Ask The Million Crowns of Tion - Part IV

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini shook her head as Laeonas dismissed the droid, still staring up at it in almost reverent fascination. Her face was reflected, distorted and stretched, in the reflective kiirium of the war-robot's armor.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew the stories the Nikto and the Klatooinians tell about these things..."

After a moment, the pair of them set off deeper into the tunnel. On a whim, Trini reached out and - hesitating a moment - ran her hand over the cool, smooth armor. She winced slightly as a static charge that had built up in her fur discharged into the metal, but she was quickly engrossed by the sensation of the kiirium beneath her touch. The ancient Tionese droidwrights had been masters of their art; the metal had no flaws, none of the pits or other tiny imperfections one might expect of an item that had been manufactured on an industrial scale. The armor was smooth, and perfectly reflective; legend had it that it was capable of bouncing primitive chemical laser beams straight back at their sources, if angled correctly.

Her reverie was broken by Laeonas' receding footsteps. Reluctantly, she turned from the massive droid and hurried after the human; she could always come back for the inert machine, she supposed. Before long, Trini and Laeonas were out of sight in the gloom of the tunnel, leaving the massive war-robot once again alone in the dark. For long minutes, it stood as it had for thousands of years, patient and unmoving, its systems cold.

And then, there was a sound.

It was quiet, only noticeable compared to the dead silence of the tunnel. The tiny click of a solenoid, somewhere deep within the war-robot's massive body. For moments after, there was nothing more, but then another click sounded, and another. After some time, the whine of gyros spinning up and internal servos running diagnostics began to be discernible.

At the droid's side, the fingers of one massive hand flexed.

The mercenary captain's rocket pack clanked as he pressed up against a wall, panting for breath and waving for several other figures to do the same. He cursed to himself, fingering a bit of carbon scoring that stained his otherwise pristine gear; whoever the other fellows were, they knew what they were about, and so far he had lost as much of his command to them as to that damn saber-wielding Sith.

"I'm going to make that one pay." He growled to himself, checking the charge on his twin pistols.

The Sith, of course, and that fuzzy little academic he was protecting, were his objectives from that start, not to mention whatever it was they were looking for. His employer had not been specific about what he and his men were likely to find, but the Captain was assured he would know it when he saw it. He had also been assured that whatever it was, it was valuable enough to leave some of his own troops behind to fight a delaying action against any interlopers, which was exactly what it had come down to.

"Sir! I think I see where they went!"

The little band of mercenaries had come to a wide-open junction in the tunnel network, and one of them was standing by an unfinished-looking bore hole. It only went a few meters into the rock, but there was a neat, human-sized hole cut into it, revealing a dark space beyond.

"Got them." Snarled the Captain. "Everyone, standard sweep! Inside, go, go, go!"

The rocket-jumpers jogged forward, pistols drawn and read, glowrods integrated with their helmets lighting the way. The lights illuminated smooth tunnel walls, and then...

"By Xim!!"

Reflexively, the mercenaries aimed their weapons at the hulking figure they found inside the tunnel. After a moment, however, they relaxed; the massive droid was inert, it seemed.

"Great Old Gods... you know what it is, right?"

The Captain raised his eyebrow at his subordinate. Most of the mercenaries had returned their pistols to their holsters, looking up at the machine in curiosity. The Captain, however, still held one of his weapons, looking apprehensively up at the droid. Something seemed... wrong.

"It's a war-robot, yes." The Captain replied. He had studied his history as much as his tactics. "One of Xim the Despot's, unless I miss my guess. The Thane of my home-world has a few to guard the gates of his estate."

He took a cautious step forward.

"It's probably been standing in this tunnel for... gods know how long it's been standing here."

One of the other mercenaries grinned, and knocked on the broad cuirass of the droid with a resonant clang. "He's dead, I reckon!" The man said with a grin. "Power on this monster probably ran down long-"

With an ominous creak of ancient servos and meshing gears, the war-droid's cranial turret began to swivel. It stopped in its traverse with a clank, and the mercenaries looked up in terror as, with ponderous menace, the dark lenses of the droid's photoreceptors panned downward...

"INNNTRUDERS."

Trini's broad ear twitched, and she paused in her stride, looking over her shoulder back the way she had come.

"Did you hear something just now...?"

The Amaran shook her head ruefully. Changing air currents, probably. She resumed walking, catching up to Laeonas, and the pair of them rounded a bend in the tunnel.

"So, like I was saying, this was all probably improvised; the Captain in the old video said she was waiting on word of succession, and as we know, that never quite happened. Likely she didn't have specific orders for if the situation didn't sort itself out, so she had to decide what to do over the long term. My guess is at the end of this tunnel, we'll find-..."

The beam of Trini's glowrod fell on a solid barrier.

"...a locked door."

The light of the beam glinted off the dark, glossy metal of a blast door. It was not kiirium, but some form of bronzium; there was no corrosion on the metal, and it still bore a smooth, mirror-like surface; leaning close, Trini saw a dim reflection of herself.

"Beyond this, I suspect, is a drydock that's been roofed over. Pretty simple idea, really; the treasure is really big, so you need a big space to hold it. Make a duracrete roof over one of those pits we saw outside, disguise it with stone and sand and rubble. Then, disguise the underground entrance as an unfinished tunnel. Instant treasure vault."

She stepped back, swinging the beam of the glowrod around. The light caught recesses in the wall to either side of the door, in which stood familiar hulking shapes; war-robots, just as inert as the one by the tunnel entrance.

"Kriff, I don't see any controls on this side... probably those droids were meant to signal whoever or whatever was inside to open up. Good news, what we're looking for is probably just on the other side of these doors. Bad news..."

Trini cast a glance down at Laeonas' lightsaber.

"...we may need your party trick again."

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

"I swear, this place is goin' on fer-" he began, words trailing off as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. As Trini asked her question, Laeonas turned on his heels, staring back in the cavern. Could he... no, but there was something... someone, maybe. "Ai... Ai dunno." The Brentaalan muttered. "But we oughta keep movin'. Those pricks outside won't be busy with each other ferever." He declared, picking up the pace.

"Why not just take what she 'ad and make out rich?" He asked. "We 'ave a whole bunch of legends laike th'at back 'ome-- foreigners with a helluva lotta money settlin', marryin' inta some minor family, and makin' it big." He said. "Ai get th'at she might've been... well, loyal, but if yer master's a corpse, what tha 'ell's tha point of buryin' 'is treasure somewhere nobody'll 'ave any use fer it?" He asked. It didn't make much sense to the Brentaalan, but he wasn't a pre republic era subordinate to a megalomaniacal conqueror, so what did he know?

Not long after he asked his questions, they rounded a corner and arrived at a large doorway, flanked on either side by two more of the ancient, apparently dangerous automata. Just one was apparently priceless, but three? He couldn't imagine the riches that must be in the vault proper if even the sentry droids were worth more credits than the average Brentaalan might see in three lifetimes. "An entire drydock, walled off and 'idden... is this gonna be it?" He asked, staring at the door.

he past two weeks had been long, and the job had at points been more stressful than much of what he'd done. Since Matou, he'd never thought he'd get another opportunity to reach the apex of what he could hope to find. Doubtless, he couldn't have it all... no, that wasn't true. There could be an operation here, to extract all that could be found. He could purchase a fleet of droids on a loan, high interest or not, and move everything out. All this place had to offer, it could all be his. His and his mother's-- even Trini's.

If he had to he'd cut every one of those mercenaries down, track down their boss and gut him like a fish. Aquamarines glimmered in the dim light, flecks of amber cutting in around the edges. He glanced down at Trini, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he ignited his saber, his face bathed in crimson light. Hunger and ambition colored his expression, but also gratitude, as if to say, "Ai couldn't 'ave done this without ya."

Without a moment's hesitation the Brentaalan plunged the blade into the bronzium vault door, the ancient metal melting to slag as he cut through it. If this wasn't the finall door, he could go through and find it. He'd cut anything, anyone down if it meant getting the crowns. He had come this far, and he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't be denied again.

Never again.

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini watched as Laeonas' saber ignited, following the crimson blade back to its hilt, then up to its gleam reflected in the human's eye. Her companion's expression was... unsettling, she thought. Nevertheless, she managed a nervous grin of her own, and turned back to watch as he carved into the ancient blast door.

The previously unmarred bronzium ran like hot butter as the lightsaber cut a circle in the material. As Laeonas worked, Trini's ear twitched again, and she glanced over her shoulder; over the crackle of the Sith weapon, she thought she heard... screaming? Some sort of weapons fire, perhaps? The latter was a noise she recognized only out of very old archival footage, and from a live demonstration she had attended by a professional anachronist.

She was distracted from the faint, distant sounds by one much closer at hand. A thick plug of bronzium slid outward under Laeonas' influence, and fell to the stone floor with a clang. Beyond, Trini saw more darkness.

"This is... it, I hope." She said with a nervous glance at Laeonas, before swallowing and turning back toward the hole. "We're either about to have our names go up there with Corellia Antilles, or I've led us all this way on a wild reptavian chase."

The Amaran steeled herself, and stepped over the still molten threshold, into the cavernous space beyond.

