The sun shines with the vigor only a giant burning ball of gas can produce, flooding the cockpit with its pure white light, unfiltered by any musty atmosphere. For once, the ship is silent, all within it taken by the sweet sensation of langour and sleep. Except for me, overseeing the navigation and admiring the great expanse of space before me. Until, of course, the alarm sounds, the monitors flash a proximity warning and somewhere in the backend of the ship, something explodes.



The year is currently 7056. Space is no longer a frontier. When the Homeland (speculated true name being Earth. Though no one's really sure anymore. The history books don't call it by name) started to dry up all those years ago, the Litirier Experiment got together four thousand "prime specimens" or all sorts, stuffed them on The Ark, a ship only ever described as 'massive' and nothing else, and carried them out into space. Nobody knows what happened to it after it landed, though it's speculated it was torn apart and used to build civilization back up again. Either way, The Ark found its way to what is now the Archeti System, colonized Ironis and, over a span of four milleniums, expanded out into the the 5 Planetary Empires in existence today.

The Founding Democratic Empire of Archeti still lingers on the edges of modern civilization, though it lived out its peak years directly following said founding and since has ever declined into obseletion. Out of its original twelve resident planets, three suns and sixty two orbiting moons, all but Ironis, now the poverty capital of all 5 Empires, its moons, completely depleted, deformed or destroyed by centuries of resource mining, the smallest of its suns, ever nearing its eventual death, and a pathetically miniscule planet in the farthest reaches of the system known as Bearleq have been seized by other conquering Empires.

My home, The Exymeron Republic, responsible for all but two of aforementioned conquerings, is now the center and most prominent of the five. Still abundant with resources, people and possibility, Exymeron has become the ideal location for settlement. Unfortunately, in recent years, abundance has become overabundance and there remains little room for incoming immigrants. Border crossing has become difficult even for traders and even moreso for smugglers, which of course significantly hacks away at our own economical standings. The problem has yet to be addressed by Prime Minister Etthos.

Following along in order of power, Exymeron's contender for complete domination is currently The Holy Socialist Catharsis Empire, a collection of ninety two planets, scattered across the span of our space. As their name implies, they withold a high standard of, let's call it, morality for not only themselves but their neighbors. They have been involved in a war with the other semi-dominant power, Synecdicha, a rogue empire of hardly half Catharisis' size, located a great distance from the rest of us and known for harboring the exiles of elsewhere. Synecdicha has been urging Exymeron's intervention ever since the conflict began. This problem has also yet to be addressed by Prime Minister Etthos.

The final of the five empires, Ellegi, has been another, but far less violent target of Catharsis in the past. Larger than Synecdicha and witholding greater influence with its ownership of 5 suns, two of which provide energy for Catharsis strongholds, it has been able to diplomatically avoid open war, though verbal and political battles have been occurring consistently since the beginning of the other. Ellegi's only motivation for such a conflict, however, unthreatening in ideological factors, would be ownership of those five powerful stars. Imperialism however, has been frowned upon by the Allegiance Council between the five Empires and thus, were Catharsis to attack under such circumstances, Exymeron, Synecdicha, even Archeti would join Ellegi in expelling Catharsis from the union. Such would be disastrous as their entire populus is intermixed amongst what would then be hostile empires and severe loss would be imminent.

Even they are not dumb enough to attack Ellegi.

