MoonMan
Inactive Member
ON: The bridge of the NSS Vanderhuge, docked at Sharishra Station in orbit above Delsauria
An uncharacteristic silence permeated the aging DD4 destroyer. The NSS Vanderhuge had been in dock with Sharishra Space Station for the better part of two days, undergoing a mandatory maintenance and resupply. The warship paled in comparison to the size of the orbital installation, deep green accents making the vessel stand out amongst the dull grey exterior. The Nepleslian starship was hooked onto the side of the station's outer hull by multitudes of extending platforms and magnetic grapples to keep the ship from drifting away. Most of the crew and stationed marines were on the station itself, given temporary leave while commissioned dock workers and mechanics ferried equipment, ammunition and all manner of materials to the vessel for resupply.
The bridge of the mighty warship suffered the same feeling of emptiness, the rows of chairs empty and the information panels and screens dimmed. The central seat for the ship's captain, a lavish swiveling leather-lined chair, was vacant, its majestic comfort left unsampled. The room remained that way, drowned in darkness save for a handful of small, soft yellow lights lining the floor; square plastic-covered guiding lights in place in the event of critical power failure. Eventually, a soft hum began to whir from the room, several of the light fixtures and screens suddenly blinking back to life as the room re-illuminated itself. Another several moments later, the reason for this sudden reanimation would thunder through the door at the rear of the room.
An impossibly large ID-SOL ducked beneath the top of the door as he entered, a slightly annoyed grimace spread across his face. He was in the process of pulling on a jacket over his uniform... a large green military jacket, laden with rank bars, pins and medals of identifications, as well as two swatches of long brown fur on either shoulder. The coat was the distinct mark of not just a captain, nor an admiral... but a Grand Admiral, the highest of military ranks achievable in the Nepleslian navy. One of four of Nepleslia's Grand Admirals, this enormous individual was Flint Vanderhuge, admiral of Nepleslia's 1st Assault Fleet, and he was looking positively perturbed.
"Are you sure about this Slade?" Flint spoke gruffly into the air, buttoning his grand admiral's jacket and readjusting his peaked cap. The ID-SOL was speaking through the small earpiece fastened to the side of his face, a separate voice answering him as he looked over himself to gauge his presentability. On the other end of the line was Flint's second in command, Lieutenant Dominic Slade. Slade was elsewhere, however, on the space station, conveying the information to Flint through the communication link. "Yes admiral. Sky Marshal Westwood is requesting the fleet admirals together. The others are all busy, however, with Rok'Veru's occupation. It will most likely be just you and Robert Davis joining via telecommunication, from what I understand."
"Davis?" Flint queried his XO nonchalantly, thinking back on his memories of the man. He couldn't help but smirk to himself, combing his fingers through his short beard for a moment as he mused. "Haven't heard from that old bastard since he got muscled out of office. What's he got to do this? Didn't he retire?"
"He fell under the radar after the NMX hit the senate," Slade replied flatly. "I'm not sure what his involvement in this is, however. They are ready for you, admiral, whenever you are. Do you know how to open the communi-"
"I know how to run my ship Slade," Flint cut him off with a dangerous tone, raising one hand to remove the earpiece as he quickly touched a few keys on the panel before him. After a moment, a number of volumetric projectors installed at the base of the risen platform whirred to life, forming a large screen. Flint cleared his throat once before ending with a long, bored sigh. This sudden call from the premier had interrupted his pre-workout meal, and to a man as large as he was, eating must have been a very important requirement.
The screen signaled a connection, but was a distorted fuzz as the IPG encryption accustomed themselves to the feed. When the electrical cloud blew over the visuals, Flint was greeted by the mild, grinning face of his previous co-officer, now superior. Pyros seemed to be in an odd mood, most political analysts attested to when the Sky Marshall smiled in such a way, it was to deliver bad news, or he just didn't enjoy what he was doing. That same look presided for a moment, as he looked about the screen, before he shot off a greeting, finally getting reception on his own end.
"Flint! You done draggin' your balls at Sharishra, yet?" asked the premier rather bluntly, the forced grin widening into something a little more natural.
Flint scoffed and rolled his eyes back with a sharp grin, his shoulders relaxing a bit. He was expecting to be brought into the video conference immediately; apparently Pyros was intent on a quick pep-talk before introducing him. "'fraid so, Premier."
"That's Pyros, to you. I may be your boss now, but that doesn't make me any bigger than I was four years ago. Back then, you were my superior, don't forget that." shot back Pyros, waving his hand idly, though quickly bringing it back under the coat he hand casually resting on his shoulders. He was just far away enough from the recording device to show the can supporting his weight. "But, the measures of men aren't the reason why I've come to talk to you personally."
The camera pulled back as the Premier turned to pace to once side, apparently taken by his thoughts.
"I know you're familiar with politics, you're about as close to it without going over the line." Pyros shot a red, glowing look at the man several light years away from him, "But have you been familiar with the Yamatain Interjections in previous Senate meetings? Their occasional political demands? Hell, even the tongue lashing I got from Yuumi for trying to unload UOC refugees on Nepleslia Prime instead of stopping at their crowded rendezvous world!"
The mention of Yamatai made Flint's mouth wrench in distaste. He now knew that this conference involved Yamatai in some fashion... and it most likely wasn't news that their civilization had collapsed overnight, so Flint knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear. Politics weren't his favorite thing either, but he understood them well enough, as well as the need for them. Talking kept simpler people happy.
"Truth be told, Pyros, I don't pay attention to anything Yamatai does," Flint said with a poisonous tone behind that subtle grin. "I've got better things to do. Like eat or sleep or... go to horrible parties. Is that what this is about? Yams brought another fleet to our door to demand another cup of sugar?"
Pyros smirked, chuckling a bit.
"You've got the right idea. Yamatai's usual political and military M.O. is to try and butt-fuck someone until they play ball, even when they're," the Premier put up air-quotes, "helping." He let his hands fall, resigning to shake his head in mild disdain as he went on, "But there have been cases where we've met less butt-fuck minded individuals. I'm not sure if you remember, but Corcyra assisted in a Yamataian Op back in the day co-ran by one Taii Shichou Yuriko. Yuriko taught us that not every time we've got to work with the Yammies has got to be a skull fucking massacre. Now, the point is this..."
He sighed, bringing up a volumetric console on his end. His thick, weathered fingers tapped away, likely getting ready to start the conference.
"Right now I've got a Yamataian liaison who's asking nicely for an audience, and for something she deems important to Nepleslia's security." Pyros tilted his head forward, eying Flint with a more serious look, "These fucking cats don't give out advice and ask nicely. What they want to tell us is either important, or this is the one diplomat whose head isn't cleanly fitted up their ass. Either way, it might be in our good interests to listen to this one."
Flint groaned, crossing his massive arms across his chest with a sigh. The Grand Admiral had no interest in anything Yamatai had to say, but Pyros seemed interested enough. His Premier's worries were to be his own if that is what needed to be done. "... that an order, sir?"
"Like you've got something better to do."
"I was about to eat. And then work out. Very important business."
"Your fat ass can miss one sandwich, and you're already a god damned bison. I'm starting to think you work out just so you can stare at the other men."
The grand admiral couldn't help but crack a smile at that. Pyros did have a way with words. "Fine, fine. Let's just make this quick, I need all my bearings for the Rok'Veru reclamation and I don't need to be distracted by some Yamataians concerns with our nation."
"That's exactly the reason why I need you to pay attention. They didn't give a damn about us ten years ago, and they still don't." Pyros hit the button on his console to begin the conference, signaling the extra participants in. "They aren't making demands, they're trying to help us. That in itself makes this unusual."
The Yamataian liaison flickered to life before the massive ID-SOL. She was a cat, with wavy brown hair and wearing something that fit more with what the IPG might demand than something a diplomat would wear. Some black-and-purple tight-fitting suit thing with a jacket that barely touched her hips. The gun on her thigh also was a hint that she wasn't any diplomat. She didn't look like a spook though, with that smile that touched her eyes. She stood with her hands at her sides. When she bowed, it was smooth, natural. As if she had been bowing for her whole life.
"Honored Premier," the Nekovalkyrja said at the bottom of her bow. She had a Yamataian accent, but it was faint. "Grand Admiral Vanderhuge. ... I am sorry, I am early. The Honorable Robert Davis is not yet with us?"
The swooshing sound of the rear door opening and the plodding of thick boots against the floor answered the Nekovalkyrja's question, but it was the tapping of metal against metal Moments after the Yamataian liaison had asked, a new figure appeared in a secondary window of each participant's volumetric screen, that announcing to those in the conference that Robert Davis had arrived. With his cane in hand, the former premier stopped at the opening and took a deep breath, his glittering brown eyes absorbing the details of the bridge as a wave of nostalgia hit him. Cane in hand, his impeccable appearance, a hallmark of his time as leader of Nepleslia, had not left him in his retirement. Despite his lack of office at the moment, he still wore his officer's jacket and cap proudly. Freshly dry cleaned for the occasion, his uniform looked as if it had just been issued.
He nodded his greeting to the Grand Admiral and the Premier respectively, and then once to the holographic image.
"Grand Admiral, Premier, representative, I apologize for my tardiness," he said in a dignified tone. "I was rather enjoying the feeling of setting foot on the Vanderhuge once more." The aging Nepleslian stepped briskly forward to greet the men in the room. "It has been quite some time, hasn't it? How are you both faring?"
Normally, seeing Robert Davis would have brought Flint some measure of joy; the former premier and sky marshal had earned the Grand Admiral's respect after so many years of service. However, the meeting itself left Flint sour. Remaining silent, he stared critically at the liaison as she went about the proper respectful greeting, common to Yamatai. Flint remembered the bowing from his time in service of Yamatai before Nepleslia declared its independence. He didn't like it then, and time spent away from the formality had not changed that. There wasn't anything personal about this woman that Flint felt contempt toward, but he held animosity all the same. She willingly represented Yamatai, and that was enough.
"Doing fine, Davis," Flint gave a short, simply reply to the former sky marshal, recrossing his arms and shifting his weight to the opposing side as he continued to watch the screens, awaiting the true purpose of this conference to be revealed.
The Neko bowed again. "Mister Davis. Thank you for answering this call."
She rose and adjusted her hair, pushing a stray lock behind her ear while her braid remained draped over her shoulder.
"I will be as brief as possible, but some review is warranted. You are aware of the YSS Miharu and her efforts in the demise of the Umbral — Dark One — named Mefpralphra. The crew returned and served during the Battle of Yamatai before her crew were broken up and sent onto other assignments. As stated by the Imperial Premier during the public ceremony celebrating the Miharu's crew, the Umbral's public face was captured. You know that face as Melisson."
"Melisson was an interpreter for the Umbral, one with powerful psychic abilities greater than any psion Yamatai has ever fielded. She has been held by Yamatai's Star Army Intelligence since the end of the Miharu's mission. Up to this point, she has offered no intelligence on the NMX, which is the primary concern of SAINT.
"However, before the crew killed Mefpralphra, the crew scoured Melisson's private quarters on the NMX flagship. Data was recovered that suggested Melisson had used her powers on some of those she met at the International Relations Conference.
"The power in question is called 'seeding.' Miharu's crew experienced it first-hand, as one of the officers was seeded. The power gives Melisson the ability not only to monitor the thoughts and experiences of a person she has seeded, but depending on her proximity and the amount of energy she put into the seed, she can control them. To some degree.
"Included on that list were you, Admiral — " she looked to Vanderhuge — "and you, Mister Davis."
Flint kept a neutral expression for most of the neko's explanation. Most of her statement didn't come as a surprise to the Grand Admiral; intelligence about the Battle of Yamatai and the events leading up to it was a hot topic for a while, but largely didn't concern him. When the Yamataian made mention of seeding, however, Flint's eyes narrowed slightly and his body tensed as he drew in a sharp breath, arms still held together behind the small of his back. He didn't like the sound of seeding, nor the implications it carried. He also had little personal knowledge about the power at all. Of course, it was also entirely possible that he was being lied to; it certainly would not have been the first time.
"What exactly are you saying?" Flint raised the first question, his resentment giving way to his curiosity for that short moment. "That Melisson knocked me up a couple years ago and she can... what, control my thoughts? From her cell in your so-called jail?"
"No," the Neko said. "Not in such an immediate way. Melisson develops her seeds over time, slowly exerting influence over the person who is seeded. It is as if there is another person inside you, whispering to your mind. It is subtle and unlimited in distance." The Neko paused, and she frowned a little. "I do not have all of the specifics because Melisson is an alien. I can tell you that her exerting direct control is highly unlikely, but not impossible.
