Nova Wars

They shall be the finest warriors, these martial people who descend from us. In great armour shall we clad them and with the mightiest guns will they be armed. They will have tactics, strategies and machines such that no foe can best them in battle. They will be our bulwark against the Malevolent Universe. They will be the Wrath of Humanity. They will be the Ringbreakers... and they shall teach our foes the true meaning of Terror.- The Founder's Codex, Patron of the Second Founding Cathal Casey, 14 P2PW, 19 PTXE - Patron of the Second Founding Cathal Casey, 14 P2PW, 19 PTXE

Strechen moved around the quarters slowly, looking it over.

She had been on plenty of Imperial vessels. They were always cramped, the corridors narrow and twisting, the rooms barely enough to take three paces. The cabin she had been issued once she reached Field Captain had been a little larger.

But nothing like this.

The 'nutriforge' assured her, in flawless Dra.Falten, that it could create raw ingredients or a fully cooked meal to her precise specifications. The menu had foods she was far too impoverished and low ranking to even smell, much less eat. The drinks were esoteric and things she had only heard of from higher ranking Dra.Falten, many of them imperial nobility.

She could make her own food. The 'virtual intelligence' in the kitchen would help her make whatever she wanted. When it manifested, its appearance was a subservient Dra.Falten with correct body language and the fur patterns of a lower caste servant.

To be honest, before she had escorted Tawtchee, she would have been happy with the VI.

Now? It bothered her. She had asked it to change its fur pattern to something, anything, else.

The kitchen was bigger than her front room back on NarRek, where she grew up. The front room was larger then her entire apartment.

The bedroom had a bed, anti-gravity sleeping plates, dressers, a closet, mirrors, and other luxuries.

All of it aboard a warship.

You should be afraid, Tawtchee's voice sounded out in her mind.

She was moving around the frontroom, looking at everything from the 2.5D entertainment viewscreen, the holo-emitter built into the table, the comfortable couch and chairs, when the door pinged.

When she looked at it a hologram appeared, showing SP9 Caoimhe standing outside with a data-slate/clipboard.

Strechen moved over and answered the door.

"Apologies for delaying the briefing," she said, smiling again. "However, the briefing has been prepared if you are now refreshed and ready."

Strechen just nodded.

"Excellent, if you'll just wait right here in the hallway," the Terran said, smiling again.

Strechen watched as Hrekkel, Leeu, and Commander "Nave" moved into the corridor.

Caoimhe pressed the chime four times for Tawtchee, but there was no answer. Each time the chime hologram was tapped it flashed "DO NOT DISTURB" in red and silver.

"I will get him," Strechen said.

The door opened at her touch and she went inside. The room was dark, light sources all off. She listened for a moment and heard slow breathing.

"Lights," she said.

The room lit up slowly, and Strechen saw Tawtchee asleep on the couch, curled up, with the blanket taken from the bed wrapped around him.

"Tawtchee," Strechen said, tapping his foot.

Tawtchee opened one eye, flicking an ear. After a second he got up and stretched.

"Briefing time," Strechen said.

"Oh, joy. More nightmare fuel," he said. He put his feet in his boots and strapped them tightly, then stood up and stomped his feet to set his boots. "Let's get this horror show on the road."

Strechen just shook her head and left, Tawtchee following.

During the trip to the briefing room, Caoimhe kept up a running monologue.

The ship was just over six thousand years old, although it had undergone extensive repair and refit, then something called 'service life extension' as recently as two hundred years and twenty years respectively.

Strechen looked around, wondering what in the universe could put out enough damage to force a ship this size in 'drydock' for repairs and refit for nearly four years.

The Tabula Systems were mentioned several times. Apparently entirely xenocided, it had been refounded by a single family, who had managed to recover the genetic repository banks and not only reseed the planet with foliage and fauna, but with 'family bloodlines' of the people who had been xenocided.

Strechen paid close attention. From the highlights the Terran talked about, the ship was often deployed to hand the "Eternal Vigilance", that it had been designed solely to take the war to the enemy.

