Anlov Record

Book 01, Chapter 03

A single stripe of world flanked by the white freckled colorlessness.

That was the view from a ship flying far above one of Anlov Home’s rings. It was surreal knowing for a fact you lived on a location that was verifiably constructed. Even from the youngest age, those growing on Anlov Home knew that they weren’t living on a natural world. Even those with less stellar marks in science knew that they weren’t on a place formed by cosmic nature.

While the Anlov knew this world was built and that other worlds could be built, they had no less respect for it. Every gram of soil was carefully searched for life, cleaned, and detailed on many planets before it was moved to Anlov Home. Every drop of water was given the same depth of attention. Land, oceans, and skies of Anlov Home were treated as if they were natural and were given the respect they deserved.

History was the most important subject taught in Anlov schools.

Not a single person on this structure had a grandparent that was witness to the Great Migration. Nevertheless, the images and history were constantly reminded to the Anlov people. Anlov had a long history of triumph, tragedy, and horror and through a determined spirit, the people of the past had shaped their identity that persists to the now.

However, there remained those who would want to make conclusions that ran against the foundations of the Anlov Idea. For one reason or another, there were many groups and peoples who wanted something different. Some sought vast riches, some sought the conquest of imperialism, and some sought open contact with the uncontacted lifeforms of the cosmos. Anlov had weathered countless tribulations, all too many showing the folly of such pursuits.

But still it persisted. To the east and south, Anlov seperatists have fled into the unknown and unexplored. Countless Anlov have left and settled in the Opportunity of Sayr, drawn in by the gilded promises. In either case, Anlov Idea allows the departure of it’s children. And just as much, welcomes them if they return.

There are those who would wish to remain and push Anlov towards a dark path. The Mabun Movement was a response to the existential crisis brought by the contact with three ultra-universal spheres. It was a hidden, brutal, and abhorrent response. Entire galaxies were razed, technology and science was built from sadistic curiousity, all from betraying the historical teachings of Anlov’s Idea.

Mabun was destroyed. Nearly all that was gained from its actions was put to flame. Scientists of Anlov watched the destruction with sorrow. While the purging of knowledge is abominable, that scientific progress came at the cost of such great suffering.  It had become an abominable embarrassment, and it was far from over.

Mabun was a diseased and foul corpse, overflowing with the miasma of malice. A fallen demon most loathsome found parts of this corpse, and ecstatically devoured. Its long lost strength had been restored by this gruesome buffet. The cosmos recoiled in terror as the Ruuthsgathga was restablished with the recovered weapons, technology, and infrastructure brought about by Mabun.

This was the Mabun Embarrassment. The Ruuthsgathga had wasted no time in resuming its beliggerant and gleeful destruction of the cosmos. It had been brought back from near extinction by the foolishness of Mabun, which itself was borne out of the rejection of the history and teachings of the Anlov Idea. Thus, it was easily seen as the truth by Anlov and its neighbors: the rebirth of the Ruuthsgathga was Mabun’s legacy, and thus it was Anlov’s legacy.

It’s because of this history, that the need for security, discretion, and tact are so strongly enforced in Anlov’s military and Scholar program. The intense searches and screenings the crew of the Cardboard Box had been subjected to, and the looming trials ahead, weren’t indicative of a police state. They were a pure manifestion of the serious regard that Anlov had for the refinement of their identity and character.   

A new large continent began to stretch out far below the Cardboard Box. This air space was completely restricted for anything other than Anlov Scholar or military. Even as they just entered, Anlov military fighter ships flew around the Cardboard Box to intercept them.

Inside the ship, the Anlov military team that now flew the ship transmitted intricate codes to their interceptors. These interceptors became escorts as they followed the Cardboard Box over the massive continent. On the side of the continent closest to the ocean sprawled a city five times as large as Miraizu University. This was the Anlov Scholar Academy, the largest place of learning and academics in all of the Anlov Sphere.