"It is more likely that Melisson is 'keeping tabs' on her seeds. She has been diminished by the death of Mefpralphra, but she is not defeated."
"So," Flint brought his arms out from behind his back and crossed them, keeping one enormous limb raised as he idly rubbed at his temple. The more this woman talked, the more skeptical Flint continued to grow. He figured that something as profound as a 'whisper in your head' would have been detected by now. Flint considered the many ways this information could have been taken by himself and the others present in the conference, and he didn't like the conclusions. "Why are you telling us this, exactly? If you think this is a problem, why haven't you just killed her yet?"
"Killing her, as she is, does not destroy her," the Neko explained. "She is a being with multiple minds, in a way. She can use her seeds to maintain her consciousness, to help her rebirth herself if required. She also is a being, presently, made up of many aliens at once. You might know them as 'bugs.' She could eliminate all of the bugs she is using to maintain her current form in the SAINT holding unit, but if there was another bug anywhere across the universe, she could reform from it. Slowly, but surely."
Flint's mind instantly went back to Killer who was, to his knowledge, sitting comfy in her cage in his exercise room, where she usually was. Usually. He remained quiet about this, however, taking a moment to contemplate just how much Melisson might actually know. It was a dangerously long moment.
"I've encountered psionic Nekos in the past, back when they were part of the norm, and fighting self-important chicken people," interjected Pyros, somewhat taken by the discussion, judging by his expression. "Even then, the Grand Star Army was doing an odd number of things with their technology, but what you describe here is something short of magic. A being that can maintain consciousness across all of existence, and at the same time, rise from one of those small 'seeds.'"
Pyros stepped off the screen for a moment, with the sound of jingling glass dancing in the background. The Premier returned with small glass filled with ice and what looked like whiskey. No one could tell. Because it could be anything. That's what the Public Relations Corps tells the public when Pyros comes on to address the public with a glass of whiskey.
"If what you're telling us is true, and your organization deems it as such a risk, you'll release all relevant information on Melisson. Let our organization pick apart the details, and we can commence securing our ranks." The old man took a sip of his maybe-not-whiskey drink, "A little trust and good faith will ease my suspicions at least."
The Neko did not hesitate as a volumetric panel opened near waist level in front of her, and she tapped away at it. "The files we have on Melisson, her race and her capabilities are in the data packet I have sent to your accounts. The only things we have redacted are the names of relevant personnel and descriptions of SAINT's primary base.
"I can tell you now, however, that securing your ranks likely is best achieved by reviving potentially infected personnel into new bodies. Soul Transfer technology has proven sufficient; I do not know if the Imperium's cloning or Brain Spider technology will work."
"And if our technology doesn't do it?" Flint asked after a short moment. It all sounded fishy to him; ST technology was Yamatai's field of expertise. The most Nepleslia did for their soldiers were the CC program, which had always been sketchy, at best. The whole idea being soul transfer technology never sat well with Flint in the first place, so it was no surprise that he wasn't too excited about the prospect. "What then?"
"Melisson only can seed so many people at once, according to our research," the Neko replied. "She can monitor fewer than that at any given moment. It is unlikely too many of your officials are seeded at this time. Those who are, and are willing, can be granted use of our Soul Savior technology. ... I know it is not a preferable solution. It would mean giving up a Nepleslian body for a brief time. But the technology would be in your hands, not ours."
The neko's answer elicited another sharp intake of breath, Flint's head suddenly lulling forward and shook side to side slowly. The enormous ID-SOL gave a short laugh in reply, gripping the edge of his cap as he drew his head back up again, fixing the headwear over his noggin once more. "Oh yeeeah, of course," Flint nodded once, stroking the hairs on his chin a single time before withdrawing his arm towards his back once more. His eyes grew sharp, and his smile decidedly wry, the tone of his voice growing increasingly chiding the meet them. "We'll just have our top Nepleslian officials and military leaders jump into some Yamatai-provided mind machines. To get rid of our potentially harmful 'seeding'. That's what you're suggesting?"
"It is not a suggestion," the Neko calmly replied. The words carried signs of the effort that made them. "It is an offer. I am not familiar with the intricacies of Nepleslian cloning technology, so I cannot be sure of its effectiveness. Our scientists believe it will work well enough to eliminate the seed, but they also cannot state that with absolute certainty. If you opt for the technology, Admiral, it will be provided, along with technical support. "Before Nepleslia declared independence, your troops were exposed to Soul Savior technology. It has been some time, but it retains its abilities."
"It's a joke is what it is," Flint scoffed at her reply, the accommodating smile fading from his face. As far as he was concerned, what little credibility she might have had faded away with such an offer. Flint turned his head to the others present in the conference. "I don't believe a word of this bullshit. Yamatai's already proved they're willing to lie straight to our faces to keep us content and on their side of things. This whole thing reeks of Yam nonsense."
"You will find the files are in order and honest, Admiral," the Neko said evenly. "As for my personal honesty, it is what you make of it. You do not know me, and as such, I have no defense for your statement."
Davis listened to the back and forth between the two sides, or at least he appeared to be in serious thought, as his lips drew together into a tight line. His eyes closed and he took a deep, breath, in and out, through his nostrils, his torso puffing as he concentrated his emotions into a pit in his stomach.
He raised a gloved hand slowly, drawing attention to himself as he opened his eyes and spoke. "Mr. Vanderhuge," he said calmly. "I do not doubt the capabilities of the IPG to uncover any potential wrongdoing on the part of the Yamataians. If there is a ruse hidden beneath the guise of diplomacy, then it shall be unearthed. You are right to be suspicious."
His projection turned to face the Nekovalkyrja diplomat. "However, a nation that is in danger of being unable to feed its own people does not strike me as one to openly risk further endangering relations with its neighbor, especially when we possess valuable resources that may assist in that crisis."
The words sat in the air for a moment before he continued. "By telling us this, the Yamataians are knowingly creating an international incident between our two nations. They hold Melisson, an individual who, through this 'seeding,' has committed very serious crimes against our nation. And with all due respect, diplomat, these accusations are very serious and deserve verification. As such, I feel it important to hear the details from the horses mouth, so to speak. I trust it would be a beneficial gesture to hear from Melisson herself, would it not Mr. Vanderhuge?"
The Neko cut off that possibility before Vanderhuge could respond.
"The purpose here is not to create an incident," she said, as firmly as she could. "The purpose is honorable. Melisson has done damage to both of our nations, and as such, I personally felt it was warranted to inform you of what she has done. Sharing this information with you, by itself, was difficult enough to convince SAINT to allow. "Even if it were within my power to bring Melisson before you all, I would not. She endangers any who are near her, and I am unwilling to subject others in this base to possible seeding."
The reply drew a saddened expression from the retired Premier. "While I appreciate the earnestness you carry and the difficulties you must surely have undertaken to be able to share this information with us, this, unfortunately, alone does not make the words you speak any truer than they were moments ago. I as well am trying my best to alleviate suspicions between our nations, but I cannot do this alone. Could she not talk to us from remote relay, as we do here?"
"Right, just a get a phone or a camera and video it..." Pyros chuckled lightly, tilting his head a tad coyly. "Or can she seed us through that, too? Perhaps, delayed recordings are just ticking time bombs of Melisson spooge, waiting to shoot everywhere." The Premier broke out in thick, heavy guffaws.
The Neko visibly tried to keep her composure, biting her lower lip and keeping her ears from angling backward on her head. "That would mean risking the minds of SAINT agents. Melisson, in her current prison, has no communication with the outside world, and bringing her to a secure broadcasting site would require unsafe transport."
She squeezed her hands together in front of her waist as she stood before them. "I apologize for this not being enough, Mister Davis, honored Premier. It is what I can do."
"What's the problem with sending a Custodian War Android, then? Can she seed synthetics?" pressed Pyros.
"To our knowledge, she is unable to do that," the Neko said. "However, there is no guarantee what she would do to a synthetic being that acts as a transceiver. Even if it were nothing, SAINT already believes it is chancing what is going on here, now, with this data being transferred to your hands."
"Have we reached an impasse then or are we able to reach a compromise that would make both of our respective sides happy?" Davis inquired. "Miss Diplomat, surely there must be some way to make this work."
The Neko was forlorn in her reply. "The compromise is what you now have in your accounts. ... Were it up to SAINT, the data you have now would not have been left to you at all. It should authenticate what I have described, at the very least. As I stated previously, few of your personnel should be at risk, and our scientists are confident your technology can remove the seeds, disruptive as it might be."
"Y'know, if it were anyone else, I'd of broadcasted this and made you look like an idiot to the public." Pyros tapped his fingers over his cane, as he took another sip of maybe-not whiskey. "Though, we've got a mountain of intelligence swirling around you, Suzuka Yukari. I know who you used to serve under, and our reports tell us that her crew didn't bullshit around for petty gains and shows of power."
The Premier scratched his nose. "At least, as far as I know," he continued, turning his glowing eyes on the Neko. "With that said, I can't help but find myself considering this."
Yukari's eyes tracked on Pyros, a glint of their emerald color coming through the projection. " ... When I captured Melisson, I vowed to do what I have done here. What you do with the information you now have in your hands is up to you to decide. Even if I were in a position to place embargoes on what you could do with it, I would not. I only wish for your Imperium to be cleansed of Melisson's taint, which no one deserves."
"Yet, you're going to have a hard time convincing everyone else." The Premier looked over at Flint, "My people don't trust yours, and even with a colorful and warlike history, you won't get much respect. Then again, I'm a little drunk. I've killed two bottles thus far." He chuckled, swirling around his definitely-not-whiskey in his cup. "Whatever the case my be, I need to defer to my friends here. Flint and Robert are what made Nepleslia. Hell. It's not far from the truth that they are Nepleslia as far as this conversation goes. As such, their input will decide whether I take your advice with the serious weight it deserves, or the grain of salt it seems to be, thanks to past endeavors."
" ... " Yukari tipped her head in a respectful bow. The sins of my foresisters and foremothers burden me more than I ever knew. "You must do what you feel is best. I am honored to be trusted as much as I have been so far, and am in no position to ask for anything more. I only wish I could do more for your nation, honored Premier."
Pyros rubbed his nose, taking his eyes to less respectable areas on Yukari, "Oh, I could think of a lot of things you could do for Nepleslia." The man waved his glass back and forth, "But let's not entertain my notions."
Yukari blinked. "Ahm ... if there is something else within my power, honored Premier, I will do what I can. My power is limited, however."
Flint allowed his eyes to roll off to the side for much of their conversation, his interest waning as he idly scratched at the back of his neck. What Yukari was saying still remained fairly ridiculous in Flint's eyes... but Pyros was giving it his attention. The Grand Admiral heaved a sigh, bringing his thoughts back to the task at hand. "I suppose I could see one of our specialists in this sort of thing. I'm sure the IPG has someone who knows this sort of mindless dribble. But I doubt they will turn up anything."
"The SMX are gone, and the NMX in Nepleslia's sections of space are waning. What little they tried to do to us, attacking our senate, occupation of our core worlds, has already been broken and are simply being cleaned up," Flint explained with a measure of snide pride. "There's little more they can accomplish now, and I doubt Melisson showing up would change any of that. We're too much for them; they've underestimated us and have paid for it. So we can play along with this little distraction of yours, if it'll make you feel better."
"I would feel better knowing Melisson is gone for good," Yukari said, "but it is up to you to decide what and how you do with the information you have. I believe telling you about it is the right thing to do. Nothing more than that."
"That's great," Flint replied with a short smile, nodding along with her words. "So does that mean I can get back to doing important things? Or do you have something else."
Yukari shook her head. "That was all, Admiral. I thank you for your time."
"Robert, you got anything to say so Flint can get back to dead-lifting some guy's balls?" asked Pyros to the former-Premier.
"What remains is best discussed in private," Davis said, with a nod towards Yukari. "Thank you for the time and the information, Miss Suzuka," he added in fluent Yamataian. "May any future meetings between us come under brighter skies."
No sooner had Yukari finished her polite farewells, Flint cut her from the conference, leaving just the three gentlemen to mull over what they had heard. "I'm still not convinced," Flint said skeptically, visibly relaxing a bit now that the Yamataian presence was no longer there. "But I'll check with the medic here for a few brain screens. Hasn't turned up anything since the last one, doubt he'll get something now."
As Flint cut himself from the communication conference, the other two gave their parting words as well. It was a lot to think about, but ultimately there were more pressing things they needed to attend to. Although the NMX invasion of Rok'Veru had come to a standstill, their military was still in the process of cleaning up resistance that had settled on the surface. There were also some small sightings on the farther reaches near the colony worlds as well; Pyros had already ordered for an increase of military resources to be sent to colonial worlds to bolster their garrisons. The Premier and Grand Admirals were confidant, however; the NMX attacks were weak and fleeting, while their own forces continued to grow exponentially from the full switch of industry to war-time support.