The air in the chamber was still; dry and cool, rather than musty and stale, as the Amaran feared it might be. In the light from her glowrod, Trini saw an expanse of dusty stone floor, but as she swept it further, something else was revealed.

"Is that...?"

The object resembled a large computer console, albeit an extremely old one. It was sleek, streamlined, meant to be as much a work of art as a functional piece of equipment. The main control panel bore rows of buttons, levers, dials and cathode flask displays, dark and coated in dust; to one side lay a hypno-imprinting cap, its wire leads trailing back into the machine.

One of the buttons was blinking red.

"It's a command podium!" The Amaran declared excitedly. "Xim's generals used them to keep track of and issue orders to their armies of war-robots in the field! It's basically a very early combat information center system."

Cautiously, Trini approached the podium. She came up short on it; the machine had been designed for humans, the Tion Cluster's dominant species at the time, and widely represented in Xim's armed forces. Nevertheless, the Amaran managed to press the glowing button. For a moment, nothing happened.

"...am Katepano Lepratas, commanding officer of the IXS Continuance. If you are seeing this, then you have come as was foretold, and as I have long prepared for. I greet you, blood of Xim, and welcome you to your birthright."

One of the cathode flasks, a large, round screen set above the others, flared into a bright, amber monochrome image. On it was the face of the ancient captain from the video Trini had discovered on Barancar. She was older in this footage, the lines on her face just a little deeper; the Amaran couldn't say if it was true age or merely signs of stress. She suspected a combination of the two.

"It has all been kept for you, my king. All the articles that shall give you power over the houses of Tion, weapons to defeat your foes, and a treasury sufficient to begin rebuilding your father's lands. As they served him, and as I did, so shall they again."

Abruptly, there was a bang from overhead, and clear, bright light illuminated the massive space. Along the high ceiling, a domed latticework of massive ceramic beams, banks of quartz floodlights snapped on, one row after another in succession. Trini stared out in amazement, her jaw hanging open at the sight.

The sealed dry-dock, as she had suspected, was far from empty. In alcoves along the sloping walls, the shapes of vehicles were visible under tarps, and on the floor, row upon row of neatly stacked synthwood crates of unknown provenance. All of it, however, paled in comparison to what lay on massive support cradles at the center of the dock.

"Continuance is a fine ship. The finest of her class, save the Eibon Scimitar herself; your father saw to that. She will serve you well in the battles to come. In her holds you will find the items of power which you seek. And more besides."

The screen winked out, but Trini was not paying attention. Her eyes were wide as they took in the sight before her, the shape curving away up to the ceiling of the huge chamber. Burnished kiirium panels gleamed in the quartz glare, flaring from the cylindrical hull like the scales of a majestic dragon. The ship - for it was a ship - had a presence to it that went far beyond its physical size; Trini got the impression of immense age, and of long, eventful service.

"Six hundred... no... just over seven hundred meters long!" The Amaran stammered. "Dormadilion's estimations were wrong, all wrong! It is cruiser scale, heavy cruiser!"

Trini bit her lip, then ran toward the massive craft, her enthusiasm taking over.

"The armor scheme is a refinement of the Thanium Star-Glaive! Articulated kiirium panels spaced away from the hull! Not only would they deflect the old chemical lasers and beam-tube cannons, they must have been great thermal regulation! Must be great thermal regulation! Gods, we always knew the ancient Tionese could build amazing ships, but this is..."

She turned back toward Laeonas, her expression gleeful.

"It's a Barancese Hidromon, and it's completely intact! We've only ever found pieces of ships like this! It's... it's just..."

Trini turned back to the ship and spread her arms wide.

"Even if the treasure is somehow gone, this is the biggest archaeological find since the Ark of Baron Auletphant! Bigger even!!"

She raised her eyebrows at a thought.

"I wonder if she'd still fly, after all this time?"

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

The chunk of door he'd cut fell away, revealing blackness, as had been the result of the last wall he'd cut. Trini contemplated about whether or not this was what they had come for-- but he didn't. To come this far and not even find what they were looking for was... it was something Laeonas refused to consider. Regardleess of what was beyond, the two would walk inside, moving slow, the room illuminated by glowrod and saber alike. His eyes darted around until they turned to face the massive control panel and large, vacuum tube screen.

When Trini hit the button, Laeonas hadn't expected anything to happen. There might have been treasure, he reasoned, but surely machines as ancient as these couldn't function--

--and then, before his eyes, passionate and burning with ambition, watched as the screen blinked to life. His mind was filled with questions about how and why these machines could and did function after millennia without any maintenance... and suddenly, he had to consider what else they'd found here. Fear crept into the back of his mind, as he looked out from the hole he'd cut in, out into the dark. He could feel something... a disturbance in the force, and it certainly wasn't caused by the mercenaries.

The human stumbled back a little, blinking a few times before he focused in on the face on screen. It took him several seconds to recognize her as the captain in the previous broadcast, as her features had noticeably changed. Age had been cruel to the woman, wrinkles far more pronounced and skin visibly sagging. That... that wasn't all though. There was something in her voice that was just... gone. There had been a change beneath the skin, deep inside her mind. He didn't know if the Amaran could pick up on alien aging-- Deus knew, he couldn't-- but this went far, far beyond any physical signs. Something had happened to her on a level that even he couldn't properly understand, and that, more than the dark and what might have been hiding in it, utterly terrified him.

Yet even still, wracked with fear, the man couldn't help but be captivated by the voice of a woman whose bones had long since turned to dust. The message had been intended for her master's heir-- one who had never grown to maturity, in spite of what had apparently been foretold. As the drydock opened to reveal all it had stored-- speeders, supply crates, ships of all sizes, the voice declared that it had all been for the heir to her master's throne. There was some sick, twisted irony in the situation, but even he didn't take the opportunity to seize on it. Like Trini, his mouth was gaping at the sight of such a massive ship.

"Th'at... Ai..." he muttered. He knew ships could get this big-- hell, they could get a lot bigger-- but he'd never even seen one of this size before. What was... what even was there to say? That he'd never seen one this big? That he didn't know that such ancient and primitive people could build such marvels? No, none of his words meant anything as he stood in here, in this perfectly preserved piece of a universe that hadn't existed for thousands of years.

He finally stopped spacing out as Trini began to speak again, babbling on about what an incredible find this was. Laeonas was still taking his time to process all this. He'd just... he'd expected a vault of treasure, but this was just as valuable, and far more interesting and amazing. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to sell any of this. This felt less like tourism and more like a religious experience, and on his world, those were some of the only things you could experience without paying a single credit.

Her question about whether or not the ship still flew put a look of surprise on his face. "Course not," he would've said, but... could he really, definitely say that now? It was clear that all that was built here had been built to last... and what more important to last than the ship itself?

"Ai... Ai dunno," he declared. "...guess we find out."

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

The huge ship loomed over Trini and Laeonas, the overhead lighting making its curved, mirror-polished surfaces gleam as they approached. The Amaran spotted a lowered gangway, broad enough for a phalanx of soldiers to embark or disembark; beyond it was a dark hatchway, which Trini pointed to.

"Through there..."

In truth, Trini's own thoughts had followed a similar path to those of Laeonas. For most of her academic career, she had studied the ancient world, as well as the religions they had spawned, both in their own time and afterward. There were cults that had worshiped Xim, long after his death; seeing the immense hidromon resting on its landing cradle, and imagining it in flight over a barely technological culture, she could understand how such faiths had formed. Trini herself considered herself secular almost to a fault, but even so...

As the pair stepped onto the ramp, Trini peered ahead into the gloom. She jumped slightly as - seemingly in response to their approach - lights began flickering to life within the cavern of the open hatch. Looking down, the Amaran saw the delineating markings of a pressure sensor. There was a brief, ominous rumble from the massive ship, but it passed.

Trini remained quiet as they boarded, but failed to stifle a squeak as she saw what awaited them in the long corridor.

"F-Ferece's Head... look at them all!"

There was an aisle down the middle of a massive internal space, Trini absently thought that it must have been a mustering space for marines to disembark from for battle or parade. Flanking the aisle were rank upon gleaming rank of massive, automaton figures; war-robots, like those in the tunnel. They stood rigid, but appeared as inert as the ones Trini and Laeonas had encountered so far. Unlike them, they appeared to have power couplings linking them to the deck. Regardless, they did not stir as the duo cautiously entered.

"Before today, the only war-robot I'd ever seen was in pieces, spread out on a slab in a museum restoration hall." The Amaran whispered as they crept along. "I mean, you hear about how there used to be armies of thousands of these things, but to see it!"

They passed through the silent army, finding a heavy, vault-like hatch at the opposite end of the room. Trini reached up hesitantly to key it open, and stepped back apprehensively as it rumbled to one side. There was very little dust inside the ship, she realized; it has probably been even more tightly sealed than the dry-dock outside, she realized. Beyond was another corridor, and for the first time Trini took note of the decor; there was no mistaking the continuance for anything but a military vessel, with its heavy, exposed structural members and numerous bulkheads meant to seal off depressurized sections. Even so, it was by no means a spartan environment; rich synthwood paneling covered the walls, and the exposed structure was shaped into streamlined, sweeping geometries reminiscent of Republic architecture. It was not, Trini knew; Imperial Xim style predated that aesthetic by millennia, and had been one of its major inspirations.

