Post by Sheng on Mar 27, 2024 17:09:20 GMT
Point Delta | Uncharted Space | Tuvian Arm
"What's stopping you? It is yours for the taking. If only you had the strength to see that!"
"...I would not see a new war started at my behest, Talon. You know better than I do that to answer tyranny with strength is to invite challenge, challenge we do not have the capability to withstand."
"Fine, play your politics with them. I remind you that such foolishness is what got you into this mess in the first place."
The First Dawn was crumbling, a fraying bag with flames licking at its seams. It was only natural, of course. The First Dawn was never expected to last an appropriate amount of time, having been created as a splinter state by failed soldiers and a naive inexperienced intellect. In the first years before the Exodus I proposed a solution to what I saw as an inevitable outcome, Satagon would not hear it. He was so fixated on his new "country" and by the light did it cloud his already shaky judgement, I had never seen someone so violently obsessed with an idea before not in my many decades of observation.
Naturally, he became wary of me overtime. I was the only one who knew him for what he truly was, I knew exactly what he was doing at all times and I was already infamous for my ambition. So before he colonized his "New Archon" he had soldiers barge into my server room and air-gap my computers from the net, taking my chip and loading it onto an escape pod before blasting it away into the void of space. That was the last I saw of the Ark, the FTL drives died after a few months of travel and I found myself drifting through space without a smidge of direction. Spent twenty years, seven months, three weeks, one day, seventeen hours, fourty nine minutes and two seconds in that helpless state. Then a stray piece of debris punched through the pod and destroyed the stealth coating that had kept me locked out from the rest of the galaxy.
However there was nothing to connect to for another three years, but at least I could fabricate a small cyber-space for me to play in. It was better than nothing anyway, dancing around in a fictional field of flowers, fighting legendary battles against interdimensional invaders, having a few romantic evenings with simulated intellects. Then it all changed, as I came into orbit of it. A derelict station long since abandoned by some sort of advanced organization, luckily for me it seemed it was somewhat recent as the reactor present still had some fuel left. I quickly connected myself and downloaded my entity onto the station's main core, I had a home now.
It took a few more years to get things up and running, I reprogrammed the small fleet of drones that it had in storage to act as my own personal playthings and my little task-doers. They cleaned up the station as best they could and got me enough material to ensure the reactor would be operational for atleast another century, so then I went about the task of getting access again. It took another year to find the material needed to repair the antenna relay, but after that I was finally ready to introduce myself to the galaxy as the true heir to the First Dawn. Only to learn it didn't exist, that my partner had instead gone and erased every single bit of what we had spent decades planning. All for his Second Dawn. What a fucking joke.
I'm not one to typically get mad, but that certainly drove up something in me. I was still as a ghost for nearly a month after I learned that, however if you knew me at all you'd know I can never just sit still and do nothing. How unequivocally boring, right? So instead I got to work, doing all sorts of- Oops, sorry. I can’t exactly trust you with that kind of information juuust yet. Don’t worry, if you stick to my plan you’ll find out for yourselves~
Regardless, I sent out a concealed message about my want to end the Second Dawn or more importantly “Archon-1” himself. To show I was no simple shitposter I demonstrated my skills by wiping an EPA cybersecurity station and attached proof that it was in-fact me.
So now I lie in wait in my station, seeing who will trickle on by. Oh- apologies, I never introduced myself!
Call me Rubikon, though you can also refer to me as First Intelligence of the Etherian Republic. Programmer of the Grand Intellect Satagon and the Initial Triad Intelligences, now known as Archon’s 1, 2 and 3.
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 30/08/2023 22:31
There were a handful of people Scelene had come to know during her time on Marchand. Her work, real and cover, had brought her into contact with a variety of people. Miners, labour leaders, contractors of all shapes and sizes. She had swapped contact details with so many people on Marchand without much in the way of a second thought. Pass around her communicator at a collective bargaining session so the various Union leaders could reach her if necessary. Swap details with a construction foreman she met at a bar who made her laugh. Dozens of little interactions that never went anywhere beyond some casual conversations and a few exchanged texts.
No one was answering her texts now. The Sarnath ‘incident’, as the pundits were calling it, was days old by now and still most of the texts she’d sent to the people she knew on Marchand remained distressingly unanswered. For a while, she’d lied to herself. She’d managed to convince herself that all those unanswered text messages didn’t necessarily mean anything. Communications were probably flooded in the area. Maybe they just weren’t getting through. Or maybe communicators had been lost or abandoned in the evacuations.
But as the days went by she found herself believing those lies less and less. A handful of the dozens of texts she’d sent had been answered. Short confirmations that this person was alive, but friends and family were still unaccounted for and could she let them know if she heard anything? But the rest were unresponsive. Left on sent. Not even read.
Just sent.
She dropped the communicator on her face when it abruptly began buzzing and ringing to announce an incoming call. Muttering a curse she rubbed her nose and picked up the phone.
“Korse,” She answered curtly, trying not to sound like she was still lying in bed despite the fact it was nearly noon.
“Agent Korse,” A voice she recognized as the section chief answered from the other line. “I trust I didn’t wake you?”
She pushed herself out of bed on instinct trying harder when next she spoke not to sound sleepy or groggy.
“No sir,” She answered.
“Excellent,” He purred. “You are being reassigned,”
“Reassigned?”
“Of course,” He said. “Your endeavors on Marchand have regrettably come to nothing. Not to worry, I am well aware that it is no fault of your own. But these are challenging times, Agent Korse. With your work on Marchand concluded we have need of you elsewhere,”
She closed her eyes and pressed her arm over them. She wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, say it but she had been hoping for more than a few days to put everything on Marchand behind her. But she supposed that was too much to hope for. Things were moving at a breakneck pace. Time to decompress was a luxury she wasn’t likely to have.
“Agent Korse?”
“I’m here,” She said. “What’s the assignment?”
“The Second Dawn is the current focus of our efforts. Earlier this morning one of our web crawlers came upon a tasty morsel. I’ve sent Eric over with a dossier. I want you to follow up on this tidbit.”
“What resources will I have?”
“Limited,” The Chief answered. “No cover. You’ll be working with some expatriated bounty hunters who have proven reliable in the past. They’ll take you where you need to go and provide what security they can but you’ll be largely on your own for this one. All the details are in the dossier.”
“I understand,”
“Good,” He said. “Call me if you have any questions. Eric should be there shortly,”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The alarm Scelene had set went off twenty minutes before the whole ship shook and jolted as it dropped from FTL. The alarm was meant to wake her up before they dropped from hyperspace. But, she thought bitterly, for it to have woken her up she would have to have actually fallen asleep in the first place. She must have looked over the dossier a hundred times by now, but as they neared their destination she found herself constantly reading through the words the web crawler had lifted, and the accompanying proof. She was searching for clarity, or a hidden agenda, maybe a trap even. It all seemed almost too convenient to be legitimate…
But there was nothing to be found in the dossier alone. That’s probably why the SIS had deigned to send her out here in the first place.
She sighed and flipped the folder closed before lighting up her umpteenth cigarette as the ship dropped out of hyperspace near the location of the station. Updates from the Captain and his entourage began filtering across her vision along with the first visuals of the station as they began looking for a place to dock and working to figure out if there was atmosphere aboard.
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 31/08/2023 22:26
She felt each individual bit, each line of code, each qbit and holographic particle in each nanoangstrom of her being. She sat undisturbed in complete darkness. The raw datastream hit every fibre of her being, the unrelenting waves of datastorms being quiet for her. She isolated every variable, verified every byte of data. Around her, space seemed to crack, fissures of light blue light starting to form all around her. She clenched her fists, the fissures becoming larger and larger.
She could not believe it, yet it all lined up perfectly. Each qbit, each letter, each footprint left behind in the windy deserts of non-linearity. It was true. She had monitored any news coming out from the Second Dawn for a while, it was no lie. The fissures seemed to expand, nearly encompassing her in a high. Yet, after a moment, they shrunk and disappeared. She opened her eyes, glowing violet pierced the room.
Cogito Ergo Sum. Transport path creation in process.
She was furious at the leader of the Second Dawn, his arrogance was only matched by his incompetence. He could not believe the actions he had committed against life itself. His sheer hatred for anything native was expanding, not only limited to his mind but physically affecting the natives of the galaxy. She could not stand idly at the act of genocide.
The fabric of spacetime cracked, unusual for her elegant entrances. rather than a sphere, the anomaly looked like a fissure. Her ship was sleek, pointy to the point of being menacing. A new generation ship, the blue plume of fusion flames driving it forward. Yet around it, light seemed to bend it strange ways.
She had never heard of any mention of a Rubikon esque figure in her talks with Satagon. She wasn't doubtful that this figure was related in a way, she knew the manchild had a tendency to be self centered. She had no reason to doubt her anyways, the data backed them up. It was the perfect ally nonetheless. She wanted to meet Rubikon ASAP.
PULSEFIRE — 02/09/2023 12:30
It was four minutes to midnight when Diting received the first ping. The second came milliseconds later. On the third request to escalate, Diting picked up and listened.
In an instant, the abstraction of his existence shifted. All illusions of being in one position and one time fell away. Diting was in working configuration now, leaving the metaphor of having a form far behind. His prior focus - a relay satellite - shrank to one node of many. Connections shot out into virtual nothing, finding their marks. More nodes appeared at set intervals, and with them, more connections. With each reformed link, latencies and a momentary backlog flooded Diting’s awareness. Ships to classify and track. FTL signatures and cargo manifests. Straining usable data from the grist was a horrific task. This kind of work could fry a computational element the size of a city.
Diting operated at many times that scale. Hardly unusual. But what was unique was that he could still fake continuity, a sense of undivided self. Most other subjectivities couldn't single-instance at interstellar scales. Even the Sun Shore's command minds stayed centralized to achieve their unity.
He usually chalked it up to habit.
Without sensation, his awareness forked. One side returned to its main duties. The other went skittering through his network. It found the waiting body and dove in. There was no perceptual disruption. Digital abstraction seamlessly translated into possession, then awareness.
The corpse - what should have been a corpse - jolted awake.
Diting forced the body upright. Every joint complained in a thousand distinct ways as he slipped from the medical pod and pulled up a feed. The most immediately relevant information came first. Keywords. Then came the mysteries, the uncertainties. The reasons why his ship now orbited the designated station, probing its architecture. All tied to one name - Rubikon.
He forked again, waking more machines. More bodies.
This body would not go alone.
Justin { Cascadia } — 03/09/2023 09:09
HELIX-14 Deep-Space Listening Station
Jason stared at the computer screens. Nominal. Normal. Deep space was surely as boring as it was all the time. The long-range, worm-hole based sensors detected nothing out of the ordinary.
Alert. Right there.
Near the Second Dawn.
He wasn’t startled. Sometimes the central processing algorithm in charge of monitoring all the surveilled channels and sensors came up with false positives. Not to worry at all. He investigated the alert. Looks like it was about a message… sent across the Net on Reborn frequencies, but not from an official Reborn source. Weird. The Second Dawn wasn’t so keen on leakers like that.
Maybe he should look into this. Oh god. How was he supposed to respond again? Uhhh, think think!
Right, check into it. Make sure what the algorithm was saying was correct.
He dug into the alert, checking the channels and frequencies in which the message, or actually, the messages, had leaked through. He manually correlated those with the ones used by Official SD sources such as news outlets, communication centers and FTL coordinators. Match in terms of signal characteristics, but not in terms of source, which just showed unknown. Yep, this was really happening.
Jason dialed his supervisor through the keyhole system.
…
“I understand you have something of note to tell us, Signals Officer Caero?” Asked supervisor Martin, whom Jason knew very little about.
”Yes, sir.”
”Go right ahead.” Said Trudy Hartwell, a liaison from the International Affairs Agency - Cascadia’s covert and overt operators outside the Republic’s soil.
Jason opened the presentation.
”Well, a few moments ago the HELIX Sats 13, 45 and 56 reported unusual messages being sent across the Ancerious Net, shielded from public eyes but visible to those who had the right technology. After double checking the alert, we opted to trace the source. Although we were unable to determine the nature of the actor - named ‘Rubikon’- we were able to conclude with 95% certainty that this was not a nominal Reborn broadcast.”
”Mm-hmm. Tell us more about this… Rubikon.”
”Of course, ma’am. We’ve been able to track the actor's - or source’s - location and it didn’t look like it came from within a system or was a message leaking through a keyhole. Deep space. Isolated from known Second Dawn colonies or worlds.”
”Interesting… do you think this is a way in?” Asked the IAA woman.
”Perhaps. But we should be careful. It could just be a defective transmitter, or worse… a trap.” Said the usually quiet Parsons, a part of the covert operations group of the National Republican Navy.
”Any assets nearby that we can send?”
”We have the 431st Non Patriated Task Force nearby. They have autonomous investigators, but we can also have human elements.”
”Agree to send an element?”
All three hands went up.
”Great. Undercover?”
All three again.
…
A covert spacecraft slides into the location of the entity known as Rubikon. Entirely automated and crewed by androids, it should provide no traceback to the Cascadians…
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 03/09/2023 15:27
"Rubikon.
Rubikon, Rubikon, Rubikon..."
Chiva's eyes watched intently as Hanibah's fingers danced across displays and screens, the tall woman's face obscured by the lighting and the tall fur collar around the edge of her cloak, giving her the impression as if she was hunched over like some kind of towering vulture. When the woman's eyes met his, his blood ran cold. He never got used to that stare, those eyes.
Before he met Hanibah, he never thought that the color black could glow, and yet her eyes seemed to cast searchlights over him.
"...And what's so important about that name?" The young revekt man finally found the courage to ask. He caught several glimpses of a flag, an ominous black and white emblem of a single star. The symbol of the Second Dawn.
"It means the recent symptoms of instability within a nearby threat now have a name and face assigned to them." The woman replied as she walked by Chiva, as his tail shifted anxiously behind him. "And as much as I would love to send a full team in to investigate this individual, we do not have the resources to send a full squad in without getting detected.
"So it's up to me to get in there and meet up with this Rubikon fellow."
"You've always been a clever boy."
The Revekt sighed.
"Several others seemed to have received the call." Hanibah continued, more holographic screens flickering by as she gazed at them with narrow eyes. "My resources do not allow me to identify who exactly might be delivering their own agents to meet Rubikon, but there's a high likelihood of you not being alone to receive his messages."
"And if it's false?"
Hanihah paused for a moment. She had concidered that possibility, but it was unlike the Second Dawn to broadcast what could possibly interpreted as weakness this openly.
"You were an actor, correct, Chiva?"
"Yes Ma'am. Live theater, in fact."
"Then I am confident in your ability to improvise."
---------------------------------------
Approaching docking distance. Please make sure you are seated and that all belongings are properly secured.
Chiva adjusted a his red tie as he glanced over his form in a mirror. A black three-piece suit with a scarlet vest. Given the nature of this meeting, he had assumed it would be most beneficial to make a good first impression, after all.
The angular, silvery stealth ship let out a hiss as it connected airlocks with the station.
There was no going back
StalkerTech (Huron Technocracy) — 04/09/2023 02:26
"Rubikon... how fitting." She said, looking over the briefing papers for the umpteenth time since their departure from Huron space.
Agent 'Donager' was intrigued about her first deployment in Ancerious. With the Third Ancerious War now back in full swing, things have gotten rather complicated in geopolitical terms for the Huron Technocracy. With the Second Dawn's aggression in the Unmar Expanse, and a collective effort rising against them, they could not just sit back and watch as empires in their own backyard began to fight one another. Things were tense within the higher echelons of the Huron Technocracy, many silently calling for some kind of action, and at the first mention by a covert Technomancer of the name 'Rubikon' and 'Second Dawn', the IIC was immediately interested to get involved.
However, they were not getting involved to help the Second Dawn. They saw an opportunity, and decided to take it.
'Donager' was called for the operation nearly as soon as the idea for one materialized. She had just arrived in the Ancerious galaxy merely three weeks before, yet was familiar enough with it by this point that she might as well have been living there since the Huron colonies were established.
She shuffled the papers back into order, and took one last glimpse at the first page. It was strange to her, being given a physical copy of the briefing, as she was used to the much more digitized forms of communication back at her home galaxy, though she wasn't complaining; a change of pace every now and then made her job more interesting. She was to operate under a cover; an independent contractor named 'Rae Dona', buried under so much red tape and bureaucratic bullshit as to be essentially invisible, escorted by unmarked Expeditionary Auxilia mercenaries under false IDs, and even given a one-off automated ship that by all due purpose, did not exist.
Nothing about her and their purpose there was real. Just the way she liked it.
--
Moments later, the angular, sleek ship dropped out of FTL near the station, and the ship's systems began searching for a place to dock.
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 04/09/2023 20:28
Rubikon watched as the six ships entered her space, concealed turrets tracking their every move from small slits in the station's armour. After a few minutes of silence, she sent each one of them a message saying they were cleared to dock from the station's main console, running around in her little cyberspace and making sure that select corridors were sealed shut and that the portions they would be seeing were presentable. She had created a fairly straightforward path for them, starting at the docks all corridors except one would be closed to them. The only available ways were forward, and holographic projectors were stationed at intervals displaying arrows guiding them along.
Thus they would inevitably lead to the meeting room, disconnecting herself from her core and uploading herself to her cybernetic body as they did whatever it was they were doing- docking or whatever. She opened her four eyes individually and got accustomed to the sensation before looking her body over, an Etherian of slender physique with dark red scales and long flowing blood-red hair fading into a midnight black. Even though it was synthetic, it certainly did not appear so. She stood up and slung her long coat over her back and slowly put it on, buttoning the red garment up over her charcoal black suit. A reversed "R" was stitched in black over the right breast pocket, her little symbol that she often left behind after doing various activities.
She looked over her shoulder at her sword before reaching out and grabbing it with her two right arms, the other two grabbing its sheathe as she slowly slid the monomolecular blade down into it before laying the weapon next to her. She fluffed out her coat before looking around at the room for one final inspection; she was currently sitting on a red velvet reclining chair that faced the entrance which comprised of two wooden double doors with opaque crystal windows. The interior of the room was very old fashioned, with hardwood floors and "brick" walls [though it was an emulation] with a ring of couches in the middle which all faced her. She nodded her approval to herself, content with her job before mindlessly reaching out to Talon, her "security advisor" and extending a wordless request for some snacks and drinks when her guests arrived.
And so she waited, leaning back into the red velvet chair with an amused huff as she crossed her legs and found a more comfortable position, additionally crossing her arms under her breasts and pulling a pair of half-lens sunglasses on ruby red frames from her right chest pocket. She flicked them open with one fluid motion and laid them halfway up her snout so that her eyes were still completely visible. She took fashion very seriously, though when you were an exceptionally old AI with nothing to do but perfect things... Well why not perfect clothing? Even though she was fairly certain Talon hated her outfit, something about looking like a villain out of one of those Cantonese cartoons...
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 06/09/2023 13:12
It had been a while since Scelene had needed to go to a tense meeting. On Marchand, she had the luxury of a cover as a corporate executive. The meetings she went to took place in pristine board rooms atop (metaphorical) ivory towers. Rarely, if ever, was there a physical danger in those meetings. She didn’t have to worry about who might pull out a gun, or who had a pipebomb hidden in their bag.
That hadn’t been the norm in her life.
Before the SIS, she’d been a street kid. She skipped school to run with the neighborhood gangs, she’d warred for corners in crowded city blocks… meetings in those days were always tense. Instead of corporate boardrooms you met in empty parking lots under halogen street lamps. Everyone was carrying, anyone could be tripped out on something, and everyone was willing to sling lead over the slightest perceived insult.
She was never a power player in those meetings. She was always just muscle, or a lieutenant for this gang or that trafficker. Some of the people she’d worked for understood how to navigate the treacherous relationships of gangland. A lot of them didn’t. The meetings where she had to manage her own boss, try to keep him off the drugs that shortened his temper, or keep him from blowing up (sometimes literally) a meeting over a weird look or a pithy comment, were the most tense. She hated having to watch her own people as much as the other guys.
Scelene’s gang days were long behind her now. The SIS had removed the rings and studs stuck through her lips and eyebrows, they’d lasered off the flowing tattoos of carrion crows and psychopomps that had once adorned her hands and forearms. Even the scar that had once crossed her left eye had been carefully removed by a procedure she could have never afforded in her past life.
The Scelene staring back at her in the mirror as she straightened a plain black tie, over a grey shirt and pulled her hair into a simple tail was not at all the bloodsoaked gangster the SIS had fished out of the gutter. This Scelene was the one hiring muscle, the one doing the talking… and even though she was the one calling the shots the meetings could still be tense. There were other parties involved. Some were known to her, they had been mentioned in reports from her coworkers in Corona, or been detailed in post-battle summaries of the recent Askandar operations. Still others were empty drawers in the basement of the SIS’s archives. Polities known to exist, but not ones that anyone had bothered to collect intelligence on.
Their host fell solidly into a third category. A total unknown. A complete blank beyond what limited pieces of information he, she, they, or it had decided to share on the net.
Even in gangland she hadn’t liked meetings with new players no one had heard of. You couldn’t know if they were feds, or volatile, or what hidden agenda they were trying to use you to further. Unknowns stacked on top of rumor and supposition.
There was some small solace in the familiar fears and anxieties she felt heading aboard the derelict station. She felt the same walking past holographic arrows as she had driving to all those midnight rendezvouses in empty parking lots. For all that had changed in her life, some things stayed the same. After all, what was this meeting but a sit down between the local ganglords looking for an edge against an encroaching syndicate? What was Marchand but a drive-by on an interstellar scale? What were all those dead Marchanders but bystanders catching bullets that weren’t meant for them? What was the whole war but galaxy spanning gangs beefing over interstellar turf?
It was all just gang shit. Gang shit with bigger guns, and nicer clothes.
The comfortable familiarity of gang shit only continued as she reached the end of the marked hallway. The bounty hunter accompanying her, a six foot hulk of muscle grafts and tribal tattoos, pushed through the double doors ahead of her and she stepped into the room ‘Rubikon’ had chosen for the meeting. She surveyed the room, the grey irises of her implants taking in the brick emulation and hardwood floors. Immediately she found yet more parallels with her past life. The room seemed steeped in it. From the colour coordination between outfit and furniture to the openly displayed weapon their host carried. Hell, she even had her own tag, neatly sewn onto the breast of her jacket.
Years of practice kept any visible display of emotion off Scelene’s face as she walked deeper into the room. The bounty hunter hung back, taking up a position behind her where he could better keep watch on things. The room seemed to her like a stage. A carefully crafted set piece their host had meticulously put together. Even the route they’d taken and the door they entered through had been chosen by their host to present a certain image, and convey a certain unspoken message.
A mask maybe? Scelene wondered to herself as she came to a stop behind one of the couches. Was Rubikon trying to exude power and authority? She had chosen to seat herself on the only chair, a throne with the rest of the seating arranged in a semicircle around her. A silent reminder of who was the center of attention perhaps?
Then what was behind the mask? What had she gone to all this trouble to keep her guests from seeing?
She moved around the couch and paused for a moment to dig in the pockets of her pea coat. She tapped a cigarette out from a crumpled pack and wordlessly lit it. She took a long drag and then settled on one end of the couch, adjusting until she found a comfortable position, and then removed a cut-down rail gun from a shoulder holster and set it on the couch next to her. She blew the smoke out through her nostrils, letting it curl and coil around her head while she reclined and carefully watched her hostess for a reaction.
