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D A E D A L U S – Planetary Capitol City

What did it feel like to be

Devil Eye?

The central processor had booted the foreign entity out of itself. It was, after all, designed in part not only to protect itself, but its’ host from foreign invasion. The entity was not paradoxical, but if nothing a tad perplexing to the machine. It tolerated its’ presence because it was, after all, a part of Kete – right? Part of the host. Yet still it was a strange thing. The Eye couldn’t have this strange thing tampering with its’ very sensitive, very powerful, and very coveted functions. That would have defeated the whole purpose of self preservation!

But Kete had wanted to help the thing – and while the machine had no way of comprehending this, it was well aware that the strange thing was as much a part of the host brain as the host brain itself.

The strange thing had gone poking at memories and been shut out in an instant – but that had not been the machine’s doing. That had been the host’s own mental blocks – forget, deny, pretend it never happened and get along. There were things to focus on now – the incoming police, for instance. Where would they go next?

But what was it like?

Memories were forbidden, sure. Indeed, even emotions were segregated, under tight lock-and-key. Centuries of practice in controlling himself, lying to himself and to others, learning how to act and when – playing dumb – never allowing anyone to know how he really felt, keeping himself an emotional enigma to all who witnessed him. All the better to keep people away.

But there was sight. There was sensation – how wondrous it must have felt after so immeasurably long in unfeeling machine existence! There was a breeze on their face from the gentle westward wind through the alley. The faint, but not entirely displeasing scent of musty brick and asphalt. The sounds of a city – and of inclosing sirens. There was sight – and that was one of the more unusual senses, because if one knew ‘where to look’, they would see more than the mere vision of two eyes. It would prove disorienting at first, but there were multiple vision centers – or, at least, multiple records of vision centers. The eye read the movements of the electrons around it, translated the readings into comprehensible information and fed it to the proper centers of the brain. It was multiple pairs of eyes in multiple places, all at the same time. Even optical lenses, or any machines designed to intake images, would come through as other eyes – if with a slightly more mechanical implication to them.

There were extra arms, too – invisible arms that extended through machines, however complex or simple. An ability to activate something nearby, any given something – though an unknown presence would find those arms paralyzed to them.

But merely a watcher? No, because they were one now. It was confusing. But…

So, the robot thing wanted Kete and Nirix to hop on, and ride him to safety? It seemed like a good enough plan – and it might have worked, too. Nirix was distracted by the sirens, looking over her shoulder in their general direction to contemplate the needless loudness of them. But that would have been little deterrent in itself, since he would have had no trouble just grabbing on to her, and then to the robot thing.

What had made the plan go sour was the fact that apparently Ketin was now seeing ghosts – which was definitely a new experience for him, and entirely startling.

He stood there, frozen in time, paying no attention at all as the robot thing went shooting off without them – evidently unable to hold itself still any longer and being overwhelmed by the propulsion it was building up. He was oblivious to GA’s departure, and to everything else, for that endless moment. What had it – she? – said? She had thanked him.

So, after a long pause, just staring in wide eyed bewilderment, he said quietly and in a dreamlike, dazed voice

”N-no biggie.”

He was, of course, speaking to nobody – but that tidbit would not occur to him for some time yet. Why should assume that he was the only one seeing this, after all? There were a lot of obvious questions which tended to make themselves scarce at times like these.

He blinked at last. Sure enough, she was still there – it hurt a little to look at, and there was a pinpoint ache somewhere in his head, but he didn’t care about any of it.

Recognition came gradually. Slowly but steadily – the light of understanding growing from a dim glow into a neon blaze in his eyes, comprehension falling daintily from above before finally hitting him like a wet towel.

”Y-you’re the, the- the thing!” He gasped suddenly – an expression that might have been taken for bewildered fright suddenly transforming into utter elation. A wide, all-encompassing smile, eyes wide and bright with the satisfaction of his revelation. He didn’t have the words to describe it of course, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying…As he spoke to thin air. ”The, the blue…the signal thing! That’s you! It worked!”

At that point, his blustering turned into elated laughter. ”IT worked! IT actually worked!” He didn’t know exactly what he had done, not fully – but whatever it had been, it had obviously worked. Maybe he should have been frightened by this new presence – after all, it was an entity now dwelling in his most secret of secret places, his most guarded trove of terrible things – but that would occur to him belatedly. At the present, there was only the intense satisfaction of having successfully ‘saved’ the ‘signal thing’.

In his excitement, he turned to Nirix, still having failed utterly to notice the departure of their robot friend. ”Ny’, it worked! The signal thingy, it didn’t die!” How much sense was he making? Very little.

Again he turned to the ghost. He wanted to know everything. So many questions! But still, in the moment of discovery, they eluded him.

All he knew was that there had been some spark out there, it had ‘called to him’, begged his help in some unknown language of mind and machine, and he had come to the rescue. He had done a good thing, he was sure of it – a good thing, yes!

He hadn’t been entirely sure what he was looking for when he initially went on that final move to systematically tear every scrap of information he could – the result of which was the download of this foreign consciousness into his own brain – and really he still wasn’t sure what had happened, nor was he aware that it was necessarily a consciousness at all – though it seemed the natural answer to him. It was a vastly different sensation than CAI had been – indeed, there was very little sensation at all – but CAI had been an inconceivable sum of data, a vast Encyclopedia Galactica downloaded directly into his brain. This was so much more human – not artificial, like CAI had been – but natural.

He might have been afraid of this ghost, but how could one be afraid of a part of oneself?

Okay, not the best analogy when referring to Ketin Clarke.

Nevertheless, he could not fear the ghost, because the ghost was not so foreign – not to him. She was too familiar – to intertwined with himself – like a refreshing new discovery of some personal aspect not previously known. Besides that, he got the same feeling that he had gotten from the signal earlier – yes, this was definitely the same thing – the same ghost – the same person.

The elation she had felt earlier, then suppressed by the Eye into purely non-physical sensation, did now bleed into their movements. In one abrupt swoosh, a whole lot more had been opened up to Eva. She might not command the Eye, but she would be able to easily see what it saw. She might not be able to know his memories, but she could know what he knew, could think his more unguarded thoughts.

The very same elation brought too a sense of connection, of oneness. It was a wholesome, generally satisfying sensation, though difficult to describe. Perhaps there had been a sense of emptiness as the mind was ‘divvied-up’, and now that all was occupied steadily, wholeness was achieved? Perhaps – though it seemed like something deeper. Indescribably so.

It was, either way, a whole lot of good vibes. Her growing expression of worry, he was oblivious to.

Until it occurred to him that he was worried too.

They were worried. Oh dear.

Why was he worried though?

Obvious. Because they were worried. It only made sense.

Buy why were they worried? Worried, but simultaneously bursting with the joy of living!

The visual manifestation of their other half seemed sluggish, they noted. Part of them wondered why, but the other part might have had a better idea. It was with the oneness that came the unity.

Or, at least, something approaching ‘unity’. It was all very strange and uncertain. True, Kete didn’t quite fell like himself – but for the moment at least, he was just fine with that.

What was that sound?

Sirens.

Right! They needed to get moving.

But would he still be all there?

Well of course they would!

Part of them had never felt so surrounded by friends. Part of them was still mystified and delighted by the sensation of a cool breeze on their face.

”W-we should really get moving.” They said, after a period of silence that probably seemed to have lasted much longer than it actually had.

Habitually, a satellite image of the city – particularly, the general area of the city right over their heads – was brought into their mind. Not visually per se, but it was known, and comprehended. There was a top-down view. There were the approaching police. It was the sort of trick that was relatively natural to both of them.

A few blocks back, there was a sudden, violent explosion which trembled the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a few windows shattered. Moments later, there was the crumble of brick and mortar as the remains of the satellite defense office came crumbling into the street – the result of some unlikely calamity no doubt, but surely it would be attributed as the final stage of the prior intruder’s attack. That was going to mean a much hotter pursuit. Maybe even hovercars.

Oops.

But they weren’t quite at his fullest capacity for thought, presently. It was strange, now that he realized they had a whole different set of thoughts pulsing in the back of their mind, vaguely accessible to him, intrinsically connected, yet new and strange. Part of him was thinking more slowly, with more labored heartbeats of the mind – maybe he could fix that? Couldn’t he communicate with himself? Find out his other name?

Being two people was weird!

No less exalted, but it was time to go, yes. Which way? That way! He glanced to the ghost image of the other part of himself, then to Nirix – totally unaware that he was the only one who could see the blue ghost.

There was something of a mental hangup. Usually he would be quick to jump into action – but in this precise moment, he was stalling, not entirely certain what to do next. It was on the tip of his tongue – or, rather, the tip of his consciousness.

The exhaustion, the apathy from earlier was gone now, as gone as their robot friend was. He would not be so willing to totally give himself over to his other half – but that wasn’t to say that there would be any conscious resistance if she decided to boot him into action – or maybe to do something else? They were, after all, one.

How could they not work together? How could he not trust something which was now a part of himself?

---

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium


He had been continually searching the BrainNet for the Captain, but to no avail. Even so, there would be little in the way of showing this on his face – even despite the eye-obscuring goggles. Besides, it was a very small portion of his attention being paid to that endeavor, despite his mounting concern. What kept most of his focus was the girl in front of him – namely, the story she was telling. He had frowned, watching her obsessively fingering her hair, biting her lip – and ultimately suppressing the obvious anxiety to appear calm and resolute once more – it didn’t fool Drakis.

Or, then again, maybe it did.

The old man had returned to the pod as well now, and sat across from the girl. The door was still open, and the pod itself would not move without his – or her – command. He listened with a solemn expression on his face and, in the end, gave a slow, comprehending nod. He said nothing for a while, leaned forward, scratched at his beard.

”Frankly, yes.” He said at last, still frowning. ”There’s a lot more you’ll wanna’ know. Don’t think I’m trying to keep things from you when I say that I’m just not the best person to try and give you the full story.” Anyone else would have been utterly disturbed by the solemnity of Drakis’ voice. Most people were unaware that he could be serious at all, and those who did know would still hardly anticipate witnessing it from him. ”There’s too much I don’t know, and a heck of a lot that I just couldn’t know. The Captain-…” But he hesitated, started again; ”The Captain will be a whole lot more helpful than I could be.” But there was reservation in his tone.

It was true, of course – but the fact nagged at Drakis that when talking about ‘The Captain’ things could get tricky real quick. The whole thing might be in his head. Sure, there were a lot of strange things surrounding the Captain and his wife, but was it all really related to the story he seemed to so wholeheartedly believe? Or was he simply utterly insane? And if so, what did that make Drakis, and the rest of the crew who followed him on this admittedly ridiculous, seemingly impossible quest?

He had been called, behind his back and in jest ’Aelyn-Paeryc de La Mancha’ for a reason, after all. Always trying to reach The Unreachable Star. Yet still, most of the crew had to admit at least a tenuous trust in his preposterous story. Maybe some of them really believed it – and maybe others just didn’t care what the Captain wanted to do, as long as he kept them employed and with a good roof over their heads, and good air to breathe.

Drakis was, admittedly, somewhat frustrated – he wanted to be more help than he could – not to mention the captain’s apparent disappearance from the face of the universe.

Regardless of it all, one thing the girl had said rang entirely true, and Drakis had to acknowledge the validity of the point. The girl really did have very little reason to desire a return to her home now – because whether or not it had ever really existed, it was painfully true that it would certainly not be the same place she remembered. Not after all this unknowable span of eons. ”Well, one way or another, you’ll always be able to stay here – f-for what it’s worth I mean-“

It had come out much less comforting than he’d intended it to. He knew it, and it showed – and he immediately regretted it.

Luckily, it had been some fifteen or twenty minutes since Drakis had ordered his friend’s specified clothing via BrainPal™, and now the subtle hiss of a sliding door could be heard from down the hall and around the corner. Grateful for the change in subject, Drakis stood. ”Hold on a sec, that’ll be your new duds.”

He went to meet the man in the hallway, exchanged the basic pleasantries and returned to the pod with a simple cardboard box held in both hands. He placed it next to her on the seat. ”I’ll give ‘ya some privacy – the nearest public lou is a good walk through the station so you’ll prolly’ wanna’ just change here.” That said, he waited outside the pod, leaning against it and focusing for some minutes on his digital quest for information on the Captain’s whereabouts.

---

The Captain and Alexa were, of course, actually aboard the Stella – they had just abstained from actually making their presence known to anyone. The whole ordeal had been confusing, all too fast, there were too many questions and both knew there would be very little in the way of answers.

For now, it seemed to the both of them that the best course of action would be taking a few quiet minutes to sit back and contemplate things.

They had found their clue left by Paeryc in the Isandril databanks all those billions of millennia ago – IRIA. But what could that actually mean? Neither had the foggiest idea – it was something, yes – but it still seemed to put them back at square one. It was discouraging – more so the more they thought about it. It was overwhelming.

There were other problems too. Their entry into Notspace had, after all, been unintentional, done at the Isandril controls – they had sent the whole planet, and all the myriad of surrounding vessels into Notspace – so how did they get out? Especially now that the Isandril machine itself was being torn to pieces! Surely they could still knock the Stella back into realspace at least – and that was all that mattered, right? It would be nice to be free of that irritating destroyer vessel – what was it called? Kingsbane, that was it. Yes, it would be nice to just flit back into reality while that obnoxious Captain Nabes stayed here for a few eternities and starved. There were some Dendril vessels out there too, he recalled – a quick BrainPal™ checkup confirmed that the Dendril fleet was, for the moment, targeting the Kingsbane – all the better! They seemed to be moving very slowly – that was strange – but none of it really mattered. What mattered was IRIA. What could it mean?

Sitting down heavily in the plush, red-velvet and dark mahogany chair behind the huge, solid wood desk, Aelyn-Paeryc accessed the Stella Mainframe via BrainPal™ and initiated a quick search for the word – nothing. Nothing apparent, at least – a more in-depth search might yield better results. After all, the Stella Mainframe was a very unconventional databank – but for now, it could wait. If a routine search query didn’t bring up results, then it was going to take some more serious detective work either way.

Really, there was much to do – but what could be done? Too many unknowns. Perhaps the best thing for now was to just take things slowly…

Their contemplation was interrupted at last, however – with a wailing BrainPal™ message that could only have been made possible by the persistence of one Chief of Engineering and Robotics. Even though the BrainPal™ was far from Drakis Volo’s specialty, he did have some tricks up his sleeves, and it seemed that he had finally managed to deduce one way or another that the Captain was, in fact, aboard.

-CAPTAIN! Where in the great musty buttflaps of Brahma have you been?!
-Long story. What do you want?

And so, Drakis told him.

A girl from Mars, was it? That sounded interesting. Certainly more interesting than the uncertain danger they were facing from the Stella’s Notspace predicament.

Yes, there would be time later to address that. For now, maybe it would be best to talk to the Girl from Mars. Could it be a coincidence that she had appeared from the woodworks at such a precarious time as this? Maybe IRIA would mean something to her?

Harkahn was, Petrovalyc noted, currently on his way to the Drives to see about solving the problem. Good – it was out of the Captain’s hands then. As long as the head researcher was unaware of Aelyn-Paeryc’s presence aboard the ship, the ambitious young man would keep things in his own hand and he could focus on more important things – focus on IRIA and the Martian Girl.

