Sins of the Aether

[TheDutchman]

"Escalation" seems to be the theme of this chapter: from the Sith response--specifically Yn's pendulum-like action in achieving success to almost disasterous defeat--to Valance's force, to Eileithyia's role as "weapon of mass destruction" (which is in itself an irony given how she is the ONLY one--barring the other two Gen 30s--able to trigger and maintain the Obeliscus Aetheris Inanis, to the machinations within the Technocracy, to Atlantiades' role in "fertilization," we're treated to the remarkably inevitable runaway present in its collision towards the future and the Devastation.

With Korlas we see how in desperation and hubris her attempts to bring the future into clarity in the present have the most dire of consequences (one wonders if Grathoss will make good on his internal promise to ensure that neither she nor Chrell qualify for Deferment and are given over to the fichas for Resolution).  What's worse is that amidst their vocal assertions that they did nothing wrong, it was the other, et al. they all neglected to consider "WHY" the noctilith obelisk shattered and what such represents (especially to the Technocracy).

Then Jival's proven methods seemed to have met their match with Moran.  But what is his story?  Why was he pulled from the project over 20 Orbitals ago to now resume his position?  Clearly politics are somewhat to blame but there is more to the story, Sub Rosa to be sure.  Consider how Moran's strictures of a 2 Orbital timeline has induced Jurahl to commit to experimentation absent his usual thorough processes.

One wonders if, for all of Valance's (and more broadly the Technocracy's) actions against the Sith, that they end up making their downfall its own self-fulfilling prophecy.  Consider just how rabid Yn's need for conquest is based on logistics as well as desire for power.  Darth Yn strikes me as the kind who will ALWAYS covet the hidden treasure that much more to the plunder in the open.

But the Technocracy isn't the only entity with multiple motives at work: Impes own encounters with Atlantiades seem to also have unexpected implications and results.  With all of this mixed altogether, the inexorable conflagration seems all too certain.

Again: escalation...and unexpected consequences.

Meta-note: This is LSG's best chapter (IMO) yet: action, intrigue, mulitple, disparate threads headed towards one another in what I'm sure will be a monumental event.

But I'd also like to give some of the details their due: the characterization from the Darths (LOVE the Dark Side Wookie, the precog Iktochi, and, of course everyone's favorite warlord Yn), to the members of the Technocracy (and Eileithyia in particular with her absolutely necessary secrets) are what are missing from Disney Star Wars.  And supplementing this is the INCREDIBLE art throughout the chapter! 

THIS is the way to tell a "prequel:" without feeling like there is no mystery or conflict, "Sins" keeps you on the edge of your seat!  Indeed, this is a graphic example of how the journey is just as (if not moreso) important as the destination 

Next chapter please!

[Lord_S_Gray]

 

Chapter 6 - Part 1

Byss Run Between Albon and Kaarv

With a stuttering lurch the Carrion Hauler dropped out of hyperspace, Clod felt searing pain as his skull all but cracked as he flew forward in the rusted old Corellian freight hauler.

“Waaa, what daaa…” he stared at empty space around him as Ban-Bab beside him likewise recovered, the corpulent gungan long face falling

“Deez massa’s n’ gunna be mad at yousa!”
“Mad at boff of uz!” Clod replied through his toothless mouth.  He was hauling Cocosae and Zerisium from Albon to the Armada over Kaarv before it departed for Scelle. If a Carrion Hauler went rogue or came late most often the Ghoul Skins’d have the crew for lunch to make an example like.

“What en dropped us out, Fixer! Fixer!” he yelled to the mechanic

The ship bumped again, not gravitic Turbulence common round these parts something hit it…

Suddenly Clod felt sleepy, eyes couldn’t keep open…he…he….

…woke up to see himself in the back hold, cramped with the rest of the crew, all piled atop each other, even the naked old Kallu that lurked the ship and he could never seem to get rid of was there.

And in front of them soldiers of some type in grey armour.

Valence observed the lesser beings, the slaves of the Sith.  Labour inputs nothing more.

With him were the first ten Guardians who had received the mimetic burst direct into their Aethenaean Cortex of the curated and cleansed knowledge of ‘Darth Rael’ whom he had defeated on Albon.

Already copies of the outsiders filtered knowledge were being made, mimetic instruction was being provided to 50 Guardians per Rotational, with more copies it would soon be 200 - within 10 Rotations the full Guardian force would have the ‘Darth’s’ complete knowledge of the Sith structure, tactics, culture, composition as well as her keen close combat skills.

Clod felt himself rise lifted by an invisible hand

“Yeuh a‘re ‘ship’m’ster?” a soldier in black asked in a quick clipped voice

“Yaar…” Clod replied - or rather his voice did, he seemed to have no agency over his own body.

“Good…” Valence began inserting the instruction with the Aether…no sooner had he commenced that blood dripped from the labour inputs nose, its eyes rolling back.

“Weak things,” his second in Command Teryce Tal Nadya noted

It was true this was the fourth one whose mind had been broken beyond repair, he hurled the body aside with the aether.

The rest of the boarding team were working rapidly to inject the Cocosae nuts and water takers with a modified strain of Banthanaerfus Aethanpathicus repository illness that would not activate until in a host body.   

The disease would not kill many Sith labour units, that was not its intention - its goal was to diminish their efficiency by damaging their respiratory system permanently - a million inefficient slaves - Valence and Kestis had determined in collaboration - were more of a burden than a million dead ones. A million dead slaves they would be forced to replace straight away - a million slow weak ones would fester and degrade operation efficiency over a protracted period and be replaced ad-hoc.

Valence contemplated the remaining functional labour inputs, he settled his eyes on the thin naked creature - according to Raels memories this was some kind of ‘Religious’ figure.

The antiquated notion puzzled Valence, but perhaps that would be more effective. He raised the Kallu with the Aether in a vice-like grip.

“You are the Religious leader of this group? You have spiritual influence over the beings of the Armada?”

If the dark skinned Kallu understood it made no mention, till Valence applied more pressure in the Aether to its fragile mind and it ‘nodded’.

“You see this crate, and those orbs” he gestured to a container they had filled with 24 newly primed Aetheric Observation and Tracing Orbs, a fist in diameter, all pure Noctilith.

“At your next opportunity you will provide orbs to other religious men such as yourself and explain they are invested with whatever sanctification you prize.  You will encourage the distribution of one Orb to each of the E-Temmen-Anki dreadnaughts on the basis of whatever ‘holy’ reason seems best suited to achieve that outcome,” 

Each word was written in the Kallu half mad psyche with the noctilith pen of Aetheric Cognitive override, there was little left of the Kallu mind expect that instruction by the end of Valences words.

“The bio-load has been distributed,” Teryce confirmed

“We leave immediately,” Valence dropped the Kallu and turned swiftly for the Phaethon Glider they had docked with, there could be no further delay to this vessels return to the armada now it was loaded with the Technocracies intended payloads. 

As Valence stepped aboard the aethan craft he sensed Kestis mind reach out to him via the link orb on his hip.

While Gen 30 and naturally superior to Kestis, Valence had never sought to supplant him as Guardian Primus.

Kestis remained an effective leader, disruption would benefit no one and Valence was able to execute any mission he wished with consultation and often valuable feedback from Kestis.

“The Mission on Kaarv has succeeded,” Valence informed his squad,
“We have now one more stop to make,”

<<<<>>>

   

Kaarv Orbit - Malevolens Mictlanis

His boots pounded the half rusted decks of the E-Temmen- Anki - shaking it out of time with the rumbles of the engines and groans of the slaves.

Serfs, helots, Preceptors, Ghouls Skins, even Kallu fled from the path of their Dominars rage hiding in corners or fleeing down corridors.

Only Eidea, dragged by the chain around her neck was forced to remain within the seething rage filled aura of Lord Yn as he descended to the darker loading bays where the veined Meditation sphere awaited.

Impes blew an annoyed sigh as she sensed his coming, stepping out of the sphere to meet him.

“I conquered a planet and lost a Lord!” he boomed as soon as he entered the docking bay that was her work shop, home and sanctum, replete with vials, cauldrons and fetishes lit by tallow candles

He dropped the chain he had been dragging Eidea with and pounded up to Impes who stood arms crossed defiant.

His bulk enhanced by the Annunaki Shell towered over the slim sith witch.

“Half the mining spears gone, dozens of swords and the Dark side itself ripped from me!  And where you were my loyal ally? Where were your magicks when I needed them!” he spat the words in her face, spittle landing on her brow.

He jutted a spike armored finger in her face, voice low and menacing,

“You better have something to deal with these grey armours,”

“Foruntately for you,” Impes said evenly wiping the spit off her face,

“I do…”

From her pouch she produced a small glass vial filled with a black liquid

“Refined from the Grey-armour corpses we got on Keeara, imbibing this will give you, for a little while, their strength, speed and ability to sense them - I think,”

“You think?!” Yn retorted crossing his arms and backing away his rage diminished by Impes progress

“Alchemy is art not science, especially with these creatures,”  she reflected on the Fae-child, it had been partly understanding the Fae-child more that helped her craft the tincture. She kept that fact to herself.

Yn snatched it from her hand, popped off the top and sniffed the metal rich blood base of the tincture,

“I wouldn’t do that,” she warned before he tasted it

“Why?”

“If I am right, then the effect, while powerful, is probably fatal.  These Grey Armours, their proteins have an infuriating way of turning toxic when exposed to any other life form - as if they reset the fact anything but their genetics exists,” 

Yn handed the vial back as quickly as he could.

“How much do you have?” he growled

“Two cauldrons, three, four hundred vials perhaps, but choose who you give them to wisely,”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he grunted before leaving to distract himself with some more enjoyable pursuits.