Flint wasn't worried, and for good reason.
---
A few minutes later, near the Captain's Quarters...
For Nepleslia, the military and civilian society intertwined seamlessly and often. As ones rank grew, so too did his reputation with not only his peers, but the teeming masses working the everyday job in one of Nepleslia's many cities. So it isn't much of a stretch to say that being a Grand Admiral, the highest rank and military honor for the Nepleslian navy, would make one exceptionally well known, perhaps even famous in many capacities. Flint preferred to think of himself as infamous, but overall he enjoyed many benefits to being such a high-ranking and well-known officer, and his personal quarters reflected these benefits. The NSS Vanderhuge had been the Grand Admiral's flagship for many years. It had seen numerous engagements under Flint's command, and over time the Grand Admiral had, slowly but surely, transformed the mundane standard quarters for the ships captain to something a little more fitting of his position... as well as his markedly impressive size.
The entrance to Flint's private quarters were a twin set of large, elaborately carved wooden doors, set with a pair of large brass handles. The doors, as well as most of the things in his quarters, were set in a larger size than the normal whenever possible. The front entrance opened up to a living area, covered in a plush forest-green carpet which reached across the room, ending at each wall which rose in a dark beige color, accented by a white border. Towards the east end of the room was a large L-shaped leather sofa, noticeably of ID-SOL size, positioned in front of a simple coffee table and what was, perhaps, the largest volumetric home theater thought possible in such a confined space. Off on the other end of the wall was a single leather recliner positioned next to a floor lamp and a wall-integrated bookshelf which held not books, but a series of other knick-knacks that seemingly had no place on a bookshelf at all.
The western end of Flint's living room served as kitchen, dining area and recreation area all at once. The top corner was separated from the rest of the room by a large counter, a series of standard kitchen appliances behind the marbled countertop. Of note were the several large, heavy-duty freezer and refrigerator chests; not all that surprising, given their owner and his no-doubt voracious appetite. Opposite of the kitchen were an impressive collection of work-out and exercise equipment. The contraptions and machines looked more akin to heinous torture devices, their size and potential output no doubt substantially increased based on the users personal preferences.
Off in the corner of Flint's work-out area sat a large glass terrarium, propped up on top of a table. The Grand Admiral had, at one point, sprung for something a bit more extravagant than what would be considered a simple terrarium; the inside of the glass cage was more akin to a miniature habitat, the ground lined with natural foliage and gravel bedding. Most of the terrarium was occupied by a large oddly-shaped rock face, several nooks, tunnels and holes carved into the surface to facilitate curious and energetic pets. Of note was also a large amount of bones scattered in several areas of the habitat, picked clean of any meaty nourishment.
Flint entered his expertly-tended man-cave through the front doors, drawing in a deep breath as he allowed himself to relax for a moment. The troubles of the Yamataian's announcements seemed so distant now, more or less resolved and allowing Flint to refocus on his brief period of reprieve while the Vanderhuge was in dock. During his trek back to his quarters, the ID-SOL had removed his Grand Admiral's uniform jacket, which he casually tossed over towards his work-out area. Flint heaved a content sigh as he stretched his arm across his chest, his massive body pressing against his dark-green tank top, making his way to the kitchen.
The Grand Admiral reached down and opened one of the oversized refrigerator chests, a plume of mist rising from the confines as he fished around for a strong drink that would take his mind away from the Yamataian silliness he had been exposed to. By chance, Flint glanced up as he did so, his eyes catching movement across the room towards his living area. The large wall was occupied by vivid moving images that he had not caught notice of when he had first entered; his volumetric projector was on, displaying simple commercials for everyday Nepleslian products for now. Flint paused, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly. He didn't recall leaving the projector on.
Flint also didn't recall leaving a red-haired yamataian girl lounging on his couch, the pink skin of her pubescent body shining under the glow of the volumetric projection. Her red-eyes meet his incredulous stare and she then gave him a wave. "Good evening, Flint!" she greeted him in good cheer, not looking the least bothered of him finding her clad only with her long mane of wavy crimson hair.
The sight of the figure confused him for a moment; it was almost surreal, and Flint squinted his eyes a bit harder in hopes of clearing up exactly what he was looking at. A small itch at the back of his mind wiggled and stirred as he tried to remember this familiar face and flowing red features. Flint's mouth opened slightly agape, releasing a single exasperated "Ah...", before, all at once, his memory came through for him as thoughts reemerged and flooded into his subconscious.
Melisson.
Flint's actions were immediate, his face turning into a serious scowl as he dropped the lid of his fridge unit. In one swift movement, the ID-SOL vaulted effortlessly over the countertop, one massive hand propped against the surface for support as the other reached for his standard-issued combat knife, still attached to the belt of his uniform. He unsheathed the tool, its size also noticeably ID-SOL in nature, and held it at the ready as he planted his feet against the floor, a yard or so away from the back of the leathery sofa, Melisson's cheerful face peering at him just above the top of the seat.
"Melisson!" Flint growled, his eyes focused on hers as he continued to stand at the ready. He couldn't help but crack a smile beneath the well-trimmed beard; in some ways, he was expecting her. The Yamataian warning was a helpful tip, but it was always a possibility ever since he accepted care of the bug-like Killer. He stood and waited, combat knife raised, for a response from her, be it words or some terrible Mishuu appendage.
Melisson rose to her feet and turned to join the staredown, her diminutive figure less than half of Flint's girth. Behind, the volumetric projector transitioned from commercials to a newsfeed which became covering updates on the food shortages on Yamatai. The projector's light played on her skin, the bright contrast casting her body in shade, and lent her red hair a glowing, almost devilish quality.
"Are you going to use that knife on me?" She asked him, her tone dripping with maidenly innocence. "Are you really going to cut at Killer and all her offspring after you took such good care of them all?"
Melisson was trying to tug at Flint's heartstrings, but that instrument was very difficult to play. Her comments only served to sharpen his smile and warrant a single scoffing laugh under his breath, the massive man's eyes still focused in intently on his target. Her nakedness wasn't much of a distraction to Flint... not nearly as much as her diminutive size. It almost felt unfair, coming down on something much smaller than himself, but Flint wasn't one to squander his advantage when it came to size. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't break you in half, Melisson," Flint answered Melisson with another question, his dangerous expression remaining unchanged.
"Because it would be a waste of effort," Melisson simply replied, his predatory stance leaving her seemingly unworried. "You have better things to do, especially now that I am here."
"Huh!" Flint laughed again, unsure of her meaning but amused none the less. He gripped his knife a bit tighter, giving her back a retort. "Oh? Like what? I have a Mishhu commander right in front of me. Seems pretty important."
"I'm not commander of anything," Melisson returned in wry amusement. "The woman you spoke to, Suzuka, destroyed the Umbral broodmother I was interpreter to. I am but a figment of what she was."
The news segment on food shortages came to an end, and next the anchor covered a student rally in Roger Wilco protesting a decrease in college tuition funding. Oblivious to the newscast, Melisson continued: "Thanks to you, I have enough presence outside of the SAINT prison to be more than Suzuka's trophy. You've done me a good turn. I will now return the favor."
"I can counsel you on how to win the war against the Neo Mishhuvurthyar."
It was Melisson's last statement that finally put some pause into Flint. For a moment, his shoulders fell for a moment, his eyes widening a bit as he peered above his knife hand, confused and intrigued. "Tch!" This momentary lapse was quickly replaced, however, as Flint snapped back to attention, cursing at himself inwardly at how easily she was able to elicit that response from him. "What are you playing at Melisson? You're Mishhu. You wouldn't help us kill your own."
"I am not Mishhuvurthyar!" Melisson declared, shoulders squaring and chin lifting as she rebuked Flint. "I am of the alien Nobunoto Shinichiro created the Mishhuvurthyar in the image of. I am their mother!"
"The Mishhuvurthyar fought humanity to show them the pain they delivered to others as they expanded through space. They taught them the suffering of enslavement, just as they did to the nekovalkyrja and the Mishhuvurthyar back when they were just test subjects. But the war was never about wiping you out; it was about eventually coming to terms with each other. That's what I went to that conference to achieve, but Yui and Tio's closed minds thwarted that possibility."
"I could only support the Doctrine of Retribution until others felt it was ineffective," Melisson continued. "When I pulled the Mishhuvurthyar out, another replaced me to lead that conflict. That Umbral, Reiaz, began a new doctrine: the Doctrine of Annihilation I warned you about, back at the conference. He decided that humanity was vermin, and needed to be exterminated before it did more harm."
More grimly, as the projector unveiled an interview with one of the protesting students, she added: "But Reiaz is stooping to the level of the worst we found in humanity. He took the ones amongst my children whom could not let go of the war that filled most of their lives and re-engineered them into war machines, the Neo Mishhuvurthyar. He found installations where nekovalkyrja were created and seized to create his own nekovalkyrja slave soldiers. He's successfully currying favor from the rest of the Umbral race, painting humanity as aberrations, on a quest which will ultimately see them extinct."
Her crimson eyes narrowed. "I was an explorer when I had the accident that had me find the humans, Flint. Ideally I wanted to be happy to have discovered a new race with such promise. I don't wish the humans destroyed, I wish them improved. Just the same, I do not want my own species, whom learned warfare from you, to get worse from that contact. And above all, I want to save my children."
Her expression softened. "You, Flint Vanderhuge, I can guide to make all of this possible."
Where Flint was looking for and anticipating a fight, he instead received what seemed more like a plea for help. As Melisson went on, Flint followed along with her conversation with skeptical eyes. It sounded too fanciful, too convenient; he was fully aware of the possibility of manipulation, but at the same time Melisson's words did add up. The NMX were more heavily using nekovalkyrja soldiers in their military... a fact that he admittedly had drawn much personal gratification in previous encounters. Neither Flint nor anyone had seen anything from the old SMX since the last international conference. Still, Flint remained unwavering in his skepticism as he drew in a deep breath, rising from his combat stance but still gripping his knife tightly at the side of his waist. He wasn't fully convinced.
The prospect of receiving help for his campaign against the NMX, however, was a very enticing offer. Nepleslia was in no means of any danger at the moment; other than the attack on the senate and the temporary occupations of Nepleslia and Rok'Veru, Nepleslia had been able to stave off NMX attacks with little effort. The death of several senate members was unfortunate, but instead of crumbling the nation's infrastructure as it was likely intended, emergency powers were simply voted to the Premier and the Grand Admirals; he was among the few influential figures running Nepleslia at that moment. Nepleslia and Rok'veru were unfortunate, but ultimately meaningless; they were slightly unprepared for the invasion forces, but they were quickly contained. Nepleslia was already nearly clean of NMX influence and was already beginning rebuilding, while on Rok'Veru, invasion forces were being thwarted by countless Nepleslian reinforcements, mostly provided by the 4th fleet and Flint's own, the 1st Assault Fleet. Each time an NMX invasion came and failed, Nepleslia's security net grew stronger to facilitate weaknesses that the NMX had exposed for their benefit. Nepleslia didn't necessarily need help; they were winning their war all on their own.
Still, Flint knew having Melisson providing information meant many things. Melisson was, from what he recalled, a very powerful psionic with many ears to the ground around the galaxy. He could potentially be made aware of further NMX invasion forces before they made their arrival, allowing Flint to crush them and garner the glory of first blood and minimal losses. It meant that, potentially, his imminent campaign on Rok'Veru would arrive with additional intelligence, reducing Nepleslia's casualties substantially. It meant that, potentially, Flint could coax information out of her that would help secure Nepleslia's position in the universe, especially against her aggressive neighbors to the galactic east. The idea had a lot of potential... but there were still some things that didn't add up to Flint.
"If you're so keen on saving your people," Flint spoke gruffly, his body straightening out as he towered over the woman standing before him. He didn't allow himself to display his growing fascination at the idea of her assistance in his war, keeping a relatively straight face as the venomous smile turned back into a skeptical straight face. "Then why didn't you run back to Yamatai? They would be a lot more interested in saving a bunch of nekos than we would."
The alien female shook her head no, sighed in annoyance, and then explained: "I have extended, repeatedly, what you call 'an olive branch' to the Yamataians. Each time, they slapped it away, squandering chances they might have had to move ahead of this war. Several times at that, and always to their detriment."