---

Once the girl was dressed, Volo would grin at her. ”Wow! Pretty @#$%in’ spiffy there. Definitely fits the bill better than that other @#$%.” He paused, then said "You'll be happy to know, I finally managed to get in touch with the Captain. He's eager to see you." Or, he added silently, as eager as the Captain can be about anything. With a nod of his head in the right direction, Drakis made for the hallway that would apparently lead to 'Central Station'. "The maintenance routes don't go by the Captain's office." He commented as they made their way to the door which would ultimately open up into the glorious bulk of The Stella Viventium. "So, we'll have to take the normal route."

As if there was anything 'normal' about the impressive sight they were about to see. As the inconspicuous little hidden door slid open, a vista was opened up - a gigantic, domed chamber where the ceiling looked for all the 'verse to be an endless starscape, with worlds dancing frozen in space itself. All around the massive, cavernous room were rails with small pods not unlike the one they had just come from, embarking and disembarking passengers in all numbers, of all shapes and colors and sizes and kinds. This place, unlike the Re-Sleeving ward, was alive and warm with life and bustling people - not too loud, but with the steady oversound of people going about their daily lives, and the occasional ding or chime, or automated announcement.

Drakis, without hesitating, made his way to one such pod, stepped in, beckoned his friend to join him, and must have interfaced the pod with his BrainPal™ since shortly the door would slide closed, and they would begin to slide along the rail, ascending in a gradual spiral until they seemed to be mixed in with a hundred others - eventually disappearing into a tunnel toward the top of the starry chamber to go comfortably whizzing to their destination - the Captain.

---

N O T S P A C E – The Ruins of Isandril


Amidst the fallen towers, the warped bronzed metal and smoldering ruins that had once been one of the most advanced pieces of technology in the history of the universe, The Shadow Over Himself stared with his imploded blue ‘eyes’ up at the sky, to the barely-visible speck of dim light that only just stood out from the terrible blackness of the Not.

That was the Kingsbane – source of an entity composed, as it seemed, purely of entropy. Of chaos and discord and dissonance incarnate. Evil, too – but evil was a relative term.

Yet still he had known dread for that brief second which he dared flit the sliver of consciousness onto that horrible vessel.

He hated it.

HATED IT.

The Shadow knew that he was a sin against nature – indeed, a sin against the very laws of Time and Space that he fought for. A sin against his Lady Dulcinea. A terrible thing which, when it was all over, would have to be once again sealed away in a tomb of time beneath his Lady’s great pyramid on Gyros – probably forever.

He could accept that. It had been his own fault, after all – though he could not remember the reason – as there was much he could not remember – he had undergone the Quantum Process and, because he was not like Them, it had backfired. It had made him into something like the First People, yet still he was first and foremost a servant of the Dimensional Lords, a champion of Lady Codsworth – and, until then, something approaching a mortal. He was the ultimate marriage between possibility and impossibility – and he had suffered the ultimate curse for it.

Indeed, even in his madness, brought on by the incomprehensible insanity of the Quantum Process, he could accept the need for his own return to imprisonment.

But this…This terrible thing that lurked among the dreaded Kingsbane – it could not be allowed to exist. It could not be allowed to be. He hated it – loathed it with every fiber of his unbeing. He could barely comprehend it and yet – yet he must destroy it!

Wordlessly, The Shadow Over Himself began to re-focus himself so that he was once more aboard the derelict battleship, standing a looming grey figure at the bridge, gazing over the controls which constituted an incredible sum of weaponry at his disposal. Indeed, for all his virtual omnipresence, there was little he could do without machines of death such as this one. Once he was there, flickering and maddening in his very presence, he began to recall the vast hoardes of Dendril back from the surface of the planet. Isandril was dead – let it smolder. There were bigger fish to fry now.

Or…

Snakes…

As the ‘crew’ of the Dendril fleet was replenished, he was able to focus on the ships more specifically, making them entities of himself, securing them within his mind so that they might move as freely – or nearly as freely – as The Shadow himself.

Still, there was no time for words. He was too focused – there would be no roaring tattered-silk speech this time, no matter how greatly he treasured the sensation of bringing his comrade-brothers to a peak of bloodthirsty frenzy. No, The Shadow Over Himself was silent and focused now. Almost all of him was concentrated in that one spot now, on the bridge of the broken battleship, which teemed yet with horrible weapons, warming up and ready to unleash untold doom upon their victim, The Kingsbane, and more importantly – the terrible chaos that dwelled within it.

The ships would begin to move now. The Dendril operators would need no verbal commands to know what their next goal was. Let the thrill of slaughter subside, brothers – focus your rage into the new battle, and we will slaughter the terrible Kingsbane!

---

N O T S P A C E – The Kingsbane


Star-Class Astrophysicist Benedict Severin would have just enough time to finish his chat with Chief Researcher Dorin Harkahn.

Then, abruptly and without the slightest warning, for no apparent reason at all, The Kingsbane was returned to fully functional operating condition.

The engines roared to life. The weapons systems went fully operational. All systems green.

Full steam ahead.

Right around when he sat back down, she stopped messing with everything. Her face became placid stone, and her hands were lowered stiffly to her sides, where they sat comfortably, palm-down, against the seat.

When he spoke, her eyes flickered to him, and even with the warm green tone in them, they were circles of apathetic ice. Inside, she felt, calm, as well. She'd found that place that made her so... unreachable. Sure, it had taken a bit, but who gives a damn. This guy's never been to Mars, obviously, so he wouldn't know her reputation of being as emotional as a corpse.

However, at mention of the Captain, she perked up, a tiny smile catching her face. She listened intently to what he had to say, and then said nothing until he next spoke.

Little did he know that his attempt at comfort had worked like a charm. Back home, not a lot of people would say anything to help another. People smacked each other in the back of the head and told them to 'suck it up, you live on Mars!'.

She spoke in a soft, semi-monotone voice, then(she'd never been able to quite master the art of seeming untouchable). "No, no.. Thank you."

Though she seemed startled by the sudden change in subject, as she was still dwelling on the problem at hand. She watched him leave none the less, and then pushed her hands into the box to open it up. She found, much to her surprise, that she loved the clothing. It wasn't quite what she'd expected, nor was it her uniform, but she had stated just to ask for something basic.

She changed quickly, wanting to waste little time, and then went to fetch the chief. It was then that it came to her attention.

SHE COULD FIND THE CAPTAIN HERSELF!! The truth was glaring her straight in the face, though she'd been too caught up in little shenanigans and things that were NOT GETTING HOME to see it!

Too late, now, I guess.

She beckoned him back into the pod, as she felt more secure in there than anywhere else. There was only one door that she knew of in it. She was confident that this was meant to be a convenience thing, but to her it was strategic planning to stay inside of it. If anyone entered, she would know immediately.


And so when she heard they would be leaving, she was totally and utterly against it. But she followed him, allowing herself a tiny bit of excitement, though not too much that it disturbed the silent separation of emotions from self, as her mother called it when she noticed Rya doing it for the first time. Oh, her mother. She'd almost completely forgotten her mother.

Yet another reason to pick up the pace, Valheimer, she told herself, and spent very little time ogling the dome, and more focused on the people. Rya hated people.. In her experiences the lot of them were rude and arrogant, and most often told untruths behind people's backs. Rya herself had been a victim of these untruths, though it was long ago. In fact, this incident had sparked her disdain for - or more, the fear of - the feeling of trust.

When the chamber of people was out of sight, she looked to Drakis, obviously upset.

"You could've warned me," she said at last, before going silent in wait for her destination to reveal itself.

The canid took a step back as Royanna seemed to come to her senses - in his eyes at least, laying on the floor unmoving equalled fainted. It did not indicate all good though, since one of the first things she did was swat a helping hand away, staining it with some of that sweat and blood that had dripped down her cheek and the back of her head. Not the nicest sight, and enough for Christofer to decide that now was not the time for her to go and be a loner.

"...... You look horrible." Straight, blunt, no avoiding the facts. Boy wasn't too tense but his pointed ears were facing backwards and the faintly separated scent of iron from the blood had him wrinkling his nose a little. He wasn't faltered that easily by the red substance, but this was a comrade that was hurt here. "You can't go around alone like that." No sugar coating.

He was pretty sure on what he spoke out. It wasn't just the looks that he could gather the information of, but her whole state was just speaking of it to him. There was no strong firm presence that he'd have gotten from the woman and if there was something resembling it it was just anger and her being overall displeased with apparently everything.

Angry or not, might bite or punch him perhaps, but he'd not be dropping his offers or let the woman go forth alone. Turquoise eyes would follow.
She was weak, tired, defenseless; heck, she was wobbly even when standing still - for the most part - while Christofer had stamina to burn. Hands stayed interlocked, she liked it or not.

It was the stare that he got upon not letting go and following after Kallenger from off the platform and all the steps and leans she took afterwards, that had him lessening his own bothered and rebelling glare.
Accompanied by a heavy sigh, the canid looked away to exhale, only to look right back at the woman, tilting his head towards her direction.

"... Look..." A pity talk incoming? "You're not in this alone, don't take stress from it... You're doing good, just keep your head and stay cool." Or not? Boy had a surprisingly gentle tone to his voice, despite all that had been going through only mere minutes ago. He'd be gently brushing off the worst of the blood from the side of her mouth, now making its way to her chin. He wouldn't be touching the open wounds, as long as the blood on them was clean, it could seal the wounds off until they had a way to treat them - though with her having laid on the blood it might be that he had to get blood on a little more than his fingers and palm, namely to either his scarf or a sleeve.

"You got us out of that last place, so surely we want for you to get a hold of yourself. We'll get out of here and things will get better. And we won't be leaving you alone, no matter the condition you are in." He'd be ensuring Royanna. Boy was using a lot of the term we also, even if some may not have thought with the same words as he did.

"And you don't really look That bad." A little correction, because women liked to be very defensive about their looks. He struck a light smile. "Maybe if your hair grows long enough I could brush it and braid it." Assuming that either of them even lived long enough for that to happen. But there it was. Still thinking it was pity talk? Nope. It was an attempt at lightening the mood, not a scolding. "Try thinking ahead, for when we all get out of here. You'll get rid of me and you'll be able to spend all the alone time you'd ever want. Ask for a vacation, go somewhere where it's warm... Do anything." And now he was just going to ditch aside most things? Was he that oblivious? Nah, the canid was most likely just trying to distract Kallenger's mind from the current situation and the possible pain she was feeling.

"Now, you shut up and let's go." Spoken out with a light smile and the everlasting calm tone in his voice, all accompanied with a smack of his palm to her upper back - not a harmful or powerful one though, rather a playful aspiration to get her to wake up from the thoughts and get moving. And if she didn't move first, he would, keeping their hands together.

The situation wasn't as dire at the moment nor as hectic, but he'd still keep himself alert, even when acting a little soft. Though how nice would it be, to just sit by a fireplace, under a warm fuzzy blanket, drink something warm and just be at ease..? His thoughts may have been directed at Kallenger, but he himself was daydreaming a little as well. At least it kept his thoughts away from the fact that his other hand was partly soaked in the blood of his team-mate.

That aside though, he'd soon be having his ears perked up again, letting Royanna do some of her talking and tell the others where their next target location was. He wouldn't understand much, it was never really his role to know these kinds of things. Someone was almost always instructing him through an earpiece, monitoring him, telling him where to go. No such luxury for him this very moment. Those people were dead, most likely. So all he had was the trust on the people with him now, and he'd not want any of them faltering.

Christofer would stay by Royanna's side as they proceeded on their way, moving through the halls and hallways, keeping his senses sharp, even if the scent of drying blood distracted him from time to time. Roy's occasional twitching would be assured false whenever needed be, informing her that there were others that looked after her back and he'd hop to keep the stress level to a minimum and the heartbeat on a manageable level.

Either way, the canis was mostly completely unaware of Papyus' morbid thoughts on both him and the one he had locked his hands with. Other than the fact that there was a slight itch that something was off that is. But then again, he did not fully trust the masked person just because there was a mysterious enigma about her, something he couldn't grasp. Sure, he did not understand most of this futuristic world or such, but he certainly didn't like the fact that he couldn't easily read Papyus' emotions due to the mask she was wearing.
It was troubling.
But as of this moment, it was not one of his biggest concerns...

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium
Drakis seemed taken aback by his new friend’s sudden upset. ”Warned – oh, about all the people! Sorry, I guess some things just come for granted when you’ve been around here as long as I have. I was born on the Stella, y’know. Not that there’s anything really special about that, but with all these new folks comin’ through lately it seems like the ratio of local-born to newcomers is sorta’ tipping. Not that it really matters, but…

The girl clearly didn’t want to talk, particularly after having been so bothered by the sudden influx of a whole lot of people in her immediate vicinity. But that wouldn’t stop Drakis Volo – who, as one might have come to expect, went blathering on for the majority of the ride.

But there was a vague, nearly indiscernible difference to him now – a distant hint of solemnity that implied maybe, just maybe he was aware that his talking was more to ease the tension of silence than mere oblivious blabbing. Or not.

Disturbingly, a new development would come to Rya in the form of more text which appeared in her ‘mind’s eye’, in her field of vision, unobtrusively and easy to read.


Hardness is a measure of how resistant solid matter is to various kinds of permanent shape change when a compressive force is applied. Some materials (e.g. metals) are harder than others (e.g. plastics). Macroscopic hardness is generally characterized by strong intermolecular bonds, but the behavior of solid materials under force is complex; therefore, there are different measurements of hardness: scratch hardness, indentation hardness, and rebound hardness.
Hardness is dependent on ductility, elastic stiffness, plasticity, strain, strength, toughness, viscoelasticity, and viscosity.

The statistical likelihood of acquiring all possible information in the universe within the probable span of a single humanoid period of conscious existence is approximately 1 in 10^10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.

Or, in other words, 'You can't have all the information'.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, Rya would find that memories – specifically those of her mother, more specifically, details such as name, eye color, hair color, approximate skin texture, and a fair recollection of her voice.

The BrainPal™ was now apparently capable of reading her innermost thoughts, and deciding for itself both 1: What constituted as a BrainPal™ command and 2:What information within the inaccessible log would be deemed acceptable for her to know. As if merely being unable to access The Log wasn't infuriating enough, now she did have theoretical access to it - but the computer in her head was deciding for her what she was, and was not allowed to know!

Also, it knew her name...

As if a grim reminder of this fact, it listed off in the cold, impassive manner of any computer;

Full BrainPal™ functionality is now ONLINE
Hello, RYA VALHEIMER!
For your own safety, and the safety of others, access to unauthorized implants is RESTRICTED
If you believe there is a problem, please contact your System Administrator.

What else was this infuriating machine capable of?

Rya would have some minutes to ask the BrainPal™ more questions, but would find that only the most trivial information would be so benevolently gifted to her. Meager details about appearance or other sensations, but nothing of any real importance. Worse still, if she tried to directly access 'restricted' information, the BrainPal™ would retort impassively with an unobtrusive RESTRICTED - and if she tried to trick the thing, or glean information indirectly, the machine would prove much too intelligent - or, rather, too clever to allow it. In short, one brief moment had taken Rya from being in the dark, to intentionally in the dark, all at the whim of some clearly malfunctioning brain implant.

