Dolor was one of those worlds. The ones that, for no real reason, no-one really wanted, and therefore was allowed to rather go to rot.
First off, there was the atmosphere. It was largely composed of a chemical that bore a strong resemblance to ricin. That was supposedly problematic or something.
First off, there was the atmosphere. It was largely composed of a chemical that bore a strong resemblance to ricin. That was supposedly problematic or something.
Secondly, the planet’s oceans were quite scenic. They were viscous, red, and about fifteen-hundred degrees. Oh, and when it froze, it happened to become stone, not ice.
Thirdly, you barely ever saw the sun.
Fourth, which was because, most of the time, it was hidden behind the gas giant Dolor was tidally locked to.
In other words, it was perfect, and a wonderful place to live. There were no clear problems whatsoever with attempting to establish permanent habitation on the world.
Jokes aside, Alan had always thought that the sky was stunning. Feitheoir, the gas giant, dominated the sky, almost entirely filling it. The sun was, for once, rising behind it, shining through its blue-green atmosphere. The rough surface of the planet had a vaguely red color, which was caused the simple, chemosynthetic and lithotrophic bacteria that inhabited the surface. The underlying rock was uninteresting, but high in carbon. The initial excavation of the habitat had run into some major problems with large diamond formations.
On paper, diamond-mining was the point of the Dolor base, and, well, it was highly profitable. Alan had believed that, until this morning.
Glancing down at his new Mil-Ind ID, complete with the invariably ugly picture of himself, shiny seal, and ID number that was larger and more prominently placed than his name, he sighed.
The Mechanism down below churned, processing various strands of Nucleic Acids into bizarre, obscene forms.
It’s strange world we live in, isn’t it? he thought. We have an incredible capacity for deceiving ourselves. Like a child who’s been told that its teeth are replaced with one-credit pieces by a magical fairy, we rarely question what we’re told.
He heard bootsteps behind him, and he turned to see a woman in dark blue plastoid armor. It looked like a Tactical Agent’s gear, except for the coloration, and the large Mil-Ind insignia featured prominently in several places.
“Eithne?” He asked, acknowledging her, but hoping it was clear that he didn’t want to speak with her.
She seemed to ignore him. “It’s always a shock when you first find out, isn’t it? Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with genetic research, but, well... It hits close to home for a lot of us.”
Alan nodded, although he doubted that it was for the reasons she thought. “Eithne, I don’t want to have to speak with you at the moment.” He said, clenching his fists. “I dislike you under normal circumstances, and that is even more true at the moment.”
Once again, she ignored him, sitting down, plastoid armor clinking against the floor. “Sit with me.” She invited.
“The Mechanism’s a genetic editor. It should be destroyed.” He stated.
Eithne smiled, her greenish skin paler than most other Trapacs. The world of Trapac had been wiped out by the xon a few hundred years ago, but the Trapac subspecies had barely avoided complete destruction by the Imperiata. “That’s like saying they won, though. We can reclaim what the universe was like before the Republic-Imperiata war-every planet filled with dozens of subspecies, each special, unique, endowed with something special to give to the universe!”
Alan decided to end the conversation. “Yeah. That would be nice.” He smiled, and walked off.
He returned to his room-now separate from his family’s, as he was a full employee of Mil-Ind now-and sat down on his bed. He removed his pendant from his neck, clutching the medallion. It appeared as a blank metal disk at first glance. As it heated in his hands though, a pattern began to emerge.
It was an eye, with a helix suspended in the center of the iris, where a pupil should have gone.
“Ad emundationem animarum.” He whispered. “We aren’t gone. The spirit of the Imperiata lives on. I see now why my father has insisted on staying on this God-forsaken world. We have the ability here to cripple the Diversists strategy. We may have lost the war, but we’ve won-well, are winning-our battle. The bastard species are next to wiped out, thanks to the efforts of the last generation. We can finish this work-perhaps we can even turn their own Mechanism against them.” He realized that he had been getting louder, and, well, it wouldn’t do to be revealed as a member of the Imperiata in the middle of the Mil-Ind facility.
