Negotiations – Chapter 9: Part 1

1y10m2w6d BV

Father Busani’s private yacht, en route to Gao

Whitecrest Special Operative Ronovin

Ronovin impatiently paced across the ship’s galley. The trip home to Gao from the Crimson Hamlet had become rather frustrating very quickly. It wasn’t the quiet that bothered him. No, he was plenty adept at handling prolonged periods of isolation; That was simply inevitable in his line of work. No, this was much worse than that. If he had been alone, he would have had the freedom to busy himself with tasks that he much preferred to keep private. But, alas, Ronovin was not alone aboard this ship; A disgruntled cub hid in one of the small cargo bays of the ship.

He had been perfectly willing to give Milt some time alone, but it had already been a full day; It was time to force the cub out. He walked to the cargo bay and scratched on the door. Receiving no reply, he entered. Milt sat in the middle of the room on a crate, facing away from the door.

Ronovin spoke softly, but authoritatively. “It’s not healthy stay hidden in here, cub.”

Milt lifted his head slightly for a moment, before resuming his sulking.

Ronovin flattened his ears. “I thought that you called yourself a Whitecrest, Milt. Do you think hiding in a corner is acceptable behavior for an operative?”

Milt turned his head just enough to glance at Ronovin out of the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but soon closed it, apparently unable to think of anything to say.

“Come to the galley, cub. Now. We have work to do.” Ronovin turned and left the cargo bay, heading to the galley to wait.

A few moments later, Milt slowly approached and sat across from Ronovin, staring warily at the elder Gaoian. Ronovin stared back at him, electing to let Milt open the conversation.

After a few moments, Milt stood and turned to leave.

“Where are you going, cub?”

Milt stopped and sighed. “Are you going to stop me?”

Ronovin through a moment. “No. But I don’t want you sitting alone in that closet.”

Milt turned around and growled, unamused. “Oh?”

“You’re hurting, cub. There ain’t nothing good going to happen sitting alone in there.”

“Am I supposed to believe that you care?”

Well, this certainly wasn’t off to a good start. Ronovin had really hoped that he could avoid the touchy-feely stuff for a while. “You’re clan, Milt. I need to help where I can.”

“Like you did a few days ago?” Milt held up a forelimb, displaying one of the nastier scars.

Fyu’s balls, he was not making this easy! “I… may have overreacted.”

Milt yelped, unconvinced.

With a sigh, Ronovin stood and walked over to Milt, plopping down next to him. Milt tensed up, staring at Ronovin out of the corner of his eyes. The unmistakable scent of raw terror permeated the air. This was absurd! How could one Gaoian harbor so much fear?

With a sigh, Ronovin laid his back down across Milt’s lap. He could hardly think of a less dignified position, but he had become desperate for any sort of progress.

Milt had raised his forelimbs, holding them far above Ronovin in yet another display of subservience.

Ronovin sighed. “Set your paws down Milt.”

Cautiously, Milt lowered his paws, slowly setting one on Ronovin’s throat, and one on his flank.

“There ya go, cub. Now just relax for a few minutes.” Ronovin sighed again. The sacrifices he made for Chuck.

No. Fuck that. He was doing this because a Brother needed him.

Milt gently ran his paw across Ronovin’s throat. Ronovin’s instincts, of course, told him to resist, but he had long since mastered the art of remaining calm while under torture. Such methods proved unnecessary; Milt remained excessively gentle. It was almost calming having his flank scratched. Heck with almost, it was calming.

Ronovin looked up at Milt. The younger Gaoian held his eyes closed as he calmly stroked Ronovin’s flank. Deciding to give him a few more minutes, Ronovin closed his eyes.

He awoke to a single claw at his neck. Milt stared down on him, a slight amused cock of an ear finally appearing. Milt pulled his paw away and rested his head back against the seat. Good. Maybe the cub was ready to move on.

Ronovin pulled himself upright and sat next to Milt. “Milt, I need something from you.”

Milt turned to him, glancing at him expectantly. “Oh?”