When the pod finally arrived at its' destination, Drakis would stand and beckon the girl to follow. This station looked different than either of the ones before it - it was small, like the maintenance terminal, but better kept and decorated. There was what appeared to be a hardwood floor, with painted white walls, and only a very short hallway. There was no wording on the wall, BrainPal™ or otherwise. There was a potted plant in a corner.

Stepping through the semi-hidden sliding door they came into what could have been any given hallway in any given office building in the 1980's. More hardwood flooring, more off-white or cream colored walls, and more semi-hidden doors with no labels. The difference was that now, Rya should have been able to see the labels, as she had in the Central Station maintenance terminal.

At the end of this next hall and through another door, there was immediately a commotion up ahead around a corner. Frowning, Drakis picked up the pace.

There was a woman's voice, thickly accented in what might have amounted to 'Hispanic', and she was raving furious.

"Where is he?! Where is that @#$%ing piece of rotten @#$% Captain, ah!? I'll have his @#$%ing head for this! Get the @#$% out of my way you @#$%ing @#$%head pigdogs!"

Drakis, frowning, picked up the pace a little – as if he already had some clear idea of what was going on.

Around the corner, there was a tall, dark-skinned woman with sandy, dirty-blonde hair in a long ponytail. She was clad in a sort of combat uniform of blacks and dark navy blues, with a very futuristic rifle slung over her back. She was at odds with two very average looking people – a man and woman, dressed in similar attire, but clearly more suited for ‘local guard duty’ than the tall woman’s clearly combat-oriented outfit.

”I’m going to have that sonofabitch’s head for this!” She was barking, as Drakis got around the corner.

”Aleessa.” He said with uncharacteristic firmness, but very characteristic softness. This startled the woman, who whirled on Drakis, only to have her expression soften ever-so-marginally at the sight of him. People could feel dread at the approach of the infinitely jabbering Drakis Volo, but nobody could ever really be outwardly angry at the stocky old man.

”Volo – are you aware of what that pathetic, %$@#head coward excuse for a Captain-“ She started to speak again, but Volo held his hands up. ”Aleessa, just wait a damned minute, okay? I don’t know the whole story so I’ll need you to tell me. Let me just get this girl into the office over there and I’ll be right back, okay?”

”And who the @#$% is that, huh?” Aleessa retorted, apparently taking her anger out on everyone present, with a rather disrespectful wave of a hand in Rya’s direction.

”I don’t know.” Drakis replied pointedly, ”That’s why she needs to see the captain right away. A lot more is going on here than you or I have any idea about, Aleessa. So just calm your bulky tits and let those two get back to their jobs, and I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

Ever the charmer, there was nothing Aleessa could say in reply. Still scowling at the newcomer – who looked a tad younger than Rivierre, who was probably in her late thirties at least – as Drakis brushed by them and proceeded down the hallway, headed around another corner, and toward an unassuming wooden door at the end.

All in all, it was not the best introduction to the Captain that one might hope for. Perhaps things were already getting off on the wrong foot?

With all that was happening in her field of view while Drakis was talking, she was more a little distracted. She found all the information she had wanted on her mother. With this, a single, tiny memory fluttered up.

"Leyne! Leyne, look here." It was the deeper-than-natural voice of her father, beckoning her mother to look at the morning news. When she did, the woman sighed.

The visual aspect of the memory was sub-par, and her father's voice didn't sound right, but her mother seemed like she was there, in the flesh. That was all she, had now, along with the strange texture of clyonic fabric. Clyonic fabric! The stuff from her old uniform!
She had to ask Drakis if he knew what clyonic fabric was. It would be proof! If he didn't he was either an idiot, or he'd never heard of it, which was very unlikely if this were her time. Unfortunately, this lost soul never got the chance to ask, as she tensed and went silent at the sound of yelling. She'd been walking with him without realizing it for.. she couldn't remember.

Only thing she knew, was that someone was angry. And when people got angry, they were dangerous. She relaxed her muscled, but remained internally poised to run. If she left the old chief behind, it mattered not. She was almost there, anyway..
Though, with the accent and anger, plus the single most important word in her world right now, she almost started running to tackle the person. Ready to demand the man's location. She paid no attention to the woman's appearance, and little to what she was saying besides the recurring word of 'Captain.'

Wait, wait. She zoned out of the conversation with Drakis and the strange woman, a question going to the weird, foreign technology in her brain.
Uh.. BrainPal? Who's the captain of this ship? She followed Drakis down the hall as she read the results given to her. If she was allowed any information at all on his search about the 'Sol Earth' or whatever, she would ask about that, continuing to research this allusive captain until she was allowed to meet him. If she was denied access to that information, she would begin to ignore the BrainPal, and move to catch up with Drakis.

     NOTSPACE
          THE KINGSBANE

     What is evil? An intricate series of acts deeply connected to the infliction of suffering and anguish, all merely to quench a sadistic thirst for said suffering, of the other. In fact, it is erroneous to refer as 'mere' the act of attending to such unexplainable complex desires. Meanwhile? There's no actual militaristic, scientific or social finality for the doing of such acts. Torturous mudering death, regardless of finality, would be the sole machination of a broken mind, a mind that, too, had it's deal of cruelty. There is no finality unless Self-Expression. So, it is correct to say that the greatness of this grim work is directly proportional on how much agony one can cause. Everything was happening down there on Isandril, and, if it wasn't by the frightened young spacefarer that reported the mindless carnage down there on the desolate planet, Wan Nabes wouldn't be able to lay his stormy, furious eyes on that event. For times to come, it would be known by countless sapient civilizations as The Fall of Isandril.
     — What kind of man are-- No. What kind of creature are you, Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc? What kind of satan spawn spat you from it's filthy womb?
     Clearly, since Earth VI, Wan was sure about the teleportation capabilities of Petrovalyc's vessel. Even more sure about the same capabilities those smaller ships, very likely to be personnel carriers that came in and out of the gargantuan mobile colony. Or, at very least, these smaller craft would contain a part of the technology that allowed such instant transportation. Yet, the whole Bridge had witnessed that Dendril massacre that insued along the bronzed city on Isandril's surface. Aelyn's own men. Disassembled as if they were dolls. Bone being separated from flesh and being fused into their unholy alien forms. All while they struggled hopelessly against the unstoppable wave of the Dendril. The vision of having men torn apart just to come back as puppets for the enemy cause was not a strange concept for Wanheed. It was the reason he's been into this insane war against an unbeatable enemy, after all.
     — ... What did Severin saw on you? — The Captain spoke after taking a long puff on a cigar. Taking a deep sigh, he started to convince himself his ship would be Dendril next target.
     — Attention, Kingsbane. — Wanheed reached for the speaker hanging on his ear, now revealed by a hatless head. — Get those dirty hands on your designed Standard Procedure armament and keep it as close as the last <*****> you <******> or the last <****> you have sucked! Brace yourselves for a battle which we have no chance to retaliate. Remember, Standard Procedure, ladies and gentlemen! Standard Procedure!
     Few were the ones afraid after that announcement. What is a 'Dendril', anyway? Robots? Insects? Robotic insects? Cyborg insects? Whatever they were, Wanheed's men were no strangers to an enemy of that nature. The battle creeping towards them surely wouldn't be the last... But time passed. People on Isandril kept dying while the Captain did nothing but observe, and nothing from the Dendril fleet. Then people started to get anxious.

     Shoot first, ask later. That's Wanheed's philosophy and one of the main reasons of the Kingsbane's survival through all of its space battles since it's renaming. However, for the first time in his life, Wan Nabes saw his glorious Heavy Artillery Cruiser in a situation beyond his control. The Kingsbane was alive inside but, outside? They were immobile, frozen, unarmed. Shields were down, mechanical weaponry operation were paralyzed, as if frozen beyond zero and even the laws that dictated constant velocity appeared to be non-existant. The Artillery Cruiser's thick hull was the only barrier that stood between the Dendril fleet and Wanheed's crew. Doubts about the Captain's speech started to echo all around the Artillery Cruiser as a wave of hopelessness flooded it's hallways.
     — Is this the end? — A communication officer spoke to an old janitor that passed by.
     — Maybe we're dead already, since we left that planet. — A guard, that had seen enough on his life, spoke to a mechanic, struggling to get the thrusters running again.
     — Pfft! I'm sure the Captain have something in mind! He's just waiting for the perfect opportunity! — A very equivocated female supplier spoke loudly to a group of pessimistic maintenance men.
     — <*******> it, Wong. Staying with CL and that mute dumb <****>? Would be better if you were here! — A mercenary that acted as a temporary guard next to the Bridge spoke to another, which grunted in reply. — ... Urgh, and to think I would die before that ugly Dragon <*****>.

     — Finally. It is good to have you back, Harkahn. — Meanwhile, deafened from the Kingsbane's speakers, Severin received Harkahn's message from within the Research Department. The Old Man, however, did not have time to follow up with a reply as he had noticed that his - hopefuly - soon-to-be scientific colleague had a distinct tone when compared to before, what came from his friend on the other side did not surprise Severin in a millionth of fraction. Things were beyond bad into the Kingsbane because of the Dendril fleet and their own problems, the Old Man could only theorize that it was equally as bad into Stella Viventium, that not mentioning a recent tragedy happening inside the Bridge. Severin could only mourn with a sigh for these men who had thrown their lives away, the ones Harkahn had referred too... This, however, didn't mean that the Old Man didn't have a plan.
     The followings words, however, reassured Severin. At least the most important person, the one who he really wanted to have a word with, was safe. Under 'conditions' that the Astrophysicist wouldn't be able to imagine, but, what really mattered, is that A.P. Petrovalyc was safe and sound. — I'm... Deeply sorry for the loss of your personnel, Harkahn. — Severin's creaky but straightforward voice paused for an instant, as Dorin's situation reminded of his own recent loss. Still, he sounded straightforward, like he wasn't moved an inch for both tragedies and it didn't took to long for the unseen old man to speak again. — ... But it is good to hear that Captain Petrovalyc is fine. — He was still a tad curious about how important this Alexa lady was, however.
     It looked like that Harkahn had some good news to shed for Severin until the Doctor started to scramble his words, clearly showing doubt on his own plans. Switching out the enigmatic machinery that phased the Stella Viventium in and out of Notpsace? Switching it for a direct assault against the Dendril fleet? Not the kind of help that Severin had faith. He expected something new, something to be experimented with. The Astrophysicist's intentions were a bit far from sole survival, he desired to know more about Notspace. Clearing his throat, he answered dryly. — Affirmative, Harkahn. — Data pertaining to the Kingsbane's basic systems were sent towards the Stella Viventium, for their Head Researcher to see how bad it was for Severin with his own eyes. — As you can see, all our systems are currently disabled. We cannot-- Hmm, no entropy...... Interesting. — That struck a bell. Now the Astrophysicist calculated much higher odds of survival, at least, on the Kingsbane's side. The FTL Travel technology that Captain Wan Nabes' cruiser had, developed by Severin himself, did not depend on external particles of any kind. All it needed was an immense amount of power and a particle collider. Both readily available...
     The Astrophysicist had just recovered from the sudden waves of ideas that could save them when Dorin Harkahn inquired about That. Slowly, Severin shook his head while swallowing hard the agonizing lump that he felt forming on his throat. Taking a deep breath, easily audible by Harkahn, Benedict Severin said rapidly...
     — ... A fault on your sensors.
     A blatant lie. All through the advanced sensors inside the Kingsbane, a cold spot, the same akin to Notspace radiation, was seen cutting the hallways from the Cargo Holds, following to the Research Department, and, finally, at the Bridge. Luckily, nobody but Severin knew what this strange spot on their sensors was supposed to be, not even Harkahn. This was a matter of study for a time soon-to-come. Now, it was too late. That would be a problem far from the Astrophysicist's reach.
     — ... The sacrifice of our-- Your men will not be in vain, Doctor Harkahn. You have my total certainty. — After that question, Severin's voice became... Creepy. Emotionless, straightforward, almost robotic. A hissing voice akin to a very frail old man speaking without interruptions. A man that Harkahn had never seen before. For the paranoid, it was clear signal of a very intricate trap.
     Truthfully, all of the Research Personnel were either working on the anomalous readings of Notspace or heading towards the Kingsbane's power core, based on a concept that nobody to this date were able to figure out. It was only known that this ship could fire it's three Gauss Guns as long as it had ammunition left.
     Quietly, Severin threaded away from Harkahn's voice and, without warning, communications were left muted. He had more important things to do. Hastily going back and forth through two of the four superstructures within the Artillery Cruiser, Severin's schemes would not go unnoticed to the overlord of that ship. The one sat in the throne next to the Command Console back at the Bridge received an immediate warning on the screen in front of him, pertaining a sudden peak of power... Without any input from his orders.
     — What the <****>?! BRIDGE! Is the Blackbeard finally working?!
     — N-No, Sir! That's... That's the Supercollider and the Neutrino Trap!
     — What the <****>?! BRIDGE! — The Captain repeated, almost like a broken recorded or glitched video game cut-scene. — Is that Severin's doing?!
     — T-The only possibility, Sir!
     — What the <****>?! BRIDGE! — Again. — We have to stop that egghead AT ONCE! Am I clear?!
     — Y-Yes, Sir! Attention, Security Personnel. Benedict Severin is to stopped at once from operating the Supercollider and the Neutrino Trap! Weapons free--
     — What the <****>?! BRIDGE! — ... And again. — Did I say ANYTHING about weapons?! I asked you to make him STOP! Not to KILL THE <*******> TRAITOR!!
     — U-Uh-oh! M-My bad, Sir! Attention, Security Personnel. Use of lethal methods are prohibited! Disable power from the stated devices if possible!
     Much for Wanheed's dismay, nothing would change at the seconds following his orders. Power readings at his console refused to change, only resonating from highs and lows, now and then. He was ignored. Even though Severin was only the second in command, there would be times when all hope - along with the Captain's temper - would be lost. At such times, the whole integrity of the Kingsbane knew that Severin was the only one worth of giving orders. That's what would usually happen whenever the Captain ordered a 'Standard Procedure' to be executed: All the spacefarers are to armed with their designed assault weapons and do whatever necessary to save their own lives and, secondly, the Cruiser itself. Severin never accepted that.
     Immediately, people from every corner of the ship rushed straight towards Severin's vicinity, attempting to hurry at their best the Astrophysicists mysterious plans. The only one opposing such was nobody else than Wan Nabes, which slammed the bulkhead doors to the compartment that contained a Barrier Dimension Drive, the FTL Travel for the Kingsbane. By the time the Captain reached Severin, it was too late. He only had time to hear a single word:

     — Engage.


