two operations, and just how much the humans know about their operation as well.
"Yes, I am aware of it, I gave the order and selected the information I was able to give myself. It is up to date enough for our negotiations, so there is no need to gather more information. And yes I am quite certain it will not be easy.
Our end goal you say. Well to put it simple, total excavation. There would have been many more steps along the way, and certainly many would have been added or removed as we continued our operations here, but in the long run the goal was always to have this world no longer exist. To mine it all so to say. As to a name well, it only really has a designation. Lots of numbers and the like, so I think we can just call it glimmer during our talks."
A clock ticked away on the back wall as if counting down his patience, was it always so loud? His nostrils flared a little in a deep breath, that turned into a loud 'hmph'. His eyes turned to glance at a screen on his desk and some papers to its side as he idly tapped a finger a few times. It wasn't clear if he was genuinly checking something, or just letting his emotions simmer.
"I feared that...You know, out in the southern frontiers, they're pretty big on mining. A few planets hold a bit of a festival where they hang up a large paper decoration some call a piƱata." He adjusts his tie for a second before clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. "They call it a terrastrom, and it's meant to represent the recent full excavation of a nearby planetary body in an operation we call core stripping. It's usually painted like the planet, pretty big, too.
People in a community take turns 'cracking' open its layers, and they get whatever goods lay inside of course, tends to be candy. However the person that cracks the core, the final layer, often gets a big prize payed for by local companies or family members, like a trip or something, and it tends to be pretty well remembered.
Like our situation here, no matter how well we split the resources, only one side's gonna be able to actually perform late-stage cracking."
A finger would flip a switch, and the hologram would shift. The sprawling green areas, representing the Brickston facilities seem to show their primary pit as the size of a small island nation, with regular sized quarries growing at the periphery in satellite areas as expansion nodes. They flicker from view. Sections of the planet raise from its surface like a cake, leaving the inner layers exposed. Numbers such as available surface area and statistical safety probabilities are listed at various points.
"Neither of us want to give this up, of course, and neither of us have to. I have a fairly decent initial solution to our conundrum, but i want to hear your thoughts on this first."
As the man whiles away a few seconds, the crab scoots about on the couch, puressing the rim of their shell back against the rear rest to try and get more of their body onto the sofa. Steam hisses softly as it continues to progressively moisten the sofa, while some of the guards eyes flit around the room as if they are bored.
"Quite an interesting festivity. We have similar games, only ours generally involve an actual facsimile of the planet, with the core of the model being the last unrefined chunk of the actual world. The challenge is who can extract the most material with a single use of mining explosive. The size and construction of the planet are intended to represent it quite accurately so a great deal of work can be done with a well placed blast.
There are no sweet treats inside of course, but we were never big on sugar as is. The winner is the one who can generate the biggest reduction of the planet after several elimination rounds, and they are also usually compensated. It is quite fun I must say, and I wonder if under differing circumstances we could have combined our two events.
But yes, much like in yours, generally only a few are able to actually attack the core directly, due to numerous reasons."
As the information is brought up, the crab compares it with their own data, adding and subtracting from it based on this new information along side updating the notes on the capabilities of their rivals. More data, and more additions occur as the projection changes, before the crab gives a reply.
"Very well. First, I will address the major point of contention, and the reason we are here in the first place. Currently, the peak optimal strategy for me would be to simply walk out of here right now. With the arrival of my new machinery, and more on the way, I can out compete you, barring any major changes from the data you have shown me. In the end I will be able to mine more and faster, and most likely get to the point where my operations hinder yours before the opposite is true."
They pause for a moment, perhaps to gauge their competitors reactions, but continue before any interjection can be made by the human.
"However, that will just invite conflict, and most likely drag our parent nations into this, which is something I think we both want to avoid. So I suggest that we cooperate extensively. Treat the operations as a single combined effort, and pool our resources, splitting the final cut according to the amount of effort each party inputted, which ideal would be 50 50. Basically for the duration of this operation, our two groups would operate as one with the only distinction being that we split the profit as I just mentioned."