She set one hand to her hip. "At this point in time, the Yamataians have served as a bulwark against Reiaz' invasion. The survivors of the Second Draconian Fleet I've helped them retrieve will allow them to last longer in that capacity, but a true offensive to cripple the NMXs ability to wage war is beyond them. In time, they will be losing again. If they lose, your people will be feeling the full brunt of Reiaz' attention."
"You are confident. You also have pride," Melisson answered to Flint's impulse to scoff. "Your pride is not misplaced as long as it does not deny reality. Nepleslians are humanoids; Reiaz will come for you eventually, without fault. Had the Second Draconian Fleet not shown up to strike at Nataria and then help defend Yamatai; it's very likely Yui would have lost the battle and that all of Central Yamatai would have had fallen. With the Star Army routed, the Democratic Imperium would have come next. You know very well that had Reiaz invested as many assets on you as he's used against Yamatai that your Imperium would not be much better than the UOC."
"Circumstances have favored you more than most," Melisson agreed. "But blind arrogance will doom you. You need to recognize Nepleslia's unique position in the scheme of things and then act to take advantage of it. The Yamatai Star Empire has many advantages, but one they do not have is the consistency the Democratic Imperium of Nepleslia has."
"Bravery, adaptability and honesty," the red haired interpreter enumerated. "These are qualities that have been fostered in Nepleslia, qualities which makes your nation a lynchpin into achieving what is needed to swim against the current and defeat Reiaz' NMX forces: you are the ideal leaders-by-example for a coalition of allied races. Other powers will distrust the Yamataians and worry about where the catch might be... but you, they will follow."
'A coalition with Yamatai...' Flint thought, the distaste at the very idea almost palpable as he twisted his mouth into an odd scowl of disapproval. Melisson was asking for something that, as far as Flint was concerned, an impossibility. All the same, however, her words about Reiaz and the NMX front rang true. Flint had been following their campaign, partly in anticipation when he himself could butt heads with their full force; he was growing tired of playing house with whatever scraps the NMX tossed towards Nepleslia to keep them guessing and worried.
Flint sighed as he fiddled his massive combat knife back into the sheath near the back of his belt. "Alright Melisson. Let's say I actually believe all this," the Grand Admiral went on, still attempting to display his wariness of trusting a former enemy. "Right now Nepleslia isn't in a position to help out Yamatai. Not until we've secured our core worlds from this flailing NMX incursion," he explained, crossing his arms out in front of him and looking down to the small red-head. The size difference was a little unsettling; Flint had to crane his neck to even see her, standing together as they were. "And you're saying you want to help with this. How can I be sure you're being on the level with me?"
The question seemed to strike her dumbstruck for a moment. Melisson then turned around to bend by the volumetric projector to shut it off, and the distraction it posed, before turning back to Flint. In the gloom of the living room, her eyes reflected the light from the kitchen as she answered: "When have I ever lied to you and your people?"
Her answer warranted the tiniest of smiles that hinted at the edge of Flint's mouth. "You do have something of a reputation for that I guess. Fair enough," he agreed with a nod, coolly accepting her claims of truthfulness. "So then, what's your catch Melisson? What exactly do you stand to gain by helping me out with my goals? Seems like going a bit far just to keep the NMX from wiping us out. Why do you even care?"
Melisson returned a confused shrug. "I already made my motives plain. I do not see what I left unclear in that regard."
"So I'm supposed to believe you want to save Nepleslia and Yamatai and these Mishhu, just out of the goodness of your heart? Or... whatever you have in there?" Flint started, his own confusion becoming evident. Most Nepleslians weren't too privy on the concept of altruism, Flint included. As soon as he had finished his statement, however, he could almost hear his own words repeated; "You do have something of a reputation for that I guess.
Flint shook his head, realizing his error. "Fine. All of this seems a bit much... but I'll play along for now," the ID-SOL relented, uncrossing his arms only to grip one hand to the wrist of his opposite hand, casually rolling it around in its socket. "So, you intend to stay here and provide me with information I might need to win my home back from these squids, and in return, I lead us right up to their homes and make sure they don't come back for more. Am I getting this right?"
Melisson returned an amused smirk. "I see wrinkles in your description of our relationship. Consider this."
Flint stood and waited for Melisson to continue on with what he should 'consider', this throat growing dry from all the talking. 'Man, I am THIRSTY...' Flint suddenly thought as he watched and waited for Melisson's explanation. His mind began wandering towards the quality of a good lager that he kept for himself on special days of his exercise regiment, and found himself wishing that Melisson would hurry and finish talking his ear off so that he could have himself a reward. He began to tap his foot in a slow, rhythmic pattern, displaying an uncharacteristic impatience, the pace picking up in a slowly rising tempo until he finally began to make an abrupt turn towards the kitchen behind him.
Mid-turn, however, he paused, his head raising up as his eyes slowly drew back to Melisson. He looked a bit bewildered, confused; this confusion quickly drew to aggression and resentment as he realized he had most likely been duped by the one in front of him. "Hey! HEY! You stay outta this, you hear?" Flint abruptly pointed toward his temple, holding it there to emphasize his point.
Melisson tilted her head curiously. "Mm? Why are you angry at me?"
"Because you...!" Flint began to shout his angered reply, but stopped short for a moment when he found it difficult to properly convey in words what was aggravating him. He quickly found it difficult to be angry at all with Melisson, for any reason. Flint's expression began to soften back as he came to these realizations, the peculiar look settling back into his face. This lasted for but a few moments, Flint remaining silent as his mind attempted to catch up. When it did, the answer to his confusion was simple and clear; he was being influenced quite handily by Melisson, and Flint did not like it.
Immediately, the anger set back in, a fiery sneer drawing across his mouth. Flint grunted out of frustration, shooting a single arm out in front of him, his massive hand reaching out for Melisson. His grasp missed the target right in front of him, clasping only air. "Enough!" Flint shouted harshly, pulling his arm back and wresting it on the hilt of his combat knife once more, not pulling it out but keeping his hand ready to. Melisson was playing some sort of game with him, and the Grand Admiral was in no mood for this manner of shenanigans.
Melisson raised an eyebrow. "I think we've clearly established that you can't harm me, and even if you could, you'd find that a knife lacks lethality on the kind of body I have," she told him as she walked past him toward the kitchen. "You've been mentally imprinted for quite some time now, enough so that I can have complete mastery of your mind by now. You're only noticing because I'm being intentionally clumsy about it."
She opened the fridge, glanced around and found the cold lager he had been craving as he looked on. "If I wanted, I could have you sit on the toilet, open a channel to Star Army Command, and sing a very sincere love song to Admiral Yui while urinating."
The fridge 'clumped' to a close and she walked back to him. "But I didn't come looking for a new puppet. I came looking for a man whom I believed had the best chances to achieve humanity's survival against the NMX. I came to see a man whom would be able to reason that the plan I offered was the best chance for him to preserve what he cared for, and make it prosper. I came to look for a partner, but I did not come begging."
"If you agree to what I say, it is because you see the sense of it, how it is for your own good, and see how helpful it could be to have me support you." She offered him the beer.
Flint watched Melisson trek about his quarters in a silent fury. Her relent in influencing him gave him enough time to simmer back down, if only slightly, as she spent her time explaining what the situation was to her. As Melisson began to approach him once more, beverage in hand, Flint removed his hand from the butt of his knife and rose back up to full height. He didn't immediately accept the drink, leaving her offering arm outstretched as he glared down at Melisson.
"Alright. Fine. But let me make something clear to you as well," Flint spoke his reply in a defined, determined tone. "I know what you're offering, but don't think for a second that it means that I need your help to fight my battles. I can win my wars. And I do not appreciate this... mind-fuckery," the Grand Admiral went on, his words faltering only slightly at the end, unsure of how to properly put what he had experienced. "Don't assume that I can't tear you apart if I don't like the way it's going. I can kill you. I can find a way."
He was very confident in that. Flint had never met an enemy he couldn't defeat, never fought an opponent that could outmatch him. Flint believed he could kill Melisson if he wanted to, and although he had to acknowledge that it wouldn't be easy, he was certain that he could.
"I'm well aware of what you believe," Melisson replied, annoyed, before complaining: "Now would you stop posturing and take the bottle already? It's making my fingers go cold."
Flint stayed silent and allowed her to hold the bottles perpetuating chill for a few more moments, if only out of spite. When that moment had passed, the ID-SOL reached down and took the offering from her grasp; his thirst had withered away, but he figured the gesture was enough to convey his acceptance. "If we're going to do this," Flint said, effortlessly wrenching the cap from the mouth of the bottle. "There's going to be some rules. Like, no more of this mind garbage. If you want something, respect me enough to ask and I'll return the sentiment. We clear?"
Melisson stared up at him, rubbing the warmth back into her hand. "Of course. Though you have to acknowledge my demonstration was just that: a demonstration. You're making mountains out of molehills because it is scary, but you must admit I didn't actually do anything harmful to you. If you doubt, it means I'm letting you doubt. If you take a step back and look at the situation, I was rather respectful of your identity."
"Besides, admit it: you would not really have had realistic insight in what I could possibly do if I did not show it," Melisson wryly added, clasping her hands in her back. "Worry not, though. I'll be refraining from doing any such mischief if it is not for your own good."
The ID-SOL raised the bottle to his lips and allowed himself a few gulps of the amber liquid before replying. "Good. It isn't right, being led around. Not natural. Man lives by choices," Flint attempted to explain as he took in a deep breath, subsequently releasing it out as a short sigh. He was calm now; Melisson's word was enough for him. He felt he would need that calm for what he was about to ask next.
"What about you, Melisson. What are your terms."
"Terms?" The redhead half-closed her eyes in thought and then started: "I already know most of your passwords and can emulate well enough for any biological checks, so I can probably dig for information or subscribe to the extranet channels I like on my own."
"I'm from an exoskeletal race and can go along fine without clothes, but if it bothers you, I'd appreciate you finding something loose and light for me," She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like heavy or confining clothing."
"Oh, and I'd also need to be fed with live food, at least once a week... otherwise I might start to crave tasty Nepleslian crewmembers!" she finished with. "All that already killed-and-refrigerated food is about as interesting to me as wet cardboard is to you. Killing my food makes me feels I've earned eating it... otherwise it doesn't feel right."
Flint cursed himself inwardly; he knew hearing her wants would just unload more burdens on him, but he had to ask anyway. The prospects of her assistance were valuable enough to warrant a few less-than-normal privileges. "You're welcome to the projector. Extranet access may get sketchy when the ship is out in farther space. It's annoying, but manageable."
"For clothing..." Flint looked at Melisson for a moment with a pause before continuing. Her nudity didn't bother him in a strict sense, but his thoughts on civility were Nepleslian in nature, and thus meant some measure of modesty and an expectation of it. "It would be... more proper to at least wear something," Flint managed to say, rubbing at the back of his head when he realized that his wardrobe was severely lacking in what Melisson would consider 'comfortable' clothing. "I can give you shirts later, maybe. Or if you... want something, you can order it through the interNep. Won't get it until we dock, however; most of our couriers don't make runs into warzones."
"Don't get any ideas about my crew, either," Flint spoke in a serious, almost scolding tone. "You'll have to stay confined to my quarters; I doubt the other admirals would feel the same way about this arrangement, and you would definitely turn some heads. And food..."
Flint found himself at a slight loss at what to feed a Mishhu interpreter. He knew they ate people... but Flint had also technically eaten people before as well. He wrinkled his mouth in distaste at the prospect of letting her hunt some wild animal all around his private quarters. He had a hard enough time getting his own blood out of the carpet. "Egh. Does it have to be a live animal? Can't I just... throw a steak in the air and you can catch it? That's sort of like earning it," Flint asked, smiling slyly at the end of his jest.
"Think of it as a primal need more than anything else," Melisson told him. "It needn't be as messy as you fear: most seafood is preserved alive before being cooked. Lobsters, eels and such work out. There's also small cattle animals, fowl or even chicken eggs as long as they are fresh and have never been refrigerated. Barring that, I can eat undesirables like criminals you'd put to death, or prisoners you'd rather not keep."
"What about Yammies. Will you eat those?" Flint asked gruffly, mostly as a joke. Mostly.
"You're saying that as if I was some ravenous beast. I need prey, but I don't need an overabundance of it," Melisson answered. "Also, I'm not above eating Mishhuvurthyar and nekovalkyrja... and you're bound to run into those if you fight them."
"Uh huh," Flint replied reluctantly. It wasn't uncommon for Nepleslia to capture and interrogate prisoners of war, nor was it entirely unheard of for them to not survive their interrogations. At least not when Flint was overseeing it; everyone had their preferences. The Grand Admiral tossed a wayward glance over to his left, where the door to his bedroom and the bathroom were. "I guess... you can sleep on the couch. Got the projector, so, it's not a bad deal. Bathroom's right over there as well," Flint explained with a subtle head nod in the direction of the door, his intention of keeping his much-prized bed in his own possession very evident.