	Cyrus: That would be me of course. Head Engineer in the Space Vessel Division of Sonnete Industries, the top supplier of Exymeron technology across the Empire. At least, I was. Until certain evens led me outside my workshop where I designed ships into an actual ship, hardly worthy of being called one in comparison to those I conceived. It's rather odd how things work out. The world is full of bitter ironies. Anyway, now I am demoted to the official maintenance officer, technological engineer and first mate on my brother's dump of a ship. Which basically means I do everything that he can't or won't. I love travel...Really, I do.
Fiearius: My elder brother, the assassin turned space pirate. Now that's just embarassing to say. He's probably the most arrogant person I've ever met and most likely the most inconsiderate and irresponsible as well. But I have to give him some credit for, despite the constant danger he puts us and anyone who has the misfortune of being around us at the time in, we are still, clearly, alive. I would never place my trust during a ridiculously potentially disastrous situation in anyone but him. His shortcomings aside, he's certainly got a talent for what he does.
	Desophyles: My brother's little friend/colleague/enemy/refugee. It's odd how their relationship changed over such a short period of time...But that's not my problem. I detested him in his entirety for the first three phases, but now that he's finally given up the gruesome life I'd known him for, we get along a lot better. He and Fiearius refuse to speak civilly to one another so he and I have actually been forced to converse with each other. He's really not all that bad. I think a little more sensible and grounded than my brother which I actually found surprising. I always just assumed he was the one that turned them both. But who knows, maybe it's the other way around.
Hekili The new doctor we hired off Anaphora. My idea, by the way. And no, no matter what my brother says, I'm not ashamed to take responsibility for it. She's a little cold, but I've nothing to complain of her. I'm a little disappointed in the conflict her arrival has produced, but the fault for that is shared with Fiearius of course. She hasn't yet proved her worth here to him, but I'm sure, next time he comes back from a job bleeding profusely from multiple gun shots (which is bound to happen again pretty soon) and she cleans them up for him, he'll get the picture. But then again, the less he likes her, maybe the better...We don't want a repeat of the last time we had a female aboard...
	The Cacophonic Society The Society is pretty much the governing force of Exymeron. We still pretend that that's the government's job, but we all know it's not true. They are responsible for everything that occurs here, good or bad. If one disobeys them, betrays them or doesn't return the many favors on strings they dish out, then one will surely not be witness to any more. It's a political machine, but also a terrorist organization of sorts. I'd like to say I have no connection to it whatsoever and was able to avoid the entire Society throughtout my full stay in Exymeron. But, even my elder brother's membership aside, in the end, I couldn't avoid them.
Dionysian Our ship. It's a complete heap. It cost way more than its worth, it's constantly running out of fuel right after we fill it up, it's astoundingly unattractive and the only reason it can fly through space at all is that some idiot down on Satieri, for what ever reason, installed it with 5 massive battleship engines meant for a ship ten times its size. And the entrance hatch is constantly falling off. I can't even count how many times I've had to reattach it. It's just ridiculous. To give it some credit, however, it does take off rather smoothly. It's just the landing that's a problem...

Once upon a time, in the not so fair city of Paradiex, capital of Satieri of Exymeron, my life began. I suppose that's putting it as bluntly as I possibly can. My father was an skyscraper architect, my mother a housewife, charged with the upkeep of not only the house, but my brother and I. I'm pleased to announce that out of all three duties listed, I was, quoth her 'by far the least trouble'. I'm not sure if that's more a comment on me or the pesky dustbunnies and explosive sibling. Either way, my childhood passed by relatively uneventfully. Every morning at precisely six, I woke up, ate the breakfast mum laid in front of me, went to school, learned some things relevant or not, came home, completed my homework, ate supper and went to bed at precisely nine. There's really nothing much more to it than that I suppose which, in hindsight, makes me appear ridiculously uninteresting and one would probably wish to discontinue their commitment to reading this autobiography. Well let me assure you, before you go elsewhere, this routine may have dominated the first twelve years of my life, but it certainly didn't last forever. My brother, Fiearius, was always a sweeping force of drama, perhaps the only one in our quaint little middle-class urban lifestyle. He was always what the few and far between fights were about. He was always the one responsible for any mess, physical or emotional, that appeared on the scene. And everywhere he went, he just seemed to be begging for some unspeakable terror to occur around him. Perhaps it was boredom that sparked this, the fault of said quaint, content and thus dull lifestyle, I don't know. To be honest, he bothered me to no end with his excessive striving for attention, but for the most part, I managed to ignore it and coexist with him peacefully, as siblings do.

But that was before he made his Big Mistake. The one that flooded over us all like a tsunami and left us drowning in its wake.


Alright, that was a little melodramatic. My apologies, it won't happen again. I just figured after my dry introduction, you might need a little excitement to keep your interest from waning. Although I do admit my hyperbole, however, it wasn't entirely an overdramatization.

One thing I remember distinctly from our youth was Fiear's little friend, Desophyles, or Dez since I believe my brother had trouble pronouncing the full title with that slight lisp he had as a kid (he would kill me if he knew I just made that public knowledge). They were constantly together, wreaking havoc everywhere they went. The classic partners in crime syndrome. Personally, I hated the guy. Fiearius was bad enough on his own, being completely driven by his own solitary need for self-gratification. Add a friend who obnoxiously attempted constantly to appear 'worldly' into the equation and the need nearly quadrupled as suddenly he not only had to appease himself, but also impress said friend and retain his worthiness for the acquaintance. This growth was of course proportional to his behavior. And in response to Fiearius' heightened attempts at proving superiority, Dez also had to redouble his efforts and the two snowballed into this massive dual destructive force that, as clearly amusing as it was to them, was hazardous, hindering and just simply a hassle for everyone who had the misfortune of stepping in their path. Hence my annoyance. My parents were at a loss for the correct response. Discipline seemed impossible. Prevention was nonsense. All they could do was damage control and hope it sorted itself out, which, as anyone who's ever actually done damage control will know, is the least effective method to dealing with anything. But the solution remained unsolved and so that snowball just kept on rolling and grew exponentially with each year.

