Hellastria Palace

Vestia Prime

3536.09.25

(18:75)

Carefully watching the arrival of countless distinguished visitors, Tynna Re’Anon eyes the armored hover vehicle carrying the Ambassador to Meadra Seven. Edging her way to the partition closest to the disembarking dignitaries, she whips out her pocket holo-recorder, and waits for the doors to open. The vehicle slides up to the red carpet, and an expensively equipped Yallarian bodyguard, exits from the front door and surveys the crowds and surrounding area. Hiding a formal three-piece suit underneath an armored overcoat, she removes a small scanning device no larger than a child’s hand; the device almost disappears in her massive hand. Standing easily seven and a half feet tall, most humans would only reach to the top of her chest. Her scarlet hair, tied back into a tight neat tuft, seems too deep of a rich rose tint, a popular fashion running amuck this day. Carrying out numerous scans and identity checks as she looks through the surrounding onlookers and fans, she references them against dozens of known individuals; but no one with a serious record matches any existing records. Satisfied, she mumbles the all clear under her breath and prepares for the doors to open. On cue, the rear doors part, and she activates a small box on her belt. A low hum emanates, and a lucid glimmering field surrounds her, and extends out an additional five feet in all directions. The three-part hatch design had become popular, after an Avoran diplomat was shot in the back of his large feathered head as he left the vehicle. The hatch splits into three parts, one plate covering the top, left, and right, respectably blocking any shots coming from the opposite side of the vehicle, and would have saved the diplomat’s life.

The first person stepping out of the vehicle smiles at the assembled crowd and waves modestly. Wearing a long silver and black silk gown, the elderly woman confidently steps into the protection of the field to stand beside her towering seven-foot tall Yallarian bodyguard. Standing exactly five feet tall, the woman carries an aura even the house guards standing atop of the Imperial Palace find a way to stand even more erect than they already were. A serious expression greets the cheering crowds and fans, as they show their appreciation for the guests’ arrival with salvos of whooping cries and applause. Adjusting her long black and silver gown, she gives the adoring crowd another appreciative wave. As if emphasizing the long gray streak in her dark brown hair, she adjusts her bangs with a simple finger sweep from her right pinky. After glancing across the roped off crowds, only fifteen feet away, she turns back towards the vehicle and to offer her hand to the occupant concealed within. With regal grace, the much taller and grander Galarsha Rootcha takes it and steps confidently beside her waiting companion. Nearly a foot taller, her presence acts like a black hole, in which all the attention and notoriety centers onto her. The swarms of reporters descend upon the roped barrier separating the chaos from the distinguished guests. All at once, the frenzied mass hurls countless questions and frivolous inquiries, further inundating the pair.

“Ambassador Rootcha! Will you be discussing any of the terms to the Mantaywa Six trade agreement, tonight, or is this going to be a completely social function?”

Another shout rings out.

“Will you be advising your daughter on the upcoming Terran Trade Conference?”

The light-haired Yallarian, dressed in a fiercely feminine and roborant business-style suit, smugly interjects by elbowing a rival network’s lead reporter next to her.

“Will you be advising her on the Terran’s insatiable advances on our Eastern buffer zones? Is this the beginning of a new intergalactic policy to safeguard the empire’s borders?”

Adjusting her shimmering emerald-green gown, the ambassador takes a quick glance across the mass of reporters and onlookers gathered. A well-tailored smile flashes over her before she strides towards the mass of reporters, desperately trying to get a few words for the record. She dismisses the wave of grumbling sighs from her numerous bodyguards, and eyes the fierce reporter. Vaguely noticed exiting from the vehicle are three other taller women. Not nearly as tall as the bodyguard, the first woman moves quickly from the vehicle to a designated position a few feet behind the Ambassador’s companion. Standing only a foot taller, she touches the shoulder of the woman in front of her and whispers.

“Mom, why does ‘G’ have to do this? Security is screaming at me. You know the drills better than I do.”

With a gleaming rehearsed smile, Jeny Blackman-Rootcha turns towards her middle-aged daughter.

