Character: Mazun Contreras
Location: Unknown
System: Unknown
Date: Unknown
The last thing Mazun was sure of that wasn't a dream was getting stuffed into
a cryotube by a pack of rude and ruthless vargr corsairs. It was appalling to
be treated like merchandise, frozen like some dinner rations to be served later.
He was so steaming mad that it's a wonder he froze at all.
Naturally, sedatives in the chemicals in the cryofreeze mixture dissolved his
anger. He expected a dreamless sleep as his prior low berth experience had
demonstrated, but this time was different. Everything he'd read indicated that
the cryofrozen did not dream and his own experience bore that out.
How did he know he was dreaming? It was all too strange, albeit lucid. He rode a
primitive paddle wheel boat, whose thrust came from a coal-fired steam engine,
down a lazy river on some temperate planet. The other passengers were dressed in
odd costumes, like something he'd seen in holovids about ancient Terra. It was
damn near laughable but he played along.
He was engaged in a conversation with a lovely woman when the ship rumbled. The
captain declared that the ship had run aground on a sandbar and advised everyone
to go ashore.
"Good heavens," the woman declared in a charming accent, "Does this mean we'll
be stranded here?"
"Not at all," Mazun reassured her. "The captain is just lightening the payload.
With less weight, the ship should float free of the sandbar and once it's in
deeper water we'll be able to re-board. Though I am surprised that sonar didn't
pick up the sandbar."
"Sonar? What's that?"
Initially surprised that she didn't know what sonar was, Mazun explained, "It's
a device that uses sound waves to measure the depth of a body of water."
"That sounds like a wonderful contraption. Do y'all have those sonar devices up
north?"
Confused by what she meant by "up north", Mazun simply said, "Yes, we do."
"Now how will we get to shore?" she asked.
Mazun looked over the rail. "It isn't deep. We can walk in."
"But my dress will simply be ruined if it gets all wet."
Mazun was surprised to hear himself say, "I'll carry you."
"What a gentleman!"
Mazun jumped into the water, which was only knee deep. The woman dropped into
his arms. He was surprised at how light she felt, but it was a dream after all.
Once they were on shore, the clouds rolled in. A great mechanical beast rose out
of the water and grabbed the steamboat in its jaws. It crushed the vessel in
one bite, bits of wood planking falling into the river. The passengers on shore
screamed and ran into the forest. In the chaos, Mazun found himself alone.
It was night when he stumbled upon the factory. Hellacious fires burned within.
Thick black smoke rose from brick smokestacks. He entered what appeared to be a
shipping and receiving yard. Driverless forklifts went about loading and
unloading pallets of boxes on wheeled freight trucks.
When a forklift approached Mazun he realized he should hide but he's actually in
a box with a faceplate he can see out of. The forklift came over and placed him
on a pallet, which was then loaded on a truck. The truck rumbled along for some
time. Once it reached its destination, Mazun's box was unloaded from the truck
and placed up on a shelf in a dimly lit warehouse. He doesn't know how long
he's on the shelf. All he can do is lie there and stare at the box on the shelf
above him. And it's very cold.
After what seemed like an eternity, the warehouse melted away, replaced by a
bright light.
And that's when the dream starts to end. He hears voices.
"He's coming around." The voice of a vargr female speaking in Gvegh.
Mazun tries to speak but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and his
lips are sealed shut.
A hard plastic tube digs its way into his mouth and soon after releases water.
The drops are slow at first, but as the water dissolves the glue holding his
tongue in place the flow increases. It is the first thing he's tasted since
breakfast with...with...his crewmates back on the ship at...Dekilari.
Tears have welled up in his eyes. He blinks them away, bringing some form of
focus to his surroundings. It looks like some sort of hospital and the light
isn't as bright as he thought it was. The female is close by. He can tell by her
voice. There are two others in the room, males. He still can't move his head
but he can hear various machines. Their whooshing and beeping remind him of some
claptrap robot his roommate built back in college.