He was 15 when it finally went exactly where we hoped it wouldn't go. Everyone knew about the Cacophonic Society. It dictated every moment of our lives, but no one would dare speak its name in public for fear that one of its members would overhear and make a check next to our name on some myseterious and limitlessly powerful list. No one on the outside was really sure what it did, how it functioned and the reasons behind its conduct, but everyone feared it nonetheless. Whenever someone went missing, the Society was credited with the act and in such cases, I'm not sure anyone really wants to know. We all just assumed it was bad. I'll never forget the night I found out I wasn't as detached from the whole messy ordeal as I thought.

It was an average night, no dark clouds, strong moonlight or suspiciously poignant rain. It was summer, so the air was thick with sticky humidity that seeped through your clothes, into your skin and covered you with chilled sweat. I had been at the library, preparing for an exam on the physical properties of all 142 elements that I was to take in school the next day. It wasn't that late, maybe nine, nine-thirty, but the neighborhood I walked through on the way home was as silent and still as a beach in the dead of winter. The lights in every window were switched off, only the dim streetlamps with their incessant electric buzz made the dry cement sidewalk even sporadically visible. And so I was surprised when before me there was a perfect square of yellow light cast down about the ground from the window of the small shop neighboring it. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, entranced by it, though more by the strange, undeniable feeling in my gut that it meant something, that something important was just around the corner and this patch of daytime was a sign of it. It wasn't, however, around the corner, but inside. Upon brief inspection, I noticed the door to the shop ajar, the lock broken and the window, for what seemed a superfluous reason, smashed in one pane. I'm a relatively sensible person and, as anyone with reason would, I elected to use my better judgment and move on as quickly as possible. That was until my peripheral vision picked up a familiar mess of bright orange inside. Then, out of sheer instinct, I ducked out of sight and tried instead to peek carefully through the crack in the door to observe the scene within. At first, I thought I was just imagining things, but the inspiration for my sudden change of interests became obvious when I saw my brother, his disheartening friend and nice old Mr. Grundman, the owner of the establishment inside and my will to linger grew even moreso when I noticed the look of terror on his face. Fiearius, at the time, was not spectacularly tall, having yet to hit that crucial spurt of growth that males get in their mid teens, and I had not ever considered him, despite his 4 year advance in age of me, as anything other than a rambunctious kid. But as I watched him that night as he leaned closely towards poor Mr. Grundman to meet his eyes as he shouted at him, brandishing a rusty but sharp knife at his throat, suddenly he seemed like an entirely different person. He seemed older, actually serious for once, a far distance from his usual immaturely joking self. And that look in his eyes, as though that knife in his hand wasn't just a prop for his neverending drama. For the first time, I believed he was capable of a higher degree of disaster than he had ever been known to cause before. And so it would have been wise, as I saw the two of them leave Mr. Grundman to wallow in his fear and came stalking towards the door I currently hid behind, for me to leave. Hastily, I tried to move out of the way, but unfortunately, my coordination skills have never been that strong and Fiearius promptly and unknowingly hit me with the door. Surprised that his exit had been hindered, he looked down at me as I rubbed my head first out of shock, then annoyance and finally with the same threatening look he'd just been giving the disobedient shopkeeper. For a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other in complete, understood silence until Dez emerged behind him, grasped the situation and with a brief inaudible utterance, convinced Fiearius to leave me be and move on. I found myself frozen for a few seconds by that stare, even though it had already gone. When I finally did come to my senses and continue my way home, I could barely think of the recent events as anything more than just a bizarre dream.

Unfortunately, of course, it wasn't a dream. I was never again witness to Fiearius' dabblings in the darker side of society, but about a year later my parents were. He'd come home one night, covered in a thick red substance that undoubtedly belonged to someone recently deceased. He probably assumed we would all be fast asleep in our beds and he could sneak in and clean up with ease. What he forgot was that once a year my parents were inclined to stay up until the dead of night to watch an awards ceremony for Exymeron's top artists on the television. You may be able to imagine their reaction when their rebellious son came stumbling in through the front door at midnight, blood dripping from his hands. I was awake shortly after and watched the fight quietly from the stairwell as our family fell apart. Mum was crying. Dad was screaming. And Fiearius just yelled and yelled and yelled. The contents of this frantic discussion are now, and probably then too, irrelevant. All that mattered was not what was said, but how it ended, two hours later, when Fiearius, his voice hoarse from the constant excessive vocalization, ran upstairs, right past me without even a glance, seized all of his belongings that he could carry and stormed out of the house. Despite my father's assurances to my mother otherwise, he never came back through that door. Not the next morning, nor the next, nor ever. And the house was never the same again.