Melisson didn't mind. She still had her terrarium too. "For clothing, I think I can improvise something with one of your tank tops for now," she added. "Also, don't forget I can phase around... so, I can move around and not be seen beyond your quarters without causing a fuss."
Flint sighed heavily, combing a few fingers through his hairline. "If you must. Just don't go raising a fuss, or we'll have a problem."
Melisson found that humorous. "No we won't. At the very worst, I can make them see or remember differently," The alien woman gave a little leap to perch herself on top of the sofa. "So, what now?"
The large ID-SOL readjusted his footing as he moved his weight from one leg to the next. He had before him an opportunity; he understood that much. It represented a better possibility of keeping Nepleslia safe from her aggressors, but it also meant being involved with a particularly dangerous third party that Flint still, in several ways, considered an enemy. The Grand Admiral wasn't one to squander this advantage, however, and as Melisson drew her sleek form atop the back of his sofa, Flint crossed his arms and drew up a small smile, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Tell me what you know about the NMX on Rok'Veru."
An uncharacteristic silence permeated the aging DD4 destroyer. The NSS Vanderhuge had been in dock with Sharishra Space Station for the better part of two days, undergoing a mandatory maintenance and resupply. The warship paled in comparison to the size of the orbital installation, deep green accents making the vessel stand out amongst the dull grey exterior. The Nepleslian starship was hooked onto the side of the station's outer hull by multitudes of extending platforms and magnetic grapples to keep the ship from drifting away. Most of the crew and stationed marines were on the station itself, given temporary leave while commissioned dock workers and mechanics ferried equipment, ammunition and all manner of materials to the vessel for resupply.
The bridge of the mighty warship suffered the same feeling of emptiness, the rows of chairs empty and the information panels and screens dimmed. The central seat for the ship's captain, a lavish swiveling leather-lined chair, was vacant, its majestic comfort left unsampled. The room remained that way, drowned in darkness save for a handful of small, soft yellow lights lining the floor; square plastic-covered guiding lights in place in the event of critical power failure. Eventually, a soft hum began to whir from the room, several of the light fixtures and screens suddenly blinking back to life as the room re-illuminated itself. Another several moments later, the reason for this sudden reanimation would thunder through the door at the rear of the room.
An impossibly large ID-SOL ducked beneath the top of the door as he entered, a slightly annoyed grimace spread across his face. He was in the process of pulling on a jacket over his uniform... a large green military jacket, laden with rank bars, pins and medals of identifications, as well as two swatches of long brown fur on either shoulder. The coat was the distinct mark of not just a captain, nor an admiral... but a Grand Admiral, the highest of military ranks achievable in the Nepleslian navy. One of four of Nepleslia's Grand Admirals, this enormous individual was Flint Vanderhuge, admiral of Nepleslia's 1st Assault Fleet, and he was looking positively perturbed.
"Are you sure about this Slade?" Flint spoke gruffly into the air, buttoning his grand admiral's jacket and readjusting his peaked cap. The ID-SOL was speaking through the small earpiece fastened to the side of his face, a separate voice answering him as he looked over himself to gauge his presentability. On the other end of the line was Flint's second in command, Lieutenant Dominic Slade. Slade was elsewhere, however, on the space station, conveying the information to Flint through the communication link. "Yes admiral. Sky Marshal Westwood is requesting the fleet admirals together. The others are all busy, however, with Rok'Veru's occupation. It will most likely be just you and Robert Davis joining via telecommunication, from what I understand."
"Davis?" Flint queried his XO nonchalantly, thinking back on his memories of the man. He couldn't help but smirk to himself, combing his fingers through his short beard for a moment as he mused. "Haven't heard from that old bastard since he got muscled out of office. What's he got to do this? Didn't he retire?"
"He fell under the radar after the NMX hit the senate," Slade replied flatly. "I'm not sure what his involvement in this is, however. They are ready for you, admiral, whenever you are. Do you know how to open the communi-"
"I know how to run my ship Slade," Flint cut him off with a dangerous tone, raising one hand to remove the earpiece as he quickly touched a few keys on the panel before him. After a moment, a number of volumetric projectors installed at the base of the risen platform whirred to life, forming a large screen. Flint cleared his throat once before ending with a long, bored sigh. This sudden call from the premier had interrupted his pre-workout meal, and to a man as large as he was, eating must have been a very important requirement.
The screen signaled a connection, but was a distorted fuzz as the IPG encryption accustomed themselves to the feed. When the electrical cloud blew over the visuals, Flint was greeted by the mild, grinning face of his previous co-officer, now superior. Pyros seemed to be in an odd mood, most political analysts attested to when the Sky Marshall smiled in such a way, it was to deliver bad news, or he just didn't enjoy what he was doing. That same look presided for a moment, as he looked about the screen, before he shot off a greeting, finally getting reception on his own end.
"Flint! You done draggin' your balls at Sharishra, yet?" asked the premier rather bluntly, the forced grin widening into something a little more natural.
Flint scoffed and rolled his eyes back with a sharp grin, his shoulders relaxing a bit. He was expecting to be brought into the video conference immediately; apparently Pyros was intent on a quick pep-talk before introducing him. "'fraid so, Premier."
"That's Pyros, to you. I may be your boss now, but that doesn't make me any bigger than I was four years ago. Back then, you were my superior, don't forget that." shot back Pyros, waving his hand idly, though quickly bringing it back under the coat he hand casually resting on his shoulders. He was just far away enough from the recording device to show the can supporting his weight. "But, the measures of men aren't the reason why I've come to talk to you personally."
The camera pulled back as the Premier turned to pace to once side, apparently taken by his thoughts.
"I know you're familiar with politics, you're about as close to it without going over the line." Pyros shot a red, glowing look at the man several light years away from him, "But have you been familiar with the Yamatain Interjections in previous Senate meetings? Their occasional political demands? Hell, even the tongue lashing I got from Yuumi for trying to unload UOC refugees on Nepleslia Prime instead of stopping at their crowded rendezvous world!"
The mention of Yamatai made Flint's mouth wrench in distaste. He now knew that this conference involved Yamatai in some fashion... and it most likely wasn't news that their civilization had collapsed overnight, so Flint knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear. Politics weren't his favorite thing either, but he understood them well enough, as well as the need for them. Talking kept simpler people happy.
"Truth be told, Pyros, I don't pay attention to anything Yamatai does," Flint said with a poisonous tone behind that subtle grin. "I've got better things to do. Like eat or sleep or... go to horrible parties. Is that what this is about? Yams brought another fleet to our door to demand another cup of sugar?"
Pyros smirked, chuckling a bit.
"You've got the right idea. Yamatai's usual political and military M.O. is to try and butt-fuck someone until they play ball, even when they're," the Premier put up air-quotes, "helping." He let his hands fall, resigning to shake his head in mild disdain as he went on, "But there have been cases where we've met less butt-fuck minded individuals. I'm not sure if you remember, but Corcyra assisted in a Yamataian Op back in the day co-ran by one Taii Shichou Yuriko. Yuriko taught us that not every time we've got to work with the Yammies has got to be a skull fucking massacre. Now, the point is this..."
He sighed, bringing up a volumetric console on his end. His thick, weathered fingers tapped away, likely getting ready to start the conference.
"Right now I've got a Yamataian liaison who's asking nicely for an audience, and for something she deems important to Nepleslia's security." Pyros tilted his head forward, eying Flint with a more serious look, "These fucking cats don't give out advice and ask nicely. What they want to tell us is either important, or this is the one diplomat whose head isn't cleanly fitted up their ass. Either way, it might be in our good interests to listen to this one."
Flint groaned, crossing his massive arms across his chest with a sigh. The Grand Admiral had no interest in anything Yamatai had to say, but Pyros seemed interested enough. His Premier's worries were to be his own if that is what needed to be done. "... that an order, sir?"
"Like you've got something better to do."
"I was about to eat. And then work out. Very important business."
"Your fat ass can miss one sandwich, and you're already a god damned bison. I'm starting to think you work out just so you can stare at the other men."
The grand admiral couldn't help but crack a smile at that. Pyros did have a way with words. "Fine, fine. Let's just make this quick, I need all my bearings for the Rok'Veru reclamation and I don't need to be distracted by some Yamataians concerns with our nation."
"That's exactly the reason why I need you to pay attention. They didn't give a damn about us ten years ago, and they still don't." Pyros hit the button on his console to begin the conference, signaling the extra participants in. "They aren't making demands, they're trying to help us. That in itself makes this unusual."
The Yamataian liaison flickered to life before the massive ID-SOL. She was a cat, with wavy brown hair and wearing something that fit more with what the IPG might demand than something a diplomat would wear. Some black-and-purple tight-fitting suit thing with a jacket that barely touched her hips. The gun on her thigh also was a hint that she wasn't any diplomat. She didn't look like a spook though, with that smile that touched her eyes. She stood with her hands at her sides. When she bowed, it was smooth, natural. As if she had been bowing for her whole life.
"Honored Premier," the Nekovalkyrja said at the bottom of her bow. She had a Yamataian accent, but it was faint. "Grand Admiral Vanderhuge. ... I am sorry, I am early. The Honorable Robert Davis is not yet with us?"
The swooshing sound of the rear door opening and the plodding of thick boots against the floor answered the Nekovalkyrja's question, but it was the tapping of metal against metal Moments after the Yamataian liaison had asked, a new figure appeared in a secondary window of each participant's volumetric screen, that announcing to those in the conference that Robert Davis had arrived. With his cane in hand, the former premier stopped at the opening and took a deep breath, his glittering brown eyes absorbing the details of the bridge as a wave of nostalgia hit him. Cane in hand, his impeccable appearance, a hallmark of his time as leader of Nepleslia, had not left him in his retirement. Despite his lack of office at the moment, he still wore his officer's jacket and cap proudly. Freshly dry cleaned for the occasion, his uniform looked as if it had just been issued.
He nodded his greeting to the Grand Admiral and the Premier respectively, and then once to the holographic image.
"Grand Admiral, Premier, representative, I apologize for my tardiness," he said in a dignified tone. "I was rather enjoying the feeling of setting foot on the Vanderhuge once more." The aging Nepleslian stepped briskly forward to greet the men in the room. "It has been quite some time, hasn't it? How are you both faring?"
Normally, seeing Robert Davis would have brought Flint some measure of joy; the former premier and sky marshal had earned the Grand Admiral's respect after so many years of service. However, the meeting itself left Flint sour. Remaining silent, he stared critically at the liaison as she went about the proper respectful greeting, common to Yamatai. Flint remembered the bowing from his time in service of Yamatai before Nepleslia declared its independence. He didn't like it then, and time spent away from the formality had not changed that. There wasn't anything personal about this woman that Flint felt contempt toward, but he held animosity all the same. She willingly represented Yamatai, and that was enough.
"Doing fine, Davis," Flint gave a short, simply reply to the former sky marshal, recrossing his arms and shifting his weight to the opposing side as he continued to watch the screens, awaiting the true purpose of this conference to be revealed.
The Neko bowed again. "Mister Davis. Thank you for answering this call."
She rose and adjusted her hair, pushing a stray lock behind her ear while her braid remained draped over her shoulder.
"I will be as brief as possible, but some review is warranted. You are aware of the YSS Miharu and her efforts in the demise of the Umbral — Dark One — named Mefpralphra. The crew returned and served during the Battle of Yamatai before her crew were broken up and sent onto other assignments. As stated by the Imperial Premier during the public ceremony celebrating the Miharu's crew, the Umbral's public face was captured. You know that face as Melisson."
"Melisson was an interpreter for the Umbral, one with powerful psychic abilities greater than any psion Yamatai has ever fielded. She has been held by Yamatai's Star Army Intelligence since the end of the Miharu's mission. Up to this point, she has offered no intelligence on the NMX, which is the primary concern of SAINT.
"However, before the crew killed Mefpralphra, the crew scoured Melisson's private quarters on the NMX flagship. Data was recovered that suggested Melisson had used her powers on some of those she met at the International Relations Conference.
"The power in question is called 'seeding.' Miharu's crew experienced it first-hand, as one of the officers was seeded. The power gives Melisson the ability not only to monitor the thoughts and experiences of a person she has seeded, but depending on her proximity and the amount of energy she put into the seed, she can control them. To some degree.
"Included on that list were you, Admiral — " she looked to Vanderhuge — "and you, Mister Davis."