“Why does she do anything that she’s specifically told not to? Listen she’s been pulling these stunts since before we were amalgamated, since I had you, and continues to do so on this very night! She will continue to pull these stunts to her dying day, no matter what security tells her. That is Galarsha! She’s Xamae, the head of the house. I’m Xamee, not head of the house. That’s why my name is Blackman-Rootcha, not Rootcha-Blackman. Got it? And besides, she’s your mother too; if you don’t like it, you can go tell her yourself.”

Rolling her eyes, Elvira Rootcha lets out a loud, irate sigh, and scans the area to locate her daughter. Unconcerned with her daughter chatting to a nearby reporter, she strides over to her mother, beaming warm and friendly smiles to all around her. Catching only the tail end of the conversation, she visually acknowledges everyone with respectful nods with her head, and wraps her arm around her elder’s waist. Galarsha’s frail form hid a very dangerous woman to those who got on her bad side. Her martial art skills use to rival the deadliness of her wit, but even time takes its toll. Fortunately, the only skill impaired by age, was her endurance for bureaucratic nonsense. Too often, the ambassador’s tongue would gather the anger of a young imperial representative, and either her or her other sister Catherine would wind up apologizing for her. Bringing herself close to Galarsha, she whispers.

“Mommy G, come on. Ullara is waiting for us at the top of the stairs.”

Smiling at her, she turns back towards the reporter.

“Well, it was nice talking to you Yvel. I’ve got to go. My daughters only know how to rush around an eighty-year old woman, rather than enjoy some pleasant conversation. Well, you take care of yourself and say hi to that beautiful woman of yours for me.”         

Leaving, she leans over and whispers to Elvira.

“I gave birth to Ullara, and I earned the right to make her wait on me. So when you say that your sister is rushing me in, it really doesn’t have much effect on me. Understand?” Galarsha’s austere grin causes Elvira to shirk backwards and readjusts her footing. Looking around the entourage, Galarsha pleasantly calls out to her Xarmora, her beloved spouse.

“Jeny Dear! It’s getting a tad bit too chilly out here for me. Can we head inside, please?”

Galarsha smiles to herself as she notices a reporter expertly merge next to her niece Mia. The reporter obviously had done this before, because she put herself in the middle of their group of a dozen.  The course of the assembly immediately shifts towards the entrance of the palace, and everyone swiftly strides up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, the four ceremonial guards pop to attention, and a richly adorned military officer approaches with a huge smile beaming. With ash brown hair and subtle lighter highlights, the woman towers easily over six feet tall. Spreading out her arms, she welcomes her parents.

“Xamae! Xamee! It’s great to finally have both visit. The last time we were all together was−” As she pauses to think back twenty-five years, Jeny chimes in.

“Since the memorial service for Kyssa on Mantaya six. You went off with Jina, to conquer the universe, and forgot about what was really important: family. I would have thought you would have shown more respect for Kyssa, than by going off and playing second fiddle to a galactic dictator, or are you the new reigning dictator?”

Jeny’s sarcastic smile slaps Ullara across her face. Her position as Jina McBride’s second in command, had strained the relationship with both of her parents; but to have Jeny viciously slash her choice to seek a life of covert duty, was a low blow. It wasn’t a secret that Jeny herself, before her career as a musician and song writer, was serving as a Terran Secret Service agent. It was with greater irony that Jeny, of all people, would be against her decision. If it hadn’t been for the intervention of a close family friend, she’d never have talked to either of her parents, again. Kyssa ReAnnon, was a respected agent of the Yallarian High Guard; and often, the High Guard and Terran Secret Service would both collaborate and clash from time to time. It was during one such collaboration, which Kyssa came to know Jeny. Jeny earned her title as Kayle, Warrior of the Yallarian Empire, nearly fifty years prior. The title had only been given three times to non-Imperial citizens, in the past seven hundred years, and Jeny finds it difficult to go a single day she’s not reminded of that honor.