<<<<>>>

Upper Elysain Road enroute to Aethas

He protected her.

Or perhaps he protected others from her.

Unlike the retreat from Kaarv this time Eileithyia didn’t have to worry about ‘escaping’ back to the tunnels on her own.

“You served your function well Unit 3,” Kestis had thought to her privately on the Phaethon Glider as they left covered by Nyx shrouds.

The Sith second and third waves descended to meet the rising wrath of the Darths.  Kaarv’s population would no doubt suffer immensely for the damage the Aethans had inflicted, but that was not the Technocracies' concern.

“I will escort you back to your…accomodation…on our return, for now rest and heal I will use you again very soon,”

She sat in the corner away from the others, and detached as far as she could from the group-mind, healing herself via geno-reversion as the burn out from aether overuse slowly subsided as the hours in hyperspace passed.

There were many casualties, from 40 deployed 11 were dead, 13 severely injured. Kestis had captured the head of a ‘Darth’, now sealed in the cryo chest they had emptied of its food packs and kolto patches -  and would hand it over to the Aethengineers to attempt to extract its memory.

But so far as Kestis thoughts were concerned it was a success, the Sith denied precious resources and the Inanis tested successfully.

As the time passed Kestis' thoughts turned to personal matters, he wondered if he would see the Gen 28 woman again at the Hetairon.  Wondered if he should tell her of his success, or would that be too boastful?

Eileithyia sat silently unable to block his thoughts, and not wanting to, he had, even for his own purposes, saved her, and was, if for purely utilitarian reasons - looking after her.

It was much like Mentor, though at least Kestis motivations were not so obscure. 

She wondered what it might feel like if he wanted to protect her for herself not as part of a mission or strategic objective.

It was how she imagined Aethena would care for her, as a loving older sister…

A sister who would protect her out of love not duty,

A sister who would guide her with affection and care, not harsh punishment like Mentor.

Of that perfect Sister she could only dream…she might not have a sister, but she did have, if unwittingly, a lover.


You will see that ‘gen 28’ again Kestis… Eileithyia thought as she quickly repaired her cells and very soon at that

 

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 - Part 2

Aethas - Genos Ziva

“I admit my knowledge of aether induced gamete pairing and uterine wall cellular anchoring is not as advanced as yours…” Essea said as she scrolled down the tap-pad that detailed Doctor Calrahns detailed, and thus far successful, insemination Protocols,

“...however these processes seem…unusual, are you certain this is valid?” he looked up to the desk across the room where Moran was, as always, buried in documents

He didn’t look up

“He is getting results that is all the validity I need for now,”  Moran replied - his voice, like his face, showing his age more than usual in Essea’s presence.

“You didn’t come here to scrutinize the work of my staff, Director,” he addressed her formally.

“No I did not, you know of course Grathoss paid me a visit,”

“Over 40 rotationals ago, why bring it up now?”

“He’s watching, I needed a reason to see you…I will leave these in you in tray…and request you spare some growth pods and bio-synthesizers to my Directorate,”  she gestured to the flap-case of requests for various resources to be directed to her projects she had left idly on the visitors chair when she entered.

Moran grunted but added nothing

“Grathoss is getting close, Moran,” she said sternly as he continued to look down.

“If he’s talking to you he’s asking the wrong people,” Moran retorted

“But the right questions, the Uranium-238-Tetrairon-Phospholipid Complexes, the timing of the ‘end’ of Project Aethenaea, it’s only a matter of time,”

Now Moran looked up, his old eyes accusing

“Are you afraid of him, is that it…” his tone took on that of a cruel lesson-master

“..and coming to me for what, safety?  He’s been on you for Orbitals, that was your role after all, he’s your problem not mine,”

Essea leaned into the conflict irritated at the old man

“You still think She will protect you if Grathoss finds out, don’t you? After what happened?  Have you even spoken to Her in the 22 Orbitals since?”

“I don’t need Her protection,” he spat back, she had hit a nerve,

“But you obviously still need mine, blackstone skinned freak,”

The blunt personal insult to her skin colouration abnormality was beneath him. Moran was an easy man to respect for his work, Essea knew, but a nigh impossible man to respect for himself.

Yet…Essea drew back…this wasn’t like him, he might think such things but he would never be so short tempered to say it…but then when was the last time since she had spoken to him in person? 

22 Orbitals…

A night she dared not remember, the blood, the small bundle passed between them - the fury of a Goddess that almost consumed them….it was enough to make a lesser generation shudder.

has he aged so much in that time? her face and aetheric aura betrayed not anger at the crass insult, but concern.

Somehow that made him more irate, his aether presence bubbling with indignation to be ‘pitied’

“If you can’t handle the ficha, I will,” he growled then waved her away,

She turned, pausing only briefly to look back at him, concern still clear.

Then seeing he was in no mood to acknowledge her any longer she left.

Time passed in the reviewing of documents, the allocation of scarce resources, finally long past midnight he summoned Calrahns tap pad with a telekinetic aether lift.

He scrolled across hundreds of lines of text and formulae, intricate diagrams of innumerable gossamer lines linking nucleic acids with short hand indicators for the aetheric potentials needed to ensure binding.

Many Orbitals ago, at the height of Project Aethenaea he would’ve dissected this in moments…now….

His face scrunched in frustration.

Essea was right, he didn’t understand it, not fully…but he trusted Calrahn and the Aephordaea teams dedication to Gensis Deus, they would do nothing to imperil it.

Regardless soon…soon it wouldn’t matter.

Founder help him…he thought as his hand shook with tremors he now struggled to conceal…it had to be soon.

<<<<>>>>

Dr. Jurahl Fid Calrahn strode with pride and purpose the clinically white halls of the Genos Ziva to the directors office, Jival beside him less than her usual perky self dreading her next meeting with Grathoss.

Regardless, her sacrifices were being rewarded, and the summons from the Director was proof of that.

There was no secretary at the door, the desk vacant, Moran had dispensed of any assistance preferring to take on full administrative duties. 

He was as secretive as he was ruthless it seemed.

“Come in Doctor,” he called from behind the door that slid open.

Moran was behind his desk, half a dozen Link orbs before him, his desk screens scrolling through the results Jurahl had forwarded the night before from Lindea’s first post insemination inspection.

The tramp as well, Moran thought at Jival as she followed Jurahl in.

Unfortunately for Moran he had thought so loudly both Jurahl and Jival could hear it as clearly as if he’d spoken it, either a bizarre deliberate insult or an embarrassing slip. 

Jurahl had to admit, Moran did not look well, he appeared fatigued, any Aethan over Gen 20 could go for weeks without full sleep by cycling conscious levels, but he seemed to have not slept in an Orbital - as if Moran was making up for his Orbitals of absence with over work now.

“Well Doctor it seems you’ve succeeded where so many others have failed. Not only successful insemination but accelerated fetal development - five times standard progression,”

“It has been a moderate success,” Jurahl replied, imitating the humility of Soron Varas.

“And the means you used to achieve that success,” Moran stabbed leaning forward “What of those?”

“All that is detailed in the reports I provided,” Jurahl said without a hint of defensiveness, it was true, he had clearly detailed his methods in his report…

He had just omitted the exact source of the Zygote and to mention the Caldoth Codicies where he had learned the techniques - that in all humility he had of course appropriately modified for Aethan characteristics . 

“So it seems. And on that basis I’m ordering you to immediately prepare mimetic burst training orbs on the procedure, begin harvesting more zygotes from you ‘sources’ and commence a full roll out of insemination across the population,”

Both Doctors had to contain their surprise, such an acceleration and utter carte blanche was…unparalleled.  It was more than Jurahl could ever have hoped for, Atlantiades, mass produced using the wombs of every woman on the planet!

“Director Piron,” Jival said less certain

“Have you thoroughly reviewed the protocols we provided you with? Are you certain the full Directorate approves of such a rollout?”

What are you doing?! Jurhal hissed telepathically to her This is all we’ve ever wanted!

Yes, but this seems too quick, something is not right here - what if we are being set up for failure? A Failure that would lead to a more extensive investigation into where the zygotes and methods came from…   

True….that is why I rely on your political astuteness Jival Jurahl agreed on reflection, Jival was an expert in such politicking within the Technocracy.

Neither could’ve anticipated Moran's response.

“Don’t you question me cheap tramp!” he yelled, he made to leap up but staggered his hands propping him up on his desk

“I’ve been guiding Gensis Deus since before you had hair to twirl. The mandate is clear every womb filled, a ‘monumental’ task you said, so get to it the both of you, I want 50 women inseminated within 3 rotationals, a hundred in 6. 

You two have stolen more than enough equipment over the last few orbitals to manage that I think! Now you’ll have the full authroised capacity of the Directorate behind you! 

But if even one insemination fails I’ll hand you over to the fichas for embezzlement and insubordination!"

While far too advanced to show shock or confusion, both Jurahl and Jival certainly had trouble comprehending the logic behind Moran’s reaction.

To see a man who had had such glorious success as Project Aethenaea turn so furious over a seemingly pedestrian question was…illogical.

Had he always been so…unstable?   

Jurahl wondered what chemical imbalances in his brain might cause such a reaction. Jival wondered what secret agenda Moran was trying to further - or conceal - beneath the project's success.

Regardless Jival realized with no small amount of glee she might no longer need Grathoss poison chalice of an alliance much longer.

And the Doctors would not lose this chance to further the Program in accordance with their own designs.

“I will not rest until a hundred are inseminated as per your instruction Director,” Jurahl said with a nod, Jival guiding him out.