Leaning forward a little, Vosk seems to raise a slight brow at the Svarthan's own description of their version of the game. It seemed a little less community based, but what did he know? Either way he seemed rather interested, but made an ever so slight scowl at what he saw as a boast. He hadn't much of an idea of what his competitor here was capable of and what resources they had available, even so far away from their home, but his logical side knew there was a possibility that it was far more than what Brickston could manage, still being quite small in the grand scheme of things.
It was true that their new income had attracted investment from across the territories however and their growth was phenomenal simply due to their profits from glimmer, but it was still a major risk. Being outpaced here could cripple the company's future. He'd have to speak to the board about it, but the idea that the foreman made seemingly surprised him.
"That...and you'll have to take my word for it, was the exact same idea I was ruminating. We gather our harvest to a central facility, like a space elevator, and have it sorted and exported from there. Of course the coll-"
A crash sounded through the room, the doors behind the Svarthan's were flung open and a voice, boosted in volume poured from that direction.
"Enforcement! Everybody stand down! Raise your arms and limbs in the air, I don't want to see any movement!"
A group of 6 individuals in full body suits holding bulky pistols flooded into the office. Vosk seemed to almost reach down for something under his desk, terror and anger drowning his facial features as he stood. from his seat.
"What the hell is the meaning of this!" He'd shout as one of the officers, his suit black and decorated with yellow rings approached him and pointed a pistol.
"Hands up! now!" The overseer gritted his teeth and did so, very hastily.
"Right yes! why though?!"
"Vosk Fernis, you are under arrest for the unauthorised contact, movement and communication with a non-officially registered high-order sentient species while withholding from government authority. Other charges include unregistered mining operations, utility tax evasion and diplomatic endangerment.
your actions are being recorded as potential court evidence and you are permitted vacancy for a defensive committee, if you are unable to procure a committee, one may be provided for you."
As he spoke, his hands were grabbed and his wrists pulled together and a single-bar pair of handcuffs were affixed around his wrists
It seems the Foreman is about to reply, when the doors are kicked in.
In an instant their guards react, not even turning their bodies as their weapons pop up on robotic arms, and pivot to target the newcomers with blinding speed. Just before there can be an international incident, their boss seemingly gives them some kind of signal, and their weapons turn to the celling, along with their other arms, and those of the foreman. The crabs wait until the armored figures have moved completely around them and begun to speak, before their weapons lower back down into their housings, and their arms return to their normal positions on their backs.
Waiting until the, presumably, security officer has said his piece, the foreman gives a mechanical cough, and speaks up.
"If you don't mind my good sirs or madams, could you perhaps explain who you are, and what is going on here? This is certainly an unexpected intrusion, and we were just in the middle of negotiations."
As they speak, a very short long range radio ping is emitted from their body, directed towards some of their new communication satellites, and back towards their own facility. Despite their question, they have a fairly good idea who these people are given what they said, and it may be time to call in some backup of their own, should this situation go poorly.
The leading officer, stares at them, a blank stare from his mask lasting a second before he looks back toward the doors and gestures without a word. A voice comes back from the same direction, thankfully much quieter than the officers.
"My deepest apologies for all of this! Uh, you can lower your appendages now."
Standing in the centre of the doorway is a fairly short, smartly dressed man with a red tie and a golden eagle lapel adorning his chest. He definitely bears a guilty expression, but seems to be smiling through it. He gestures to the team of officers to wrap things up and they begin marching out into the corridor, dragging vosk, who shouts the usual tirades about lawyers, phone calls and regret.
The man promptly returns his attentions to the Svarthans and raises his palms as he walks around to the front of the couch.
"Again, I apologise, my name is Trent Thronesworth, but just Trent will do fine. You must be Belzret, if I've pronounced that right."
He would, as is customary, extend a hand but continue to speak. He seemingly fails to notice Lucas in the corner, or is purposefully ignoring him, either way the security chief seems rather amused.
"To quickly clear your doubts, that whole situation was due to Vosk's wrongdoings, not your own, so we can understand why you might be confused."