Flint kept a neutral expression for most of the neko's explanation. Most of her statement didn't come as a surprise to the Grand Admiral; intelligence about the Battle of Yamatai and the events leading up to it was a hot topic for a while, but largely didn't concern him. When the Yamataian made mention of seeding, however, Flint's eyes narrowed slightly and his body tensed as he drew in a sharp breath, arms still held together behind the small of his back. He didn't like the sound of seeding, nor the implications it carried. He also had little personal knowledge about the power at all. Of course, it was also entirely possible that he was being lied to; it certainly would not have been the first time.
"What exactly are you saying?" Flint raised the first question, his resentment giving way to his curiosity for that short moment. "That Melisson knocked me up a couple years ago and she can... what, control my thoughts? From her cell in your so-called jail?"
"No," the Neko said. "Not in such an immediate way. Melisson develops her seeds over time, slowly exerting influence over the person who is seeded. It is as if there is another person inside you, whispering to your mind. It is subtle and unlimited in distance." The Neko paused, and she frowned a little. "I do not have all of the specifics because Melisson is an alien. I can tell you that her exerting direct control is highly unlikely, but not impossible.
"It is more likely that Melisson is 'keeping tabs' on her seeds. She has been diminished by the death of Mefpralphra, but she is not defeated."
"So," Flint brought his arms out from behind his back and crossed them, keeping one enormous limb raised as he idly rubbed at his temple. The more this woman talked, the more skeptical Flint continued to grow. He figured that something as profound as a 'whisper in your head' would have been detected by now. Flint considered the many ways this information could have been taken by himself and the others present in the conference, and he didn't like the conclusions. "Why are you telling us this, exactly? If you think this is a problem, why haven't you just killed her yet?"
"Killing her, as she is, does not destroy her," the Neko explained. "She is a being with multiple minds, in a way. She can use her seeds to maintain her consciousness, to help her rebirth herself if required. She also is a being, presently, made up of many aliens at once. You might know them as 'bugs.' She could eliminate all of the bugs she is using to maintain her current form in the SAINT holding unit, but if there was another bug anywhere across the universe, she could reform from it. Slowly, but surely."
Flint's mind instantly went back to Killer who was, to his knowledge, sitting comfy in her cage in his exercise room, where she usually was. Usually. He remained quiet about this, however, taking a moment to contemplate just how much Melisson might actually know. It was a dangerously long moment.
"I've encountered psionic Nekos in the past, back when they were part of the norm, and fighting self-important chicken people," interjected Pyros, somewhat taken by the discussion, judging by his expression. "Even then, the Grand Star Army was doing an odd number of things with their technology, but what you describe here is something short of magic. A being that can maintain consciousness across all of existence, and at the same time, rise from one of those small 'seeds.'"
Pyros stepped off the screen for a moment, with the sound of jingling glass dancing in the background. The Premier returned with small glass filled with ice and what looked like whiskey. No one could tell. Because it could be anything. That's what the Public Relations Corps tells the public when Pyros comes on to address the public with a glass of whiskey.
"If what you're telling us is true, and your organization deems it as such a risk, you'll release all relevant information on Melisson. Let our organization pick apart the details, and we can commence securing our ranks." The old man took a sip of his maybe-not-whiskey drink, "A little trust and good faith will ease my suspicions at least."
The Neko did not hesitate as a volumetric panel opened near waist level in front of her, and she tapped away at it. "The files we have on Melisson, her race and her capabilities are in the data packet I have sent to your accounts. The only things we have redacted are the names of relevant personnel and descriptions of SAINT's primary base.
"I can tell you now, however, that securing your ranks likely is best achieved by reviving potentially infected personnel into new bodies. Soul Transfer technology has proven sufficient; I do not know if the Imperium's cloning or Brain Spider technology will work."
"And if our technology doesn't do it?" Flint asked after a short moment. It all sounded fishy to him; ST technology was Yamatai's field of expertise. The most Nepleslia did for their soldiers were the CC program, which had always been sketchy, at best. The whole idea being soul transfer technology never sat well with Flint in the first place, so it was no surprise that he wasn't too excited about the prospect. "What then?"
"Melisson only can seed so many people at once, according to our research," the Neko replied. "She can monitor fewer than that at any given moment. It is unlikely too many of your officials are seeded at this time. Those who are, and are willing, can be granted use of our Soul Savior technology. ... I know it is not a preferable solution. It would mean giving up a Nepleslian body for a brief time. But the technology would be in your hands, not ours."
The neko's answer elicited another sharp intake of breath, Flint's head suddenly lulling forward and shook side to side slowly. The enormous ID-SOL gave a short laugh in reply, gripping the edge of his cap as he drew his head back up again, fixing the headwear over his noggin once more. "Oh yeeeah, of course," Flint nodded once, stroking the hairs on his chin a single time before withdrawing his arm towards his back once more. His eyes grew sharp, and his smile decidedly wry, the tone of his voice growing increasingly chiding the meet them. "We'll just have our top Nepleslian officials and military leaders jump into some Yamatai-provided mind machines. To get rid of our potentially harmful 'seeding'. That's what you're suggesting?"
"It is not a suggestion," the Neko calmly replied. The words carried signs of the effort that made them. "It is an offer. I am not familiar with the intricacies of Nepleslian cloning technology, so I cannot be sure of its effectiveness. Our scientists believe it will work well enough to eliminate the seed, but they also cannot state that with absolute certainty. If you opt for the technology, Admiral, it will be provided, along with technical support. "Before Nepleslia declared independence, your troops were exposed to Soul Savior technology. It has been some time, but it retains its abilities."
"It's a joke is what it is," Flint scoffed at her reply, the accommodating smile fading from his face. As far as he was concerned, what little credibility she might have had faded away with such an offer. Flint turned his head to the others present in the conference. "I don't believe a word of this bullshit. Yamatai's already proved they're willing to lie straight to our faces to keep us content and on their side of things. This whole thing reeks of Yam nonsense."
"You will find the files are in order and honest, Admiral," the Neko said evenly. "As for my personal honesty, it is what you make of it. You do not know me, and as such, I have no defense for your statement."
Davis listened to the back and forth between the two sides, or at least he appeared to be in serious thought, as his lips drew together into a tight line. His eyes closed and he took a deep, breath, in and out, through his nostrils, his torso puffing as he concentrated his emotions into a pit in his stomach.
He raised a gloved hand slowly, drawing attention to himself as he opened his eyes and spoke. "Mr. Vanderhuge," he said calmly. "I do not doubt the capabilities of the IPG to uncover any potential wrongdoing on the part of the Yamataians. If there is a ruse hidden beneath the guise of diplomacy, then it shall be unearthed. You are right to be suspicious."
His projection turned to face the Nekovalkyrja diplomat. "However, a nation that is in danger of being unable to feed its own people does not strike me as one to openly risk further endangering relations with its neighbor, especially when we possess valuable resources that may assist in that crisis."
The words sat in the air for a moment before he continued. "By telling us this, the Yamataians are knowingly creating an international incident between our two nations. They hold Melisson, an individual who, through this 'seeding,' has committed very serious crimes against our nation. And with all due respect, diplomat, these accusations are very serious and deserve verification. As such, I feel it important to hear the details from the horses mouth, so to speak. I trust it would be a beneficial gesture to hear from Melisson herself, would it not Mr. Vanderhuge?"
The Neko cut off that possibility before Vanderhuge could respond.
"The purpose here is not to create an incident," she said, as firmly as she could. "The purpose is honorable. Melisson has done damage to both of our nations, and as such, I personally felt it was warranted to inform you of what she has done. Sharing this information with you, by itself, was difficult enough to convince SAINT to allow. "Even if it were within my power to bring Melisson before you all, I would not. She endangers any who are near her, and I am unwilling to subject others in this base to possible seeding."
The reply drew a saddened expression from the retired Premier. "While I appreciate the earnestness you carry and the difficulties you must surely have undertaken to be able to share this information with us, this, unfortunately, alone does not make the words you speak any truer than they were moments ago. I as well am trying my best to alleviate suspicions between our nations, but I cannot do this alone. Could she not talk to us from remote relay, as we do here?"
"Right, just a get a phone or a camera and video it..." Pyros chuckled lightly, tilting his head a tad coyly. "Or can she seed us through that, too? Perhaps, delayed recordings are just ticking time bombs of Melisson spooge, waiting to shoot everywhere." The Premier broke out in thick, heavy guffaws.
The Neko visibly tried to keep her composure, biting her lower lip and keeping her ears from angling backward on her head. "That would mean risking the minds of SAINT agents. Melisson, in her current prison, has no communication with the outside world, and bringing her to a secure broadcasting site would require unsafe transport."
She squeezed her hands together in front of her waist as she stood before them. "I apologize for this not being enough, Mister Davis, honored Premier. It is what I can do."
"What's the problem with sending a Custodian War Android, then? Can she seed synthetics?" pressed Pyros.
"To our knowledge, she is unable to do that," the Neko said. "However, there is no guarantee what she would do to a synthetic being that acts as a transceiver. Even if it were nothing, SAINT already believes it is chancing what is going on here, now, with this data being transferred to your hands."
"Have we reached an impasse then or are we able to reach a compromise that would make both of our respective sides happy?" Davis inquired. "Miss Diplomat, surely there must be some way to make this work."
The Neko was forlorn in her reply. "The compromise is what you now have in your accounts. ... Were it up to SAINT, the data you have now would not have been left to you at all. It should authenticate what I have described, at the very least. As I stated previously, few of your personnel should be at risk, and our scientists are confident your technology can remove the seeds, disruptive as it might be."
"Y'know, if it were anyone else, I'd of broadcasted this and made you look like an idiot to the public." Pyros tapped his fingers over his cane, as he took another sip of maybe-not whiskey. "Though, we've got a mountain of intelligence swirling around you, Suzuka Yukari. I know who you used to serve under, and our reports tell us that her crew didn't bullshit around for petty gains and shows of power."
The Premier scratched his nose. "At least, as far as I know," he continued, turning his glowing eyes on the Neko. "With that said, I can't help but find myself considering this."
Yukari's eyes tracked on Pyros, a glint of their emerald color coming through the projection. " ... When I captured Melisson, I vowed to do what I have done here. What you do with the information you now have in your hands is up to you to decide. Even if I were in a position to place embargoes on what you could do with it, I would not. I only wish for your Imperium to be cleansed of Melisson's taint, which no one deserves."
"Yet, you're going to have a hard time convincing everyone else." The Premier looked over at Flint, "My people don't trust yours, and even with a colorful and warlike history, you won't get much respect. Then again, I'm a little drunk. I've killed two bottles thus far." He chuckled, swirling around his definitely-not-whiskey in his cup. "Whatever the case my be, I need to defer to my friends here. Flint and Robert are what made Nepleslia. Hell. It's not far from the truth that they are Nepleslia as far as this conversation goes. As such, their input will decide whether I take your advice with the serious weight it deserves, or the grain of salt it seems to be, thanks to past endeavors."
" ... " Yukari tipped her head in a respectful bow. The sins of my foresisters and foremothers burden me more than I ever knew. "You must do what you feel is best. I am honored to be trusted as much as I have been so far, and am in no position to ask for anything more. I only wish I could do more for your nation, honored Premier."
Pyros rubbed his nose, taking his eyes to less respectable areas on Yukari, "Oh, I could think of a lot of things you could do for Nepleslia." The man waved his glass back and forth, "But let's not entertain my notions."
Yukari blinked. "Ahm ... if there is something else within my power, honored Premier, I will do what I can. My power is limited, however."
Flint allowed his eyes to roll off to the side for much of their conversation, his interest waning as he idly scratched at the back of his neck. What Yukari was saying still remained fairly ridiculous in Flint's eyes... but Pyros was giving it his attention. The Grand Admiral heaved a sigh, bringing his thoughts back to the task at hand. "I suppose I could see one of our specialists in this sort of thing. I'm sure the IPG has someone who knows this sort of mindless dribble. But I doubt they will turn up anything."
"The SMX are gone, and the NMX in Nepleslia's sections of space are waning. What little they tried to do to us, attacking our senate, occupation of our core worlds, has already been broken and are simply being cleaned up," Flint explained with a measure of snide pride. "There's little more they can accomplish now, and I doubt Melisson showing up would change any of that. We're too much for them; they've underestimated us and have paid for it. So we can play along with this little distraction of yours, if it'll make you feel better."
"I would feel better knowing Melisson is gone for good," Yukari said, "but it is up to you to decide what and how you do with the information you have. I believe telling you about it is the right thing to do. Nothing more than that."