Things were quieter of course, but there was also an air of solemnity that persistently tainted the air, making a wall between us and that pleasant feeling of home that used to permeate the rooms. As for us, well, I went on with things as usual. My father took to the opinion that he had only ever had one son and nothing had happened and, to remedy our melancholy, picked us up and moved us all downtown, away from the memories of our past. My mother, however, never recovered. Everything that reminded her of my brother sent her into weeping fits. In her mind, all her hard work had failed her. All she held dear had turned its back on her. And she was alone. But there was still one hope left: me. I would come home from school to find her sobbing at the kitchen table, but upon my arrival, she would instantly light up and begin showering me with praise, compliment and love. Me and my future were all she had left in the world. And so I became determined to make the best of it for her.

Contrary to my elder sibling, my teenage years were spent not terrorizing the streets, but completely enveloped in work. Studying became my life and ambition was what drove it. I had always had a fondness for tinkering with various household objects in an attempt to make something more useful and/or interesting of them. As a grew older, the hobby became a passion and that grew into a goal: I wanted to be an engineer. To succeed in said field, however, it was necessary to attend one of the top universities on Satieri. To attend those said universities, one must, so to speak, work one's butt off. So that's what I did. For 4 whole years. When I was sixteen, graduated from public schooling, I was accepted to Sufjan University, the most prestigious school on all of Satieri, home to the top vocational engineering academy in all five empires. You may safely assume that I was pleased. There's nothing more rewarding than half a decade's hard work finally paying off. Furthermore, a year later, I received an high-end internship with Sonnete Industries, a heavily competed for position that was the literal gateway into the technological circles. From there, everything was pretty much set. Success was imminent. I finished off my schooling, my internship turned into a paying Technical and Mechanical Architect job and my design skills grew exponentially with each day. I began specializing in ship design, the most up and coming brand of creation and quickly rose to the top of the game. At the age of 18, I became the youngest Head Architect ever not only of Sonnete, but of any design company in all the empires. I moved out of my parent's house, got a fantastic apartment in the Upper West Side of Paradiex, received more than my fifteen minutes of fame for my acheivements and became financially stable enough to live out the rest of my life exceedingly comfortably by simply sketching up a spaceship once or twice a month.

Life was sweet.


It was an average, sunny, pleasant day in the city when I was approached with the assignment. I was on my lunch break, treating myself to a well deserved coffee in the quaint little cafe down the street from work. I was currently in the middle of my most revolutionary project yet, a ship both fuel efficient, relatively affordable and yet fantastically luxurious and aesthetically pleasing. It was, shortly, challenging, but the sketches were coming along nicely, I was well on my way in theoretical material discussions with my top crew. And so, after a long week trapped inside the bowels of Sonnete Industries within my workshop, I felt it was about time to rejoin the world outside and experience the lovely spring weather that I had been avoiding.

It wasn't really that uncommon for strangers to begin chatting with me sporadically at the time when I was out and about. I mean, it sounds rather strange when one reflects on it for a moment, but over the past year, my reputation had leaked to every interested ear in the city. I was one of those amusing success stories on the third page of the newspaper and they'd all taken quite a liking to me and my work. I won't say I didn't enjoy the attention because that's quite blatantly a lie, but it was often that I wondered when it'd all blow over and I'd fade out of history. As nice as it was to be known to any old Tech Monthly reader...it really wasn't that nice. I think I may have preferred on most occasions to be left alone by the awkward, self-serving nerds who imposed themselves upon my time off in hopes of receiving a good word. And, in light of that, I found myself greatly pleased whenever the attention came from someone a little more...I suppose the term 'cool' would be a little too degrading for both parties. But you get the point. And so, as the twenty-something kid with the delightfully casual purple mohawk and mass of inked flesh sauntered over and took a seat across from me, I was sligtly less disinclined to make an excuse and be on my way.