Grinning, he imagined the potential of the Mechanism in the hands of the Imperiata. A virus that only affected the nonhumans. Probably starting with the Kynaki-they were the most numerous bastard species left-and spreading across the rest of Human Space, wiping out the rest of the.
The world was looking up, for a change.
Thirdly, you barely ever saw the sun.
Fourth, which was because, most of the time, it was hidden behind the gas giant Dolor was tidally locked to.
In other words, it was perfect, and a wonderful place to live. There were no clear problems whatsoever with attempting to establish permanent habitation on the world.
Jokes aside, Alan had always thought that the sky was stunning. Feitheoir, the gas giant, dominated the sky, almost entirely filling it. The sun was, for once, rising behind it, shining through its blue-green atmosphere. The rough surface of the planet had a vaguely red color, which was caused the simple, chemosynthetic and lithotrophic bacteria that inhabited the surface. The underlying rock was uninteresting, but high in carbon. The initial excavation of the habitat had run into some major problems with large diamond formations.
On paper, diamond-mining was the point of the Dolor base, and, well, it was highly profitable. Alan had believed that, until this morning.
Glancing down at his new Mil-Ind ID, complete with the invariably ugly picture of himself, shiny seal, and ID number that was larger and more prominently placed than his name, he sighed.
The Mechanism down below churned, processing various strands of Nucleic Acids into bizarre, obscene forms.
It’s strange world we live in, isn’t it? he thought. We have an incredible capacity for deceiving ourselves. Like a child who’s been told that its teeth are replaced with one-credit pieces by a magical fairy, we rarely question what we’re told.
He heard bootsteps behind him, and he turned to see a woman in dark blue plastoid armor. It looked like a Tactical Agent’s gear, except for the coloration, and the large Mil-Ind insignia featured prominently in several places.
“Eithne?” He asked, acknowledging her, but hoping it was clear that he didn’t want to speak with her.
She seemed to ignore him. “It’s always a shock when you first find out, isn’t it? Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with genetic research, but, well... It hits close to home for a lot of us.”
Alan nodded, although he doubted that it was for the reasons she thought. “Eithne, I don’t want to have to speak with you at the moment.” He said, clenching his fists. “I dislike you under normal circumstances, and that is even more true at the moment.”
Once again, she ignored him, sitting down, plastoid armor clinking against the floor. “Sit with me.” She invited.
“The Mechanism’s a genetic editor. It should be destroyed.” He stated.
Eithne smiled, her greenish skin paler than most other Trapacs. The world of Trapac had been wiped out by the xon a few hundred years ago, but the Trapac subspecies had barely avoided complete destruction by the Imperiata. “That’s like saying they won, though. We can reclaim what the universe was like before the Republic-Imperiata war-every planet filled with dozens of subspecies, each special, unique, endowed with something special to give to the universe!”
Alan decided to end the conversation. “Yeah. That would be nice.” He smiled, and walked off.
He returned to his room-now separate from his family’s, as he was a full employee of Mil-Ind now-and sat down on his bed. He removed his pendant from his neck, clutching the medallion. It appeared as a blank metal disk at first glance. As it heated in his hands though, a pattern began to emerge.
It was an eye, with a helix suspended in the center of the iris, where a pupil should have gone.
“Ad emundationem animarum.” He whispered. “We aren’t gone. The spirit of the Imperiata lives on. I see now why my father has insisted on staying on this God-forsaken world. We have the ability here to cripple the Diversists strategy. We may have lost the war, but we’ve won-well, are winning-our battle. The bastard species are next to wiped out, thanks to the efforts of the last generation. We can finish this work-perhaps we can even turn their own Mechanism against them.” He realized that he had been getting louder, and, well, it wouldn’t do to be revealed as a member of the Imperiata in the middle of the Mil-Ind facility.
Grinning, he imagined the potential of the Mechanism in the hands of the Imperiata. A virus that only affected the nonhumans. Probably starting with the Kynaki-they were the most numerous bastard species left-and spreading across the rest of Human Space, wiping out the rest of the.
The world was looking up, for a change.