The female comes into view. Maybe it's his burred vision, but she looks well
groomed and friendly. She smiles in a non-threatening manner and says in perfect
Galanglic, "Wonderful! You're awake. Don't try to move. You're still recovering
from an extended period of cryosleep. Your muscles are severely atrophied but
otherwise you seem in good health. Your heart and lungs are operating on their
own and that's a great sign." She places a latex glove covered paw on his chest.
"Just be patient and give us time to get you back on your feet. I promise
you'll be out of here in no time."
Mazun's tongue is free and his jaws are no longer locked in place. He thinks he
can ask her a question, but he'll have to keep it short and simple.
For a split second, Mazun considers jumping and starting a fight right there.
After all, he was put under by Vargr pirates and there he is, waking up
surrounded by Vargr. Somehow, he decides not to. Maybe it is the charming female
from his dream being mixed up with the friendly Vargr female. Or maybe he just
realizes that he is probably so weak from cryosleep that he would not be able to
put up much of a fight. Atrophied? That can't possibly be right.
Instead, he blinks again and tries to take in as much of his immediate
surroundings as he can, and starts testing his muscles.
"How... <cough> how long?", he asks, in Galanglic.
She leans in close and says, "Slow down, sir. There will be plenty of time for
questions later. You need to save your strength while your body recovers. I
promise we'll answer your questions when you're better." Her smile appears
sincere. Mazun can see it in her eyes. Her tail is wagging, striking his bed.
"You're safe, and among friends."
His muscles are weak—a child could hold him down. He's never had this
problem before after a stint in a cryotube. "Please... I need... to know." Even
his breathing is labored.
There's a sad look in her eyes, but the pleading look in his wears her down. "If
the data on your cryotube is correct, 80 years."
80 years? Is that even possible?
Stunned by her declaration and exhausted by the effort to wake up and talk,
Mazun ceases his struggles. His eyelids are heavy. He closes them, intending it
to be brief, but he falls fast asleep. His dreams of the steamboat on the lazy
river return, but the woman he saw before is gone. Instead, children play about
the deck with puppies. Dark clouds obscure some mountains in the distance, but
they never encroach upon the river.
Character: Mazun Contreras
Location: A hospital in a city
System: Unknown
Date: 1202.??.?
Mazun wakes up in a bright sunlit room. Although tired and still a little
weak, he nonetheless feels somewhat rejuvenated. Nothing hurts and that's good.
He sits up in bed and peers through the window; the curtains are drawn back. In
the distance, he sees forested hills underneath a yellow sun, mid-morning
perhaps, however long the day here may be.
The room looks and smells clean, though the musk of vargr is present at
tolerable levels. Looking to his right, Mazun spots an empty, unmade bed and
beyond that a door.
Curious about his surroundings, Mazun swings his legs over the side and
discovers that he is naked save for some loose fitting standard issue hospital
gown that covers his torso and not much more. Everything that should be there
still is. He examines his body for signs of incisions or scars but finds none.
Mazun gingerly slides off the bed and puts some weight on his legs. They feel
tired, as if he spent all night running, but they're supporting his weight. He
glances over at the door, half-expecting someone to rush in and tackle him, and
then slowly walks to the window. His feet ache with every step but he makes it
to the window without collapsing. He rests his arms on the windowsill to take
some of the weight off.
Outside lies a small, modern city. The buildings are a mere 10-20 stories in
height. Grav vehicles fly in the distance. The street below has electric cars.
There are various shops with vargr of all ages going about their business. All
things considered, it looks rather peaceful. It certainly doesn't look like a
slaver's camp.
The door to the room opens and Mazun hears a gasp. "What are you doing up?" It's
the woman from the room he woke up in. She isn't angry, just surprised.
"I thought I'd check out the view," Mazun replies, pleased to hear his voice is
working fine again.
"Well, there will be plenty of time for that later," she says with a smile.
"Please come back to bed. While I'm pleased to see that your strength has
returned, you still need your rest."
Mazun complies with her request for now.