Commander Nave asked where the Terrans had come from and Caoimhe happily explained that her people had fled the Mantid attack on TerraSol during the opening battle. Had survived centuries aboard a damaged ship ran by an insane AI, then managed to colonize a planet that hated them even while fighting against mutated members of their own species.

Caoimhe also mentioned that the planet had two species. One reptilian, from somewhere called Rigel.

It was unified under one government, one church, and the Knights Aesir were only one of four Martial Orders.

When Leeu asked, Caoimhe elaborated that 'Martial Orders' were a traditionalist fraternity or sorority dedicated to a single divine figure that they fought for. Those in the Martial Orders were extremely religious, even moreso than the rest of the Tabula Theocracy's population. High tech mixed with superstition, with males and females entirely dedicated to nothing but warfare.

The Final Sight of Black Night was one of the ships of the Martial Order of the God Tyr.

Strechen heard the unspoken statement that each of the Martial Orders could field such high tech engines of destruction.

You should be afraid, Tawtchee's voice echoed in Strechen's mind.

She had to admit, the more Caoimhe spoke, the more dread filled her.

Finally they reached the briefing room. Caoimhe showed them each to comfortable chairs that adjusted underneath them until they were the perfect comfort.

"Can I have a datapad to take notes?" Hrekkel asked.

"And me?" Leeu asked.

"And me," Strechen said.

"Of course," Caoimhe said. She moved to a device on the wall and punched in a few codes, then turned to face the five Dra.Falten. She moved over and set down an odd device in front of them.

"Earpiece and reticles," she explained. "The briefing will show you how to put them on and activate them. They will translate writing that is not part of the poly-adaptive neuro-linguistic network, provide directions, as well as let you speak to the ship's computer services as well as find and speak to one another," she gave a slight smile as she moved back to the object and retrieved five dataslates. She handed them out, stopping in front of Tawtchee.

"You don't want one?" she asked.

"Sure, why not?" Tawtchee said. He set the dataslate on the table.

Strechen found the dataslate easy to navigate, getting to the note-taking section with only a half-dozen icon presses.

"With that, let's start the briefing," Caoimhe said, turned and pointing at the far wall. She snapped her fingers three times and the wall lit up.

What followed was one of the most horrifying things Strechen had ever watched.

Not the part on how to put on the reticle and earpiece. That was no different than a BobCo instruction manual.

No, it was the information on the ship, the Terrans, what the Sancti Ordo Spiritus Tyr was founded to do, the information about their "Eternal Vigilance", the wars, the mayhem, the fights against empires a hundred times their size.

All presented in the serious tones of a narrator of a nature documentary.

The part about Niven Rings and O'Neill Cylinders AKA Doom Tubes and the 'Dwellerspawn' made Strechen's hands shake.

Four hundred years ago one of those Doom Tubes had wandered into a Dra.Falten system. The creatures it spawned had devoured an entire agri-world, an industrial world, and then moved on before the Doom Tube left the system, never to be seen again.

The Sancti Ordo Spiritus Tyr was pledged to find those creations and destroy them.

The full weight of an Imperial Fleet hadn't even scratched the Doom Tube. Not even with a planet cracker.

And the Sancti Ordo Spiritus Tyr fielded ships and weaponry that could blow holes in them.

Strechen made sure to record the entire briefing.

When the recorded part was over, Caoimhe moved to the front and leaned against a podium that had lifted up from the deck plate like water, completely transparent, until it solidified to look like wood.

"Are there any questions?" she asked, smiling.

"I will have many once I have digested and examined the data," Hrekkel said.

"Nope," Tawtchee said.

"You are not affiliated with The Detainee?" Leeu asked. Strechen noticed her voice sounded hopeful.

"No, we are not affiliated with the Matron of the Damned. The Ord Naofa de Theach Duinn de Deirfiúracht is of the House of Donn, not the Matron of the Damned," Caoimhe said.

"Are you a member of the Order of Tyr?" Commander Nave asked.

Caoimhe smiled and nodded slowly. "A sister, yes, of a specific House with a lineage that stretches back to the Second Founding."

"How important is one's house?" Strechen asked.