"Like I said, we've never found an intact example of one of these ships." Trini said as they progressed through the Continuance, looking in wonder at their surroundings. "As such, people in my field have only been able to speculate as to what they're like inside. Fortunately, it's been fairly educated speculation... there were later ships that drew heavy inspiration from these, and it would make sense for the layout to be similar, so..."

Trini pointed.

"That turbolift should take us to the bridge."

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Laeonas hadn't really listened all that intently to most of what Trini had had to say about her studies, but that had changed in the past few days since they'd begun their journey to Iego. He'd listened to her go on about the ships, about Xim's personality cult, and how the people of the worlds he ruled viewed him less as a man, and more as a semi-divine figure. It was no wonder that the captain seemed so superstitious-- to maintain her loyalty after so many years since the despot's passing would've required an almost religious level of devotion. If not outright worship, there was at least a level of intense reverence.

Such concepts weren't alien to him-- many still looked to some of the great kings of the past on his world as Demigods or great heroes, even if faith Orthodoxy deemed such beliefs heretical. The De'jaal's had once proclaimed their founder the living son of Sol, and they still carried themselves like they were gods amongst men. He could only imagine that if Xim had actually managed to put a son or daughter in one of his wives the people of the Tion Cluster might hold his line in similar esteem. A few weeks ago the Brentaalan would've never contemplated such abstract and bookish thoughts and would've probably started verbally harassing anyone who did so openly, but the Amaran had reawoken a curiosity and wonder in the man that had nearly been smothered by the harsh environment he'd grown up in.

As they broke from their fixed position and started walking down the gangway, the Brentaalan let out a gasp as they stepped on the pressure sensor, expecting some horrible booby trap to trigger and kill them both in an instant like in some old Holo. He didn't have much time to relax when that didn't happen, as they came upon hundreds of ancient wardroids, the exact same make and model as their counterparts outside the vault. "AHRANTE EIRE!" He exclaimed, reaching again for the saber on his belt.

Even knowing that the machines couldn't wake from their slumber, the sight of so many still managed to scare him. His demonstrations of bravado contrasted well against his obvious and open displays of fear, which he wasn't ashamed of in the slightest. There were a whole bunch of macho expectations he was expected to live up to back home, but not showing fear or emotion certainly wasn't one of them. No, having fear and showing it weren't shameful when the fear was reasonable, and the reaction wasn't ridiculous (like loudly calling out a God's name and reaching for a weapon in a very high pitched cry.)

No, Laeonas would only have something to be ashamed of if he turned and fled, and that he didn't do. Taking a moment, he steeled himself, walking down the gangway besides the Amaran. "Ai... Ai mean, it's a lot, but 'ow was Xim's welp supposed ta conquer tha clust with a few thousand droids? There's gotta be... ai dunno what comes after a billion, but way more than th'at." He confessed, before shrugging. "'Ow could th'at captain 'ave expected this ta be enough ta do tha job? Didn't they make millions of droids durin' tha clone war?" He asked. Such abstract questions about things he didn't fully understand-- Deus help him, he'd need to spend a few weeks and a few thousand credits on drinks, drugs and bed warmers to stop thinking like this.

Soon, they once again came upon a big metal door. Laeonas preemptively reached for his saber this time around, but for once Trini was able to open the door without the help of his blade. "Even after all this taime, they 'aven't changed keypads." He quipped. That only a few had found novel solutions to how to secure a door in all the centuries that had passed since was either a testament to the design's enduring reliability, or a monument to technological stagnation. The Brentaalan assumed the latter-- he'd lost count of how many keypads he'd effortlessly cracked open over the years.

Walking inside, the Brentaalan was taken as much by wonder as he was with amusement. "This place is less musty than tha old warehouses me and mae friends used ta steal shite out've." Laeonas observed. "'Ow's a ship older than anyone or anythin' in better workin' order than a mile long storage spot th'at got closed... aidunno, thirty years ago?" He went on, looking around the room. Some things were familiar-- he was reminded of home, since every core world, Brentaal especially, had copied Coruscanti architecture at some point in its history. While he didn't understand the full history, it only further strengthened the notion that original thought had died long before his grandfather's grandfather had been an itch in their father's pants.

On that thought, he audibly laughed when the words "heavy inspiration" escaped Trini's maw. "Ai guess Ai was 'eavily inspired when Ai bought a jacket th'at looked just laike one mae boss wore back when Ai was sixteen." He joked, before his eyes drifted to the turbolift. They widened slightly, and he glanced down at Trini with an incredulous look. "When me and mae ma moved ta our apartment in Cormond when Ai was startin' ta walk, tha turbolift was broken. When Ai left when Ai was kriffin' seventeen, it was still broken." He said, before glancing over at the turbolift. The ship had proven to be in pristine condition in spite of its age, but there was a limit to what the Brentaalan would rise in a day's work. Throw a dozen armed mercenaries his way and by the time he'd be done they'd be piles of smoking meat-- this, however, was far to great a danger for him.

"Know if there's a flight of stairs around 'ere?"

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini keyed the controls of the turbolift; as with the other systems they had encountered aboard the ship thus far, it seemed to be in good order, the indicator lighting up as the old-style pulley car descended to their level.

"Trillions, actually." The Amaran replied. "The CIS was trying to wage a Galactic war, though. And this wouldn't have been the only cache of droids; we know there was a battalion on Dellalt, hidden away by the descendants of the Queen of Ranroon's crew, and likely there were more scattered across the Cluster. Might still be, for all we know. For another thing, those droids aren't built like your standard Clanker; they aren't very bright by modern standards, but one of Xim's war-robots could walk through a duracrete wall and barely slow down. Back in the day, their armor could have stopped anything short of an anti-tank rocket, and their weapons were second to none. You wouldn't have needed very many, compared to regular troops."

As a native of the Tion Cluster, which had been the movement's homeland, Trini had something of an affinity for the Separatist cause; their ideals at least, if not the reality of the war they had waged against the Republic. She frequently entertained "what if" scenarios, including what might have happened if - instead of the cheap and flimsy B1 - the Confederacy of Independent Systems had invested in war droids of a similar caliber to those Xim had used.

"As for why everything here still works... well, Xim's people built their infrastructure to last; you should see the treasure vaults on Dellalt. There are lights and anti-intruder weapon emplacements that are still working to this day. Like the vaults, this is a sealed environment, or was until a few minutes ago; plus, like a lot of ships of this size, I suspect it has some limited self-test and repair systems. The computer knows the intended lifespan of every part, and how long they last when nobody's using them; if something were to break, a droid would come along and fix it. Irma Kinton discovered a system like that on Agorax, but on a planetary scale."

The turbolift chimed again, and the door slid open, revealing a - for a warship - fairly well appointed lift pod.

"Besides that, there aren't any stairs. Unless you like climbing a dozen decks through a cramped, vertical maintenance shaft?"

The mercenary captain felt something crunch in his arm as he was hurled against the tunnel wall, crying out in agony as he bounced off the hard stone and crumpled to the ground. From nearby, he heard a brief pleading, then a wet, sickening pop; vision swimming with pain, he saw the war-robot hurl aside the pulped remains of the last of his men.

"INNNTRUDERS SHALL BE ELIMINATED." the monster droned in its resonant, electronic voice. "SPEAK THE PASSWORD, OR BE DESSSTROYED. THESE ARE MY ORDERS."

The war-robots advanced upon the fallen mercenary, who struggled to his feet, empty blaster pistol still clutched in his good hand. The droid before him gleamed; not so brightly as when the fight had begun, of course. Kiirium may have turned bullets and heatbeams in its day, but now the thick armor was scored with carbon streaks and molten craters where modern blasters had hit it. The beast still stood, however, and strode forward like an industrial earthmover, massive servos audible as they labored to put one pavement-cracking foot in front of the other.

The monster's built-in weapons no longer seemed to work, a fact which the Captain was not sure should be attributed to age or simple lack of power; the droid was active, but seemed sluggish, even for something its size. The Captain was grateful for these factors; if such had not been the case, the monster would have killed him long ago.

It kept asking for a password.

"By Xim's black bones I don't have any password!!" The mercenary snarled, glaring defiance at the advancing droid. "Did you ask those other two who came through?! What did they say??"

The massive machine came up short. If a war droid could look confused, the Captain thought, this one certainly did.

"I HAVE NO MEMMMORY OF TWO OTHERS."

The droid hesitated for a moment, and the Captain believed he could hear the ancient machine's thermionic logic stacks clicking as they processed the information. Abruptly, however, it lurched forward again. The Captain yelped as a massive metal hand closed around his neck, lifting him into the air.

"YOU WILL TELL ME OF THESE OTHER INNNTRUDERS." The war-robots droned. "YOU WILL TELL ME, OR I SHALL TERRRMINATE YOUR LIFE FUNCTI-"

The report of a blaster sounded, and abruptly sparks fountained from the neck joint of the war-robot's cranial turret. The machine's hand opened reflexively, dropping the gasping Captain to the stone floor as it turned, head lolling to one side, to face a new opponent.