Belzret clumsily gets down from the couch, an odd looking affair that terminates in them almost simply falling off the bit of now quite sodden furniture. They move past the more heavily steaming, and seemingly tense guards, and approaches Trent extending one of their manipulator arms to shake
"Yes you got the name quite right Trent. A pleasure to meet you as well. So, if I had to guess from what you said to Vosk, it seemed he tried to avoid your interaction in this affair yes? I assume you would take a portion of the profit, if he had followed proper procedure?"
One of Belzrets camera eyes flits over to the security chief in the corner, but it quickly returns to the front as he continues the conversation.
"While I will not tell you to release him, nor interfere in your judiciary process, I would like to know what will happen to this world. I was just about to close a deal, but now I doubt I will be able to do so if the person I was negotiating with has become a criminal."
"Nonono, don't worry about that."
Trent smiles, performing a very respectful shake as he continues.
"Vosk was paranoid, we'd only take the planet if they began to underperform during extraction, much more effective for the economy that way. The company still has full hold, he was just going against procedure when encountering your kind, and was also evading a hefty sum of taxes.
We used the opportunity to observe the characteristics of your kind a little, but then waited for a good moment to intervene, which happened to be this one."
Quietly, he turned to the desk and looked out the panorama window into the still active pit.
"Someone from Brickston's higher up will be along to replace him some point soon, so you can continue with your deal then. In fact, I'd believe it a good opportunity for a diplomatic shoeknot as it's called. Say we establish that orbital station, it could be a good temporary embassy, for example.
He'd gesture up into the dark sky , holding for a moment before returning at ease.
"Quite hopeful of course, but we've already seen such tenacity from your operations, it would be a shame not to use it for larger aspirations, wouldn't you agree?"
"Right, right. I guess this is what happens when you are afraid of any loss in profit. Well I suppose we will wait here for now. Do you perhaps know how long it will be until Vosk's replacement get here?"
Belzert seems to be happy the deal will continue, but still a bit on edge, most likely due to how swift and relatively forceful the arrest of Vosk was. At the mention of an embassy, another more forceful puff of steam fires out of their condensers.
"I like that idea a lot. It will certainly help further relations with another friendly power in the galaxy, and perhaps even lead to grander collaboration down the line. If I may, I would like to suggest Lucas over there to be the official ambassador to my people. I have grown to like him and the way he sees things quite a bit."
They motion at the security chief in the corner as they speak, hoping that they will not accidentally bring down the new arrivals wrath onto him as well by doing so.
"Oh?"
Raising a brow, Trent turns to face the chief and gives a frown of consideration before nodding a little. Lucas stands still ,but seemingly still doesn't speak, just giving a curious expression in response.
"Well, it should be a couple of hours before a new overseer gets here, and he'll have to go through the paperwork, but if you'll accept, Lucas, i'm sure we can get you into the right position via recommendation. You lack some qualification of course, but that shouldn't be a problem with the right procedure and training."
The chief seemingly stops in thought. His eyes drift toward the ground before he turns and takes a few steps toward the window, standing parallel yet distant to the diplomat. A moment later he shrugs.
"You know, it's not like too much else interesting happens on a far out dustball like this. Though I'd probably have to step down a rung here, I think it'd work out...ehh, yeah why not."
His head turns to the both of them to give a brief nod.
"Right, well once your boss gets here we can set you down the path for it, foreign recommendation can go a long way after all."
"Sounds great...sooo I guess we're just waiting then."
"Mmhmm. About an hour and a half, and that's just travel time"
Lucas scoffs slightly, and almost immediately turns for the door.
"In that case I'm off to the exec cafeteria, you're all welcome to join me unless you want to sit in here."
Listening to everything that was said, Belzert gives a nod, or rather a more directed up and down motion of their frontal carapace, and moves towards the door themselves, with their companions close behind.
"Oh don't worry about "stepping down" I am sure you will find it quite enjoyable and eventually gain more prestige than by being a mere security officer. In any case, yes I think going to eat will be lovely while we wait. I wonder what kinds of dishes are common among your people."
It seems that Belzert is all finished with the negotiations. Now all that is left to do is wait and continue the path they have set themselves on.