“Mom, she offered me a chance to be a part of something big. Bigger than me, just to me! I was just a naive soldier girl with wild aspirations of what adventure was really like. I had no idea what it was going to entail, and even if I had, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. I couldn’t conceive that I could affect so many lives, or do so much. I was so blinded by my own desire to do good, that I never paid attention to what the consequences would be. Yes, Jina was and still is a megalomaniac in the making, but I know that now. Back then, she had so much power, it mesmerized me. Then later, I saw the monster in her full glory and regalia. It scared me, and I wanted to get out; but, it was then that I realized if I left, no one would be around to keep her in check. And that scared me worse than anything. I was responsible for building her up to a virtual goddess, and I was responsible for ensuring she wouldn’t become another Kahn, Hitler, or Gödel.”

Ullara sighs heavily, and turns away. She swallows hard, trying to keep the bile down her throat and tears from seeping from her eyes.

Elvira had feared this would happen, and cleared her throat drawing attention to herself.

“Let’s finish this conversation inside please. Besides, we came here to celebrate a reunion, not to resume where you three left off years ago.”

Galarsha surges forward and locks Ullara in an intense bear-hug, ignoring numerous diplomatic procedures; and Jeny quashes her pride long enough to join her Xamora, and daughter. As the attention shifts to the reunited family, Tynna follows Mia’s lead, and guided her past the numerous security guards and scanners. Deposited in the main ballroom chamber, Tynna dodges an inbound pair of guards by a gracefully dancing Mia, who sweeps her off her feet and in step. Swinging her across the floor, they casually glide towards the terrace archway. The aloof guests simply don’t see or outright ignore the young couple. More importantly though, the guards show the same disinterest and continue scanning and monitoring the crowds. When the last note trails off in the air, they part company, and Mia heads back to her mother, leaving Tynna at the terrace. She feigns a sore leg and sits down and relaxes on an ornate granite bench. Patiently she rubs and massages her right ankle, and watches as the last guard returns inside. Removing a daily organizer, she mindlessly taps in a few notes, and activates a switch on the side of the organizer. Holding the switch, she acts as if she’s reading a lengthy electronic novel for two minutes, and releases the switch. Pausing for a few moments, she gently sets the unit down on the bench.

Taking a deep breath, she stands and looks around. With no one else near the terrace, she removes her small holographic video recording device from her purse. Pausing to look over her shoulder for a final check of stray guests, she breathes in deeply, and exhales it carefully. Toggling a concealed switch on the camera, the camera comes to life and a life-like duplicate of her appears besides her reading the daily organizer as she had been previously. Laying the camera down behind the bench, she puts away the organizer, and walks to a large flowerpot. Being an obnoxious looking plant with purple and brown leaves spreading in all directions, it’s only redeeming value were the numerous sweet red berries covering it. For some unknown reason it was the current queen’s favorite, thus expected to be present in most official imperial locales.

Digging in the dirt, she fishes out a pair of black slippers and gloves in a protective bag. Setting them down on the bench, she fishes out another larger bag, and sets it down next to the first bag. She quickly takes off her shoes, and replaces them with the slippers. Hiding her shoes behind the bench, she puts the second bag inside her purse after removing a pen. Stuffing the pen inside her bra, she slips on the gloves and approaches the wall. Looking up at the third floor windows, she picks her target carefully. The building, up until four years ago, was an important repository for the empire’s naval and exploration fleet’s files. From room 336, she could still access the central database, and view all the files for the last twelve hundred years. The empire was flawed in numerous ways, but it was never known for slacking off from maintaining its historical databases and records.

Like a spider, she carefully scales the wall and tries to remain focused. With the fruit of her last four years of labor imminently set to bloom before her, she tries to calm herself by concentrating on her breathing. Moments later, she finds herself at the third story window right next door to her objective. Taking a deep breath, she frees her left hand from the wall, and taps a control on her right forearm. A series of LED lights flash for a few seconds, and the window’s lock unlatches and she effortlessly opens the window to swing inside. Room 334, was once the Assistant Record Director’s office; but all it seems to be now is a large janitor’s closet. Navigating through the room without tripping was an acrobat’s nightmare. The building’s historical significance, having lost its importance decades ago, shabbily hides its honor underneath dusty sheets. In its heyday, this kind of gross negligence would have resulted in an officer’s firing and reassignment to a remote icy post, until their commission expired. After a dozen near catastrophic slips and falls across the room, Tynna reaches the door, thinking: ‘No wonder they didn’t have this room wired for security traps, the junk in here does the same trick.’