Generally, Ronovin would slowly guide his mark through a series of exercises to gradually shift their mindstate towards his desired goal. This was a useful and reliable method, but it could leave loose ends due to the not-necessarily-honest intermediate steps. Milt was broken enough as it was; Any further antagonization could have unpredictable consequences. So, rather than working slowly towards his goal, Ronovin elected to use a human strategy, the ‘hail Sophia play’. “I need you to convince Chuck that I can be trusted.”

Milt stared blankly at Ronovin for a second, then burst into a raucous chitter.

Well, that’s just cruel. He sat back in the chair, not taking his eyes off Milt. After a few seconds, he began to become a bit aggravated. He gently set a paw on Milt’s shoulder, glaring at him.

“Oh, was that not a joke?”

“No, it was not. I was stating my objective.”

Milt hesitated.

“You have something to say, cub, let me hear it.”

Milt leaned away from Ronovin, the scent of fear returning. “Are you sure? I… don’t-”

Ronovin clamped his paw around Milt’s snout. “I promise that I will not retaliate against you for whatever you say.” He let his paw down.

Milt still hesitated.

This was no good. A thorough assessment of grievances was critical to resolving Milt’s trust issues. Until Milt had opened up completely, there was little purpose in addressing whatever minor concerns managed to show themselves. It was imperative that the cub talked. “Speak your Keeda-damned mind, cub. Or I will get upset!” As much as he hated having to give the cub yet another reason to fear him, his aggressive command seemed to work.

Milt straightened himself, noticeably steeling his nerves. He then, finally, began to let his frustrations flow freely. “You lied to me, Ronovin. You lied to your own clanmate. Time and time again. I’m not sure that you’ve even told me anything that wasn’t a fabrication.”

Milt then studied him carefully, watching for any signs of hostility, no doubt. The cub had no need to worry. Even if Ronovin was not willing to entertain whatever this little cub had to say, he could still easily fall back on his interrogation strategies. There was very little that Milt could do that would truly upset him at this point. As long as he kept talking. “Go on.”

Milt dropped his jaw for a moment. “You have nothing to say for yourself?”

Ronovin dismissed him with a wave of his paw. “Later, cub. You still have more to say.”

“…Is this a game to you? Are you trying to see just how badly you can aggravate me? You sit there, pretending to care about…” He paused a moment. “I don’t even know what anymore. Every time you talk to me, I’m talking to someone else. You don’t even have the decency to use the same cover identity!”

“Anything else you have to say, cub? Does anything else bother you?”

Milt turned his head to look at his scars. After a moment he sighed and shook his head. “What do you want me to say? Do I really need to spell this out? How can I trust a Brother that would…” He trailed off as Ronovin gently ran a paw down Milt’s shoulder.

Ronovin stood and slowly maneuvered himself directly over Milt. Standing tall, he took full advantage of his imposing stature as he addressed his Brother. “I promise you this, Brother, that ends now, all of it. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Milt, of course, was taken aback. It was a moment before he spoke. “How can I trust you?”

“That concern can wait. I outrank you, Milt. You will act as ordered. Stand will me.” At Milt’s hesitation, he barked his next command. “That’s an order, Associate.”

Milt clumsily bounded upright and stood next to him.

“You are no longer allowed to show fear in my presence.”

“But-”

“No. I will not allow my Brother to show weakness.”

Milt perked an ear in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you doing?”

Ronovin sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve never tried this before.”

“Tried what?”

“Rebuilding a Brother.”

1y10m2w6d BV

Father Busani’s private yacht, en route to Gao

Whitecrest Associate Milt

“‘Rebuilding a Brother’?” Milt chittered scornfully as he leapt off the couch and began pacing. “I’m sure that sounded rather profound in your mind.”

Ronovin dropped his ears in frustration. “Ya, it kinda did.”

Milt scoffed. “You attack your own Clanbrother and I’m the one that needs to be ‘rebuilt’?”

Ronovin thoughtfully perked an ear. “I never specified which Brother I was talking about.”

Milt returned the gesture. “Oh?”

Ronovin duck-nodded.

Milt tapped his hindpaw. “Well, which Brother are you referring to?”

Ronovin shrugged.

Milt threw up with forelimbs in exasperation. “Forget it.” He turned to go back to his ‘cabin’.

“Wait.”

Milt stopped for a moment, then continued on.