As soon as the door closed behind them Moran slunk into his chair, his shaking hand activating a small Aetheric Environmental suppression orb to conceal his next action he commenced Aetheric Somatic Reassembly, continuing the futile efforts of repairing his degrading form.

A quote from an ancient tale of old Katarr coming to mind as he fought the inevitable result of…

“...no mortal may see my face and live…” he grizzled
   

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

 

Chapter 6 - Part 3

Aethas - Alixandraea  Hetairon 3

“Waiting for someone in particular?”

Eileityia felt shocked as someone spoke to her. 

She was standing as always close to a column in the shadows of the Hetairon, her immaculate gen 28 glamour in place as individuals arrived, coupled and headed into the apartments, then left some half hour or even less later.

Arriving back on Aethas and through decontamination had been mercifully uneventful, and as he had promised Kestis had escorted her back to her underground hovel.

Kestis was eager to be rid of her, both were surprised Mentor wasn’t there,  Kestis thoughts were consumed with getting to the Hetairon to see if the ‘Gen 28 woman’ was there again, but he had other reports to make first.

She had showered, changed and headed straight there to ‘meet’ him….but now she had been there over two arns waiting for Kestis to arrive.

She feared he might not come at all that night depending what his other duties required.

“No, just assessing my options,” Eilieythia replied with practised indifference turning to see another Gen 28 woman behind her, her features subtly different from Eileithyia’s mask.

“Hmmmm…” she didn’t seem convinced

“...and here I was thinking you had a thing for a certain Gen 26 Officer,” the Gen 28 woman playfully jibed

“...you’re not the only one who notices all the couplings you know,” she added

Eilieythia experienced a brief flare of danger sense, glacial blue in her sixth level of consciousness, but it didn’t last, it was perfectly rational, everyone watched everyone and she had been here often of late.

“Don’t be bashful, he’s in very good shape, I don’t blame you - perhaps I’m just jealous I didn’t capture him first,”

Eileithyia knew she was just trying to be friendly, but as Mentor always said….”if those fichas ever catch you…” she had to be so careful,

“Jival Pon Rrist,” the other woman introduced herself, extending her hand and a fourth conscious level, the typical protocol for an introduction.

Swiftly wiping any possibly incriminating thoughts from that level Eileithyia took her hand in greeting, an odd sensation for Eileithyia to actually touch another aethan, but she saw no alternative without raising more suspicion.

“Ari K’av Saana,” Eileityia replied, one for six different false names she had in the bio Census for situations such as this.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ari,” Jival said, her grip warm and confident.

She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a low purr. “So, are we just here for the scenery, or do you have someone else in mind for tonight? There’s a certain Gen 29 Aethengineer I’ve been trying to get the attention of—Nimos Rof Hteyt - he’s a bit aloof, but so brilliant! My friend Jurahl says I should give up, but I love the challenge.”

Eileithyia felt a flicker of genuine amusement. It was odd, hearing someone talk so openly about such a familiar, yet alien, social ritual.

“He sounds… intriguing,” Eileithyia replied, allowing a small, graceful smile to play on her lips. “I’ve just been taking a bit of a break from it all. Sometimes it’s nice to simply watch.”

Jival laughed, a bright, melodic sound that echoed the vibrant aetheric hue of her conscious level.

“Oh, don’t be like that! Life’s too short for breaks. Enjoy all the Precedenture you can before Resolution!"

She looked Eileithyia up and down, her gaze appreciative. “You've got an interesting look, you know - curious - very Gen 28, almost stereotypically so, nothing distinct - mysterious, couldn’t pick you in a crowd…must drive them crazy.”

Eileithyia felt a surge of genuine warmth from her commenting on each other's appearance and speculating on the subtle variations of gene expression that was common among women, or so she’d heard. 

It was a fleeting but powerful feeling of normalcy, she was just another woman, a part of the vibrant, bustling life of the Hetairon.

Jival’s smile suddenly vanished. Her eyes, which had been sparkling with friendly banter, turned sharp and focused.

“Oh, look who it is,” she whispered, her conscious level tightening with annoyance and aetheric disgust.

Eileithyia followed her gaze.

A few dozen yards away, a man with a distinct air of authority was entering the Hetairon. Gen 29, his movements precise and purposeful, and his aetheric presence artificially warm.

Every other woman seemed to look at him dotingly, some even turning from the partners they were already talking with.

Grathoss was not here to amuse them or indulge himself, but to receive his report.

Jival quickly broke off her gaze and began to walk away, a new urgency in her stride.

“Another time Ari, it seems my intended Gen 29 is working late, and I need to… well, let’s just say he’s not the only one who needs to work,” she said, not looking back.

Her final thought to Eileithyia was a resigned mix of duty and half pleasure.

Eileithyia watched her go, a sense of loss and unease settling over her. The brief moment of normalcy was gone.

The world, her world, was once again full of shadows and lurking threats.

The arns passed, the crowd dwindled, matches were made simply out of lack of options rather than desire, she was about to leave, when Kestis finally arrived.

He looked over the Hetairon and saw her instantly, his sense seemingly extra keen.

She was too excited to wait studying up to him, Chiton flowing with red flickers of aetheric energy.

Kestis stood transfixed, feeling as if the Personifications of Aethas had blessed him with success in war and now the most desirable woman on the planet beside Aethena herself.

Eleityia held out her hand “Well Guardian Primus?” she said, Kestis could barely contain his surprise, to think a Gen 28 had waited for him and taken the time to look him up on the bio Census was astonishing.

“Shall we?”

<<<<>>>>

Jival entered the Precedenture chamber with a detached air, the cold, sterile environment a welcome respite from the chaotic aetheric chatter of the Hetairon.

Grathoss wasted no time hurling off his white gormin leather coat and setting his Resolution dagger on the table, bio monitors already scanning them in and assessing conception success estimates.

"Your work is... progressing," he said, the word "progressing" delivered with a hint of grudging approval.

"The Caldoth Protocols have proven their worth, it seems. A successful insemination, even Anderis is pleased,"

Jival felt the bio-bed adapted to her posture as she lay back shuffling off her own clothes.

“Very successful, Moran just approved a full rollout,”

 A dangerous stillness settled over Grathoss's aetheric presence

“He did, did he, and how did you convince him of that?”

He finished removing his clothes as he spoke, the full streamlined superhuman musculature of his Gen 29 frame dwarfing her

“I didn’t,” Jival remained calm even as Grathoss loomed over her, if she didn’t know better she might imagine he was jealous 

“I had no need to even seduce him, he was convinced by Jurahls work on its own merits,” she explained omitting key details

“Which is why I came tonight to tell you before the larger work commences, once it does I won’t have time to meet you here any longer,” she continued the half truths, confident enough that she knew Grathoss well enough to subvert even his keen ability to detect untruths so long as he remained clouded by his own ambition and petty jealousies.

“Is that so,” He swung above her on the bed glaring down at her.

“Then you will have no further need of my special deliveries,” he half grinned then kissed at her neck,

Do not forget the telepathically pushed into her second and this conscious levels

Who provided you with the Caldoth codices Calrahn so relies upon, the samples from Aethena and Valence, the kolto, centrifuges, growth tanks….it was my hand that lifted you up, 

She shifted uncomfortably beneath him

...and mine that can push you back down

<<<<>>>>

“Ari,” she said after they had finished multiple conception attempts that she knew were futile, yet Kestis had engaged with vigour,

“That is my name,” she added fixing her hair knowing it was a lie, a strategic one in that it would align with what she had told Jival should Kestis investigate further, but a lie all the same.
Kestis sat on the edge of the bio-bed, the aetheric hum of its diagnostic functions a soothing undertone as read outs analysing every moment of their activities scrolled by. 

Eileithyia couldn’t help but keep one eye on them in case any misaligned to how a Gen 28 should perform were present.

“Thank you,” he replied, then stared at the floor for a moment.

“I don’t want to trouble you, I wonder if you have a moment to speak…”

She paused and slid over to him,

“I’ll listen,” she offered falsifying disinterest

“I confess, Ari,” he began, his voice soft,

“I’ve been thinking about you constantly since the moment I saw you. The mission to Kaarv… it was a success, but it was also a reminder of how fragile our lives are. It makes an Aethan think.”

Eileithyia felt a pang of annoyance, she knew that victory was only made possible by her own efforts - he was here because she had risked so much using the Inanis…

…yet then he had rescued her in turn.  She decided to call it even.

Kestis continued, his gaze drifting absently around the clinical confines of the Precedenture apartment.

“Gen 26, my days are already numbered, and now, I know I will fall against the Sith, not from deliberate Chronospection - I just sense it. An Orbital or two ago I would’ve thought that a fitting completion to my service to Gensis Deus. But with you… with you, I feel like there could be something more.”

He looked at her then, his eyes full of a raw, desperate hope that Eileithyia had never encountered in any Aethan before - all she had known was disgust and ambition.

“I have this… idea that after the war… I could give up the role of Primus to Valence, and work as a Praeceptor - rear my own offspring - before my Resolution.”

She had to stifle a genuine laugh, the Praeceptors and Praeceptrix were the teachers of Aethan children in the Academies they entered after 4 Orbitals, it seemed slightly absurd a Guardian Primus would wish to take on such a role - not the least because there were no children to teach.

Yet it saddened her more as the thought settled down her conscious levels.

His words, his vulnerability, and the conflict with the reality she offered  made her deeply regret coming here.

He had hopes she could not fulfill, his dreams built in part upon an illusion.

She shouldn’t keep doing this, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself, the connection and sincerity he offered were too enjoyable for her to deny herself. 

Eileithyia didn’t fool herself; he could never accept her as she truly was. If he learned the truth or she vanished he would be hurt. Dying in battle would be the least painful option for Kestis to escape the situation she had created for him.