From one end of the continent to the other, the Cardboard Box and its escorts quickly flew the thousands of kilometers in between. An enormous, crowded mountain range stood over this far shore, a watchful castle overlooking the ocean. It was fitting since this mountain chain housed the Anlov Military Scholar Academy base. This base wasn’t even the largest military base or main headquarters. However, it was stationed there entirely to provide defense for the Scholar Academy.

As the Scholar ship and its escorts flew silently, slowly over the mountains, the surfaces of the mountains appeared to turn to watch them. Several cameras, turrets, and mechs trained their sights on the passing ships. In a small clearing where several mountains’ bases met together, the very earth parted. A long jagged line parted and spread open, dropping rock and soil into a massive hole. Vents around this growing hole opened and pumped out clouds of smoky air. Nostrils and jaws of the mountains stirred as a giant awaking.

All of the escort fighters formed a circle around the Cardboard Box while it hovered directly above the opening. All at once, the Cardboard Box fell straight down. It fell for several hundred meters before stopping abruptly less than a meter above another enormous shutter door. This door didn’t blend in like the last one. Light from far above slowly dimmed as the first door closed with a clunk. The echo of this sound was louder than the Cardboard Box as it floated. Illuminating panels around the tunnel switched on, bathing the entire tunnel in florescent glow.

Again, the military pilots transmitted more codes to a nondescript frequency. After a minute, the door beneath them slowly opened. As soon as it had opened all the way, the Cardboard Box fell straight down another couple hundred meters stopping just above another door. It was good that a ship’s anti-physics shielding prevented the interior of the ship to feel outside inertia. If it didn’t, these constant drops and stops would’ve pulverized the crew aboard.

The Cardboard Box proceeded to fall and stop through several more tunnels with doors all having perpendicular openings. Finally, after an unknown number of meters down, the ship finally deployed landing gear and set down on a pad.

A door slid open on a far wall and support crew and guards came funneling out. Escorts on board the ship led the crew of the Cardboard Box out and onto the pad. Little was said from the guards as they led the crew out through another door that now opened.

Pip-is and several of the others turned worrying glances to the Graduate Scholars. They had all been kept separate from each other on the ship, and just now got to see each other again.

“Can I at least calm my more alarmed crew members?” Geib asked of the lead guard.

The guard stopped just before a series of halls that branched out.

“Make it quick,” the guard said as he stopped the group.

Geib turned to the others. Even the Graduates were showing a little bit of worry in their faces.

“Everything will be explained to you individually. Trust me, this is much less scary than it seems. Everyone will be fine. See you all again soon,” Geib rattled off.

He needed to offer as many comforting statements as he could, even if they seemed a little broken in sequence.

The faces of the crew looked only slightly less frightened.

“Try your hardest, despite how crazy it is, to relax,” Geib stated, just as they were all separated and taken to different areas.

————————————–

“Wha’s he gotten me’into?”

Those were the words constantly repeating in Pip-is’ head as he sat at the table in the drab room. An Anlov in military uniform sat across from him.

Pip-is had been given a new set of clothing. It made him uncomfortable how tight the clothing was. His legs felt warm since he rarely wore anything other than shorts.

The Anlov officer silently read to himself from a large folder he held up. This folder hid all the papers the officer shuffled slowly and quietly between.

It was painful how silent the room was. Pip-is could hear only his own breathing and the pounding in his head as his blood pressure increased.

The officer continued to peruse the documents visible only to him in absolute silence. He never looked up from the folder, and never altered his facial expression from the stern one he wore.

Pip-is opened his mouth but only a slight squeak left him. The officer didn’t stop going between pages or even look up.

Pip-is licked his lips and tried to moisten his mouth.

This smothering silence was hardly dented by the scratchy voice Pip-is found himself with.

“’M’ I in trouble? Did I do somethin’ wrong?” Pip-is asked.

The officer continued to read through pages as if he didn’t even hear him.

“Did you?” the officer asked while still not looking up.

Pip-is was unsure how to respond. His head’s pounding only felt like it was worsening.

“I don’think so,” Pip-is answered with a shaky voice.