"IN-IN-NNTRUD-"

The blaster sounded twice more. The report was deeper than a normal rifle, and the war-robots visibly shuddered at the impact of each round. After the second, it emitted a garbled electronic exclamation, then crashed to its knees. It knelt for a moment, then fell forward on its front with an impact that sounded like a battle tank being dropped from a great height.

The Captain stared, wide-eyed, at his rescuer. Relief washed over him, his previous defiant bravado ebbing.

"My gods... th-thank you! I was just about-"

In the gloom of the tunnel, a figure came forward. He was massive, fitted in gleaming armor and carrying what looked to be a heavy blaster rifle, of the sort used to hunt big game with tough hides. The Captain went pale when he recognized the species.

"Jee would Chuba be grateful just yet, mercenary." Rumbled the figure. As he spoke, several smaller beings wearing what looked like Old Republic-era armor tramped in, aiming blaster carbines. "Uba have caused Je Tah damage, possibly destroy, Du priceless artifact."

The figure leaned forward, wide lips turned down in an angry expression.

"An if Ta two Jee seek have come Tah harm... things may yet Bolla badly Che Uba."

Trini and Laeonas stepped out into the darkened bridge of the Continuance, the turbolift closing silently behind them, the absence of its internal light briefly casting the pair into gloom. After a moment, however, the bridge lights began to come on, first the low personal illuminators at each crew station, and then the ceiling panels, casting a moody glow that Trini believed was intentional rather than the result of age.

"Son of Xer..."

The bridge looked like something out of an Old Republic holodrama, a room fit for a not-quite-prehistoric warlord. Grand, overwrought streamlining defined it, with each crew station enclosed by its own small booth, cathode flask screens and indicator lights glowing in readiness along wraparound control panels. Along the center of the space, the Amaran saw the long, readout-studded bulk of an archaic navicomputer, the size of a heavy cargo container, as well as the mytag crystal globe of a hyperspace compass. Atop a dais at the front end of the computer was an ornate command throne, gleaming aurodium cast in sweeping, streamlined splendor. On its high back was the crest of Xim the Despot, a gleaming death's head with starbursts for eyes. Beside the throne were another pair of towering war-robots, but Trini noticed something different about them.

"Crimson Condottieres!"

The Amaran rushed forward across the bridge, studying the massive droids. They were in most respects identical to the normal war-robots the pair had encountered so far, but their polished casings had a red tint, as well as gold accents worked into the metal around joints, seams and sensors. They stood tall and silent, as inert as their more ordinary brethren.

"These were the elite of the elite! Special units built to be Xim's personal guards! None of these are thought to have survived... until now, I suppose!"

As Trini rounded one of the droids, she caught sight of something that made her stop.

"Laeonas? Y-... You're gonna want to see this..."

The statue was knealt in supplication before the command throne, a female human, sculpted of some sort of silver metal that Trini did not immediately recognize. The work was crude, almost melted-looking, but the Amaran could still pick out the impressions of a Xim-era officer's uniform. The face was familiar.

As she looked closer, Trini saw that the statue knelt inside a ring, the outside of which bore indicators that glowed and pulsed softly. At the sight of them, Trini stepped back a pace in shock.

"Oh great old gods..." the Amaran murmured. "...this is carbonite!!"

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

"Trill-yuns." he repeated. "Tri, bi... ah, th'at's what comes after, ain't it?" He muttered. Laeonas had listened to the girl's explanation about the droids, his skepticism visible across his face, brow furrowing at the mention of a droid walking through a duracrete wall. His initial instinct was to dismiss the claims as nonsense-- no droid he'd ever seen had come close to being as strong, at least not the kind that walked on two legs. Than again, the warbot hadn't really been like any other droid, and the past few years had taught him that fantastical stories of ancient myth had a lot more truth to them than he'd thought.

"Ai mean... I guess it makes sense, when ya put it laike th'at, but Ai just can't imagine those things conquerin' entire worlds-- not just th'at, but 'ole chunks of tha galaxy." The Brentaalan answered, though as he thought on it, the less unrealistic it seemed. It wasn't like the droids would need to take every street of every city on each world Xim subjugated-- a few hundred landing outside a royal palace could do the trick. If they were even half as formidable as Trini made them out to be, it would be easy.

Her explanation on the vault's near perfect preservation immediately made sense to the Brentaalan-- in a way that she probably wasn't thinking. "Perfectly sealed... laike a can of food." He muttered. As the turbolift opened up, Laeonas still felt skeptical, but as he watched Trini climb in, he put his fears aside. The turbolift back home had become such a wreck because nobody tried fixing it. If this thing had been sitting here, preserved and receiving basic maintenance, there wouldn't be much to fix. Thus, he stepped inside-- partly because of his own reasoning, and partly because he didn't want to look like a coward in front of his colleague.

He nevertheless jumped whenever they hit a bump or slowed down a little-- well maintained as it was, the machine was still ancient. He'd clung to the railings inside until lthey finallly reached the bridge, stepping out in a hurry. His fear disappeared as the ancient room was illuminated, aquamarines widening as he looked around. He'd never been inside the bridge of a ship of this size, much less one as archaic as this one. Nearly everything looked obsolete-- the primitive looking buttons and controls, the cathode ray display screens. Yet where he once would've dismissed all of it as ancient garbage, the Brentaalan was overcome with as much wonder as his compatriot.

Her mention of the special function of the droids actually managed to impress the Brentaalan, as the machines themselves did with their actually still quite stylish paintjob. "Makes sense why they'd be 'ere-- tha't cap'ein thought 'er master's babe would be sittin' 'ere one day." He observed, pointing to the command throne. There was something about it's design-- it's slight elevation, the emblazed coat of arms on the back, and the fixture of the two war machines-- that simply radiated authority. He could picture anyone in the chair, and they'd look infinitely more intimidating in it-- though he still chuckled at the thought of the Amaran sitting there, her legs probably not even reaching the floor.

He'd only turned to the Amaran after he'd taken a seat, wanting to wave her over and pretend to the be the despot for a few seconds. Glancing past the crimson war robot, his smile would fade as he spotted the ancient slab. Her declaration of what it was that they'd found-- carbonite-- was followed up by an audible hum emanating from the ancient slab. "What tha..." he muttered, before glancing down at the command throne. Previously dormant buttons were flashing across the screen, glyphs in a language he didn't recognize paired with vitals signs and images of the human body and it's internals.

"Ai-- Ai think Ai pressed somethin'!" He called, frantically scrambling over to the carbonite slab as it slowly began to heat up. Blinding light shot out as the ice slowly receded, the machine audibly struggling to complete its functions after millennia of sitting, dormant and untouched. Finally, the woman was unfrozen, falling forward onto the durasteel floor. Laeonas' eyes slowly opened after the light show receded, glancing down at the body. He wasn't sure if it was alive, and he wasn't--

"...anngh..."

"...Holy Deus." he whispered, staring down at the woman. This... no, she couldn't. The Brentaalan kneeled down beside her, looking over her uniform-- familiar, distinctive, and ancient. Who-- what lay before him, simply shouldn't have been. Surely, the carbonite should've failed millennia ago. Surely, she should've died the moment she was released from hibernation-- and yet, like all things, he could feel her presence in the force... and what he felt was... different.

There was almost a hollowness to her presence, as if the space she took up should've been greater-- like if he had dropped a diadem in a tub, and the water failed to rise. It didn't feel like a product of the hypersleep. He was reluctant to reach out to her, but slowly, he took her by the shoulder, gently turning her onto her side.

She was... older. Older than even in the most recent recording. The lines that had only just begun to form on her face had deepened. Her eyes remained closed as she lay there, groaning-- before she let out a distinctive sound, and sprayed a thick bile out from her throat and onto him. "WHAT THA FUCK!?" He exclaimed, throwing himself backwards as the woman began seizing up. Her muscles struggled to move, but those that could began to violently expel everything it could from her body.

This shouldn't have been possible. This shouldn't have been possible. As the woman fell onto her back, she began to choke, and the Brentaalan simply stared for a moment before, without any prompting, rushing back over to her. Promptly, he pulled her to sit up straight, bore his fists into a single ball, and thrust up into her chest, causing the woman to project vomit across the room. She violently coughed for a few seconds-- and then continued to vomit. "What... what's happenin'?! She shouldn't be able ta vomit THIS much!" In spite of his stoic attempts to help, he was obviously distraught, and he looked over at Trini, desperate for an answer on what to do.

​

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini stepped back in shock, staring in mixed horror and fascination as the carbonite first glowed red, and then with a shimmer of white light, began to recede from the kneeling figure. The figure beneath was whole, not desiccated and dead as the Amaran had feared.

"I-Impossible..."

But was it, though? Trini's mind raced. Carbonite was a strange substance; in the present day, its use was mostly limited to industrial applications, the suspension of bulk commodity shipments that would otherwise have a short shelf-life, or which were much easier to handle if stored in a solid state. Such had not always been the case, however; before the widespread adoption of hyperdrive, prehistoric starfarers had made use of its properties to preserve themselves, waiting out years, even decades in suspended animation as their slow, sublight craft traversed the interstellar night, trusting to primitive automation to rouse them from their cold slumber upon reaching their destination. The first human inhabitants of the Tion Cluster, Trini knew, had been passengers aboard such "sleeper" ships. Their hibernation technicians had been masters of their trade; they had forgotten more about how to keep a sentient alive in suspension than was known by the experts of the present day, when faster-than-light travel had rendered such knowledge obsolete.