“I did not give you permission to leave, Associate.”

With an annoyed twitch of the ear, Milt turned and marched up close to Ronovin and threw up his forepaws. “Well? I’m here, Officer.” It was probably unwise to act so aggressively, but Milt simply no longer cared enough to act in self preservation. At this point, Ronovin would either forgive him, or crush him. Either way, he would be no worse off by further venting his frustrations. So, ‘fuck’ it.

Ronovin stood lost in thought for a while before replying. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Milt sobered suddenly. There it is. The question that Chuck had told was coming, the question that was both inevitable and of utmost importance. While Ronovin had a great many enemies in the clan, he had a number of strong allies as well. The weight behind the favors Ronovin could call in… Milt’s response to this question could significantly affect his future with the clan, for better or for worse. As disinterested as he was in these political games, this was one opportunity he could not afford to ‘fuck up’. He had to play this very carefully.

Luckily, he and Chuck had prepared an answer. There was a good deal of thought behind this one. It was something useful, and something that Ronovin could actually help him with. Something manageable in scale, but not so small as to be trivial. It was even something that Ronovin may actually enjoy, further enhancing the potential benefits.

Milt approached Ronovin slowly, taking a deep breath before continuing. He talked in as level and calm a voice as he could manage. “Teach me how to win.”

Ronovin tilted his head. “Win? Win what?”

“Fights. Specifically fights against overwhelming opponents; Hunters, Pirates”- Milt glared at Ronovin. “-You.”

Ronovin pondered a moment, before turning to Milt with a look of concern. “Maybe I can help you Brother, maybe not. That is not an easy path. You may find the experience rather unpleasant. Are you sure that is what you want?”

Milt duck-nodded.

“Not good enough, I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you to teach me.”

Ronovin stepped back into a defense stance with a feral grin on his muzzle. “Prove it. Rip me apart.”

Milt hesitated.

“Cub, I told you, you are no longer allowed to show fear.” He slammed his forepaws together. “Come on, attack me. Don’t hold back.”

After a moment’s thought, Milt unsheathed his foreclaws and leapt forward with a growl. He swung at the elder Gaoian again and again. Each time he swung, Ronovin merely ducked out of the way. He even began to hold his forepaws behind his back!

“You’re not even trying, cub. Perhaps you don’t have the correct motivation.” Ronovin planted a hindpaw and drove his other into Milt’s belly, throwing him to the ground. “Pathetic. It’s no wonder you couldn’t save them.”

Milt stared slack-jawed at Ronovin as he recovered.

“Well? I didn’t tell you to stop. Or are you just going to give up? Again. It’s just easier that way, isn’t it?”

Milt charged at Ronovin again, swiping with each of his paws in rapid succession. Ronovin still danced around Milt’s claws as if he wasn’t even trying. Which, in all likelihood, he wasn’t. “All those Sisters too.” Ronovin shook his head sadly. “It’s a shame they didn’t have a real male to protect them.”

“I was outmatched ten to one! I couldn’t win!” Milt howled as he stopped to catch his breath.

“Sure, weakling, if that is what you have to tell yourself.”

Milt collapsed to the floor, lost in grief.

Ronovin quickly rushed to Milt’s side and pulled him back to his feet. He held him by the shoulders, consoling him. “But that’s in the past now, right? You did everything you could.” Ronovin rapidly shifted again, stepping away and resuming his combat stance. “Unfortunately, you didn’t do enough. You failed your species, you’ve failed your clan, but that isn’t enough for you anymore. Now you’ve decided that you need to fail your friends as well.”

Milt shook his head. “What are you talking about, Ronovin?”

“Oh, just a little message sent to Chuck, detailing your eventual betrayal.”

Milt stood confused. “What betrayal?”

“Just a little something I made up. About how you were willing to let the Hunters take him, because you were too much of a coward to stop them on your own.”

“That’s not true!”

“No, but I don’t have to change many details to make it believable. I’m sure you would be able to clear that up with him, but tell me this.” Ronovin ducked down and glared at him with bared fangs. “Would he ever look at you the same way again?”

Milt stood aghast.

“So cub, are you going to try to stop me?” Ronovin perked his ears malevolently, pulling out his datapad to compose his message. “Or are you determined to fail yet again.”