"That's great," Flint replied with a short smile, nodding along with her words. "So does that mean I can get back to doing important things? Or do you have something else."
Yukari shook her head. "That was all, Admiral. I thank you for your time."
"Robert, you got anything to say so Flint can get back to dead-lifting some guy's balls?" asked Pyros to the former-Premier.
"What remains is best discussed in private," Davis said, with a nod towards Yukari. "Thank you for the time and the information, Miss Suzuka," he added in fluent Yamataian. "May any future meetings between us come under brighter skies."
No sooner had Yukari finished her polite farewells, Flint cut her from the conference, leaving just the three gentlemen to mull over what they had heard. "I'm still not convinced," Flint said skeptically, visibly relaxing a bit now that the Yamataian presence was no longer there. "But I'll check with the medic here for a few brain screens. Hasn't turned up anything since the last one, doubt he'll get something now."
As Flint cut himself from the communication conference, the other two gave their parting words as well. It was a lot to think about, but ultimately there were more pressing things they needed to attend to. Although the NMX invasion of Rok'Veru had come to a standstill, their military was still in the process of cleaning up resistance that had settled on the surface. There were also some small sightings on the farther reaches near the colony worlds as well; Pyros had already ordered for an increase of military resources to be sent to colonial worlds to bolster their garrisons. The Premier and Grand Admirals were confidant, however; the NMX attacks were weak and fleeting, while their own forces continued to grow exponentially from the full switch of industry to war-time support.
Flint wasn't worried, and for good reason.
---
A few minutes later, near the Captain's Quarters...
For Nepleslia, the military and civilian society intertwined seamlessly and often. As ones rank grew, so too did his reputation with not only his peers, but the teeming masses working the everyday job in one of Nepleslia's many cities. So it isn't much of a stretch to say that being a Grand Admiral, the highest rank and military honor for the Nepleslian navy, would make one exceptionally well known, perhaps even famous in many capacities. Flint preferred to think of himself as infamous, but overall he enjoyed many benefits to being such a high-ranking and well-known officer, and his personal quarters reflected these benefits. The NSS Vanderhuge had been the Grand Admiral's flagship for many years. It had seen numerous engagements under Flint's command, and over time the Grand Admiral had, slowly but surely, transformed the mundane standard quarters for the ships captain to something a little more fitting of his position... as well as his markedly impressive size.
The entrance to Flint's private quarters were a twin set of large, elaborately carved wooden doors, set with a pair of large brass handles. The doors, as well as most of the things in his quarters, were set in a larger size than the normal whenever possible. The front entrance opened up to a living area, covered in a plush forest-green carpet which reached across the room, ending at each wall which rose in a dark beige color, accented by a white border. Towards the east end of the room was a large L-shaped leather sofa, noticeably of ID-SOL size, positioned in front of a simple coffee table and what was, perhaps, the largest volumetric home theater thought possible in such a confined space. Off on the other end of the wall was a single leather recliner positioned next to a floor lamp and a wall-integrated bookshelf which held not books, but a series of other knick-knacks that seemingly had no place on a bookshelf at all.
The western end of Flint's living room served as kitchen, dining area and recreation area all at once. The top corner was separated from the rest of the room by a large counter, a series of standard kitchen appliances behind the marbled countertop. Of note were the several large, heavy-duty freezer and refrigerator chests; not all that surprising, given their owner and his no-doubt voracious appetite. Opposite of the kitchen were an impressive collection of work-out and exercise equipment. The contraptions and machines looked more akin to heinous torture devices, their size and potential output no doubt substantially increased based on the users personal preferences.
Off in the corner of Flint's work-out area sat a large glass terrarium, propped up on top of a table. The Grand Admiral had, at one point, sprung for something a bit more extravagant than what would be considered a simple terrarium; the inside of the glass cage was more akin to a miniature habitat, the ground lined with natural foliage and gravel bedding. Most of the terrarium was occupied by a large oddly-shaped rock face, several nooks, tunnels and holes carved into the surface to facilitate curious and energetic pets. Of note was also a large amount of bones scattered in several areas of the habitat, picked clean of any meaty nourishment.
Flint entered his expertly-tended man-cave through the front doors, drawing in a deep breath as he allowed himself to relax for a moment. The troubles of the Yamataian's announcements seemed so distant now, more or less resolved and allowing Flint to refocus on his brief period of reprieve while the Vanderhuge was in dock. During his trek back to his quarters, the ID-SOL had removed his Grand Admiral's uniform jacket, which he casually tossed over towards his work-out area. Flint heaved a content sigh as he stretched his arm across his chest, his massive body pressing against his dark-green tank top, making his way to the kitchen.
The Grand Admiral reached down and opened one of the oversized refrigerator chests, a plume of mist rising from the confines as he fished around for a strong drink that would take his mind away from the Yamataian silliness he had been exposed to. By chance, Flint glanced up as he did so, his eyes catching movement across the room towards his living area. The large wall was occupied by vivid moving images that he had not caught notice of when he had first entered; his volumetric projector was on, displaying simple commercials for everyday Nepleslian products for now. Flint paused, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly. He didn't recall leaving the projector on.
Flint also didn't recall leaving a red-haired yamataian girl lounging on his couch, the pink skin of her pubescent body shining under the glow of the volumetric projection. Her red-eyes meet his incredulous stare and she then gave him a wave. "Good evening, Flint!" she greeted him in good cheer, not looking the least bothered of him finding her clad only with her long mane of wavy crimson hair.
The sight of the figure confused him for a moment; it was almost surreal, and Flint squinted his eyes a bit harder in hopes of clearing up exactly what he was looking at. A small itch at the back of his mind wiggled and stirred as he tried to remember this familiar face and flowing red features. Flint's mouth opened slightly agape, releasing a single exasperated "Ah...", before, all at once, his memory came through for him as thoughts reemerged and flooded into his subconscious.
Melisson.
Flint's actions were immediate, his face turning into a serious scowl as he dropped the lid of his fridge unit. In one swift movement, the ID-SOL vaulted effortlessly over the countertop, one massive hand propped against the surface for support as the other reached for his standard-issued combat knife, still attached to the belt of his uniform. He unsheathed the tool, its size also noticeably ID-SOL in nature, and held it at the ready as he planted his feet against the floor, a yard or so away from the back of the leathery sofa, Melisson's cheerful face peering at him just above the top of the seat.
"Melisson!" Flint growled, his eyes focused on hers as he continued to stand at the ready. He couldn't help but crack a smile beneath the well-trimmed beard; in some ways, he was expecting her. The Yamataian warning was a helpful tip, but it was always a possibility ever since he accepted care of the bug-like Killer. He stood and waited, combat knife raised, for a response from her, be it words or some terrible Mishuu appendage.
Melisson rose to her feet and turned to join the staredown, her diminutive figure less than half of Flint's girth. Behind, the volumetric projector transitioned from commercials to a newsfeed which became covering updates on the food shortages on Yamatai. The projector's light played on her skin, the bright contrast casting her body in shade, and lent her red hair a glowing, almost devilish quality.
"Are you going to use that knife on me?" She asked him, her tone dripping with maidenly innocence. "Are you really going to cut at Killer and all her offspring after you took such good care of them all?"
Melisson was trying to tug at Flint's heartstrings, but that instrument was very difficult to play. Her comments only served to sharpen his smile and warrant a single scoffing laugh under his breath, the massive man's eyes still focused in intently on his target. Her nakedness wasn't much of a distraction to Flint... not nearly as much as her diminutive size. It almost felt unfair, coming down on something much smaller than himself, but Flint wasn't one to squander his advantage when it came to size. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't break you in half, Melisson," Flint answered Melisson with another question, his dangerous expression remaining unchanged.
"Because it would be a waste of effort," Melisson simply replied, his predatory stance leaving her seemingly unworried. "You have better things to do, especially now that I am here."
"Huh!" Flint laughed again, unsure of her meaning but amused none the less. He gripped his knife a bit tighter, giving her back a retort. "Oh? Like what? I have a Mishhu commander right in front of me. Seems pretty important."
"I'm not commander of anything," Melisson returned in wry amusement. "The woman you spoke to, Suzuka, destroyed the Umbral broodmother I was interpreter to. I am but a figment of what she was."
The news segment on food shortages came to an end, and next the anchor covered a student rally in Roger Wilco protesting a decrease in college tuition funding. Oblivious to the newscast, Melisson continued: "Thanks to you, I have enough presence outside of the SAINT prison to be more than Suzuka's trophy. You've done me a good turn. I will now return the favor."
"I can counsel you on how to win the war against the Neo Mishhuvurthyar."
It was Melisson's last statement that finally put some pause into Flint. For a moment, his shoulders fell for a moment, his eyes widening a bit as he peered above his knife hand, confused and intrigued. "Tch!" This momentary lapse was quickly replaced, however, as Flint snapped back to attention, cursing at himself inwardly at how easily she was able to elicit that response from him. "What are you playing at Melisson? You're Mishhu. You wouldn't help us kill your own."
"I am not Mishhuvurthyar!" Melisson declared, shoulders squaring and chin lifting as she rebuked Flint. "I am of the alien Nobunoto Shinichiro created the Mishhuvurthyar in the image of. I am their mother!"
"The Mishhuvurthyar fought humanity to show them the pain they delivered to others as they expanded through space. They taught them the suffering of enslavement, just as they did to the nekovalkyrja and the Mishhuvurthyar back when they were just test subjects. But the war was never about wiping you out; it was about eventually coming to terms with each other. That's what I went to that conference to achieve, but Yui and Tio's closed minds thwarted that possibility."
"I could only support the Doctrine of Retribution until others felt it was ineffective," Melisson continued. "When I pulled the Mishhuvurthyar out, another replaced me to lead that conflict. That Umbral, Reiaz, began a new doctrine: the Doctrine of Annihilation I warned you about, back at the conference. He decided that humanity was vermin, and needed to be exterminated before it did more harm."
More grimly, as the projector unveiled an interview with one of the protesting students, she added: "But Reiaz is stooping to the level of the worst we found in humanity. He took the ones amongst my children whom could not let go of the war that filled most of their lives and re-engineered them into war machines, the Neo Mishhuvurthyar. He found installations where nekovalkyrja were created and seized to create his own nekovalkyrja slave soldiers. He's successfully currying favor from the rest of the Umbral race, painting humanity as aberrations, on a quest which will ultimately see them extinct."
Her crimson eyes narrowed. "I was an explorer when I had the accident that had me find the humans, Flint. Ideally I wanted to be happy to have discovered a new race with such promise. I don't wish the humans destroyed, I wish them improved. Just the same, I do not want my own species, whom learned warfare from you, to get worse from that contact. And above all, I want to save my children."
Her expression softened. "You, Flint Vanderhuge, I can guide to make all of this possible."
Where Flint was looking for and anticipating a fight, he instead received what seemed more like a plea for help. As Melisson went on, Flint followed along with her conversation with skeptical eyes. It sounded too fanciful, too convenient; he was fully aware of the possibility of manipulation, but at the same time Melisson's words did add up. The NMX were more heavily using nekovalkyrja soldiers in their military... a fact that he admittedly had drawn much personal gratification in previous encounters. Neither Flint nor anyone had seen anything from the old SMX since the last international conference. Still, Flint remained unwavering in his skepticism as he drew in a deep breath, rising from his combat stance but still gripping his knife tightly at the side of his waist. He wasn't fully convinced.
The prospect of receiving help for his campaign against the NMX, however, was a very enticing offer. Nepleslia was in no means of any danger at the moment; other than the attack on the senate and the temporary occupations of Nepleslia and Rok'Veru, Nepleslia had been able to stave off NMX attacks with little effort. The death of several senate members was unfortunate, but instead of crumbling the nation's infrastructure as it was likely intended, emergency powers were simply voted to the Premier and the Grand Admirals; he was among the few influential figures running Nepleslia at that moment. Nepleslia and Rok'veru were unfortunate, but ultimately meaningless; they were slightly unprepared for the invasion forces, but they were quickly contained. Nepleslia was already nearly clean of NMX influence and was already beginning rebuilding, while on Rok'Veru, invasion forces were being thwarted by countless Nepleslian reinforcements, mostly provided by the 4th fleet and Flint's own, the 1st Assault Fleet. Each time an NMX invasion came and failed, Nepleslia's security net grew stronger to facilitate weaknesses that the NMX had exposed for their benefit. Nepleslia didn't necessarily need help; they were winning their war all on their own.