He introduced himself as Metre and said he'd heard great things about me and my work. That I had the perfect skills he needed for a very specific job to create a very specific device. I gave him thanks, but told him that unfortunately, I did not take commissions from outside companies or individuals. So said my contract with Sonnete. I was exclusive, as with all their employees, to their usage. It was their way of insuring that they and only they had privelege of the best. But as I explained this to him, he didn't look the slightest bit disconcerted. He sipped his coffee absently and seemed to phase me out entirely as though I wasn't speaking at all. It was rather odd. But as soon as my voice faded off, slightly confused by his reaction, he returned his full attention to me, grinned and said excitedly, "So you'll do it then?" I stared blankly back at him for a moment, perplexed at what was happening, before I uttered a simple, "No."

He sighed and put his head in his hands. "You don't get it, do you, kid?" he growled, his patience with my clearly wearing thin. Swiftly, he pushed us his sleeve and lay his arm out upon the table. I think all the organs in my body froze for just a moment as I looked down and saw the sharp black symbol of the Society carved into his wrist. "I ain't askin..."

Suddenly, I was extremely disinclined to argue with him, a feeling that obviously showed in my face for quite quickly, his smile returned and he said cheerfully, "Wonderful! So here's the lowdown." He went on to describe to me something very vague, very unspecific and I think at many points, metaphorical. What they wanted was a 'specialty device' that was highly 'portable' and could easily be 'placed in a compact, potentially discreet location'. It would be mostly a 'metal casing', but on the inside, would allow its holder to 'harness the power of a sun' and 'distribute it out to the masses.' I knew what he was talking about from the moment he said 'specialty device'. For some reason, my mind naturally jumped to the correct conclusion based on simply that phrase and the Society's involvement in wording it. What he was asking me for was quite simply a bomb. But not just any bomb. They were striving for the 'power of the sun'. They didn't want any old TNT with a slow light fuse and a nice 'kablam'. They wanted a nuclear bomb. A small nuclear bomb. The greatest possible energy controllable by our kind in a container they could carry about and hide under the floor boards. They wanted me to design the first ever accessible nuclear power. This, I thought to myself as I stared at him blankly, was impossible. And even if I could do it, the ramifications would be more than I could even comprehend. Think about it. Nuclear bombs had been made and used before for war, conquest and otherwise, but, after the Nuclear Processing Ban twenty years ago, they'd all been dismantled and put aside. All of this destruction, realization and reconciliation was done by the governments. The devices only ever were in their hands. I'm not saying that those were at all the wisest hands for them to be in, but nonetheless, it was clear that they were capable and, in the end, actually did, solve their own mess. Now why was it only the government that owned warheads? I think it comes down to one big reason. Not that they had the best scientists. There are tons of civilian geniuses out there who could make themselves a nuclear bomb. Not because of money. The materials necessary are native to certain parts of the planet. They wouldn't be that difficult to procure here. It's because of size. They're big, they're scary and if your neighbor saw you building one in your backyard, they'd probably call the cops and you'd be arrested before you knew it. Now if they were smaller...If some underground company, let's say, I don't know, the Cacophonic Society, decided to start manufacturing nuclear bombs the size of a briefcase and sold them on the black market, anybody with an excess of unmarked cash could get their hands on the power to destroy an entire city. You could hide it in your closet, you could take it to work with you and then you could blow the whole place sky high. No one would ever know. So you can see the danger here. If I did this, it could be the end of civilization as we knew it. Needless to say, it was a pretty tough choice to make. What made it easier was that I clearly didn't actually have a choice in the matter.

Once it was clear that I got the idea, he grinned again, profusely and said something about checking up on me in two months time to see what I'd come up with. I wasn't really paying attention, still brewing over the whole situation with perhaps the largest feeling of terror I'd ever experienced. He left. I lingered. I left. But a part of me, the rational part, stayed behind. It said it really didn't have any opinion on the matter and, after a short but passionate argument, we bid each other farewell and I went on my way to the gallows.

For two months, I dedicated myself to the ordeal. Day and night, I worked on theories, sketched up concepts and tinkered with every piece of material I could find. When I said my reason had left me, I was not overexaggerating. It seems ridiculous that I became so obsessed with such a catastrophic project. My justification was always that I had no choice or else the Society would come and kill me in my sleep, but in truth, they'd never actually made a threat. So what it was that drove me to the endless destructive work that I indulged in was not at all fear. It was challenge. All of my work, the ships, the machines, they were all straight forward design, build, sell. No problem. I hadn't come across something that really let me flex my brain since I was a kid and didn't actually have any idea what I was doing. Now, I was up on all the best technology, techniques and it all flew by with no questions asked. But this bomb. I knew it was impossible. But I felt the power to defeat impracticality and overcome impossibility and actually make the stupid thing. You see, my reason, were we still together, would tell me that if I wanted to do something impossible I should fiddle with AI or the meaning of life or really anything that didn't have the potential to destroy life as we knew it. But as I was once again single, all I could think about was that finished product, holding the impossible in my hands and just feeling that sense of extreme accomplishment again.