“I…I wish you luck in fulfilling that dream,” she replied non committal

He accepted that as the end of their time together.

“Thank you for listening, Ari,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 - Part 4

Aethas - Beneath Alixandraea

It was near dawn when the old door glided open and there was Mentor waiting for her in his chair.

She stopped in the doorway waiting for Mentor…nothing for a moment as he seemed to rouse himself from slumber.

He looked tired - beyond his usual drooping aged features.

“Well, did you succeed?” he asked

She walked cautiously toward him

“The Guardian Primus killed one of the ‘Darths’ - their leaders-  and denied them some resources…on that world at least,” she dare not say ‘Kestis’ for fear or releasing even a hint of emotion about him.

“Hmmmph…proud of yourself are you…” he grizzled a tremor on his lips

Something was wrong, kneeling right in front of him she looked him over, faulty as she was her Gen 30 senses, visual, tele-haptic, thermal, auditory and olfactory were perfectly sharp. 

“Mentor,” she said with affection that surprised her - perhaps just the after glow of her time with Kestis seeping through.

“You’re not well,”

Eyes flashing Anzat red -he struck her shoulder lighting quick with his cane.

“You worry about your own failings girl!” he snapped and she drew back

“That device, did it work?”

She felt the red fleeting pulse of a minor bruise on her arm as she replied

“Yes, but it's difficult, it took everything I had to keep it active, and even then it was barely long enough,”

“You need to train harder, push further!” he demanded a surge of energy she could sense flowing through him that was intense, but would only be temporary and leave him depleted after.

 “You can better Her - you must, put an end to these Sith and drive Genesis Deus forward, if you’d just work harder!”

To emphasise the point he tapped her arm with his cane

“You make sure the Guardian Primus gives you every opportunity to fight, to learn, Founder knows you need the discipline,”

Now she looked even more puzzled at him

“You want me to approach him?”

Mentors eyes darted about strangely, his sequence of thought seemingly lost,

“Watch out for the Fichas. Mark my words if they…”

“...ever find me they’ll kill me, I know!” she snapped exasperated, rising over him, any patience she might have had now depleted

She glared  into his reddening eyes, seeing, smelling, sensing the genetic bonds between their ancestral species within his genome unravelling more and more with each passing second.

“..but what I don’t know is why after 22 Orbitals of saying to keep away from anyone else, of mind wiping every one who glances in my direction, of beating me every time I snuck out, of scolding me for every trip to the Hetairion now you want me to actually speak to another Aethan and go on these missions off-world?  Risking being found more than ever, for what, Mentor?  What is it you want me to do?

What - Who - am I meant to be?”

A wheezing breath passed through his increasingly flared nose as he looked at her, eyes watery,

He slumped back in his chair withering back under his exhaustion.

If he had an answer he either couldn’t, or wouldn’t bring himself to tell her.

Her own aetheric fatigue was biting, they both needed rest.

He’d never looked so old.

Resigned, she headed to the small cabinet and pulled out an old tatty rug, placing it over the old man who was already drifting into sleep.

He’d soon be back to his usual self, she decided - he was a fixture of this world as much as the mountains of ultradense ore themselves - Founder he’d probably outlive the lot of them.

He had to…

<<<<>>>>

Scelle Orbit - Malevolens Mictlanis

The scouts had reported little of immediate value on Scelle. 

The magnetic ores and bespoke life forms were novelties rather than core assets, but even so like every system in the agri worlds it would be conquered, and its lack of resistance and location on the Byss run made it an ideal place to muster the fleet and prepare the next waves of invasion across Virmir, Turek and Ildun - the true jewels of this sector.

Yn laid back on his throne watching as Carrion Haulers full of ammunition, food and fuel flowed in from Keeara, Malginon and Albon - ingots of heavy minerals from Kaarv would arrive in the coming days.

Behind them were Flesh Barges packed with ‘eager’ new recruits from the Medjai of Albon to the Hoplites of Malignon pressed into service to form new units among his forces, even a few of the Cossacks of Kaarv had joined after the brutal repression that followed the…disappointing…outcome there.

“You see little Countess,” he boomed to his Tetan noble slave, Eidea as always curled beside his throne, the flayed skin of the Albon High Phaeron gone she now had half a Cossacks outer thermal-jacket.  She seemed incredibly adept at scavenging clothing

“Master of all I survey!”  He gazed at the Pict-projection of Scelle as the Flesh barges approached the upper atmosphere, this would be a standard conquest, break the handful of population centers, establish a new regime under a Darth, and then move on.

“Would you like to visit the surface of our new world?”   

“If it pleases you my Lord,” she whispered.

He grinned

“That’s right. If. It . Pleases. ME!” he boomed attracting the attention of some of the pit helots operating the endless banks of consoles below.

“What pleases you, little Countess? The jewels of the Medjai? The silks of the Malignon? The furs of the Cossacks?”

Eidea’s heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against the thick, coarse fabric of the Cossack jacket, the sickly memory of the flayed skin she had to wear still fresh.

“Whatever pleases you my lord,” she said, her voice a soft, trembling whisper.

Yn’s face scrunched with irritation

“Don’t patronize little Countess,” he warned, his good humour fragile given recent setbacks.

“Another world to conquer, let’s make this one a game. A wager.” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl that was meant only for her.

“I wager that my forces, my new legions, will crush this world with ease. I will lose fewer than ten thousand men in the taking of it.”

Eidea’s mind raced, weighing the odds.

She had seen the sheer, overwhelming power of his armada, the disciplined brutality of his new recruits. Ten thousand men on a planet with "little of immediate value" and a lack of resistance? It was a high number a certainty of victory for him.

“And if you do not, my Lord?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Yn’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light.

“If I lose more than ten thousand men,” he said, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek, his touch as rough as sandpaper.

“Then you may clean yourself of the dirt of these barges and wear the finest silks, the most exquisite jewels of every world we have conquered. You may adorn yourself as the Countess you once were, and parade before me as a true prize of my conquests.”

His hand lingered on her face, and he added, his voice a sibilant whisper,

“But if I win, little Countess, if I lose fewer than ten thousand souls… then I will take you and all those prizes to the surface burn them before you. You will wear nothing, and the lords, chiefs, whoever rules Scelle, will pledge themselves to me while you brand them with my Rune.

He leaned, his face a mask of cruel anticipation. "Well? Do you take my wager?"

“If it pleases you my Lord,” she agreed without choice.

<<<<>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 - Part 5

Scelle

“Submit! Submit! The Day of Glory is upon you!”  The Dark Preceptors words filled the metallic tasting air of Scelle as the Ghoul skins rushed forward, flayed skin pinned to their bodies with Scourge-vine, Gore-Hooks, Ugallu Mauls and Humbaba piercers at the ready.

“See above you his Blessed chariot!” the Dark Preceptor gestured with his fetish covered staff to the E-Temmen-Anki that hovered in orbit, lousy with hundreds of Carrion Haulers and Flesh Barges that carried resources to and fro.

Over three dozen large rocks at different levels were linked by a bewildering array of cables and bridges, the outpost upon them built from scavenged magnetic ores and metal, were a perplexing labyrinth of towers and bridges.

The populace was hidden away as soon as the first flesh barges touched down, likely in the floating rocks cavern network.  All that remained outside were the Sky-sons.

“Behold the Orb of Yn!!!” the Dark Preceptor screeched, behind him four serfs struggled to carry the palanquin upon which the Orb sat, half a dozen Kallu followed it, naked, emaciated and shuffling on their knees in adoration of the sacred object.

Jol had never heard of such a relic of his Dominar until recently, but the Kallu seemed especially devout toward the strange black orb, and he trusted the Darkside guided them.

“Yn CHA!” he bellowed enthusiastically, directing the cult forward

“Do not shame yourselves in the presence of the Sacred Orb!!”

With Lord Rael and Zipacna killed in action, many Swords formerly under their service wished to impress and be raised to the now vacant stations.

Their Dominar had decreed that any Sword who could conquer an outpost, on land or in the skies, without losing a single Ghoul-Skin - would be rewarded with Darth-hood. Failing that whoever lost the least would be ascended to First Sword of Darth Xol. 

To be a Darth was to be blood bonded to Lord Yn, to be in complete submission to his will, to command an E-Temmen-Anki, Imhullu and countless cults, zealots and ghoul skins.

Jol dared not even contemplate such an honour, he would serve his Dominar with his every fibre, if the darkside deemed he be raised to Darth, so be it, if the darkside deemed he slip off this very sky-bridge to his death so be it - so long as it was in accordance with the will of his Dominar.

The Ghoul Skins, driven by the fervent cries, charged forward, their flayed hides and crude weapons a visceral testament to their devotion.

Jol, however, felt a profound unease. The magnetic forces of Scelle's ores made his Reaver Guard plate feel unstable, warbling with every step, the ornate Uruk-Nab designs humming against the unseen energy.

His armor, meant to be an unmovable fortress, felt more like a cage, its weight and rigidity a hindrance to the agility he was used to.

Flesh barges had disgorged him and the Cult of the Claw upon the largest of the cities that floated on the magnetic ores of Scelle.

Just as the Ghoul Skins reached the first bridge, a rain of projectiles descended not from above, but from the sides.

The Sky-sons, masters of their floating labyrinth, were a nimble and evasive foe, clad in blue leather armor with feathers and tokens of hunts.

They didn’t charge; they danced and leaped with jump jets or small, jury-rigged gliders to soar between the vast magnetic rocks.

Their main weapons were long, hook-tipped spears, and with shocking precision, they aimed for the Ghoul Skins' necks and limbs.