Milt howled and charged. He swung again and again. One of his swings nearly struck home, but Ronovin simply moved a paw to block it before resuming his typing. After barely a minute, Milt could no longer keep up, he was winded, he was beat.

With a quick snap of the wrist, Ronovin tossed his datapad over his shoulder. He turned square to Milt and shouted a single command. “Stop!”

Between Ronovin’s sudden outburst and Milt’s own growing fatigue, he complied almost immediately, whimpering.

“Do you know why you failed, Milt?”

Milt shook his head.

“You let anger control your actions. Normally this is where I would tear you down as a lesson, but you aren’t training for special operations; It would hardly be fair. Besides, you actually held your calm much better than most.”

“Wh… what?”

“You’ve got a problem, Milt. You let yourself fall to despair too easily. We can work on that, though. Capability can create its own confidence.”

“This… was a test?”

“Yes and no.” Ronovin scratched his head. “Okay, mostly yes. I have to see if you are even trainable. Now, guard yourself.”

Hesitantly, Milt set himself into a defensive stance, crouching low with his paws held out. Ronovin circled low around him. “Always stay alert, keep control of yourself. What you did before, that’s how Stoneback fights. Fury and claws and such. Effective, yes, but it takes dedication to a single form that us Whitecrest simply cannot afford to spend. Instead we must fight smart. Use the terrain, use surprise, use anything you can to win.”

Ronovin stood back up straight. “Not bad. Just remember-” He kicked his hindlimb out, sending Milt to the ground. “To always be on guard and never fight fair.”

Ronovin stepped over to help him up.

“Can we try that one more time?” Milt asked.

Ronovin dropped his ears. “You know what’s coming now, it’ll hardly be the same.”

“I know, you’ll just have to try harder.” Milt said with a taunting flick of the ear.

Ronovin growled. “I can’t promise I’ll be as gentle this time.”

Milt simply pant-grinned and began circling. This time, Ronovin threw him to the ground only seconds into the standoff. Milt made every effort to guide the direction of his fall towards the brute.

Ronovin shook his head. “I’m not sure what you expected from that Mi-” He was cut short as several thousand volts poured into his balls.

Milt set down his stun gun as he climbed to his hindpaws, admiring his handiwork. “Never fight fair, huh?” Ronovin lay twitching as his feet.

Unfortunately, this was as far as Milt’s plan went. What next? Subdue his opponent? Milt opened a pouch and pulled out a stick-n-sleep patch. He stared at it for a while. Did he really want to go that far? Ronovin would certainly be upset once he returned to the land of the mobile. Milt did have enough patches to easily delay that problem for long enough to get home. But what we he do after returning to Gao? Ronovin could easily find him. It would be best to stop now, before things got out of paw. He gently set the patch on Ronovin’s snout, still in its protective casing, then curled up next to the still-shaking Gaoian and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes Milt felt Ronovin stir. He tensed up, awaiting the inevitable retribution.

“Cute.”

Milt opened his eyes to see the patch sitting just in front of his snout. He slowly began to sit up, then jumped into the air with a yelp as a sharp pain hit his shoulder.

He stumbled forwards, stopping only once he struck a wall.

Ronovin pocketed a stun gun of his own. “Did you really have to leave it turned all the way up? I think a lower setting gets the point across just fine.” He walked over and helped Milt to his feet. “We’ll start your training when we get back to Gao.”

Unable to determine an appropriate response, Milt merely duck-nodded.

Ronovin ruffled Milt’s crest. “I doubt you could get me with that again.” He quickly blocked Milt’s attempt to jab him. “Fyu’s hairy nutsack, could you be more predictable?”

“I’ll try harder, Brother.” Milt said with a smirk.

1y10m2w4d BV

Father Busani’s private yacht, approaching Gao

Ronovin

Ronovin stood outside the door to the bridge, hesitating. He stared at the doorknob. After a moment, he tentatively moved his paw towards it.

Finally, with his teeth gritted, he surged his paw forward and grasped it. Nothing happened. With a sigh of relief, he turned the knob, sending a shock into his paw. Yelping in pain, he jumped back, cursing loudly.