And it was for that reason that I worked. It had to be kept a secret of course, so I went on with usual every day projects. The fuel efficient luxury ship was completed within the first month. It had once seemed a challenge. Now, it seemed like childsplay. When I'd finished the days duties, I'd linger in my workshop until everyone had left and began experimenting for my own purpose. I researched, I planned, I tested. It was the most draining, exhausting process I'd ever experienced, but I was left buzzing from it, reenergized with each new successful discovery. Until finally, the work paid off.

The night before my employer was due to 'check in' on my progress, I sat alone in the dark, quiet workshop, the air as still and as cold as ice, a small metal object about the size of a football laid before my feet. The case was sturdy, the materials were stable and all it would take to test my success in the one of the greatest weapon-based feats in history was the fusion of two single wires. If the small red light located on the main faceplate lit up, it had worked. If not, I had completely wasted the last two months on a useless, incorrect hypothesis. Not to mention, the retribution for my failure was currently unknown and, as with all Society functions, I hoped they remained that way. As I procured the acutely precise welding torch from the table where it had today been used for a wide variety of common uses from finishing the tail of high atmosphere cruise plane to fixing the dent my assistant kicked in his desk, I couldn't help but reflect upon the irony that such an insignificant little object, taken wholly for granted, was now being given the opportunity to change the face of the world.

And then I realized that it was not the machine, but me who was about to change the world. And that I was dumb for giving credit to a welding torch. But you know, I still didn't have my reason back and people think dumb things when they've been sitting in a dark room alone for too long.

There was a great feeling of anticipation as I lit the torch and carefully leaned down over the device. One false move and I could blow it, me and half of the city to pieces. Of course, if I didn't do it sufficiently, that little red light wouldn't go on and I'd be a failure and a potential Society mark. There was a lot at stake here. The moment that passed between the time I touched the flame to the wires and the moment I extinguished it, hastily threw it on the table and nervously stared at the little lightbulb, just waiting for a reaction, was a very long one. But I just spared you the dramatic extension of this scene with useless, stressful description by summarizing it in one sentence so you should really be thanking me here. The moment after, doesn't deserve to be compacted for it truly went on forever. I was half sure the light would never come on. The chemicals didn't mix, the formula wasn't right, the proportions were inaccurate. Everything that could have gone wrong passed through my head as I waited impatiently for some sign. Minutes passed. It still didn't come on. It should have taken some thirty seconds. And it still was not working. And so I accepted failure. And disappointment, shame and anger washed over me just as red light did the same.

I cannot describe the absolute feeling of relief I felt when that light went on. Joy too. It was all I could do to restrain myself from screaming and bouncing up and down like a little girl who got asked to the junior high dance by the cutest boy in school. Notice how I didn't do that. Let's not jump to any conclusions. After the initial happiness toned itself down, I found myself simply satisfied and excited for the following day when I could present the genius of my success to someone who would really appreciate how great it was. I felt like I should go to bed as it was of course late, but part of me kept saying that that was preposterous. How could I just go to sleep after this like it meant nothing? Unfortunately, I had nowhere else to go nor nothing else to do and so bed was where I ended up. Though I did not sleep. I just sat there, thinking, reflecting and waiting patiently for tommorrow.

But that was the night my reason returned...

The next day was spent in nervous, terrified suspense. Now that there was a miniature nuclear warhead sitting inconspicuously in my apartment, I began to remember why I was wary of the thing to begin with. You know. That whole destruction of the universe part. Of course it was too late now. The Society representative would be by in mere hours to pick it up and carry it off to fulfill its awful destiny. I couldn't bring myself, maybe out of fear for them or maybe respect for myself, to dismantle it. It was done. I'd already sealed its fate. Unless...

There arose in my head another option. I could hide it (afterall, it was made to be so) and pretend that I hadn't yet finished it so they would have to give me more time to figure out how to deal with it. The problem with that was that I'd have to show some progress to not get shot in the head. Well I had my sketches. But those alone have the potential to destroy just as much as the actual thing. Anyone with eyes could make out the plans, create their own and blow us all up without ever seeing my original prototype. That settled it then, the sketches must be burned. They're too powerful. Then, the secret would be in my head alone. It'd be safe there. But then what would I show him when he arrived? Well I still have the failed blueprints lying around somewhere. I can just show him those. He won't notice any difference. Yeah, I'll do that. Good, I thought to myself. I've got a plan. That's a step in the right direction. Now just to do it.