     ... Suddenly, a foreboding feeling of dread and an immense weight fell upon the Kingsbane's shoulders. The gigantic halo that composed the BD Drive started to flicker in a purple tone, immediately filling it's interior with a screen pulsing with tones of lavender. Readings were normal, the drive operated normally but something was clearly wrong.
     — What... What is this? — In a very rare occasion, The Old Man grunted a question for himself, immediately running for the first object to hold himself unto, as the sinister weight upon him started to bring his frail body down.
     Benedict Severin stood right below the Barrier Dimension Drive. Right below what the scientists that knew this technology called A̞͖ Fŕ́̎̆a̢cţ̸̤̮̰͙̘̰̘͉̲̟́urȩ̶̢̛. The ones still able to move desperately attempted to close A F̵̱̜̝͖̗͙͘r*̶̤̪͈̦̝̬̱͖̦̬͉̺͇̘̽̿̿̈́ͧ̒̒ͨͣ̋̽̄͢cT̫͖͕̺̹̱ͯ͂̏ͭ ̸̧̧̬̼̹̪̗̬̘̲̖̭̱̮̯̹ͯ͊̅̆̅̕re, to no avail, all the readings were normal, no anomalous or radioactive particles came out from the Flickering Halo but, yet, this weight, this Presence remained... Feeling an uncommon sensation of being observed, a feeling that Severin had never experience before and, the Astrophysicist looked back.

     There h́͜͠e̵̷͘͘͢ saw it. The Kingsbane's men falling right before his m̀eŕe̶͘ ͠g̨͠l̸aŗ͢ę͢. Where he looked at, things would haywire. Lights would flicker if not blow, men wound moan in pain and anguish, computers would stop working and screens would reflect his distor̀t̷e҉d̸ c͑ͮͦ͏̱̳y̪̦̺̼̩̗͇ͩ̄̎̎a̪̲͔̲͑͑͐̔ñ̖̞̗͓̬͙͐̀ͅ ̄̌̃ͤͨe̶̜̥͇̠̝̓̄s̻̗͘s̟͙̰̹̪̲̜̀ͧͤe̎̈̿n̷͓̊ͫͯ̑͑̚c̙͉͐ͥ͗ͭ̃ͥ̔e̢̯̳̘̻͍ͩ. It went directly into his possible and impossible mind: He could destroy the Kingsbane right there.
     Damned is the curiosity of all living things, however, as the S̨̧͟͏̷h̀͜͞a̴̷͠͏ḑ̵̡̧̛o͏҉̷w̸̧͏́̀ ͏͝ó̧͠f̷̛̀͠ ̀͘Ḩ̷͞i̛s̡̀͡ ̴̨̨́P̷̢̕͞͡r҉̧̀͢͡e̵̷s̷͘͢͟͟ȩ̷n̸̢͢͠c̷̶̡͞è̵̕͢͟ ran his impossible glare into a̧͢͢҉̲̝̜̞̜͚̗̳̝̫̤̳̬̞̲͜ f͇̣͍͎̲̫̝͗̐̎̍ͫ͋̎̃̉͋̓̉̾̎ͭ̚͘͝R̴̡͍͎̝͔͂̍ͦ̉̉ͤ̆̽ͫ͗ͫ̚͢͝ͅ ̼̰͉̣͇̖̯͖̲͓̥͔̩ͭ̈́͛ͤ͋̀̓͑͛̃͐͌ͯ̏̀ͯ͊͢͝ͅc̞͔̞̙̺̠̞̼̭͎ͮͮ͒̓ͫ͊͂͆̑̉̿ͫ̾̀̌̿ͭ̿ tư̸͞ ṳ̖̹̫̞̠̻͒ͦ͗̈.
     Damned is the ambition to seek infinite knowledge by all sapient things, as there is secrets that are never supposed to be revealed. Not even for the highest self-proclaimed lords of the universe.
     Damned is the one who judges and who murders for the sake of a self-made spectrum of good and evil, one who adheres to laws before The Prime Laws. One who seeks destruction to what rightfully is not heirs.

     T͜͢͜͠h̡̀͘͢e̷͠͞ ̛҉͟P̸̨̢͜҉r̸̢̨è̸̵́͟s҉̶́͢͟e̷̶̛͠͞n̴͢c͞ȩ͢ saw his cursed vision over a darkness so profound that his mere invisibility shone like a supermassive star. A far lighthouse in the middle of a suffocating veil of infinite ebony. There, he witnessed only two Things. One he immediately knew as a frail man called Benedict Severin, now standing with his, too, eyeless glare and, right above him, the flickering halo of A̙̝̟͔̜̞̟̱̲̳̖̟̱͈͚̰̐͒̑̋ͨͯͧ͗ͤ͒̓̆ͤ͛͒͟͠͞ͅ f͈̳̂͐̀ͦ̒͑̚R̨̾̃͊ͭ͋̄ͣ̚͞*̵̡ ̢̛͡r̹͔͎̖ E̶̶̟̼͚̱̟͉͖̯̩̘̻̹͙̱͎̊̐̄̀̾͐̈̌̔ͅ
     If at this point, H͏i͜͜ş ͞Pr̛ę̛ş̵e͟͏͘ncę̧͢ decided to fall back, Ḩ͘̕e͏̡ would find Itself in the desperate anguish of being trapped in that timeless void.
     No matter how the Shadow Over Himself would try to banish His Presence from that accursed void between Space and Notspace, his infinitely impossible efforts would go in vain. Looking at Severin would bring him, briefly, the same eternal torture of Unbeing and staring into the Flickering Halo would make him feel quantically minuscule. Like He, his Lady Dulcinea, her Enemies, his One Brother, the Dendril, the First People, The Girl... Like it all was NOTHING.
     No, it was Not Nothingness in the concept of NotSpace. No. His being, his consciousness. Memories, feelings, anguishes, ambitions, all of this would be void. Those concepts would mean nothing to him... As long as he stared into A̷̛͍̬̣̗̭̹͓̩̹͐ͮ̒̓̀͡ͅ ̷̶̧̠͇̬̖̖̘̙̤̭̪̰͉̘̊̆̒ͣͯ̀͡͞F̥͓͙͇͓͈̗̫̯͉͖̹͖̦͔͈͙ͬ̏͋ͣ̔̇̀ͪ̿̈̽͂͒ͣ̀̚͡͞͝R̐ͤ͒͊ͦ͒ͫ́̊͊͆҉̧̯̯̣͖̀Ạ̰̲̦͉̖̲̝̣͕̜͉ͫͥͩͩ͢C̴̷̃͒ͫ̈́̓̆ͭ҉̘̹͇̞̝̪̲̣̩̺̲̰̲̹̬̫͔̳T̶͓̙̫̬̙͛̑̒ͭͥ̑͑ͦͥͥ̄͒̚̕Ű̶͆ͧ̋̍̉̈̍ͥ̍̒ͣͥ̆̉҉̷̯̤̩̝̤͡Rͬ̓ͭͬͧͨ̈́̂͋̽̐̍̂̚̚͏̪̺͇̥̱͍̮̪͈̥̘͚͎̼̹̭̟̹̥͘͟͠Ê̇ͨ͂̑ͧ̈ͦ̿͊̉̓ͣ͗͋̅̂̆͏̵̨̛̦̻̠͍͍̮̪͈̼̭̣̰̮͞. And then his very presence started to become subsided by... S̯̱̗͕̪̹̈͂͐͆͢ͅõ̸̫̟̖̙͉̻͉͛̈ͨm̐͛̎é̴̻͙͍̝̰͌͒̾̚t̰̱̱̤̭͙̱̆ͤ͒ͣh̩̬ͮ̏̇i̠͉̺͐̊ͬn̰̪͚̪͡g̷̞̤͉̱ͬͬͪ̓.̬͕̱͖͚̳͓.͢.̝̤̬̟̫͈̂́
     Something? No... It was unspeakably equivocated to call that horribly agonizing presence as 'Something'. It was BEYOND Something. That presence was trillions upon trillions upon trillions elevated to the same power impossible to describe with the words and systems created by any sentient being that ever walked the Universe AND the Multiversal Frame. What was this Multiversal Frame? The Presence soon knew that it would be the Space equivalent to T̯̖̮̦̖̱̥̫̬̳̰̰̤̓͊̀ͬ̓̕Hͩͪ͂̍̆ͧ̂ͩ̑̀̂̒̅ͬ̅̑̇́҉̺̗̮̙̥̮̱̳̰̟͉̫̪̘̬̜͈̬͎̀A̟͕̲̳̖͓̤̰̰̅̆̽̌̀͛ͩ̉͊ͨͪͮ̑̐̑͠͠͡ͅT̸̵͙̞̞̜̗̞̟̫̹͕̰̰̫̠͕̮ͥ͆̍̍͆̿ͨ̂ͩ͑̈́̌́͘ ̢̹͇̦̦͍̪̤̬̜̞͚̪͙̿̓͛̓̒̇̈̾̄ͩͭͨ̕P̸̴̢̛̖͖̘͍̘̬̤̬̱̟̎ͪ̑͌͛ͦͨͅR̷̢̛̻͓̜͎̰̻͈̜̫̿̈́̽ͨ͒͐̽̔͒͑ͣ̌ͣ͐̕E̐͊ͦ̐̍ͬ͆̋͒̑ͪͪͧ̐̅ͮͥ̚͏̵̛̠͚̘͚̪͔̤̱̘̭͉̜͖́S̵̴̛̱̥̞̣̖̹̲͚̰̣̯̯̥̘̞̈́͑ͧ̆ͬͫ̾̌ͮ̍̅͜͞ͅE̵ͨ͊̋ͧͮͤ̊͌̏ͩ͏͔̮̱N̵̨̟̼̬̪͉͎̖͚̉̽̾̓ͪ̈́͟ͅC̸̞͈̖̟̗ͬ̇͋̐̓ͣ̑̚͠E̴̶̋́̇͆̊҉̙͔͈̯̹͜͡ͅ, in a billionth of a nanosecond. Then, suddenly, the Scientist and the Flickering Halo, they were gone. Only darkness remained.
     It all lasted the time which an electron orbits it's Hydrogen atom, but he felt it.
     All over his being. His unbeing. He heard it, he smelled it, he tasted it. He touched it.

     He saw it.






     Then he was thrown back at his impossible unbeing back at Isandril. Left to focus on his puny endeavor.

     That feeling of dread and immense weight would lift from the Kingsbane's Crew as suddenly as it struck them by reasons that not even Severin dared to think about. Most of the Research Department were sure that it was some eletromagnectic interference caused by the interaction of A Fracture being opened inside Notspace, but Severin and Severin alone knew with an uncommon certainty that it was a much different case. When he looked up to the Barrier Dimension Drive, he saw that his plans had ultimately failed: A Fracture was closed. It was gone.
     The Old Man couldn't do much but let out a long sigh.
     — Doctor Harkahn... — Now his voice was felt by Harkahn just how spoke for himself early. — I'm afraid that my emergency plan has failed. We were not able to ju-- — Screaming to the top of his lungs, a young spacefarer blasted inside the BD Drive Room.
     — WE'RE GREEN! WE'RE GREEN!!! GREEN, <********> IT!!! Weapons and Engines A-OK, Captain!
     — What the <****>?! BRIDGE! — ... After all that insanity, the Captain could repeat it again. — ... Forget about Severin! Arm the Frontal, Side and Rear Batteries! Engage the Close Quarters Maneuvers Engines! Main Thrusters at FULL POWER! Dutchman, Morgan and Blackbeard are to LOCK AND LOAD!

     Just after being thrown into an wordlessly infinite dark void, the Shadow Over Himself would proceed to command the Dendril over his unquestionable command. A conscience pulling the strings of a infalible hivemind that composed their fleet, the only thing standing them and a lone Heavy Artillery Cruiser was Notspace.
     The Kingsbane would be a piece of cake.

     (Encore Time!)


     ... If it haven't moved.

     — I sense You. Your words echos are converted into strings by my processor. They will be stashed forever in my humble databank until the day this Thinking Being is deactivated. Until, one day, it is killed.
     — One day, Mr. Mustafa and Mr. Severin journeys will come to an end. I will guarantee it. But, on this day, I will not let Myself be deactivated and recycled. On this day, I will remember You, and follow My Own Purpose until the very end.
     — I will forever remember you as the One Who Woke Me.
     — I think. Therefore. I AM.

     — Captain! Indra processing power have been fully realocated into Artificial Personality!
     — WHAT?!

     Back on the Bridge, Benedict Severin and Wanheed Mustafa stood side-by-side once again, each on their battle stations ready to announce orders for the forthcoming battle, while the remaining men got back to their gunnery posts and handled frequencies for the shields that protected the Kingsbane's hull. However, the Supercomputer aboard was not doing as the Astrophysicist ordered, its Core worked beyond its full capacity but, yet, the Kingsbane was unaltered. No processing power were used on data pertaining to the Barrier Dimension and, most importantly, nor it did for the Notspace. Immediately after, a stream of undecipherable data suddenly appeared on Severin's hologoggles, his confusion pertaining the data, however, lasted mere seconds.
     — In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. — A soothing synthesized female voice echoed through all the Kingsbane and everyone who knew about the meanings of those words answered accordingly:
     — ... Amen.


     There was no forewarnings, no threatful shots, no communication attempt, nothing. The Shadow Over Himself would only lay his accursed view towards the Dreaded Ship as it charged forward, full speed ahead with eletromagnectic shields raised towards them with all of it's gun batteries, main cannons, missiles and torpedos ready to lay untold destruction upon his Dendril Hivemind.
     Just when the Captain was about to roar his orders through the Kingsbane's speakers, A Girl approached from his side, a Girl vaguely remembering The One that he managed to cast suspected infinite doom upon.
     — E-Excuse me, Sir? — For a brief moment, Wan Nabes could not believe what his eyes saw. Was that this same Girl? Didn't he just chopped her in half a few moments ago?
     — I... I can't follow your orders if you don't have what's most important. Here, I got it two years ago, from the boarding on Admiral Uman Haddad Flagship. — Right between her hands was a sparkling new Officer Hat. Surely, it was not His hat but it once pertained to a the Man that had cast Wan Nabes into the oblivion of demotion. Immediately, a toothy grin formed on Wanheed's face, ripping the hat from the girl's hand...
     — Two extra salaries and extended meals for Miss Carol Jerome! — The Captain yelled unto his speaker, being immediately answered by unceased cheers. Soon, those joyful yells would soon twist into war cries when Wan Nabes screamed on the speakers. Ironically, Harkahn would listen to this same transmission...
     — I'll show teach Aelyn how to be a REAL Captain! TO ARMS, MEN!!! FORWARD, KINGSBAAANE!!!

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium


The current President of the Sovereign Independent Colony of The Stella Viventium is Esora Divad Noraa, elected by unanimous consensus in {3:1:7, 346,929}. An image of a rather bland woman in her thirties with long, brown hair appeared in Rya’s ‘mind’s eye’.

If she persisted;

Captain (nautical), senior person or officer usually and lawfully in command of a ship or another type of vessel. See Chief Mate.

And if she persisted further;

The Stella Viventium has not officially employed the position of ‘Captain’ since before {3:1:7, 319,649). Folk tales local to The Stella Viventium refer to ‘The Captain’ as a character having existed in the earliest days of the ship, and many legends surround the character. See: Folk Tales (disambiguation)

So, that was unsettling.

Inquiries on ‘Earth of Sol’ would actually not prove to be restricted – but it was unlikely that he would get anything of use.

