Empire of Decay: Contact

Certain pieces of jargon and units of measurements have been translated into proper human and Earth-based terms, for the benefit of this file’s superior human readerbase.

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The interior of the vessel was much like it’s exterior - flawless and polished to a sheen. More steely grey and less white, with lines of blue lighting running through the middle of the walls and the edges of the floor, but just as perfectly pristine as the hull of the ship. Mok-1-21 could not decide if the veneer meant the human’s were trying too hard, or if it represented their current lot in the galactic food chain.

Or if it was an ironic representation of their soiled souls.

Upon entering the ship, the ramp disappearing behind her and the door shutting the moment she crossed the threshold, Mok-1-21 found herself in a small decontamination or depressurization chamber, not with Captain Najaderesh, but too armed guards equipped with multi-modal pulse rifles. The ubiquitous firearm of humanity’s rank-and-file and infamous for their numerous firing modes, able to kill or detain a target regardless of it’s physiology. The two guards kept them staid but at the ready, faceless and still, but she knew they would turn the barrels of the fearsome weapons on her in a heartbeat if she did anything out of line.

Captain Najaderesh stood beyond the chamber, watching the scene with silent contemplation. Mok-1-21 did not know or like human faces, but she could tell the Captain was a woman prone to patient thinking and observation. Her dark eyes carried the weight of great thought, and if she was as aged as Mok-1-21 believed she was, that thought was gained through experience.

The ship rumbled and roared from the outside, as Mok-1-21 felt gravity pushing her down. All of it - motion and noise and g-forces - stopped within a moment. There were no viewscreens present, but Mok-1-21 was fairly confident they had just left Dallis-5 and either gone into orbit around the moon, or were parked just beyond it’s reach.

“Now, before I let you onto the ship proper, I’ll have to ask you to relinquish any weapons and communication devices on your person.” The Captain said through the intercom connecting the halls of the greater ship to the antechamber. “And you’ll have to submit yourself to a pat-down search of your person. We’ll also be confiscating your suit, helmet, and mask when we find suitable clothes to replace them. Are these terms understandable and agreeable?”

Now more mentally steady than when the ship descended, Mok-1-21 gave a short, confident nod. The Captain made a signal and the two guards got to work. Mok-1-21 gave up her knife, pistol, and data-slate to the one soldier while then spreading her arms and legs to be physically inspected by the second.

“We’ll also provide a replacement handheld device for you during your stay.” The Captain noted as Mok-1-21 was professionally patted down by the one guard. She understood the gesture, but Mok-1-21 was loath to have and use a human slate.

However, a point that surprised her was how professional and courteous the Captain and her soldiers were being. She imagined that all humans were either foul, lecherous trolls or lazy, addled dilettantes. Well, they were a military power, it only made sense that there was a semblance of respectability and professionalism amongst these soldiers.

When the body check was done to whatever human level of satisfaction, the Captain nodded and the tempered-plass door opened, inviting Mok-1-21 into the heart of the ship.

“If you would follow me, Mok-1-21,” the Captain said, curtly, “I will show you to your quarters.” She then turned about and marched through the curving halls, not bothering to check if Mok-1-21 was following.

Mok-1-21 stared, startled by the suddenness, before taking long, loping strides to catch up. And get away from the two soldiers wielding pulse rifles, who were probably ready to turn them on her if she lagged behind too much.

Mok-1-21 caught up with the Captain, as the latter led her through the curving hallways of the hexagonal vessel, occasionally taking a right turn down a short access corridor that took them further into the ship. Mok-1-21 imagined the internal schematics as a series of concentric rings. Judging by the size of the ship she was thinking it was seven or eight floors in total. She could not imagine where the bridge would be on this strange, symmetrically shaped vessel, but she figured the dead centre of the hexagon was a solid bet. She did not know what good thinking in this military, strategic manner would do her, but it did calm her nerves.

As the strange pair made their way through the ship - curving corridors, right hand turns, one or two turbolifts up or down - Mok-1-21 made another observation. She was expecting a human vessel - any human vessel - to be filled to the brim with their disgusting bimbo sexslaves, mincing about and brainlessly flaunting their gene-modded bodies to the pleasure of their brutish masters. But, no. She saw no non-human beings and only a scant few humans, all dressed in non-combat uniforms and looking directly at her. Glares of utter hatred, contempt, and disgust. As warm a welcome as she could expect upon a human vessel…

“Captain, I have a question.” Mok-1-21 asked when the two of them were alone on a turbolift, descending deeper into the ship. She had not spoken since coming aboard, but felt comfortable enough and confident enough in the privacy of the lift. The Captain gave her silent assent to continue, and so she did. “You said we were taking me to my quarters, but I was hoping to go straight into our parley proper.”