Each hit was meant to disorient, to throw the enemy off balance, and send them plummeting into the orange haze below.

Jol's Rune throbbed with a burning desire to charge, to unleash a furious, single-minded slaughter and crush this scattered resistance.

His body screamed for the familiar, visceral joy of battle.

Yet, his Sigil pulsed with a cold, insistent warning. This was not a battlefield for brute force.

He drew a new weapon from his back—the Asag Volley Repeater. A brutal, angular piece of Sith technology, its blackened metal casing a stark, menacing contrast to the serene beauty of Scelle.

It didn't have a traditional sight, but a pulsating Darkside infused targeting system that aligned with Jol's Sigil's cold, calculated precision.

He leveled the repeater at the nearest group of Sky-sons and fired.

The weapon did not hiss with plasma or crackle with energy. Instead, it expelled a series of rapid, kinetic slugs that hit with the force of a battering ram.

The lead Sky-son wasn't vaporized; he was simply knocked from his glider with a sickening crunch, his body rag-dolling into the void.

His companions, their woven shields offering little resistance, were struck by the follow-up shots.

Their shields shattered, their light armor crumpled, and they were sent spinning helplessly into the abyss between the rocks. The primary effect was not death by heat but by blunt, concussive force.

His fellow swords joined him, their Asag’s filling the air with rounds as the Ghoul Skins moved forward, Bahrtock - the nominal leader following Lord Raels death, barked for them to come back.

“Back scum!” he had lost too many Ghouls skins already, his ambition to be a Darth was a furnace in the force, ironically driving the Ghoul skins near him to even more frenzied mindless violence.

The enemy was using the environment against them, and a wild charge would only lead to a chaotic, wasteful fall.

The Sky-sons began targeting the Swords, darts coated in the poisons from the insects that thrived in the orange grasses seeking out joins in the Reaver plate - only the tiniest trace needed to penetrate to kill in seconds.

Far below Jol was certain the Swords facing the Grass-Runners - the natives who lived on the surface and harvested the insects as well as intermittently fighting and trading with the Sky-sons - were bearing the brunt of the toxins.

Jol kept the cold of the Sigil as his guide, snapping shots wherever he could as they made the laborious march across a wobbling bridge.

Half the force was across the other side as he dodged hook-spear until his spine froze with imminent danger - a lurch, a crack and the bridge fell from beneath his feet.

Dozens of Ghouls skins crammed on the seemingly sturdy metal and floating rock bridge fell, Jol desperately reached out his armoured fingers sparking as they scraped along the metal of the bridge until they cut enough to find purchase and stop his fall.

Other swords were not so fortunate, falling to their deaths.

The Sky-Sons immediately rounded on their gliders behind them, hacking any who tried to hang on.

Jol had to move fast, summoning his strength he clawed up, pushing Ghoul-skin and Sword alike aside as he climbed, seeing beside him the hook spears pull others off to their death below.

His Reaver guard felt like an impossible burden but he would not fall, would not fail his Lord.

Hand over hand he clambered and climbed till finally cresting the lip just as a hook grabbed his leg.

Desperate he spun round with an instinctual wave of dark side energy “YN CHA!” he bellowed - the roar flung the Sky-son away and knocked the glider with it.

Jol gave thanks to his Lord’s sacred name as he finally clambered up.

Before him the Ghoul Skins were being hacked apart, the palanquin and Dark Preceptor already dead, the Orb of Yn had fallen to the ground - the only other swords were corpses or being hauled off the edge by hook.

It was clear the Sky-Sons were allowing the Ghouls-skins to spread across the floating rocks as a strategy to spread and ilsatoe them.

Jol quickly looked around ans his suspicion was confirmed - the Sith had hundreds of many on every rock - but now every bridge was being cut leaving each group isolated - the Sky Sons gathering in force to whittle down the marooned Sith forces one by one.

Incensed at the potential of failing his Lord Jol rushed forward Jol grasped the holy orb and raised it high!

“By the Orb of our Lord Fight Fight!”



His chest vibrated with the roar of his Will, his rune seemingly to blaze fire into his words that infused the Ghoul Skins and handful of Swords still alive with renewed vigor.

Jols lit his saber and hacked back a spear hook as the Sky Sons came round for another pass.

The push and pull between the two forces was a torment he had not felt since his ascension, a raw conflict between rage and precision.

With a powerful roar, Jol unleashed a wave of Force energy, a focused kinetic blast that shattered a nearby shanty, showering the gliders above with debris.

He used the brief chaos to assert control.

“Back into the buildings!” he yelled, on the streets the Sky-Sons could repeat their attack-and-retreat tactic over and over.

They burst the rusted sheet metal doors down and fumbled into the dingy creaking rooms, Jol gripping the weighty Orb closely, its burden a reminder of his duty.

“My Lord,” an Initiate preceptor, face half fallen off from a Sky-Son hook, but Ugallu maul still in hand gasped at him, “What is you Will?”

For a brief moment Jol thought the Initiate was speaking to someone else, yet there was no other Sword there, only the fidgeting writing mass of Ghoul skins.

They would be shredded to pieces if they remained outside yet how else to fight.

He looked around the hovel, noting the absence of civilians.
 
The populace, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, had vanished into a network of caverns within the floating rocks, their homes and workshops abandoned.

Jol gestured with his saber. “Locate them,” he commanded.

The Preceptor immediately began moving, guided by a low-level, force sense for the fear and despair of living things, the Ghoul Skins of his cult ramming down partitioning walls as they searched for where they had fled.

As the Sky Sons gathered outside, catching the odd Ghoul Skin who could not contain the throbbing rage of their rune and rushed outs, the Initiate pointed his maul at a large, pulsating cable several hovels into the labyrinth of cluttered homes. .

"They are within," he hissed.

With a series of synchronized blows from their Ugallu Mauls, the Cult of the Claw tore open  heavy, reinforced magnetic seals of a cavern.

The air inside, stale and thick with the scent of fear, was a feast for the Sith.

The hidden populace, wide-eyed and terrified, cowered in the darkness. They were a pathetic sight, a non-combatant population of craftsmen and children, completely defenseless.

The Initiate chants of "Glory! Glory to the Dark Side!" echoed through the confines of the rock, a horrifying benediction for the slaughter as Jol pushed past.

“Await my order!” he demanded plunging deep in, the caver lit only by the red glow of his saber, a light that the orb in his hand seemed to consume voraciously.

He let his Rune infuse him with raw strength as he wound down the cavern at least spying the artificial glow of lumen lamps, and the panicked yell of Sky Sons.

Jol surged forward with dark ferocity into their midst.  Absent the wide open skies of Scelle, their gliders or jet packs, he butchered the Sky-Sons, saber hissing through leather armour, Orb smashing skulls apart, behind them were dozens of huddled women and children.

Jol grinned, and barked for his Ghouls Skins.

<<<<>>>>

The Sky Sons raised their Pierce rifles as being began to move out to buildings….but quickly lowered them as they saw who existed.

Each of the flayer skin and barbed wire covered beasts that had invaded their floating isles was dragging two or more women or children, using them as human shields.

“Submit!!!” the Initiate yelled Ugallu maul in one hand, a bawling child held in the other
“Submit to the Incarnatio Tenebrarum, Dominar and MAster of all he Surveys, YN, Glorious YN!, Behold his Sacred ORB!”

Jol followed, gripping two young teens in one hand, the Orb held high in the other

The sight of their people, exposed and vulnerable, was a deliberate and calculated provocation.

The Sky-sons, who had been hiding in the maze of their spires, were faced with three unenviable choices.

Fight and risk their families lives, do nothing and be assured the Sith would kill them, or submit and try to scrounge some concessions.

They looked up high as flesh barges continued to descend - they had killed thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of Sith, and still more came.

Tall and thin as all Sky-Sons were, distinguished only by his scrappy beard and Razor wind hardened face the leader of Flock lowered his Spear-hook.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 6 - Part 6

Aethas - Hall of Ascension

His hands hovered over two Orbs -

The first, regular Noctilith was linked to 200 Biocensus link Orbs - those all Aethans were required to carry at all times to monitor their position and vital statistics - specifically 200 women selected after analysis of physical and aetheric traits to be the most likely successful candidates for insemination.

The second, Sangrilith Orb was the Seal of Aethas,when blended with any other Aetheric communication is gave irrefutable authority to the instruction, every women thus contacted would be compelled to submit to the Geno-Ziva within three rotationals for the first wave of insemination.

With a wry contentment High Director Varo Kyhs Anderis lay his hands on them and flowed the Aether between both.

“The first insemination orders have just been issued…” Anderis paused as he narrowed on the aether lines that flowed about that particular issue among his citizens

“...and now received…” he allowed himself a slight smile

“You’ve done well, exceeded my expectations as always…Moran….”

“Don’t flatter yourself Varo,” his ‘old friend’ snapped back in his usual gruff fashion.

They were alone in the marbled hall as dawn broke over the peaks, Anderis stood in his usual rich blue suit, a white triquetra of purity upon his lapel, his guest sat in the Director of Genehancement chair as was fitting enough, but seemed to slouch in it - a weakened posture at odds with the noctilith will of the man. 

“I’m not buying time for you and you damn well know it,”

“You consider solving a 30 Orbital long fertility crisis only buying time?” Anderis asked raising a brow

As so often Anderis' ever effective, and ever irascible friend didn’t answer the question put to him but didn’t fail to make his statement.

“And seeing as neither you nor Essea can handle the sniffing ficha, I’ll deal with him too,”

“And how much time exactly are you trying to buy for the ‘little bundle’?” Anderis asked, perhaps he could extract more by turning to his friends favorite topic.