Pulling out her holo-recorder, she opens the displayer and moves the recorder in front of the door. Like an x-ray camera, she sees through the door, and scans the hallway for anyone. Content with the lack of activity, she toggles to another view and her luck seems to hold. Not only were there no security troops patrolling, there weren’t any active security sensors, either. Her contact had assured her that the faulty controller wouldn’t be replaced until the morning, but she preferred not to take too many chances. She’d worked too long and spent too much money to get where she was to lose it due to a gung-ho maintenance crew. After stowing the recorder, she retrieves the pen she’d stowed earlier, and clutches it in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she readies herself to storm the hallway, and get to the office, next door.

Carefully she unlatches the door, and peaks out. Listening intently, she cautiously peeks out and bolts for the adjacent office. Thrusting the pen against the lock, the painful moments crawl by as the lock is decrypted and opened. Totally exposed to anyone who might walk by, beads of sweat collect at an alarming rate. She contemplates the logic of her mission, and the purpose of pursuing something, that would easily get her shot as a spy. Tynna never really got to know her Jia-Xamae Kyssa. Other than a few misplaced pictures, unimportant at the time, she regretted having never been able to spend any time with her. She prayed that by recovering her lost remains would, in a small way, redeem herself and impart some magical knowledge.

Knowing the problem lay with finding the exact coordinates to the wreckage of the civilian cargo vessel Drusilla’s Moon, Tynna was hard pressed to finding any information on its exact location. It was a small thirty million ton cargo cruiser, which regularly carried a hundred paying passengers. They weren’t the best staterooms, but at a fraction of a commercial carrier’s cost, you couldn’t beat that kind of a bargain. For the past four years, she’d committed all of her resources to finding out the truth behind its loss near the Terran border system Rosa Gothica. Kyssa had been a passenger and was meeting an old friend of hers onboard; but during the return leg of the trip, pirates attacked the ship. Its loss resulted in the closure of the Terran borders for nearly fifteen years. Only until Galarsha Rootcha came out of retirement and negotiated a treaty, was open trade resumed.

  A sudden click from the lock makes Tynna flinch and hesitate from opening the door immediately. Once she’d taken a breath and came to her senses, she bursts in and points the pen at the farthest corner of the room. After a tense moment, a green light illuminates on a small box in the upper corner near the ceiling. With a deep sigh, she breathes a little easier and surges toward the aged computer along the wall. Gingerly, she powers it up; and after a few tense moments, the database access protocols patiently await Tynna’s stolen codes. Tentatively, she sets the recorder on the countertop of the computer. Pulling a cable from one of her many pockets, she attaches it to the side of the recorder, and the other end to a port on the main computer. After a series of taps and commands, the computer’s ancient memory banks are accessible once more.

Wasting no time, she inquires into the coordinates of the Drusilla’s Moon, to find the data immediately available. Mumbling how easy the task was, only encourages her to snoop further; testing the authenticity of the data. She inquires the system over for Kyssa’s service record. As she expected, no data was available. With all the files over the Drusilla’s Moon downloaded, she browses through them for any ideas for further inquiries. As she’s about to close the last file and shutdown the system, she notices an additional reference to related data. Overcome by confidence and curiosity, she activates the shortcut to the additional files.

From a secure room in the basement, Ensign Chalma Giltser flags the watch Officer, and finishes typing a sequence of security protocols. The older officer, roughly mid thirties with light brown wild curls, strolls over to the young ensign at the terminal. Clearing her throat as she approaches, she double checks her uniform, and addresses her subordinate.

“What seems to be the problem, Ensign Giltser, the anti-hacking sub-routines and maintenance systems, giving you a problem again?”

Temporarily embarrassed by her previous shortcomings over the last six weeks, she tries to sit a little more erect, and speak forcefully confident.