"Since you're up, I will keep my promise and answer your questions." She grabs
hold of a monitor tethered to an arm extending from the wall and directs it so
that Mazun can face it. "First off, I'm doctor Zan Aegzgorr. I'm a specialist in
cryogenic medicine. And you are?"
"Mazun Contreras."
"Good. We'll take that to mean that your memory is intact and that the
cryostasis pod data is accurate. You were in there for a very long time. There
are plenty that do not survive for so long."
"When I woke up..." He isn't sure when he woke up.
"Yesterday."
"Yesterday. You told me that I'd been in stasis for 80 years. Is that true?"
"Yes, by the old Imperial calendar, the year is 1202. Fifth day of the twelfth
week."
"I didn't think that being in a pod for so long was possible."
"Nor did we," she says with a chuckle. "We thought your roommate had the record
with 76 years. But you edged him out. It's a testament to the technology of
your day."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
Mazun's mind starts racing. Something does not add up. Surely technology must be
even more advanced now? And what is that with the "old" imperial calendar? No,
he must have misheard that. Although it would be just like Lucan, starting a new
Imperial calendar on the day of his final victory. He shakes his head at that
thought. Speaking of which, Lucan must be dead now, go figure how he solved the
succession issue. If he won.
Mazun breaths in, stopping all the chains of thought that the woman's comments
have started.
"Well, let's go slowly. I guess I would really appreciate some history holobooks
and a reader, and maybe an Imperial travel guide for this world. Or just some
net access so I can search for the stuff," he says, nodding towards the monitor.
"But before that, first, I would like to know where I am and how did I arrive
here, starting with where you found me and ending with where is the nearest
Imperial world, I am guessing we are not within Imperial boundaries. Come to
think of that, is there an Imperial embassy here? And while I am very grateful
for you getting me back to the realm of the living," Mazun smiles, trying not to
show any teeth, "there is also the question of why have I been reanimated and,
let's say, what is exactly my status here." Almost as an afterthought, he adds
"And last, although probably not very important if really eighty years have
passed... who won the war?"
Zan sighs. She places a paw on Mazun's hand in a gesture of sympathy. "This
will take some explaining and may be difficult to accept. There is a human
expression that comes to mind: Keep an open mind."
She lets go of his hand and turns to face the meter-sized monitor. In Gvegh, she
says, "Fae, switch language commands to Galanglic." She is apparently unaware
that Mazun knows Gvegh. He decides to keep that little piece of information to
himself for the time being.
A silver icon appears on the screen. It looks roughly triangular with flattened
corners. The shape triggers Mazun's mathematical side. It's a Möbius shape.
"I've set the monitor to accept commands in Galanglic. You'll be able to access
the InfoNet and become acquainted with our world at your leisure. You just have
to address it as 'Fae'. I'll demonstrate.
"Fae, display starmap with our world centered."
The monitor comes to life and displays a starfield with "Tagan" in the middle.
Mazun isn't familiar with it but he can tell from the image that it lies in a
rift with its closest neighbor four parsecs in a trailing-rimward direction.
"We're on Tagan, my homeworld. It resides at 2611 Gotzdo. Humans call the sector
'Windhorn'."
Windhorn 2611? 30 parsecs into the Extents! Mazun realizes he's a long
way from home.
"We're part of a small state called the Tagan Pack. Fae, zoom out and highlight
Tagan Pack." The map zooms out to show you an area roughly two subsectors in
size. Nine worlds are highlighted.
"You and several others were found by a Tagan Pack Expeditionary Force on a
world with a cryoberth holding facility. I can't tell you the name of the world
as it's classified. I don't even know its name though I expect it will be
de-classified soon.
"We don't know how you came to be on that world. There's no tracking information.
You were considered the property of the Touzagh corsair band, but we know that
they disbanded in 1126. There's no information in the cryoberth computer about
where you went after your capture. The Touzagh used to operate along the
Imperial border so how you went from there to where we found you is a mystery."
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Now for the difficult part. No one won
the war. The Third Imperium is no more."