“Time enough,” was the bitter reply, Anderis noticed his friend was looking at his hand stiffly opening and closing his fingers

“Time enough…”

<<<<>>>>

Aethas - Beneath Alixandraea

Mentor was gone when she woke.

He’d seemed so reliable, fixed to that damn chair her whole life, as much a part of Aethas as Mount Varas and the Sangrilith core…yet he was back out snooping no doubt.

Eileithyia took it as a good sign he was getting his strength back.

She was not alone for long. 

She felt him coming, a linger of the bond they had shared the night before still nascent in her minds though she had to quickly suppress it.

“Aethenaea Unit 3,” Kestis said with a brief tap on the door

“Guardian Primus,” she stood formally as her true self, he kept his eyes turned from the horror of her imperfection.

“You…performed well on the last mission…you are recovered?” he asked, forcing himself to feign concern despite his raw instinct to burn her as an aberration and offense against genetic purity.

She was used to such disgust, but in some ways she appreciated the intensity of the effort he was making to be polite.  He was as good a man as any Aethan could be.

“Fully Guardian Primus,”

“We depart within three arns on the next mission, your talents in Glamours and Aetheric deceptions will be useful for our purposes,”

From behind he telekinetically levitated in a crate

“New armour, I personally adjusted it to better suit your…unique figure…”

She opened the lid surprised by two things.  First it wasn’t the usual Phirk but refined Noctilith armour, a significant upgrade in durability and Aetheric capacity, and second a Sangrilith link orb in a small box.

“The orb is linked solely to one I possess so I can contact you directly, to communicate efficiently. 

The Noctilith armour should increase your mission efficiency as well.” he explained coldly, seemingly struggling to reconcile his natural inclination to want to provide the best for his soldiers with the disgust he felt toward her very being. 

“I’ll change immediately,” she offered, taking up the crate and heading to her room.

<<<<>>>>

Some kilometers away in the still of abandoned access corridors Elsep Nal Kyrgos and three other Actuaries of the Directorate of Apportionment in stark white gormin leather jackets, Resolution dagger at their sides, carefully attuned the complex array of nine Aetheric Essence tracer Orbs.

The trail from the Katharos Ziva had been frustratingly inconsistent, many blind paths and dead turns had been followed, but step by step they were closing on stronger and strong remnants of the ‘Vanished’ Aethan of the Keeara Mission who some how had Uranium-238-Tetrairon-Phospholipid in their blood.

The target would be found, Elsep was certain of it -  it was just a matter of time.

<<<<>>>>

Prakith

[center[

[/center]

Chancellor Holdith shuffled quietly through the vast echoing corridors of the Golthian Fortress, heat from underground magma coursing up through the thick stone, giving every surface a touch of heat.

Above him Gargoyle carved of stone leered down with merciless ravaging maws.  Gargoyles were no myth on Prakith, they had once been very real, and indeed many believed they still existed in the deeper parts of the cavern strewn planet that had once been the seat of the God-King Andeddu.

Whatever the Gorgoyles of Prakith had originally been they were irreversibly changed by the God-King, and his followers, alchemies into the stone skinned undying creatures that fed myths of worlds across the Galaxy.

Alas thought Holdith, his wiry aged arms carrying large sheaths of paper, the Myth of the gargoyles, and even the Ferric Legions of Prakith would not keep the Sith - the new Sith, not even an echo of those written about in the Librarium of Soltis, away.

Cloak heavy upon him he entered the Thorn room, where the the King, Stafan Dymera, Second of his name, sat upon the Onyx throne, two of his many sons before him squabbling over rights and titles.

Along the walls beneath he carved Gargoyles and the Banner of the Dymera family Ferric Praetorians stood stone still encased in thick Prakith Dura-steel - dull and brownish most would write it off as inferior stock - but Holdith well knew it was as good as any forged across the galaxy from the heated depths of Prakith’s mantle.

Catching the Chancellors Gaze Dymera waved his sons away,

“Boys, boys, we can discuss this later, the Chancellor needs seeing to…”

Indignant the two young men in formal attire, epaulets, sashes and medals upon black, bowed then left still bickering.

When they had left the throne room Dymera sighed.

“Son’s…I envy you, Maram, having only one,”, Dymera had an easy countenance, or at least outwardly, only a fool would doubt the ruthlessness it hid - one could not manage the Dukes of the Kingdom so successfully without it.

“One is far too many at times,” Holdith replied,

“My King…word has just arrived Scelle has fallen,” Holidth proffered the sheath with the details type upon it.

Dymera took it in his left hand, his right stroking his short black-grey beard.

“Of course it has, no doubt the Sky-Sons and Grass Runner gave the Sith a bad taste in their mouth, with all those pretty little poisons,”

The Dymera family had vast experience over the generation both using, and being victim of, the poisons of Scelle.

“My King…the Sith are advancing faster than anyone anticipated…they could be at either Turek, Virmir or Ildun within mere days…”

Holdith need not explain the implications. 

The Kingdom of Prakith’s wealth was in its Legions, its ores and heavy manufacturing - but not in its food production. Most planets in the Kingdom had scant if any arable land, synthesis in algae vats of nutrients was too costly on the scale needed to feed 2 billion - let alone the God-King awful taste! 

80% of the entire Kingdom's food was imported from those three worlds.

If they were to fall to the Sith…well perhaps they could tolerate the loss of Turek and Virmir, but never Ildun, the Emerald Jewel of the agriworlds.  A half dozen times Kings of Prakith had tried to conquer Ildun and failed over the last four centuries, the Magisters there were possible to subdue - for a time - but impossible to manage. 

The Dymera’s own ascension was largely due to their making peace with Ildun ending the costly conflicts three generations prior.  But these Sith…the revolution they had brought to Kaarv, Albon, Keeara, Malignon was something very different, and they were unlikely to either honour Ilduns trade agreements with Prakith, or stop at Ildun.

“...and at our doorstep in a month I know,” Dymera finished for Holdith.  Nothing seemed to be able to stop the Sith, their numbers seemingly endless, their warriors vicious beyond imagining - they had, Dymera had heard - had a minor set back on Kaarv, but they still took the planet all the same.

“..we had enough trouble with the pirate kings of Ygmir without these Sith…uh…what peace is there for the man who wears the crown…” Dymera asked rhetorically

“My King, we must act soon,” Holdith emphasised.

“And we will, Chancellor we will…” Dymera stood smoothing out his simple unadorned black suit,
“The Ferric Legions will make the strength of Praktih known - and keep the commoners of Prakith fed!”

The image of the king slipped away as Valence detached himself from Holdith’s mind, renting his Third level of consciousness to the Phaethon glider, hidden by Nyx Shorud and Veil of mist behind the Golthians fortress nearby mountains.

High Director Anderis instruction had been clear- the Sith were not to get past Prakith - and while Valence and Kestis could slow the Sith with sabotage, they could not stop them - advanced as the Technocracy technology was, they did not have the raw population to stall the Sith.

Prakith did, and its interests were so aligned Valence needed to only amplify existing motives rather than mind dominate the King and Chancellor to see them act.

However they were still imperfect Outsiders.

Valence would use Aetheric Cognitive Override to guide the Prakith generals and admirals battle plans, ensuring they were timed and co-ordinated with Aethan sabotage efforts on Ildun to maximize the damage inflicted upon the Sith.

Prakith would supply the manpower - the Technocracy secretly the strategy and additional weapons of mass devastation -  to end the Sith momentum once and for all.

<<<<>>>>

Aethas - Genos Ziva

The sterile hum of the Genos Ziva was a frantic symphony of purpose.

Dr. Jurahl Fid Calrahn, his usual meticulous calm replaced by a feverish urgency, moved with a controlled speed across the gleaming floor of the primary cryo-chamber.

Before him, dozens of cryogenic pods stood in silent rows, each holding a dormant "Atlantiades" embryo—the genetic marvels born of the Caldoth Protocols.

He worked with a delicate but hurried precision, a fine-tipped needle of polished metal carefully extracting a single gamete, its concentrated aetheric potential glowing in his aether-sight.

He had to be quick; the directive was clear, and success non-negotiable.  All his work over decades has been building to this moment.

His every movement was a silent celebration of the purity of his science, a desperate race to produce a harvest that could satisfy the Director's nigh impossible demand.

Beside him, Jival was a blur of motion at a complex console, her hands flying over aetheric touch-pads.

Her task was no less critical or urgent.

She was preparing the mimetic burst training orbs that would disseminate the intricate knowledge of the insemination protocols across the Technocracy.

Each orb was a vessel of curated, bio-synthesized knowledge, a perfect distillation of the procedure that would allow thousands of technicians to perform the task without fail.

She worked with cold calculation her mind focused on every variable, every contingency.

She spared a glance to Atlantiades, its floating form still in the Kolto tube. No longer naked they had been forced to place a still suit around it to reduce the extreme pheromone emissions that artificially stimulating gamete expression had produced.

Curiously Atlantiades had also began to grow hair, no doubt due to the stimulants mass injected en enable the accelerated harvesting. 

"We have the genetic material," she said, her voice softer, a hint of resignation in her tone.

"We have the knowledge. But we do not have the time." She saw the single-minded focus on Jurahl's face, and knew that he was too far gone to notice.

For him, the science was everything. For her, it was a tool.

They were bound by a shared ambition, but it was an ambition that had brought them to the edge of a precipice, and they had no choice but to leap.

Jurahl did not look up from his work. "We cannot fail," he replied, his voice a strained whisper.

"This is our chance. The future of Genesis Deus depends on this."

His words were an echo of a promise he had made long ago, his devotion to the ideals of Soron Varas, to genetic purity and Genesis Deus that had driven him to this moment.