Hastily, I went about the business. I located the real sketches, threw them without a second thought into the raging fireplace and tracked down the original mistakes hidden under mountains of books, essays, papers, sketches and two months worth of take out packaging. My apartment was a pigsty originally, but after my scouring of it to destroy anything that had any connection to that little monster, it was messy beyond words. For some reason, it didn't matter anymore. It seemed to me as though this life, of which this apartment was a part of, was coming to an end and nothing that happened now would carry over into the next world. In some sense, I'd already accepted a fact that I hadn't yet actually addressed: I had to leave. Sure, I could put off giving them the device, but I couldn't put it off forever. As long as I stayed on Satieri, they could find me. Maybe I could keep it up for a couple months, a year tops, but eventually they'd get tired and just eliminate me entirely. I had no choice but to pick up and flee, leaving everything, all my achievements, all my prestige, all my luxuries behind. But for now, all I could think about was the first lie. I schemed, I planned, I practiced and by the time my purple mohawked friend arrived at my door, I was ready.

Hey, wiz kid," he said in his misplaced cheer as he ambled in and looked around.

Sorry bout the mess," I muttered apologetically, shutting the door behind him.

Ah no worries. I get it. You genius types don't bother much with neatness," he remarked with a sly smirk before adding mischieviously, "Though neither do the rest of us either, eh?

I laughed politely, as one does at jokes made by strangers that aren't really funny, and gestured for him to take a seat on the couch where he casually sprawled out and said, "Pretty sweet crib you got here. They must pay you a buttload down at that brain factory down there." Again with the laugh, this time accompanied with a nod. The small talk was getting on my nerves. I just wanted him to ask about the stupid bomb so I could not tell him the truth, he could be on his way and I could start figuring out how I was gonna get off the planet secretly in the extension time he gave me. Finally, he got to the point, "Course, what they give you will be jack compared to our token of appreciation. Speaking of which, where is our little beauty?

And now, an example of my best acting abilities: "Where is it? Oh it's not done yet," I told him as though it was absolutely ludicrous for him to even assume that I had finished it already.

He didn't look impressed. "Not done, eh?" he asked, casting me a somewhat cold glare which I returned with complete innocence. "Well what you been doin' for two months then?

Planning," I replied shortly, absently swiping the sketches off my desk and flashing them before him as proof. Now was where my knowledge would come in handy. This man, though no doubt powerful, was not very smart. I doubt he even knew the difference between fusion and fission. So to stop him from asking questions, all I had to do was techno babble enough to send him into complete confusion at which point he would have no choice to believe me. "I've been making blueprints, cross sections. And calculations. Tons of calculations. The stability of the fluid mechanics and how they'll react in relation to the thermal hydraulics. How to limit the radiation and control the neuron transportation. What plasmas are efficient in combination with electrodynamics. Then I had to procure the proper Uranium and Plutonium sub-bases and find a way to compound the isotopes to avoid spontaneous fission. There was also the addition of the neutron multiplication factor to complicate things and whether implosion or explosion methods are appropriate quantum standards. There's also the matter of deciding on which trivalent metal for the casing and bridgewire detonators. And then I thought of using a prolate spheroidal pit but that just puts into the question the tensile strength. And finally I needed to derive the radioactivity constant from the internal force integrals and determine the substantiability factor in the electromagnetic hydrofielding."

I'm glad he stopped me there for my nonsense was getting even more and more ridiculous by the minute. There is no such thing as 'hydrofielding'. Thankfully, he was not aware of that. "Okay, okay, I get it," he insisted, raising his hand to cease the talk. "I had no idea it was so...complicated..." He let out a sigh and flipped open a small black book that he'd pulled out of his pocket. "The Council won't be too pleased about it, but we can give you another two months if you need it. 'Sat enough?

I nodded. "Should be. I've pretty much got it all worked out. Just need to get the prototype together.

Right, good," he muttered, scribbling away in the book, nodding absently at my reply. "The sooner it's done, the better," he added, sticking his hand in another pocket and handing me the wad of cash that came out of it. "Little incentive for you to finish early," he explained with a wry smirk as I took it cautiously. "And of course there's still more to come when it's finally in our hands. So keep up the good work, eh?" And without another word, thought, or glance, he stalked out, completely unaware that he had just been fooled by and eighteen year old engineer scared out of his whits.

It was very difficult to resist laughing aloud.