Preserved, yes. But alive? That was impossible, surely. Carbonite could suspend life, yes, but it could not do so indefinitely; with time, problems occurred. Flaws in the carbonite could let in the passage of time. The external life support systems, unshielded by the body's metallic ice prison, could fail. Entropy could work its way into the equation in so many ways...

"...anngh..."

Trini's ears perked, and her eyes went wide. Her mouth moved, but no words could form as the body slumped out of its carbonite shell. Laeonas reached her before Trini could; he turned her onto her side, whereupon the previously frozen human vomited, paused, then vomited again. The Amaran rushed over, scarcely believing what she was seeing.

"What the kark, what the kark, what the kark!!"

Briefly, Trini set aside Zeezee's inert head, kneeling by the sleeper and producing a med-pack. Opening it, her mind raced as she tried to recall what the procedure was for hibernation sickness; after so long, was there any treatment for what this woman out of time must be suffering?

"She's been in carbonite too long!" The Amaran replied to Laeonas' question as she pressed a bacta hypo to the woman's neck. When she pressed the applicator button, her patient jumped visibly, then settled again with a groan. Trini gritted her teeth. "Carbon stasis isn't perfect... her body is purging gods know how long worth of microscopic cellular damage, accumulate toxins, carbonite molecules leached in through the skin... help me sit her up!"

Katepano Lepratas could see nothing. At the same time, she could feel everything; as circulation once more pumped blood through her long-still veins, the sensation was like needles worming their way through her body. She wished to scream, but she could not; her stomach revolted, purging once, then again, and yet again, the accumulated poisons of long sleep being expelled.

For what seemed like an eternity, her senses were muddled. For a time she could feel nothing beyond pain, but the pain eventually began to ebb, though only just. She became aware of pressure, of hands on her body, supporting her.

How long?

The Katepano had not been told that the hibernation sickness would be so severe. She had resigned herself to waiting, but surely the heir would not take so long. Those savage prophets had told her what to expect!

A pressure on her neck. A sudden cool rush spread through her veins; the agony of her senses diminished. Kolto, perhaps? No, stronger than that.

Voices now. Had they only begun, or was she just now aware of them? As she focused on them, she found them strange; it was not Tionese they spoke, or any other language that she knew. Bits of it seemed familiar, lone-words perhaps from a tongue she did know, but...

"Xepnao..."

Lepratas raised her arms. The damnable things were weak, shaking with the exertion, but her hands met what she reached for. Fabric, clothing over a broad, strong chest. Her fingers gripped the material of the garment, and she turned her face sightlessly toward the figure she knew must be before her.

"O vasilias moe... erthes epiteloes! Epiteloes, epiteloes..."

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Whatever color, however little there was in the Brentaalan's face, drained as the Amaran began to explain exactly what was wrong with this woman. He'd heard of carbonite before-- he'd even handled carbonite frozen goods on occasion, but he'd never once seen the result of putting a person in there. He couldn't imagine what might happen after leaving someone on ice for a few years, but for millennia? It was... it was a miracle that the captain was even drawing breathe. Her carbonite hadn't failed, and when woken, she hadn't immediately expired. The minutes passed, and he could still feel her presence in the force-- weak, and partially hollow as it was-- but not wavering.

And than, beyond surviving, beyond living-- she started speaking.

"Sol sose'me..." he muttered out a quiet prayer, before the woman began grasping at his shirt. She spoke a language he hadn't heard, and yet it sounded familiar, in spite of the different pronunciations, cadence, and some words he just didn't understand. Most obvious was vasilias-- a word very similar to the Brentaalan word Bhasileias, standing for king.

"She's... she's talking about a king... 'er king." The Brentaalan muttered, glancing over at Trini. Though not all of her words made sense to him, he grasped the meaning, and it didn't take long before he remembered the captain's last message-- and it clicked. Aquamarines widened as he stared down into the captain's eyes, an emptiness behind them that didn't speak to her sightlessness. "She thinks Ai'm 'er king." He whispered, unable to break eye contact with her, even though he was speaking directly to Trini.

"She's been in there fer so long, waitin' fer her master's heir... and she thinks it's me." He went on. Whether the Tionese woman understood a word he said didn't matter. How she felt about the situation didn't matter. Never in his life had he imagined he would be in such a situation-- how could he? He'd fantasized about Jedi and Sith, stayed up at night fearing that he'd wake up to see a Draoi standing in the corner of his room, imagined sailing on the ships that had taken his ancestors to this world across an ocean of stars. Not even the overactive and wondrous imagination of his youth could conjure up images of him and an Amaran waking a woman from an eternity long slumber.

"What... what do Ai even tell 'er?" He asked. "How do I even tell 'er anythin'? 'Ow do Ai even understand a word she says?!" He asked, finally, turning to the Amaran. "She should've turned ta dust tha moment she unfroze, but she's speakin', and she thinks Ai'm what she froze 'erself fer!"

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini looked stunned at the human, her keen ears swiveled in complete attentiveness toward her. She heard words, impossible words, words out of time. Beyond the most remote backrocket systems, very few modern people bothered to learn traditional Tionese; Trini had done so by necessity, her work often brought her into contact with it in written and recorded form, but even this did not really prepare her for the sound and feel of the words. It was more than just an obscure language, it was archaic; Tionese, like any language, had evolved over the millennia, and the dialect the sleeper spoke was so old that it was almost a tongue unto itself. Trini could understand it, barely.

"I... I don't know!" The Amaran stuttered. "This-... this has never happened! No carbon freeze was ever supposed to last this long! She should be-"

Trini froze as the sleeper turned toward her abruptly. The gaze was unfocused, unseeing, but something deep in Trini's awareness made her skin crawl and her fur bristle at that regard.

Suddenly, the sleeper stood.

Katepano Lepratas was not sure where the conviction that she was speaking to her king's long-lost heir came from, but it filled her as she stood. Long-frozen muscles burned, bones ached, and she trembled, but she ignored them. After long years, she had a duty to fulfill, a king to serve.

By Xo, by Xim, she would carry out her duty.

"Zeto e kleronomia toe patera soe, Vasilia moe.Tha sas to theixo."

Laboriously, the ancient captain trudged toward the rear of the bridge. She was blind, only lighter and darker shadows characterizing her sense of sight, but she knew her ship. She could navigate it blind and deaf, if necessary, and she knew where the cargo she had been entrusted with was kept, even if she could no longer see it.

"O pateras soe, kai o pappoύs soe, kevernesan me to spathi. Peran aeto poe ethelan kai aeto poe epithemoύsan etan kosmoi. Όsoi then epoklinontan, senethlivan. Ekeinoi poe tha epoklithoύn, exasfalise ten piste toes."

She reached a turbolift, different from the one Trini and Laeonas had rode in. With deliberate care and precision, she keyed in a pass-code on a small pad, and it opened silently.

"Έrchomai. "

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

"She should be a fuckin' corpse!" He finished, glancing down at the Amaran and turning to look at the captain, her eyes empty and sightless. "She... what if she realizes Ai Ain't 'o she thinks Ai am? This ship's still workin'... those bots she's got might be workin' to." He said, speaking the fear that had gnawed at him for so long. The woman couldn't know what they were, couldn't know the truth. He'd watch as the living fossil slowly stood, the Brentaalan's aquamarines widening.

She kept speaking. Words he couldn't understand tumbled from her mouth, only the occasional lone word approximating something that vaguely resembled a word in a language he only used to curse people out or recite prayers his mother drilled into his head. "Old Brentaalan" as it was called was the lower dialect of the common people-- an amalgamation of the various languages of the ancient ethnic groups that had mixed together over centuries as new methods of transportation and communication were discovered.

Trini would've known that in the time that this woman existed, the language he was about to speak didn't even exist yet, but he didn't. Laeonas didn't really know what else he could do besides stare at her in confusion. "Ai... ahem... meha nameh ast Laeo'nas Ta'Nnaur'as." He declared-- a simple introduction. He wasn't sure if he was speaking the words correctly, or if the pronunciation was even halfway accurate-- or if the captain would recognize anything he'd just said.

"Patria Me'ha ast... Xoloch." He lied, though not entirely. He had grown up in the slums, and Formos was one giant slum of a world if he'd ever seen one. Glancing down at Trini, he pointed to her. "Meha com'radai seo'e, Tri'ni Hal... Halra... Halrix..." He tried his best, but once again failed to pronounce the Amaran's last name anywhere close to correctly. "...Ag'Ain ercheia meha pophrygenitas." He declared, righting his posture and moving to follow after her.

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Katepano Lepratas looked sightlessly into the open turbolift for a moment, before stepping inside. The Heir spoke words that she barely understood; the barbarous tongue of that the people of that strange world so near the Galaxy's center spoke, the blaze of the Core eerie in the night sky...