Jurahls was a personal  crusade against the stagnancy of thought that had permeated the Technocracy, a quest to restore the true radical progressive science of Varas.

The room, which once held only the quiet hum of scientific progress, now felt like the interior of a ticking bomb.

The glow of the extracted gametes, the frantic pulsing of the training orbs, and the ever-present knowledge of Moran's looming deadline—all of it combined to create a sense of overwhelming pressure.

A tension that was not unnoticed by the central, silent figure in the Primary Kolto tank.

A wave of pure, unadulterated joy rippled through the Fae-child’s being, a sensation so intense it was almost overwhelming.

It was a feeling of creation, of propagation, a fundamental drive being answered in a way it instinctively understood even if it could not express that understanding.

Its attention turned, as it often did, to the other to ‘Impes’, who was ‘nearby’.

Her presence a familiar maternal anchor in the strange, temporal world.

The Fae-child’s mental voice, still childlike yet carrying an undercurrent of profound, unknowable power, echoed in Impes’s mind.

 "Impes… Impes feels… spreading."

Impes looked up from her work on the recently delivered the insect harvested toxins from Scelle - the surrender was still being ‘implemented’ by Darth Xol, but already resources of the orange grassed world were flowing back to the fleet.

Impes reached back to the Fae child, it was developing in leaps and bounds cognitively, but still retained a strange naivety.

Setting aside her vials, Impes moved to the map where with every communication with the Fae Child she was narrowing on its physical location.

Simultaneously she reached ‘out’ from the Fae Child to feel the durasteel cords that bound it to small detached pieces of itself.

“Yes I can feel it,” Impes said, suppressing her disquiet, before there had been dozens of ‘small’ fae children.  Now there were hundreds. 

What by Sadows crown are they doing? Impes knew it was the grey armours, it was clear they had the fae child ‘contained’ some how and they were trying to clone the Fae-Child.

The most logical conclusion Impes had was the Grey Armours were trying to breed a clone army of Fae-Children. 

“The part of me that is away bind to other, it ‘inseminates’ and gestates…’ the Fae child thought to her half to itself.

“Can you see any more of what is around you?” Impes tried to refocus its wavering child like attention

At that moment Jival approached the tube, mimetic burst orb in hand, Jivla reached out to the Fae-Childs reproductive network confirming cellular protein patterns.

Impes felt the semi intrusion and almost pulled away but the ‘third’ beings attention was focused on the mundane things of the Fae Childs physical form, seemingly ignorant of the exponential growth in the Fae Childs psychology.

“This one is a Gestator…” the Fae Child noted “Others here are inseminators…”

It took Impes a moment to realise the Fae Child had developed a notion of male and female of sort - but using terminology Impes had never shared - it was clearly learning from those round it as well now.

It is surpassing you Darth Impes the Meditation Sphere warned the Sith Witch

You’ve opened a door you cannot close

Be silent she snapped back, intent on studying if she could the being studying the Fae-child.

In that pause, a moment of innocent curiosity.

"Is Impes… inseminator? Or… gestator?"

The question hung in the telepathic space between them devoid of malice, simply an inquiry from a nascent consciousness trying to categorize and understand the actions it was sensing, the feeling of its own essence being used to create anew, a process that filled it with an unsettling, almost triumphant glee.

Impes, who had been meticulously observing the Fae-child's fluctuating energies, felt a fresh wave of unease wash over her.

The Fae Child did not wait for an answer.  With talon like fingers of telepathic energy it probed at Impes body light years away, learning the technique from Jival who was simultaneously probing it.

Ephemeral, but no less painful, the nails parted the flesh in Impes body exploring her different organs as the Sith Witch fell to the semi-organic floor of the Sphere nearly toppling her vials with her.

The Fae Child’s Talons seemed to multiply and shrink to inspect her at the cellular level focusing intently on Impes womb.

Suddenly as it had started the ‘inspection’ was over. Jival having the protein details she needed, returned to programming the mimetic orb, utterly ignorant of Atlantiades actions.

Impes lurched up feeling sick and soiled as Yn’s little Countess probably did.

“Impes is Gestator,” the Fae Child declared

“My Being is both”

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 7 — Part 1

Turek - Orbit

Turek - the Topaz Jewel of the Grinmir Agriworlds.  Sprawling savannah covered nearly a third of the planet, home to hundreds of millions of Pachimerian herd beasts, the gelphent, thickly muscled 600 kilo animals, walking reservoirs of protein, with huge horns, leathery tough hides, nutrient rich lactate to add to the prize.

A closely guarded prize. 

The semi domestic Pachidermian gelphent were fiercely protected by the M’kasa herdsmen, from each other as much as offworlders. 

A man's status depends on the size and quality of his herd, his ability to tame a Bull to ride upon in semi-ritualistic war - to kill a fellow herdsman in combat was expected, but to slay a War-Bull would see your own herdsmen turn upon you.

Even so each year 3 million or more gelphent were ‘of age’ to be harvested, the meat and resources well beyond the needs of the M’Kasa traded for grains from Ildun, weapons from Malignon and Keeara, poisons from Scelle, metals from Kaarv, spices, Zerisium and Cocosae from Albon….

Or so it had been before the Sith had arrived.

Yn read the reports from his scouts on how the M’Kasa had, since the fall of Albon, convened a summit of sorts between the largest herdsmen, elected a ‘Ghalg’ - a kind of emergency war leader - and mustered their forces ready for the coming of the Sith.

All this he took in even as he dirtied his temporarily cleaned and polished little Countess. 

She had, despite all logic, won their little bargain on Scelle - Lord Xol and Jian reporting losses of over 6,000 each, but no matter the arrangement he always won, and enjoyed how, washed and bedeckied in silks and jewels from his conquest, he was able to defile her all over again.

“Well little Countess,” he gasped as he pushed her aside, finished for the moment.

“What shall we do about these tribesmen?”  Yn was in genuine quandary. 

Unlike the more sedentary farmers and factories of other worlds, Tureks wealth lay in its herds, it could not be ruled over from on high as easily, the population needed to remain mobile…but also be subservient.

The M’kasa had gathered nearly a third of the planets herds around a sacred peak along with their armies - a clever move - he couldn’t simply bomb them from orbit, the E-Temmen-Ankis weapons were too imprecise and risked turning the herds whose meat he needed into ash.

Eidea crawled forward, her silken dress - so clean mere hours before - used to clean herself as best she could, Yn as always had remained in his Annunaki Shell for the most part, the bladed spikes of his armour shredding much of the dress to strips.

She had no answer to such matters.

“Perhaps I fight them on their terms, slay their leader in battle and declare myself ‘Ghalg of Ghalgs’...” he thought out loud

It would be costly in Ghoul Skins, he could lose tens if not hundreds of thousands against the gelphent charges…and there was always personal risk in such a battle - he had to balance that against the need to secure the gelphent herds to supply his army with rich sources of protein, lactate, hides and horns.

And then there was the question of who he would give Turek as fief after his inevitable victory - and still how to allocate the former holdings of the late Darth Rael and Zipacan…

Forsaken Gray Armours two Darths they’ve cost me he seethed inwardly - he would have his vengeance on that elusive foe one day

“A contest,” he decided, looking at his little toy ball up in her typical fearful posture, the Tetan countess having lost so soon after she’d ‘won’ on Scelle, so would it be here.

“Darth Jian and Darth Xol,” he decided, two who possessed some of the largest Ghoul-Skin hordes and had already been courting Raels and Zipacna’s former thralls.

Yn encouraged ambition in his Darths, but equally he was careful to prevent any one of them becoming too dominant over the others

“Whichever one can earn the title Ghalg of Ghalgs from the M’kasa in battle can have the planet,”

Thus Yn avoided risk to himself, not so much from battle, but from losing his own Ghoul-skin hordes, appeared to offer a fair prize for a fair effort, and could secure the world.  Whoever ‘won’ he was the true winner. 

“And you little Countess, another bargain,” he reached forward and coarsely grabbed her leg dragging her back to him over the damp filthy rugs of his chamber

“Who do you pick in the contest, Jian or Xol, I’ll take the other. If you pick the winner you will have a dozen M’kasa slave girls to attend and bathe you every day…”

Once more that delightful tiny spark of hope lit in her soiled form, but wavered as she knew the caveat was coming 

“If you lose…then you will bathe and clean all the M’kasa slave girls before and after I enjoy them,”

The small light was snuffed again, and a material portion of that light twisted to despair filled him with energy.

“Well who do you choose?”

Eidea knew virtually nothing of the Darths other than their names.  Yn would admit himself that they were even odds, Jian was an expert at close quarters combat and could easily match the Ghalg in single combat, and his Swords were far more disciplined, but Xol was a more skilled hunter and tracker and likely to find the Ghalg in the vast M’Kasa army first.

“Lord Jian, if it please you my Lord,”

He grinned looking forward to another world, another conquest, and this time a contest to observe.

<<<<>>>>

Upper Elysian Road En Route to Truek - Aetheria Destroyer Varasian

Eileithyia’s 4th level of consciousness still felt the faint hum of after synaptic ingestion.

She had spent the vast majority of her time during transit on the Varasian taking in the direct direct mimetic burst direct into her Aethenaean Cortex of Darth Rael and Darth Zipacna’s harvested and curated memories and knowledge of the Sith.

It was an extensive and thorough education in the way the Sith operated militarily, culturally and religiously, as well as their skills as respective blade master and precognition expert.

Every one of the 300 Aethans in the briefing room she tentatively entered - in full armour and a glamour just in case -  had experienced the same, granting them exponentially more understanding of their enemy in the space of 78 standard hours of mimetic consumption.