"What do you mean, 'no more'?"
"An artificially intelligent computer virus was released in 1130. We don't know
which faction developed it, but it affected everyone equally. In spread like
wildfire, torching every system it could infect. At first it engaged in suicidal
tactics—starships would plunge into planets or stars. But then it became
aware of us—people—and it started killing us. Grav cities plunged
into the sea with windows and doors open, orbital facilities opened up to
vacuum, starships bombed cities..." Her voice trails off. She stares at the
floor as if regaining her composure. "You get the idea."
Mazun stares at her in utter disbelief. He catches himself and decides to play
along, but he is not buying it. He starts trying to remember his Vargr
psychology seminars back at the Scout service and looking at the good doctor for
body signals. Now, what was that with the ears...
She lifts her head back up to face Mazun. "As far as we know, the virus has
toppled everyone. Over the years, survivors told us about the destruction of the
Imperium's worlds, the fall of the Ngath Confederation, the 17th Disjuncture,
the Opposition Alliance, and the Voekhaeb Society. Our listening posts in the
Rift have confirmed this so far. There may indeed be states that survived the
Collapse, but we haven't found them yet.
Mazun raises a hand. "Wait a second, doc. That means you do not really know what
has happened to the Imperium, right? I mean, it is 11,000 worlds. You can't
possibly have reports all the way back to Core or Massilia, can you?"
"We have the testimony of refugees recorded from the 1130's." Her ears go up.
"If you want to cross-examine their testimony, you can do that on your own time.
The larger point is, we haven't had any communication with any official polity
since 1140. And the military says that our recon patrols haven't come across
anyone either. If there is an Imperium out there it's a shadow of its former
self. But yes, if it makes you feel better to cling to the hope that there's
something left, by all means do so. It certainly is better than the prospect of
a vast wasteland.
"Our location out here in the Windhorn spared us. The four parsec gulf was too
much for the majority of infected ships. Our closest friend, Igodosakfell,
helped too by proving to be unconquerable, although the price was high." Her
ears droop.
"As for your status, once you've completed your physical therapy, you'll be free
to go."
Mazun is surprised but tries to hide it.
Her ears return to their normal state and she wags her tail. "Pack Security is
very interested in you and the others we revived." Noticing Mazun's worried
look, she attempts to allay his fears. "No, it's not like that. They view you as
someone who can help us. Your cryoberth computer listed you as an engineer and
technician. Your knowledge of relic technology would help us find what we need
to fight off the Vakh."
"The what?"
"The Vakh. It's a parasite which simultaneously feeds off of and controls its
host. That's what we call them: the machines controlled by the A.I. Virus. When
they were finally done with flying around and randomly attacking us, their
tactics changed. They became scavengers; looking for spare parts to keep
themselves going. Some have speculated that they may in fact start building
cities or empires. It's positively horrific to think of such a thing, which is
why we need your help."
Mazun breaths again and briefly considers the possibility that this is a
psychiatric hospital and the good doc is actually a patient. He discards the
idea as he notes her photo ID badge clinging to the lapel of her white lab coat,
considers whether to simply play along, but then his curiosity makes him risk
it.
"OK, doc, look, I am in your debt and I will certainly help you and your people
if I can, you do not even need to ask. It will be my pleasure. Especially if you
can get me some clothes before I leave this room." Mazun smiles. "But, well, I
won't hide it from you, I am having some trouble accepting this story. Put
yourself in my place for a second. If I get it right, a computer virus has
managed to pack intelligence within the couple thousand lines of code such a
virus usually has at most, and has gone to flatten out most of known space,
killing millions of sentients spinward and trailing and outsmarting human and
Vargr scientists, probably even Geonee ones." Even as he says it, Mazun can't
help but think that it sounds exactly as the kind of crazy plan that the Lucan
Navy would endorse. He shakes the thought away. "It apparently has had no
difficulty jumping across fully incompatible computer systems, from Imperial to
Vargr and from one Vargr state to the next, I mean, if I recall correctly the
Extents were not exactly known for the prevalence of computer standards, and
even in the Imperium some computer standards were quite virus-resistant. Now
this virus has stopped killing and has distilled itself into, what is it, small
parasitic machines which control sentients' bodies, full cyborg style? And you
need me because of my knowledge of 80-year old, how did you call it, 'relic'
technology, which is better than yours because in all this time there has been
no progress. Again, glad to help if I can, and I am a highly qualified chief
engineer, but I am having a hard time picturing this."