Of course, I wasn't out of the water yet. There was still the matter of getting myself and the dangerous little bomb off the planet and way out into the dead of space before anyone realized what I'd done. This was where the problem truly lied. The Society had Ears (this being the unofficial title of their intelligence unit) everywhere. And although I could build ships, I'd never flown one before. I needed help, but there was no place I could turn to get it. I'll admit, I was never much of a socialite and, in being so, I skipped out on the whole 'best friend you'd trust with your life' thing. But thankfully, out of the strangest luck, in came the last person I expected, the last person I ever imagined myself trusting and the only person who could possibly help me: my brother.

Part of my was furious, still bitter over what he'd done to us and so, naturally I yelled at him for some time with the most vigor I could conjure yet not enough to scare him away for the other part of me was incredibly relieved. Of course, I was overestimating him. Nothing I said could have possibly scared him off as clearly he was more enamored with the sketches framed on the walls of my office than anything that came out of my mouth. When I finally finished, he revealed his purpose there in needing to swiftly leave the planet and needing desperately a ship with which to do so. Again, I was torn. Half of me wanted to scream some more about how the first time he'd even bothered to seek out any of his family who raised him and cared for him was simply to ask for a material favor, but there was the undeniable fact that our paths seemed to be intersecting and our destinations the same. But I was still mad. So I let him beg a little more and make a fool of himself before I gave in.

He wanted one of the nice luxury ships I'd designed, but I knew well enough that that would be a mistake. Stealing is bad enough. Stealing a luxury spaceship is a blatant sin. Not to mention excruciatingly difficult. So instead, I handed him the money I'd just received from his own organization and implored him to go out and purchase one of his own and pay me back later. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to telling him I would be accompanying him on the venture at this time so I let him go off, but insisted he return before take off, which would give me time to get my things together and leave him no opportunities to deny me passage.

The following morning, I assembled the most minimal luggage I could possibly survive with (including of course the mini bomb in a special case of its own) and waited until Fiearius returned to, as he thought, say goodbye. He wasn't too pleased when I told him of my plans to come with, but with a little bit of reasoning, he ran out of arguments against it and begrudgingly allowed it. The ship he'd purchased was an atrocity. A junk yard massacre. I told him to return it and I'd teach him how to properly purchase a ship, but he insistently refused and instead held a party (consisting of only the two of us) in celebration of it where he appropriated it with the suitably ironic name 'The Dionysian'. Once everything had been situated, well into the night, we stood upon Satierin ground for the last time with a vague sense of remorse, disappointment and anger before we climbed aboard our steel liberator and sailed away into the atmosphere, at last, the both of us acquainted with the unfamiliar feeling of safety.

Though I do wonder how Fiearius would feel if he knew I brought a nuclear warhead onto his ship.

...I guess that's why he doesn't know...

Adoptables for you:

The usual rules apply. You know them. Don't pretend that you don't or I'll have to get Cacophonic on your behind.
Oh and new rule: I don't do no ninjas -.- Sorry. Take em somewhere else.
Also, please don't automatically make an adopt of Cy if you request one ^^; I appreciate the preemptiveness and speed, but sometimes I'll see your adoptables and think 'oh that'd be perfect for -some other character here-' and if you've already made one of Cy, I can't rightfully ask for a different one o.o; So yeah. Having one already done when you request doesn't help or hurt your chances of acceptance. After all, I accept 99% of the requests I get (the other 1% is the people who don't follow the rules) so don't worry about impressing me. I'd rather wait. Thanks.

Requests: Closed except for friends and guild
Trades: Open

Line-up:
1. RXE - juju3892
2. Kromanga - shipo159
3. Krymsson - meadoew
4.Vamorie - m_a_s_hness

Is one or more spots empty? Then neomail me this form:
Pet's full name:
Reference location:
Your adoptables:
Please make the subject of the mail Mechanical Whatsit. I'm gonna start being picky about this now that I have multiple adoptables. You must use that subject or else you won't be added to the list.

I won't reply to your initial mail until I've finished your custom so to know if your app's accepted, just look at the list. If you're on it, then yes. If not, then...well..obviously you're not. Once you get it, you can direct link if you really want (but if it gets deleted, don't whine) and you MUST link it back here. Simple as that.

Custom count:30 Newest to Oldest

Adoptables for me:
Quad reference located here:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v411/Khronosabre/elements.png
Cyrus is the blue one if you couldn't tell o.o

My brother's not the only one who can have shiny things :P

<a><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v411/Khronosabre/Cyrus/cybutton.png" border="0"></a>
Wanna trade? Neomail me

Crew:

Associates:

~Khronostext :D