The officer finally closed the folder but kept his eyes pointed down. He tapped his fingertips on the cover.

“Maybe the better question is,” the officer started as he finally made eye contact with Pip-is.

“Would you?”

As the officer submitted that question, his eyes remained fixed on Pip-is’.

Pip-is felt the sweat dripping off his eyebrows and onto the table.

The officer placed the folder on top of the table near himself.

“The Anlov Scholar Program has students attending at a minimum of eight years. During this period, we have plenty of time to see if that person is one that can be trusted. We can see if the person can handle the physical and psychological demands of space travel, exploration, survival, stealth, danger, and combat. We have time to detect if they’ve ambitions that are incompatible with the mission of the Anlov Scholars. Treasure hunters, glory hounds, the arrogant, the despotic, and the unsubtle are those that have no place here. We have time to check the background of each person to find other goals or loyalties that would compromise the interests of the Anlov Scholars.”

His eyes narrowed as he finished this explanation.

“We’re going to figure all of that out now, in a tiny fraction of the time we normally have. You’ve been selected by Graduate Zevtroz and he was selected after much consideration from the current Guard. So we’re to see if the selections made by Zevtroz will even be eligible to serve.”

“Serve’n what? Th’ ship? Tha’special project Geib mentioned?” Pip-is asked nervously.

The officer pulled the folder back to himself, opened it and removed a pen.

He quickly wrote down something on a page and closed the folder.

“So Graduate Zevtroz told you about this project did he?” the officer asked, lacking any sense of it really being a question.

“N-, no… Gei-Graduate Zevtroz jus’ said we’d be part’ov some special project,” Pip-is hastely explained. “Did’in tell us anythin’ else. Said we’d be tol’ later.”

The officer maintained the solid leer right into Pip-is’ eyes. Pip-is wondered what the officer had written. Now that he had clarified what happened, shouldn’t the officer open the folder and write a new note about that?

Instead, he stood up. The movement was so fluid how he rose to his feet, moved his chair, and pushed in his chair. If you blink, it looked like he just teleported to a standing position.

He went over to the single door into the room, opened it with a quick jerk, and held it open.

“Come with me. We’ll begin with your physical evaluation.”

————————————–

A tall Anlov in an Admiral’s uniform stood at attention.

“Please, be at ease,” said the older man, seated at his desk.

The Admiral retained his posture.

“How is the situation?” asked the old man.

“Dreadful, sir,” the Admiral answered succinctly.

The old man rubbed one of his eyebrows, looking down down.

“I should be inured to hearing that,” replied the old man. “It never gets easier.”

The Admiral’s eyes broke from their locked forward postion, gazing down on the top of the Guard before him.

The Guard Lasvic Raym was not the man he used to be. The war between Sayr and Anlov had been angonizing. Poor decisions compounded each other to ensure Anlov met a brutal, humiliating, and altogether impossible defeat. As the elected leader of the Anlov Idea, Raym had fought for what he thought was right.

The Admiral sneered down at the Guard. His eyes returned forward as the Guard looked up.

“Give your full report, Admiral,” Guard Raym ordered.

“The initial reports from our investigations have been submitted,” the Admiral declared as he held out a data pad.

“So the candidates are already not being met with approval,” Guard Raym commented as he scrolled through the reports.

He looked up to see the Admiral still at attention, staring with alert eyes directly in front of him, past and over the Guard into the wall.

“Admiral, you’ve been very vocal about your disapproval of this idea,” Guard Raym commented as he again scrolled through the reports. “I’m sure you’re barely restraining your desire to comment how these preliminary reports reinforce your feelings.”

The Admiral hesitated before speaking.

“I do not think it proper to gloat regarding your proposal,” the Admiral replied.

“At this point, that’s hardly improper,” the Guard Raym commented.

The Admiral’s eyes traveled slightly before snapping back to straight ahead.

“So please, tell me what you think,” Guard Raym requested.