Ancient words of prophecy reverberated through Lepratas' mind, and she shivered. With no sight to distract her, the image of what she had seen swam back to her mind's eye in near-perfect clarity...

There was a soft jolt as the Heir and his aid boarded the turbolift, bringing the Katepano back to the present. She keyed the controls, and the doors slid shut.

Trini followed tentatively after Laeonas and the ancient Katepano, still unable to believe what she was witnessing. She boarded the turbolift behind her human companion, unable to quite understand what he had said, although it did not seem to have upset their "host".

The turbolift lurched into motion, and Trini felt the sensation of a rapid descent. She was becoming concerned at the duration of the drop, but eventually they began to slow down, and the lift came to a halt with barely a jolt. The doors opened, and the Katepano gestured forward silently.

Trini stumbled forward, barely paying attention as she stared in wonder at what was before her.

"By the Perfection of Xo..."

Stretching before Trini, Laeonas and the blind Katepano was a cavernous space, a vaulted chamber that appeared to be walled in seamless kiirium, glittering in the light from overhead glow-panels. Contained within were rank upon rank of crystal display cases, organized in aisles, each aisle fronted by an ancient computer terminal that Trini guessed served as a catalog system for the wonders each case contained. Wonders they were, as well; overwrought crowns dripping with gold, Mytag crystals and fire-gems, simple circlets of subtle beauty, gem-encrusted scepters, swords, staffs, and unconventional items as well, from things as plain as an ordinary-looking basalt stone to what looked to Trini like a few archaic spacecraft.

"...this is it!" The Amaran declared, turning back to Laeonas with a look of ecstatic wonder. "The Lost Crowns of Tion! That stolen heraldry of ten thousand worlds!"

In her wonder at the discovery - indeed, in Laeonas' own, it was likely - Trini did not register the closing of the turbolift doors behind the small group, and its ascent back to the bridge level...

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Another turbolift. If he happened to survive all this, he'd have to perform several sacrifices to pay for his good fortune. Hopping inside, Trini would watch as her counterpart would press his back towards the wall, hands instinctively wrapping around the railings. His eyes widened as the turbolift lurched and began to descend very quickly. For him to go through all he had only to die in an elevator accident would be the blackest joke he'd ever heard-- but it seemed as if things didn't come to that.

No, the force had smiled on them. It had smiled very, very favorably on them.

"Eire theotoke," he muttered, looking upon the vault, and the endless treasures within. He'd imagined the treasures so many times at this point, but never could he have ever pictured how much there would be. Taking a few steps forward, he looked around at the aisles, seemingly endless.

"Aha...ahahahaha... AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" He cackled, walking, and than running down one of the aisles. "WE'RE RICH! WE'RE KRIFFIN' RICH!" He shouted, looking upon the display cases. Gold, electrum, jewels, silver and palladium, a cache of wealth unlike any he'd ever seen! Not even the most opulent jewelry stores he'd robbed came anywhere close. The most well decorated nobles he'd held at blasterpoint would look like paupers next to anyone wearing even one of the jewels.

"Mae ma's gonna be dressed laike a queen every karkin' day! Ai'll buy 'er an entire karkin' wardrobe of tha finest clothes creds can buy with just one of these little trinkets!" He declared, still laughing all the way. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy-- not since he'd blown the backs out of that pair of zeltrons he'd bedded on his last vacation had he experienced this level of euphoria. Everything he'd ever dreamed of, everything he'd ever wanted-- it was all about to be his.

Ofcourse, he hadn't done it alone. "You're a solborne GENIUS, Trini! A Karkin' GENIUS!" He shouted. "'ALF of this is yers!" He declared, before turning his attention to the captain, that ancient fossil who should've been a corpse. "Ai'm gonna pay fer tha finest pair of peepers creds can buy fer 'er! Won't take 'er much ta find a crew fer 'er ship-- she can start piratin' tha trade routes and make a fortune off robbin' tha 'utts blind!" He declared, his manic laughter growing even more intense.

This was all he had aspired to. Fortune unending, wealth that could buy him all the things he'd been denied-- a palace, respect, his name, his birthright. He would go home to his mother and the two of them would meet his father, and he'd see what the man claiming to be his son had done, what he could offer him, what he was capable of. He'd climbed from nothing and risen to possess the greatest treasure the galaxy had ever known-- half of it, anyways.

His eyes caught sight of one of the display cases, a gleaming diadem of electrum, studded with rubies and amethysts as big as his eyes. Grabbing his blaster, he brought the butt of it down on the glass. When that failed to smash it he blaster a hole inside, and using the force, the diadem levitated out, smashing through the glass and into his hand. "Maybe if Ai doll out enough gifts t'tha nobles back 'ome, they'll name me king!" He said with a laugh. "All 'ail Laeonas, son of Andronikas, lord of the 'ouse Tannaras, King of Brentaal!" He shouted in a mocking, bombastic tone.

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Katepano Lepratas winced slightly when she heard the sound of breaking glass. If the new Despot wished to break things, however, that was his prerogative; she was here to serve, and serve she would.

The fog of carbon freeze still clouded some of her senses, but she could tell something was... off. The Katepano looked back toward the lift, then frowned, her sensitive ears picking up the telltale rattle of a descending car. She tensed, turning toward the doors.

"Próvlima, vasiliá mou."

Trini winced as Laeonas tried to break the glass of a display case from the outside, then succeeded by levitating an ornate royal headpiece out from the inside using the Force. Nevertheless, his enthusiasm was infectious, and she looked around at the ranks of displayed treasures. A glint of silver and gold caught her eye in one, and she found herself drawn to it, pressing her furred hands up against the crystal as she looked inside the case.

"This is all worth more if you don't break the cases, you know!" She called to her companion. "This stuff should be studied in place! Some of these treasures are... completely unique..."

Trini's attention returned to the case before her. Ignoring her own advice, she located a small control pad on the side; using her knowledge of ancient systems, she typed in a sequence that after a moment produced a short in the mechanism. A section of crystal she had thought was seamless retracted.

The young archaeologist was more than slightly overwhelmed. The contents of the room before her were beyond her wildest imaginings; there were enough artifacts here, enough raw data, that it could make the career of any dozen beings in her field. Having helped to discover such a trove - not to mention the ship it had been stored in - would put her in the literature forever. Her name and Laeonas' would go down in history, and she could get tenure wherever she wanted...

The object in the case gleamed in the overhead light, and different emotions began to come to her.

The item was an ancient heatbeam of some kind she guessed. It was crude in its design, but made with obvious care; its broom-handle grip was made of some glossy, exotic plastic, and its body gleamed with a chrome finish, the barrel showing the faint iridescence of some sort of kiirium alloy. It was meant for hard use, then, not merely decoration. It bore a crest she did not recognize worked into the grip, the symbol of some ancient noble family, or perhaps a personal badge of rank for its one-time owner. Set before it was a tiny identification plaque, bearing a catalog number, plus a name and a brief description.

Ancestral sidearm of the Shogun of All the Gorasanians, seized by King Xer VIII at the Battle of the Endless Moons.

Trini reached in and carefully lifted the ancient weapon from its display cradle, feeling the cool metal and plastic beneath her fingers. She shiver, and suddenly, images came unbidden before her mind's eye; a barbarian warlord, bearded and decked out in ornate garb that called to mind an ancient pilot's flight suit, brandishing this very weapon on the bridge of an archaic battlerocket, urging his ships and crews to slay the enemy. High-masted war-craft of another age traded broadsides of heatbeams and rocket projectiles, rammed one-another. Boarding teams fought death struggles against desperate defenders...

The Amaran blinked as she came back to herself, holding up the weapon before her. She bit her lip, making as if to place it back in its display case, when there was a sudden clatter behind her. Turning, she saw the doors of the lift sliding open, and her eyes widened.

The Hutt had come alone, for two reasons.

The first, of course, was symbolic. The things he knew that he would find in the hold of the IXS Continuence would be one of History's great wonders, Treasures beyond price were said to be held within. Even a Hutt of the species' normal temperament and proclivities would respect such a place. Jonnir Nojull Gloal, for his part, was no ordinary Hutt at that; on top of the lust his species held for all things shiny and precious, he was a scholar, a student of history and and admirer of great sentients, whether they were of his own species or not, or indeed, whether or not they had been enemies of his kind. The great trove of Xim the Despot, the source of his power, was not a thing to be viewed with an entourage in tow.

The second reason, of course, was that the lift had been designed for humans, and was only large enough for Jonnir by himself.

The lift came to a halt at the bottom of its shaft, the doors opening. Jonnir slithered forward into the vast space beyond, letting out a "Hooo!" of amazement. He gazed upon the rows of display cases and their precious contents, spreading his arms as he beheld the wealth of a being who - after all - he had idolized since grubhood.

"Bu treasure of Xim, whose nist would enclose bu stars, an whose nambo shadd outlive tee-tock!"

The Hutt slithered further into the room, the lift closing behind him. He looked around, spotting the Brentaalan human, who appeared to have appropriated a crown of some kind. He also saw the shocked-looking Amaran archaeologist, who was, he was dismayed to see, clutching an archaic-looking heatbeam, which she looked to be on the verge of pointing at him.

Jonnir's spread arms became a placating gesture.