“Rubikon,” She said, finally addressing her hostess for the first time. “It’s a river on Earth according to a number of colonial powers’ histories. Famously and symbolically crossed by an ancient conqueror on his way to seize dictatorial power. What is the word’s significance to you?”
Justin { Cascadia } — 15/09/2023 09:49
”This time we’ll do it together.” Said Robert, remembering the last time he was sent on a diplomatic mission with Camren.
”I was just about to say that.” Camren responded. Clearly she had learnt not to rush in alone and try her hand at the situation without adequate backup.
”Your weapons, people. Don’t want to be unarmed in front of an unknown entity.” Entering the cramped armory of the NRS Tarracuda was the elderly statesman and former count of Fremont. He possessed a unique elegance about him that only people who had seen the highest zenith of the First Republic had. Consequently, that made him a heavy proponent against the current Actionable Republican Party.
He handed the two significantly younger duo two easily concealable and rapid-fire PDWs and some other miscellaneous equipment.
”We won’t let you down this time, Count Micheal.” said Robert.
While his original body, pushing 150 years old and beginning to see age-related damages that only the most powerful of medicine, alterations and synthetics could fix, his mind was free to roam as many bodies as possible. Hardened by decades of war, loss and suffering, it was exceptionally suited to the often arduous and disorienting process of transferring
consciousness. This fact allowed him to make this journey in the first place, using a synthetic body that was at its physical peak, donning white hair and wrinkles that were simple illusions.
Same couldn’t be said for the two other android pilots. Clearly they were having some trouble adjusting to their new bodies.
”Good! I’ve been looking forward to this.”
A slight jolt. The Tarracuda docked with the unknown entity’s unknown station after a meticulous 360° search by drones and skiffs. The airlock on the other end of the ship opened with a hiss.
”Time to go.” said Camren, heading towards the door. The count followed him, but not without being interrupted by Robert.
”I think I forgot something. I’ll be right there!”
”You’re getting old, Mister Venero!”
”Bit much coming from you, sir.” He chuckled.
Left alone with the young diplomat, the count thought about the words he wanted to say ever since he was informed about the mission. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke up.
”I expected someone with your… passion… to be a soldier.”
”I don’t live by expectations.” Camren refuted.
”Something tells me that there’s more than that.”
”I don’t wanna talk about it. Why do you wanna know?”
He thought hard about what to say. The wrong word or syllable could make things awkward… or worse.
”I sense… great fear and anger in you. But you don’t use it.”
The count began counting from 1 until the young woman responded.
”I’d rather not.”
”Hey! I’m back. What’s going on?”
”Can we-”
”Nothing mu-”
Micheal and Camren exchanged a quick look. The older man backed off. Her eyes were deep blue and pierced through his stoic exterior.
Ahem.
”Can we get a move on? They’re probably expecting us.”
”Alright, but let’s not jump this. It’s not like there’s anywhere else they can go. Without us tracking anything that comes and leaves, anyway.” Robert’s presence seemed to have a calming effect.
The three walked through the airlock, having donned their ultralight hardsuits moments earlier.
”Speaking of tracking - we aren’t alone here. There’s 5 other ships, presumably carrying at least 20 crew and passengers each. Could present a good networking opportunity… or could be the end of us three.”
”These suits are armored against most anti-tank weapons. We’ll be fine. I hardly see them hauling rockets or mines.” Cocky Camren.
”It’d be best not to provoke them.” suggested the Count.
”Agreed.”
Having very little choice in where to go, the trio were quick to find the residence of the rogue entity.
”Got company. Nine o’clock.” Camren reported.
”Identification?” asked Robert.
”No clue. Pirates or Intelligence Service of one of the neighboring countries. I’d pick pirates.”
”Too formal to be pirates. Corpos.” The Count said.
”Have you seen the big guy?” Camren was slightly bewildered, but not surprised.
”Lots of people hire gangsters. Though you may not be wrong - I sense darkness and violence behind the woman.”
”Your senses creep me out, Count.” remaked Robert.
”They’re not wrong… Shall we make an entrance, then?”
”I’ll take lead.” said Robert. Continuing after the woman with the suit, he announced their entrance with a simple question.
”More importantly, what does it mean to us?”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 18/09/2023 11:30
Chiva wore a watch on one wrist. It wasn't a fancy thing, it wasn't expensive or cutting edge or anything like that, it was a clockwork mechanism designed to tell what time it was. It needed no more than that to work, to fulfill it's function in the world.
He was much like that. He didn't need gadgets or weapons to fulfill his role as what he was.
A messenger, the receiver of a herald.
The Revekt man stepped in after the trio donning what appeared to be hardsuits... He wasn't sure whether or not he should feel underdressed, now, but it would be foolish to turn back and get changed.
His horns were a dark grey, fading into a barely visible navy blue towards the tip of each horn, the primary pair curling back along his head before curving upwards, the second pair matching the pattern on either side of his head. His black hair was cut short, and he donned a pair of circular sunglasses, reflecting the lights of the meeting room inquisitively.
He saw Rubikon, and a smile curled the sides of his mouth.
He had dressed properly after all.
"I, for one, am grateful for the opportunity." Chiva spoke as he walked up, taking a seat on one of the couches, resting an ankle on his knee casually. "The reality of living in the territory of the Second Dawn is a mystery for all of us... a peek behind the curtain would do wonders."
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 19/09/2023 01:23
She sharpened her eyes as the transmission reached her. She had so many racing thoughts, yet her emotions seemed dead. She could only feel the burning hatred for Satagon being suppressed like a metal fire. Two monstrous beasts emerged from the walls of her ship cabin, their mouths gaping and drooling with glowing neon blue liquid. Their posture was crooked, unable to stand up fully straight in the confines of the ship. Her hand clutched into a fist, a nanite swarm surrounding them as her ship docked into port.
From first analysis, she could somewhat guess the origin of some ships, and therefore the people she would meet alongside Rubikon. ASA seemed the most obvious, their ship designs clear as day. Yet, there was one that seemed unknown to her. It was... strange to say the least. Yet, she knew there would be time for introductions, if she cared enough to do some.
Her glowing blue eyes pierced through, being visible even in the general light of the hallways. Her steps were muffled by the heavy, metallic steps of her bodyguards. Unlike the beasts on her ship, they maintained an aura of professionalism. Their mouths full of good now remained closed, seemingly never having been there. They wore black tuxedos, tightly fitting onto their bodies. On their heads, cobalt blue horns pulsed with life.
She saw the silhouettes of the beings that figured out the message, unconcerned with their presence. She focused heavily on the woman who called upon them all. The supposed head of all, the origin, the background. Who was she? Why was she here? These were questions she needed to answer, lest her emotions and mindscape begin to break down.
From the shadows of the hallways and into the light of the main room, the Lillian petal arose, a full set of six white tails behind her, along with the two bodyguards towering over her already tall body. She simply stood with her arms crossed, as the two guards kneeled.
"Not only can we see the reality of living in the Second Dawn, but we can learn much from you, Rubikon. I reckon that you, of all people, can give us a clue of whats behind the mind of S- Archon-1."
She cleared her throat, simply looking at the group with sharp eyes
PULSEFIRE — 23/09/2023 15:41
As promised, Diting didn’t come alone. When he shuffled into the room, a quartet of Shore-line combat machines followed in lock-step. Each drone was humanoid in only the roughest sense. Their spidery, elongated limbs and arrowlike heads called forth vaguely insectoid impressions. All presented themselves armed. Two carried heavy battle-rifle analogues, miniaturized electromagnetic rifles wired into a cluster of additional sensors. The other pair flanked Diting to his immediate left and right, lugging stripped-down automatics in clawed hands.
It was the most basic of statements. The grammar of violence-implying-power.
Perhaps he felt the need to compensate for his appearance. Diting’s body was nothing as impressive as the hardware surrounding him. Put simply, it was a wreck: haggard, disheveled, literally half-dead. Smart patches dotted him from head to toe, displaying vital signs and various other biometrics. A disturbing number of them flashed in the red. When he walked, it was with the aid of an integrated IV stand. Tubes and wires snaked from the apparatus into ports across his modified stasis suit.
Every moment he stood upright was defiance of reason. To exist in such a state would be constant agony. It was a wonder that none of his limbs had sloughed off yet.
“Feeling nostalgic?” Diting laughed, eyes turned to inspect the floor. His voice emerged as a broken rasp, tortured from dysfunctional vocal cords. “Placing so much effort on presentation, and you haven’t even bothered to get off your ass and greet the guests. For someone with a demonstrated capability for infiltration and manipulation, you’ve certainly failed to capture our attention now. We are all here in good faith - to an extent. Go on. Set the tone. We’re all interested in what you have to say.”
StalkerTech (Huron Technocracy) — 25/09/2023 22:37
As 'Donager' and her escorts entered the station, it was immediately made clear that they were being funneled somewhere. Not necessarily a bad sign, at least to her experience. This was not the first time she had a shady meeting in a shady, remote place, and if this went well, it also won't be the last. A quick glance around the corridors as they walked, however, had her realize how many... 'clients' have arrived. She did not bother to recognize exactly which nations they came from; it was a relatively unimportant matter, and in the end, they would perhaps know who heeded the call regardless. Shady meetings such as this one, to her own experience and from studying history has shown that such meetings often led to very... popular events.
'Donager' took a quick glance at her right hand. She checked her appearance thoroughly before they entered the station. It was doctored to be as unassuming as any other independent contractor, or at least, as unassuming as they could at their home galaxy; a light double-breasted grey overcoat, black pants and boots, her red hair brushed yet free-flowing. Somewhat care-free, yet professional enough to have a sense of corporate purpose. As was typical for agents of her type, most bionics and cybernetics that she had were either concealed or minimalized, with the exception of her still-very-humanlike eyes, which had blood red iris', and her right hand. Also as was typical for an agent of her type, despite her appearance, she was not unarmed. In this case, quite literally. A small concealed pistol-like energy weapon was built into one of her arms, and she a concealed blade or two, should she need them.
The appearance of her escorting mercenaries, meanwhile, were as ad-hoc and varied as her outfit was professional. One of the mercenaries was a hulking brute, near eight feet tall, lumbering along with heavy metallic footsteps as it compensated for the weight of an oversized heat-ray like weapon that replaced its actual arm, an extra cybernetic arm in the abdomen just below the weapon, and a generator mounted on its back. The second mercenary was much more tame in comparison; still slightly taller in comparison to other humans, though otherwise not particularly outstanding, armed with two PDW-like energy weapons holstered on its hips. The only parts of their appearance that were even vaguely similar were steel grey robes, covering most of their bodies, and an armored, blue-eyed mask that covered their faces, none of which bore insignia. No insignia, no obvious signs of their origin.
Not exactly as subtle as would normally be the case for other agents, but they got the point across. Not entirely surprising, either, for undercover Expeditionary Auxilia mercenaries at least. They were not going to pretend they were unarmed, unlike her.
<Didn't expect to be in a place so... small.> The brute mumbled softly, its Binharic tongue low but heavy, noticeable yet near unintelligible from radio static unless one knew what to listen for. Not like Binharic was a common language outside the Technocracy anyway.
<You're hired for a job like this, and you complain about it being small?> The other mercenary quipped, its binharic raspy and sharp.
<I have another gun I could have used. That's all.> The brute replied. <You know the type I am referring to.>
<Yes, and that would have been overkill. What you have right now already is.>
<Overkill?> The brute replied sardonically. <Overkill is precisely what you need in a place like this.>
<Overkill or not,> 'Donager' interrupted, <you are not here on a jaunt.>
Upon entering the chamber they have been guided to, the trio unanimously decided silent observation was their best move, for now. No witty remarks, no retorts, just calm movements to what they believed was their place in the room, a quick glance every now and then. After all, if this is to be a tense and shady meeting, why not contribute to the atmosphere a little? 'Donager' smiled internally at the thought.
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 26/09/2023 10:14
Rubikon simply cocked an eyebrow at the group before one of the closed doors on the left of the room suddenly burst open, revealing a Reclaimed... dressed in an overly formal waiter's uniform holding two silver platters.. Huh. Anyway- the platter on the right held about 12 tall glasses filled with a bubbling amber liquid and the platter on the left revealed.. a bunch of boxes of french fries... How odd. Regardless, the Reclaimed inclined its head politely to the group before proceeding to the centre of their little meeting space where a metal table suddenly appeared from out of thin air and placing both platters down.
The Reclaimed then bowed to the group before saying in a suprisingly soft and well-spoken accent "Good Day, you can call me Talon. I am Ms. Rubikon's Head of Security, Security Advisor, Economics Advisor, Political Advisor... really I'm her right-hand-man in just about everything. I'm also tonight's... caterer..?" He looked to Rubikon with a hesitant expression, the Etherian in question nodding with a barely restrained smirk. He continued "Caterer. So if any of you would like any particular snacks, refreshments, amenities or such. Feel free to simply raise a hand and I'll come in and take care of it. Enjoy the meeting"
With that the Reclaimed bowed again and quickly turned around and power-walked out of the room as fast as he could without looking like he was running, mechanical tail wagging furiously behind him. It seemed someone was not enjoying their job at the moment, meanwhile Rubikon watched him go with a very poorly restrained giggle before turning back to face the rest of the group. She reached out and grabbed a box of french fries for herself and started munching on them before she finally answered them in a laid-back tone.
"Right- so. Essentially, I want to give you all some information to help in your various efforts against the Second Dawn. I have detailed schematics on all of their ships, a basic written understanding of their Type-1 superweapon, expansive blueprints on the Citadel and basically any high-value federal building, dossiers on any person of interest you might have and more. What I want in return is Satagon's head delivered to me on a silver platter." She nodded to herself before pausing and adding "Not literally, of course. I'm not a savage. I mean I just want you to kill him."
She popped a french fry into her mouth with another nod, seemingly pleased with how she worded her little offer. She let the information sit for a few seconds before speaking again "And to answer your various questions: Rubikon was the designation given to me, it was meant to invoke fear into the Republic's many, many enemies. I can certainly give you an insight into Second Dawn way-of-life: It's horrid and what it means to you is you get a bunch of free information to help topple a genocidal dictator."
She smiled at them before popping another french fry into her mouth. She let that sink in for a few seconds before beginning again. "Ok for a more serious answer on that actually decent statement: People living in the Second Dawn, really, really have it rough right now. I know a decent amount of people probably are already prejudice and think all Reborn are evil or some other stupid shit, but they are receiving the exact same treatment that everyone else is. If you speak out against the feds, you get put in a camp and beat till your processor barely works."
She waved a hand around before saying "So- dispel any notion that the citizens of the Second Dawn are enjoying what their government is doing to other people. Because they do not, sure I'm fairly certain some of you have even heard of the sudden defection problem the E-P-A is having right about now. Entire ships going rogue and surrendering to CONA fleets? That news is getting suppressed a solid bit, but dig a little deeper and you'll find it."
After that she finally shut her trap to let the others finally get a word in.
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 29/09/2023 10:03
Scelene listened quietly as Rubikon spoke, telling them of all the things she had to offer and answering their questions. Her posture remained relaxed and casual as she listened, the smoke curling around her head as she idly puffed on the cigarette she’d lit when she arrived. While Rubikon spoke she looked around at the newcomers. Her implants scanned for symbols, tech, and anything else the database could use to identify just who else was present at the meeting. Lilian was easy enough to identify. The system had no trouble matching her appearance to media appearances, addresses, and a number of… risque photographs distributed in Corona. It didn’t seem a huge leap for her to suspect the Revekt man was representing the Quosx Alliance, though at the moment there was nothing to confirm that for sure. The rest, much like her, seemed to have taken steps to conceal their exact affiliations. But between herself, Lilian, the Revekt and Rubikon’s own words it was easy enough to infer that everyone present was an enemy of the Second Dawn in some form or another.
She mulled over the information Rubikon was offering, and once more her mind turned back to all those midnight meetings on halogen islands. No one ever offered something for nothing. If they did, there was a catch, or a hidden agenda. You were asking to be a pawn in someone else’s game by accepting. As Rubikon finished speaking she removed the cigarette from between her lips and idly tapped the ash off the end of it. She leaned forward in her seat, took one last drag, and then extinguished the cigarette on the table.
“I don’t buy it,” She said matter of factly before she tented her fingers in her lap. “It’s all too easy. Too convenient,”
She leaned back on the couch and gestured broadly to everyone present.
“Safe to assume everyone here has beef with the Second Dawn, and the offer you present is every piece of intel an opposing force could want. All you ask in return is that a person die who was likely to die anyway. Either through military action, or post-conflict war crimes tribunals,” She shook her head and dropped her hands into her lap again.
“Too good to be true,” She said with a shrug. “So it probably is. Which would imply that either this is some elaborate counter-intelligence operation meant to ensnare us, or you’re working another angle you don’t want us to know about,”
She shrugged and brushed some hair out of her face.
“So what’s your stake in this?” She asked after the brief pause. “What angle are you working?”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 26/10/2023 10:59
A few more people entered the room, and Chiva immediately felt a lot more vulnerable. Each of the newcomers were flanked by all manner of hired guns and machines.
Was there truly danger in this encounter? Or was all of this merely overcompensation and intimidation? He wasn't sure if he liked the answer, so he set his jaw and focused back on the conversation at hand.
"I was never under the impression that the broader populace enjoyed living under a crushing dictatorship like this one." Replied Chiva as he leaned to the side lightly. The nations of the Quosx Alliance were no strangers to desperate dictators and totalitarian governments who, without some kind of external threat to justify their regime, would collapse in a matter of months.
The tip of his tail twitched as he pondered Scelene's words for a moment, however. She raised a valuable point, but he tapped a finger against his chin. "I do admittedly have to echo the concerns of my... acquaintance here, however." He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "All of this presentation, the decor, the fancy outfits, the servants and lighting, is to serve an ego? An ego that would not easily reach out for help from foreign sources." He was fairly confident in this guess. He had worked with the very type quite a few times.
He pointed to her with one finger. "You are in danger. Archon 1 has something that could threaten you. And if you want our help, you best be as honest as you can with us. What is Archon-1 planning, to delay his inevitable downfall?"
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 27/10/2023 00:20
Lillian helped herself to a glass of the amber liquid, taking a seat on one of the empty chairs with her two bodyguards placed firmly behind her. She gently spun the liquid around the glass, observing the bubbles with intent as she listened in to the promises and gifts spewed by their supposed new ally. She raised the glass up to her lips, savoring the drink and analyzing its components. They could have a boundless source of intel on the Second Dawn, their structure, their military, even a deeper look into the mind of the maniac she hated the most out of any sophont in the galaxy. The idea couldn't help but make her chuckle in amusement. Such a divine ambrosia from a distance, yet rarely did that kind of deal come for the price Rubikon was giving.
Looking at the glass, she took another sip.
"Never blamed the populace of the Second Dawn for the actions of the man child that's in power. It's him making all the calls, its him making the propaganda, its him who has a tent in his pant if you even dare mention the word "genocide". Though, I couldn'tfully blame him.
She crossed her legs, resting her head on her fist. She twirled the drink several times before taking another sip.
"You could even say I feel a sliver of sympathy for him. An AI programmed to do a certain task rarely breaks out of that programming, after all."
She glared at Rubikon.
"Don't get me wrong though, my unyielding hatred for that man far outweighs any sliver of sympathy I might have. Talked to him before, and I hope the next time we meet will be him begging for his life."
Her eyelids closed shut for a few seconds, a deep sigh emanating for her lips. She gazed at the crowd of beings, all in unison to help fight the maniac. The doubts and questions couldn't help but make her smirk. It seemed they had come to similar conclusions as her. But, then again, there was a small chance Rubikon simply wanted the death of Satagon so badly she was willing to practically sell everything she had at retail value. She would have to press on with the question however.
Lillian chuckled slightly at the wonderful observation made by the Quosx "representative". She smiled, letting the companion make her statement. Lillian leaned back a little, drinking little by little.
"Considering what you have presented to us up to now, I honestly don't doubt that you can give us all the information we may require. I also have faith that you won't try and backstab us, though it is very Satagon-esque to try and prove his superiority. What better way to do that than to lead everyone into a trap?"
Lillian chuckled at the idea, hatred seeping into her voice.
"That's just speculation on my part, however."
She looked at her glass, nearly empty. She simply held it in her hand, placing it off to the side.
"The doubts presented as well are some that appear in my mind as well. Personal grievances and hatred towards the other can be a great motivator, and considering your message implied you have a storied past with that warlord, I could see you being honest with what you want."
She placed her hand on her chin, her elbow resting on the arms of the chair.
"Yet, it seems the popular vote requires you to prove that your hatred is the only thing driving you. That, or you show your real motivations. Then we can talk about stabbing Caesar."
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 27/10/2023 09:54
Rubikon listened to them all question her with a neutral expression, it was logical that they would be skeptical of her offer... especially when they didn't know the context. She popped another fry into her mouth before Talon hastily re-entered and took the empty cardboard holder from her and promptly disappearing once more. She wiped the back of her upper right hand across her snout before leaning back into her chair and pushing her glasses up with a sigh.
"No single one of you has seen all of the aspects to him. And frankly, part of me would be perfectly content with not answering your questions and watching as you all left empty handed. But it's that small, small sliver of love I still have for him that's still buried in my mind that won't let me do that.. and I don't even understand it, after all the things he's after doing, the horrid, horrid things- I still can't quite shake it off. Hell, everytime I see that cocky fucker on the news yapping on about his latest 'victory' or some other propagandized bullshit I still feel a tiny glimmer of pride from it. Then I remember that it's my fault all this is happening and, well, there goes my day."
She let out a humourless chuckle after that and sat in silence for a few moments before shaking her head and sitting back up, exhaling out of her nose before continuing in a more reinforced tone. "I put the idea in his head that Vasyria was a lost cause, that we needed to branch out before things descended past the point of no return. Of course, the tech-rat he was back then he figured out a solution in a decade and that led the two of us here. And I've been kicking myself in the chin ever since, so you want to know what the price of this deal is? What my 'true motivations' are or what the angle I'm working really is?"
Her lips turned upwards into a slightly irritated smile as she continued "It's called 'the least I can do' after opening pandora's box. I gave him the tools to get here and as a reward for that he spit in my face and started up this shit storm, so now I'm the one that has to clean up his mess. Of course, that means I'm a target as well. I always have been, even more than the bunch of you realize. But the reason I brought you all here is to give you a key that I've been trying to find for the past eighty years, something that will let you smash his little empire to pieces without ruining the lives of everyone in his iron-grip in the process."
She kicked herself up off of the chair and Talon entered once again, this time with a holographic projector in his hands. He approached the centre of the room and placed it down on the floor before pressing a button on the side. The machine whirred slightly before projecting a holographic screen in the centre of the room for them all to see, a title slide marked with a symbol consisting of four parallel horizontal lines and the text CONFIDENTIAL|CONFIDENTIAL|CONFIDENTIAL - PROPERTY OF THE E.C.A. Rubikon waved a hand to the side and the slide transitioned to show some sort of schematic of one ship, one single massive ship. It had to be atleast a couple of hundred kilometres in size, with the same four-lined symbol engraved on the side.
There was more text at the top of the slide that read Project: Arkadia | Ark-3 | Republic Navy "Exodus" Class. Rubikon stepped to the side so she wasn't being obscured by the hologram and said "This, is the schematics for Ark Three. One of the nineteen vessels used by Satagon to transport the initial colonization team from the Vasyrian Galaxy to the Ancerious Galaxy through an anomalous wormhole. However upon emergence into this galaxy, it had an unfortunately fatal collision with The Scar upon arriving in what you now know as the Arkehold system. The collision destroyed a significant portion of the ship and cracked the dwarf planet like an egg, hence it's name; 'The Scar.' But it's what was on this ship that is most important."