“These candidates are the most underqualified assortment I have ever seen. Their combined assets are beneath that of the most unqualified team we could assign to an expedition assignment. Even with the candidate you suggested to add to placate my initial concerns, my pupil is not skilled enough to supernaturally equal the difference. No one could be,” the Admiral commented.

“Even the plan’s initial outline of having a small team consisting entirely of Scholar Graduates with the exception of the two, the pilot and computer technician, was filled with problems from the start,” he continued. “These new candidates are not even trained to our most low standards for service aboard the ship.”

“Their qualifications aside, we do not have as deep an understanding of the personalities and traits of these candidates to know if they could be trusted with the wealth of technology and potential finds the Scholar expeditions can involve. We know nothing of possible conflicting loyalties they might have,” the Admiral detailed, growing more animated in face and tone.

“And security. The crew of thirteen would only have six Graduates. This puts them at a numerical disadvantage if the unthinkable happens, and a mutiny occurred. The younger Senguin female shows a very caustic and rebellious attitude. Almost all of the mechanical and engineering responsibilities lie in the hands of non-Graduates. Even the crewmember who would be in charge of cataloging and storing finds and data is not a Scholar Graduate,” the Admiral listed.

He calmed himself as he noticed he had become more animated.

The Guard Raym nodded and handed back the data pad to the Admiral.

“You’re telling me that this project was at its start a ball of turd. And given the unfortunate developments, it’s become an even greater turd. A turd the likes of which is beyond unacceptable,” the Guard Raym summarized.

The Admiral stood silent and immobile.

Guard Raym stood up and walked to the window behind his desk. He held his hands behind his back, his thumbs fidgeting.  

“That’s a disappointment,” the Guard Raym finally sighed. “Thank you for giving it to me straight.”

“Then we should cancel the entire project,” he added.

The Admiral was motionless.

The Guard Raym looked out the “window” to a digital image. It was perspective overlooking the countryside of one of the worlds lost to the Sayr.

“Do you trust the judgment of Graduate Zevtroz that much?” the Admiral asked abruptly.

Guard Raym turned to face the Admiral. The Guard’s face was more quizzical than the more fatigued look it normally had.

“He came to you with this idea, and you were taken by it so much. So much so that you even gave this entire project serious consideration. You trust his judgment of candidates?” the Admiral asked in addition.

“You trust him so much that you would think the selections he makes would be acceptable and safe?” he asked again.

“Yes,” the Guard Raym stated very matter-of-factly.

“Why?” the Admiral inquired. “He is irresponsible. His proficiency is never in question, but his carefree attitude is not conducive to such a mission. A Scholar like him needs the presence of the many who are serious to balance out his nature.”

Guard Lasvic Raym ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

“When I heard his proposal, I felt in my chest, that confidence of my youth,” the Guard Raym explained. “And not the uncertainty of my adulthood.”

“His energy was like…,” he trailed, looking past the Admiral.

He stared off like he was looking worlds away. This time, the Guard measured out what how to explain his insane thoughts.

“It’s like something from a dream,” he began as his eyes looked elsewhere in his mind. “It was as though I saw the Anlov spirit I used to have, but in another. I wonder, does he also feel the same voice in his mind, pushing him ever forward, just as I used to have?”

The Guard Raym’s focused again, looking back upon the Admiral.

“But I will trust in your judgment,” the Guard Raym stated plainly. “These are decisions that can no longer be made by dreams.”

The Guard turned to gaze once more at that image of a distant world.

“I may have an idea,” the Admiral stated.

————————————–

Ocura looked to her left and her right. She was lying back in a large elevated chair in a cubicle full of glistening equipment. She looked again to her sides.

The walls of her cubicle were completely transparent, through which she could see the entire rest of the crew placed in their own cubicles beside her. Even the Graduates were present in their own cubicles. Each could see each other, and so Ocura could see the worried faces of her siblings. Teliar, who could usually be counted on to be calm, showed worry as he was without his powered legs. Rio’s mouth moved as she faced Ocura, but Ocura could hear nothing.