Milt approached from behind. “Is something wrong, Brother?”

Ronovin turned to the subtly smirking Gaoian. “No, Milt. Everything is just fine.”

“Oh, ok. Let me know if you need any help.” Milt skipped back towards the galley.

The last two days had been a nightmare. The Keeda-damned cub had set so many traps that there was very little Ronovin could actually do without getting himself zapped. But he wasn’t going to give Milt the satisfaction of a concession. He had to draw the line somewhere. It would probably have been smart to put that line somewhere else, but he had already endured this far; There was little sense in giving up so close to Gao.

It had started harmlessly enough; A fine strand strung across a hall. Ronovin had blundered right into that nigh-invisible wire, getting a jolt to the chin for his trouble. He had taken that in good humor. After all, it was he who had blatantly expressed his doubt of his Brother’s capabilities. Then Milt did it again. This time he had somehow set up Ronovin’s fork to shock him only once it hit his tongue. Watching Milt stifle a chitter, Ronovin had decided right then and there that he would not again give Milt the satisfaction of victory.

In hindsight, that may have been a mistake. The Keeda-damned technician took to his chosen task with gusto. Ronovin may have been spared most of the cub’s tricks, if only this ship hadn’t been equipped with a Keeda-fucking nanoforge. The only saving grace was that Milt had used low-powered devices. This would have sucked otherwise.

With a sigh, Ronovin sat in the pilot’s chair, wincing preemptively. Nothing. At least Milt had the decency to never set quite the same trap twice. He began preparations for Gao approach. After everything was ready, he picked up the radio. “Whitecrest vessel requesting return vector to YEAAAOW.” He flew out of his chair, onto the ground. That had been one of the nastier ones. Panting, he slowly worked his way back to his hindpaws.

“Repeat, Whitecrest vessel? I don’t copy.”

Milt walked in and concluded the approach authorization request. He turned to Ronovin. “Quite peculiar. You never expect electronics to fail in that manner, do you?”

Ronovin just stared at the cub.

Milt tilted his head. “Nothing?” Ronovin still refused to respond. After a few seconds, Milt turned and left the bridge.

Shaking his head, Ronovin followed. As soon as he entered the hall, he stopped. Dozens of wires hung from the ceiling, stretching not quite to the floor. Milt stood at the end of the hall. “Careful, Ronovin. I think some of these are live.”

Ronovin glared at Milt. “Keeda’s nuts, this is your idea of subtlety?”

Milt shrugged. “There’s a discernible pattern, Brother.”

Begrudgingly, Ronovin studied the wires. There were indeed a few of them that stood further from the others. Carefully, he maneuvered to avoid those, keeping a watchful eye as he progressed. He had nearly reached the end of the hall when he felt a subtle jolt to his flank, just barely strong enough to announce its presence. Milt stood there holding a stun gun, a smug cock to his ears.

“Finally got you.” Milt walked away and plopped down on a seat. “It’s a shame none of the traps I set worked.” He flicked his ear jestfully. “It seems you are simply too canny to allow yourself to be caught.”

Ronovin seriously considered pouncing the runt, but to do so would be to admit defeat. Instead, he elected to simply sit beside him, grunting in amusement. “Traps? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh yes. I set a great number of traps to try to catch you off guard. But, as you have said, not one of them actually worked.” Milt ducked his head. “You’ve bested me once again.”

Ronovin tilted his head, unsure of how to respond to the blatant mockery. Best to leave it alone, for now. An obnoxious Brother was, regrettably, preferable to a reclusive one. “So it seems.”

“That does leave one question.” Milt leaned in conspiratorially. “I have no interest in agitating this Father and will thus disavow any connection… but I’ve heard of your history with him. Do you want me to leave one or two of these set after we leave?”

Ronovin pant-grinned. Now there’s a Brother he could work with. He ruffled Milt’s crest affectionately. “I don’t see how this ship’s defects could possibly be your fault.”

1y10m2w BV

Habitation Dome 2, Fyunipper Clanhouse, Haidao

Sharon Kwolek

Jeeves was exhausting. Whenever Sharon wore the neural iterator, the sheer magnitude of information forced into her mind… well, it was often overwhelming.

So she rested. Often.