Kestis stood at the centre of the rounded room, a holograph of the Sith fleet disposition projected from the ceiling, beside him Guardian Adaena, who had scouted the Turek system before their arrival just beyond the larrange point.

It never failed to amaze Eileithyia how many ships the Sith had - 3,173 now - they had added over 150 vessels since the invasion began - captured from Malignon, Albon, and Keeara mostly, now daubed with the gaudy symbol of the Sith Supreme Commander Lord Yn - who thanks to those Darths memories every Aethan now knew the name and face of.
 

Rael and Zipacna had understood Yn as a cunning operator, a venal hedonist outwardly - a vicious pragmatist at heart with an insatiable thirst for slaves, power and plunder who revelled in the challenge of conquest and control.

Whether an assassination would be attempted Eileithyia didn’t know.

All things considered she would opt for a strategy of  better the Gaki you know - an obscure and old Aethan saying held over from their Lek’un ancestors and the internecine conflicts of Anzat prime - it was considered better to deal with an enemy warlord you knew and understood than risk engaging a new one you did not.

Yn was now a known quantity whose blunt strengths Kestis and Valens could twist into weakness by focusing on sabotage and subtlety.

Unfortunately neither Darth Rael nor Zipacna knew much about the Siths Uruk-Nab, Denon and Corellian based technology beyond the raw essentials.

Though inferior and inelegant compared to Technocracy technology, the Uruk-Nab vessels in particular had a blunt effectiveness to them the Aethans needed to unlock the weaknesses of.

“Those two…” Kesits pinpointed with a flicker of the aether into the holograph now everyone was assembled, ranks of Phrik armoured soldiers, a few in Noctilith like Eileithyia as they experimented with new armour types.

Deep amidst the enormous swirl of vessels Kestis had pinpointed two of the ‘E-Temmen-Anki’ dreadnaughts whose life signs - and those of all the vessels around them, were considerably lower than the others.

“Guardian Adaena witnessed these two dreadnoughts, their escorts and convoy ships deploy the vast majority of their troops to the surface.  We will infiltrate both vessels, undertake structural and systems mapping exercises, then place on both a Obeliscus Aetheris Distans - the plinths are attuned to Aetheric Quantum Siphoning.

Once placed and we have extracted ourselves, we will utilise the Varisians Obelisk Array to facilitate the Aetheric Quantum Siphoning of a primed Virdilith Warhead with a 0.5 second timer onto each vessel,”

This caused excitement among the group mind, the Technocracy had a stockpile of 282 Virdilith - better known as Naquadha - war heads, but deployment was always a problem.

But to use Aetheric Quantum Siphoning - flash teleporting via the aether that Eileithyia used herself to travel quickly in the tunnels beneath Alixandraea - seemed unfeasible, it took millions of Aeths to translate even a link-orb any few hundred meters, let alone a warhead of ultradense material across a star system.

Kesits sensed this confusion in the group and immediately addressed it.

“The Plinths will create a streamlined aetheric bridge, reducing the aetheric energy required by 93-94% - even so the energy requirement will be vast, which is why boarding teams will number only 10 Guardians each, 30 Guardians will man the Phaethon Gliders and Varasian...the remaining 250 will contribute the energy needed to implement the Aetheric Quantum Siphoning.”

Eileithyia looked at the map once more - the targeted dreadnaughts were deep within the armada - logical - their troops were on the surface and the rest of the fleet were protecting them…

And while the other Sith capital ships kept a distance of no less than 1000km, a Virdilith warhead typically had a blast radius of up to 2,400km - two such explosions would not only annihilate the two dreadnaughts and incinerate their support ships, but also severely damage hundreds of nearby vessels.

If it succeeded.

The group mind rushed with excitement to deliver such an unseen blow to the Sith.

Eileithyia joined their excitement in purging the unclean filth.  Yet questions remained.

“Guardian Primus,” one phirk armoured soldier queried

“Why not deliver the Virdilith warheads with the infiltration teams?”

Kestis nodded appreciating the question

“Two reasons, firstly the physical proximity of such a powerful weapon may trigger either the Sith’s darkside danger sense or other conventional scans if the gliders' cloaks fail - this would instantly bring about a full response from the Armada and imperil the mission - with the bombs kept at the edge of the system this should be avoided. 

Secondly the Obeliscus Aetheris Distans need to be field tested against Sith darkside counter measures.  If we succeed the second phase will be using Mind controlled thralls to palace plinths upon every single major Sith Vessel over the course of the next few months.

Valence is already laying the groundwork for a network of cognitively dominated - or at least influenced - Kallu - these holy men are able to wander the Armada at will and are venerated by the slaves and helots,  making them ideal agents to distribute the plinths as ‘holy objects’ of dark side worship.

He has already succeeded in distributing Observation Orbs via this method.

Then, once we have instigated the Kingdom of Prakith to send its fleet against the Sith, we can strategically teleport more bombs onto Sith vessels during battles to ensure Prakith wins each engagement.

Unfortunately we are limited by having only two obelisk arrays and half a dozen plinths.  The Directorate will not allocate resources to scale up production unless this test succeeds.”

Satisfied, the Guardian nodded his assent, Kestis explanation of the broader strategy gaining the agreement of the whole groupmind. Kestis wanted that support from his soldiers, something Eileityia respected him all the more for.   

“This will not stop the Sith victory on the planet below, but they will be bloodied,”  Kestis cautioned

“Your individual orders will come via link orb momentarily to boarding teams - Aethani Dominabutir Astris, Aethani Dominabutir Mortis, Aethani Dominabutir Vita” he finished with the creed.

<<<<>>>>

Aethas - Genos Ziva

The sterile hum of the Genos Ziva's primary storage room was replaced by a feverish, rhythmic energy.

It had been hastily converted into a mass insemination center, with a dozen bio-bays arranged in two precise rows.

Dr. Jurahl Fid Calrahn, his usual meticulous calm now a distant memory, moved between the stations with a focused, almost manic intensity.

At each bay, he oversaw the transfer of the gametes, ensuring the delicate, aetheric processes of the Caldoth Protocols were executed with perfect precision.

His voice, strained but clear, directed the Doctors from across the Whole Directorate who worked in triads to perform the procedure. 

Even having undertaken mimetic burst training from Jivals orbs he still needed to provide a few  hushed telepathic commands to each group, there was certain ‘art’ to the Caldoth procedures that couldn’t be taught and had to be experienced.

Still they were all Aethans and they learned quickly.

Hour by hour women with maximum fertility potential existed, lay upon the form fitting bio beds, underwent the procedure and then headed to the observation rooms.

Jurahl could hardly believe this was happening, Atlantiades multiplying by the dozen, soon the hundred. 

The Zygotes were positively rabid with excitement to bond, indeed insemination seemed to become easier the more procedures were undertaken as it somehow Atlantiades genetic material was ‘learning’ how to adapt to Gen 28 wombs.

Of course such wasn’t possible, Jurahl was sure it was simply himself and the staff getting better acquainted with the intricacies of the binding protocols.

This was his magnum opus, a revolutionary leap forward in Geneisis Deus that would see him entered in the annals of the Technocracy beneath only the Honoured Founder Soron Varas himself,

He carried a shimmering aetheric vessel filled with the Fae-child's vital essence, its ethereal glow a beacon of his single-minded purpose.

Beside him, Jival was a study in cold, efficient control.

While Jurahl focused on the sanctity of the procedure, her mind was a whirlwind of logistics, risk assessment, and political maneuvering.

She monitored the bio-monitors with a calculating gaze, her aetheric senses tracking the subtle energy fluctuations of each procedure.

The room was a factory floor, and she was its foreman, ensuring the process was as flawless and fast as possible.

Her mind was already three steps ahead, anticipating the inevitable repercussions. She knew their accelerated timeline and the scale of the operation would not go unnoticed.

And she was proved right, in the middle of the day with 60 women inseminated since morning the doors opened to admit four Gen 29’s in white leather gromin coats, Noctilith resolution daggers at their side.

Grathoss led his fichas between the rows of beds, glancing at the procedures undertaken on either side.

“An impressive operation,” he said stopping at Jurahl,

“Dr. Jurahl Fid Calhran,” Grathoss said with an easy smile extending his hand

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” 

Jival internally shuddered as Jurahl took Grathoss hand, this was the last thing they needed right now.

“And you Director,” Jurahl replied

“I must say I’m impressed by the speed of this rollout, the success you’ve had is astonishing…I wonder Dr. Calhran, or Jurahl, if I may, why its taken so long for you to receive the resources and recognition you clearly deserve,”

He’s playing him like a Xyril… Jival bemoaned. Jurahl was brilliant, ruthless when he needed to be, but Jival was well aware he had a damn complex that he emulating the Founder in being passed over and working on secret on the true path of Gensisi Deus.

“Unfortunately prior Directors were too rigid in their thinking - unable to see that it was time for revolution not just revolution in the next phase of Gensisi Deus,” Jurahl explained

“And Director Piron is more forward thinking?” Grathoss probed as his fichas spread out scrutinizing every procedure under way, keeping a safe distance but snooping nonetheless.

“I would say…in honesty, Director that Director Piron had little choice but to move forward with my procedures, they were the only ones yielding results,”

Grathoss nodded with a smile

“I won’t keep you from this critical work any longer Doctor, I will simply add I am very pleased the Technocracies scarce resources are at last being put to proper use,”

By which you meant the resources you provided us Jival understood 

With a friendly nod Grathoss left his fichas tailing like obedient vorynx pups.

Well that went well Jurahl noted to Jival telepathically.

for Grathoss it did, she replied finally resolving on a response.

<<<<<>>>>