Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 19:43:11 GMT
“Of course it’s exhausting, trying to reason all the time with a universe that wasn’t meant to be reasonable.”
--Kurt Vonnegut
--oOo—
The Golden Expanse was a wasteland that the Ascendancy was intimately familiar with. They had had the benefit of having made it that way, after all, and with that context it is quite understandable that they were more familiar with it than the newcomers; to most, it was a desolate expanse of dead stars, dry worlds, and no materiel resources to speak of. In the eyes of the Ascendancy, it was just as much a monument to their failures as their successes; failures in that they had failed their task of security, of keeping their name hidden from the tongues of lesser races; and success, in that none spoke their name again for millions of years afterwards.
So as the task force trode silently through the dark, they were in their own ways quietly reflecting on their past with as much gravity to their thoughts as they were contemplating their future. They were all doubting Thomas now, though that phrase would have been as alien to their tongues as the races that had once flourished in this region of space had felt the Ascendancy’s name to be on theirs. They move persistently across vast distances, passing the sites of battles long since erased from mortal memory by time and the absence thereof.
Dorin’s choice had, as most critical decisions of a head of state tend to, stirred up a degree of controversy in the echelons of power that constituted the Ascendancy. The Heraldics of course knew better than to speak of such matters openly, but they were far too cunning not to think about the matter or its repercussions for their race. Their dedication to the Ascendancy may have been unwavering, but privately each held their own unique and irrepressible doubts about the Prime Admiral. But for the common Flux, debate-though properly private, as outright dissent could lead to dire repercussions for them-flourished behind closed doors.
“You know, I think she’s ruining us,” Eischa murmured softly under her breath as she watched the temporal feeds from the privacy of her chambers. “The Council of Five wouldn’t have allowed us to establish contact with the Centum. None of us would be here if she’d kept to the shadows a bit more.”
“Well what do you see happening if the Council of Five was faced with a temporally proficient adversary?” Her partner replied softly as he rolled over in their bed. “They would have gone right back to the moment they set foot in this galaxy and struck them over the head so hard their children would be bruised in the womb-“
“That might just solve our problems.” She replies, her voice quieted by the hour, the setting, and the severity of the words she’s speaking. It is beyond unseemly to criticize the Ascendancy’s leadership, and so it is done in secret, behind closed doors and in bedrooms where the closest thing to privacy dwells. Eischa closes her eyes for a moment and feels the world moving around them, and she sighs softly at the thought of their destination.
“You of all people know how doubtful it is that such an alteration would set as intended.” Savath answers as he watches her play with the apparitions slowly dancing about the display region.
“It would let us sleep better at night.” Eischa murmurs as her fingers dance among the shapes flickering around her hand. Savath nodded in agreement, smiled softly, and then kisses her forehead.
So the ships moved through the dark, tiny bastions of hope in an increasingly dark galaxy. They moved silently, confident only in the presence of their own lives, and deeply skeptical that kind or loving souls existed beyond the confines of the world they knew.
--oOo—
“We’re doing a bloody number to the Immortals, ain’t we?” The man sitting opposite one of the strangers says as he gestures to the newsfeed. His enthusiasm is well worn on his face; a jolly smile sits beneath warm red cheeks, and he is not at all perturbed by the man opposite’s lack of emotion at the response.
“Doing a number.” The stranger murmurs, and pulls his hat lower over his face. The shuttle is rocking a bit from the turbulence, and the man with the jolly smile and the rosy cheeks wonders if he’s not feeling well. His skin is rather pale, after all, and he hardly seems to be enjoying the news of the Dark City’s progress into the Immortal Empire. A shame really that such good work goes unappreciated.
“I reckon we’ll have the Overlord’s head on a platter by year’s end. We’ll gut their whole damn unholy empire and scatter them to the wind. The Emperor’s bound to join us sooner or later, and then we’ll tidy up and teach those bastards some manners.” The cheery man exhales triumphantly at the end of his jingoistic declaration, and the pale stranger sighs slightly.
“Tidy up.” He repeats blandly. “Manners.”
“Bloody heinous of them, don’t you think?” The red cheeked fellow adds excitedly. “They’re taking out entire convoys en route to the front lines, and massacring the wounded coming back. Killing them dead before they have a chance to defend themselves. Hit and run tactics, damn those cowardly bastards. Not men enough to stand up and fight in the open like the civilized animals they pretend to be!”
“Damn cowardly.” The pale man murmurs, trying very hard to sleep, or at least pretending to try very hard to sleep.
“You don’t seem too excited, stranger. Aren’t you glad we’re avenging Exceion?” The cheery man asks abruptly, hoping to bring his companion to a more enthusiastic state. “You’re not with the babykillers, are you?” The cheery man grins, and finally roused the pale man tips his hat back far enough to make eye contact with his opposite. He takes exception to the babykillers bit; he knows what the Dark City did to the civilians at Ambrosius, and about the damages being done by their attempts at occupation.
“You’re getting far too into character.” He says simply, before reaching down and grabbing his briefcase. With a brief nod to his cheery companion, he steps out of the cabin and disappears down the hall. His jovial companion laughs, grabs a briefcase of his own, and vanishes into the crowd.