The Clanhouse was decorated in a functional, practical, but bleak aesthetic; with nothing but harsh steel and distracting electronics covering the walls in most rooms.

This cold aesthetic would never have bothered her in the past but, with the introduction of Jeeves into her life, she sought nothing but perfect silence and tranquility whenever she could.

Sharon sighed softly as she lay next to a tree in one of the station’s atmospheric management domes. The gentle breeze of the air circulation systems, the heat of the local sun on her face, the subtle scents of alien flora; Here, she was at peace.

This haven, artlessly named ‘2’, was her favorite. She wasn’t quite sure why. All four of the hundred meter domes were all but indistinguishable from each other. Perhaps she preferred this one due to its distance from the noise and bustle of the more industrial areas, or perhaps she simply fell in love with the first one she had ventured into. Whatever the reason, ‘2’ just felt special.

Sharon sighed contentedly one final time before propping herself up against a tree. The day’s work was not yet complete. She pulled out a datapad and reviewed the status of her various Clanhouse improvement projects. Almost all of her design efforts to date centered on facility maintenance and repair, or, more specifically, designing and building drones that would indefinitely handle those tasks.

She laughed. Just weeks ago, building this network of drones would have been the fruits of a monumental effort, something that she could be proud of. Hell, she still was. But, with full access to a back catalog of alien engineering technology, some of these developmental projects were nothing more than merely copy-pasting existing solutions.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, as many technologies were conspicuous by their absence. Surprisingly, automation routines were among the set of suspiciously missing technologies; all but non-existent. Most Qini devices were manually directed, and the other races’ autonomous systems weren’t much better.

Sharon really didn’t want to wear Jeeves more often than necessary, so automation was one of her first priorities. Jeeves helped significantly with the task of designing its ‘replacements’. Its ability to communicate with and translate for anything allowed her to design systems using not-entirely-thorough processes via a vague set of instructions and goals. All she had to do was imagine what sort of thing the drone should be seeking and what it should do once it found what it sought. Jeeves would handle the rest, producing and uploading the god-awful block of code required to emulate her instructions.

That wasn’t quite accurate. Close, but still not quite there. She was writing the code herself, just not consciously. The various sub-components of her subconsciousness planned out snippets of instruction sets to feed to Jeeves. It then ran a simulation on the Clanhouse’s servers, feeding the results back to her through her goggles and headset. From there, the magic of human instinct took over, determining exactly where the instruction set failed and suggesting a slight nudge that may push the instruction in the the desired direction. Jeeves would read this nudge, convert it back into code, and shunt it back to be processed again. This process was performed billions of times per second over millions of small neural clusters. With coding methods like this available, how the hell had the aliens not automated everything? Perhaps this class of technology was something that she could provide to them in the future? Maybe, but that was something to worry about later.

With the Clanhouse rapidly being restored to full functionality, she had turned here attention to facility improvements. The first task on her list was connectivity and surveillance. If Jeeves was going to let her seamlessly monitor the facility, the Clanhouse should probably be able to provide all the information she could possibly need. So, she built. The nano-forge produced microphones, sensor suites, cameras of all wavelengths and more. Enough to put Big Brother to shame.

The thousands of cameras already scattered around the station could feed their imagery directly into her consciousness via Jeeves’ compression routines. Precise optic and aural events triggered and combined her memories, allowing sufficiently detailed renderings to be simply ‘appear’ in her mind. This ghostly illusion of sensed reality floated ‘in front’ of her. Not in her visual field of view, but somewhere similar. And all around her. Kinda. It was really hard to describe ‘seeing’ something from a third person viewpoint, but still at your consciousness.

Even if she couldn’t describe how she saw, she could at least describe what she saw, which was everything. She often found herself looking at, well, herself. This created something almost like an out-of-body experience, and yet not; She still retained her body’s complete local awareness.

Then there were the things that she could see, but really wish that she couldn’t. There was something deeply disconcerting about being keenly aware of her skeleton’s motion as she walked, that particular rendering reconstructed using imagery from nearby x-ray cameras.

Huh… that raises a good point. She really needed to figure out where the hell those x-rays were coming from, they weren’t too strong, but even so, that couldn’t be good for her DNA.