She scowls as he says this and seems ready to snarl but instead says, "From what
I understand, many people didn't believe it at first either. By the time they
accepted it, it was too late for them to do anything about it.
"And I didn't say anything about it controlling people. You're confusing slang
with an actual definition. While there are organic vakh out on some worlds whose
victims act like zombies, the Vakh I'm referring to is with a capital V. It's
slang. The Virus takes hold of ships and robots and anything with a large
enough computer in it..." She pauses and takes a deep breath to tamp down her
irritation.
Mazun raises a hand, trying to remind himself of how short-tempered Vargr are.
He is not used to interacting with them in an all-Vargr environment, usually it
was them who had to be careful with the human ways. He says simply, "I see. I
misunderstood that, sorry."
"I'm not a computer programmer. I can't argue with you about how a computer
virus works or the compatibility of computer systems. I do know the destruction
out there is real. You're welcome to use InfoNet to learn all you want about it.
If that doesn't meet your needs, I'll arrange an interview with someone from
our IT department.
"As for our technological level, I'll have you know that we're at B, or 11 if
you prefer, on the Ikalabakag scale, which, if my history lessons are correct,
would've been considered average Imperial back in your day." Her voice is
elevating in volume. "I'm sorry if that's too primitive for you, but as we're
devoting our resources to helping other worlds climb back from being bombed back
to pre-spaceflight tech levels, there's little left for scientific indulgence."
Mazun sighs and tilts his head a bit, hoping she will interpret it as surprise
at her brewing outburst. But if she wants to get angry, there is little he can
do. "That's not what I meant, doc. I just thought that after missing 80 years of
technical development, I would be pretty useless. If you say I am not, so much
the better. But yes, sure, I am familiar with higher tech levels than that." He
keeps an even voice and does his best to ignore the doc's volatility. His mind
flashes briefly back to his time in the TL-16 Amaya Technical School, and he
suppresses a smile.
She doesn't say anything, but at least she isn't growling.
"Doc, is there a human ex-Imperial minority in your world by any chance, maybe
refugees? I mean, we are around 30 parsecs from Imperial space, the Imperium
does not exist anymore, and yet you speak excellent Galanglic and a hospital
computer is pre-programmed to accept Galanglic... I guess that is not just by
chance?"
"Yes!" she practically barks it out. "There's a Dr. Ann Patel on this floor.
Maybe I should've had her break the news to you from the start." She speaks into
her wrist comm. "Dr. Patel, would you please come to room 1117. I have a
patient who would like to see a more familiar face."
"Oh boy," Mazun thinks. "I really pissed her off."
While waiting, Mazun asks her, "I am sorry to bombard you with questions this
way, I am sure you have plenty to do, but please just a last one. You said that
others were recovered at the same facility. Any other Imperial citizens? Do you
think I can meet them? You said my roommate was only"—he smiles at
that—"76 years under, so he was frozen in 1126. He must have some
first-hand information on the war after my time. Is he... or she... around?"
"I don't know the nationality of the other cryoberth people. The military
picked those it wanted revived," she says curtly. "You can ask them when their
representative meets with you.
Mazun says, "Thanks" and makes a mental note of that. Military. Some guys were
not revived. Does not really fit with the "free to go" story. Not that he
believed it in the first place, but it's not as if he could just start running.
"Your roommate is currently in physical therapy. He'll be back soon. He was
revived yesterday and..."