--Kurt Vonnegut
--oOo—
The Golden Expanse was a wasteland that the Ascendancy was intimately familiar with. They had had the benefit of having made it that way, after all, and with that context it is quite understandable that they were more familiar with it than the newcomers; to most, it was a desolate expanse of dead stars, dry worlds, and no materiel resources to speak of. In the eyes of the Ascendancy, it was just as much a monument to their failures as their successes; failures in that they had failed their task of security, of keeping their name hidden from the tongues of lesser races; and success, in that none spoke their name again for millions of years afterwards.
So as the task force trode silently through the dark, they were in their own ways quietly reflecting on their past with as much gravity to their thoughts as they were contemplating their future. They were all doubting Thomas now, though that phrase would have been as alien to their tongues as the races that had once flourished in this region of space had felt the Ascendancy’s name to be on theirs. They move persistently across vast distances, passing the sites of battles long since erased from mortal memory by time and the absence thereof.
Dorin’s choice had, as most critical decisions of a head of state tend to, stirred up a degree of controversy in the echelons of power that constituted the Ascendancy. The Heraldics of course knew better than to speak of such matters openly, but they were far too cunning not to think about the matter or its repercussions for their race. Their dedication to the Ascendancy may have been unwavering, but privately each held their own unique and irrepressible doubts about the Prime Admiral. But for the common Flux, debate-though properly private, as outright dissent could lead to dire repercussions for them-flourished behind closed doors.
“You know, I think she’s ruining us,” Eischa murmured softly under her breath as she watched the temporal feeds from the privacy of her chambers. “The Council of Five wouldn’t have allowed us to establish contact with the Centum. None of us would be here if she’d kept to the shadows a bit more.”
“Well what do you see happening if the Council of Five was faced with a temporally proficient adversary?” Her partner replied softly as he rolled over in their bed. “They would have gone right back to the moment they set foot in this galaxy and struck them over the head so hard their children would be bruised in the womb-“
“That might just solve our problems.” She replies, her voice quieted by the hour, the setting, and the severity of the words she’s speaking. It is beyond unseemly to criticize the Ascendancy’s leadership, and so it is done in secret, behind closed doors and in bedrooms where the closest thing to privacy dwells. Eischa closes her eyes for a moment and feels the world moving around them, and she sighs softly at the thought of their destination.
“You of all people know how doubtful it is that such an alteration would set as intended.” Savath answers as he watches her play with the apparitions slowly dancing about the display region.
“It would let us sleep better at night.” Eischa murmurs as her fingers dance among the shapes flickering around her hand. Savath nodded in agreement, smiled softly, and then kisses her forehead.
So the ships moved through the dark, tiny bastions of hope in an increasingly dark galaxy. They moved silently, confident only in the presence of their own lives, and deeply skeptical that kind or loving souls existed beyond the confines of the world they knew.
--oOo—
“We’re doing a bloody number to the Immortals, ain’t we?” The man sitting opposite one of the strangers says as he gestures to the newsfeed. His enthusiasm is well worn on his face; a jolly smile sits beneath warm red cheeks, and he is not at all perturbed by the man opposite’s lack of emotion at the response.
“Doing a number.” The stranger murmurs, and pulls his hat lower over his face. The shuttle is rocking a bit from the turbulence, and the man with the jolly smile and the rosy cheeks wonders if he’s not feeling well. His skin is rather pale, after all, and he hardly seems to be enjoying the news of the Dark City’s progress into the Immortal Empire. A shame really that such good work goes unappreciated.
“I reckon we’ll have the Overlord’s head on a platter by year’s end. We’ll gut their whole damn unholy empire and scatter them to the wind. The Emperor’s bound to join us sooner or later, and then we’ll tidy up and teach those bastards some manners.” The cheery man exhales triumphantly at the end of his jingoistic declaration, and the pale stranger sighs slightly.
“Tidy up.” He repeats blandly. “Manners.”
“Bloody heinous of them, don’t you think?” The red cheeked fellow adds excitedly. “They’re taking out entire convoys en route to the front lines, and massacring the wounded coming back. Killing them dead before they have a chance to defend themselves. Hit and run tactics, damn those cowardly bastards. Not men enough to stand up and fight in the open like the civilized animals they pretend to be!”
“Damn cowardly.” The pale man murmurs, trying very hard to sleep, or at least pretending to try very hard to sleep.
“You don’t seem too excited, stranger. Aren’t you glad we’re avenging Exceion?” The cheery man asks abruptly, hoping to bring his companion to a more enthusiastic state. “You’re not with the babykillers, are you?” The cheery man grins, and finally roused the pale man tips his hat back far enough to make eye contact with his opposite. He takes exception to the babykillers bit; he knows what the Dark City did to the civilians at Ambrosius, and about the damages being done by their attempts at occupation.
“You’re getting far too into character.” He says simply, before reaching down and grabbing his briefcase. With a brief nod to his cheery companion, he steps out of the cabin and disappears down the hall. His jovial companion laughs, grabs a briefcase of his own, and vanishes into the crowd.