“I can’t hear you. What’re you saying?” Ocura asked, unsure she would even get an answer.

Rio shook her head, and pointed to the ear hole on her head. Ocura shrugged and mimicked the same gesture.

Ocura nearly jumped when the door to her cubicle opened. Even though she could see into the hallway in front of the cubicles, she hadn’t been paying attention. An Anlov walked in who wore a facemask and a full body smock followed by an Anlov military officer. Ocura turned to see that each person had a technician and officer in with them. In the hall, armed guards stood, monitoring through the transparent walls.

Fear gripped at Ocura at how much surveillance and armed presence there was. She couldn’t shake the feeling she must’ve done something wrong or had been imprisoned.

The technician leaned over her, with her face being perpendicular to Ocura’s.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Hidarma and I’ll be your technician for this interview,” she greeted. Her face was completely covered, but she had goggles, shielding kind but focused eyes. “I’ll be attaching a neural signature system to your head. This will respond to your brain activity throughout the interview. There will be some discomfort as it’s pushing into your skin.”

Ocura’s eyes ran over everything in the cubicle. Electronics and equipment began to hum quietly as they turned on. Straps were fastened around Ocura’s arms, legs, and torso. The officer’s face was a stone wall of emotionlessness. Hidarma’s eyes and voice were the most comforting things in the room.

“I assure that it won’t be painful. It’ll feel like you have something stuck in your hair, or feathers in your case,” Hidarma calmly explained as she adjusted the restraints. “These restraints are to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else. They shouldn’t cause pain. If at any time, you do experience any pain at a level that’s unbearable, do tell me and I’ll adjust everything accordingly. Do you understand?”

Ocura’s eyes wildly darted about. Hidarma placed her hand on Ocura’s shoulder.

“Everything will be fine. I won’t let you get hurt. I promise,” she assured Ocura.

Her calm voice, eyes, and touch did much to relieve Ocura’s nervousness.

Ocura nodded that she understood. The technician nodded back. She pulled over a cart with a large dome-like piece with cables and diodes across the outer edge. Hidarma maintained eye contact as she held the device over the top of Ocura’s head.

“Your brother and sister look like they could use your assurance,” Doctor Hidarma said calmly.

“I promise that nothing will hurt them,” she added.

Ocura looked over to her siblings and saw each slightly resisting the process.

“Why do you have all of these restraints and guards if we won’t get hurt?” Ocura asked as she looked back and forth from the technician to her siblings.

“It’s so you don’t hurt us as well,” Hidarma replied.

Ocura saw the technicians in her sibling’s cubicles point towards her. Rio and Teliar looked over with near terror in their eyes. Ocura looked past them to Geib, who was also being hooked up. He nodded slowly. She looked back to her siblings. Ocura, against her best instincts to try to escape and liberate her siblings, nodded calmly to her brother and sister. With this assurance, they both turned back to their technicians and stopped resisting.

Ocura looked back up to her own technician.

“Now, when I place this on, remember, it’ll sting only slightly,” Hidarma reminded as she brought the dome onto Ocura’s head.

Ocura could feel slight pricks on her head. It was sensation that didn’t leave completely, but persisted some to feel like you had a bad itch on the entire surface of your head.

After the device was locked, Ocura’s head was placed into a cushion, trapping it from moving.

“Very good. I’ll bring up the readings now,” the technician commented as she pulled over another cart with several monitors atop it.

Ocura couldn’t see what was shown on any of the screens.

Hidarma pressed a lever and the back of Ocura’s chair adjusted upward so that she was seated nearly upright. Then the doctor placed a thick cuff over the Ocura’s left arm.

“This is will detect and analyze all nanomachines and implants in your body, if you have any,” she preemptively explained. “It too will feel like you have an irritation on your arm.”

Ocura couldn’t nod, but gave an affirmative gesture with her hands.

“While I’m working on this, the officer will begin your interview,” Hidarma explained. “If you have any pain beyond what you can tolerate, please tell me.”

“Ok. Thank you,” Ocura managed to say.