"Kikyuna-yuna! niuta, shulu not alarmed, at least not at mah hu-sence. Uba doo oone choy andoba-doba - jeessha included - could not! Bu Lost Crowns of Tion dopa mee before uba, bu treasures of boboba thousand worlds!"

The Hutt lowered his arms, and his expression seemed suddenly concerned.

"Besh jee affeerd jee doo not come solelee congratulate uba nop uta-sha achievement. There something jee must-"

Jonnir trailed off as, out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a third figure in the room. It was a dark-skinned human, decked out in military regalia that the Hutt's trained eye immediately recognized as Tionese. Xim-era, going by rank and unit insignia. She seemed familiar, and he turned to regard her; she did not seem to see him, her eyes unfocused, but she appeared agitated.

"Whooh is-"

The strange human gave a cry of abrupt rage, and from her uniform's belt she produced a slender dagger. "HUTT!!" She shrieked, and ran at Jonnir, apparently going toward the sound of his voice...

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

"And wait fer ya ta crack open every one of these keypads? Kriff th'at!" He called back with a laugh, adjusting the crown with the help of a pocket mirror he kept when he had to redo his makeup. "Imagine if Ai walked inta mae da's palace dressed laike this! E' and 'is noble friends would 'ave a kriffin' stroke!" Laeonas called with another laugh, mockingly striding down through the aisle. Despite the noble oligarchy that ruled his homeworld behaving like royalty for millennia, kingly ambitions or sentiments were a social taboo on his homeworld. Even wearing a purple cloak in the commerce hall could win a nobleman noblewoman universal scorn.

Laeonas, ofcourse, "couldn't give less of a shite" about the social norms and conventions of the highborn, actively mocking the most revered traditions of his people as he strode around with a crown. He broke a few more cases, filling his many pockets with jewelry and trinkets. Perhaps he wasn't the son of the despot, but he and Trini had found this place together. Besides, the captain had offered him the treasure... though, she thought she was giving it to someone else.

But at the end of the day, it wasn't like the blind fossil could stop him. Hell, now that they were here, nobody could. It was his-- his and Trini's, but more importantly, his.

"Próvlima, vasiliá mou."

"Wha-- sorry, qued?" He asked, turning to see the turbolift descending back to the floor. The color drained from his face as it fell, and by the time it opened his face was pale. He watched as the doors slid open, and his fearful expression twisted into rage when he saw who it was. "Hutt." He hissed, biting back the urge to throw out a more deprecating insult. Laeonas immediately drew his jacket open and pulled out his saber, the hilt clear to see.

"Th'at's far enough." Laeonas called, venom dripping from his voice. "Any closer and Ai'll give Trini a lesson in 'utt anata... an... whatever, Ai'll cut ya open!" He spat. As the Hutt tried to placate them, Laeonas' expression darkened. "Ai don't give a SHITE about 'ow impressed you are! Ai oughta put a bolt between yer eyes after ya sent those scum up there ta kill us!" He yelled, a ring of amber lighting around aquamarine. "Ya owe mae friend a new ship, and a new body fer 'er droid!" He declared.

It was only when the Hutt stopped to regard their fossil and benefactor that Laeonas' anger calmed-- mostly because he was caught up in her screeching. The high pitched shriek and quick hobble towards the Hutt was an absolutely pitiful display. Even from afar Laeonas could see that her dagger was some frilly ceremonial piece, most likely dull. It was a moot point however, as even if it were sharp there was no chance that it would pierce the Hutt's hide.

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini belatedly realized that, as the Hutt was speaking, her grip on the heatbeam had become two-handed, as if she might actually be prepared to use the archaic weapon against the giant gastropoid. That, she suspected, would be more than slightly foolish; surely after all this time its power cells were drained, and anyway she had no training on how to use such an exotic weapon.

Something else caused her to hesitate, though.

Trini had little enough experience with Hutts; to say the species was not welcome in most of the Tion Cluster was an understatement, to say the least. She had encountered them on expeditions, however, and of course she knew them by reputation. The assumption that all Hutts were cruel, manipulative crime lords with a taste for gaudy luxury was by no means fair, but Trini had never met one that fit any other description. She expected this one to be lying, trying to manipulate the two of them into letting their guard down, and yet...

He's being honest. Something in the back of her mind insisted. Something is wrong, but he isn't-

The Katepano attacked.

Jonnir Nojull Gloal bellowed as the needle-like blade of the human's dagger sank into the flab of his upper arm, jabbing all the way through to bury its tip in the muscle beneath. By Hutt standards, the wound was superficial; a blade the size of the one the Tionese carried could not cause lasting damage to a being as massive as Jonnir. It did hurt, however, tremendously so; the massive creature flailed instinctively, backhanding the Katepano. She flew across the room, crunching into a display case, the reinforced glass cracking in a spiderweb pattern behind her. The Hutt, meanwhile, groped for the stiletto that was still embedded in his flesh, pulling it out with another bellow of agony. He turned, holding up the blade as if to throw it, but he stopped. Returning his gaze to the knife, Jonnir too in the shine of the blade, the style of its construction, the death's head that adorned the pommel...

His already large eyes grew wide. They turned back to the fallen Katepano, and he held up the knife, indicating it. He spoke, and rather than the resonant vowels and consonants of spoken Huttese, accented but otherwise fluent ancient Tionese came forth.

"Aftó eínai Tionese made! Archaíos! Technítes nekroí ekató geniés to éftiaxan aftó!"

The Hutt slithered forward a pace, seeming to ignore everything else in the room.

"I stolí sou... aftó to óplo! Den ta pírate apó aftó to thisavrofylákio, allá xéro ti márka tous! Thávmaza tin émpnefsí tous apó tóte pou ítan aifnidiasménos!"

He suddenly seemed to become aware of the injuries his act of self defense had inflicted on the human, and his expression became one of concern. He came forward once more.

"Ti écho kánei..."

Katepano Lepratas felt herself swatted aside by the abomination, sailing through the air to impact with one of the display cases. She cried out in pain at the impact, crumpling to the deck; nevertheless, she propped herself up, glaring sightless defiance in the direction of the Hutt, or at least where she believed him to be.

And then she heard something she had never expected.

The Hutts, in her experience, were many things. Cruel, vain, vindictive, but above all arrogant. They had an unshakable confidence in their own superiority, and as much as she found them disgusting, she could not help but see something of her own leader in them. One of the traits she had noticed, however, was an outright refusal to speak any language but their own; Huttese to her was an ugly, guttural tongue, but if she did not know better she might have assumed the slugs were incapable of forming the sounds of any other.

And yet, here was clear, spoken Tionese, with the resonance of a Hutt speaker behind every syllable.

Lepratas' universe of pain receded slightly.

"Eínai... dikó mou!" She called with a scowl on her face and a hissing intake of breath. She could not see the blade, but she could guess what the slug was referring to. "Mou to exédose o ídios o megálos Xim! Kaló argaïkó atsáli, akatállilo gia san ki eséna, gymnosálianka!"

She heard the Hutt slithering toward her, and braced herself, teeth bared in a grimace. It was coming to finish her. That was fine, she was prepared to die, and would do so knowing that she had done her duty.

But the blow never came, only a surprisingly gentle weight on her shoulder.

Jonnir stopped before the fallen Katepano; he knew that was her rank, he could read the insignia well. He gazed down at the injured human, and felt compelled to reach out and touch her, resting a huge palm on her shoulder.

"Ypirétises ton Xim. Xim, tou opoíou i grothiá tha perikleíei ta astéria, kai to ónoma tou opoíou tha xeperásei ton chróno. Katá tin ektímisi mou, o megalýteros ánthropos pou ézise poté."

Jonnir closed his eyes, shaking his head in wonder.

"Ton íxeres!"

The Hutt's rapture broke, and he looked toward Trini and Laeonas. He seemed completely unfazed by the lightsaber hilt and the ancient pistol. He spoke, once more in Huttese.

"Norce sake, heppo jeesh!"

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

The Brentaalan watched in shock as the Hutt flung the ancient tionese woman across the room, cringing as the incredibly thick glass of the display case cracked like an egg. Never in his life could he imagine any one being could have such strength without the force at their beck and call. Yet the Hutt had just thrown her like a ragdoll. He stood there, trying his best to process the situation. He expected the Hutt to grab his blaster, and Laeonas brought his saber up in a defensive guard, and even began preparing for the Hutt to assault him.

But instead the slug just... stood? Sat? He wasn't sure what to call a Hutt at rest, but he knew that he wasn't pressing the attack, choosing instead to stare at the weapon that had grazed him-- and than, to speak. Never in the Brentaalan's life had he seen a Hutt speak any languages other than their native tongue and basic, yet from what he could hear, the tongue he spoke was the same archaic tionese that the ancient woman was speaking. He was fluent in a language whose first language belonged to only one person, that being the one who they'd woke from slumber.

He heard words that he understood-- Xim, stars, pirate, and a few others. Slowly, he lowered his sword, mouth dropping open, dumbfounded as the two began speaking to each other. He was probably listening to the first conversation in this language that had been spoken in twenty thousand years, and it was between some nerdy Hutt and a woman who ought to be dead.

