20demayo The Dark Ages - 0.1.6
The Dark Ages - 0.1.6
- u/Outrageous_Guard_674, Tnvaru philosopher, 6928 Current Era
“Free. Candy,” -Unknown Atrekna, Inheritors War
"
-- When Empires Fall, u/Bergusia, Telkan Free Press, 8239 Current Era
~ anonymous Terran
~ excerpt from BobCo. chat room user kanomc2279
~ excerpt from BobCo. chat room user BobsUrUncle666
~ excerpt from BobCo. chat room user SmokesMyLife420
~ excerpt from BobCo. chat room user SmokàMoo840
~excerpt from anonymous BobCo. chat room user username2583829 (As compiled by kanomc for "Essays on Culture Cracking, BobCo Corporate Analysis"
Commander K'Rekt
The TCSFV , a superheavy battlecruiser that had been lost during the Terran/Atrekna Conflict, floated serenely in space. It bore mute evidence of that horrific conflict that had resulting in both the Atrekna and the Terrans being extinguished from the universe.
He'd read history in Officer's Candidate School, at the fabled T'Vikik Academy, and had always marveled at how his ancestors and the critically wounded Confederacy had still managed to carry out the Inheritor's War and destroy what had been left of the Atrekna.
True, records from that era were spotty at best, and most officer candidates preferred to study the Second Mar-gite War or the Mar-gite Resurgence, but K'Rekt
Which meant he knew exactly what battle the TCSFV had been lost in.
Frankly, as far as K'Rekt
Just one of those coasting, dead, dark hulks was enough to depopulate an entire solar system if handled improperly.
K'Rekt
Scans showed a single life form aboard.
The Lord High Pratulpet, leader of the scientific "expedition" that was more a scavenging run than an actual scientific inquiry.
Everyone had abandoned the vessel, and three vessels hidden in the drop bays, and gone to the smaller moon, filing in one after another into the BobCo LARP facility.
The Dra.Falten leader had been alone on the vessel for nearly two weeks. Military intelligence and electronic warfare had managed to slice open all the Dra.Falten computer systems and had watched her alternate between lethargic despondency and manic ferocity.
K'Rekt
She was sitting in the Captain's chair on the bridge of the , staring at the glittering gold rank in her hand.
"Commander?" one of the techs broke into K'Rekt
"Yes?" K'Rekt
"There's a BobCo vessel boarding the . It dropped stealth once the dropship bay doors opened. Looks like a standard BobCo Elf vessel," the Lieutenant said.
K'Rekt
The vessel was settling down on the deck and the door was closing to the shuttle bay slash dropship bay. It was all crystal, wood, bronze, silver, and gold, with a healthy sprinkle of gem-dust glittering on it.
"Class?" K'Rekt
"Looks like one of the elven fast courier ships, based on the designs from roughly the Mithril Nebula Conflict," the Lieutenant said.
K'Rekt
"Elves aren't really known for rapid advancement even when they're not solely Born Whole and Court controlled," the Lieutenant said.
"No. Races that live for several thousand years with a low birthrate aren't known for their fast tech tree jumps," K'Rekt
"Aye, sir," the Lieutenant said, sitting back down.
K'Rekt
He had a feeling Pratulpet's day was going to get worse.
-----
Staring at the holotank was doing nothing more than making her miserable.
She was ignoring the fact she had enough food to last her several centuries now that she was the only one eating it. That she had enough water for everything forever. That she had enough air to last her forever even if she stopped the recirculation. That the gardens were growing just fine, tended to by the robots now that the males were gone.
She was paying attention to the holotank showing her traitorous crew.
It showed at least two dozen different streams, all watching at least one of her traitorous expedition members. All of them enjoying primitive existence.
The sight of a bunch of low class males all dancing while small females, , clapped and sang for them, even played instruments, made her brux her teeth in rage.
Had not the Empress's foremothers cast down the old ways? Had not the Way of the Means troops broken the chains that had bound every Dra.Falten?
It infuriated her to see those low class females laughing and smiling, sometimes even getting up to actually with the males rather than put them in their proper place as property of the state.
Even more annoying was the numbers. Since the Great Upheaval, male birth rates had been adjusted to ensure there was plenty of hands to do the work that was beneath glorious female hands.
It looked almost one to one on every stream, not the proper numbers.
And the females weren't in positions of power, as was the Empress granted right based on their higher intellect, larger capacity for empathy and compassion, and ability to navigate the Dra.Falten people through any complex issues.
Why, there was even a female carrying big ceramic mugs of beer to hand out to females and males both! And she was expressing happiness at doing menial labor better suited to a robot or a male!
She bruxed her back teeth again, feeling the hatred for the contents of the holotank surge up and make her stomach twist, ache, and burn.
Her hateful contemplation was interrupted by the whoosh of the door to the bridge.
She stood up, turning in place, her hand dropping to where she normally carried her pistol or shock prod.
Both had been left somewhere, she couldn't remember, and her fingers just grazed where normally she wore her gunbelt.
In the doorway stood Terrors.
Female Terrors.
Wearing little more than diaphanous strips of cloth that left little to the imagination, surrounded by sparkles and glitter. They had short swords on their sashes, wrist-comps, and comfortable slippers.
"Valued Customer Pratulpet?" one said, stepping forward.
It had perfectly accented High Speech.