She felt very bound, like a toy in the plastic container it came packaged in.

The officer straightened up in his seat and pulled out a large binder from under his arm and opened it across his lap. He made sure to position it so Ocura couldn’t see inside.

“Ocura Reezmin, I am Lieutenant Kadwill. I’ll be conducting a thorough interview on your background, personality, and eligibility,” the officer stated with a face that never wavered far from bland.

“All of your answers will be monitored and recorded. Your biometric signatures will also be recorded to test the truth of your statements. These signatures include neural clusters that’ll be analyzed against fiction production centers of your brain and stress responses.”

Ocura assumed those biometrics were being presented on the screens she couldn’t see.

“This will be much better if you’ll be honest and cooperative. The truth will still be found, but we’d prefer it come from you than elsewhere,” he continued. “Are you ready to begin?”

Ocura just wanted all of this to be over. She breathed deeply.

“Yes. I’m ready,” she confirmed.

With her Ocura’s confirmation, Kadwill clicked his pen.

“You served under Graduate Nargmen. This is correct?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Kadwill’s gaze didn’t shift beyond looking directly at Ocura. His eyes didn’t move to read the screens around her. If he was looking at them, he wasn’t moving his eyes to focus directly on them.

“Describe to me the nature of this relationship? How’d it start? What did it entail? Please be as detailed as possible,” Kadwill requested.

“I met Tiwik Nargmen from…” Ocura paused and closed her eyes. She opened them again to focus on Lieutenant Kadwill. “I met him by trying to steal from his shop.”

Kadwill wrote in the folder all while not looking up. Ocura noticed that he wasn’t even looking at what he was writing.

“Please continue,” he requested.

“I broke into his shop on Midin to try and steal some tools or whatever I could find,” Ocura continued. “I had my siblings back at our ‘home’ at the time. It was nothing but an unoccupied shipping container. I didn’t want them around while I was ‘working’. I didn’t want to expose them to the methods with which I provided for them.”

Ocura sighed and looked away as she remembered back to when she met him.

“I got in with no problem. I was already carring as much as I could out when his voice startled me. He asked if I wanted to take some food with me too.”

She wanted to shake her head, but couldn’t with how she was locked in.

“He knew I was stealing to provide for my family. He offered me some coats and some food, but took back the tools and equipment. He commented on how I knew which items were the most valuable and I told him that I knew a bit about mechanic work and tools.”

Again, she wanted to shake her head. She was so ashamed of how she came to meet Tiwik Nargmen. It was regrettable how it came to be. If she weren’t in desperation, she wouldn’t have had to resort to theft. But if that were the case, she wondered how differently her brother and sister would’ve turned out if they had never met him.

“He asked if I wanted to live a more productive life,” Ocura continued.

“I’ve no idea why. Here I’d just tried to steal from him, and he offers me a job? I can never understand such compassion. It’s so foreign to me. I told him that I had two siblings in my care and then he insisted that I work there. So I brought them with me and I started training as his apprentice.”

“He had me clean the shop and do menial tasks entirely. He didn’t let me anywhere near his mechanical work. Finally, I worked my way to that trusted position and became a mechanic like him. He taught me more than I could’ve hoped to learn and even started teaching my brother and sister. All three of us picked it up so well. He said that combined, my siblings and I equaled one and a half of him.”

Kadwill stopped writing and briefly looked down at his notes. He made some additional marks while looking his work over.

Ocura looked over at Doctor Hidarma. She was making notes on a data pad she had while reviewing another screen that Ocura couldn’t see. It was hooked up to computer, which linked to the cuff on Ocura’s arm.

Ocura turned back to face Kadwill as the Lieutenant asked another question.

“What kind of work did you do while with Graduate Nargmen?”

“We had to do as much work as we could. We worked on transports, both personal and larger, both on-planet and space use. We worked on construction equipment, machines for around the home, and maintenance for buildings,” Ocura listed.

“You did all that kind of work from the small shop and with only you four?” Kadwill asked almost accusingly.