What was there for the Brentaalan to say, to think, or even do? He'd been told fae tails that were more believable than this, yet the galaxy was big enough and utterly mad enough that this was real. It took the Hutt's actually comprehensible tongue for him to snap from his shock, deactivating his saber and slowly making his way over to the woman. He dropped down beside her, and, without hesitation, gripped one of the sleeves of his jacket and forcefully tore it off. He ripped it in half side wise and folded one half into a compress and put it against the back of her head, before wrapping the other one around her head, holding the bandage in place to stop any bleeding as a result of colliding with the case.

"Tell 'er... tell 'er ta stay still." He said, before glancing at her. He'd have normally asked how many fingers he was holding up to check for concussion, but seeing as she couldn't check with anything, he didn't.

​

@AutoFox

 

[Trini Halrixien]

Trini shoved her newfound weapon into her belt, running over to the Hutt and the fallen human. The archaeologist knelt beside the Katepano, doing her best to diagnose the woman's injuries, but she was no doctor, and there were things about human anatomy that had never made sense to her.

"Kriff! Just... h-have her hold still! I don't know if there's anything broken! I don't..."

She shook her head and gestured helplessly.

"Dammit I don't know what to do!! We thawed her out of carbonite by accident! How she was even up and moving around before..."

The Amaran looked up at the Hutt. He was hovering, and looked genuinely distraught if Trini had ever seen the expression on one of his kind; like her, he didn't seem to know what to do with a gravely injured human.

"You... you had something important to say?!"

Jonnir Nojull Gloal was struck by just how fragile most humanoid sentients actually were. Bones to break, little or no redundancy in their internal organs, and a tragically short life-span even if they did not succumb to accident or intentional violence; Jonnir himself was already centuries old, and would live a great deal longer still if he was not killed.

The being before him, though, was unimaginably old, even by the standards of his own kind. Jonnir looked down into a face that had seen events so deep in history that some doubted they had even occurred. She had waited patiently, across eons...

...and Jonnir had probably killed her.

"Boreí na sas faínetai períergo óti énas Chat tha endiaferótan gia tin istoría tou Xim."

The Hutt spoke once again in Old Tionese, for the benefit of the ancient human. Briefly, he noted the Amaran's attentive curiosity, before continuing. His tone was sad, somber.

"Fysiká, megálosa me tis istoríes. Oi istoríes gia tis dóxes tou Kossak the Hutt, pós thriámvefse enántia stin arpachtikí filodoxía enós anthrópinou varvárou pou onomazótan Xim the Despot. Ypothéto óti éprepe na páro kápoio máthima gia to dikó mou eídos, gia to pós oi archaíoi Chout ítan polemikoí dáskaloi kai óti ta eídi pou tóso sychná kratáme sklaviá eínai dikaíomá mas, epeidí palépsame gia na prostatépsoume tous kósmous tous apó tétoia sfagí. allá den eínai aftó pou ématha."

Reluctantly, the Hutt removed his heavy hand from the human's shoulder as the other two sentients did what they could.

"Allá ímoun proikisménos, ísos kai kataraménos, me éna dierevnitikó myaló, akómi kai os trampoúkos. Sto ákousma tis istorías ekeínou tou makrochróniou polémou... vríka ton eaftó mou na thélo tin álli plevrá tis istorías. Poios ítan aftós o thrasýs ánthropos pou eíche amfisvitísei tous progónous mou? Giatí epicheírise káti tétoio? Ti eídous zoí, poia seirá áthlon ton éferan stous ouranoús páno apó ton Vontor, epikefalís enós stólou pou den eíche dei poté to eídos mou?"

The gastropod's massive eyes were correspondingly expressive. There was a passion in them that would be recognizable to Trini; the rapture of a truly dedicated historian, in awe of what they had discovered.

"Den eínai mia sostí grammí erotíseon, óchi gia énan Chat, allá xekínisa. Aftó pou ématha... akóma kai tóte, íxera óti den émoiaze kathólou me aftó pou mou eíchan pei. Ématha gia mia aftokratoría, énan strató kai tis práxeis tou pou ézisan kai thriámvefsan polý prin apó tin epochí mou."

Jonnir spread his arms to the room.

"To paramýthi tou Xim, tou Xim tou Argai, tou Xim tou opoíou i grothiá tha ékleine ta astéria, eínai mia istoría thávmatos! Kai eínai alithinó! I aftokratoría pou dimioúrgise eínai énas thríamvos óchi móno tis anthrópinis filodoxías kai ikanótitas, allá genikótera tis aísthisis! To na eísai brostá se kápoion pou synántise éna tétoio on eínai tapeinotikó! Écho tóses erotíseis! Ma egó..."

The Hutt became serious once more. He switched back to Huttese.

"Jee doo made teave mistake. Besh there more. Uba nought troops, joppay uba yuna arrived wata. Soldiers archaic garb. Were not mah troops. Mah own norces doo oriven hoohat bata, ateema, besh there someone else whooh would doo bu Lost Crowns of Tion, someone uba keekah soh. Jee would see these treasures hu-served bu sake of history, besh..."

Abruptly, there was a boom, and the entire ship trembled, crystal display cases rattling. From a utility belt worn by Jonnir, a comlink squawked to life.

"Lord Jonnir! This is D squad! The enemy rocket troops have withdrawn, but it looks like they called in friends! Some old battle-wagons are strafing the ruins, it looks like they're probing for-"

The message was abruptly cut off. Jonnir snatched up the comlink, repeatedly keying to transmit, but the only response was silence.

"D squad, oom-peat ! D squad, haku'z happening chuba there?!"

Another dull explosion shook the treasure room.

Katepano Lepratas lay at the foot of the display case, blinking her sightless eyes at the story the Hutt told her. She was getting the sense, slowly, that it had been longer than it seemed... that perhaps she had been asleep longer than she had planned. Hutts were a long-lived species, they did not figure history as others did, and for great Xim to be considered a figure from their ancient past...

She tried to imagine a reason that a Hutt might tell such a tale. That a being could grow to admire Xim she had no doubt, the man had been one deserving of tales, but would there be a reason for a Hutt to falsify their interest? None she could imagine; this Hutt could doubtless take the treasure by force if he wished, and if he wished her dead she would be so by now.

She attempted to sit up, but winced, whimpering as she collapsed again.

"Prépei na omologíso... eísai san kanénas gymnosáliankas pou écho gnorísei poté. An ísastan sti thési tou Kossák, ísos oi laoí mas na eíchan apogeiotheí se kalýteres váseis."

She hissed in a breath, and tried again to sit up.

"Allá xéreis... jee bal speak Huttese."

Reaching out, the human grasped Jonnir's arm. With obvious pain, she hauled herself to her feet.

"Something wrong. Lo mah outee protect mah king, mah cargooh an mah fasto, ordah. Take jeesh bata bu bridge, an jee-jee shadd bal something ooout these... interlopers."

@Tom

 

[Laeonas Tannaras]

​

Laeonas' medical knowledge was rudimentary at best-- a product of having to treat himself or fellow gang members after serious fights. He knew how to clean and dress a wound, how to set a broken bone, how to make a splint and apply a tourniquet. He knew the proper course of action to deal with a concussion... but not one as severe as the one this woman had just faced. Laeonas wasn't sure if her ribs were broken, but if they were he wouldn't have a clue on what to do about it.

"Okay uh... apply pressure t'tha bandage! Try and make sure tha bleedin' slows! I'll cauterize it if Ai've gotta!" Laeonas commanded, glancing down at his saber. "Keep 'er layin' down, don't let 'er move to much! We'll get 'er back t'mae ship and than we'll fly t'tha nearest civilized system and get 'er treated!" He said, essentially laying out the plan that his gangs always abided by-- basic treatment, followed by a trip to a hospital.

The Hutt continued to speak in that ancient dialect he could still barely understand. Xim, his empire, and how impressed the Hutt had been by all of it-- even barely comprehensible, Laeonas could understand, and he could be surprised. That a Hutt could hold a non-Hutt in such high regard seemed impossible-- every one of them that Laeonas had met had proven an overconfident, arrogant slug. This one seemed a breed apart from the rest of his kind.

And suddenly, Laeonas began to feel... concern. The captain had mistook him for the son of Xim-- the despot's heir apparent, who was apparently supposed to wind up there. Had she simply been so desperate as to think the only humanoid who could wake her would have to be her master's son? Regardless, the Hutt was suggesting that the reality of the situation was different from what the ancient Tionese woman believed. How would she react if she knew the man she'd thought was her king was just a baseborn foreigner?

...though in her current state, was there much that she could do?

Regardless of what would happen as time went on, she still seemed to believe he was the man she was bound to serve-- and she said as much in huttese. "What tha actual kriff..." he thought to himself, the language swaps between the two sentients leaving him baffled. Walking over, Laeonas made a point of supporting her with his own arm, knowing that Jonnir and the tionese wouldn't be able to fit together in the turbolift.

"C'mon!" He called to Trini, before glancing at the Hutt. At the moment it didn't seem like he had much of a choice but to trust him. "Ai'll send tha car back down." He said, slipping inside and hitting the button once Trini joined him.

​

@AutoFox