A human woman of dark hair and complexion with south Asian features enters the
room. She too wears a white lab coat with a photo ID badge attached to her
lapel. She appears to be in her 50's and is about 1.6 meters in height with an
average build.
"Ahhh Dr. Patel. Please meet Mazun Contreras."
"How do you do, Mr. Contreras?" Dr. Patel says with a smile.
Mazun smiles back. "Surprisingly well for such an old man, thank you, thanks to
Dr. Aegzorr's skills and care. She has been filling me about what I've missed
while napping."
Dr. Patel's eyebrows go up as she sighs. "Yes, well, there's certainly been a
lot of that."
After an awkward pause, Dr. Aegzgorr says, "If you'll excuse me, I have to
prepare another patient for revival." She wags her tail as she says to Dr.
Patel, "Thank you, doctor. I'll have my comm on if you need me."
While she doesn't storm out the door, Mazun imagines her growling all the way
down the hall. He smiles to Dr. Patel and comments, "I think I really made her
angry."
Dr. Patel smiles knowingly. "Yes, you did. You were saying that she was filling
you in on the last," she glances at her datapad, "eighty years. My that is quite
a long time. A pre-Collapse sleeper. Yes, I'd imagine that it was difficult for
you to swallow. If you pushed too hard on that, I believe that's what made her
angry.
"But you should understand her position. She spent several years working on
worlds that had been devastated by the Virus and saw the pain it caused to both
human and vargr alike. It affected her deeply. We have a handful of people who
deny either that the Collapse happened or that it was caused by an A.I. virus.
These people are like yourself in that they haven't seen anything besides
beautiful, peaceful Tagan." She gestures toward the window. "They're conspiracy
theorists who prefer to wallow in their own ignorance. When Dr. Aegzgorr hears
any of them talk, her teeth come out. You have an excuse for not believing her,
they, however, do not."
Mazun nods. "I see. I guess I don't quite know what to believe yet. I was just
trying to tell her why I found it difficult to believe." He sighs. "Oh, dear.
I'll have to apologize to her when I get the chance."
"Give her some time. She'll settle down. But enough of that. What's your story?"
Mazun briefly considers whether this is just a trick to get information out of
him. A virtual reality setting in Dulinor's camp? But no, he knows for sure he
was captured by Vargr pirates. Still, he decides to be cautious and skip over
any details.
"Well, I would not know where to start. I am an engineer from the central areas
of the Imperium, Massilia-born, Technical School graduate, familiar with as high
a tech as it goes... or it went..., chief engineer qualifications, all that.
Good with machines, sometimes not so bad with people—obviously not my day
in that department, though." He smiles weakly and looks at the human doctor,
gauging her reaction at his self-description.
She smiles along with him.
"I joined the Scouts... the Imperial Scout Service to see the universe, but I
was always fascinated by technology, so most of the time I was either in scout
bases or in large ships. Then the war came, and the military started having the
say and bossing us all around, and most of us scouts were more or less clearly
drafted and sucked into the war effort. The Vargr overran Lishun sector when I
was there, I saw a lot of action after that, and six years into the war my
patchwork unit lost a battle against Vargr pirates. They were the slaver kind,
and put some of us in cryosleep to ship us to some auction world into the
extents...and I woke up here." In his mind, he adds, "and I woke up here to
hear a horror story which makes me wish I was back in the middle of the war."
"What about you, doc? What is a Galanglic-speaking human, probably many I guess,
doing in a mainly Vargr world this far away from human space? I am sure there
must be quite a story behind that."
She chuckles. "People are forgetting their history. The First Imperium had
worlds all the way up here, in Sunggoe, which is the next subsector rimward of
here. Over half of Meshan, three quarters of Mendan, and half of Amdukan were
under Imperial rule at one time. The wicked Empire of Gashikan was coreward of
them and that was run by humans. Even after the first two Imperiums folded,
many humans stayed behind. Some humans actually get along with the vargr." She
smiles teasingly.
Mazun smiles back and says, "Ouch. Yes, you are right, I remember reading about
Gashikan."