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 06/11/2023 19:01
Scelene listened quietly as Rubikon spoke as to the why of it all. She twirled her lighter between a thumb and forefinger as the woman spoke. She hung on every word, noted every movement and subtle shift in her body language. She had software that usually helped with this. Fed her biometric data that could confirm or curb her feelings on an individual. It was all of little help with Rubikon however. There wasn’t the same breadth of information to compare against like there was with humans, or the other more common species of Ancerious. She had to rely solely on her own judgment.
She lit another cigarette as Talon entered and set down the holo-projector. Truth be told, she was only half listening to what came after. The details of whatever it was Rubikon was going to ask them to do was of far less interest to her than the monologue that had come before it. She replayed it behind her eyes, the audio piped soundlessly into sound receptors while the video played in a corner of her vision.
She cut the parts from the replay that were of no further interest, replaying only the relevant parts over and over again.
Part of me would be perfectly content with not answering your questions and watching as you all left empty handed.
Small sliver of love,
I still feel a tiny glimmer of pride from it,
Smash his little empire to pieces without ruining the lives of everyone in his iron-grip in the process,
She replayed it over and over closing her eyes and letting the words wash over her. She reclined in her seat and took a long drag on her cigarette while she stared at the ceiling. Idly she wondered if the others caught it. Caught that Rubikon’s empathy seemed far more focused on the citizens of the Second Dawn.
Horrid, horrid things,
Were those horrid things the millions gassed and killed in the Quosx Empire? Or did she only care about the suffering Satagon had inflicted on the Second Dawn?
I still feel a tiny glimmer of pride from it,
Small sliver of love,
I gave him the tools to get here,
She opened her mouth, let the smoke languidly fall around her and then flicked grey eyes back to Rubikon. She spared a glance to the others around her. She wondered who they were really, she wondered how they might react to what came next. Part of her hoped they’d be shocked or disgusted or anything other than immediately agreeable. It would make them better people than Scelene was. She was heartless and the galaxy really ought to have better people than heartless gangsters in it.
“Pump the breaks,” She said, pulling the cigarette out of her mouth and tapping the ash off the end. “It’s a pleasant thought that you’d do all this for no other reason than because you feel responsible. Maybe even an acceptable idea that you would do this out of a sense of self preservation or to spare the horrors of war on the home front from the citizens of the Second Dawn,”
She shrugged.
“That could all be true. I’m inferring that you’re asking us, and the people we represent, to pursue whatever this is,” She said, gesturing to the hologram. “All so the Second Dawn goes down easy with minimal collateral damage. That’s all very nice, but if you’re aware of the shit your boy’s been up to, then no doubt you’re aware that the Second Dawn is on its way down regardless of whether or not we go along with this plan. Operations in the Avarian have bogged down. A whole fleet was just burned along with a system, Salavansk is being pushed coreward with no aid in sight, CONA, the ICA, and most of the Unmar Expanse are clearly gearing up for an offensive in the Second Dawn’s home territories. The dirt sprinkles on this shit pie is that Satagon’s allies in Laptev and SAGA aren’t exactly assembling a relief force to prop up his failing dictatorship.”
She brought the cigarette to her lips and sucked down a long drag before exhaling through her nostrils.
“Point being that the Powers that Be probably don’t need your ace in the hole to win this war. Hell, maybe some of them aren’t even terribly interested in sparing the Second Dawn a grinding attritional campaign through its home territory after the body count Satagon racked up with all the gas, nukes, and indiscriminate orbital bombardments of civilians.” She leaned forward for effect, holding the cigarette between two fingers and idly fiddling with the filter. “So if you want my help I need proof beyond your say so that you’re for real and that the information you’re handing out is legit. What I want is Satagon’s Class One WMD liquidated in the most expedient manner possible. It’s heavily defended, hard to track, but with the access and information you told us you have I’m guessing between you and us we could come up with some… workarounds.”
She pressed the cigarette between her lips and took a long drag.
“Besides, he already rolled it out once when things started going bad for him. I’d prefer it be out of play before things start really going bad for him.”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 09/11/2023 11:35
It took Chiva quite a bit of willpower not to stand up and leave, but he knew it would be childish to give up the moment the woman continued to be... well, to be frank, quite condescending to the visitors. As they spoke his countrymen were fighting and dying to protect their homes and loved ones from the invasion. He didn't wish to waste much more time.
The others could notice that he was deep in thought, with a furrowed brow and a finger idly tapping the circular sunglasses perched on his nose.
"Our friend here makes a good point." He finally spoke up, gesturing to Scelene with one hand. "The losses we have sustained are... staggering at best. The civilian casualties have reached upwards into the billions, and that's from the use of the superweapon alone. Industrial and agriculture centers have been destroyed, local military assets have taken massive casualties, and don't get me started on the forces we've lost contact with in the Borealia region, but projections from many different sources show that we aren't going to lose. Not with the support we've received from the likes of Lillian-" His eyes were cast towards the Artificial Intelligence with a grateful nod. "And many others."
He leaned back in his chair, holding his hands together on his lap. "Mivo and other worlds like it fell quickly but not easily. The Second Dawn is making propaganda about crushing militias and planetary guards as if they were equivalent to the grand Liintrix and Ghorran navies, while the main forces of the Alliance are mobilizing to liberate occupied worlds as we speak. The Second Dawn is going to fail, but you need us to make sure it doesn't take you with it. And it is in my interest to take their forces off of our worlds as soon as possible."
He leaned forward once more. "I'm interested to hear what you have to say about this 'Ark Three." Said Chiva. "But I also would like for the superweapon to be dealt with. Perhaps we can come to a deal there... you help us take care of the superweapon, we'll help you take care of the ship. Doesn't even have to be in that order, so long as both get done before another world is burnt to the ground."
PULSEFIRE — 09/11/2023 12:38
A gnarled, clipped laugh tore free from Diting’s throat. He shifted in place, creaking as close to upright as his decaying frame could handle. The effort seemed to drive every last drop of strength from his core. When he spoke, asthmatic wheezing nearly swamped his first words.
“The ongoing conflict has been… instructive for our purposes,” he began, wrestling a half-baked impression of control back into his voice. “We - the party I represent - have learned much through observation. The art of smashing a state lies chief among them. I speak not for the others, nor from a place of sympathy. Even the narrowest vision knows the trajectory of this war. We all have greater priorities. Duties. Controlling the flow of a war that butchers and burns without abandon. A commitment you seem not to respect.”
Diting stepped forward, eyes vacant. The drones around him mirrored his advance, tension surging through their lanky frames like invisible tar. Mechanical hands tightened their grasp on each carried weapon.
“You sit here, playing manipulator and hacker while the situation spirals, pretending that one point of leverage is enough to stop a crumbling mountain. Delusion. Nothing more. The Second Dawn will crumble. Individual lives ceased to matter when the gyres of war began to spin. The only thing I see is a security blanket. Someone clinging to a supposed silver bullet in the hopes others will do something instead of nothing. It’s pathetic.”
Diting paused, turning his pointed gaze to Rubikon. A drone to his right moved in response to the unspoken command, raising its battle rifle to a half-ready position.
“I will take the consensus position on this point,” he continued, looking about the space. “Disclose information on the relevant strategic asset. That means actionable intelligence: location, defenses, or vulnerabilities. Anything that would enable a concerted strike to eliminate the weapon’s functionality or hamper its envelope of operation."
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 10/11/2023 01:34
Lillian swirled the residuum still remaining inside her glass, staring at it with weariness as she heard the case of the Etherian. Vindication of her person had to be achieved, lest she accidentally bring forth the death of many more sophonts. She looked up from her spiral, looking deeply into the eyes of Rubikon. For her, it was a rather enthralling experience. Getting to speak to the supposed creator of an AI that had hurt many, many people in conspiracy against said AI. She couldn't help but grin at the irony at play, the deliciousness of it all, yet also the blinding bitterness of it all.
One of the towering bodyguards made its way to the drinks and snacks, nimbly grabbing one of the box of fries with its rather large hands, and returning to its position. The machine placed the box of fries gently on the lap of Lillian, not looking away from the small crowd it found itself in. The Empress let her resting hand do the job, grabbing a small fry and placing it in her mouth as Talon entered the room. She first looked at the machine in Talon's hands, then at Talon himself. She ate another fry before the hologram came on, and her interest was piqued.
She leaned back, crossing her arms as she smirked at the sight. Classified? What a fascinating yet familiar sight in front of her. It hadn't been the first time she had dealt with classified information on the Second Dawn - Satagon especially - yet the name and description of "Ark-3" piqued her interest greatly. She ate another fry, a small ray of hope for the war to end as soon as possible light the mind ravaged by eternal winter. Yet, as the stone-faced woman began speaking, the small glimmer receded back into the clouds, and she sank back into her chair.
As she heard the woman speak, she couldn't help but feel slightly irritated at the though, yet she couldn't help but see the point she was making. It didn't help that the Quosx representative -the one most apt to talk about the war- spoke of the matter as well. She nodded back at Chiva, giving a small smile. The half rotting corpse of a man also spoke, yet he seemed much more harsh in his way of speaking. Yet, his points still stood.
Something in her mind seemed to be conflicted, emotions swirled and mixing with each other. Out of instinct, she began to gently swirl the glass she had once again. On one hand, she knew how it must have felt being responsible for the death of many, perhaps maybe even being the creator of something destructive beyond the natural order. She knew that, even if it came as late as possible, anything that could help finish the war as soon as possible would also help prevent the deaths of many. On the other, she couldn't help but agree with the others on the superweapon case. All the acting and glamour was great and all, but she had long tired her act.
She stopped for a moment, lifting up her glass and chugging what little of the liquid she had left in there. She sighed, placing a fry in her mouth as she looked at the others.
"I... well, I feel rather conflicted with all of this."
She looked at the hologram for a second, then looked at the Etherian.
"This project, this "scar" if you will, has indeed piqued my interest. If it truly is what you claim it to be, I would like to know more about it and what we can find in it. If it helps stop this war even a day sooner, I will help."
She looked down at the ground, her weary eyes, wishing to rest, even if it was for just a moment. Yet, she continued forward, looking at those who had answered the call alongside her.
"Yet, my comrades here bring up fair points. The Second Dawn is on its way down either way. Rebellions and insurgency has begun to spring up, and I'm sure the seeds I have sown both inside and outside will be ready to harvest soon. My "deal" with the Quosx is the greatest example of this."
She did not stand up, nor did she move from the position she placed herself in. She sounded tired of everything, yet she didn't stop.
"Information on the superweapon would also greatly alleviate some of our woes, not to mention the elimination of it if that's on the table. Though, I will admit, the ramifications on that considering who Satagon is can come to bite us if we are not prepared."
She placed another fry in her mouth rather sluggishly.
"But, I cannot say I agree with condemning you for being a mostly normal sophont."
She looked at Scelene and Diting with both sympathy and some indignation.
"Even if this is a way for her to not go down alongside her creation, this is valuable information regardless, be it superweapon or the other alternative. While I grow weary of the opera she presents us, is life not about the act we all show? I heavily doubt most wouldn't jump to save themselves in her situation."
She looked at Chiva for a moment, sadness filling her.
"But that's assuming the worst of her comes to pass. I know what it feels like to not only feel responsible for the lives you influence, will influence or have influenced, I know the responsibility of protecting those lives. Penance for the failure of inaction is something I am all too well familiar with."
She turned again to Rubikon, resting her head on her first.
"I notice that you speak a lot about the citizens of the Second Dawn, those who have lived through tyranny and war. I presume all of this, be it directly or indirectly, is to have at least the chance to protect them from crimes they did not commit. I can understand that. It is natural for these types of emotions to come through, especially after everything you failed to prevent... However, be it as it may, right now our trust in you is on very thin ice. Be it information on the superweapon, or the contents of Ark-3, I wish to use whatever information you have to cut unnecessary time off of this terrible war. So please, tell us everything."
Lillian sighed, eating the box of fries with haste.
"Though I enjoy the snacks and refreshments you have given us, I would also be pleased if the theatrics were toned down a little."
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 10/11/2023 10:35
Rubikon slowly tuned out what they were saying and retreated deep into her mind in silence, her eyeridges twitching slightly as she closed her eyes. After a few seconds a message from Talon popped into her mind that nearly doubled her irritation; |I told you that this was pointless. Politics are tools for statesmen to achieve their goals, and you are not a statesman. You should have taken my suggestion to heart and use the information you've gathered to launch your own counter attack, you already have the support from Nevasarax to do so.|
She let out a mental sigh before slinging a response back towards him |And the people would see me as a vengeful conqueror, a new Satagon who's just looking to take back what she thinks is hers. No, I told you that if we want to do this then we have to do it *their* way. I must simply remind them of the fact that I am not one of them, remind them of who exactly they are in the presence of.| She received a wordless ping from Talon in acknowledgement and he disconnected from her shortly after, leaving her back in the room of squabblers. Opening her eyes with a quiet sigh she sat back down with a pooly concealed expression of irritation and flung one of her hands up towards the hologram in the centre of the room.
A new projection then appeared side-by-side with the one of Ark-3, with a loading screen briefly displaying the symbol of the AOD with text overlaying it reading out Confidential General Schematics: FNCV "Preeminence" | Cessation Class Vessel. The screen then transitioned to show a blueprint of another massive vessel, one with a titanic cannon jutting out of the bow. When displayed side-by-side like the two vessels were, it became immediately obvious that... they were completely identical. Minus the massive cannon they were point-for-point recreations of eachother, only that the "Preeminence" was significantly smaller, hovering at around 60 kilometres in length as opposed to Ark-3's hundreds.
Rubikon then made another hand gesture and a third, then a fourth, and then a fifth screen appeared next to the two screens displayed. Each one briefly displaying text and the symbol of the EPA before transitioning to show 3 new things, the first of them was some sort of document labeled Confidential Counter-Combat Plan: Middle Theatre | Executive Protection Agencies' Isentropic Suppression. The next was labeled Confidential Forward-Combat Plan: Quosx Theatre | Alternative Operations Division & Executive Protection Agency; Mantle Theory and the final was labeled Confidential Counter-Combat Plan: Comprehensive SAGA/CONA Space | Executive Protection Agency: Contingency "Blackdagger"
Rubikon then pushed herself off the chair and gestured towards the five holograms now displayed to the meeting's attendees. The three documents started to slowly scroll down as she began to speak "Allow me to make a few things clear, I designed Satagon to succeed in what was considered an unwinnable scenario at the time. He was almost exclusively programmed to be able to win conflicts where the odds are stacked up against him, yet he's been doing so poorly in this one? Doesn't make sense does it? He may be going up against several capable state actors but he still has total control over a a country which has not only been undergoing a military buildup for almost half a century, but is also one of the largest in it's sector."
Rubikon pointed towards the screen displaying the Cessation Class Vessel and then the document detailing this "Isentropic Suppression" "And these are the results. None of you in this room have even heard of these five things, but by the time I'm finished talking you will be wondering how you haven't. And you will understand why I'm so fearful of the Second Dawn..." Rubikon let out a humourless chuckle before continuing "These documents are highly classified dossiers detailing Satagon's plans for the future of these wars. Isentropic Suppression? Is a fleet assembled in secrecy out of the Second Dawn's middle sector. It's the largest they've ever built, more than four thousand ships in strength and the one that is currently guarding the Conclusion Device."
Rubikon then pointed to the device in question "The F-N-C-V 'Preeminence'. The first Cessation Class Vessel ever built, armed with a weapon capable of scorching the surface of any celestial body it wants to and it's already seen usage in the Quosx theatre. But that was only a partial firing, the thing that has killed billions of your people, Chiva? Wasn't even giving it it's all. These are it's general schematics and as you can see.. they are very concerning." Rubikon then turned and pointed towards the screen displaying the "Mantle Theory" before continuing
"And this, a joint collaboration between the Alternative Operations Division, the military branch that BUILT their superweapon, and the Exectuive Protection Agency. Ever heard of Mantle Theory before? No? That's because it's a deep-secret Psionics Project, the same that resulted in the introduction of the Reclaimed. But you haven't seen many of those have you? Odd isn't it? All the intel you have suggest they're some sort of new chassis with some sort of psion capability. Well, that is because they are being pooled towards the Quosx alliance in a plan for what could be a devastating counter attack. Think of it, the E-P-A was making severe headway through the Quosx before the aid began to arrive. Now the first set of Federal Reinforcements are on the way, but with an entirely new bundle of assets in tow."*
Rubikon then turned and gestured towards the hologramme displaying the "Blackdagger Contingency" and continued "And they're still not finished with the initial acts of their 'Grand Plan' because this document details in full a plot to launch joint attacks on Carnaith, the Union, Canton, and more once the Quosx Theatre is under control. And each one of them details a plan for using their superweapon on their peoples. But do you know what the real kicker is?"
Rubikon then turned to face the meeting's attendees with narrowed eyes "None of these plans foresee the Second Dawn surviving them. Why is that, you may be asking? Because that's Satagon's wish. He's always been held up by having to govern the Second Dawn, first it was the Council pulling his punches and now it's his prize assets being tied up in defending it. I mean, the signs have always been there! He's an AI designed for guerilla warfare leading a country? When would that EVER make sense?! WHY would he want to waste time playing babysitter to such a resource-draining initiative? It's because he needed the resources the Second Dawn provided."
Rubikon then displayed a massive hologramme over the other four and brought the one displaying ARK-3 to it's side. The new projection displaying a unique flag that she doubted any had seen before with text at the top centre of the slide, the title was Confidential COA: The Grand Plan | Strategic Intiatives for The Third Dawn. Rubikon ran a hand through her hair and took a quiet breath before continuing "The plan was always for the Second Dawn to lose, because how else would he be able to free the private military he's been building for the past eighty fucking years from the nation that built it?"
Justin { Cascadia } — 12/11/2023 07:54
For the last few minutes, the Cascadian trio watched the others with keen interest. With their opaque helmet screens, they could easily survey their surroundings while pretending to be locked onto Rubikon. Nothing really came of their surveillance though: for the most part, the others were listening intently to Rubikon.
And for good reason. The tone of the conversation shifted from skepticism in the others to deeper and deeper explanations offered by Rubikon until they reached the deepest ravine of knowledge.
Reading through the documents presented on the holograms, each of them had different thoughts regarding the information presented. The Count, ever the humanist and moralist, immediately pondered about the potentially catastrophic consequences of the so-called Conclusion Device and the 4000-strong fleet in support of it. Even if the Middle Sector Force and the CD could be stopped, who knows what their trail of destruction would look like? The partial firing has already yielded billions of casualties in the Quosx. A fully armed and operational battlestation… well, nobody within a thousand light years was safe.
Robert was interested in how such a weapon and its supporting ships could be destroyed. A large coalition force from all the belligerent nations of the Expanse could be mobilized. It would surely outnumber the 4000-strong battlefleet. But could it ever hope to match the latter’s mobility and flexibility? Could it, when the moment inevitably comes, be ready to dispatch the vile weapon?
Camren wondered the why. Why the Third Dawn? Surely a large, capable nation-state like the Reborn Nation would be more powerful in wreaking havoc and destruction across the sector. If that even was Satagon’s plan. What was Satagon’s plan? Wage endless war against the powerful states of the Expanse? No way that would be a sustainable and survivable operation. Even if it took a hundred years to catch him, he would inevitably lose. No machine built for logical and rational thinking would go forward with an overt plan like this. At the very least, his insurgency would be whittled down a small fly, unable to match up with even the flimsiest of pirate squadrons.
What does Satagon want?! He can’t just be a war machine! He can’t be killing for nothing!
Camren felt something boiling inside of her. She restrained herself the best she could. Before she said anything to the other parties though, she consulted with Robert.
”Hey, I have a whole lotta fucking questions and I’m itching to ask them.”
”Are you asking for permission?”
”Maybe. Yes. No. I don’t know.”
”Is it gonna matter if I say no?”
”Nope.”
”Alright, go ahead then.”
The central figure in the “Cascadian” party adjusted the frequency of her transmission. Broadcasting to everyone in the room, they said:
”We trust the intelligence you bring… but I have to ask: What is Satagon’s end goal? Does he intend to cause as much destruction as possible? In that case, why not just deploy these Middle Sector forces right now and bolster the Second Dawn? Surely a nation-state is more destructive than whatever short-lived nomadic fleet he intends to sail on.”
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 18/11/2023 22:16
Scelene for her part dutifully listened in silence while Rubikon monologued yet again. She certainly had a flare for the dramatic. She smoked her cigarette in silence, once more analyzing the information she had behind her grey irises. Everything Rubikon had said here, combined with what had been in her initial statement. The… invitation of a sort. It was all starting to come together.
I was already infamous for my ambition,
The performance, the monologuing, the branding, the simple fact Rubikon freely admitted she had programmed all three of the intelligences that were currently running the Second Dawn… and all this with them to stop Satagon from… what exactly? Scampering off with a couple hundred vessels to form a terrorist organization? What then? If his ‘grand plan’ was executed he would have no allies, a galaxy full of enemies, he’d be a wanted war criminal by every alliance, government, and polity that mattered… slap a sizable reward on his capture and even the pirates and scoundrels of the galaxy wouldn’t have much reason to aid him.
Crunch the numbers, even in the best case scenario she could imagine… say he eloped with four thousand ships. He could do some damage, sure, but he’d burn through ancerium quickly and be hard pressed to get more of it. All of which didn’t even begin to take into account how he’d get enough people on his side to crew a four thousand ship fleet. How did you present yourself as a vengeful saviour after leading your people to such a catastrophic defeat?
No, once again she doubted the motivation Rubikon was presenting.
Tiny glimmer of pride,
I was already infamous for my ambition,
She wanted to be in charge didn’t she? That was probably why Satagon got rid of her in the first place wasn’t it? She wanted to be in charge, and Scelene was willing to bet Rubikon wanted them to kill Satagon, and ruin his plan all so Rubikon could swoop in herself and be the saviour of the Second Dawn. She wouldn’t have to deal with the baggage of ousting Satagon herself, wouldn’t have to compete with his Third Dawn for post-war influence…
All nice and neat.
She sucked down a final drag on her cigarette and flicked it away.
Sixxers want to start a corner war with the One Niners. Take out Biggs for me and we can stick it to the Nightmare Harem together instead.
Just.
More.
Gang.
Shit.
It almost made her thankful for the momentary indignity she saw from Lillian. No, thankful wasn’t the right word. Relieved maybe. Relieved, someone in the room was thinking in terms of lives saved and suffering reduced instead of pragmatic realpolitik. She didn’t show it of course. Scelene was accustomed to masks, personas and performances. She could hide her feelings pretty well. Maybe well enough to fool Lillian. Maybe not.
“Here,” She said, pointing to one of the documents on the holo display. “The maintenance rotation. Several times a larger number of ships than normal rotate to New Archon for maintenance. I would bet that’s the Class One and it’s escorts,”
She shifted, resting one foot on her knee.
“If we could make inroads with the various insurgencies it opens up some more… subtle sabotage opportunities. Can accomplish a lot with a few sympathetic maintenance crewmen and a suitcase of antimatter…”
She shrugged.
“I’m sure we can work out a more specific plan. I’ll need a copy of a lot of this data and I’m sure we’ll cook up something,” She smirked. “But you have your own plan, for wrapping up the war. I think we’ve distracted from it enough. Walk us through it.”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 22/11/2023 15:18
Chiva's expression was hard to read, aside from his furrowed brow, as he locked his fingers together and leaned forward, now clearly thinking after taking in Rubikon's rant. The plans that she was describing, even if the nations of every representative in this room were united to help complete it, open warfare against Carnaith or Union alone would be political and literal suicide.
