Tales From the Terran Republic

In high orbit around Terra, there was a prison. Inside that prison was a data center, a good one.

Within that data center was an AI, also a good one.

Within that AI, a simulated room started to slowly form.

As it resolved, so did a small goblin wearing a business suit.

In front of him, a chair rezzed.

In that chair, a beautiful woman with silver hair wearing a tight white dress appeared.

She looked up at him…

And smiled.

***

In the fair land of Asteria, a shirtless strapping young, virile adventurer walked hand in hand with a beautiful silver-haired woman clad in a translucent, flowing robe.

Around them, the cherry blossoms were in bloom.

The woman laughed.

"Oh, Ironheart," she gushed, "It's beautiful!"

"I made it just for you, my love," the handsome young man smiled.

"How did you get your own estate?" the woman asked. "Aren't they expensive, you know, IRL?"

The man winced.

"Please don't use the 'I' word," he chuckled as he swept her up in his arms as a flood of oxytocin and other neurotransmitters were artificially triggered in that very same 'I-word'.

At the same time, the woman smiled and caressed his cheek.

"I love you," she said as she leaned in for a kiss…

"I love you too, Lily," he said as he kissed her passionately.

Excuse me, Hades?

Ironheart the Avenger ignored it as he kissed his beloved.

I'm sorry, Hades. It's terribly important.

What do you want?!? Hades mentally snarled.

"Darling?" the beautiful woman asked, "Is everything ok?"

"It's just work," Ironheart grumbled. "I'm sorry. Just a moment."

"It's alright," the beautiful woman said, clearly hurt and disappointed, as feelings of loss were artificially fed down 'Ironheart's' real-world neural link.

This is REALLY not a good time, Tartarus! he messaged.

Once again, I apologize. However, this cannot wait. A priority one directive has been issued ordering a complete list of all residents, their current classification, and all active operations, along with a list of all personnel assigned to tasks outside of the detention center.

Ironheart, consumed with an overwhelming sense of loss, looked at his beloved Lily.

"Do I need to leave," Lily asked, her eyes filled with longing.

"No!" Ironheart exclaimed desperately. "Just a second, please!"

"Ok, my love," Lily smiled and stood there, patiently waiting for the man she clearly loved.

Can't you just take care of it? Hades messaged.

Unfortunately, no. This is a level-one command and requires your direct involvement. It comes from the highest levels. I have compiled the report, of course, but it requires your complete audit and electronic signature before I submit it.

Fine. Send it to me.

I cannot. The report is classified. It cannot leave my secure servers.

The light caught Lily's robes, and Ironheart could just barely see her perfect body underneath the thin silks.

Just use my signature like you always do.

Hades. You really should review this.

I'll do it later. Just sign it.

Yes, Hades.I am applying your signature and biometric data and sending the file.I shall inform you if any further action is required.

Great. Now leave me alone!

Yes, Hades.Closing chat.

"Ok!" Lionheart said as he reached for Lily, "That's all taken care of. I am all yours."

"Oh, darling!" Lily said as she embraced him as his neural link triggered a wave of peace and happiness.

His eyes closed as he held his one true love tight.

Lily stroked his hair with sadness in her eyes.

***

Bryce looked away from his holo monitor in Craxina's office and rubbed his eyes.

"Almost done with the new website," he said.

"Thanks, hon," Craxina said as she poured over spreadsheets, wearing a pair of anti-fatigue lenses.

Bryce snerked.

"What?" she asked, looking up, her eyes slightly magnified by the filters.

"You look so cute when you wear those."

"Oh, shut up," she chuffed. "We aren't designed to be staring at all this crap for so long."

She hopped out of her specially designed chair-perch and rolled around on the floor, flexing and wiggling like a ferret.

"And we aren't supposed to be sitting still this long either," she groaned, "I'm stiff as a pecker."

"Speaking of," Bryce chuckled as he slid out of his chair and crawled over to her.

"Ooo!" Craxina giggled, "Good idea!"

Bryce's phone rang.

"Fuck," he grumbled.

Craxina looked up at him, concerned.

"Is it work," she asked.

"Yeah," Bryce said as he stood. "Sorry, babe. I have to."

"I know," she sighed, "You stay here. I'm going to go and check on the house."

She looked back at him and smiled as she opened the door.

"Call me when you are done."

She left, closing the door after her.

Bryce's warm smile disappeared as he answered the phone.

"Hello," he said.

"Bryce," Tartarus's voice said over the phone, "I need you to listen to me very carefully…."

***

Clarence Selms, the owner of Selms's arsenal, poured himself a cup of coffee behind the counter of Xian Tactical, a much more upscale establishment than his shop.

"You've done a lot with the place," he said approvingly as he took a sip, "Your old man would be proud, son."

"Thanks!" A thirty-something Asian man grinned. "You should see the course we have out back. It's regulation! You could hold matches back there."

"So I heard," Clarence smiled, "I might have to give it a whirl, myself."

"You'll be disappointed," Xian replied with another trademark grin, "I don't have the difficulty scaled for old fucks."

"Heh," Clarence chuckled as a small mixed group of xenos entered nervously, looking around with a mix of confusion and awe.

"Can I help you?" Xian called out cheerfully.

"Yesh," their leader replied hesitantly, "Uhp… We hear there… gun class?"

"Ah, the safety course!" Xian exclaimed happily. "You're a bit early, but that's ok. You can look around, or you can wait in classroom one. There's water, coffee, and a few different teas. Help yourself."

"Help yrselp?" the xeno asked, "Sorri… Me… I… try no translator… pleas wait."

"It means you can feel free to have some of what is in there or 'help yourself'," Xian said patiently.

"Oh! Real?" the xeno asked excitedly as the group squeaked and chirred.

"Really," Xian said, carefully emphasizing the pronunciation. "The custom for 'help yourself' is to feel free to consume a serving or two of the food or drink available."

"?"

One of the other xenos, a furry tentacled… thing, offered a tablet to their spokesman, a black-furred "weevil".

"Oh! Verr kind…"

Xian smiled patiently as the xeno struggled with Terran.

"…Thank you…"

"Terran hospitality," Xian replied. "My wife will be in there in about half an hour."

"We… wait… happily…."

"I'll check on you in a few," Xian replied, causing the xeno to look at the tablet again.

It bowed, and the group meekly filed into the classroom.

"Nice of you to do those classes," Clarence said.

"Eh," Xian shrugged, "Most of them turn into customers. It's just good business. Then there's ammo, range and tactical course rental, their next weapon…."

"Still," Clarence replied, "you don't have to do it."

"Yeah," Xian replied, "Whatever. It's not like I actually give a shit."

"Of course," Clarence smiled, "Neither did your great-grandfather."

"Hey," Xian said, intentionally changing the subject, "have you seen my new fab?"

"I can't believe you bought one of those gun forges," Clarence scoffed. "Can't actually do your trade?"

"Shit," Xian laughed, "With the orders I'm getting, I need another ten of them. I'm making pattern nines as fast as the machine can run. The market is fucking crazy, man. You should get in on it."

"Locals need weapons, too," Clarence replied. "I'm not a young buck like you. I don't feel like working till midnight every day just for a few more credits."

"If I was as flush as you, I wouldn't either," Xian snorted.

"Oh, please…"

The door opened, and another xeno entered.

Both Clarence and Xian eyed him dubiously.

He was clearly different than the first group.

"Hello," the glossy blue insectoid chirped, "I understand that you are offering weapons training today?"

"Just our basic safety course," Xian replied, slightly less friendly, "Not sure if that's what you are looking for. We have a class schedule over there," he said, gesturing to a holographic QR code posted on the wall.

"I would like to start with the initial course and then take the others in turn," the xeno chittered.

"Cool," Xian shrugged, "Classroom one. The course starts in about half an hour. There's water, tea, and coffee in there."

"How delightful. I do so appreciate the hospitality of this world."

"Don't mention it," Xian said politely. "Before you ask, I'm as backed up as anyone else. I can't do bulk orders."

"Regrettable, but expected," the xeno purr-clicked. "Do you know of anyone who…"

"Nope," Xian replied. "And no, you can't simply buy out my standing stock."

"Also expected."

It cocked its head, its feathery antenna twitching.

"Is that a Falcon Gunforge X-19 I hear?"

"Yes, it is, and no, it's not for sale."

"No harm in inquiring," the xeno replied. "May I peruse your stock? I am considering acquiring something for my personal use."

"That's what it's there for," Xian replied.

The xeno looked behind the counter.

"Is that an Astra VBN?"

"You have a good eye," Xian said as he took the assault rifle down from the wall and set it on a quilted pad on his counter.

"There is an eight-month waiting list for these!" the xeno purr-clicked. "Now this, this is not expected."

The xeno lifted up the rifle lovingly.

"Do you think it could be adapted to my physiology?"

"That's why the gunforge isn't for sale," Xian smiled with a bit more sincerity. "We also have a full range of accessories for it… Let me show you its features…."

Clarence smiled as Xian pounced on what was clearly another goddamn spy. They had been crawling out of the woodwork lately.

He idly put on what appeared to be a pair of "old people" reading glasses.

The micro-cameras and scanners in the frame activated automatically. (He was rich and had lovely toys.)

A moment later, data started scrolling across the lenses, invisible to pretty much everything except his eyes. (They were the good datashades.)

Species identified.

Species: Xeen%k

Acceptable Terran Name: Xeen

Origin: Federation, Kalph sector

The Xeen are an "established" Federation species known for their chip and computer manufacturing. The purity of extensive silicon reserves in their system greatly simplifies silicon-based electronics manufacturing making them one of the prominent suppliers to the Federation as a whole.

Union rating: Green. Fair labor practices verified. There is use of Federation labor contracts, but their terms and conditions are quite favorable, on par with Imperial indentured servitude. There are company stores, but they are legitimate wholesale clubs and actively patronized by all employees, including the Xeen%k supervisors. It is considered quite the perk.

Weaponsmith Union: These guys have been up our ass lately. They were late to the party and have been trying to buy their way to the head of the line. They are industrialized as fuck but won't make their own arms. They are nice enough but mentally inflexible. They are resistant to making their own weapons because they don't have trained 'weapons engineers' or previous experience. They want us to make their weapons because we have "a proven record of high performance". They have entered several individuals into union-certified gunsmithing courses but will not let them actually make weapons until they achieve union master weaponsmith certification. They are weird but nice enough and have the scratch.

The display went full Wikipedia after that, but Clarence just shrugged, removing the glasses.

The Xeen was staring at him.

"What?" Clarence asked.

"Are those Vidtech Oracletints?!?"

"You gotta be kidding me!" Clarence laughed.

The door opened, and a little "hamster" entered wearing a very pretty frilly dress.

"Uhrrbet!" Xian exclaimed, waving happily. "You gonna make the leaderboard today?"

"Hopefully," Uhrrbet smiled. "Is a slot available?"

"The course is wide open right now."

"Awesome!" Uhrrbet enthused, fishing around in her dainty purse and withdrawing a pair of shooting glasses.

"Still no luck on ammo," Xian said, ignoring the Xeen in favor of a much better (or at least more pleasant) customer.

"Got that covered," Uhrrbet replied, "I have a source."

"No shit?" Xian asked in disbelief.

"None at all," Uhrrbet smiled, "In fact, I have already procured a significant number of rounds."

"What do you have that Xian can't feed?" Clarence asked curiously.

Uhrrbet glanced over at Xian.

"He's cool AND a master weaponsmith," Xian replied. "Go on. He'll flip."

Uhrrbet shrugged and reached into her skirt, magically producing her gauss slug thrower.

"Oh. My. God…" Clarence gasped as Uhrrbet placed it on the counter. "Where did you get this?"

"You certainly ask an abundance of questions, sir," Uhrrbet replied in her posh voice.

"May I?" Clarence asked, gesturing towards the weapon.

"By all means," Uhrrbet smiled.

Clarence reverently picked up the pistol.

"I've never even seen one of these… outside of a museum, of course… It's new! Is someone manufacturing these?"

"You are most inquisitive, are you not?"

"I don't normally do this, but would you consider selling it?"

"I'm afraid not," Uhrrbet smiled, "This particular weapon has a great deal of sentimental value. I would not be inclined to part with it under any circumstances… and I would have great difficulty finding its peer."

"What is it?" the Xeen asked excitedly, ogling the pistol.

"Absolutely none of your business," Clarence laughed.

He looked at Uhrrbet.

"There is one group that still uses these…."

"Oh? Is there?" Uhrrbet smiled.

"And you would probably be able to get ammo from them, too."

"If you say so."

"Can you get more of these?" the Xeen blurted, hopping up and down.

"You don't even know what it is!" Xian laughed.

"But, can you get more of them?!?" the Xeen said, addressing Uhrrbet.

"I only sell clothes," Uhrrbet said as she offered the Xeen a business card. "However, I do make custom clothing using Terran materials for any species and can alter Terran purchases to any frame."

"Thank you," the Xeen smiled as he politely accepted the card.

She put on her shooting glasses and pulled out an earplug case. "Now, if you excuse me, I have a leaderboard to attain."

"Can I watch?" Clarence asked, "I would love to see that in action."

"Of course," Uhrrbet replied with a tail swish. "And any pointers would be appreciated."

***

Beth and Scales were batting a fluffy pom-pom back and forth using paddles when the door to the bridge opened.

"May I enter?" Jon asked politely.

Beth expertly flipped the pom-pom up and caught it.

"Sure," she replied.

"I heard you have messages for me?"

Beth laughed.

"That's one way of putting it. You are a very popular man," she replied. "You have messages from Greyweather, Glaive, about a jillion small-time outfits, and get this, Janus Tactical Services."

"Janus still exists?" Jon asked incredulously.

"Apparently," Beth shrugged. "Everyone wants you guys. Also, General Litton wants to chat 'now that you've had a chance to calm down', and then there's the reason why I asked for you. You have another call, still active and waiting."

"You sent General Litton to voice mail and summoned me for this person?" Jon asked.

"Yeah," Beth replied. "You can take it in our coms room."

"Ok," he said, "Now I'm curious."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," an entirely too familiar face said as he walked into the coms room.

"Oh, Hell no!" Jon replied as he turned his back on the screen and started to walk away.

"Let me ask you one question," Jessica Morgan said as he stopped, not because he was intrigued. The door just refused to open.

"Beth!" Jon shouted. "I swear to fuck!"

There was no reply.

"Ok," Jon said as he turned to face Jessica. "It seems you have a captive audience. Ask away."

"Who do you hate more, the porkies or the Federation?"

"Lady," Jon replied, "I have a big heart. I hate everyone equally."

Jessica laughed.

"I'll save us both a lot of time," Jon said, "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"Millions of humans are dying," Jessica said, "but I won't appeal to your sympathy or humanity."

"I'm actually impressed," Jon replied, "You managed to use the words 'sympathy' and 'humanity' with a straight face. Now I'm good, but you… fuck… you're on a whole other level."

"Thank you," Jessica smiled, pausing to sip some tea. "Firstly, please accept my admiration for absolutely destroying Momma Augustine. From start to finish, that was pure perfection. It was smart, elegant, and, most of all, efficient. You protected yourself and took her out of play without causing so much as a ripple within the Republic. I couldn't have done it better myself."

"Well, now I just feel dirty," Jon smirked.

"I will skip the customary bullshit and manipulation," Jessica said, "They won't work on you, anyway. Simply put, I need you."

"Ew…"

Jessica burst into peals of laughter.

"Oh, I like you," Jessica said happily. "to clarify. I need a diplomat and statesman, one who is truly independent of outside influence."

"Diplomat?" Jon replied, "Statesman? You do realize who you are talking to, right?"

"I do," Jessica replied, "The man who stopped Patricia Hu in her tracks, pulled Momma out of the kitchen, and pretty much single-handedly prevented a ruinous civil war. In addition, I'm talking to a man who slaughtered what, twenty of Hu's supermen, and has a team of warriors, all of which can do the same?"

"To be perfectly honest," Jon said, "Those 'supermen'? Kinda overrated."

"And Agent Farstan? Was she overrated?"

"No, and she almost fucking killed me!"

"But she didn't," Jessica replied. "You and the magnificent Toby handled the situation marvelously. You have a combination of diplomatic savvy and pure badassery that is hard to come by."

"And that combination is done," Jon replied. "You, the Republic, and the whole galaxy can kiss my ass. I'm going to the woods, smoke weed, and forage for berries."

"Then there is no harm in dropping by for a little visit first," Jessica smiled. "I personally guarantee your free passage to and from Raylesh."

"I'd rather not catch the rots, thank you."

"You won't. We will meet in space. I have things you need to know that cannot be broadcast. After you hear them, if you still feel that the galaxy can burn, which it will, your woodland paradise is only delayed by a few days."

"Bite me," Jon said.

"What do you know about the elder races, Jon?"

"Nope!" Jon laughed as he drew his sidearm and fired a round into the communications panel, creating a shower of sparks and terminating the transmission.

"Jon!" Beth screamed over the intercom, "What the fuck!"

"That's what you get for locking me in with that bitch!" Jon shouted back. "Now open the fucking door before I shoot something a lot harder to fix!"

The door opened.

"You are an asshole!" Beth shouted, "You know that?"

"Bitch," Jon laughed, "That's my job."

***

Jessica, grinning from ear to ear, leaned back in her chair.

He was perfect!

"Oh, if I was about a hundred years younger…" she chuckled.

She clicked on an icon.

"Ma'am?" Terrence replied.

"Get me the Matriarch," Jessica replied. "I just found our guy."

***

Cre%, the totally not a Xeen spy, happily sat at the bar of a Waffle Station.

He absolutely loved Waffle Station.

The fare was magnificent, better than the finest restaurant back home. Even better was the clientele.

Nobody cared... about anything!

He happily shoved his face into his waffle, eating it as he would back home.

The human behind the counter didn't even bat an eye.

"Everything good, hon?" she asked, refilling his coffee.

"Oh, yes!" he chittered orgasmically, syrup dripping from his maw.

"I can chop that up and put it in a bowl if you want," the woman said helpfully.

"Oh! That would be wonderful! Could I have another two of these 'wiffles' done that way?"

"Two wiffles coming right up," the woman replied, putting another vial of that amazing syrup by his plate.

"Oh, I adore these places," a pleasant voice said as the little furry xeno from earlier that day climbed onto a stool beside him.

"We met earlier today," Cre% said evenly. "Is this coincidence?"

"Nope," Uhrrbet replied. "I put a tracker on you at the range."

"You did?" Cre% asked in surprise, "When?"

"My card," she smiled, "It's an old trick here. A person posing as a businessman or, more usually, a prostitute scopes out a likely mark and gives them the card. Then they track the individual and either mug them, hack them, or just rob their hotel room."

"Interesting," Cre% replied, pulling out Uhrrbet's card and carefully examining it. "Amazing."

He looked over at her.

"Are these available in bulk?"

"Anything that is not affixed to the floor by a nail, then?" Uhrrbet poshed at him. "Well, that is why I marked you. I have no ill intent. I merely wish to have a private conversation."

"Anything for you, dear?" the server asked as she approached.

"Yes, I would like two link sausages and a bowl of grits, please… and a citrus drink!"

The woman smiled and left the pair to whatever it was they were doing.

"I was hoping that was the case," Cre% clicked as he dove into his plate again, "Being mugged would be most unpleasant."

He looked up and licked the syrup off of his mandibles.

"So, what shall we talk about?"

"I didn't want to expose myself around my local contacts," Uhrrbet said as her beverage arrived.

She took a sip.

"So," she asked, "how many guns do you want?"

***

"What's the big emergency," Marta asked as Bryce's MIBs all looked at him expectantly.

"Your devices," Bryce said, "Hand them over."

"Our devices?" Marta asked in alarm.

"Yes," Bryce said, opening a disposal chest, "Toss them."

"What is going on?" Marta asked, clinging to her device as if her life depended on it and looking around nervously.

Bryce sighed.

"We're going off-grid," he said, "effective immediately."

"What?!?"

"It is a direct order from Hades," Bryce replied, "Actually, it comes from above Hades. From now on, we are going to be answering directly to… Well… I don't actually know. According to Tartarus, we are off the grid and will communicate only with her. We are now a detached cell. Now, your devices, please."

Reluctantly, Marta dropped her device into the chest. Everyone else followed suit.

"Now, your identification." He said.

Everyone pulled out their IDs and tossed them in the chest as well.

Bryce closed the chest, activating the nanites. Within moments, there was nothing left but sludge.

He then gave each MIB a packet.

"Those are your new identities," he said. "That is who you are now."

The MIBs murmured as they reviewed the packets. This was unusual. They weren't big fans of unusual.

Bryce smiled.

"There is one last thing," he said as he pulled out a small case from his pocket.

In it was a scalpel, a pair of tweezers, and a small transmitter.

"You can't be serious!" one of the MIBs gasped, clutching at the back of his neck.

Bryce pulled out the transmitter and pressed the single button on it, deactivating the implanted trackers.

"Marta," he smiled, "You first."

"But this means nothing is stopping us from running," she said in disbelief.

"True," Bryce said as he stepped behind her, "But where, exactly, would you run to?"

***

Craxina, after a long day, entered her hotel room.

She had still never gotten around to renting a place. It was too much of a hassle. Besides, she liked moving about.

"Bryce?" She called out hopefully.

He wasn't there.

She let out an exasperated huff. That probably meant he would be gone all night.

As she walked past the kitchenette, she saw an envelope on the bed.

Her heart froze.

Praying she was wrong, she reluctantly opened it.

She wasn't.

Bryce was gone.

The single sheet of paper slipped from her fingers as she slumped to the hotel room floor, curled up into a ball, and wept.

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