Anyways, what next. Oh, her home. She spent nearly a full morning designing the perfect living quarters. A few quick modifications to the maintenance bots, and the new design was automatically implanted into the Clanhouse’s default blueprints.

Sharon found it deeply amusing that, upon entering a futuristic near-utopian society, her chosen domicile would be a log cabin, in a biodome, on a lunar station. A log cabin with cleverly hidden advanced electronics and one hell of a shower, but a log cabin nevertheless. Well… ok, the logs were technically plastic, but still, the textured surfaces should be almost spot on. She was eagerly anticipating its completion in a week or two.

She stopped and shook her head. Back to the list, what’s next? Production facilities? Supply management? No, first she would design and construct fail-safe redundant sub-systems. No one could ever complain about having too many backups.

She began mentally visualizing the systems that she knew would need to be implemented. Soon, she would have to don Jeeves to complete the bulk of the development process, but for now she simply sat back and imagined, priming her subconsciousness for the tasks ahead.

Her meditations were interrupted by the arrival of her Gaoian cohabitant. She sighed half-heartedly and turned on her translator.

He entered the dome, glanced around and made a beeline towards her on all fours. “There you are Sharon; What’s taking so long? Where is the next prototype?”

Sharon sighed. “Daar…” She shook her head. “I’ll get back to that in a little while. I need this place running smoothly first.”

He perked an ear. “The Clanhouse worked well enough before.”

Sharon chuckled grimly. “Barely. Sure enough systems were still running to live here, but if you want great things, we need the whole place running well. I want to do that right, and that takes time.”

Darpin sighed. “How much time?” He pulled out his datapad and sent a few files to hers. “See? I’ve got new ideas all ready to go.”

“Why don’t you build those ideas and see how they work?”

Darpin stopped and tapped his paws together. “I, uh, did.” He ducked his head pleadingly. “I really need your help.”

Sharon sighed as she stood up and walked over the the Gaoian. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll help you with these for one hour, but after that, I’m getting back to rebuilding the Clanhouse.”

Darpin chittered happily as he tried to drag her towards the industrial parts of the facility.

Sharon couldn’t help but smile. As frustrating as Darpin was at times, there was just something so… alive about him that she could help but envy, and admire. “Alright Daar, I can walk on my own. Let’s go and see what you have.”

1y9m3w BV

Carpe Aeternum, docked at Tradestation Crimson Hamlet

Chuck

Chuck pulled the newly duplicated blade and grips out of the nano-replicator. He then set the parent components into the adjacent nano-forge and immediately began a deconstruction sequence.

Purchase of the Prototyper’s Addendum to his nano-forge’s license had been a godsend. With the addendum, anything that the nano-forge printed could be deconstructed to refund its cost. The fact that he still held a copy of the printed entities would probably rather upset the nano-devices’ manufacturer, Zeilcorp, if they knew of it, but he planned on correcting Bysteel Craftworks’ not-quite-illegal practices long before the company grew big enough for anyone important to take notice.

Chuck set the newly-minted components on a desk next to a number of other variants he had already crafted. He took a step back, admiring the fruits of his labor. A few dozen blades of various sizes lay on the counter, an attempt to cater to all the sapients of the Dominion. Some of the blades featured his inertial amplification package, and some -his most recent addition among them- utilized a fusion edge.

Chuck selected a lightweight fusion blade, one about the length of a dirk. He grabbed the blade and its accompanying grips and left his ship.

He arrived at Brrtklklk’s Human Items to find the chipper Rrrrtk packing a pair of small crates. Bart turned to look at him as Chuck entered the shop.

“Hello, Chuck. What brings you to my emporium?”

Chuck smiled as he set a few items on Bart’s counter. “I finally have the first production model of the knife ready. Watch this.”

Bart looked on curiously as Chuck carefully screwed the ceramic clad polymer grips to the impossibly forged, fusion-edged blade. He turned his palms up, showcasing the piece.

Bart stepped back to study Chuck more intently. “I believe that I lack critical context. What is it that you have attempted to demonstrate?”

Chuck beamed. “This is a genuine human designed, human assembled knife!”

“I was under the impression that this blade was constructed via nano-technology.”