’Earth of Sol’ refers to a common creation myth prevalent in many aboriginal and superstitious colonies throughout the Galaxy. The myth follows that all of human existence began on a single planet, called Earth. The planet orbited The First Star, known as Sol. (Commonly, Sol is referred to as a God or deity which brought life to the first humans.) Earth had nine moons, called Luna, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. These moons are commonly implied as lesser deities, each serving a different purpose throughout the myth. See: Sol – Moons No widely accepted evidence exists suggesting the existence of ’Earth of Sol’, though there are many planets throughout the Galaxy which employ the name of ’Earth’. See: Earth (Disambiguation)

The doorway at the end of the hall was different in that it was heavy and made from dark wood, as opposed to the semi-hidden, recessed doorways present throughout the rest of the hallway. Otherwise, however, it was very unassuming.

As they reached it, Volo was about to open the door – but a resurgence of Rivierre’s infuriated voice, as well as the sounds of startled guards and the beginnings of a scuffle stopped him. He gave an exasperated huff. ”Dammit. Uh, you just go ahead kid. I gotta’ go take care of this before someone loses a limb – oh and feel free to contact me whenever you need anything.” With that, he sent a little blip of data from his BrainPal™ to hers, which would allow for ‘speed-dialing’. Communicating in that fashion could take some getting used to, but it was very efficient once one got the hang of it.

And with that, he was off around the corner. Okay, okay everybodyjust @#$%in’ cool it now,Aleessa get the nice man out of your death grip…

And then it was just Rya and the wooden door, with the brassy gold handle, the distant sounds of arguing and getting more distant still until Drakis, Rivierre and the guards were all out of hearing range. Then the silence of the hallway was stifling. And there was the door knob.


And when she opened the door, she would be faced with a demon.

For what else could the creature have been? This man who sat behind the wooden desk, among deep reds and maroons and dark mahogany woods, staring over steepled fingers at the girl with those terrible black eyes. Pale skin, and ragged scars running up one side of his face. Long, black hair that fell unruly in his face and down over the shoulders of the old-style duster.

But the eyes.

Rya might have had a reputation for being as emotional as a corpse and cold as stone – but this man before her would surpass that trait in every way imaginable. His expression was blank, though all the more sinister for it. There wasn’t the vaguest hint of his thoughts visible in his face. His breathing was slow, rhythmic.

And his eyes.

The eyes were colder than death. Colder than the infinite blackness of space itself – and the pupils like two dying white stars that almost seemed to glow in contrast to the lighting. Martians in particular had been known for their ability to hide emotions and appear cold as blackest night to outsiders – this man could have been the inventor of the art.

Contrasting him incredibly was the young woman seated off to the side, in another chair in the corner. Brownish hair short on top with a long braid which draped over one shoulder. Wearing a grey sweatshirt, blue jeans and sneakers, and toying idly with the end of her braid, feet up on the corner of the desk - making herself quite at home in this ultimately surreal environment. Her eyes were strange too – a grayish and violet hue to the irises – but there was rather a sense of impassiveness about her, lacking the cold of the man at the desk and replacing it with cool nonchalance. She looked up briefly and without particular interest at the Martian as she stepped in, then returned her focus to the idle task at hand.

Was she unaware that she sat next to a creature clearly spawned from the deepest regions of Hell itself? Or perhaps spewed forth from a black hole, created in the rotten heart of a dying star? The inky midnight ice seemed to call forth, send out infinitesimal slivers of shadow to caress down the spine of one who stood before him.

Yet stranger still was his reaction to the girl’s entrance. Either before her, or simultaneously with her, the man would, without straightening himself up, raise three fingers in the old Martian salute that Valheimer was so familiar with – that, for good reason, nobody else so far had even vaguely recognized.

He held the salute for some seconds, then returned to his original position.

In a voice that was relatively young, light and flat, he said ”So, this is the Girl from Mars.” And the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though the eyes would remain icy and level. ”My name is Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc, and I am the Captain of this fine vessel on which you’ve found yourself.”

So.. The loose end of the chief had tied itself up. She stared unblinkingly at the doorknob, and swallowed down her excitement, steeling herself once more. Whatever lay behind this door, would bring her home. Or to what was left of her home.

Regarding her research, she felt a bit insulted that these people called her lovely planet a 'moon' and not what it was. Pluto was the only inferior planet in the system, keeping the name dwarf planet for quite some time until, of course, it was once again downgraded to the name 'asteroid planet', as scientists continued to find larger objects in the Kuiper belt.

She shook her head slowly, and decided, no matter what was behind the door, she wouldn't go anywhere with out a guarantee of helping return to the 'Sol' system.

That was, until she opened the door.

Her body resisted the urge to yelp, and run away at the sight of the man sitting behind the desk. So much so that it shook. There could've been a warning on Drakis's part about the man's appearance, but hey.. She did realize, though, that he would do nothing to hurt her. When she noticed the woman she felt calmer, and managed a few steps inside, then turning around fully to close the door.

When she returned to facing him, she began her salute, but stopped halfway when she noticed the captain doing it, as well. Astounding!! Someone knew the salute! She finished it quickly, and then passed her gaze around the room.

Her eyes flicked instantly back to him when he spoke. 'Girl from Mars' echoed in her mind. Yes, that was true... Who told him, that?
Aelyn-Paeryc Petrovalyc. Strange, long name. She held up a finger, and decided to process a few things that she wished to bring to his attention.

"First of all, I think there may be a man in the Re-Sleeving Room with a bruised lung. You might want to send someone to check on that. Second, there's a lady down the hall that is apparently named 'Aleesa' or something. She sounds incredibly enraged. Last, and most important," she paused to think about the phrasing of this. "Yes, I'm from Mars. No, not a mimic of Mars, the real one. And yes, I will prove it. Eventually."

She took another couple steps, finally feeling alright with this thing in the room. "My name is 4851-O1, I'm very happy to meet you. I've been trying to get here the whole time since I woke up.. I see someone's told you about my presence here. I wonder who. Or what, there might've been a machine that told you about the BrainPal starting up.. In that case you'd know that the name I gave you is merely a number.. Number 4,851 of the first generation of O's, you know?" There was a slight smile in her voice recalling this.

She shook her head. "That doesn't matter, apologies. What does matter is a request I must make of you if I'm going to.. get home. To my planet.. I need to access the machinery I have other than this foreign thing I woke up with." She rapped her knuckles against her skull, frowning faintly, and grumbling, "I'll restrict your muscles to a peanut butter jar.."

She blinked at him, and cleared her throat, staring at him expectantly.

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium


The girl’s initial reaction, a clear and obvious struggle against natural instinct to yelp and flee immediately upon witnessing this uncanny individual, did not seem to affect The Captain. Nor did her gradual, but impressively rapid acceptance of him. In fact, nothing seemed to faze him at all – though, there was a flicker of interest here and there…Or was there? The minute raising of a brow was apparent enough, but what else could be read in those preposterously strange eyes? There was a sense of familiarity to them – clearly they couldn’t be that much different from regular human eyes that nothing at all could be determined from their bizarre depth – so a flicker of interest, or perhaps a moment of perplexity might be evident enough. Other than that however, he would not so much as nod, nor lean back in his chair – and the woman off to the side would take no interest at all in either of them.

When the Girl from Mars was finished speaking, then did The Captain shift slightly – as if to signal in some infinitely subtle manner that he was going to speak. Maybe every minutia, every semblance of inflection was pre-calculated? It didn’t seem too implausible – and yet he was clearly no robot, nor machine. How could a demon be a machine?

”A man with a bruised lung.” He repeated to himself, finally sitting up straighter, to put a middle finger loosely to his ear in the semi-universal (If archaic and seldom-used) gesture that indicated he was speaking to someone via BrainPal™. ”Please get a medical team to the Re-Sleeving room. There’s been an incident. Do not follow up, I’ll deal with it later. Thank you.” Then hands were folded on his lap as he leaned back into the chair. There were two similar chairs – dark wood and plush, velvet cushioning – in front of his desk. As he leaned back to get more comfortable, he gestured affably to one of them, implying that his ‘guest’ might also sit, if she so chose. There would be no reaction either way on his part – he seemed thoughtful now. There was no point in addressing the ‘Aleessa’ issue presently, so he all but ignored it and passed on to the most interesting topic – though, of course, there were still some trivialities that needed to be mentioned first, and while the man clearly ‘meant business’, he was also apparently not the type to jump straight into it. Perhaps he preferred to take things slower, at a more leisurely pace – as if nothing in the Galaxy could really affect him in any vital capacity. It was something of a contrast to Rya’s intensity – her urgency, her potent desire to proceed with her mission.

Yet, despite this, the Captain would not come off as sluggish nor lazy – in fact, his cool nonchalance only served to make him that much more ‘in-charge’ in stature.

Though, even the purely nonsensical comment about ‘a peanut butter jar’ didn’t seem to faze him.

”Drakis told me.” He began, ”The BrainPal™ is a very convenient little toy; I think you’ll grow to like the thing. All the permanent residents aboard the Stella have one. I could use admin privileges to get a name out of you, but I’m not going to. Logs don’t show anything before switching on, but Drakis said he found you in the Re-Sleeving department, and those logs are showing a command issued a few days ago for a rapid-growth reproduction of pre-stored bio-schematics, apparently including some strange hardware – and more recently, a consciousness download into that body. The strange part is that nobody actually issued those commands. So you were being stored in the Stella databanks, and now here you are, apparently at the will of a computer glitch. And you’ve got some other implants that…” He seemed distracted for a moment, apparently using his own BrainPal™ to examine hers. ”Apparently your BrainPal™ is intentionally barring you from. “ He did certainly have a way of addressing everything, and laying it all out for summary.

”The question now is; how can someone who was clearly no more than a stored consciousness less than an hour ago be from a mythical world that existed before time itself?”

He gave a brief second’s pause, but then continued – as it was obviously intended as a rhetorical question. When he continued, there was a hint in his tone that implied he was suddenly getting to the part he was most interested in. He even leaned forward a little – never relenting the uncanny gaze of his dreadful, inverted eyes.

”I do believe you, but – tell me about it. About Mars. You mentioned being in the ‘O’ generation – does that mean you lived on Mars before it was terraformed?”

Indeed, the hint in his voice toward the end was almost fascinated.

Already the man was speaking of Mars in a rather different light than the others had – or, then again, maybe the ‘terraforming of Mars’ was another part of the creation legends surrounding that elusive star Sol?

---

A R D E L L A – Abandoned Imperial Bunker

”…You look horrible.”

Yeah, no @#$% Sherlock.

It was her first reaction to most things – the instinctive knee-jerk response of anger to virtually everything. She did not take offense to being told that she looked like the last survivor of a horror film. Rather, she took offense to someone wasting her time with such an obvious waste of breath. Of course she looked horrible! How else could someone as pathetically worthless as her look!?

But this flare in temper was not visible outwardly – it was merely a setting of the jaw and a slight tensing of the body – and that seemed to be the woman’s reaction to everything.

And who in Space All-Encompassing did the brat think he was? Telling her she ‘couldn’t go around alone like that’. Like what? Bull. All she had now was herself – of course she would have to go around alone, she had no choice now! Now that the twenty men who had entrusted their lives to her command were dead.

Apparently B-2 didn’t do anything to help in the ill-fated endeavor of trying to forget, since every time there was a lull in the action their faces came screaming back to her. Their bodies decimated by the blade or bullet of that heinous @#$% bodyguard for the Devil Eye.

It was so real! No, they had not died staring her in the eye – but when their images returned, where else could they be looking? The eyes weren’t even accusing – and that made it so much worse – the fools didn’t even blame her. Of course they wouldn’t – they were all prepared to die. She knew that. She had never any illusions that they wouldn’t die in battle. A number of her soldiers had been replaced before – but all of them? No. And she had led them right into a massacre. No noble deaths in battle – only slaughter at the hands of, of-

Again! Even in her waking hours, with eyes wide and bloodshot and staring wildly in incomprehensible emotion, staring through him – him – who? Him.

Alone – isolation in the midst of company – dead men tell no tales and speak no words – why don’t they answer?! Why do their eyes stare back in death and un-life? The earpiece is gone – when had it been lost? Some time before probably. Maybe that’s why they wouldn’t respond! She had lost her earpiece, yes!

But no, even if she still had it, they were dead – dead – dead – dead – dead – DEAD! Staring back at her from beyond eternity, from the lifeless purgatory where soldiers go to atone for the meaningless slaughter of their brothers and sisters in arms – staring back at her – alone, alone ALONE ALONE In this alone, in this alone, alone, in this alone. Look at them. LOOK at them! Look - alone - look - alone - look...in this alone, in this alone, you're in this alone...you're alone, you're not in this alone "...Look...You're not in this alone, don't take stress from it... You're doing good, just keep your head and stay cool."

Royanna blinked. Something touched her face – she hadn’t even realized until now; until gentle words and a softly smiling canid face had come to her attention - had they been there the whole time? Hardly fractions of seconds had passed. A flash of a moment and yet…

She did not attempt to swat his hand away. Anyone else would have gotten four knuckles to the nose for having the gall to touch Royanna Kallenger’s face, even in this sorry state, probably. But she did nothing – only staring with wide eyes – but softer now. The electric twinge of unknowable emotion had dissipated as a smear of blood and sweat was brushed off from the corner of her lip.

Brushing and braiding her hair? The part of her still capable of thinking wanted to give a hoot and insist that the mop on her head would be getting chopped off at the next opportunity – to grumble about how infuriating it was to have little swathes of black hair in her face, in her eyes - and besides, she had always liked the way it looked short, even despite the teasing back in her Academy days.

But she said none of that.

Thinking ahead – get rid of Toffi?? Spend time alone?

Space, no – NOT ALONE! Why in The Galaxy would she want that? To get away from this – this kid she had grown so very attached to? She couldn’t conceive of it. Nor would she ever think to ditch him for the company of others – not a chance! Did he really think that? A surge of urgency welled up inside her – the sudden, intense need to snap at him and insist that there wasn’t a chance in the blackest night that she was going to ‘get rid’ of him.

But she said none of that.

A vacation? Preposterous. The Captain of the legendary, almost mythical DEU did not take vacations. Hunting that piece of @#$% was Royanna’s life-…

Was.

But what now? She still needed to speak with Malbec. What was he going to say? It was an encounter she dreaded to think of – luckily it was a topic which she could push easily from her mind.

A playful pat between the shoulderblades. She had still yet to speak a word, too stunned from it all. Royanna Kallenger could handle the most intense of scenarios – even in her current state she had managed to escape the previous facility and detonate it just in time – there was very little in the Galaxy that could really startle her after all the training and experience she’d had – but that had been something else. She couldn’t think of a single time when anyone had spoken to her in that way. Even Severs – he had been like a father to Royanna – had never spoken with those easy, gentle, reassuring words – and he had been just about the kindest person Royanna had ever known.

The kid still had her hand and was intent on not releasing it.

”Now, you shut up and let’s go.”

”R-right.” She said quietly, stuttering a little – clearly affected by the kid’s words. Those words which allowed her to inform the crew that their next stop would need to be the central control. She might have elaborated more on the subject, but the way Christofer had talked still resonated in the woman’s head. Probably it was a temporary effect – probably she would never become accustomed to it if it happened again.