"Quite important," Caoimhe said. "My birth house as well as what profession I enter and what house, if any, I am inducted into during my life, are all vitally important to my people and me."

Strechen nodded.

"I have seen no cybernetics," Leeu said.

Caoimhe nodded. "No, you will not. Unless it is required to ensure continuation life, cybernetics and cloned tissue are strictly forbidden in my culture," she blinked slow and Strechen saw a muscle ripple along her jaw. "As are clones, especially clones created in order to perform labor or dangerous occupations with a shortened lifespan."

"May I ask why?" Strechen asked, glancing at Tawtchee.

"It is a sin," Caoimhe stated, her voice flat. "To create short bake identical clones is to bring down the wrath of Vat Grown Luke upon the sinners. To create and warp life, as the Atrekna did, as others have, is a sin."

Hrekkel jotted notes, Leeu nodded, Strechen swallowed thickly, and Nave just nodded.

Tawtchee looked bored.

"But what about quality of life?" Hrekkel asked.

Caoimhe nodded stiffly. "That is the question most often asked in regards to cybernetics and cloned tissue," she stared at the scientist. "Rather than get into a deep philosophical discussion, let me just say it is my people's cultural belief. We would use cloning before cybernetics, in the case of children, cloned tissue to repair any injury due to accident or disease."

She made a motion toward Tawtchee. "Much as your society uses short bake clones for your military," she then gestured at Strechen and Commander Nave. "As well as your officer caste, hiding the termination deadline inside a supposed congenital defect easily spotted by an off the shelf genetic analysis kit."

Strechen just blinked.

"I'm not a clone. I have a mother and father," Nave protested.

"Is your mother fifty years of age?" Caoimhe asked.

"No, she just celebrated her forty-eighth birthday," Nave stated.

"If her genetic line is like yours, she will have a stroke during or soon after her fiftieth year," Caoimhe said. "Just as you would have."

Nave just blinked.

Tawtchee barked a laugh. "The Empress loves us."

Caoimhe looked at him, frowning slightly.

"We're not so different after all," Tawtchee said, bruxing his back teeth in amusement. "Apologies."

Caoimhe nodded slowly.

Strechen saw that she did not like discussing her religion or her culture and seemed almost defensive about her culture's rejection of cybernetic and genetic/clone tissue enhancement.

Strechen had the feeling that there had been difficulties around that subject.

Probably very violent ones.

There were no more questions, the Dra.Falten feeling uneasy with their hostess's unwillingness to discuss something that seemed so strange to them.

The walk back to their quarters was accomplished by following the blue line projected into their vision by the reticle. Three times they flattened against the wall as work crews went by carrying heavy objects.

Back in her cabin, Strechen used the facilities, then stepped into the fresher, going through the options.

She decided she liked that subdermal massage setting of the infrasonic cleaner.

We like to hear things working so we can trust them, she thought to herself when she wondered for a split second why the device made a water spraying sound as it panned over and around her body. She sighed and put her head against the frosted smartglass as the cleaner heads focused on tense muscles, massaging them.

She put on the reticle, wrapped a modesty wrap around herself, followed the directions on the reticle to make the wrap feel warm and fuzzy, then went in and sat on the couch. After a few minutes she got up and saw the nutriforge had "BobCo Instant Super-Taste Omni-Noodles NOW WITH ULTRA-SAUCE!" in the menu. She got a bowl and the edible eating sticks, a Countess Crey Superberry Sparklesnap fizzypop, and went and sat back down.

She was halfway through when the door pinged. She twiddled her finger to use the reticle interface.

It was Tawtchee, wearing a rumpled but clean looking uniform. She sighed, opening the door.

He came in, went over to the nutriforge and got a narcobrew, then came and sat down.

"Well?" he asked after a long moment.

Strechen swallowed her noodles and sauce, then set down the eating sticks.

"They are born and then forged to fight these Mar-gite. They have been doing it since our people were little more than clever animals," Strechen said. She closed her eyes and opened them. "Their reverence for their deities matches how we are told we should feel toward the Emperor and the Empress."

She looked at him, staring into his eyes.

"Only they honor their dead."

She took his hand.

"They do not cease to exist."