“We had to work hard. Fierce competition in town,” Ocura explained. “Sayr opened a competing service at a fraction of the cost.”

“We were good. Too good,” Ocura beamed. “We had next to nothing to work with, and we always got the job done. And done well. Tiwik taught us how to be the best.”

Ocura felt herself smile for the first time since entering the military base.

“What of this Sayr company?” Kadwill asked. “Did you ever work for them?”

Ocura’s smile shifted instantly to a scowl.

“Hell no!” Ocura growled.

She noticed that now Kadwill’s eyes would occasionally dart to the screens surrounding Ocura.

“I’d never join them or work for them. I worked on plenty of their shit. People bought their vehicles and equipment because they were cheap and it showed. We constantly fixed their broken crap. Sayr didn’t like that at all. They wanted people buying replacements. So we stopped being just annoying to them, and they took som…”

Ocura almost felt tears well up from the anger she felt. Kadwill was paying close attention, writing furiously on his page.

“They took him. They made a bunch of bogus charges and forced the government to arrest Tiwik. Then he ‘mysteriously’ became lost in prison transfer,” Ocura nearly spat. “Never saw him again.”

“Why were you and your siblings not arrested?” Kadwill asked, having no shake to his voice.

“Because they enjoy watching their competition crumble. They left us alone because they figured it’d only be a matter of time before we crawl to them, begging,” Ocura continued to hiss. “But we never did. We couldn’t keep the business going officially, as they’d arrest us too. But we never crawled to them.”

The cubicle was silent except for the sounds of the machines and Kadwill’s writing.

He looked up from his notes, and turned the page.

“Do you hate the Sayr?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

————————————–

The hangar was massive with overlapping catwalks and powered lifts. Mechanics, technicians, and guards occupied these catwalks and grounds. At the center were the pieces of the Cardboard Box. It had been split into its modular segments and moved to separate pads.

Bright lighting and loud sirens began around a single pad behind the ship, drawing a smattering of mechanics to it. Along the edge of the pad, a gate popped up and the floor parted beneath. Slowly an elevator lifted bringing several construction mechs and a large prism-like object. Lights focused and spotlighted the prism. As the elevator stopped with a loud thunk, the gate lowered. Construction mechs hoisted the prism up to a waiting winch lift to be installed into the ship’s reactor.

The Ring Drive was the ultimate warp technology currently in use by any ultra-univerasal group. Current level of warp abilities of ships from any other faction had a ship able to traverse laterally through universe layers on average one every sixteen days. A Ring Drive’s Ring Jump could have a ship traverse one layer every seven days days. This gave Anlov an enormous advantage in all aspects to its neighbors, from military response time to exploration range.

Far upward in the hangar, a single large panel receded into the wall. Behind it, the Guard Lasvic Raym stood alongside the Admiral, both monitoring the progress.

————————————–

Mahie sat up from the cot she had lain on. She just couldn’t sleep. She felt so constrained by the small temporary room. It was night, or so she was told. Fatigued with the entire screening process, she could barely stomach the thought that it might go on even longer.

Pacing slowly around the room, Mahie pulled at her clothing as it felt too tight.

“Was this why Heq left?” she thought to herself.

Mahie wondered if her sister ran away because she didn’t agree with all of this restriction. Maybe Heq was so eager to leave the shackles she thought contained her that she even ran from home.

Sitting back down on her cot, she looked to the door leading out into the hall. Along this hall, each crewmember was in their own temporary room. Were any of them able to get any sleep, or were they as restless as her?

“Did Heq leave because she couldn’t handle this?” she thought to herself. “I should do better than her; I should stay with this.”

She just wished it would be over. Lying down on her cot, Mahie still had to toss and turn until she finally fell asleep.

————————————–

Geib stepped through the doorway into a large office. He strode up to the desk and snapped to attention.

“You requested my presence, Admiral Ryitonem?” Geib asked loudly and clearly.

The Admiral leaned back from his desk and folded his hands together, resting his elbows on the desk.