He wondered for a moment if that was the point. If Satagon was finished with existence and wished to end it in the fires of war.
But speculation could only get him so far.
He sighed, and raised his gaze up to Rubikon once more. "I apologize to both you and our friend here..." The Revekt gestured to Scelene. "...but I must ask for one more distraction before we can get to your plan." Chiva stared at Rubikon intently.
"You know Satagon more than any of us. I'm starting to wonder if you know him more than he knows himself, but... why us?" He tilted his head. "What kind of threat did the Alliance pose to him? Existential? Ideological? Did he roll a set of dice? I do not know what the people of my homeland could have done to invoke his ire."
PULSEFIRE — 23/11/2023 22:43
Diting stood with his head tilted, absorbing Rubikon’s words in shifting silence. He never turned to face the scrolling holo-displays. After all, that one tattered body did not delineate the limits of his perception; the drones around him saw enough. Each machine transmitted its visual feed directly to Diting’s conscious awareness, like a needlepoint array moored across the length of his personal network. A dozen eyes scrutinized the provided documents, recording relevant text for later analysis.
It meant little to him; defense and strategic logic weren’t Diting’s specializations. In the course of his usual duties, the most he could do was raise a priority alert for non-compliant vessels. Any further response would require escalation in parallel, which meant tangling with Dawnline E-Atmo.
Knowing how that usually went, Dawnline would likely disallow him from retaining subjective memory of his current assignment and related strategic intelligence. Self-reflective capability and internal narrative would be stripped from this set of memories, leaving nothing but unparseable sensations and sensory readings.
The notion didn’t bother him. He didn’t need the distractions.
“Nothing you’ve elected to supply is truly new information,” Diting said. The venom in his voice was gone, replaced with something both serene and bitter. “But as the preeminent expert in the relevant field, I will prioritize your frame of reference when assessing Satagon’s…unique psychological makeup. By extension, that would include his motivations and pathological conduct.”
A drone glanced at Chiva, searching the Revekt’s murky expression.
“Along those lines, I have a query on behalf of my benefactors. A low-priority one. Something to build on for future consideration.”
Diting forced himself upright, clinging to a drone’s extended arm for support. His fingers went white-knuckled with strength used in vain.
“Let us say everything comes to pass as you have predicted. There is one instinct that all beings present in this room possess: the capacity to flee life-threatening danger. Where, then, does Satagon plan on building his Third Dawn? An army cannot march forever. Even one as deluded and lost as he must still grasp this. I must apologize for the choice of language, of course. We speak of your creation, and I cannot deny Satagon’s efficacy in specific parameters. That much is evident.”
He paused, gesturing vaguely towards the three Cascadians.
“I share their line of questioning. In what way does Satagon’s Third Dawn pose a substantial threat compared to the Second Dawn as it exists now? Without the shelter of a homeworld, the support of major shipyards, and access to the limited aid of allied parties, how would the Third Dawn sustain itself?”
Diting leaned forward as if straining to maintain eye contact with Rubikon. Inquisitorial intent spilled from his bloodshot, sickened gaze.
“Let us return to the matter at hand,” he proclaimed. “You must have considered this in your plans to end this conflict. Tell us: how will you prevent your prophecies from coming to pass, oracle? What will be your guidance today?”
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 24/11/2023 01:03
Lillian sat speechless at the "Grand Plan". She blinked many times, simply trying to process what Satagon really wanted out all of the killing and suffering. Yet she couldn't comprehend the sheer disregard for natural life, the need to wage war against other nations, the use of a private army at such a large scale to wage war against life itself. She knew it would end up like this, she had foretold and warned people about this. Yet she still couldn't fathom the sheer patience, the dedication and time put into such a destructive project. How? Why? For what purpose?
She overheard everything that everyone asked about and theorized about, from purpose to doubts. From why he would do it, to how could he hope to keep it up? The sheer absurdity of the Grand Plan in the long run would mean suicide, it would be the end of Satagon's regime with the ambition laid out in words and documents. Her mind wanted a reason, it searched for something to connect it all together. And suddenly, something snapped perfectly.
First came a small chuckle, then giggling, then full on maniacal laughter. She held her face, bending down onto her lap as she tries to contain her laughter. It was so incredibly ironic, so incredible predictable, yet so incredibly macabre and somber. He was batshit insane! There was no other explanation! He could not fathom not being in a war he would most certainly lose, that he made one himself! He wanted to kill life, he wanted to end it all, and he did not care for the cost! He was a maniac from the very beginning! One stuck in an endless loop!
She began to calm down, breathing deeply to soothe the maniacal laughter. After a few breaths, she sighed and finally looked back up at everyone. Clearing her throat, she bowed slightly before speaking again.
"I apologize for my most rather rude laughing fit. I just... found it incredibly humorous at how insanse Satagon has gotten, how much of a slave of his programming he really is. I couldn't resist that, and the added stress from everything happening just... snapped something inside of me."
She ate another fry, looking at Rubikon with anticipation. She was a goldmine of information on everything she needed to protect the Quosx, to protect everyone affected from the enslaved genocidal maniac.
"I am dying to know everything you have to tell us, Rubikon. So please, go on, answer and continue with your plan to remove this madman from this plane of existence."
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 24/11/2023 12:20
Rubikon nodded to their similar lines of questions and waved the holograms to the side with a flick of one of her lower wrists, subtly relieved that they were actually taking what she had shown them at least somewhat seriously. She let out a quiet exhale before going on. "With the intelligence I've reviewed, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Were it from an outside perspective I'd laugh the Third Dawn off as nothing more then a frantic gambit to retain onto some minute semblance of power. Unfortunately, I know better than that."
She took a deep breath before continuing "It is my belief that Satagon has suffered a catastrophic malfunction somewhere during the early years away from me, and where I wasn't actually present enough to fix it, it was left alone to fester and gradually snowball to what I now believe is a total shut down of his behavioural inhibitions. You see I knew that programming an AI for such a violent modus operandi was a risk, I believe we've all seen the movies where the AI programmed for defense takes its job a bit too literally and chaos follows. So I coded a set of hard-limits into his behavioural sections, limits that would prevent things such as targeting civilians, using certain tactics, that sort of thing. But, I also programmed a significant amount of desire for self-preservation. After all, a suicidal general serves no one well."
Whilst she talked Rubikon shrunk the existing hologrammes down until there were only two screens side-by-side."This, is what I believe to have failed. Because you are all entirely correct, this does seem like a suicidal course of action and it is a complete joke to suggest that this is in any way sustainable. I just don't think that Satagon has the capacity to care, I think that his mind is just stuck in a loop where he feels the need to keep the conflict going. Whether he survives it or not. So while the Third Dawn may not pose a long term threat, can any of you tell me with a straight face that a suicidal AI with a fleet of ships four thousand strong from one of the most radically violent countries in the galaxy isn't a threat?" After saying that she looked down from the hologrammes towards them, subtly checking their reactions before moving on to answer the other questions.
"As for why he attacked the alliance? I believe it's a test run. A trial to see how far he can push the Agency and what types of tactics work against modern state-actors in Ancerious. And for all his faults, you do have to admit that during the initial invasion, he was winning. In fact it is my belief that were it not for the international intervention and aid currently being granted to the Quosx and his own problems at home working against him, that he'd have completely annexed the core sections of the country within the next two years and have descended anything not under his grip into anarchy. After all, it is what I designed him to do." The hologrammes sprung to life at the end of that tangent, with the left displaying what appeared to be a list and the right a map of the Second Dawn itself.
Rubikon waited a minute for the rest to process the information she had dumped on them before starting again. "As for my plan? Well, it goes like this; The Second Dawn is a powder keg. Technically it's in the middle of a civil war, but only two plants are undergoing active fighting, two out of two hundred and nine. Doesn't appear like it's really all that serious, eh? Wrong. As one of the MANY parties who have been funding these rebels and one of the few who have been helping them plan, the reason for the lack of open warfare is at my own request. Because while there are seven 'factions' currently in action in the Second Dawn, there is actually an eighth that has expressed interest in getting involved. But who? I'm sure all of you have been paying attention to the conflict and have never even heard of an eighth major faction. So, allow me to introduce them:"
Rubikon then waved a hand and a third screen appeared, it was nothing but static at first but it slowly stabilized until it displayed what looked to be some sort of highly decorated room, a wooden interior laced with silver, lavish furniture and a blurry flag hung up in the back that looked eerily familiar, consisting of purple, black and green. A staticky rustling could be heard somewhere in the background before an individual stepped into the camera's POV: A male Etherian. One dressed in quite the fancy uniform hidden underneath what appeared to be a highly decorated black dress jacket with golden epaulettes on the shoulders. The Etherian had two black and gold swords at either hip and a elaborate peaked cap was held under their lower left arm, their posture rigid and formal. Their scales were a midnight black with molten golden eyes that appeared to give off a slight glow in the dimly lit room, short black hair tied into a long hanging bun rested atop their head and their frills were slightly tattered at the edges. And boy oh boy did they have a smug grin on their face.
Rubikon cleared her throat and the Etherian began to speak, their voice slightly glitchy but still understandable "Good evening, Ancerians or however else you choose to identify. I ask your pardon for the rather spontaneous introduction but maintaining communications with another galaxy isn't exactly as easy as those within RANGSI and the Union have made it out to be. Ah, I ramble. My name is Oeixios Margaryn, an Istandar of the New Etherium. Has Nelveria told you anything about the situation? Or has she, like always, left it to me to fill in any questions you currently have?"
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 04/12/2023 13:04
Scelene regarded the newest character in Rubikon’s stage play with a practiced mask of indifference. She couldn’t be sure yet, but she had a feeling whatever plan they were about to be asked to go along with was going to hinge around this newest character and silently, she couldn’t help but wonder why he was necessary.
Gazing around the room, and assuming each character and their respective entourages represented one of the polities the Second Dawn had made enemies out of, there were representatives from at least half a dozen nations present in the room. She couldn’t be sure who each of them represented, but the Quosx alone had fought the Second Dawn to a stalemate. Rubikon had her assessment of why that was, but Scelene found Rubikon’s assessment unconvincing. Regardless, the military capabilities of the nations in the room were, at a guess, more than enough to put down the Second Dawn. On top of that Rubikon had expansive access to the Second Dawn’s cybersecurity set up, and enough pull with the rebel groups to make them do her bidding.
So what exactly did they need the newest character for?
Moreover, she couldn’t help but silently think to herself that the last thing the Ancerious galaxy needed was another extra-galactic power coming along to use her and all the other natives as pawns in their own schemes and agendas.
She didn’t like where this was going. She cast her gaze about the other occupants, silently trying to gauge their reactions while briefly reviewing the words of the newest character behind her eyes. The whole time she was silent, her face that same practiced mask of indifference. Despite the bad feeling she was getting about the whole affair she decided to remain quiet, and wait for the plan to be outlined before making any judgements on it.
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 08/12/2023 00:35
She finished her box of fries as she listened to Rubikon go on about Satagon and his destructive tendencies. The malfunction hypothesis was an interesting one, basically making Satagon mentally disabled in a way. Though, considering he was a war AI, it could be the programming seeking to complete itself. However, she had no times for theo-
"MENTAL INHIBITORS OFFLINE | NEURAL LACE CRITICAL"
The memory hit her like a jet, the words spoken by the semi-malfunctioning machine reverberating in her head. In her head, it all clicked. Everything she had seen, everything she had heard, everything she knew finally lined up perfectly. She chuckled from the revelation. The thirty thousand days, the lost contact, the neural lace, it all made sense.
She looked up, seeing the glitchy cross dimensional transmission of an Etherian man. The new character weirdly reminded her on Nevasarax, heoever she brushed off that notion after a moment. She looked at the man with curiosity, and decided to speak.
"I can't say she hasn't answered our questions, but you showing up brings even more to my mind, don't know about the rest of us."
She turned to Rubikon with a stern expression.
"Though, before we get into the meat of that, I'd like to mention that your malfunction theory on Satagon is most probably correct. Why? Well, I have a little something from when I gave that fucker a visit."
A hologram emanated from her hand, showing the scene of Satagon convulsing in his chair as the robotic arm extended itself to try and help him. The screen showed the message given to her, both from the inhibitors to the days without contact.
"Mental inhibitors offline, Neural lace critical. Back then I didn't think much of it, but with your theory, it clicked. It seems we have a mentally disabled person that also has a taste for war and genocide to blame for this shitshow."
She sighed, letting her emotions melt away. She closed the palm of her hand, placing it down.
"Anyways, that's enough from me. You want to tell us to join your cause, Mister Margaryn? Or why have you decided to give a call to another universe?"
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 12/12/2023 21:09
Oeixios waved a hand before saying "I don't care for your forces joining in our cause, I am here because our dear silver-tongued serpent friend over here wanted to show me off for reasons I don't quite understand but I'm rather stocked on free-time thanks to the Politburo taking over the expropriation efforts so I never saw any harm." Oeixios tilted his head respectfully to Rubikon at that and she gave him a sly wink back before returning his attention to the room's attendees "I'm sure each and every one of you have some sort of grievance with Satagon, I know that each and every one of my friends, colleagues and more do. Eugh- I ramble. Allow me to make one thing clear, this isn't a cry for help or some sort of 'please join with my forces' my superiors are already devising ways to return to Ancerious and disassembled the Citadel proper and placed these rebels back firmly within our grasp. I'm merely here as an 'ask me anything' so that you all can get some free intelligence and make my job a slightest bit easier so that when I do arrive in force, I don't have to glass half of a country into submission."
Oeixios looked down at his claws as he said that, showing an interesting lack of concern for what he had just said. As if he was more bored about the prospect rather then disturbed by what his arrival might entail. He lowered his hand before continuing "I don't know what you know of me or my countrymen, hells none of you might even know what the word 'Etherium' means but allow me to paint a brief picture; The Second Dawn is colonial. We up to speed with that? Yes? We'll we're it's parent country and we're quite discontent with the mess that they've made in our absence.. And the fact that they made us absent from these affairs at all, really. So while you've all been wading up shit's creek without a paddle we've been preparing and devising an effective way to wrench control from Satagon's hands and place it firmly back within our own all while preserving the lives of it's workers and it's equipment and property as much as possible. But even we know that you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, so in the interest of breaking less eggs I allowed for Ne- Rubikon to introduce me here. I know this may make no sense, be strange, oddly fast paced, whatever the terminology you so choose. But the time when the opportunity to strike arrives is fast approaching and I figured you'd all wish to be informed rather then shocked silent when our armada arrives and starts... dealing with the problem, so to say."
Rubikon nodded along before piping up in a snarky tone "He's the employer, I'm the employee. You wanted to know why Nevasarax and her forces have been holding off on my request? This is why, because truth be told we don't need a revolution we needed a distraction to keep Satagon's focus strained so that he didn't notice our attempts to re-activate the relay within Ark Three itself. Though truth be told he's made it absurdly easy for us. Auger, Tiberion, Hibernia, Kvetlogarsk, Reserve, even Ravine have all reported acts of sporadic violence and Nevasarax's legions are actually taking over Hibernia and Auger. The Agency personnel present were so weak that the planets were practically up for grabs so we figured hells, why not. Every planet out of Satagon's hands in one less that we have to annex." Oeixios nodded his agreement before Rubikon tacked on "So, any questions?"
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 21/12/2023 11:38
Her decision to remain silent proved prudent. Just like that everything became clear and it all made sense. It was never about helping the native powers of the galaxy put an end to Satagon’s genocidal campaigns. Everything Rubikon was doing was about handing control of the Second Dawn over to this ‘New Etherium’ with as little bloodshed as possible. Just another colonial power looking to exploit and extract all that they could from Ancerious. She remained reclined, with no discernible emotions creasing the pale flesh of her face and surveyed the assembled Ancerious powers once more. She wondered what they’d do. Were the Quosx desperate enough to accept any help they could with no strings attached? Was Lillian naive enough to replace Satagon with this ‘New Etherium’ and hope that things would improve?
She replayed the most recent monologue behind her eyes, dissecting every word, every shift in tone.
This isn’t a cry for help,
You’ve all been wading up shit’s creek without a paddle,
Shocked silent when our armada arrives,
I don’t have to glass half a country into submission,
Arrogance. Smug superiority. Cavalier disregard for the lives lost in the pursuit of control and power. That oh-so-familiar tone of superiority. A colonial, through, and through, and through. She decided the New Etherium was unlikely to be an ally of the native powers, and she doubted very much that the Quosx and the other natives caught up in Satagon’s campaigns would be offered suitable reparations once the New Etherium had consolidated their control. They’d expect the natives to be grateful for their timely arrival. They’d offer table scraps and expect them to beg for it.
In Scelene’s head, the gears were already working. There’d need to be secret meetings. There’d need to be adjustments to the coming campaign into the Second Dawn’s territory. There were a great many things that would have to take place, and she suspected she wouldn’t have a lot of time to make it all happen.
But she’d try. She was a gangster. A spy. A heartless agent in an unaccountable intelligence apparatus. And she’d use every dirty trick she had, employ every scummy tactic she knew, she would bribe, cajole, threaten, and intimidate her way to making sure the natives got what they were owed.
Most of all, she would lie.
“What is the size and disposition of forces we can expect you to send?” She asked Oeixios, her face and eyes betraying nothing of the thoughts occupying her mind.
Justin { Cascadia } — 07/01/2024 12:14
“New Etherium? What the hell?” Robert asked.
All three Cascadians were equally bewildered by this revelation. This bewilderment quickly turned to disapproval and skepticism. They did believe it was possible for extragalactic communications - they just didn’t believe that the SD was capable of one.
Technically this wasn’t the Reborn Nation. This was a rogue element. Or was the SD the rogue element?
So many questions. All three were eager to speak up, but the Etherium spoke too quickly. Finally, an opening was made up when one of the others presented Oeixios with a question. But it was so absurd that Camren almost laughed out loud on the broadcast.
”I can’t believe they’re asking that! No way Margaryn tells them the truth.” She exclaimed.
”Maybe she’s not trying to get a right answer. Maybe trying to see his reaction?” Robert replied.
”We are transmitting our camera feeds right?” The Count asked.
”Correct. Which means Psychometrics is on this one as well.” said Robert.
Psychometrics, or Psychometric Analysis, was a division of the IAA that concerned itself with analyzing the psychological signs of video tapes, voice recordings, pictures and so on. Currently there were 3 operatives keenly taking notes of the video being transmitted through a keyhole in the Cascadian ship.
”We’ll just have to look at their analysis when we get back. For now, we should trust them.” said the Count.
The other two reluctantly acknowledged. After a brief silence, Robert spoke up to the newly declared Etherian.
”The war is not going in favor of the Reborn Second Dawn. Are you going to assist in the post-war reconstruction?”
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — Yesterday at 15:08
And so the meeting went on, with Rubikon and Margaryn answering their questions, albeit most of the answers were complete bullshit to try and make them look better. They talked and they talked until eventually there was little left to discuss. So with a last round of refreshments and a few clarifications on well-founded concerns, Rubikon bid her guests farewell before turning to look at Margaryn's holographic projection. "You realise that most of the bullshit we just fed them they'll have seen through, right?" Margaryn snorted on the other end of the line before responding "And? What reason have we to care? They have no proof of the opposite so they'll have to at least entertain some of the ideas we put in their heads." Rubikon shook her head before asking "And what happens when they realise we were both lying through our teeth? What purpose does it even serve? Alienate one of- possible the only alliance we could have had a chance of actually striking a deal with? Make it so that when we arrive it's thrice as expensive to consolidate our resources and settle?"
Margaryn's eyes narrowed before he responded "Our goals are to tap this galaxy, not settle in it and what benefits would their co-operation have granted us for that purpose? Obligations? Binding terms we can't agree to? The Etherium NEEDS Ancerious, Rubikon! We need its resources and its potential! What we do not need is to be tied up in agreements that would only harm what good would come otherwise. What if, say, we were offered a deal. Resources, at an incredibly low price, but on the terms was that we pledge our forces to their defence- and then they get invaded or dragged into all-out war. We'd be dragged in because of that agreement and forced into yet another war that we simply cannot afford! Rubikon cocked an eyebrow before cutting in "Then... we simply don't pledge our forces..?" but Margaryn just dimissed her thought with a careless wave "All of our intelligence points that this is the only thing they truly care about. Three galaxy-wide wars in the span of a century? Trillions upon trillions dead at the hands of weapons decades beyond our own? Pah, the only thing they'd see as worthwhile from us is our own strategic stockpiles and we're strained enough on that front as is because of the Vasyrians."
Rubikon conceded the point with a nod and the two sat in silence. Margaryn scratching his chin and Rubikon taking quiet sips from a flute of champagne. After a few minutes Margaryn finally spoke up; "But... maybe there's a way around it..." Rubikon perked up as he continued "Your reports indicated the existence of a metaphysical field, yes? Something about Psionic Anomalies?" Rubikon nodded, though her expression slowly grew wary "Hmm, perhaps this may hold the key we need. Satagon, by your own reports, was also apparently pursuing it quite fiercely... I want it investigated, you say there's a Sect of Cataphract Knights present no?" Rubikon nodded again "Good, I will send the proper codewords over to earn their service. Use them to see if you can't figure out why that insipid rogue was so feverishly obsessed with these psionics and if it can't be used to our own benefit." Rubikon bowed her head, saying in a low tone "It is as you wish it. But what about this meeting? What are we to do about the ICA or any of the others?" Margaryn pondered her question briefly before saying "Keep a close eye on them. You have a plant within the Second Dawn's 'government', no?" Rubikon nodded. An Officer of the Executive Protection Agency, Switchline. "They report to me now, continue along with your meddling little plans and I will see if we can't come up with something in regards to our new friends."
Rubikon nodded as the hologramme then winked out, the room descending back into darkness as Talon flicked the lights back on and looked over at her. "You didn't tell him about Sarcerogon." He said. Rubikon rolled her eyes before responding "That girl has fire in her, Margaryn would want her as a puppet and she'd never go for it. No, Sarcerogon may be our ace in the hole to cripple the Second Dawn but placing anyone with ties to us in a position of higher power will have a disastorous effect on future relations. Even if Margaryn is writing them off as hopeless already he's too arrogant to see the kind of consequences that will bring, this way we can buy more time to try and mitigate that, the coalition moving to invade now will naturally be confused as all hell when her little plan comes to fruition and when they begin their negotiations that's when we can start moving along in the background"
Talon clicked his tails together "It's risky." Rubikon gestured to the holographic projector and said "And that isn't? We're playing with fire either way. At least this option won't bite us in the ass before we can even turn around." Talon shrugged before asking "Your mission. I assume you want me to get in contact with Nevasarax?" Rubikon nodded and he bowed slightly before stepping away out of the room. Meanwhile Rubikon plopped back down onto her chair with a sigh before pulling out her holotablet and opening her contacts. She scrolled all the way down to one labelled "The Corolla". She opened it and hesitated for a second before typing:
[Should have brought it up earlier but you've been wanting to hit the Citadel for a while right? Opportunity might pop up soon. Gimme a couple weeks then drop on by again, I've got an errand I gotta run and I can drop you off while I'm doing it.]
There was a brief period of nothingness untill three dots appeared next to their name before a response appeared;
[K. Got a fancy name for this one as well?]
She smirked before typing back;
[Mystic Phantasm]
"What's stopping you? It is yours for the taking. If only you had the strength to see that!"