“No, it was assembled right here in front of you, using some parts that were built in a nano-forge. I certainly do not have the time or skill needed to hand build this, but hand assembly?” He completed his statement by gesturing again to the blade in front of him. “I’m sure, in time, counterfeit copies will start showing up. But even then, this one is human assembled. I would imagine that should increase its value.”

Bart nodded. “I cannot know what effect the ‘human assembled’ designation will have on the value of such a weapon… But, it would undoubtedly enhance its value to collectors of human relics. Are you ready to commence production?”

“I am.” Chuck bowed slightly. “I have a full line of these blades available. Here.” Chuck sent a picture of his blade-filled table to Bart’s datapad. “I would imagine that the non-fusion blades will be more popular among collectors, but perhaps some sapients will want a more useful blade.”

Bart carefully scrolled across the photo. He picked up the blade in front of him, igniting the edge. “Am I correct in assuming that every variant of the blade shares this sample’s weighty construction?”

“The non-powered blade is slightly lighter, but all of these are quite lightweight compared to what a human would find appropriate.” He pointed to one of the longer blades in the picture. “That one there. Just over a meter long, and barely point eight kilograms in weight. Over half of that is in the inertial system. With a blade that long, the inertial system nearly quintuples the impact force. Alternatively, the inertial system can be foregone to yield a blade barely over a third of a kilo in mass.”

Bart glanced between the image and blade a few more times before apparently coming to a decision. “I believe that we are ready to commence distribution, Chuck.”

The two of them spent several minutes ironing out the details of the arrangement, deciding on a consignment pricing model until a market price could be properly established. Their business concluded, Bart returned to packing his crate.

“Where are you headed?”

Bart looked up. “It is time that I journey back to Sol. Too much time has passed since my last visit to your system.”

Cruck was confused. “What do you expect to find there?”

Bart sighed. “Admittedly, very little. Without an excursion to Earth’s surface, there is likely little of any significance to be uncovered.” He glanced back at Chuck. “But I must try. There is little to be gained through waiting in this shop.”

“Okay, what’s stopping you from landing on Earth?” Chuck waved Bart down as he attempted to interject. “I know, a whole lot of things, but list them out.”

“Hmm, as Earth is pre-contact, remaining unseen is imperative. Your species wields a surprisingly robust surveillance network, rendering stealth infeasible without relying on advanced cloaking technology. Once there, I would require a personal cloaking field to go unnoticed, as well as an absurdly robust hazardous environment suit.” Bart pondered a moment. “It is a short, but challenging list.”

Chuck smiled. “Okay, now, why do you need to go there. What can you not do from here?”

“Well… let me take a leap back. There are three classes of entities that a society can provide to the galaxy at large, three entities that are not easily found elsewhere.” He counted off on his fingers. “Cultural entities, biological entities and technological entities.”

“Now, I may be new here, but it seems to me that Earth’s technology is either irrelevant or easily acquired digitally, rendering that classification moot.”

“For the most part, yes. In addition, I have little interest in pursuing biological entities at this time.” He stopped a moment. “That leaves culture. The physical objects that match that designation are commonly broken into the categories of relics and art.”

Chuck pointed at Pioneer 10 “Well, you’ve already started on the relics.”

Bart sighed. “Most relics of any note are locked away in museums.”

Chuck shook his head. “I doubt that. The world famous ones? Sure. But there are plenty of lesser relics to go around.” He pondered a moment. “But I wouldn’t know what would sell. That leaves art.”

“Yes. Sculpture, paintings, anything not easily replicated.”

“Music… no. Instruments!”

Bart nodded. “In particular, ones made out of wood indigenous to Earth. Others can be constructed here.”

“Wood… Bart, you are a genius! That is what I am missing! I need to go to Earth.”

Bart stepped back. “Chuck, you cannot return to Earth. Landing a ship on a pre-contact world could be profoundly disastrous.”

Chuck shrugged. “So I’ll need to cloak the Carpe Aeternum. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I am not convinced of the ease of such as action.”

Chuck merely smiled as he left the shop. “Thank you Bart. Good luck in your travels.”

The Carpe Aeternum would need several upgrades in preparation for his trip to Earth. He began preparing a query to Pekin.