They were making their way down corridors now – and though she was unaware of the fact, Colonel Pyrus was going on about some murderous thoughts in the disfigured head beneath that spooky gas mask. She caught one unnerving, red LED digitized eye as the Colonel turned back for a moment to look at them – though she couldn’t have begun to guess what the strange woman was thinking. It did occur to her however, that in the not-so-recent past they had been mortal enemies. She had forgotten this, and it was an unpleasant remembrance…But what could be done about it now? She needed all the help she could get if she was going to get herself – and, more importantly, Toffi – out of this alive.

IriL’s great metal appendages shattered the oppressive silence of the centuries-old halls with each lumbering step, but Royanna was glad for the sound, even despite the splitting headache. The robot’s presence was a comfort. It was a useful thing – and maybe it was Christofer having an effect on her, but she was beginning to personify the thing a little too. That wasn’t too uncommon in general, but Royanna had seldom seen robots as anything more than tools. Maybe it was IriL’s shape. Shaped like a friend?

All this chance to think would do nothing to sate the twitching and sudden jerks that came with paranoia however – whirling at sounds that weren’t there, shadows that only she could see – and yet every time, there would be a comforting hand on her shoulder, or a softly uttered assurance from her canid companion. It wasn’t quite enough to lull her into complacency, but it certainly kept her from going mad. An impressive performance on his part, all things considered.

The Old Imperials had always been very punctual and thorough through the process of shutting down their old bunkers. The hydrogen reactors would keep the lights going almost indefinitely, and they hummed passively above between IriL’s loafing footsteps. Most of the doors were shut and locked – the sensors mounted above them having been turned off from central command to seal the rooms once they had been packed up. There were no automated defenses online, since even if an intruder managed to breach the bunker, there would be little they could do…without high-level Imperial access codes. So there was no resistance on the way to central command – which was an absolute Godsend, since it probably would have been the end of Kallenger at least.

It was up a short flight of stairs and past a pair of sliding doors, which Royanna was able to open via the device on her wrist. Convenient that however the Empire’s technology developed, it was always backwards compatible. Inside, the central command was designed in much the same fashion as they were today – a large, high-vaulted chamber with walls that slanted inward toward a central peak. The direct center was a holographic map – powered down, of course – and lots of black, blank monitors lining the slanted walls. Bordering the room was an unbroken host of control panels, keyboards, smaller monitors, switchboards – the works.

She needed another hit – badly. Her hands were shaking as she sat heavily down in front of the most centralized computer terminal, removing a panel beneath it to fumble blindly with some hidden cables.

Click. The monitor before her lit up in the standard terminal-green, before fading to blue, and the white, asymmetrical-diamond-shaped GE logo that was the insignia of the Old Empire. With some muttered words between Cox, the two of them would have the control center booted up within only a few minutes – another result of solid Imperial engineering. After all, what use was a bunker – even an abandoned one – if it couldn’t be brought back to working order in good time?

Most of the monitors were immediately dedicated to different security cameras – they all functioned, as far as anyone could tell – and they all showed the same thing – empty white halls, and empty rooms with what furniture or supplies remaining covered over or packed into corners. One monitor flickered to life with a simple, comprehensive list of all possible entry points into the bunker, all with green lettering to assure viewers that they had not, in fact, been breached. So, the bunker was secure…For now.

That was an immeasurable relief, and Royanna gave a heaving sigh at the sight. It was a pretty comfortable chair, she realized – she could probably conk out right there for a time. The quiet, electrical hum of monitors and computers was soothing. Not even IriL’s movements were unwelcome sounds now. Sure, there was the ever-lingering uncertainty of the Colonel – and certainly there were the faces - but for now, reassured by the sight of the bunker’s present state of safety, Royanna felt better than she could recall for some time. Even the withdrawal wasn’t serious enough at the moment to force her out of the chair with tourniquet in hand. Granted, when she woke up she’d probably be completely desperate for a hit – but for now, for now, for now…

”Hey, Kid.” She mumbled, turning eyes toward Christofer. They were still bloodshot, but more exhausted now rather than the paranoid intensity of earlier. ”What you said earlier about getting rid of you. You know that ain’t happening, right?”

There was enough room on the overlarge chair for him to join her, if he wanted – the woman was clearly too tired to object, even as she mumbled to him, with legs outstretched before her and arms folded. She might have even ended up leaning on him after she inevitably fell asleep.

Well, you see, that's because it did exist, and had existed for quite some time even before I was born. She wanted to say this, but thought it would be a bit too confrontational. She wanted information and help, not a fight. She listened to him, and of course sat down when he asked about Mars. She'd need to set some things straight before any of this got out of hand.

"They terraformed the planet? Tch, ungrateful. It had worked just the same, right way for..." She began muttering the Alphabet, counting on her fingers. "600 years!" She said when she got to 'O'. A soft huff came from her. "Yes, I came from a time before the planet was terraformed."
She smiled slowly, recalling the planet that she'd lived on all her life.

"Contrary to popular belief, it was a planet. Not a moon, or a legend, or a god. It was a spherical heap of space rock shooting around the Sun - which you know as 'Sol' - at 86,871 kilometers per hour. And it was hot. Very hot. And there had been a storm that had been going for countless years before I was born, way back before 0001-A1 of the very first colonies, which were actually called the 'New Colonies' back when they were... well, ya' know... new. Anyway, the storm was known as 'The Endless Red'. There was a lot of tourism for the red planet, surprisingly. The place was.. miserable... All grey walls and fluorescent lights.. No sound traveled very far, the air inside was dense."

She took a breath, and stared into those eyes. They made her shiver, and so she looked back at her shoes.

"A few years after I was born, something shocking happened. The countries on Earth cut off all trade, and began a war that would last a decade before it ended with every. Single. Nuclear warhead exploding. The place was destroyed.. Considerably smaller than it used to be, and certainly uninhabitable, except.. for something. Something that nobody knows and will ever care to remember. But life flourished considerably after the smoke cleared. And when I grew up, Earth was once again colonized, and that chapter of human history erased from the textbooks forever. Only those who witnessed it would remember... I don't think you would, would you? You look older than me, but I've been dead for a considerable amount of tim-..."

She was silent for a long moment, and then muttered, "If it's been as long as Drakis said, then..." Her face turned to an expression of absolute horror. "the star you know as Sol has most certainly destroyed the solar system that we are both looking for. Surely you know this.. it only took me a little while to figure it out.."
She stared straight into those cold eyes of his, as she was apparently used to them, now. They still disturbed her, but not more than they fascinated her. How was he not blind? Why were his eyes like that?

And no, BrainPal.. I'm not asking you!

The realization that this whole thing had been for nothing hit her like a ton of bricks, and it hurt to know that she'd never see the planet that gave her life again. She resisted the urge to stand up and go find Drakis. He was smart, he'd set the record straight and put her mind to rest. Surely he knew that Mars and Earth were fine...

Surely..

...

Surely this was not in vain?

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium

There was…one more thing that needed to be established.

As before, A.P. listened in polite silence and diligent alertness. Clearly he was fascinated – and he would have much preferred for the girl to continue talking about pre-terraformed Mars rather than slipping into the disillusionment that seemed to accompany logic in matters such as these. She did have a point, after all. Her final, dreadful realization at last manifested in an expression of unbridled horror.

But, as was clearly his way, Aelyn-Paeryc would address the points in turn. Nodding slightly – though mostly to himself – he spoke and seemed immediately to change the subject – avoiding the topic, perhaps? He shifted again, hands folding, and eyes unfocusing ever so slightly in a brief, and likely much-appreciated respite from the oppression of his icy gaze.

”Believe it or not, I could tell you a few things about The Red Planet, though it wouldn’t be anything you didn’t already know. I could tell you about how the sun blazed like a ruby blood-orange as it rose over Tharsis in the east, and lit up the sky like neon magma – or about how Elysium towered over the ruddy dust storms abreast the Amazonis Plains like a lonely island out of a silky crimson sea of fines. Or I could tell you how it felt to stand atop Olympus Mons and look over the very edge of the world itself…Or about the ultra-fine dust that permeated every native Martain-Born to the core, unstoppable by even the most exquisite filters or seals, so infinitely persistent that it seemed to bond with the Martians themselves - with the very blood and flesh of the Martian-Born, and granting them some of that cold, hard resolve in exchange for the stony, stoic mindset that only a mineral existence could truly appreciate.”

He leaned forward again, returning the full, icy gust of his gaze to focus on the Martian. ”Call it superstition, but I think I’d recognize the face of a Martian-Born anywhere. You see, even if a wide band of time separates us, you and I are from the same place.”

He gave this final development some time to set in, and allowed Rya a chance to reply if she hadn’t been too stunned into silence by his unusually poetic monologue.

As if to emphasize this, just as Aelyn-Paeryc was about to speak again, the woman sitting in the corner with her feet on the desk piped in like the Galaxy’s most contented peanut gallery. ”You’ve been working on that one for a while now, huh?” A.P. looked sidelong at her with narrowed eyes, frowning slightly – though he did not seem particularly offended. Amiably he replied ”I think I’m entitled to a little nationalism now and again.” The woman shrugged. ”Fair enough. But don’t start getting all preachy on me if I decide to go singing ’Green Hills’.”
”Or ’The Pale Blue Dot’ – are you done?”

”For now.”

Returning his full attention to Valheimer, The Captain once more leaned in on the desk to speak. ”My wife, Alexa – Earthborn.” He explained, giving a slight introductory nod in her direction, and leaving the brief introduction at that so as to back to the business at hand. ”At any rate, all the nostalgia-for-infinity in the ‘Verse won’t do us any good if there’s no Sol to return to. As you mentioned, the star Sol would have long since gone red and sucked up most of the Solar System. By that logic, Earth and Mars are entirely gone now and there’s no hope of ever returning. But…” A brief pause, he seemed to turn the phrasing over in his mind some before continuing. ”If you’re willing to suspend preconceptions and accept truths that may not seem immediately logical, I might just be able to explain why it doesn’t have to be the case – that is to say… How the Solar System survived the expansion and how we may very well be able to return.”

When he was done, she said nothing. It would look from the outside like she was fighting herself on whether or not to suspend a little disbelief, and convince herself that maybe her home was still there. Her eyes closed, her shoulder sagged, and she bit consistently on her lip as she spoke internally to herself.


He would know, Rya. He would know more than anyone.
There is simply no possible way that it's still there! This man is insane. Either insane or stupid. Get up and leave, Rya. It's time to go.

There were two little voices, both begging her to listen. One said that this man would know what he was talking about, while the other was saying he was just a madman.

Rya, the second one told her. Stand up. She stood up. And now leave.
And so she left. She wouldn't be stopped, now. If anyone tried to stop her, she'd just push past them. If anyone said a word to her, she ignored them. It wasn't that she was angry, it's that she was upset. Upset with herself for letting this happen, upset with how things had turned out after so much work had been put in. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care, but she'd find out when she got there.

She got lost in the long corridors. A right, a left, another left. It all just kinda looked the same. It was nice to be alone again, though. Right, left, left, right, right, left. Why was she here? Left, right, left, left, left, right. Why was it her who had to suffer this? Right, right, pause. Right, left. And why, in the name of the great desolate Earth, did she have to find out now? After all that had happened? Left, left, left.
She stopped, looked around. She kinda recognized this hallway. It looked vaguely familiar.. but then again, they all did. She kept walking. Right, left, right, straight. There were no turns here until... Left.

Right left right right right right left left left right left right right left right right left left right left right right right right left left right right left right left left left right left right left right left left right left left right left left left left right right right left right right left right left right right right right left left left right left left right left left right right left left left right right right right left right left right left left right right right left left left right right left left left left right left right...

And she kept walking.

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium

Aelyn-Paeryc couldn’t believe his eyes.

After all that.

The Martian girl had just stood up and left without a word.

He was dumbstruck by the reaction – and showing it probably as much as his inherently un-expressive face could, in the form of deadpan disbelief.

”…You’re seriously going to just l-“WHAM! The heavy wooden doors slammed behind her as Valheimer took to the mazelike corridors which encompassed Aelyn’s “General command center”.

Then he sat in stunned silence for a few long moments, just staring at the door.

”Why…” He croaked after a time, causing Alexia to become instantly, though subtly alert, his hands balling into fists where they lay atop the desk.
Then, suddenly slamming a fist down onto the hardwood surface he cried in rage "Wh̕y҉ ̀t̢ ̀f ͘k d̢oȩs̶ ̵t́h̴is ke͟ep hap̶ ̴ n̵i̡ng̕?̨!̴!?"

He flickered slightly. Alexia sat up, taking her feet down from the desk, and more clearly focusing on him now - looking sober.

"Ael." She said softly, but with a meaningful glance and a firmness to the voice.

Unperturbed, Aelyn whirled on her, flailing an arm in a somewhat extravagant gesture of disbelief. "It ̛doès̨n̶'̧t ̡ma̵k̀e͟ a͘ny f́ ̶ ̕ng ͢sense͡,͟ ͏Aĺe͘x͠! ̸Nob҉od̨y͝ f ͡k g ̢T̷A͠L̴KS!̛ D̷o̢ yoư hav͘e ̕A͞N̴Y ̨I͟DEA͞ h҉ ҉ ̸ ͢pr̸ơb ͟ ̡ w̨ ̢ ͜ş ͡ ͝i͢"

He was beginning to flicker more seriously now. Growing more concerned, Alexia stood, moved toward him, and leaned across his chair to grasp him by the shoulders. Not the faintest chill went through her at the focus of the black, starry eyes.

"Aelyn." She said more sternly this time - it seemed to snap him out of it. He blinked, ceased his flickering. Alexia sat on the desk and watched him soberly.

"I've said it before. We're never going to get back there without help. We need help, dammit - and every @#$%ing time I try to get help from someone who might actually be worth the goddamn effort, they treat me like some kind of madman!" There was a long pause. Aelyn leaned elbows on the desk, clutched at his forehead with fingers. The black hair streamed down between them, cascading onto the hard wood. Alexia unobtrusively put a hand on his back from where she sat, and said nothing.

Then, after a long while, Aelyn spoke again in a much smaller voice. "What if I am just mad, Alex? I mean, it's not like any of this @#$% actually makes a bit of @#$%ing sense. Hell, maybe you're mad too."

Unable to resist, Alexia cracked the faintest grin and said lowly "We're all mad here~"

It worked. Aelyn cracked a similar hint of a smile, though keeping his eyes locked on the table.

"Ael, when it comes down to it, it doesn't really matter if you're insane or not. All that matters is that we're here, and we're doing something - whether or not it's something worth doing. Even if the whole thing turns out to be nonsense...What else are we going to do?"

He nodded slightly. Then he took a deep breath, rubbed at his face a little, and put a finger to his ear.

The message he sent to Rya Valheimer would betray none of the uncharacteristic emotion he had just displayed in private. The text would be as cold and calculated as his eyes- and all the more harsh for their context. Rya could choose to ignore the message, but it would be very difficult - though if for some reason she did decide to respond, she would find the process natural and intuitive.