The Captain kept her head high and face neutral. Even if Mok-1-21 had experience with human facial expressions, she would not be able to discern much of anything from the taciturn woman. “I require a specific asset from the FIA detachment in the area. We’ll begin once that asset is present aboard.”

Mok-1-21 did not like the fact that the human military intelligence was getting involved, but it was too late to have such misgivings. “Well, if we’re making requests about our parley, then I have one, too.” This time, she did not ask for permission to continue. “In exchange for the information I have, I want transport. Away from Dallis and out of system.”

As the lift came to a gentle stop, the door gliding open in silent, mechanical precision, Captain Najaderesh turned to Mok-1-21. Her… fleshy face pustules - what were they called again…? Ah! Yes, lips. Her lips parted and curved into an amused smile.

“No.”

The one word, spoken not with malice nor with gentleness, struck Mok-1-21 in the chest like a hammer. She felt as if she were going to physically collapse in the liftcar. Shattered. And not just physically. She was starting to realize how deep she was in it. How dangerous the situation she had created for herself.

And the Captain did nothing to ease those fears.

“Don’t look so shocked, Mok-1-21.” The Captain said, coolly and professional once more, even if she still wore that amused smile. “As you said in your message, our people do not have any sort of formal agreement regarding parley. Hell, there is no ‘your people’ anymore. The Federation claims this system as it’s own and the majority of the Dranza are reduced to the status of slaverace. You should be grateful I am even entertaining your request.

“Furthermore, you are not in the position to make demands. Not at this juncture. You will offer up the information we desire and then we will judge the value of said information and decide your fate from there. But I highly doubt you will be allowed to leave this system of your own accord.”

“I…I will not be made a ****…” Mok-1-21 said, trying to steady her body and voice. Trying to find her defiance against the enemy.

“That too will be decided eventually.” The Captain brushed it all off, turning away from Mok-1-21. “But, I do have a question. If you did manage to get transport out of system, where would you go?”

Mok-1-21 really hadn’t thought that far. This was all a desperation play. After a moment of thought, she said, “I don’t know. Somewhere else in the free borderlands, I suppose.”

“The Federation owns a good half of the borderlands expanse.” The Captain countered, in the manner of a teacher lecturing and scolding a lazy student. “And the Alliance still owns plenty of holdings, too. The unheld, unaffiliated territories are being quickly snatched up by both sides. Whether by government-sponsored expeditions or private prospectors. It’s the staging ground for the next level of this conflict. There will be no free space in the borderlands before long. And any human that got their hands on you would not be as merciful as we are now.”

“Fine then.” Mok-1-21 grunted in annoyance. “I’ll take passage to an Alliance-held world. Or to Alliance space, even.”

Captain Najaderesh chuckled, shaking her head. “That might even be a greater mistake than going to the borderlands. We know all about the enmity held between the former Dranza Empire and the CGA. Unless you live like a hermit in the wilderness, I doubt you will be welcomed anywhere the Garex, Egaz, or Annareal call home. A millennium of dogmatism and warfare has it’s price, you know.”

All of this was leaving Mok-1-21 grasping at straws, struggling for answers. Eventually, she managed to ask, “How do you know all of this?”

“‘To defeat one’s enemy you must know one’s enemy’. An ancient human adage from the time of our homeworld. We do not go out into the void blindly picking a fight. Nor did we save the Dranza for last by sheer coincidence. Had we begun the invasion before we subdued the Zee-Rai and Amarleans, then perhaps you could have fled to their systems or forged an alliance with them. But once they became our vassals and slaves, the Dranza had nowhere else to turn to.”

Captain Najaderesh turned back to face Mok-1-21, her amused smile still there, but something dangerous present in her dark eyes. The look an alpha sabrewulf wore when it had finally cornered it’s prey. The look of pure victory and the satisfaction that came with it.

“Whatever remnant of your people exists, they are just like you. Isolated and alone and at our mercy. If you still have any pride, abandon it. It will not help you here.”

Point made and proven, the Captain smugly pivoted back around and started marching down the hallways of this lower level. “Now, come. Your room and your liaison are waiting for you.”

Mok-1-21 did not think her spirit could be anymore broken. But there was a difference in falling into a spiral of misery of your own accord and having your most-hated enemies lay out those same points in such a piercing, withering manner.

With no more recourse left, she followed the Captain to her prison cell and jailers.