“I did,” he replied with a smile.

Admiral Ryitonem Izkuio was one of the most influential members of the Anlov Scholar program and amongst the highest ranks of the Anlov military. He was respected by his peers, and feared by those beneath him. His nature was to take a very hands-on approach to administration, which made him a constant presence at the Anlov Scholar Academy.

Nothing was beyond his gaze or his criticism, which left those around him constantly on guard or anxious. He took almost a delight in the pressure he borught to room. Even the slightest error, actual or hypothetical, earned a verbal chastising from him.

Admiral Ryitonem was tall and densely muscular, but still visibly thin. He was middle aged, but appeared much younger in face and skin. He had a narrow face with high cheekbones. His face itself had soft, feminine features and short cut straight black hair that didn’t even reach his ears. And a smile that could stretch across the entire bottom half of his face.

It was this smile that invoked the must unease.

He would smile as he berated Scholars and those under his command. This smile itself became the trigger of pained feelings. Every Scholar who was exposed to him, and his methods were so conditioned to feel unease by just the sight of his smile. And since every Scholar had been exposed to him do to his micromanagement, there was a very universal reaction.

He didn’t inform Geib to be at ease, but he never wanted those within his authority to be at ease. Geib didn’t even move his eyes downward to make contact with the Admiral’s. He locked his gaze forward. Said eyes didn’t even wander to the Guard Raym who sat nearby or the Guard’s security team.

“I have some wonderful news for you, Graduate Zevtroz,” Admiral Ryitonem informed with a smile at each word.

“I have been the deciding vote in allowing you to undertake the program that you inspired,” Admiral Ryitonem announced. “Your group has been cleared for limited service, within Anlov’s Sphere. Your ship is finishing its refit and your new crewmembers are finishing their proficiency accreditations; they are to be sworn in as a new branch of special case agents just for this project.”

Geib was unsure how to respond. He was sure his face clearly showed his confusion, and that Admiral Ryitonem was enjoying that sight. Ryitonem had never been a fan of him at any point, and was always so open to express it. He personally took the role of rebuttal and opposition against the program that Geib inspired.

Geib continued looking forward. He knew the frightful sight of the Admiral’s smile was just beneath the point of his focus. Like the sun, he avoided looking directly at it for concern for his wellbeing.

“Thank you sir,” Geib finally stated.

“You will be deploying this evening with your first assignment,” Ryitonem added. “Also, you will be placed on a very strict probationary period until you are deemed capable of operating without complete supervision.”

“Yes sir,” Geib confirmed.

“I am sure you are familiar with Dr. Mazoy,” the Admiral stated as he stood.

Geib could only look on as Ryitonem’s smile lifted into his focus. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“I am sir,” Geib replied.

“The Guard Lasvic Raym suggested that I would be more favorable to this idea if my best student was on your team to keep an eye on things,” Ryitonem explained.

“This evening, you will report in to me for your first assignment and to me for all of your future foreseeable assignments.” Admiral Ryitonem ordered.

Geib’s eyes widened. His commanding officer’s smile increased to almost cartoonish levels.

“Something you want to say?” Ryitonem asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Sir, I thought I’d be reporting to Commander Postarnack Ats, and he’d be reporting to Admiral Ekna Chalchoot,” Geib quietly replied.

He felt absolutely miniscule in the glare of Ryitonem’s beaming face.

“There was a slight change. It was needed for me to be convinced to cast a supporting vote,” Ryitonem explained with nearly bursting glee. “You will report directly to me. No chain.”

Every fiber of Geib’s being shouted at him to look to the Guard Raym for something, anything at all. Ryitonem didn’t give him the option to be at ease yet, so his gaze was locked.

“That will be all. You are dismissed. Be present for the final induction and debriefing with your crew in one hour,” Ryitonem ordered.

Geib knew what was ‘all’ was that the Admiral was done tormenting him for now. Geib snapped to attention, spun 180 degrees on his heel and marched briskly out the door.

Admiral Ryitonem Izkuio’s smile dropped.