"I am," Pratulpet said, raising her chin.
"You are currently occupying BobCo property," the elf said. It made a motion to encompass the bridge. "This vessel, the , was listed as lost with all hands during the Terran/Atrekan Conflict. It is listed as valid salvage for any salvage agent," the emphasis on that one word made Pratulpet's stomach clench.
"The Dra.Falten claim this vessel," Pratulpet said.
"The Dra.Falten Empire is not a registered Terran Salvage Entity, nor has the Dra.Falten Empire submitted the proper salvage claim paperwork or even planted a salvage claim beacon, as is required by interstellar regulations and legal code," the elf said, moving into the bridge. More elves followed, along with some short, squat creatures that were wearing some kind of heavy metal armor. The squat ones, the same height as Pratulpet, moved to chairs and began activating consoles.
"Now, wait a minute," Pratulpet said, sudden realizing what the elf was saying.
"We transmitted our salvage claim, attached a beacon to this vessel, and registered it as salvage claimed on behalf of several valued customers," the elf said. She moved over to the Ship Mistress's Throne, her mass making Pratulpet step back and away instinctively.
The elf sat down, crossing her legs primly.
"We received verification of our salvage claim, for the and all cargo found therein, including cargo of any non-Confederate entity, recognized or unrecognized," the elf said. "Which includes the three Dra.Falten ships aboard this vessel."
Pratulpet just stared, rapidly bruxing her back teeth.
"Seeing as you are not of the original crew of the nor do you have any salvage claim status or salvage guild membership, and your star nation is not recognized by the Confederacy of BobCo Incorporated, a Negative Liability Company, as a salvage or trade entity at this time, Bobco claims all salvage rights to this vessel and its contents," the elf said. She leaned back. "A finder's fee was granted to those who informed us of this vessel and was translated to BobCo Credits."
She looked around.
"As a gesture of BobCo's dedication to customer service, we will provide you with a one-way trip back to your star nation's capital," the elf stated.
"Now just wait..." Pratulpet started to interrupt the elf, who kept speaking.
"Or you will be determined to be a hostile biological xenospecies organism and will be tossed from the nearest air lock," the elf finished.
Pratulpet stood stock still, just blinking.
"Your choice, valued customer," the elf stated.
-----
Ilvekrik shuffled forward with everyone else, his hands in his pockets, the rain rolling off of his thin raincoat. He was vaguely thankful for the aerogel lining that kept him somewhat warm, as the day was cold, the rain was cold, the wind was cold, everything was cold.
He stepped up on the bus, just following the line in front of him.
At least he was at the front. The last two buses he had filed through and out the back doors when there had not been enough seating for the workers waiting to go home.
He sat down next to another squeakling wearing a lanyard with an ID card for Mechanonational Industries, sighing gratefully that he had found the seat while it was still warm from the previous occupant.
He didn't say anything to his fellow passengers.
It was better not to. You never knew if that squeakling had ended up on some watchlist and a person didn't want to end up next to a stranger on the list.
He rode in silence for nearly an hour before getting off of the bus, waiting for the next, and feeling vaguely lucky when there were enough seats. The ride to his habcomplex wasn't too much longer, only another hour.
Ilvekrik trudged from the mass transit stop to the habcomplex, swiped his ID card, then trundled down to the elevator, passed the doors, and to the stairwell. He took a break four times at landings as he slowly made his way up to the fifty-third floor.
From there to apartment 5369.
His apartment was small, but that was all right. He didn't have much anyway and his seven roommates didn't take up too much space. Neither their meager possessions or their bodies took up much space in the three room apartment.
He wished he could afford one of those private cubicles near his work, but they cost more than he made in two months just for a single week.
He nodded to two of his roommates that were getting dressed to go to work at a job it was cheaper to hire people for than install a robot, or where a living person was preferable to a VI or robot vendor.
His dinner was noodle paste, flavor powder, and vegetable paste.
It was hot and filling, and that made it good.
He was almost ready for bed when the Tri-Vee, installed in at least two walls in every room, came on and displayed the mandatory viewing logo.
At least it was a mandatory viewing for only those who were awake.
He sat and watched, not really caring. His stomach was full, he was warm, and the other squeaking he was resting against was soft and warm.
It was just about some Lord High who had gone on a mission to a Terror Tomb World and finally succeeded in their struggle to return to the Dra.Falten Empire, heroically managing to survive when her entire crew had gone missing, possibly taken prisoner by some terrifying Terror mechanism.
He managed to stay awake even when the screen had informed him there would be another round of conscription drafts of workers. Even the sight of his ID number range didn't really snap him awake.
Either he would be chosen, or he would not.
He couldn't control it either way.
He muttered out "Hail to the Empress" when the Tri-Vee mandatory viewing ended after reminding everyone that it was the Dra.Falten Empire that was on the rise, that the time of the Fallen Confederacy and all enemy nations was over.
He didn't really care.
He was almost asleep when his communicator pinged with a priority message personally addressed to him.
Curious, he got up to use the bathroom, taking his communicator with him. The bathroom was the only privacy squeaklings like him ever had, unless they could afford something as luxurious as single occupancy pods.
He sat down, made himself comfortable to move his bowels, and opened up his personal email.
"WELCOME PROSPECTIVE VALUED CUSTOMER!" burned on the screen in the darkness of the lavatory.