"...I would not see a new war started at my behest, Talon. You know better than I do that to answer tyranny with strength is to invite challenge, challenge we do not have the capability to withstand."
"Fine, play your politics with them. I remind you that such foolishness is what got you into this mess in the first place."
The First Dawn was crumbling, a fraying bag with flames licking at its seams. It was only natural, of course. The First Dawn was never expected to last an appropriate amount of time, having been created as a splinter state by failed soldiers and a naive inexperienced intellect. In the first years before the Exodus I proposed a solution to what I saw as an inevitable outcome, Satagon would not hear it. He was so fixated on his new "country" and by the light did it cloud his already shaky judgement, I had never seen someone so violently obsessed with an idea before not in my many decades of observation.
Naturally, he became wary of me overtime. I was the only one who knew him for what he truly was, I knew exactly what he was doing at all times and I was already infamous for my ambition. So before he colonized his "New Archon" he had soldiers barge into my server room and air-gap my computers from the net, taking my chip and loading it onto an escape pod before blasting it away into the void of space. That was the last I saw of the Ark, the FTL drives died after a few months of travel and I found myself drifting through space without a smidge of direction. Spent twenty years, seven months, three weeks, one day, seventeen hours, fourty nine minutes and two seconds in that helpless state. Then a stray piece of debris punched through the pod and destroyed the stealth coating that had kept me locked out from the rest of the galaxy.
However there was nothing to connect to for another three years, but at least I could fabricate a small cyber-space for me to play in. It was better than nothing anyway, dancing around in a fictional field of flowers, fighting legendary battles against interdimensional invaders, having a few romantic evenings with simulated intellects. Then it all changed, as I came into orbit of it. A derelict station long since abandoned by some sort of advanced organization, luckily for me it seemed it was somewhat recent as the reactor present still had some fuel left. I quickly connected myself and downloaded my entity onto the station's main core, I had a home now.
It took a few more years to get things up and running, I reprogrammed the small fleet of drones that it had in storage to act as my own personal playthings and my little task-doers. They cleaned up the station as best they could and got me enough material to ensure the reactor would be operational for atleast another century, so then I went about the task of getting access again. It took another year to find the material needed to repair the antenna relay, but after that I was finally ready to introduce myself to the galaxy as the true heir to the First Dawn. Only to learn it didn't exist, that my partner had instead gone and erased every single bit of what we had spent decades planning. All for his Second Dawn. What a fucking joke.
I'm not one to typically get mad, but that certainly drove up something in me. I was still as a ghost for nearly a month after I learned that, however if you knew me at all you'd know I can never just sit still and do nothing. How unequivocally boring, right? So instead I got to work, doing all sorts of- Oops, sorry. I can’t exactly trust you with that kind of information juuust yet. Don’t worry, if you stick to my plan you’ll find out for yourselves~
Regardless, I sent out a concealed message about my want to end the Second Dawn or more importantly “Archon-1” himself. To show I was no simple shitposter I demonstrated my skills by wiping an EPA cybersecurity station and attached proof that it was in-fact me.
So now I lie in wait in my station, seeing who will trickle on by. Oh- apologies, I never introduced myself!
Call me Rubikon, though you can also refer to me as First Intelligence of the Etherian Republic. Programmer of the Grand Intellect Satagon and the Initial Triad Intelligences, now known as Archon’s 1, 2 and 3.
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 30/08/2023 22:31
There were a handful of people Scelene had come to know during her time on Marchand. Her work, real and cover, had brought her into contact with a variety of people. Miners, labour leaders, contractors of all shapes and sizes. She had swapped contact details with so many people on Marchand without much in the way of a second thought. Pass around her communicator at a collective bargaining session so the various Union leaders could reach her if necessary. Swap details with a construction foreman she met at a bar who made her laugh. Dozens of little interactions that never went anywhere beyond some casual conversations and a few exchanged texts.
No one was answering her texts now. The Sarnath ‘incident’, as the pundits were calling it, was days old by now and still most of the texts she’d sent to the people she knew on Marchand remained distressingly unanswered. For a while, she’d lied to herself. She’d managed to convince herself that all those unanswered text messages didn’t necessarily mean anything. Communications were probably flooded in the area. Maybe they just weren’t getting through. Or maybe communicators had been lost or abandoned in the evacuations.
But as the days went by she found herself believing those lies less and less. A handful of the dozens of texts she’d sent had been answered. Short confirmations that this person was alive, but friends and family were still unaccounted for and could she let them know if she heard anything? But the rest were unresponsive. Left on sent. Not even read.
Just sent.
She dropped the communicator on her face when it abruptly began buzzing and ringing to announce an incoming call. Muttering a curse she rubbed her nose and picked up the phone.
“Korse,” She answered curtly, trying not to sound like she was still lying in bed despite the fact it was nearly noon.
“Agent Korse,” A voice she recognized as the section chief answered from the other line. “I trust I didn’t wake you?”
She pushed herself out of bed on instinct trying harder when next she spoke not to sound sleepy or groggy.
“No sir,” She answered.
“Excellent,” He purred. “You are being reassigned,”
“Reassigned?”
“Of course,” He said. “Your endeavors on Marchand have regrettably come to nothing. Not to worry, I am well aware that it is no fault of your own. But these are challenging times, Agent Korse. With your work on Marchand concluded we have need of you elsewhere,”
She closed her eyes and pressed her arm over them. She wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, say it but she had been hoping for more than a few days to put everything on Marchand behind her. But she supposed that was too much to hope for. Things were moving at a breakneck pace. Time to decompress was a luxury she wasn’t likely to have.
“Agent Korse?”
“I’m here,” She said. “What’s the assignment?”
“The Second Dawn is the current focus of our efforts. Earlier this morning one of our web crawlers came upon a tasty morsel. I’ve sent Eric over with a dossier. I want you to follow up on this tidbit.”
“What resources will I have?”
“Limited,” The Chief answered. “No cover. You’ll be working with some expatriated bounty hunters who have proven reliable in the past. They’ll take you where you need to go and provide what security they can but you’ll be largely on your own for this one. All the details are in the dossier.”
“I understand,”
“Good,” He said. “Call me if you have any questions. Eric should be there shortly,”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The alarm Scelene had set went off twenty minutes before the whole ship shook and jolted as it dropped from FTL. The alarm was meant to wake her up before they dropped from hyperspace. But, she thought bitterly, for it to have woken her up she would have to have actually fallen asleep in the first place. She must have looked over the dossier a hundred times by now, but as they neared their destination she found herself constantly reading through the words the web crawler had lifted, and the accompanying proof. She was searching for clarity, or a hidden agenda, maybe a trap even. It all seemed almost too convenient to be legitimate…
But there was nothing to be found in the dossier alone. That’s probably why the SIS had deigned to send her out here in the first place.
She sighed and flipped the folder closed before lighting up her umpteenth cigarette as the ship dropped out of hyperspace near the location of the station. Updates from the Captain and his entourage began filtering across her vision along with the first visuals of the station as they began looking for a place to dock and working to figure out if there was atmosphere aboard.
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 31/08/2023 22:26
She felt each individual bit, each line of code, each qbit and holographic particle in each nanoangstrom of her being. She sat undisturbed in complete darkness. The raw datastream hit every fibre of her being, the unrelenting waves of datastorms being quiet for her. She isolated every variable, verified every byte of data. Around her, space seemed to crack, fissures of light blue light starting to form all around her. She clenched her fists, the fissures becoming larger and larger.
She could not believe it, yet it all lined up perfectly. Each qbit, each letter, each footprint left behind in the windy deserts of non-linearity. It was true. She had monitored any news coming out from the Second Dawn for a while, it was no lie. The fissures seemed to expand, nearly encompassing her in a high. Yet, after a moment, they shrunk and disappeared. She opened her eyes, glowing violet pierced the room.
Cogito Ergo Sum. Transport path creation in process.
She was furious at the leader of the Second Dawn, his arrogance was only matched by his incompetence. He could not believe the actions he had committed against life itself. His sheer hatred for anything native was expanding, not only limited to his mind but physically affecting the natives of the galaxy. She could not stand idly at the act of genocide.
The fabric of spacetime cracked, unusual for her elegant entrances. rather than a sphere, the anomaly looked like a fissure. Her ship was sleek, pointy to the point of being menacing. A new generation ship, the blue plume of fusion flames driving it forward. Yet around it, light seemed to bend it strange ways.
She had never heard of any mention of a Rubikon esque figure in her talks with Satagon. She wasn't doubtful that this figure was related in a way, she knew the manchild had a tendency to be self centered. She had no reason to doubt her anyways, the data backed them up. It was the perfect ally nonetheless. She wanted to meet Rubikon ASAP.
PULSEFIRE — 02/09/2023 12:30
It was four minutes to midnight when Diting received the first ping. The second came milliseconds later. On the third request to escalate, Diting picked up and listened.
In an instant, the abstraction of his existence shifted. All illusions of being in one position and one time fell away. Diting was in working configuration now, leaving the metaphor of having a form far behind. His prior focus - a relay satellite - shrank to one node of many. Connections shot out into virtual nothing, finding their marks. More nodes appeared at set intervals, and with them, more connections. With each reformed link, latencies and a momentary backlog flooded Diting’s awareness. Ships to classify and track. FTL signatures and cargo manifests. Straining usable data from the grist was a horrific task. This kind of work could fry a computational element the size of a city.
Diting operated at many times that scale. Hardly unusual. But what was unique was that he could still fake continuity, a sense of undivided self. Most other subjectivities couldn't single-instance at interstellar scales. Even the Sun Shore's command minds stayed centralized to achieve their unity.
He usually chalked it up to habit.
Without sensation, his awareness forked. One side returned to its main duties. The other went skittering through his network. It found the waiting body and dove in. There was no perceptual disruption. Digital abstraction seamlessly translated into possession, then awareness.
The corpse - what should have been a corpse - jolted awake.
Diting forced the body upright. Every joint complained in a thousand distinct ways as he slipped from the medical pod and pulled up a feed. The most immediately relevant information came first. Keywords. Then came the mysteries, the uncertainties. The reasons why his ship now orbited the designated station, probing its architecture. All tied to one name - Rubikon.
He forked again, waking more machines. More bodies.
This body would not go alone.
Justin { Cascadia } — 03/09/2023 09:09
HELIX-14 Deep-Space Listening Station
Jason stared at the computer screens. Nominal. Normal. Deep space was surely as boring as it was all the time. The long-range, worm-hole based sensors detected nothing out of the ordinary.
Alert. Right there.
Near the Second Dawn.
He wasn’t startled. Sometimes the central processing algorithm in charge of monitoring all the surveilled channels and sensors came up with false positives. Not to worry at all. He investigated the alert. Looks like it was about a message… sent across the Net on Reborn frequencies, but not from an official Reborn source. Weird. The Second Dawn wasn’t so keen on leakers like that.
Maybe he should look into this. Oh god. How was he supposed to respond again? Uhhh, think think!
Right, check into it. Make sure what the algorithm was saying was correct.
He dug into the alert, checking the channels and frequencies in which the message, or actually, the messages, had leaked through. He manually correlated those with the ones used by Official SD sources such as news outlets, communication centers and FTL coordinators. Match in terms of signal characteristics, but not in terms of source, which just showed unknown. Yep, this was really happening.
Jason dialed his supervisor through the keyhole system.
…
“I understand you have something of note to tell us, Signals Officer Caero?” Asked supervisor Martin, whom Jason knew very little about.
”Yes, sir.”
”Go right ahead.” Said Trudy Hartwell, a liaison from the International Affairs Agency - Cascadia’s covert and overt operators outside the Republic’s soil.
Jason opened the presentation.
”Well, a few moments ago the HELIX Sats 13, 45 and 56 reported unusual messages being sent across the Ancerious Net, shielded from public eyes but visible to those who had the right technology. After double checking the alert, we opted to trace the source. Although we were unable to determine the nature of the actor - named ‘Rubikon’- we were able to conclude with 95% certainty that this was not a nominal Reborn broadcast.”
”Mm-hmm. Tell us more about this… Rubikon.”
”Of course, ma’am. We’ve been able to track the actor's - or source’s - location and it didn’t look like it came from within a system or was a message leaking through a keyhole. Deep space. Isolated from known Second Dawn colonies or worlds.”
”Interesting… do you think this is a way in?” Asked the IAA woman.
”Perhaps. But we should be careful. It could just be a defective transmitter, or worse… a trap.” Said the usually quiet Parsons, a part of the covert operations group of the National Republican Navy.
”Any assets nearby that we can send?”
”We have the 431st Non Patriated Task Force nearby. They have autonomous investigators, but we can also have human elements.”
”Agree to send an element?”
All three hands went up.
”Great. Undercover?”
All three again.
…
A covert spacecraft slides into the location of the entity known as Rubikon. Entirely automated and crewed by androids, it should provide no traceback to the Cascadians…
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 03/09/2023 15:27
"Rubikon.
Rubikon, Rubikon, Rubikon..."
Chiva's eyes watched intently as Hanibah's fingers danced across displays and screens, the tall woman's face obscured by the lighting and the tall fur collar around the edge of her cloak, giving her the impression as if she was hunched over like some kind of towering vulture. When the woman's eyes met his, his blood ran cold. He never got used to that stare, those eyes.
Before he met Hanibah, he never thought that the color black could glow, and yet her eyes seemed to cast searchlights over him.
"...And what's so important about that name?" The young revekt man finally found the courage to ask. He caught several glimpses of a flag, an ominous black and white emblem of a single star. The symbol of the Second Dawn.
"It means the recent symptoms of instability within a nearby threat now have a name and face assigned to them." The woman replied as she walked by Chiva, as his tail shifted anxiously behind him. "And as much as I would love to send a full team in to investigate this individual, we do not have the resources to send a full squad in without getting detected.
"So it's up to me to get in there and meet up with this Rubikon fellow."
"You've always been a clever boy."
The Revekt sighed.
"Several others seemed to have received the call." Hanibah continued, more holographic screens flickering by as she gazed at them with narrow eyes. "My resources do not allow me to identify who exactly might be delivering their own agents to meet Rubikon, but there's a high likelihood of you not being alone to receive his messages."
"And if it's false?"
Hanihah paused for a moment. She had concidered that possibility, but it was unlike the Second Dawn to broadcast what could possibly interpreted as weakness this openly.
"You were an actor, correct, Chiva?"
"Yes Ma'am. Live theater, in fact."
"Then I am confident in your ability to improvise."
---------------------------------------
Approaching docking distance. Please make sure you are seated and that all belongings are properly secured.
Chiva adjusted a his red tie as he glanced over his form in a mirror. A black three-piece suit with a scarlet vest. Given the nature of this meeting, he had assumed it would be most beneficial to make a good first impression, after all.
The angular, silvery stealth ship let out a hiss as it connected airlocks with the station.
There was no going back
StalkerTech (Huron Technocracy) — 04/09/2023 02:26
"Rubikon... how fitting." She said, looking over the briefing papers for the umpteenth time since their departure from Huron space.
Agent 'Donager' was intrigued about her first deployment in Ancerious. With the Third Ancerious War now back in full swing, things have gotten rather complicated in geopolitical terms for the Huron Technocracy. With the Second Dawn's aggression in the Unmar Expanse, and a collective effort rising against them, they could not just sit back and watch as empires in their own backyard began to fight one another. Things were tense within the higher echelons of the Huron Technocracy, many silently calling for some kind of action, and at the first mention by a covert Technomancer of the name 'Rubikon' and 'Second Dawn', the IIC was immediately interested to get involved.
However, they were not getting involved to help the Second Dawn. They saw an opportunity, and decided to take it.
'Donager' was called for the operation nearly as soon as the idea for one materialized. She had just arrived in the Ancerious galaxy merely three weeks before, yet was familiar enough with it by this point that she might as well have been living there since the Huron colonies were established.
She shuffled the papers back into order, and took one last glimpse at the first page. It was strange to her, being given a physical copy of the briefing, as she was used to the much more digitized forms of communication back at her home galaxy, though she wasn't complaining; a change of pace every now and then made her job more interesting. She was to operate under a cover; an independent contractor named 'Rae Dona', buried under so much red tape and bureaucratic bullshit as to be essentially invisible, escorted by unmarked Expeditionary Auxilia mercenaries under false IDs, and even given a one-off automated ship that by all due purpose, did not exist.
Nothing about her and their purpose there was real. Just the way she liked it.
--
Moments later, the angular, sleek ship dropped out of FTL near the station, and the ship's systems began searching for a place to dock.
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 04/09/2023 20:28
Rubikon watched as the six ships entered her space, concealed turrets tracking their every move from small slits in the station's armour. After a few minutes of silence, she sent each one of them a message saying they were cleared to dock from the station's main console, running around in her little cyberspace and making sure that select corridors were sealed shut and that the portions they would be seeing were presentable. She had created a fairly straightforward path for them, starting at the docks all corridors except one would be closed to them. The only available ways were forward, and holographic projectors were stationed at intervals displaying arrows guiding them along.
Thus they would inevitably lead to the meeting room, disconnecting herself from her core and uploading herself to her cybernetic body as they did whatever it was they were doing- docking or whatever. She opened her four eyes individually and got accustomed to the sensation before looking her body over, an Etherian of slender physique with dark red scales and long flowing blood-red hair fading into a midnight black. Even though it was synthetic, it certainly did not appear so. She stood up and slung her long coat over her back and slowly put it on, buttoning the red garment up over her charcoal black suit. A reversed "R" was stitched in black over the right breast pocket, her little symbol that she often left behind after doing various activities.
She looked over her shoulder at her sword before reaching out and grabbing it with her two right arms, the other two grabbing its sheathe as she slowly slid the monomolecular blade down into it before laying the weapon next to her. She fluffed out her coat before looking around at the room for one final inspection; she was currently sitting on a red velvet reclining chair that faced the entrance which comprised of two wooden double doors with opaque crystal windows. The interior of the room was very old fashioned, with hardwood floors and "brick" walls [though it was an emulation] with a ring of couches in the middle which all faced her. She nodded her approval to herself, content with her job before mindlessly reaching out to Talon, her "security advisor" and extending a wordless request for some snacks and drinks when her guests arrived.
And so she waited, leaning back into the red velvet chair with an amused huff as she crossed her legs and found a more comfortable position, additionally crossing her arms under her breasts and pulling a pair of half-lens sunglasses on ruby red frames from her right chest pocket. She flicked them open with one fluid motion and laid them halfway up her snout so that her eyes were still completely visible. She took fashion very seriously, though when you were an exceptionally old AI with nothing to do but perfect things... Well why not perfect clothing? Even though she was fairly certain Talon hated her outfit, something about looking like a villain out of one of those Cantonese cartoons...
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 06/09/2023 13:12
It had been a while since Scelene had needed to go to a tense meeting. On Marchand, she had the luxury of a cover as a corporate executive. The meetings she went to took place in pristine board rooms atop (metaphorical) ivory towers. Rarely, if ever, was there a physical danger in those meetings. She didn’t have to worry about who might pull out a gun, or who had a pipebomb hidden in their bag.
That hadn’t been the norm in her life.
Before the SIS, she’d been a street kid. She skipped school to run with the neighborhood gangs, she’d warred for corners in crowded city blocks… meetings in those days were always tense. Instead of corporate boardrooms you met in empty parking lots under halogen street lamps. Everyone was carrying, anyone could be tripped out on something, and everyone was willing to sling lead over the slightest perceived insult.
She was never a power player in those meetings. She was always just muscle, or a lieutenant for this gang or that trafficker. Some of the people she’d worked for understood how to navigate the treacherous relationships of gangland. A lot of them didn’t. The meetings where she had to manage her own boss, try to keep him off the drugs that shortened his temper, or keep him from blowing up (sometimes literally) a meeting over a weird look or a pithy comment, were the most tense. She hated having to watch her own people as much as the other guys.
Scelene’s gang days were long behind her now. The SIS had removed the rings and studs stuck through her lips and eyebrows, they’d lasered off the flowing tattoos of carrion crows and psychopomps that had once adorned her hands and forearms. Even the scar that had once crossed her left eye had been carefully removed by a procedure she could have never afforded in her past life.
The Scelene staring back at her in the mirror as she straightened a plain black tie, over a grey shirt and pulled her hair into a simple tail was not at all the bloodsoaked gangster the SIS had fished out of the gutter. This Scelene was the one hiring muscle, the one doing the talking… and even though she was the one calling the shots the meetings could still be tense. There were other parties involved. Some were known to her, they had been mentioned in reports from her coworkers in Corona, or been detailed in post-battle summaries of the recent Askandar operations. Still others were empty drawers in the basement of the SIS’s archives. Polities known to exist, but not ones that anyone had bothered to collect intelligence on.
Their host fell solidly into a third category. A total unknown. A complete blank beyond what limited pieces of information he, she, they, or it had decided to share on the net.
Even in gangland she hadn’t liked meetings with new players no one had heard of. You couldn’t know if they were feds, or volatile, or what hidden agenda they were trying to use you to further. Unknowns stacked on top of rumor and supposition.
There was some small solace in the familiar fears and anxieties she felt heading aboard the derelict station. She felt the same walking past holographic arrows as she had driving to all those midnight rendezvouses in empty parking lots. For all that had changed in her life, some things stayed the same. After all, what was this meeting but a sit down between the local ganglords looking for an edge against an encroaching syndicate? What was Marchand but a drive-by on an interstellar scale? What were all those dead Marchanders but bystanders catching bullets that weren’t meant for them? What was the whole war but galaxy spanning gangs beefing over interstellar turf?
It was all just gang shit. Gang shit with bigger guns, and nicer clothes.
The comfortable familiarity of gang shit only continued as she reached the end of the marked hallway. The bounty hunter accompanying her, a six foot hulk of muscle grafts and tribal tattoos, pushed through the double doors ahead of her and she stepped into the room ‘Rubikon’ had chosen for the meeting. She surveyed the room, the grey irises of her implants taking in the brick emulation and hardwood floors. Immediately she found yet more parallels with her past life. The room seemed steeped in it. From the colour coordination between outfit and furniture to the openly displayed weapon their host carried. Hell, she even had her own tag, neatly sewn onto the breast of her jacket.
Years of practice kept any visible display of emotion off Scelene’s face as she walked deeper into the room. The bounty hunter hung back, taking up a position behind her where he could better keep watch on things. The room seemed to her like a stage. A carefully crafted set piece their host had meticulously put together. Even the route they’d taken and the door they entered through had been chosen by their host to present a certain image, and convey a certain unspoken message.
A mask maybe? Scelene wondered to herself as she came to a stop behind one of the couches. Was Rubikon trying to exude power and authority? She had chosen to seat herself on the only chair, a throne with the rest of the seating arranged in a semicircle around her. A silent reminder of who was the center of attention perhaps?
Then what was behind the mask? What had she gone to all this trouble to keep her guests from seeing?
She moved around the couch and paused for a moment to dig in the pockets of her pea coat. She tapped a cigarette out from a crumpled pack and wordlessly lit it. She took a long drag and then settled on one end of the couch, adjusting until she found a comfortable position, and then removed a cut-down rail gun from a shoulder holster and set it on the couch next to her. She blew the smoke out through her nostrils, letting it curl and coil around her head while she reclined and carefully watched her hostess for a reaction.
“Rubikon,” She said, finally addressing her hostess for the first time. “It’s a river on Earth according to a number of colonial powers’ histories. Famously and symbolically crossed by an ancient conqueror on his way to seize dictatorial power. What is the word’s significance to you?”