“No Ma’am. I detected a security violation on the files which were booby-trapped incase they were accessed. Well… they were accessed in room 336, the old Central Exploration Database computer. It recorded an authorized inquiry, but the user tripped the trap shortcut. The cameras are offline for that room, and I can’t find out how the user even got to that floor, and there was no sign-in registered at the two check points prior to getting to that floor.”

She looks over the ensign’s findings and nods in approval. “Good work! You’ve definitely improved your protocol skills. Last time you alerted a full detail to arrest a stray bird, which flew through an open window. What would you recommend, now?”

Without hesitating, she spurts.

“I’d alert Security team Chag Fourteen, and the Chief Security Officer of the situation. She’d probably advise additional teams as backup, but that would be her call, not mine.”

Still nodding her approval, she looks down at her newest computer security officer and smiles.

“That’s correct, mostly. I’d advise notifying the security chief first. She might be already aware of the situation, and has taken the appropriate steps to counter the threat. If you spring the trap too early, you’d have a lot more to answer for. And in this case, that would be true.”

Addressing the computer firmly, she continues.

“E-L-R-I-S. Security override Jurga twelve ninety-seven Alpha twenty.” A pleasant sounding woman’s voice responds from the terminal.

“Acknowledged Commander Jurga. File access restrictions removed.”

Ensign Guilder’s mouth nearly hits the floor, in utter shock. Total disbelief washes over her, and she can only stare at her commanding officer for an explanation. Commander Jurga stands taller, and chuckles to herself.

“Don’t worry. This comes from Admiral Rootcha herself. We’ve been waiting a while for our intrusive guest to pay us a visit, and now we want her to take the bait and fly home.”

 

Tynna reads from a ship’s log, nearly three hundred years prior; a scout vessel’s final voyages: the Y.N.S. Sigurdrifta. It was a light patrol cruiser, with a crew complement of two hundred and thirty; but the performance ratings by naval command, led you to believe they had twice as many. The captain and command staff regularly performed with the minimal crew complements, required for extended ship deployment; and other than one case, never heard a complaint from the crew or let their performance show this fact. Three weeks prior to the ships loss, the Queen’s Inspector General gave it the Imperial Elite Operations Award. This was given only once every year to outstanding crews and teams in the military community. Typically, the Exploration Command or Research Division walked away with this award, but not that year. Tynna quickly copies the files to her recorder, and reads the incredible tale which blossoms before her very eyes. The Captain, Rayko Hyama, commanded the ship for nearly eight years, before its unfortunate loss, not too far from the wreckage of the Drusilla’s Moon. The IEO award was given based on the captain and crew’s performance during

“… extreme and unusual conditions, rarely encountered in the line of duty.”

From their performance, the ship and crew were spared a fate of a previous crew, and

“…their ability to adapt to a situation, which most crews and vessels wouldn’t survive, distinguishes them above all their peers.”

She breezes to the end of the report to discover the Inspector General’s Family name was McBride. Tynna wonders if this Darla McBride is related to Jina McBride, head of the Eighth House, and mentally makes a note for further research.

As Tynna goes to close the file she happens to notice the inspector awarded eight Naval Clusters, one of the highest awards of bravery in the military, by decree from the Queen herself. The captain got one of course, and so did the Chief Engineer. Tynna absently closes the file just as her eyes catch a familiar name. She scrambles to reopen the file, and skim to where she saw the name. A cold sweat overcomes her and her hands shake uncontrollably as she stops to read a name; a name she never imagined she’d see. Assistant Chief Engineer Kyssa Re’Anon, served during its final voyage, and was listed as one of the two crew lost during the evacuation of the ship. She franticly fights to find any cross-references and data over one of her ancestors. Her Xamae had never mentioned Kyssa having any notable relatives, and this discovery was far better than anything she could have imagined. Her heart throbs wildly in her chest, and she can barely breathe. This suddenly changes as a holographic image appears of the Assistant Chief Engineer; her heart skips a beat as she peers into the face of her Jia-Xamae. The woman who she knew as the head of her house, the one person she put all of her life and future into discovering her whereabouts, stares coldly from a file, long forgotten and hidden.