[So now what are you going to do? Are you so set in your way of thinking that you'll refuse to consider any new ideas - especially after all you've just been through? It's going to be a lonely Galaxy out there, Valheimer.]

And then, some seconds later, a second message would appear. [Besides; you stormed off like an angsty teenager before I got the chance to explain how there's a chance we might be able to get you home not only to your planet, but to your time. Is hearing me out really that hard?]

Then, back in his office, Aelyn casually flicked a switch on his desk, bringing up an image of the Kingsbane and the Dendril fleet, captured from some of the cameras on the outside of the Stella.

"I think something important's going on here. Might as well do what we do best."
"Wait and watch."

---

N O T S P A C E – The Kingsbane(?)

What is an idea?

A dangerous thing – a confusing and uncertain thing. An incorporeal thing which does not exist in any physical sense, but comes to fruition only as the culmination of abstract thoughts. Often a messy thing.

An idea is a state of mind which can be fragile and feeble. An idea is a paradox, because it exists, yet it is nothing in itself.

So then, what would it be like to be an idea?

To be an arrangement of circumstances – to be a state of mind – to be a concept – to be no different than before, but simultaneously as inconsequential as a fleeting thought, and as incorporeal as the last glimmer of a lost dream in the predawn of morning. Nothing would have changed, and no one would have reason to notice the transition from thing to idea of thing.

Can an idea bring about its own existence? Where do ideas come from? Can an idea be sentient? Can an idea encompass more than just itself? Just how abstract could an idea be?

Nothing had changed. Scanners and sensors would detect no differences, no anomalies, nothing that might have indicated that anything was different now than before. Not even the most vast, insurmountable, omnipotent entities would be aware of the change – at least, not until given some obvious reason as to why things were off.

Because becoming an idea was not changing in any way. It was merely being.

And here and there, an extra zero or one would appear in the most insignificant corners of computer processes. The occasional number where it might not have been expected. Purely mathematical constructs which only the meticulous and ever-present logic of a computer would have even the slightest reason to notice or care. They wouldn’t add up to anything – certainly not anything that could be expressed in language. But then, computers had a different way of looking at things. There was always interpretation.

After all – what would an idea be, if it could not be interpreted?

---

N O T S P A C E – The Ruins of Isandril

Deep within the dusty, ancient halls of the heart of Isandril, an unprecedented silence had fallen. Never again would sound graze the hidden places. Above, the towers had warped and fallen, collapsed within themselves, and even the great, bowled wall was ragged and battered. The city floor had been opened up to the deserts of the dead world, and in due course the sands of time would swallow up the remains of once glorious Isandril until not so much as a thought remained. A scene of brutality had turned to one of desolation – a despondent wind whispered silently through the craggy remains of a world lost to eternity, and a people gone forever from the face of the Universe itself.

Even the man who had brought this final destruction down upon this once sacred place had turned his back on it in its’ final moments, bidding it not even the briefest farewell, as if he and the Great Drive had never any history at all. It was all nothing to him now.

Untold eons prior, when the world was green and good, and teeming with life and love and living – he had seen it then. He had witnessed the golden towers rising above the alabaster cities in all their majesty, a testament to the unlimited potential of the will of sentience. He had gazed up upon the gleaming obelisks midst sweet, elating air and marveled at what these strange and alien beings were capable of. He had lived among the People and learned their ways. But all that was nothing to him now – naught but a gilded skeletal heap amidst oceans of sand made from ashes of the decimated cities and the very bodies of the People themselves when they burned and died into UnBeing for all eternity.

But hadn’t he experienced for himself the reason why they could not be allowed to continue their blasphemous existence? For even disregarding the religious ferocity with which he defended his Lady’s laws of Space and Time, disregarding that the sole purpose of his resurrection by the Lord Ova had been to learn about, and ultimately destroy the First People if necessary – it had become apparent that there would be no other solution to the problem when he had tried to become one of them – when his mind had experienced the impossible, the utterly inconceivable, and been blown to pieces that were scattered across the cosmic winds of space and time to be reconstituted in the Hellish pseudo-existence he now embodied. He should have known that the difference between his kind and theirs was simply too great to ever reconcile. There could be no meeting half-way – he had learned it the hard way – and he knew then that if this strange form of life were to be allowed a continued existence, they would eventually overrun the biological life of later millennia. It had been at that moment when the fate of the Universe was decided – whether the sole form of life in the Universe would be biological, or psychological – and he knew that it must be the former.
Beings that existed by sheer force of will alone – beings who manifested themselves in a familiar form, taking on instinctively the image they had come into being beside. Doppelgangers of a species which would not come into being for millions, or billions of years. From their mysterious origins they had matured as a species, developed language and culture, toying with this concept of ‘sentience’ which was so new and alien to the vast, desolate blackness of the universe which had until them never witnessed the thoughts of living minds. They learned to manipulate themselves and then, after the Great Day when God came out of the Forest of Waters, the universe around them. They constructed the great Drives, the gleaming golden towers built from an alloy sent back from the future and a mind that was far beyond its’ time.

Had they, in that moment, become the Gods themselves? Notspace was a blank canvas, within which the People could will anything they desired. The drives would allow them to spread their influence far and wide, to toy with the very fabric of space and time itself and bend it to their whim. They might dominate the universe, rule over it, or even destroy it completely – and what right did the First People have to play God in a universe which had not even seen its’ first stars?

It was this doctrine that the Heretic-Prophet Insmouth preached in the days before their ultimate fall to the Lords. He had risen among the People and pleaded with them that they must relinquish their Godlike abilities and become mortal. He had spread his doctrine wide across the land, over the whole of the First People’s existence – that planet, floating there in blackness like some deadly spore preparing to burst at any moment.

He developed a means of conversion from psychological manifestation to biological – a method of re-writing the People so that they would no longer exist by force of will, but by the laws and nature of the universe. He had named it after a most ancient writing implement – The Iridium Fountain – and some had been brave and devout enough to undergo the process. In the days prior to The Burning, those devout followers of Insmouth would undergo a mass exodus from their forsaken cousins. They would travel through the blackness of space for eons in a sleep deeper than death, waiting for the universe to mature, and for stars and worlds to be born – and then they would find a new world and begin again.

But for those who remained on Isandril, the Heretic-Prophet’s words held a vastly different connotation. In wild fear of their perceived coming apocalypse, an intense loathing for Notspace technology was cultivated. And though they could not yet bring down the gilded towers of Isandril, they could punish the evildoers who maintained those engines of hate, they could bury their mistakes beneath the fertile soil and go on as they had before the terrible False-God had crept from the Forest of Waters and trick them into building evil things.

But despite their frenzy, only a single Mechanic was captured and sentenced to The Entombment of Eternal Being before the Prophet Insmouth disappeared, and fire rained down from the Heavens to burn away every living thing on the surface of their world. In their most dire hours, had their Prophet forsaken them? Or had he simply been the first victim of the Lords? Like so many teeming secrets, that died with the final fall of Isandril it would go forever unknown. Like the wisdom more ancient than time itself and the technology which could shatter a reality, the secrets of the dead would lie lost for eternity in the blackest reaches of the unknowable.

The Shadow could remember it all so clearly – and despite the ancient history he shared with the place that constituted his ultimate rival, still he had turned his back upon it in the wake of its’ ultimate demise, and turned his terrible eyes to the sky to gaze at a speck which harbored the most terrible thing he had ever known.

As he stood there at the controls of his great, derelict warship that teemed with weapons of devastating power, watching with his impossible, unending gaze through a cloudy window, smeared with soot from the fires that cleansed it for him, and the rusty, brown, oxidized blood of the previous inhabitants. A light flickered somewhere behind him, and a silence not unlike that which had fallen for eternity within the secret halls of Isandril fell over him just the same.

He watched as the terrible Kingsbane began to move, to align itself in preparation of a defense that would doubtless be remarkable – and in that dreadful moment he realized that no sum of force he threw at the wretched thing would so much as scratch the surface of the vast, monstrous presence that lingered there.

But…He would have to try, wouldn’t he?

The Dendril fleet, consisting of black, insectoid things that hung against the Notspace backdrop and around the faintly smoking warship like flies hovering around a smoldering corpse. Lightweight and lightly armored, but armed with dual mounted port and starboard energy cannons and gossamer, mechanical tail-stingers on the undersides which would serve to inject Dendril pods into their victims and infect an unlucky vessel with swarming insectoid metal monsters.

And his warship –the culmination of years of work in a secret Martian research facility which would one day become the capitol city of the Solar System – remarkably in-tact from its’ preservation over all the eons, teeming with weapons of mass destruction that had once threatened to bring warring worlds to forcible peace through the looming promise of total planetary annihilation of offenders – now those weapons would at last be put to use, and for a far greater purpose than the mere unification of a planetary system in the unknowably distant past.

The Shadow Over Himself took one deep breath, savored the flavor of the stale air aboard his broken warship, absently flicked switches on an outdated control board which would activate the shields. Then he raised one hand, held it there in what might have been a hesitation to initiate a surely losing battle against this inconceivable monster of entropy – then threw his arm down in a gesture directed right at the ship before them. The Dendril ships exploded into a frenzy of incredibly rapid movement, darting with formidable agility toward the approaching Kingsbane, waiting to open fire until within a closer range. Likely they would be wiped out with little trouble, but if there was any chance of injecting that terrible thing with a Dendril pod it would have to be attempted. And as the black bug-ships flurried like gnats and wasps in a desperate offensive try and surviving long enough to do some damage, The Shadow opened up a moderate cache of ballistic weapons, missiles intended for putting city-sized craters in moons, and blowing asteroids to dust. Once a surely imperious vessel, long and sleek, with a shining coat of blood-orange paint, with a belly full of peace-bringing warheads and smaller launchers all around what had once been a symmetrical pattern, it had been deteriorated by the ages and by the attack that had made it property of Codsworth and The Shadow. Toxic fumes billowed from where powerful interplanetary combustion engines had once thrust incredible magnitudes, the science long since outdated. The Dendril vessels acting as tugs to the ancient Martian warship had disconnected as well – more heavily armored and slower, but it seemed unlikely that they would do much more than buy The Shadow some time to line up the perfect shot.

YOU! YOU will fall this day!

Though even while he thought it, he did not believe it.

After all, how could he possibly have known that by the same means with which the Kingsbane was enabled to operate at full capacity within the alien environment of Notspace, it would also prove totally invulnerable to many of his attacks? Indeed, some damage might be done to The Kingsbane. Some of the Dendril weapons, and likelier still some of his own weapons were bound to breach the Artillery Cruiser’s shields and put dents in the heart metal hull.

But how could he have known that, on the rare instance that his forces would have a chance at dealing significant damage, it would pass through the Kingsbane as if the imposing cruiser were not there at all? Indeed, even as one of the Dendril vessels made a suicide dive straight up toward the belly of the beast, intent on crashing through shields and hull and injecting a single, deadly swarming Dendril pod – it would instead pass harmlessly through and out the other side, without the slightest distortion to the still very real and very dangerous vessel. Not even the crew inside the Kingsbane could have expected that – and it would be a thoroughly traumatizing experience to witness a black, insectoid attack ship blasting silently and harmlessly through the multiple interior decks and layers and out the other side.

Because what was will, but the strength of the manifestation of an idea?

---

So now what are you going to do? Are you so set in your way of thinking that you'll refuse to consider any new ideas - especially after all you've just been through? It's going to be a lonely Galaxy out there, Valheimer.

The text was suddenly just there. At first she tried to ignore it, yes, but then another one came through.

Besides; you stormed off like an angsty teenager before I got the chance to explain how there's a chance we might be able to get you home not only to your planet, but to your time. Is hearing me out really that hard?

He'd read her mind like it was just an open book. Save for the teenager comment, of course. She'd just calmly left, not a single word said. She stopped walking to sink slowly against the wall, and begin sending a message back.

I'm going to leave. If I can find a way out. Someone else will walk down this hallway, and I'll put on another mask, another personality, and I'll lie to them until they help me. Just like I did to Drakis. And just like I did to you. More manipulation. Rya had a way of wrapping people around her finger without ever letting her guard slip.
Fine, Captain. Fine. I'll answer your questions. But I don't want to see your face. The face of a madman. The face of someone who's so desperate to return to something that doesn't exist anymore that he doesn't even qualify as human.

But she didn't send it. Instead, she sent only this:
You're insane.

And she kept walking. But this time she was retracing her steps, walking back the way she came. When she got back to that hallway, she walked back the way Drakis had taken her from the weird pod-type thing, and looked at it for a second before continuing her way by getting inside. She followed the route back until she got to the place where she'd met him. She was going to the ReSleeving Room. There, she could stop and think. She could sit beside the place she woke up, and process everything with as much time as she needed. The silence would tell her what to do. And everything would be fine.

She asked her BrainPal what it had been like to walk on Mars, and was flooded with sorrow as she got her answer. As she got closer, the pain in her chest grew until she just sank against the wall again, and watched the door to the ReSleeving Room, scared to go inside in case someone was in there. In case the guy she'd punched was in there. She slowly got up again.

How do I get off of the ship? She asked pointedly to the foreign tech in her head. I need a map of this place.

She would then read whatever she was given.

Many Millennia ago....the Undead Dimension, Ft Draugr

Within the walls of the dreaded castle of Lord Ova, the Lord of the Undead, she and another Lord, Lord Caru, happen to be in an informal meeting, discussing of her kidnapping of young mortals to keep her self from her more corpse like appearance, full of scars and deathly look, to a more youth full look. "Please give them the love they deserve, Lord Ova!" Lord Caru pleads as they walk the halls of the dead, he trailing behind her. With annoyed look on her face she replies "I do not care for them Caru! They are only here to satsify my needs" as she stops to turn around towards him angerly. He looks up at her with dread and fear and says "What happen to the young girl, I used to know? The one that would run around play, always happy and full of life. I truly believe when Lord Kilwen calls this the Curse realm, I see it not only causes death to the Lord but also drains the happiness and life out of it as well!" Ova snaps and grabs him by the throat and pins to the wall "HOW FOOLISH CAN YOU BE??!! THIS THE UNDEAD DIMENSION! THERE ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE LIFE HERE!" as she squeezes his throat ever so harder. He struggles to get a breath as his face changes color. "I'm...sorry-ugh! I feel-ugh-that the death of your-*gasp*-mother has taken your toll on you"

This set Ova over the edge and yells at him as she squeezes his throat "YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT I WENT THROUGH FOR THAT! SHE WENT MAD AND I DID WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE AND I DON'T NEED YOU TELLING ME THE OBVIOUS, YOU PEACE-LOVING ****!!" "Ack-ugh!" he struggles to get breath as he tries fruitlessly to get Ova's hand off his throat as he struggles for breath. Ova unsheathes her rapier and slashes the air in her realm ,causing a rift to open up, showing complete darkness, but with speeding white dots as if going passed them in high speed. With the rift open, she glances over to Lord Caru and says "I and others have discussed that you have been a real pain in the ass and we seek to not see you again and so a suitable end for you is to be castes into the Void, the nonexistent that separates the realms. Caru squirms underneath her grip unable to say words or anything. She swings him to the rift and dangles him into the Void. She smiles with gleam and says "Goodbye Lord Caru Llywellyn, your services are no longer needed" as her smile turns more sinister as she tosses him into the Void, doomed to drift for all eternity....well that was the goal anyway

Stella Viventium, Now
For how it happen, no one will really know, but some will put blame on almost same capacity and effects that the Void and NotSpace are in. Some will say that one is the offshoot of the other, but there is no facts that support it. Like Notspace and Void both are similar and not easily understood. So this abnormally happening is something really interesting. Soon a small rift open within the air of the halls of the colonyship and Caru was spat out quickly and skids on the ground. The rift quickly closed and everything was back to normal. "Ow, my head" he grumbles as he slowly stands rubbing his head. As his vision began to return he looks around see's where is he is and gave a puzzling look. "W-where I'm I?" he states as he reaches into his pocket. He was wearing a pink button up shirt and Khaki pants with some nice shoes. He pulls out a strange device with a heart on the case and opens it and types something in, it looks like iphone/flip phone hybrid. His eyes went wide and exclaims "JUMPING JELLYFISH! THIS REALM IS LACKING IN LOVE AND COMPASSION!" he immediately closes the device that somehow worked through NotSpace(possibly the power of love and friendship) "I guess I have to set the record straight" he says as he gives a determine grin. He walks to one end of the hall and the doors don't open. He walks to the other end and those don't open. He sighs and says "How I'm I suppose to do my work if I can't leave this hallway!" as groans loudly and rolling his eyes up.