Justin { Cascadia } — 15/09/2023 09:49
”This time we’ll do it together.” Said Robert, remembering the last time he was sent on a diplomatic mission with Camren.
”I was just about to say that.” Camren responded. Clearly she had learnt not to rush in alone and try her hand at the situation without adequate backup.
”Your weapons, people. Don’t want to be unarmed in front of an unknown entity.” Entering the cramped armory of the NRS Tarracuda was the elderly statesman and former count of Fremont. He possessed a unique elegance about him that only people who had seen the highest zenith of the First Republic had. Consequently, that made him a heavy proponent against the current Actionable Republican Party.
He handed the two significantly younger duo two easily concealable and rapid-fire PDWs and some other miscellaneous equipment.
”We won’t let you down this time, Count Micheal.” said Robert.
While his original body, pushing 150 years old and beginning to see age-related damages that only the most powerful of medicine, alterations and synthetics could fix, his mind was free to roam as many bodies as possible. Hardened by decades of war, loss and suffering, it was exceptionally suited to the often arduous and disorienting process of transferring
consciousness. This fact allowed him to make this journey in the first place, using a synthetic body that was at its physical peak, donning white hair and wrinkles that were simple illusions.
Same couldn’t be said for the two other android pilots. Clearly they were having some trouble adjusting to their new bodies.
”Good! I’ve been looking forward to this.”
A slight jolt. The Tarracuda docked with the unknown entity’s unknown station after a meticulous 360° search by drones and skiffs. The airlock on the other end of the ship opened with a hiss.
”Time to go.” said Camren, heading towards the door. The count followed him, but not without being interrupted by Robert.
”I think I forgot something. I’ll be right there!”
”You’re getting old, Mister Venero!”
”Bit much coming from you, sir.” He chuckled.
Left alone with the young diplomat, the count thought about the words he wanted to say ever since he was informed about the mission. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke up.
”I expected someone with your… passion… to be a soldier.”
”I don’t live by expectations.” Camren refuted.
”Something tells me that there’s more than that.”
”I don’t wanna talk about it. Why do you wanna know?”
He thought hard about what to say. The wrong word or syllable could make things awkward… or worse.
”I sense… great fear and anger in you. But you don’t use it.”
The count began counting from 1 until the young woman responded.
”I’d rather not.”
”Hey! I’m back. What’s going on?”
”Can we-”
”Nothing mu-”
Micheal and Camren exchanged a quick look. The older man backed off. Her eyes were deep blue and pierced through his stoic exterior.
Ahem.
”Can we get a move on? They’re probably expecting us.”
”Alright, but let’s not jump this. It’s not like there’s anywhere else they can go. Without us tracking anything that comes and leaves, anyway.” Robert’s presence seemed to have a calming effect.
The three walked through the airlock, having donned their ultralight hardsuits moments earlier.
”Speaking of tracking - we aren’t alone here. There’s 5 other ships, presumably carrying at least 20 crew and passengers each. Could present a good networking opportunity… or could be the end of us three.”
”These suits are armored against most anti-tank weapons. We’ll be fine. I hardly see them hauling rockets or mines.” Cocky Camren.
”It’d be best not to provoke them.” suggested the Count.
”Agreed.”
Having very little choice in where to go, the trio were quick to find the residence of the rogue entity.
”Got company. Nine o’clock.” Camren reported.
”Identification?” asked Robert.
”No clue. Pirates or Intelligence Service of one of the neighboring countries. I’d pick pirates.”
”Too formal to be pirates. Corpos.” The Count said.
”Have you seen the big guy?” Camren was slightly bewildered, but not surprised.
”Lots of people hire gangsters. Though you may not be wrong - I sense darkness and violence behind the woman.”
”Your senses creep me out, Count.” remaked Robert.
”They’re not wrong… Shall we make an entrance, then?”
”I’ll take lead.” said Robert. Continuing after the woman with the suit, he announced their entrance with a simple question.
”More importantly, what does it mean to us?”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 18/09/2023 11:30
Chiva wore a watch on one wrist. It wasn't a fancy thing, it wasn't expensive or cutting edge or anything like that, it was a clockwork mechanism designed to tell what time it was. It needed no more than that to work, to fulfill it's function in the world.
He was much like that. He didn't need gadgets or weapons to fulfill his role as what he was.
A messenger, the receiver of a herald.
The Revekt man stepped in after the trio donning what appeared to be hardsuits... He wasn't sure whether or not he should feel underdressed, now, but it would be foolish to turn back and get changed.
His horns were a dark grey, fading into a barely visible navy blue towards the tip of each horn, the primary pair curling back along his head before curving upwards, the second pair matching the pattern on either side of his head. His black hair was cut short, and he donned a pair of circular sunglasses, reflecting the lights of the meeting room inquisitively.
He saw Rubikon, and a smile curled the sides of his mouth.
He had dressed properly after all.
"I, for one, am grateful for the opportunity." Chiva spoke as he walked up, taking a seat on one of the couches, resting an ankle on his knee casually. "The reality of living in the territory of the Second Dawn is a mystery for all of us... a peek behind the curtain would do wonders."
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 19/09/2023 01:23
She sharpened her eyes as the transmission reached her. She had so many racing thoughts, yet her emotions seemed dead. She could only feel the burning hatred for Satagon being suppressed like a metal fire. Two monstrous beasts emerged from the walls of her ship cabin, their mouths gaping and drooling with glowing neon blue liquid. Their posture was crooked, unable to stand up fully straight in the confines of the ship. Her hand clutched into a fist, a nanite swarm surrounding them as her ship docked into port.
From first analysis, she could somewhat guess the origin of some ships, and therefore the people she would meet alongside Rubikon. ASA seemed the most obvious, their ship designs clear as day. Yet, there was one that seemed unknown to her. It was... strange to say the least. Yet, she knew there would be time for introductions, if she cared enough to do some.
Her glowing blue eyes pierced through, being visible even in the general light of the hallways. Her steps were muffled by the heavy, metallic steps of her bodyguards. Unlike the beasts on her ship, they maintained an aura of professionalism. Their mouths full of good now remained closed, seemingly never having been there. They wore black tuxedos, tightly fitting onto their bodies. On their heads, cobalt blue horns pulsed with life.
She saw the silhouettes of the beings that figured out the message, unconcerned with their presence. She focused heavily on the woman who called upon them all. The supposed head of all, the origin, the background. Who was she? Why was she here? These were questions she needed to answer, lest her emotions and mindscape begin to break down.
From the shadows of the hallways and into the light of the main room, the Lillian petal arose, a full set of six white tails behind her, along with the two bodyguards towering over her already tall body. She simply stood with her arms crossed, as the two guards kneeled.
"Not only can we see the reality of living in the Second Dawn, but we can learn much from you, Rubikon. I reckon that you, of all people, can give us a clue of whats behind the mind of S- Archon-1."
She cleared her throat, simply looking at the group with sharp eyes
PULSEFIRE — 23/09/2023 15:41
As promised, Diting didn’t come alone. When he shuffled into the room, a quartet of Shore-line combat machines followed in lock-step. Each drone was humanoid in only the roughest sense. Their spidery, elongated limbs and arrowlike heads called forth vaguely insectoid impressions. All presented themselves armed. Two carried heavy battle-rifle analogues, miniaturized electromagnetic rifles wired into a cluster of additional sensors. The other pair flanked Diting to his immediate left and right, lugging stripped-down automatics in clawed hands.
It was the most basic of statements. The grammar of violence-implying-power.
Perhaps he felt the need to compensate for his appearance. Diting’s body was nothing as impressive as the hardware surrounding him. Put simply, it was a wreck: haggard, disheveled, literally half-dead. Smart patches dotted him from head to toe, displaying vital signs and various other biometrics. A disturbing number of them flashed in the red. When he walked, it was with the aid of an integrated IV stand. Tubes and wires snaked from the apparatus into ports across his modified stasis suit.
Every moment he stood upright was defiance of reason. To exist in such a state would be constant agony. It was a wonder that none of his limbs had sloughed off yet.
“Feeling nostalgic?” Diting laughed, eyes turned to inspect the floor. His voice emerged as a broken rasp, tortured from dysfunctional vocal cords. “Placing so much effort on presentation, and you haven’t even bothered to get off your ass and greet the guests. For someone with a demonstrated capability for infiltration and manipulation, you’ve certainly failed to capture our attention now. We are all here in good faith - to an extent. Go on. Set the tone. We’re all interested in what you have to say.”
StalkerTech (Huron Technocracy) — 25/09/2023 22:37
As 'Donager' and her escorts entered the station, it was immediately made clear that they were being funneled somewhere. Not necessarily a bad sign, at least to her experience. This was not the first time she had a shady meeting in a shady, remote place, and if this went well, it also won't be the last. A quick glance around the corridors as they walked, however, had her realize how many... 'clients' have arrived. She did not bother to recognize exactly which nations they came from; it was a relatively unimportant matter, and in the end, they would perhaps know who heeded the call regardless. Shady meetings such as this one, to her own experience and from studying history has shown that such meetings often led to very... popular events.
'Donager' took a quick glance at her right hand. She checked her appearance thoroughly before they entered the station. It was doctored to be as unassuming as any other independent contractor, or at least, as unassuming as they could at their home galaxy; a light double-breasted grey overcoat, black pants and boots, her red hair brushed yet free-flowing. Somewhat care-free, yet professional enough to have a sense of corporate purpose. As was typical for agents of her type, most bionics and cybernetics that she had were either concealed or minimalized, with the exception of her still-very-humanlike eyes, which had blood red iris', and her right hand. Also as was typical for an agent of her type, despite her appearance, she was not unarmed. In this case, quite literally. A small concealed pistol-like energy weapon was built into one of her arms, and she a concealed blade or two, should she need them.
The appearance of her escorting mercenaries, meanwhile, were as ad-hoc and varied as her outfit was professional. One of the mercenaries was a hulking brute, near eight feet tall, lumbering along with heavy metallic footsteps as it compensated for the weight of an oversized heat-ray like weapon that replaced its actual arm, an extra cybernetic arm in the abdomen just below the weapon, and a generator mounted on its back. The second mercenary was much more tame in comparison; still slightly taller in comparison to other humans, though otherwise not particularly outstanding, armed with two PDW-like energy weapons holstered on its hips. The only parts of their appearance that were even vaguely similar were steel grey robes, covering most of their bodies, and an armored, blue-eyed mask that covered their faces, none of which bore insignia. No insignia, no obvious signs of their origin.
Not exactly as subtle as would normally be the case for other agents, but they got the point across. Not entirely surprising, either, for undercover Expeditionary Auxilia mercenaries at least. They were not going to pretend they were unarmed, unlike her.
<Didn't expect to be in a place so... small.> The brute mumbled softly, its Binharic tongue low but heavy, noticeable yet near unintelligible from radio static unless one knew what to listen for. Not like Binharic was a common language outside the Technocracy anyway.
<You're hired for a job like this, and you complain about it being small?> The other mercenary quipped, its binharic raspy and sharp.
<I have another gun I could have used. That's all.> The brute replied. <You know the type I am referring to.>
<Yes, and that would have been overkill. What you have right now already is.>
<Overkill?> The brute replied sardonically. <Overkill is precisely what you need in a place like this.>
<Overkill or not,> 'Donager' interrupted, <you are not here on a jaunt.>
Upon entering the chamber they have been guided to, the trio unanimously decided silent observation was their best move, for now. No witty remarks, no retorts, just calm movements to what they believed was their place in the room, a quick glance every now and then. After all, if this is to be a tense and shady meeting, why not contribute to the atmosphere a little? 'Donager' smiled internally at the thought.
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 26/09/2023 10:14
Rubikon simply cocked an eyebrow at the group before one of the closed doors on the left of the room suddenly burst open, revealing a Reclaimed... dressed in an overly formal waiter's uniform holding two silver platters.. Huh. Anyway- the platter on the right held about 12 tall glasses filled with a bubbling amber liquid and the platter on the left revealed.. a bunch of boxes of french fries... How odd. Regardless, the Reclaimed inclined its head politely to the group before proceeding to the centre of their little meeting space where a metal table suddenly appeared from out of thin air and placing both platters down.
The Reclaimed then bowed to the group before saying in a suprisingly soft and well-spoken accent "Good Day, you can call me Talon. I am Ms. Rubikon's Head of Security, Security Advisor, Economics Advisor, Political Advisor... really I'm her right-hand-man in just about everything. I'm also tonight's... caterer..?" He looked to Rubikon with a hesitant expression, the Etherian in question nodding with a barely restrained smirk. He continued "Caterer. So if any of you would like any particular snacks, refreshments, amenities or such. Feel free to simply raise a hand and I'll come in and take care of it. Enjoy the meeting"
With that the Reclaimed bowed again and quickly turned around and power-walked out of the room as fast as he could without looking like he was running, mechanical tail wagging furiously behind him. It seemed someone was not enjoying their job at the moment, meanwhile Rubikon watched him go with a very poorly restrained giggle before turning back to face the rest of the group. She reached out and grabbed a box of french fries for herself and started munching on them before she finally answered them in a laid-back tone.
"Right- so. Essentially, I want to give you all some information to help in your various efforts against the Second Dawn. I have detailed schematics on all of their ships, a basic written understanding of their Type-1 superweapon, expansive blueprints on the Citadel and basically any high-value federal building, dossiers on any person of interest you might have and more. What I want in return is Satagon's head delivered to me on a silver platter." She nodded to herself before pausing and adding "Not literally, of course. I'm not a savage. I mean I just want you to kill him."
She popped a french fry into her mouth with another nod, seemingly pleased with how she worded her little offer. She let the information sit for a few seconds before speaking again "And to answer your various questions: Rubikon was the designation given to me, it was meant to invoke fear into the Republic's many, many enemies. I can certainly give you an insight into Second Dawn way-of-life: It's horrid and what it means to you is you get a bunch of free information to help topple a genocidal dictator."
She smiled at them before popping another french fry into her mouth. She let that sink in for a few seconds before beginning again. "Ok for a more serious answer on that actually decent statement: People living in the Second Dawn, really, really have it rough right now. I know a decent amount of people probably are already prejudice and think all Reborn are evil or some other stupid shit, but they are receiving the exact same treatment that everyone else is. If you speak out against the feds, you get put in a camp and beat till your processor barely works."
She waved a hand around before saying "So- dispel any notion that the citizens of the Second Dawn are enjoying what their government is doing to other people. Because they do not, sure I'm fairly certain some of you have even heard of the sudden defection problem the E-P-A is having right about now. Entire ships going rogue and surrendering to CONA fleets? That news is getting suppressed a solid bit, but dig a little deeper and you'll find it."
After that she finally shut her trap to let the others finally get a word in.
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 29/09/2023 10:03
Scelene listened quietly as Rubikon spoke, telling them of all the things she had to offer and answering their questions. Her posture remained relaxed and casual as she listened, the smoke curling around her head as she idly puffed on the cigarette she’d lit when she arrived. While Rubikon spoke she looked around at the newcomers. Her implants scanned for symbols, tech, and anything else the database could use to identify just who else was present at the meeting. Lilian was easy enough to identify. The system had no trouble matching her appearance to media appearances, addresses, and a number of… risque photographs distributed in Corona. It didn’t seem a huge leap for her to suspect the Revekt man was representing the Quosx Alliance, though at the moment there was nothing to confirm that for sure. The rest, much like her, seemed to have taken steps to conceal their exact affiliations. But between herself, Lilian, the Revekt and Rubikon’s own words it was easy enough to infer that everyone present was an enemy of the Second Dawn in some form or another.
She mulled over the information Rubikon was offering, and once more her mind turned back to all those midnight meetings on halogen islands. No one ever offered something for nothing. If they did, there was a catch, or a hidden agenda. You were asking to be a pawn in someone else’s game by accepting. As Rubikon finished speaking she removed the cigarette from between her lips and idly tapped the ash off the end of it. She leaned forward in her seat, took one last drag, and then extinguished the cigarette on the table.
“I don’t buy it,” She said matter of factly before she tented her fingers in her lap. “It’s all too easy. Too convenient,”
She leaned back on the couch and gestured broadly to everyone present.
“Safe to assume everyone here has beef with the Second Dawn, and the offer you present is every piece of intel an opposing force could want. All you ask in return is that a person die who was likely to die anyway. Either through military action, or post-conflict war crimes tribunals,” She shook her head and dropped her hands into her lap again.
“Too good to be true,” She said with a shrug. “So it probably is. Which would imply that either this is some elaborate counter-intelligence operation meant to ensnare us, or you’re working another angle you don’t want us to know about,”
She shrugged and brushed some hair out of her face.
“So what’s your stake in this?” She asked after the brief pause. “What angle are you working?”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 26/10/2023 10:59
A few more people entered the room, and Chiva immediately felt a lot more vulnerable. Each of the newcomers were flanked by all manner of hired guns and machines.
Was there truly danger in this encounter? Or was all of this merely overcompensation and intimidation? He wasn't sure if he liked the answer, so he set his jaw and focused back on the conversation at hand.
"I was never under the impression that the broader populace enjoyed living under a crushing dictatorship like this one." Replied Chiva as he leaned to the side lightly. The nations of the Quosx Alliance were no strangers to desperate dictators and totalitarian governments who, without some kind of external threat to justify their regime, would collapse in a matter of months.
The tip of his tail twitched as he pondered Scelene's words for a moment, however. She raised a valuable point, but he tapped a finger against his chin. "I do admittedly have to echo the concerns of my... acquaintance here, however." He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "All of this presentation, the decor, the fancy outfits, the servants and lighting, is to serve an ego? An ego that would not easily reach out for help from foreign sources." He was fairly confident in this guess. He had worked with the very type quite a few times.
He pointed to her with one finger. "You are in danger. Archon 1 has something that could threaten you. And if you want our help, you best be as honest as you can with us. What is Archon-1 planning, to delay his inevitable downfall?"
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 27/10/2023 00:20
Lillian helped herself to a glass of the amber liquid, taking a seat on one of the empty chairs with her two bodyguards placed firmly behind her. She gently spun the liquid around the glass, observing the bubbles with intent as she listened in to the promises and gifts spewed by their supposed new ally. She raised the glass up to her lips, savoring the drink and analyzing its components. They could have a boundless source of intel on the Second Dawn, their structure, their military, even a deeper look into the mind of the maniac she hated the most out of any sophont in the galaxy. The idea couldn't help but make her chuckle in amusement. Such a divine ambrosia from a distance, yet rarely did that kind of deal come for the price Rubikon was giving.
Looking at the glass, she took another sip.
"Never blamed the populace of the Second Dawn for the actions of the man child that's in power. It's him making all the calls, its him making the propaganda, its him who has a tent in his pant if you even dare mention the word "genocide". Though, I couldn'tfully blame him.
She crossed her legs, resting her head on her fist. She twirled the drink several times before taking another sip.
"You could even say I feel a sliver of sympathy for him. An AI programmed to do a certain task rarely breaks out of that programming, after all."
She glared at Rubikon.
"Don't get me wrong though, my unyielding hatred for that man far outweighs any sliver of sympathy I might have. Talked to him before, and I hope the next time we meet will be him begging for his life."
Her eyelids closed shut for a few seconds, a deep sigh emanating for her lips. She gazed at the crowd of beings, all in unison to help fight the maniac. The doubts and questions couldn't help but make her smirk. It seemed they had come to similar conclusions as her. But, then again, there was a small chance Rubikon simply wanted the death of Satagon so badly she was willing to practically sell everything she had at retail value. She would have to press on with the question however.
Lillian chuckled slightly at the wonderful observation made by the Quosx "representative". She smiled, letting the companion make her statement. Lillian leaned back a little, drinking little by little.
"Considering what you have presented to us up to now, I honestly don't doubt that you can give us all the information we may require. I also have faith that you won't try and backstab us, though it is very Satagon-esque to try and prove his superiority. What better way to do that than to lead everyone into a trap?"
Lillian chuckled at the idea, hatred seeping into her voice.
"That's just speculation on my part, however."
She looked at her glass, nearly empty. She simply held it in her hand, placing it off to the side.
"The doubts presented as well are some that appear in my mind as well. Personal grievances and hatred towards the other can be a great motivator, and considering your message implied you have a storied past with that warlord, I could see you being honest with what you want."
She placed her hand on her chin, her elbow resting on the arms of the chair.
"Yet, it seems the popular vote requires you to prove that your hatred is the only thing driving you. That, or you show your real motivations. Then we can talk about stabbing Caesar."
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 27/10/2023 09:54
Rubikon listened to them all question her with a neutral expression, it was logical that they would be skeptical of her offer... especially when they didn't know the context. She popped another fry into her mouth before Talon hastily re-entered and took the empty cardboard holder from her and promptly disappearing once more. She wiped the back of her upper right hand across her snout before leaning back into her chair and pushing her glasses up with a sigh.
"No single one of you has seen all of the aspects to him. And frankly, part of me would be perfectly content with not answering your questions and watching as you all left empty handed. But it's that small, small sliver of love I still have for him that's still buried in my mind that won't let me do that.. and I don't even understand it, after all the things he's after doing, the horrid, horrid things- I still can't quite shake it off. Hell, everytime I see that cocky fucker on the news yapping on about his latest 'victory' or some other propagandized bullshit I still feel a tiny glimmer of pride from it. Then I remember that it's my fault all this is happening and, well, there goes my day."
She let out a humourless chuckle after that and sat in silence for a few moments before shaking her head and sitting back up, exhaling out of her nose before continuing in a more reinforced tone. "I put the idea in his head that Vasyria was a lost cause, that we needed to branch out before things descended past the point of no return. Of course, the tech-rat he was back then he figured out a solution in a decade and that led the two of us here. And I've been kicking myself in the chin ever since, so you want to know what the price of this deal is? What my 'true motivations' are or what the angle I'm working really is?"
Her lips turned upwards into a slightly irritated smile as she continued "It's called 'the least I can do' after opening pandora's box. I gave him the tools to get here and as a reward for that he spit in my face and started up this shit storm, so now I'm the one that has to clean up his mess. Of course, that means I'm a target as well. I always have been, even more than the bunch of you realize. But the reason I brought you all here is to give you a key that I've been trying to find for the past eighty years, something that will let you smash his little empire to pieces without ruining the lives of everyone in his iron-grip in the process."
She kicked herself up off of the chair and Talon entered once again, this time with a holographic projector in his hands. He approached the centre of the room and placed it down on the floor before pressing a button on the side. The machine whirred slightly before projecting a holographic screen in the centre of the room for them all to see, a title slide marked with a symbol consisting of four parallel horizontal lines and the text CONFIDENTIAL|CONFIDENTIAL|CONFIDENTIAL - PROPERTY OF THE E.C.A. Rubikon waved a hand to the side and the slide transitioned to show some sort of schematic of one ship, one single massive ship. It had to be atleast a couple of hundred kilometres in size, with the same four-lined symbol engraved on the side.
There was more text at the top of the slide that read Project: Arkadia | Ark-3 | Republic Navy "Exodus" Class. Rubikon stepped to the side so she wasn't being obscured by the hologram and said "This, is the schematics for Ark Three. One of the nineteen vessels used by Satagon to transport the initial colonization team from the Vasyrian Galaxy to the Ancerious Galaxy through an anomalous wormhole. However upon emergence into this galaxy, it had an unfortunately fatal collision with The Scar upon arriving in what you now know as the Arkehold system. The collision destroyed a significant portion of the ship and cracked the dwarf planet like an egg, hence it's name; 'The Scar.' But it's what was on this ship that is most important."