"But you're looking for my story so I'll tell it to you." She claps her hands
together. "Born and raised here on Tagan." Noticing Mazun's surprise she says,
"It's true. My father's parents settled here in 1132, before they shut the door.
But they were Imperial born, as was my father and his sister. They were born on
Kaiid in Lishun sector. My grandparents said that it was a wonderful world
before the War.
Mazun says, "Kaliid... that was a strategic A starport-shipyard, wasn't it? Low
population, high tech. I was based in Larkarda in Lishun for years, a subsector
coreward. But I don't think I was ever on Kaliid." Mazun almost adds because
that world went over to the Vilani pretty quick, but shuts his mouth.
"Weren't there a couple of skirmishes over the shipyards? He tries to see
whether the mention of Larkarda sparks any reaction in the doctor.
"I guess it was strategic. 'A' class starports are important; those are the ones
with shipyards. That has to be strategic to any space-faring nation. We're
trying to get to that point too.
My grandparents said that the Vilani and Lucan's forces fought several battles
in the subsector and many refugees came to their world seeking safe haven.
Neither side seemed to gain ground, but more worlds were falling into ruin.
With the vargr corsairs plunging ever deeper into the sector, my grandparents
decided to flee.
"Their initial plan was to get to the Domain of Deneb but they only got as far
as Vland because Corridor was occupied by invading vargr states and they weren't
letting anyone through. Grandfather was growing increasingly frustrated with
all the warfare going on and he was desperate to find a place where none of the
invading armies would go. Grandma said, 'Wouldn't it be nice if we could just go
away to some deserted island in the middle of some ocean and wait this out.'
That gave my grandfather the idea to come here. He figured an isolated world
four parsecs out into a rift would be the last place the war would come to.
"But it wasn't easy for them to get here. The safe areas for each faction had
shrunk to about a subsector or two in size by the time Virus was released. They
made their way to the edge of Vilani territory, sometimes taking odd jobs along
the way. While the Ngath Confederation had no problems with humans, especially
ones that were willing to pay or work for their passage, they had to be smuggled
past the worst of those psychotic 17th Disjuncture worlds. They were rejoicing
in the destruction of the Imperium; their new golden age was at hand." She
shakes her head and chuckles dismissively. "The coreward worlds of the
Disjuncture had a bit more sense to them and took the warnings seriously. It
didn't help much, but Tagan survived.
"Anyway, when my father's parents arrived they found a human enclave already
here. As it took every last credit and possession, besides the clothing on their
backs, to get here, they relied on my mother's parents until my grandparents
found jobs. Being that both sets of my grandparents were friends, it was
inevitable that my father and mother would connect." She smiles. "And the rest
is history."
Mazun nods. If Larkarda meant anything to the doctor, she kept her reaction
hidden. "Wow. Indeed quite a story, thanks for telling me. When I was frozen
the war was already bad, but it sounds as if it turned even worse. Your
grandparents sound like real pioneers."
"I don't know about pioneers. There were humans already living on Tagan. But
yes, the war got worse. They talked about a period called 'the Black War'.
That's when factions began to deliberately target civilian populations. Nuclear
strikes, chemical and biological warfare." She shudders. "Truly horrible."
After a pause, he adds, "So I guess you speak Galanglic because of your family
origins, but humans here speak something else, right?"
"Well, we're bilingual. We learn Galanglic and speak it as a way of preserving
the better parts of our culture. But we speak Gvegh as well as that's the
language of the Pack."
"Are there many other Imperial refugee families in Tagan?"
"I don't know the exact count but the human population is around 500,000. I'd
say that about half of them are refugees or their descendants."
Mazun nods.
"Well, I'll let you rest." She checks her wristcomm. "I see that your physical
therapy starts this afternoon."
Character: Mazun Contreras
Location: A hospital in a city
System: Tagan
Date: 1202.12.5
As soon as Dr. Patel leaves the room, Mazun accesses the computer network
referred to as Fae.
OOC-Carlos: Mazun is interested in locating and reading the following: