Day 8: 0400 Hours
Garlean Exploratory Naval Vessel: The Ganesha
Simulation Room 004
Garlean Exploratory Naval Vessel: The Ganesha
Simulation Room 004
“Advanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course completed. Your current tally for today’s training session: One thousand, three hundred and twelve successful parries. Two hundred and fifty-six successful ripostes recorded in a total of… ten runs. Would you like to continue?â€
The robotic voice hummed from the administrative console in the room. The place was a hexagonal shape that contained one door per side of the hexagon. The entire space was thirty fulms by thirty fulms. The only lights in the area were dim LED’s that traced the bottom of the sides of the walls, circling the room with a deep blue ambient glow. In the corner of the southern side of the room laid the terminal, which stood out from the floor in a cylinder shape. The monitor faced the entryway of the room, which laid opposite of the center of the room.
Within the room stood a man. His trousers were loose about his legs yet tight around his waist. They were jet black, with bloody red stripes on each side. His boots were thick and durable, plated on the top with a light layer of reflective steel. He was an imposing man of medium bulk, a Hyur Midlander standing at a full six fulms tall. There was not an ilm of body fat on him from what any average man could see. He could hear the heartbeat within his own chest. It was irregular, like it always was. With a harsh breath, he blew the stress out of his mind.
He was not a normal man. The injuries upon his body were immense, and partially unnatural. Scarification existed on both of his arms, and one enormous slash mark was stamped on his chest. Various spots of his back and neck were burned as if with torches. But these were only the natural wounds of war that he carried. What was the most compelling fact about him was what was done to keep him alive from the much more serious injuries that happened to him.
In several very specific and intricate spots on his body, steel alloys and cybernetic components were woven into his skin. To replace tendons… joints… even muscle. At times, the light blue glow from the Ceruleum fuel that coursed through those steel components like adrenaline would to normal tissue illuminated the parts when he stressed them. They were heating up, just like a computer would, and cooling down when he became less stressed.
The age upon his face would place him in the mid-forties if it was left natural, however the modifications to his body had seemingly stopped his natural wrinkling of his facial features, reversing the process and allowing his face to look slightly younger at around a man in his late thirties. He had a full head of hair with locks that bent and curled around his scalp in a wavy form of an Imperial style, yet it had turned grey very prematurely due to the effects of having Ceruleum in his body. But it was half of the overall components that kept him alive. After an incident involving Allagan artifacts, his body had been on the brink of death. But Garlean technology kept him alive, despite destroying whatever fortune his family name had left him.
The man, known by the name of Terminus Sas Garvus, did not care. His family’s fortune was from his old name, a name he had discarded decades ago when the Empire took over his homeland as a little boy. Fascinated by the strength, beauty, and power of the Garlean Empire, he had tossed away his lineage by the time he was a man. To him, his old name was the name of a child. A savage that lived in a muddle of filth until saved by the civilized world.
Over time, he had grown fascinated by Allagan technology. He had grown fond of serving the Empire via providing them with material to reverse engineer. He had no interest in its people or the values of the society that existed millennia’s ago. To him, their time was over and it was his responsibility to utilize their works as tools and leverage, just like everyone else, in order to promote the wealth and dominance of the Empire.
His greedy exploits and selfish pursuits allowed for him to misuse and abuse Allagan left-behinds. One such indecent nearly destroyed his body, but his resolve to the service of his Motherland was infinite. Even as his natural aether left him as Hydealyn called for his soul, he denied her the gift of it and kept himself alive by feeding on the aether of prisoners and criminals. His foreign lineage allowed him the use of magic, which he exploited as well to do just that. Just like anything else.
This training session was boring him. The magitek battle-bots standing around him idly was cakewalk to him even on the highest setting. What the modifications took away from him in the form of taking years off of his life and leaving him forever uncomfortable with permanent respiratory problems and irregular heartbeat, it gave to him the strength of five men and the stamina of three. The cybernetic enhancements had elevated his reflexes and strength to unprecedented levels for his race. He could hit with the power of a Roedagyn and even beyond, yet still with the speed of a Midlander.
His eyes, which used to be blue but now a dull red due to his aether issues, glanced over to the training console. He made his way over to the console, firmly pressing down on the initiation button again. “Advanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course initiated.†The robotic voice stated from seemingly all corners of the room.
He stepped into the center of the room, and closed his eyes, waiting for the beep. He had taken something from the panel, which he then glanced at. It was a rebreather mask with a circular piece on the bottom of it in the shape of a collar. He bent his head slightly forward, and the attachment automatically snapped together around his neck. He placed the rebreather over his mouth and it locked into place with another snap, connecting to the tiny implants on the sides of his cheeks with magnetic connectors. His loud and full breaths could be heard from the mask the instant it was placed on.
He heard the beep, and the metallic contraption came to life. They began their procedures of swinging, stabbing, lunging and snapping at him with advanced procedures from a program studies from the martial arts and styles of all of the nations they have conquered so far. The man brandished his sword and began to defend himself as if it was nothing. His body moved in cohesion with his footwork. He was incredibly precise and straightforward with his blade work and defense. Over time, his movements seemed to go faster, as if he was trying to entertain himself. The cybernetic parts of his body illuminated with a very dim blue, showing some stress, but not much, even as he began to defend himself with one arm.
As he did so, that arm moved at a pace no normal man could keep up with. Light squeaks emanated from his Ceruleum parts as they moved to rapidly defend, defend, and defend. His rebreather increased in breaths as he got more and more agitated, more and more bored. Finally, he just could not take it anymore. He began to methodically reduce the training bots to bits one by one. He dismantled, dismembered, and disabled them in… colorful ways, barely breaking a sweat. When he was done, the bots laid upon the floors in scraps and pieces, smoke billowing from everywhere.
“Violation: Offensive Moves Utilized in Defens-“ The panel began to say, before the Tribunal disabled it by punching the failsafe with a finger. Terminus snorted in a rather pissed off manner. Oh well, he thought. It was useless to continue this daily. They were no match for him. “I told him that this will not suffice.†He said outloud, referring to his Tol superior that fancied a vacation while sending him alone to practically do his job. What a lazy fool.
“I shall have to order only the latest batch of models from now on.†He told himself in a deep and sinister voice modified slightly by the rebreather. He marched to the door of the room. His skin was beginning to burn. He needed another cleansing. His first of six per day.
--
0500 Hours
The cleansing felt nice. The showering water, blended with medicinal fluids at a ratio of 1 for every 100 drops, helped to soothe his eternal wounds and clean them for now. Until first lunch anyway.
He was in full dress now. His crimson Imperial Coat of Plates, signifying his rank of Tribunus Angusticlavius and the Commander of the Garlean Manipulus on the ship, hung from the center of his deep black armor. Like most of his rank, it was partially standard Garlean fare, and partially customized just for him. He had armor on his neck that were plate of Garlean twine cross-stitched that hugged his throat and cupped his chin. His rebreather rested on top of it. Garnishing his outfit was a brilliant crimson half-cape that hugged his left shoulder and fell all the way to his feet. (1)
The men and women that walked beside him felt a lump in their throat when they were next to him. Unlike the Manipulus that were stationed on the ship, Terminus was considered a very staunch idealist, and even an extremist. His incredibly intimating posture by nature struck fear into the hearts who served him, although it also commanded absolute obedience and respect, which was why he was tasked to uncover what had been discovered: a derelict Allagan Starship from a few generations behind their downfall, carrying valuable data of an unknown sort.
However, not everyone was afraid of him. Awaiting at the end of the Bridge, overlooking the main deck stood a woman one fulm shorter than he. She was another Hyur Midlander, with raven black hair tied up in a professional manner with occasional swaths of her hair sticking out from her loose knot on the upper-half part of the rear of her scalp. (2) She wore glasses with black-laced rims, complementing her rectangular lenses. Her cold hazel eyes pierced through those lenses with a very strict and sharp sense of self. She was very attractive, and if the men (and perhaps women) on this ship were not afraid of her too, they would probably be fighting over her right now.
She observed the main deck and examined the Garleans upon it. Unlike the Roehmerl, the Ganesha was mostly powered by Cereleum motors on the rear of the vessel, allowing it to sail multiple times the Roehmerl’s top speed with minimal effort. The men upon the deck had duties much less involving the sails that remained (which were concentrated on the rear of the vessel in a circular design), and more duties involving routine maintenance of upkeeping the immense firepower on board the main deck, and of course the enormous pride of the Ganesha, the massive Magitek cannon that could split a Limsa ship in two with one shot if it was spot on.
The female Ala Mhigan native smirked. The men and women here were easy to win over. They were hesitant about two foreign leaders at first. But learned very quickly about insubordination.
When the bridge doors opened, the tall man entered, his cape flowing. The men and women underneath the bridge, managing computer terminals, did not dare to look. With guile, the Tribunal proceeded to address the woman once he had reached her, crossing his arms and glancing out at his men. “Primus Ordinarius Silverstien, I see that you have persuaded the deck hands to keep their pacing on schedule this time.†He said with his signature ominous voice.
“I merely did my job.†The woman stated, adjusting her glasses with a smug expression. “Of allowing these men to do theirs.†Terminus laughed slowly with a gruff manner at her comment, closing his eyes for a moment before re-opening them again. His pale red irises focused away from the deck and to the side windows, where he could see the water. They were making great speed. The Easterling ships had three days prior and they had already caught up to them: The might of the Garlean technology at work.
“We are making splendid time. In a matter of mere hours we shall arrive at the approximate location of the Allagan Starship. Once there we will immediately begin an introspective surface drilling, followed by the extraction of anything and everything concerning value to the Empire’s cause.â€
Terminus spun around on his feet, raising his voice so that the men and women on the bridge could hear. “Continue your recourse! Impress me with your work ethic and you will be rewarded with bonus compensation and paid vacation!â€
“SIR YES SIR!†The Garleans responded, happy and motivated in their efforts to impress their Tribunal, who had damned well impressed them. It was unusually different from his normal routine, which was more fear-inspired than promise of reward. But it was because he was excited – excited to discover what was down there.
In a few hours, he would get to see what laid dormant in the Indigo Deep.
The woman in question, a woman by the name of Cynthia Silverstein, turned to face her Tribunal, whom had begun walking back from the bridge and towards the door again. “We will have to slow down our nautical pace within the next two minor cycles in order for the Easterlings to stay with us. The total combined time before we reach our destination is hovering around the four hour range.â€
“I am aware, Silverstein.†He responded, the doors to the bridge opening and closing behind the two as they made their way back. “These damned Easterlings and their bed blankets for propulsion are getting on my last nerve. Hopefully with this massive success a Legatus will finally approve my bid to compose our scouting party of entirely Garlean vessels, however spread thin we are the dimwits will realize just how important my work is for the Empire.†He paused for a moment, smiling underneath his rebreather. She had been a loyal and persistently efficient woman so far. “And of course, your work Misses Silverstein.â€
“You compliment me sir.†She said to him, with a slight smile that could tell anyone that she loved being told good words. However, her face turned a bit serious when the Tribunal stopped. He seemed preoccupied with something in his pocket. It was a triangular piece of equipment about the size of a palm of a hand. The metal it was made out of seemed… strange and foreign. She could see that it was emitting something, and that the Tribunal was occupied with it. “But I must ask, what must you be peering at every so often?†She said, as she took a peek from behind his shoulder.
The imposing man suddenly snatched a hand upon her shoulder and squeezed with cyberneticlly enhanced force. Immense pain went through the woman’s body, and her professional and snap-headed demeanor faded into an instant as she yelled in pain to the grasp, forcing her look away as she grabbed at his hand, her feet spazzing a bit.
“I am afraid that is for the Tribunal’s eyes only.†He said with a hoarse breath as he let go, causing her to stumble a step or two before losing her composure. She dusted off her military garb of pure black and saluted him. “My apologies sir.â€
“Now leave me.†He ordered her, and within moments she was gone. With no one around, the man slowly clicked the button in the center of the triangular artifact once more, and stared at what it had displayed in front of him. “Finally, something worth my time salvaging again.â€
--
The Roehmerl
0700 Hours
Indigo Deep
0700 Hours
Indigo Deep
The early morning sun had passed about an hour ago. The scheduled time for the unit of Jonathan’s was to wake up at eight o’clock when things went according to plan. This was how it always was since they began this lengthy and memory-laced journey together with the crew of the Roehmerl… when things went according to plan. Yet inside of the small room, where they had been nesting since the beginning of this grand adventure, everyone was awake. Except for the legendary Captain Pamido of course, who slept like a damn log all the time when he did get to sleep.
“I am not saying that there hasn’t been multiple incantations of the word ‘firm’ in regards to how it can be interpreted.†Said the voice of Forty-three, a man known to be rambling like this, especially when it came to deep discussions of matters involving mysterious dreams they were having. Unlike the Captain, the three members of the unit that did have these dreams had a much briefer version of the Captains. It was merely the sound of a voice, an otherworldly voice. A voice saying ‘stand firm’.
“One could say that standing firm would mean to not fall off the side of the ship like that poor lady. Having another storm upon this could confirm that.†He continued. Then came the voice of the leader of the unit, the former Ala Mhigan Drill Instructor. “That voice was not one of ours, and not one of theirs. It was told in a commanding, yet anxious way. It was a warning. A warning to stand ground. The Captain of this ship is not so gaunt in the brain to write it off as a mere passing of another storm where there isn’t a single dark cloud in the sky.â€
“All I am saying is that we cannot adequately confirm that this was a direct message that our mission is going to go up in smoke! We need to rely on our heads at least equally to the dreams we have is all I am saying.†The Lalafell consented, sighing and folding his arms being huddled in the corner. “I want my staff back.â€
Ryanti had been up earlier than any of them, yet had not said much. Even before the morning light his eyes were open. He had seated himself upon his mattress with his back against the one window in the room. In his hands he held a notepad only about a quarter of a Fulm long. He was more anxious than ever on days like this, when he knew that it was the big day, and that anything could happen. He wasn’t sure how anything could prepare him for the task he was about to consent himself to. For what fate or destiny laid out before him.
Ryanti was a deep-thinking, concerned man at heart. He had thought much about the journey he has experienced so far, and thought deeply about the people of this ship and the people of his unit. In the first section of the small notebook, he had already written much. The pages were thick with his own private thoughts, his own private concerns, and his own private wishes. But there were many other things written down too.
At one point, he had written about Fruhsuun’s humming and Fruhsuun himself who was given a chance to write a few things in his notebook too. It inspired Ryanti to ask others during leisure time to put something down in there as a memento. He was able to get a good bit so far. One poem from Marjanie and a recipe from Susuroon (Who Ryanti had to write down himself because Twelve forbid the creature got his hands on it). Some stick figure sketching of his unit destroying their enemies from Eighty-five and some advice about random facts of life from Forty-three. Jonathan, after eons of persuasion, finally had written something down in there as well. It was… instructions for how to build a rowboat the ‘Jonathan’ way. A bit bland and impersonal, but Jonathan was a private man.
Ryanti also had a section for private thoughts: a short diary of sorts. He wrote about his feelings, experiences… and the trip. He also wrote about others. Many words were written in there about Pamido’s stories. About Jada’s skills. There was a great bit about P’welro, and of course, about Sounsyy herself. Those were the hardest to look over after he had written down those words. They also were the two people Ryanti wrote about the most in his book. Now he was on his third section of the notebook, divided by tabs. This was where he doodled random sketches as he saw fit. But this time it wasn’t random. He was taking a lot of time with these sketches. He was being serious about them. All the while, through the hours that he stayed awake alone, he doodled, and thought about those people. He probably didn’t have time to do something for everyone. Actually, he knew he didn’t. But he at least wanted to do it for some.
As for what that was, well, who knew? Ryanti had not showed a soul that part of his notebook yet but his own.
“Why don’t we ask the Keeper.†Forty-three finally said after that long moment of silence. “Ryanti – what do you think that message meant?â€
Ryanti took a few more seconds sketching out the bits of a sketch he had planned to give P’welro, looking up slowly from his doodle with a bit of a sloppy stare because of his intense focus recently. He sighed a little, adverting his gaze from the Lalafell, pursing his lips a little bit. “That they are watching over us.†He murmured finally, slightly embarrassed over being so honest. But he said it like it was nothing. Like he felt he knew. “That we’re going to make it.â€
The Lalafell frowned a little at Ryanti’s notion. It sounded a bit too romantic for a man that was raised in medicine and always second-guessing things. Jonathan however smiled in a little rough manner, and closed his eyes and sighed, trying to rest while he could. They had one hour left, after all.
One hour…
The only one that did not talk was Eighty-five. She was still on her side, pretending to be asleep, her back facing the rest of the group. She huddled her arms next to her breast, and for the most part had a very sad and despondent look on her face. Concern filled her mind and doubt lingered upon her stomach. Why was it that they were getting the dreams, but she wasn’t? Why was that? She understood that she was new, but… why? It scared her. It scared her so much. So many times she had thought to herself that she should tell Jada… and during one of those serious moment in the last few days, she had. She told her that she was only one not getting the dreams, and it ate at her.
She felt alone in this group. And it hurt.
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