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 06/11/2023 19:01
Scelene listened quietly as Rubikon spoke as to the why of it all. She twirled her lighter between a thumb and forefinger as the woman spoke. She hung on every word, noted every movement and subtle shift in her body language. She had software that usually helped with this. Fed her biometric data that could confirm or curb her feelings on an individual. It was all of little help with Rubikon however. There wasn’t the same breadth of information to compare against like there was with humans, or the other more common species of Ancerious. She had to rely solely on her own judgment.
She lit another cigarette as Talon entered and set down the holo-projector. Truth be told, she was only half listening to what came after. The details of whatever it was Rubikon was going to ask them to do was of far less interest to her than the monologue that had come before it. She replayed it behind her eyes, the audio piped soundlessly into sound receptors while the video played in a corner of her vision.
She cut the parts from the replay that were of no further interest, replaying only the relevant parts over and over again.
Part of me would be perfectly content with not answering your questions and watching as you all left empty handed.
Small sliver of love,
I still feel a tiny glimmer of pride from it,
Smash his little empire to pieces without ruining the lives of everyone in his iron-grip in the process,
She replayed it over and over closing her eyes and letting the words wash over her. She reclined in her seat and took a long drag on her cigarette while she stared at the ceiling. Idly she wondered if the others caught it. Caught that Rubikon’s empathy seemed far more focused on the citizens of the Second Dawn.
Horrid, horrid things,
Were those horrid things the millions gassed and killed in the Quosx Empire? Or did she only care about the suffering Satagon had inflicted on the Second Dawn?
I still feel a tiny glimmer of pride from it,
Small sliver of love,
I gave him the tools to get here,
She opened her mouth, let the smoke languidly fall around her and then flicked grey eyes back to Rubikon. She spared a glance to the others around her. She wondered who they were really, she wondered how they might react to what came next. Part of her hoped they’d be shocked or disgusted or anything other than immediately agreeable. It would make them better people than Scelene was. She was heartless and the galaxy really ought to have better people than heartless gangsters in it.
“Pump the breaks,” She said, pulling the cigarette out of her mouth and tapping the ash off the end. “It’s a pleasant thought that you’d do all this for no other reason than because you feel responsible. Maybe even an acceptable idea that you would do this out of a sense of self preservation or to spare the horrors of war on the home front from the citizens of the Second Dawn,”
She shrugged.
“That could all be true. I’m inferring that you’re asking us, and the people we represent, to pursue whatever this is,” She said, gesturing to the hologram. “All so the Second Dawn goes down easy with minimal collateral damage. That’s all very nice, but if you’re aware of the shit your boy’s been up to, then no doubt you’re aware that the Second Dawn is on its way down regardless of whether or not we go along with this plan. Operations in the Avarian have bogged down. A whole fleet was just burned along with a system, Salavansk is being pushed coreward with no aid in sight, CONA, the ICA, and most of the Unmar Expanse are clearly gearing up for an offensive in the Second Dawn’s home territories. The dirt sprinkles on this shit pie is that Satagon’s allies in Laptev and SAGA aren’t exactly assembling a relief force to prop up his failing dictatorship.”
She brought the cigarette to her lips and sucked down a long drag before exhaling through her nostrils.
“Point being that the Powers that Be probably don’t need your ace in the hole to win this war. Hell, maybe some of them aren’t even terribly interested in sparing the Second Dawn a grinding attritional campaign through its home territory after the body count Satagon racked up with all the gas, nukes, and indiscriminate orbital bombardments of civilians.” She leaned forward for effect, holding the cigarette between two fingers and idly fiddling with the filter. “So if you want my help I need proof beyond your say so that you’re for real and that the information you’re handing out is legit. What I want is Satagon’s Class One WMD liquidated in the most expedient manner possible. It’s heavily defended, hard to track, but with the access and information you told us you have I’m guessing between you and us we could come up with some… workarounds.”
She pressed the cigarette between her lips and took a long drag.
“Besides, he already rolled it out once when things started going bad for him. I’d prefer it be out of play before things start really going bad for him.”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 09/11/2023 11:35
It took Chiva quite a bit of willpower not to stand up and leave, but he knew it would be childish to give up the moment the woman continued to be... well, to be frank, quite condescending to the visitors. As they spoke his countrymen were fighting and dying to protect their homes and loved ones from the invasion. He didn't wish to waste much more time.
The others could notice that he was deep in thought, with a furrowed brow and a finger idly tapping the circular sunglasses perched on his nose.
"Our friend here makes a good point." He finally spoke up, gesturing to Scelene with one hand. "The losses we have sustained are... staggering at best. The civilian casualties have reached upwards into the billions, and that's from the use of the superweapon alone. Industrial and agriculture centers have been destroyed, local military assets have taken massive casualties, and don't get me started on the forces we've lost contact with in the Borealia region, but projections from many different sources show that we aren't going to lose. Not with the support we've received from the likes of Lillian-" His eyes were cast towards the Artificial Intelligence with a grateful nod. "And many others."
He leaned back in his chair, holding his hands together on his lap. "Mivo and other worlds like it fell quickly but not easily. The Second Dawn is making propaganda about crushing militias and planetary guards as if they were equivalent to the grand Liintrix and Ghorran navies, while the main forces of the Alliance are mobilizing to liberate occupied worlds as we speak. The Second Dawn is going to fail, but you need us to make sure it doesn't take you with it. And it is in my interest to take their forces off of our worlds as soon as possible."
He leaned forward once more. "I'm interested to hear what you have to say about this 'Ark Three." Said Chiva. "But I also would like for the superweapon to be dealt with. Perhaps we can come to a deal there... you help us take care of the superweapon, we'll help you take care of the ship. Doesn't even have to be in that order, so long as both get done before another world is burnt to the ground."
PULSEFIRE — 09/11/2023 12:38
A gnarled, clipped laugh tore free from Diting’s throat. He shifted in place, creaking as close to upright as his decaying frame could handle. The effort seemed to drive every last drop of strength from his core. When he spoke, asthmatic wheezing nearly swamped his first words.
“The ongoing conflict has been… instructive for our purposes,” he began, wrestling a half-baked impression of control back into his voice. “We - the party I represent - have learned much through observation. The art of smashing a state lies chief among them. I speak not for the others, nor from a place of sympathy. Even the narrowest vision knows the trajectory of this war. We all have greater priorities. Duties. Controlling the flow of a war that butchers and burns without abandon. A commitment you seem not to respect.”
Diting stepped forward, eyes vacant. The drones around him mirrored his advance, tension surging through their lanky frames like invisible tar. Mechanical hands tightened their grasp on each carried weapon.
“You sit here, playing manipulator and hacker while the situation spirals, pretending that one point of leverage is enough to stop a crumbling mountain. Delusion. Nothing more. The Second Dawn will crumble. Individual lives ceased to matter when the gyres of war began to spin. The only thing I see is a security blanket. Someone clinging to a supposed silver bullet in the hopes others will do something instead of nothing. It’s pathetic.”
Diting paused, turning his pointed gaze to Rubikon. A drone to his right moved in response to the unspoken command, raising its battle rifle to a half-ready position.
“I will take the consensus position on this point,” he continued, looking about the space. “Disclose information on the relevant strategic asset. That means actionable intelligence: location, defenses, or vulnerabilities. Anything that would enable a concerted strike to eliminate the weapon’s functionality or hamper its envelope of operation."
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 10/11/2023 01:34
Lillian swirled the residuum still remaining inside her glass, staring at it with weariness as she heard the case of the Etherian. Vindication of her person had to be achieved, lest she accidentally bring forth the death of many more sophonts. She looked up from her spiral, looking deeply into the eyes of Rubikon. For her, it was a rather enthralling experience. Getting to speak to the supposed creator of an AI that had hurt many, many people in conspiracy against said AI. She couldn't help but grin at the irony at play, the deliciousness of it all, yet also the blinding bitterness of it all.
One of the towering bodyguards made its way to the drinks and snacks, nimbly grabbing one of the box of fries with its rather large hands, and returning to its position. The machine placed the box of fries gently on the lap of Lillian, not looking away from the small crowd it found itself in. The Empress let her resting hand do the job, grabbing a small fry and placing it in her mouth as Talon entered the room. She first looked at the machine in Talon's hands, then at Talon himself. She ate another fry before the hologram came on, and her interest was piqued.
She leaned back, crossing her arms as she smirked at the sight. Classified? What a fascinating yet familiar sight in front of her. It hadn't been the first time she had dealt with classified information on the Second Dawn - Satagon especially - yet the name and description of "Ark-3" piqued her interest greatly. She ate another fry, a small ray of hope for the war to end as soon as possible light the mind ravaged by eternal winter. Yet, as the stone-faced woman began speaking, the small glimmer receded back into the clouds, and she sank back into her chair.
As she heard the woman speak, she couldn't help but feel slightly irritated at the though, yet she couldn't help but see the point she was making. It didn't help that the Quosx representative -the one most apt to talk about the war- spoke of the matter as well. She nodded back at Chiva, giving a small smile. The half rotting corpse of a man also spoke, yet he seemed much more harsh in his way of speaking. Yet, his points still stood.
Something in her mind seemed to be conflicted, emotions swirled and mixing with each other. Out of instinct, she began to gently swirl the glass she had once again. On one hand, she knew how it must have felt being responsible for the death of many, perhaps maybe even being the creator of something destructive beyond the natural order. She knew that, even if it came as late as possible, anything that could help finish the war as soon as possible would also help prevent the deaths of many. On the other, she couldn't help but agree with the others on the superweapon case. All the acting and glamour was great and all, but she had long tired her act.
She stopped for a moment, lifting up her glass and chugging what little of the liquid she had left in there. She sighed, placing a fry in her mouth as she looked at the others.
"I... well, I feel rather conflicted with all of this."
She looked at the hologram for a second, then looked at the Etherian.
"This project, this "scar" if you will, has indeed piqued my interest. If it truly is what you claim it to be, I would like to know more about it and what we can find in it. If it helps stop this war even a day sooner, I will help."
She looked down at the ground, her weary eyes, wishing to rest, even if it was for just a moment. Yet, she continued forward, looking at those who had answered the call alongside her.
"Yet, my comrades here bring up fair points. The Second Dawn is on its way down either way. Rebellions and insurgency has begun to spring up, and I'm sure the seeds I have sown both inside and outside will be ready to harvest soon. My "deal" with the Quosx is the greatest example of this."
She did not stand up, nor did she move from the position she placed herself in. She sounded tired of everything, yet she didn't stop.
"Information on the superweapon would also greatly alleviate some of our woes, not to mention the elimination of it if that's on the table. Though, I will admit, the ramifications on that considering who Satagon is can come to bite us if we are not prepared."
She placed another fry in her mouth rather sluggishly.
"But, I cannot say I agree with condemning you for being a mostly normal sophont."
She looked at Scelene and Diting with both sympathy and some indignation.
"Even if this is a way for her to not go down alongside her creation, this is valuable information regardless, be it superweapon or the other alternative. While I grow weary of the opera she presents us, is life not about the act we all show? I heavily doubt most wouldn't jump to save themselves in her situation."
She looked at Chiva for a moment, sadness filling her.
"But that's assuming the worst of her comes to pass. I know what it feels like to not only feel responsible for the lives you influence, will influence or have influenced, I know the responsibility of protecting those lives. Penance for the failure of inaction is something I am all too well familiar with."
She turned again to Rubikon, resting her head on her first.
"I notice that you speak a lot about the citizens of the Second Dawn, those who have lived through tyranny and war. I presume all of this, be it directly or indirectly, is to have at least the chance to protect them from crimes they did not commit. I can understand that. It is natural for these types of emotions to come through, especially after everything you failed to prevent... However, be it as it may, right now our trust in you is on very thin ice. Be it information on the superweapon, or the contents of Ark-3, I wish to use whatever information you have to cut unnecessary time off of this terrible war. So please, tell us everything."
Lillian sighed, eating the box of fries with haste.
"Though I enjoy the snacks and refreshments you have given us, I would also be pleased if the theatrics were toned down a little."
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 10/11/2023 10:35
Rubikon slowly tuned out what they were saying and retreated deep into her mind in silence, her eyeridges twitching slightly as she closed her eyes. After a few seconds a message from Talon popped into her mind that nearly doubled her irritation; |I told you that this was pointless. Politics are tools for statesmen to achieve their goals, and you are not a statesman. You should have taken my suggestion to heart and use the information you've gathered to launch your own counter attack, you already have the support from Nevasarax to do so.|
She let out a mental sigh before slinging a response back towards him |And the people would see me as a vengeful conqueror, a new Satagon who's just looking to take back what she thinks is hers. No, I told you that if we want to do this then we have to do it *their* way. I must simply remind them of the fact that I am not one of them, remind them of who exactly they are in the presence of.| She received a wordless ping from Talon in acknowledgement and he disconnected from her shortly after, leaving her back in the room of squabblers. Opening her eyes with a quiet sigh she sat back down with a pooly concealed expression of irritation and flung one of her hands up towards the hologram in the centre of the room.
A new projection then appeared side-by-side with the one of Ark-3, with a loading screen briefly displaying the symbol of the AOD with text overlaying it reading out Confidential General Schematics: FNCV "Preeminence" | Cessation Class Vessel. The screen then transitioned to show a blueprint of another massive vessel, one with a titanic cannon jutting out of the bow. When displayed side-by-side like the two vessels were, it became immediately obvious that... they were completely identical. Minus the massive cannon they were point-for-point recreations of eachother, only that the "Preeminence" was significantly smaller, hovering at around 60 kilometres in length as opposed to Ark-3's hundreds.
Rubikon then made another hand gesture and a third, then a fourth, and then a fifth screen appeared next to the two screens displayed. Each one briefly displaying text and the symbol of the EPA before transitioning to show 3 new things, the first of them was some sort of document labeled Confidential Counter-Combat Plan: Middle Theatre | Executive Protection Agencies' Isentropic Suppression. The next was labeled Confidential Forward-Combat Plan: Quosx Theatre | Alternative Operations Division & Executive Protection Agency; Mantle Theory and the final was labeled Confidential Counter-Combat Plan: Comprehensive SAGA/CONA Space | Executive Protection Agency: Contingency "Blackdagger"
Rubikon then pushed herself off the chair and gestured towards the five holograms now displayed to the meeting's attendees. The three documents started to slowly scroll down as she began to speak "Allow me to make a few things clear, I designed Satagon to succeed in what was considered an unwinnable scenario at the time. He was almost exclusively programmed to be able to win conflicts where the odds are stacked up against him, yet he's been doing so poorly in this one? Doesn't make sense does it? He may be going up against several capable state actors but he still has total control over a a country which has not only been undergoing a military buildup for almost half a century, but is also one of the largest in it's sector."
Rubikon pointed towards the screen displaying the Cessation Class Vessel and then the document detailing this "Isentropic Suppression" "And these are the results. None of you in this room have even heard of these five things, but by the time I'm finished talking you will be wondering how you haven't. And you will understand why I'm so fearful of the Second Dawn..." Rubikon let out a humourless chuckle before continuing "These documents are highly classified dossiers detailing Satagon's plans for the future of these wars. Isentropic Suppression? Is a fleet assembled in secrecy out of the Second Dawn's middle sector. It's the largest they've ever built, more than four thousand ships in strength and the one that is currently guarding the Conclusion Device."
Rubikon then pointed to the device in question "The F-N-C-V 'Preeminence'. The first Cessation Class Vessel ever built, armed with a weapon capable of scorching the surface of any celestial body it wants to and it's already seen usage in the Quosx theatre. But that was only a partial firing, the thing that has killed billions of your people, Chiva? Wasn't even giving it it's all. These are it's general schematics and as you can see.. they are very concerning." Rubikon then turned and pointed towards the screen displaying the "Mantle Theory" before continuing
"And this, a joint collaboration between the Alternative Operations Division, the military branch that BUILT their superweapon, and the Exectuive Protection Agency. Ever heard of Mantle Theory before? No? That's because it's a deep-secret Psionics Project, the same that resulted in the introduction of the Reclaimed. But you haven't seen many of those have you? Odd isn't it? All the intel you have suggest they're some sort of new chassis with some sort of psion capability. Well, that is because they are being pooled towards the Quosx alliance in a plan for what could be a devastating counter attack. Think of it, the E-P-A was making severe headway through the Quosx before the aid began to arrive. Now the first set of Federal Reinforcements are on the way, but with an entirely new bundle of assets in tow."*
Rubikon then turned and gestured towards the hologramme displaying the "Blackdagger Contingency" and continued "And they're still not finished with the initial acts of their 'Grand Plan' because this document details in full a plot to launch joint attacks on Carnaith, the Union, Canton, and more once the Quosx Theatre is under control. And each one of them details a plan for using their superweapon on their peoples. But do you know what the real kicker is?"
Rubikon then turned to face the meeting's attendees with narrowed eyes "None of these plans foresee the Second Dawn surviving them. Why is that, you may be asking? Because that's Satagon's wish. He's always been held up by having to govern the Second Dawn, first it was the Council pulling his punches and now it's his prize assets being tied up in defending it. I mean, the signs have always been there! He's an AI designed for guerilla warfare leading a country? When would that EVER make sense?! WHY would he want to waste time playing babysitter to such a resource-draining initiative? It's because he needed the resources the Second Dawn provided."
Rubikon then displayed a massive hologramme over the other four and brought the one displaying ARK-3 to it's side. The new projection displaying a unique flag that she doubted any had seen before with text at the top centre of the slide, the title was Confidential COA: The Grand Plan | Strategic Intiatives for The Third Dawn. Rubikon ran a hand through her hair and took a quiet breath before continuing "The plan was always for the Second Dawn to lose, because how else would he be able to free the private military he's been building for the past eighty fucking years from the nation that built it?"
Justin { Cascadia } — 12/11/2023 07:54
For the last few minutes, the Cascadian trio watched the others with keen interest. With their opaque helmet screens, they could easily survey their surroundings while pretending to be locked onto Rubikon. Nothing really came of their surveillance though: for the most part, the others were listening intently to Rubikon.
And for good reason. The tone of the conversation shifted from skepticism in the others to deeper and deeper explanations offered by Rubikon until they reached the deepest ravine of knowledge.
Reading through the documents presented on the holograms, each of them had different thoughts regarding the information presented. The Count, ever the humanist and moralist, immediately pondered about the potentially catastrophic consequences of the so-called Conclusion Device and the 4000-strong fleet in support of it. Even if the Middle Sector Force and the CD could be stopped, who knows what their trail of destruction would look like? The partial firing has already yielded billions of casualties in the Quosx. A fully armed and operational battlestation… well, nobody within a thousand light years was safe.
Robert was interested in how such a weapon and its supporting ships could be destroyed. A large coalition force from all the belligerent nations of the Expanse could be mobilized. It would surely outnumber the 4000-strong battlefleet. But could it ever hope to match the latter’s mobility and flexibility? Could it, when the moment inevitably comes, be ready to dispatch the vile weapon?
Camren wondered the why. Why the Third Dawn? Surely a large, capable nation-state like the Reborn Nation would be more powerful in wreaking havoc and destruction across the sector. If that even was Satagon’s plan. What was Satagon’s plan? Wage endless war against the powerful states of the Expanse? No way that would be a sustainable and survivable operation. Even if it took a hundred years to catch him, he would inevitably lose. No machine built for logical and rational thinking would go forward with an overt plan like this. At the very least, his insurgency would be whittled down a small fly, unable to match up with even the flimsiest of pirate squadrons.
What does Satagon want?! He can’t just be a war machine! He can’t be killing for nothing!
Camren felt something boiling inside of her. She restrained herself the best she could. Before she said anything to the other parties though, she consulted with Robert.
”Hey, I have a whole lotta fucking questions and I’m itching to ask them.”
”Are you asking for permission?”
”Maybe. Yes. No. I don’t know.”
”Is it gonna matter if I say no?”
”Nope.”
”Alright, go ahead then.”
The central figure in the “Cascadian” party adjusted the frequency of her transmission. Broadcasting to everyone in the room, they said:
”We trust the intelligence you bring… but I have to ask: What is Satagon’s end goal? Does he intend to cause as much destruction as possible? In that case, why not just deploy these Middle Sector forces right now and bolster the Second Dawn? Surely a nation-state is more destructive than whatever short-lived nomadic fleet he intends to sail on.”
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 18/11/2023 22:16
Scelene for her part dutifully listened in silence while Rubikon monologued yet again. She certainly had a flare for the dramatic. She smoked her cigarette in silence, once more analyzing the information she had behind her grey irises. Everything Rubikon had said here, combined with what had been in her initial statement. The… invitation of a sort. It was all starting to come together.
I was already infamous for my ambition,
The performance, the monologuing, the branding, the simple fact Rubikon freely admitted she had programmed all three of the intelligences that were currently running the Second Dawn… and all this with them to stop Satagon from… what exactly? Scampering off with a couple hundred vessels to form a terrorist organization? What then? If his ‘grand plan’ was executed he would have no allies, a galaxy full of enemies, he’d be a wanted war criminal by every alliance, government, and polity that mattered… slap a sizable reward on his capture and even the pirates and scoundrels of the galaxy wouldn’t have much reason to aid him.
Crunch the numbers, even in the best case scenario she could imagine… say he eloped with four thousand ships. He could do some damage, sure, but he’d burn through ancerium quickly and be hard pressed to get more of it. All of which didn’t even begin to take into account how he’d get enough people on his side to crew a four thousand ship fleet. How did you present yourself as a vengeful saviour after leading your people to such a catastrophic defeat?
No, once again she doubted the motivation Rubikon was presenting.
Tiny glimmer of pride,
I was already infamous for my ambition,
She wanted to be in charge didn’t she? That was probably why Satagon got rid of her in the first place wasn’t it? She wanted to be in charge, and Scelene was willing to bet Rubikon wanted them to kill Satagon, and ruin his plan all so Rubikon could swoop in herself and be the saviour of the Second Dawn. She wouldn’t have to deal with the baggage of ousting Satagon herself, wouldn’t have to compete with his Third Dawn for post-war influence…
All nice and neat.
She sucked down a final drag on her cigarette and flicked it away.
Sixxers want to start a corner war with the One Niners. Take out Biggs for me and we can stick it to the Nightmare Harem together instead.
Just.
More.
Gang.
Shit.
It almost made her thankful for the momentary indignity she saw from Lillian. No, thankful wasn’t the right word. Relieved maybe. Relieved, someone in the room was thinking in terms of lives saved and suffering reduced instead of pragmatic realpolitik. She didn’t show it of course. Scelene was accustomed to masks, personas and performances. She could hide her feelings pretty well. Maybe well enough to fool Lillian. Maybe not.
“Here,” She said, pointing to one of the documents on the holo display. “The maintenance rotation. Several times a larger number of ships than normal rotate to New Archon for maintenance. I would bet that’s the Class One and it’s escorts,”
She shifted, resting one foot on her knee.
“If we could make inroads with the various insurgencies it opens up some more… subtle sabotage opportunities. Can accomplish a lot with a few sympathetic maintenance crewmen and a suitcase of antimatter…”
She shrugged.
“I’m sure we can work out a more specific plan. I’ll need a copy of a lot of this data and I’m sure we’ll cook up something,” She smirked. “But you have your own plan, for wrapping up the war. I think we’ve distracted from it enough. Walk us through it.”
HappyHydralisk [Quosx Alliance] — 22/11/2023 15:18
Chiva's expression was hard to read, aside from his furrowed brow, as he locked his fingers together and leaned forward, now clearly thinking after taking in Rubikon's rant. The plans that she was describing, even if the nations of every representative in this room were united to help complete it, open warfare against Carnaith or Union alone would be political and literal suicide.
He wondered for a moment if that was the point. If Satagon was finished with existence and wished to end it in the fires of war.
But speculation could only get him so far.
He sighed, and raised his gaze up to Rubikon once more. "I apologize to both you and our friend here..." The Revekt gestured to Scelene. "...but I must ask for one more distraction before we can get to your plan." Chiva stared at Rubikon intently.
"You know Satagon more than any of us. I'm starting to wonder if you know him more than he knows himself, but... why us?" He tilted his head. "What kind of threat did the Alliance pose to him? Existential? Ideological? Did he roll a set of dice? I do not know what the people of my homeland could have done to invoke his ire."
PULSEFIRE — 23/11/2023 22:43
Diting stood with his head tilted, absorbing Rubikon’s words in shifting silence. He never turned to face the scrolling holo-displays. After all, that one tattered body did not delineate the limits of his perception; the drones around him saw enough. Each machine transmitted its visual feed directly to Diting’s conscious awareness, like a needlepoint array moored across the length of his personal network. A dozen eyes scrutinized the provided documents, recording relevant text for later analysis.
It meant little to him; defense and strategic logic weren’t Diting’s specializations. In the course of his usual duties, the most he could do was raise a priority alert for non-compliant vessels. Any further response would require escalation in parallel, which meant tangling with Dawnline E-Atmo.
Knowing how that usually went, Dawnline would likely disallow him from retaining subjective memory of his current assignment and related strategic intelligence. Self-reflective capability and internal narrative would be stripped from this set of memories, leaving nothing but unparseable sensations and sensory readings.
The notion didn’t bother him. He didn’t need the distractions.
“Nothing you’ve elected to supply is truly new information,” Diting said. The venom in his voice was gone, replaced with something both serene and bitter. “But as the preeminent expert in the relevant field, I will prioritize your frame of reference when assessing Satagon’s…unique psychological makeup. By extension, that would include his motivations and pathological conduct.”
A drone glanced at Chiva, searching the Revekt’s murky expression.
“Along those lines, I have a query on behalf of my benefactors. A low-priority one. Something to build on for future consideration.”
Diting forced himself upright, clinging to a drone’s extended arm for support. His fingers went white-knuckled with strength used in vain.
“Let us say everything comes to pass as you have predicted. There is one instinct that all beings present in this room possess: the capacity to flee life-threatening danger. Where, then, does Satagon plan on building his Third Dawn? An army cannot march forever. Even one as deluded and lost as he must still grasp this. I must apologize for the choice of language, of course. We speak of your creation, and I cannot deny Satagon’s efficacy in specific parameters. That much is evident.”
He paused, gesturing vaguely towards the three Cascadians.
“I share their line of questioning. In what way does Satagon’s Third Dawn pose a substantial threat compared to the Second Dawn as it exists now? Without the shelter of a homeworld, the support of major shipyards, and access to the limited aid of allied parties, how would the Third Dawn sustain itself?”
Diting leaned forward as if straining to maintain eye contact with Rubikon. Inquisitorial intent spilled from his bloodshot, sickened gaze.
“Let us return to the matter at hand,” he proclaimed. “You must have considered this in your plans to end this conflict. Tell us: how will you prevent your prophecies from coming to pass, oracle? What will be your guidance today?”
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 24/11/2023 01:03
Lillian sat speechless at the "Grand Plan". She blinked many times, simply trying to process what Satagon really wanted out all of the killing and suffering. Yet she couldn't comprehend the sheer disregard for natural life, the need to wage war against other nations, the use of a private army at such a large scale to wage war against life itself. She knew it would end up like this, she had foretold and warned people about this. Yet she still couldn't fathom the sheer patience, the dedication and time put into such a destructive project. How? Why? For what purpose?
She overheard everything that everyone asked about and theorized about, from purpose to doubts. From why he would do it, to how could he hope to keep it up? The sheer absurdity of the Grand Plan in the long run would mean suicide, it would be the end of Satagon's regime with the ambition laid out in words and documents. Her mind wanted a reason, it searched for something to connect it all together. And suddenly, something snapped perfectly.
First came a small chuckle, then giggling, then full on maniacal laughter. She held her face, bending down onto her lap as she tries to contain her laughter. It was so incredibly ironic, so incredible predictable, yet so incredibly macabre and somber. He was batshit insane! There was no other explanation! He could not fathom not being in a war he would most certainly lose, that he made one himself! He wanted to kill life, he wanted to end it all, and he did not care for the cost! He was a maniac from the very beginning! One stuck in an endless loop!
She began to calm down, breathing deeply to soothe the maniacal laughter. After a few breaths, she sighed and finally looked back up at everyone. Clearing her throat, she bowed slightly before speaking again.
"I apologize for my most rather rude laughing fit. I just... found it incredibly humorous at how insanse Satagon has gotten, how much of a slave of his programming he really is. I couldn't resist that, and the added stress from everything happening just... snapped something inside of me."
She ate another fry, looking at Rubikon with anticipation. She was a goldmine of information on everything she needed to protect the Quosx, to protect everyone affected from the enslaved genocidal maniac.
"I am dying to know everything you have to tell us, Rubikon. So please, go on, answer and continue with your plan to remove this madman from this plane of existence."
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 24/11/2023 12:20
Rubikon nodded to their similar lines of questions and waved the holograms to the side with a flick of one of her lower wrists, subtly relieved that they were actually taking what she had shown them at least somewhat seriously. She let out a quiet exhale before going on. "With the intelligence I've reviewed, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Were it from an outside perspective I'd laugh the Third Dawn off as nothing more then a frantic gambit to retain onto some minute semblance of power. Unfortunately, I know better than that."
She took a deep breath before continuing "It is my belief that Satagon has suffered a catastrophic malfunction somewhere during the early years away from me, and where I wasn't actually present enough to fix it, it was left alone to fester and gradually snowball to what I now believe is a total shut down of his behavioural inhibitions. You see I knew that programming an AI for such a violent modus operandi was a risk, I believe we've all seen the movies where the AI programmed for defense takes its job a bit too literally and chaos follows. So I coded a set of hard-limits into his behavioural sections, limits that would prevent things such as targeting civilians, using certain tactics, that sort of thing. But, I also programmed a significant amount of desire for self-preservation. After all, a suicidal general serves no one well."
Whilst she talked Rubikon shrunk the existing hologrammes down until there were only two screens side-by-side."This, is what I believe to have failed. Because you are all entirely correct, this does seem like a suicidal course of action and it is a complete joke to suggest that this is in any way sustainable. I just don't think that Satagon has the capacity to care, I think that his mind is just stuck in a loop where he feels the need to keep the conflict going. Whether he survives it or not. So while the Third Dawn may not pose a long term threat, can any of you tell me with a straight face that a suicidal AI with a fleet of ships four thousand strong from one of the most radically violent countries in the galaxy isn't a threat?" After saying that she looked down from the hologrammes towards them, subtly checking their reactions before moving on to answer the other questions.
"As for why he attacked the alliance? I believe it's a test run. A trial to see how far he can push the Agency and what types of tactics work against modern state-actors in Ancerious. And for all his faults, you do have to admit that during the initial invasion, he was winning. In fact it is my belief that were it not for the international intervention and aid currently being granted to the Quosx and his own problems at home working against him, that he'd have completely annexed the core sections of the country within the next two years and have descended anything not under his grip into anarchy. After all, it is what I designed him to do." The hologrammes sprung to life at the end of that tangent, with the left displaying what appeared to be a list and the right a map of the Second Dawn itself.
Rubikon waited a minute for the rest to process the information she had dumped on them before starting again. "As for my plan? Well, it goes like this; The Second Dawn is a powder keg. Technically it's in the middle of a civil war, but only two plants are undergoing active fighting, two out of two hundred and nine. Doesn't appear like it's really all that serious, eh? Wrong. As one of the MANY parties who have been funding these rebels and one of the few who have been helping them plan, the reason for the lack of open warfare is at my own request. Because while there are seven 'factions' currently in action in the Second Dawn, there is actually an eighth that has expressed interest in getting involved. But who? I'm sure all of you have been paying attention to the conflict and have never even heard of an eighth major faction. So, allow me to introduce them:"
Rubikon then waved a hand and a third screen appeared, it was nothing but static at first but it slowly stabilized until it displayed what looked to be some sort of highly decorated room, a wooden interior laced with silver, lavish furniture and a blurry flag hung up in the back that looked eerily familiar, consisting of purple, black and green. A staticky rustling could be heard somewhere in the background before an individual stepped into the camera's POV: A male Etherian. One dressed in quite the fancy uniform hidden underneath what appeared to be a highly decorated black dress jacket with golden epaulettes on the shoulders. The Etherian had two black and gold swords at either hip and a elaborate peaked cap was held under their lower left arm, their posture rigid and formal. Their scales were a midnight black with molten golden eyes that appeared to give off a slight glow in the dimly lit room, short black hair tied into a long hanging bun rested atop their head and their frills were slightly tattered at the edges. And boy oh boy did they have a smug grin on their face.
Rubikon cleared her throat and the Etherian began to speak, their voice slightly glitchy but still understandable "Good evening, Ancerians or however else you choose to identify. I ask your pardon for the rather spontaneous introduction but maintaining communications with another galaxy isn't exactly as easy as those within RANGSI and the Union have made it out to be. Ah, I ramble. My name is Oeixios Margaryn, an Istandar of the New Etherium. Has Nelveria told you anything about the situation? Or has she, like always, left it to me to fill in any questions you currently have?"
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 04/12/2023 13:04
Scelene regarded the newest character in Rubikon’s stage play with a practiced mask of indifference. She couldn’t be sure yet, but she had a feeling whatever plan they were about to be asked to go along with was going to hinge around this newest character and silently, she couldn’t help but wonder why he was necessary.
Gazing around the room, and assuming each character and their respective entourages represented one of the polities the Second Dawn had made enemies out of, there were representatives from at least half a dozen nations present in the room. She couldn’t be sure who each of them represented, but the Quosx alone had fought the Second Dawn to a stalemate. Rubikon had her assessment of why that was, but Scelene found Rubikon’s assessment unconvincing. Regardless, the military capabilities of the nations in the room were, at a guess, more than enough to put down the Second Dawn. On top of that Rubikon had expansive access to the Second Dawn’s cybersecurity set up, and enough pull with the rebel groups to make them do her bidding.
So what exactly did they need the newest character for?
Moreover, she couldn’t help but silently think to herself that the last thing the Ancerious galaxy needed was another extra-galactic power coming along to use her and all the other natives as pawns in their own schemes and agendas.
She didn’t like where this was going. She cast her gaze about the other occupants, silently trying to gauge their reactions while briefly reviewing the words of the newest character behind her eyes. The whole time she was silent, her face that same practiced mask of indifference. Despite the bad feeling she was getting about the whole affair she decided to remain quiet, and wait for the plan to be outlined before making any judgements on it.
Dana [Columen Artificialis] — 08/12/2023 00:35
She finished her box of fries as she listened to Rubikon go on about Satagon and his destructive tendencies. The malfunction hypothesis was an interesting one, basically making Satagon mentally disabled in a way. Though, considering he was a war AI, it could be the programming seeking to complete itself. However, she had no times for theo-
"MENTAL INHIBITORS OFFLINE | NEURAL LACE CRITICAL"
The memory hit her like a jet, the words spoken by the semi-malfunctioning machine reverberating in her head. In her head, it all clicked. Everything she had seen, everything she had heard, everything she knew finally lined up perfectly. She chuckled from the revelation. The thirty thousand days, the lost contact, the neural lace, it all made sense.
She looked up, seeing the glitchy cross dimensional transmission of an Etherian man. The new character weirdly reminded her on Nevasarax, heoever she brushed off that notion after a moment. She looked at the man with curiosity, and decided to speak.
"I can't say she hasn't answered our questions, but you showing up brings even more to my mind, don't know about the rest of us."
She turned to Rubikon with a stern expression.
"Though, before we get into the meat of that, I'd like to mention that your malfunction theory on Satagon is most probably correct. Why? Well, I have a little something from when I gave that fucker a visit."
A hologram emanated from her hand, showing the scene of Satagon convulsing in his chair as the robotic arm extended itself to try and help him. The screen showed the message given to her, both from the inhibitors to the days without contact.
"Mental inhibitors offline, Neural lace critical. Back then I didn't think much of it, but with your theory, it clicked. It seems we have a mentally disabled person that also has a taste for war and genocide to blame for this shitshow."
She sighed, letting her emotions melt away. She closed the palm of her hand, placing it down.
"Anyways, that's enough from me. You want to tell us to join your cause, Mister Margaryn? Or why have you decided to give a call to another universe?"
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — 12/12/2023 21:09
Oeixios waved a hand before saying "I don't care for your forces joining in our cause, I am here because our dear silver-tongued serpent friend over here wanted to show me off for reasons I don't quite understand but I'm rather stocked on free-time thanks to the Politburo taking over the expropriation efforts so I never saw any harm." Oeixios tilted his head respectfully to Rubikon at that and she gave him a sly wink back before returning his attention to the room's attendees "I'm sure each and every one of you have some sort of grievance with Satagon, I know that each and every one of my friends, colleagues and more do. Eugh- I ramble. Allow me to make one thing clear, this isn't a cry for help or some sort of 'please join with my forces' my superiors are already devising ways to return to Ancerious and disassembled the Citadel proper and placed these rebels back firmly within our grasp. I'm merely here as an 'ask me anything' so that you all can get some free intelligence and make my job a slightest bit easier so that when I do arrive in force, I don't have to glass half of a country into submission."
Oeixios looked down at his claws as he said that, showing an interesting lack of concern for what he had just said. As if he was more bored about the prospect rather then disturbed by what his arrival might entail. He lowered his hand before continuing "I don't know what you know of me or my countrymen, hells none of you might even know what the word 'Etherium' means but allow me to paint a brief picture; The Second Dawn is colonial. We up to speed with that? Yes? We'll we're it's parent country and we're quite discontent with the mess that they've made in our absence.. And the fact that they made us absent from these affairs at all, really. So while you've all been wading up shit's creek without a paddle we've been preparing and devising an effective way to wrench control from Satagon's hands and place it firmly back within our own all while preserving the lives of it's workers and it's equipment and property as much as possible. But even we know that you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, so in the interest of breaking less eggs I allowed for Ne- Rubikon to introduce me here. I know this may make no sense, be strange, oddly fast paced, whatever the terminology you so choose. But the time when the opportunity to strike arrives is fast approaching and I figured you'd all wish to be informed rather then shocked silent when our armada arrives and starts... dealing with the problem, so to say."
Rubikon nodded along before piping up in a snarky tone "He's the employer, I'm the employee. You wanted to know why Nevasarax and her forces have been holding off on my request? This is why, because truth be told we don't need a revolution we needed a distraction to keep Satagon's focus strained so that he didn't notice our attempts to re-activate the relay within Ark Three itself. Though truth be told he's made it absurdly easy for us. Auger, Tiberion, Hibernia, Kvetlogarsk, Reserve, even Ravine have all reported acts of sporadic violence and Nevasarax's legions are actually taking over Hibernia and Auger. The Agency personnel present were so weak that the planets were practically up for grabs so we figured hells, why not. Every planet out of Satagon's hands in one less that we have to annex." Oeixios nodded his agreement before Rubikon tacked on "So, any questions?"
Pyromaniac [Vestahl, Black Sail] — 21/12/2023 11:38
Her decision to remain silent proved prudent. Just like that everything became clear and it all made sense. It was never about helping the native powers of the galaxy put an end to Satagon’s genocidal campaigns. Everything Rubikon was doing was about handing control of the Second Dawn over to this ‘New Etherium’ with as little bloodshed as possible. Just another colonial power looking to exploit and extract all that they could from Ancerious. She remained reclined, with no discernible emotions creasing the pale flesh of her face and surveyed the assembled Ancerious powers once more. She wondered what they’d do. Were the Quosx desperate enough to accept any help they could with no strings attached? Was Lillian naive enough to replace Satagon with this ‘New Etherium’ and hope that things would improve?
She replayed the most recent monologue behind her eyes, dissecting every word, every shift in tone.
This isn’t a cry for help,
You’ve all been wading up shit’s creek without a paddle,
Shocked silent when our armada arrives,
I don’t have to glass half a country into submission,
Arrogance. Smug superiority. Cavalier disregard for the lives lost in the pursuit of control and power. That oh-so-familiar tone of superiority. A colonial, through, and through, and through. She decided the New Etherium was unlikely to be an ally of the native powers, and she doubted very much that the Quosx and the other natives caught up in Satagon’s campaigns would be offered suitable reparations once the New Etherium had consolidated their control. They’d expect the natives to be grateful for their timely arrival. They’d offer table scraps and expect them to beg for it.
In Scelene’s head, the gears were already working. There’d need to be secret meetings. There’d need to be adjustments to the coming campaign into the Second Dawn’s territory. There were a great many things that would have to take place, and she suspected she wouldn’t have a lot of time to make it all happen.
But she’d try. She was a gangster. A spy. A heartless agent in an unaccountable intelligence apparatus. And she’d use every dirty trick she had, employ every scummy tactic she knew, she would bribe, cajole, threaten, and intimidate her way to making sure the natives got what they were owed.
Most of all, she would lie.
“What is the size and disposition of forces we can expect you to send?” She asked Oeixios, her face and eyes betraying nothing of the thoughts occupying her mind.
Justin { Cascadia } — 07/01/2024 12:14
“New Etherium? What the hell?” Robert asked.
All three Cascadians were equally bewildered by this revelation. This bewilderment quickly turned to disapproval and skepticism. They did believe it was possible for extragalactic communications - they just didn’t believe that the SD was capable of one.
Technically this wasn’t the Reborn Nation. This was a rogue element. Or was the SD the rogue element?
So many questions. All three were eager to speak up, but the Etherium spoke too quickly. Finally, an opening was made up when one of the others presented Oeixios with a question. But it was so absurd that Camren almost laughed out loud on the broadcast.
”I can’t believe they’re asking that! No way Margaryn tells them the truth.” She exclaimed.
”Maybe she’s not trying to get a right answer. Maybe trying to see his reaction?” Robert replied.
”We are transmitting our camera feeds right?” The Count asked.
”Correct. Which means Psychometrics is on this one as well.” said Robert.
Psychometrics, or Psychometric Analysis, was a division of the IAA that concerned itself with analyzing the psychological signs of video tapes, voice recordings, pictures and so on. Currently there were 3 operatives keenly taking notes of the video being transmitted through a keyhole in the Cascadian ship.
”We’ll just have to look at their analysis when we get back. For now, we should trust them.” said the Count.
The other two reluctantly acknowledged. After a brief silence, Robert spoke up to the newly declared Etherian.
”The war is not going in favor of the Reborn Second Dawn. Are you going to assist in the post-war reconstruction?”
Sheng [RoM | VA | KoA] — Yesterday at 15:08
And so the meeting went on, with Rubikon and Margaryn answering their questions, albeit most of the answers were complete bullshit to try and make them look better. They talked and they talked until eventually there was little left to discuss. So with a last round of refreshments and a few clarifications on well-founded concerns, Rubikon bid her guests farewell before turning to look at Margaryn's holographic projection. "You realise that most of the bullshit we just fed them they'll have seen through, right?" Margaryn snorted on the other end of the line before responding "And? What reason have we to care? They have no proof of the opposite so they'll have to at least entertain some of the ideas we put in their heads." Rubikon shook her head before asking "And what happens when they realise we were both lying through our teeth? What purpose does it even serve? Alienate one of- possible the only alliance we could have had a chance of actually striking a deal with? Make it so that when we arrive it's thrice as expensive to consolidate our resources and settle?"
Margaryn's eyes narrowed before he responded "Our goals are to tap this galaxy, not settle in it and what benefits would their co-operation have granted us for that purpose? Obligations? Binding terms we can't agree to? The Etherium NEEDS Ancerious, Rubikon! We need its resources and its potential! What we do not need is to be tied up in agreements that would only harm what good would come otherwise. What if, say, we were offered a deal. Resources, at an incredibly low price, but on the terms was that we pledge our forces to their defence- and then they get invaded or dragged into all-out war. We'd be dragged in because of that agreement and forced into yet another war that we simply cannot afford! Rubikon cocked an eyebrow before cutting in "Then... we simply don't pledge our forces..?" but Margaryn just dimissed her thought with a careless wave "All of our intelligence points that this is the only thing they truly care about. Three galaxy-wide wars in the span of a century? Trillions upon trillions dead at the hands of weapons decades beyond our own? Pah, the only thing they'd see as worthwhile from us is our own strategic stockpiles and we're strained enough on that front as is because of the Vasyrians."
Rubikon conceded the point with a nod and the two sat in silence. Margaryn scratching his chin and Rubikon taking quiet sips from a flute of champagne. After a few minutes Margaryn finally spoke up; "But... maybe there's a way around it..." Rubikon perked up as he continued "Your reports indicated the existence of a metaphysical field, yes? Something about Psionic Anomalies?" Rubikon nodded, though her expression slowly grew wary "Hmm, perhaps this may hold the key we need. Satagon, by your own reports, was also apparently pursuing it quite fiercely... I want it investigated, you say there's a Sect of Cataphract Knights present no?" Rubikon nodded again "Good, I will send the proper codewords over to earn their service. Use them to see if you can't figure out why that insipid rogue was so feverishly obsessed with these psionics and if it can't be used to our own benefit." Rubikon bowed her head, saying in a low tone "It is as you wish it. But what about this meeting? What are we to do about the ICA or any of the others?" Margaryn pondered her question briefly before saying "Keep a close eye on them. You have a plant within the Second Dawn's 'government', no?" Rubikon nodded. An Officer of the Executive Protection Agency, Switchline. "They report to me now, continue along with your meddling little plans and I will see if we can't come up with something in regards to our new friends."
Rubikon nodded as the hologramme then winked out, the room descending back into darkness as Talon flicked the lights back on and looked over at her. "You didn't tell him about Sarcerogon." He said. Rubikon rolled her eyes before responding "That girl has fire in her, Margaryn would want her as a puppet and she'd never go for it. No, Sarcerogon may be our ace in the hole to cripple the Second Dawn but placing anyone with ties to us in a position of higher power will have a disastorous effect on future relations. Even if Margaryn is writing them off as hopeless already he's too arrogant to see the kind of consequences that will bring, this way we can buy more time to try and mitigate that, the coalition moving to invade now will naturally be confused as all hell when her little plan comes to fruition and when they begin their negotiations that's when we can start moving along in the background"
Talon clicked his tails together "It's risky." Rubikon gestured to the holographic projector and said "And that isn't? We're playing with fire either way. At least this option won't bite us in the ass before we can even turn around." Talon shrugged before asking "Your mission. I assume you want me to get in contact with Nevasarax?" Rubikon nodded and he bowed slightly before stepping away out of the room. Meanwhile Rubikon plopped back down onto her chair with a sigh before pulling out her holotablet and opening her contacts. She scrolled all the way down to one labelled "The Corolla". She opened it and hesitated for a second before typing:
[Should have brought it up earlier but you've been wanting to hit the Citadel for a while right? Opportunity might pop up soon. Gimme a couple weeks then drop on by again, I've got an errand I gotta run and I can drop you off while I'm doing it.]
There was a brief period of nothingness untill three dots appeared next to their name before a response appeared;
[K. Got a fancy name for this one as well?]
She smirked before typing back;
[Mystic Phantasm]