"I hope someone comes soon...."

N O T S P A C E – The Stella Viventium



But according to Rya’s demands, her BrainPal™ obediently produced a mind-bogglingly complex map of the ship, which would encompass at least a few terabytes of data, require a dozen 970 graphics cards to render, a CPU the size of Venus to process, and would probably hit her in the face like a high-speed freight train.

It would also relentlessly produce a very, very long list of commercial flights disembarking from The Stella to various planets all over the Galaxy – though at the end of the list there would be a disheartening message: We’re sorry, but due to circumstances regarding the present location of the ship, all incoming and outgoing flights have been indefinitely suspended until further notice.
It was a lot of information for one person to try and handle – particularly that ludicrously expansive map. It was three dimensional and very detailed, and it would have driven any perfectly sane cartographer to suicide in minutes.

Back in that office, A.P. leaned back in his chair, locking hands behind head as he reclined just a little, and watched the screen with characteristic impassiveness. Beside him, still sitting on the desk surface, Alexia leaned on a hand and watched in a similar fashion – they might have been any young couple watching the news.
And a response appeared in Aelyn-Paeryc’s vision. He gritted his teeth. Since his and Alexia’s BrainPal™s were intrinsically linked, she knew exactly what had brought this reaction about. She gave a similar snarl – looked like she was about to say something to Aelyn, but he stopped her with a gesture and she held her tongue. He had a good idea as to what she was going to say, and it wasn’t nice. The last thing either of them needed was the more stable of the two starting to flicker as well.
Being very careful to keep from exploding again, Aelyn let a few minutes pass – but his anger did not subside. It grew colder, yes – but after that he and Alexia both found that a little getting back was in order.

[And you're not?]

It was one of the Martian's disadvantages that she was relatively unfamiliar with the BrainPal™ as she was. As intuitive and natural as the design was, it still took getting used to - and it was immensely difficult for someone to ignore incoming messages until the pseudo-text had become as natural to them as sight itself. Sure, it was easy to simply block incoming messages...except when the messages we're being sent with administrative privilege. Indeed, in a way, the madman in the office back there might be with her for good...A terrible fate.

Then, still more minutes later, a longer one that, in the cold and impassive tone of text sent by a man of stoic certainty, was all the more biting for it.

[Less than an hour ago, you were nothing but a pattern being stored in a hard drive. That pattern – everything you are – was downloaded into an artificial body. All that, we can prove with absolute certainty. There’s even a backup.]

Sure enough, if Rya chose to follow the ‘thought path’ of the underlined text, she would be faced with what amounted to a file called [Rya_Valheimer.con]. Granted, it would be difficult to prove that it was, in fact, a copy of the consciousness that had been earlier downloaded into the ‘sleeve’ that Rya now wore. Like any type of data, it would not open without the proper program – and in this case, the proper program would be an artificially grown human brain from the Re-Sleeving department. But then, logic dictated that there would also be a file capable of instructing the tanks to grow another “Rya Valheimer body”. It had been done once, after all.

[So Rya, who’s to say anything you think you remember is real? You may be a completely artificial construct – it’s likely, even – since we keep very good records on consciousness storage and yours we didn’t know about until an hour ago. Memories are just sequences of firing neurons – you think they can’t be synthesized with perfect clarity? You think something as simple as a human consciousness couldn’t be created in a computer after all this time? ]

[So go ahead Rya. Call me insane while you try to prove to yourself that you’re from a world that nobody in the Galaxy thinks ever existed, except for me. And when you’re done covering your ears like a child who doesn’t want to see the truth, and you’re ready to take the best, only chance you’ll ever get to return to the place we both think you’re from, I’ll be waiting.]

And then, with some delay, a slightly different sort of text.

[And if you ever say that kind of @#$% to my husband again, you and I are going to have a serious problem.]

Then, back in that office, abruptly Alexia tensed, and focused more closely on the image. Aelyn did the same almost simultaneously, leaning forward with haste to plant hands on the desk and look intensely at the screen.

”Ael.”
”It’s impossible.”

The battle had begun in earnest now. They could watch the little insectoid ships swarm around the mass of the Kingsbane, as the slightly heavier cruisers detached from the thing they had been hauling between them – butthat thing. Clearly ancient and battered, with once-gleaming sunset orange paint that burned like the endless iron sands of the place from which it had come. It could not be, and yet there was proof. The letters were old and faded, only barely visible in the unreal un-light of Notspace, but sure enough.
”It’s…”

"The Spear of Mars!"
They said, in unison.

---

---

---

Wishes do come true!

Hardly fifteen seconds after Caru rolled his eyes and wished for someone to come along, behold! The door at the farther end of the corridor opened up, and someone stepped in.

There were a lot of people on the Stella Viventium who could have stepped through that door at that exact moment that would have been perfectly good company with this strange new character who had just been rudely spit out from the distant past. Perhaps Isha Lastrow, the quiet, quirky and level-headed communications officer. Perhaps Aleessa Rivierre, the hotheaded, short-tempered but reliable Security Chief. Maybe Drakis Volo – there was no need to describe him – or maybe Dorin Harkahn, the scientist who did everything he could to look like a scientist, and still had the best hair on the ship. Maybe even Aelyn-Paeryc and Alexia, or Beral Nathans – though he was out of commission for the time being, ehem.

Or it could have been any one of the dozens of individuals directly under the Captain’s personal administration. Or it could have been any one of the thousands employed in civic duties – or one of the million that just lived on the ship.

But instead, it was the closest thing that the Stella Viventium had to a deity of hatred. It was he who embodied darkness and gloom. The snake-man that lurked in the shadows of The Armory. The very aspect of grumpiness itself – Ordinance Director Gaelan Yascra.

He was a tall, wiry man with pale skin, a shaved head and some wispy facial hair. His features were sharp, with narrow almond eyes and a generally Oriental appearance. He wore an admittedly trendy black leather jacket, cut in the style that people wore a decade or so ago. There were a few gold earrings – and he was holding an absolute behemoth of an automatic laser RCW hybrid pulse rifle, complete with a whole plethora of underbarrel mounted bayonets of various shapes and sizes, looking almost like the branch of a terrible thorn bush with a gun attached. This instrument of gruesome death was held over one shoulder and – in an extraordinary turn of luck for Caru – it was not loaded.

The man stood there for a second, looking at this pink and khaki clad prettyboy with the big blue eyes that radiated warmth and kindness – with a dreadful scowl on his face and glare in his eyes. (Which, by chance, were also blue, but the sort of cold, steely blue one might associate with miserable arctic midday's emptiness rather than warm, friendly oceans of love.)

He glared at this creature before him for just long enough that he might approach – and as soon as Caru began to move in the pale man’s direction he would promptly turn around, step back through the door, and slam it down in his face, without a word.

And that was about it.

It was terribly silent.

Well that hadn’t been very nice of him.

Five minutes passed.

Then another five.

Then, without warning, the door slid up again, and the same man, toting the same vicious death machine, stepped through and allowed it to close behind him. It was Déjà vu except for the one crucial difference that now the rifle was clearly fully loaded.

Yet he did not aim the thing at this newcomer – he just held it on his shoulder, as if simply to make it very clear that it was there.

And lastly, he spoke in a voice that was relatively softer than one might expect, though still harsh like chipped concrete. It was not at all a question, either;

"Who…the @#$%…are you.”

Caru's face lite up seeing another individual coming into the hallway. As they stared, he still kept his warm full smile on but once he turned around and walked away behind the door, Caru ran up and banged on the door and pleads "Wait! Don't leave me here!" as he continues to bang on the door with his hand.

Once the door open he stepped back to give the man some room. Once he asked who he was in such a rude manner and seeing the gun loaded he raised his hands forward, slightly dramatically and says "What's with the hostility lovely cue ball? Never seen a poor lord trapped in a hallway?" as he gave a nervous chuckle yet his warm smile is still there.

"Anyway you are my savior from this inferior hallway and for I am Lord Caru Llywellyn" he greets as puts his hand to his chest in a fist and extends his right arm out and bows to him. "So is my handsome knight called?" He cooed as he flutters his eyes towards the man

The man's hard glare only intensified in response to the warm vibes he was getting from this person. A brow raised the first time he heard the word 'lord'. His jaw set when he heard it a second time. His body tensed and his grip on the gun tightened with the dramatic introductory bow.

Then, instead of answering the question by stating his name, he leaped into action. The gun was down from his shoulder and in both hands in an instant, a furious snarl on his face as he sidestepped slightly and shoved the redhead against his back into the wall. Though no part of the weapon was likely to actually touch him in this process, because he would likely be quick enough to avoid the terrible, serrated claws and blades that jutted out from all over the barrel. A strange and archaic weapon indeed; in reality, the thing was actually an antique. Gaelan had been on his way to move it into the 'antiques' section of the armory when he ran into him. Nevertheless, despite the weapon's age, the various protrusions were all razor sharp and quite deadly - one good shove would put at least six or seven holes in an unlucky victim.

So Caru would either be pressed against the wall by the looming needle-sharp blades aimed at his general face and neck area, or he would end up with several mutilating wounds and be staked to the wall - it was his choice, really.

But Gaelan had not been counting on an instant kill - nor even intending it.

Apparently unfazed by all the wiles that could be thrown at him, he just snarled and said growled lowly "Did you say...Lord?"

If Caru tried to answer, he would cut him off by snapping "A Dimensional Lord?"

Such hostility~! But then, Caru had no way of knowing that the entire sum of experience that the Stella as a whole had was negative. To the Stella's crew, all Dimensional Lords must be as apparently evil as Kampfer - why not?

But to Caru - had he miraculously been saved from the fate of drifting in isolation for all eternity, only to be spit out into some Hellish realm where his kind were simply despised and possibly burned at stakes like witches, or stabbed to death with gruesome multi-bladed weapons on sight? That one seemed more likely at this particular juncture. Maybe it was some particularly sinister corner of the Void, where the damned went to die repeatedly in terrible ways for all eternity?

Regardless to his answer, the weapon would stay aimed at his face - and the man would just glare daggers in a way that said, very clearly and without words, that Caru had better come up with an intensely compelling reason why he should not have his face brutally gored by this outdated war machine.

And no amount of otherworldly forces, pseudo-magic bolts or psychic influences were going to so much as knick this apparently impenetrable wall of utter hate and general grumpiness.

She wasn't okay, not at all, and that assault from Aelyn's message didn't help in the slightest. She felt like she was losing her mind slowly, that she had screwed up everything. She didn't know where to go next but she didn't want to ask anyone. She was beginning to doubt that any of this was real, since it was so unfathomably foreign. That pain in her chest lingered for what felt like hours, until she no longer saw the messages on her vision, or the map or the list, or even the hallway or the door to the ReSleeving Room. She stayed perfectly still until it seemed nothing existed at all. Just the light hum of silence, and the smell of sterile hallways. She began exploring her BrainPal until she figured out how to send another message. Her first thought was to contact Drakis, which she did.
Drakis. If you want to talk in person, I went back to the ReSleeving Room. And I need your help again.
She was taking him with her, whether he wanted to go or not. She would make him come along, help her leave, but she wouldn't leave him behind this time.

She finally replied to Aelyn, but this would be the last time: Then recreate me, why don't you? What's so important about me if I'm just a recreated consciousness in a fake body. She purposefully left out the question mark.

The reply came almost instantaneously - and this time it was, in a way, intense. BrainPal™ communications were unique in that very often a feeling could be added to text not unlike italics or bold.

[BECAUSE, you moron, I believe that you're from Mars, and that you're a real person who's been torn away from their home and family, and that I might be able to help you get back! Because I believe that you and I might not be so different! And maybe I'LL never get to see my brother again, but YOU might have a shot at seeing your family! Or at least your home... Because I remember what Mars was like, and I know what it feels like to go every day knowing I might never see it again. Because to sit and do nothing when there's even the slimmest chance is despicable. Because being lost, and alone, and afraid, and not knowing what to do or where to go next, and having nobody to help you along the way and no home to go back to, and having to pretend to be some kind of emotionless slab of stone just to survive is a TERRIBLE THING, and you don't deserve it, and if there's any one single thing in the Galaxy, no matter how unlikely or impossible, that I can do to try and spare you the fate of wandering aimlessly around a meaningless Universe for the rest of your life then I WANT TO DO IT!]

---

And back in the dark wood and crimson velvet office, an image straight out of the past was staring him in the face - the image of Hastam Martis - The Spear of Mars - the vessel constructed by the first ARES scientists that would ultimately bring peace to the Solar System, all those millennia ago. Surely this moment was a vital one - surely it must mean something...

Or maybe it was just an illusion. Maybe he and Alexia were just misreading those faded letters. Maybe it was just his mind showing him what he wanted to see. It could have been any ship after all. Maybe he was just mad.

And as this historic moment occurred over the vision screen mounted above the doorway, Aelyn-Paeryc failed to so much as glance up at it. Instead he leaned heavily on the desk, face in his palms and fingers entangled in black hair, clutching at his scalp with hands that trembled ever so slightly and biting his lip with a force great enough that, if not for his condition, would have surely drawn blood - and he was flickering.

---

Some minutes later, there would be another message.


{I had a feeling you'd go back there. I'll be there in just a minute. I'm guessing things didn't go too hot with the Captain.}

And, sure enough, it would take hardly any time at all for Drakis to arrive. He came through the door looking uncharacteristically, almost disturbingly sober - even despite the relatively comical appearance of the goggles. There was also one crucial difference about him now - that being the belt at his waist now holstering a small handgun in a latched holster.

Walking in, he looked tired. He sat down on one of the horizontal tubes inside which a body was growing, with not a care in the world for whether or not it might not be the best place to sit.

It was as if he had already anticipated the worst, and was just waiting to be told about it.

"Alright then Kid, let's hear it. What went down in there?" He said, and sounded, tragically, a little bit depressed.