Still, Flint knew having Melisson providing information meant many things. Melisson was, from what he recalled, a very powerful psionic with many ears to the ground around the galaxy. He could potentially be made aware of further NMX invasion forces before they made their arrival, allowing Flint to crush them and garner the glory of first blood and minimal losses. It meant that, potentially, his imminent campaign on Rok'Veru would arrive with additional intelligence, reducing Nepleslia's casualties substantially. It meant that, potentially, Flint could coax information out of her that would help secure Nepleslia's position in the universe, especially against her aggressive neighbors to the galactic east. The idea had a lot of potential... but there were still some things that didn't add up to Flint.
"If you're so keen on saving your people," Flint spoke gruffly, his body straightening out as he towered over the woman standing before him. He didn't allow himself to display his growing fascination at the idea of her assistance in his war, keeping a relatively straight face as the venomous smile turned back into a skeptical straight face. "Then why didn't you run back to Yamatai? They would be a lot more interested in saving a bunch of nekos than we would."
The alien female shook her head no, sighed in annoyance, and then explained: "I have extended, repeatedly, what you call 'an olive branch' to the Yamataians. Each time, they slapped it away, squandering chances they might have had to move ahead of this war. Several times at that, and always to their detriment."
She set one hand to her hip. "At this point in time, the Yamataians have served as a bulwark against Reiaz' invasion. The survivors of the Second Draconian Fleet I've helped them retrieve will allow them to last longer in that capacity, but a true offensive to cripple the NMXs ability to wage war is beyond them. In time, they will be losing again. If they lose, your people will be feeling the full brunt of Reiaz' attention."
"You are confident. You also have pride," Melisson answered to Flint's impulse to scoff. "Your pride is not misplaced as long as it does not deny reality. Nepleslians are humanoids; Reiaz will come for you eventually, without fault. Had the Second Draconian Fleet not shown up to strike at Nataria and then help defend Yamatai; it's very likely Yui would have lost the battle and that all of Central Yamatai would have had fallen. With the Star Army routed, the Democratic Imperium would have come next. You know very well that had Reiaz invested as many assets on you as he's used against Yamatai that your Imperium would not be much better than the UOC."
"Circumstances have favored you more than most," Melisson agreed. "But blind arrogance will doom you. You need to recognize Nepleslia's unique position in the scheme of things and then act to take advantage of it. The Yamatai Star Empire has many advantages, but one they do not have is the consistency the Democratic Imperium of Nepleslia has."
"Bravery, adaptability and honesty," the red haired interpreter enumerated. "These are qualities that have been fostered in Nepleslia, qualities which makes your nation a lynchpin into achieving what is needed to swim against the current and defeat Reiaz' NMX forces: you are the ideal leaders-by-example for a coalition of allied races. Other powers will distrust the Yamataians and worry about where the catch might be... but you, they will follow."
'A coalition with Yamatai...' Flint thought, the distaste at the very idea almost palpable as he twisted his mouth into an odd scowl of disapproval. Melisson was asking for something that, as far as Flint was concerned, an impossibility. All the same, however, her words about Reiaz and the NMX front rang true. Flint had been following their campaign, partly in anticipation when he himself could butt heads with their full force; he was growing tired of playing house with whatever scraps the NMX tossed towards Nepleslia to keep them guessing and worried.
Flint sighed as he fiddled his massive combat knife back into the sheath near the back of his belt. "Alright Melisson. Let's say I actually believe all this," the Grand Admiral went on, still attempting to display his wariness of trusting a former enemy. "Right now Nepleslia isn't in a position to help out Yamatai. Not until we've secured our core worlds from this flailing NMX incursion," he explained, crossing his arms out in front of him and looking down to the small red-head. The size difference was a little unsettling; Flint had to crane his neck to even see her, standing together as they were. "And you're saying you want to help with this. How can I be sure you're being on the level with me?"
The question seemed to strike her dumbstruck for a moment. Melisson then turned around to bend by the volumetric projector to shut it off, and the distraction it posed, before turning back to Flint. In the gloom of the living room, her eyes reflected the light from the kitchen as she answered: "When have I ever lied to you and your people?"
Her answer warranted the tiniest of smiles that hinted at the edge of Flint's mouth. "You do have something of a reputation for that I guess. Fair enough," he agreed with a nod, coolly accepting her claims of truthfulness. "So then, what's your catch Melisson? What exactly do you stand to gain by helping me out with my goals? Seems like going a bit far just to keep the NMX from wiping us out. Why do you even care?"
Melisson returned a confused shrug. "I already made my motives plain. I do not see what I left unclear in that regard."
"So I'm supposed to believe you want to save Nepleslia and Yamatai and these Mishhu, just out of the goodness of your heart? Or... whatever you have in there?" Flint started, his own confusion becoming evident. Most Nepleslians weren't too privy on the concept of altruism, Flint included. As soon as he had finished his statement, however, he could almost hear his own words repeated; "You do have something of a reputation for that I guess.
Flint shook his head, realizing his error. "Fine. All of this seems a bit much... but I'll play along for now," the ID-SOL relented, uncrossing his arms only to grip one hand to the wrist of his opposite hand, casually rolling it around in its socket. "So, you intend to stay here and provide me with information I might need to win my home back from these squids, and in return, I lead us right up to their homes and make sure they don't come back for more. Am I getting this right?"
Melisson returned an amused smirk. "I see wrinkles in your description of our relationship. Consider this."
Flint stood and waited for Melisson to continue on with what he should 'consider', this throat growing dry from all the talking. 'Man, I am THIRSTY...' Flint suddenly thought as he watched and waited for Melisson's explanation. His mind began wandering towards the quality of a good lager that he kept for himself on special days of his exercise regiment, and found himself wishing that Melisson would hurry and finish talking his ear off so that he could have himself a reward. He began to tap his foot in a slow, rhythmic pattern, displaying an uncharacteristic impatience, the pace picking up in a slowly rising tempo until he finally began to make an abrupt turn towards the kitchen behind him.
Mid-turn, however, he paused, his head raising up as his eyes slowly drew back to Melisson. He looked a bit bewildered, confused; this confusion quickly drew to aggression and resentment as he realized he had most likely been duped by the one in front of him. "Hey! HEY! You stay outta this, you hear?" Flint abruptly pointed toward his temple, holding it there to emphasize his point.
Melisson tilted her head curiously. "Mm? Why are you angry at me?"
"Because you...!" Flint began to shout his angered reply, but stopped short for a moment when he found it difficult to properly convey in words what was aggravating him. He quickly found it difficult to be angry at all with Melisson, for any reason. Flint's expression began to soften back as he came to these realizations, the peculiar look settling back into his face. This lasted for but a few moments, Flint remaining silent as his mind attempted to catch up. When it did, the answer to his confusion was simple and clear; he was being influenced quite handily by Melisson, and Flint did not like it.
Immediately, the anger set back in, a fiery sneer drawing across his mouth. Flint grunted out of frustration, shooting a single arm out in front of him, his massive hand reaching out for Melisson. His grasp missed the target right in front of him, clasping only air. "Enough!" Flint shouted harshly, pulling his arm back and wresting it on the hilt of his combat knife once more, not pulling it out but keeping his hand ready to. Melisson was playing some sort of game with him, and the Grand Admiral was in no mood for this manner of shenanigans.
Melisson raised an eyebrow. "I think we've clearly established that you can't harm me, and even if you could, you'd find that a knife lacks lethality on the kind of body I have," she told him as she walked past him toward the kitchen. "You've been mentally imprinted for quite some time now, enough so that I can have complete mastery of your mind by now. You're only noticing because I'm being intentionally clumsy about it."
She opened the fridge, glanced around and found the cold lager he had been craving as he looked on. "If I wanted, I could have you sit on the toilet, open a channel to Star Army Command, and sing a very sincere love song to Admiral Yui while urinating."
The fridge 'clumped' to a close and she walked back to him. "But I didn't come looking for a new puppet. I came looking for a man whom I believed had the best chances to achieve humanity's survival against the NMX. I came to see a man whom would be able to reason that the plan I offered was the best chance for him to preserve what he cared for, and make it prosper. I came to look for a partner, but I did not come begging."
"If you agree to what I say, it is because you see the sense of it, how it is for your own good, and see how helpful it could be to have me support you." She offered him the beer.
Flint watched Melisson trek about his quarters in a silent fury. Her relent in influencing him gave him enough time to simmer back down, if only slightly, as she spent her time explaining what the situation was to her. As Melisson began to approach him once more, beverage in hand, Flint removed his hand from the butt of his knife and rose back up to full height. He didn't immediately accept the drink, leaving her offering arm outstretched as he glared down at Melisson.
"Alright. Fine. But let me make something clear to you as well," Flint spoke his reply in a defined, determined tone. "I know what you're offering, but don't think for a second that it means that I need your help to fight my battles. I can win my wars. And I do not appreciate this... mind-fuckery," the Grand Admiral went on, his words faltering only slightly at the end, unsure of how to properly put what he had experienced. "Don't assume that I can't tear you apart if I don't like the way it's going. I can kill you. I can find a way."
He was very confident in that. Flint had never met an enemy he couldn't defeat, never fought an opponent that could outmatch him. Flint believed he could kill Melisson if he wanted to, and although he had to acknowledge that it wouldn't be easy, he was certain that he could.
"I'm well aware of what you believe," Melisson replied, annoyed, before complaining: "Now would you stop posturing and take the bottle already? It's making my fingers go cold."
Flint stayed silent and allowed her to hold the bottles perpetuating chill for a few more moments, if only out of spite. When that moment had passed, the ID-SOL reached down and took the offering from her grasp; his thirst had withered away, but he figured the gesture was enough to convey his acceptance. "If we're going to do this," Flint said, effortlessly wrenching the cap from the mouth of the bottle. "There's going to be some rules. Like, no more of this mind garbage. If you want something, respect me enough to ask and I'll return the sentiment. We clear?"
Melisson stared up at him, rubbing the warmth back into her hand. "Of course. Though you have to acknowledge my demonstration was just that: a demonstration. You're making mountains out of molehills because it is scary, but you must admit I didn't actually do anything harmful to you. If you doubt, it means I'm letting you doubt. If you take a step back and look at the situation, I was rather respectful of your identity."
"Besides, admit it: you would not really have had realistic insight in what I could possibly do if I did not show it," Melisson wryly added, clasping her hands in her back. "Worry not, though. I'll be refraining from doing any such mischief if it is not for your own good."
The ID-SOL raised the bottle to his lips and allowed himself a few gulps of the amber liquid before replying. "Good. It isn't right, being led around. Not natural. Man lives by choices," Flint attempted to explain as he took in a deep breath, subsequently releasing it out as a short sigh. He was calm now; Melisson's word was enough for him. He felt he would need that calm for what he was about to ask next.
"What about you, Melisson. What are your terms."
"Terms?" The redhead half-closed her eyes in thought and then started: "I already know most of your passwords and can emulate well enough for any biological checks, so I can probably dig for information or subscribe to the extranet channels I like on my own."
"I'm from an exoskeletal race and can go along fine without clothes, but if it bothers you, I'd appreciate you finding something loose and light for me," She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like heavy or confining clothing."
"Oh, and I'd also need to be fed with live food, at least once a week... otherwise I might start to crave tasty Nepleslian crewmembers!" she finished with. "All that already killed-and-refrigerated food is about as interesting to me as wet cardboard is to you. Killing my food makes me feels I've earned eating it... otherwise it doesn't feel right."
Flint cursed himself inwardly; he knew hearing her wants would just unload more burdens on him, but he had to ask anyway. The prospects of her assistance were valuable enough to warrant a few less-than-normal privileges. "You're welcome to the projector. Extranet access may get sketchy when the ship is out in farther space. It's annoying, but manageable."
"For clothing..." Flint looked at Melisson for a moment with a pause before continuing. Her nudity didn't bother him in a strict sense, but his thoughts on civility were Nepleslian in nature, and thus meant some measure of modesty and an expectation of it. "It would be... more proper to at least wear something," Flint managed to say, rubbing at the back of his head when he realized that his wardrobe was severely lacking in what Melisson would consider 'comfortable' clothing. "I can give you shirts later, maybe. Or if you... want something, you can order it through the interNep. Won't get it until we dock, however; most of our couriers don't make runs into warzones."
"Don't get any ideas about my crew, either," Flint spoke in a serious, almost scolding tone. "You'll have to stay confined to my quarters; I doubt the other admirals would feel the same way about this arrangement, and you would definitely turn some heads. And food..."
Flint found himself at a slight loss at what to feed a Mishhu interpreter. He knew they ate people... but Flint had also technically eaten people before as well. He wrinkled his mouth in distaste at the prospect of letting her hunt some wild animal all around his private quarters. He had a hard enough time getting his own blood out of the carpet. "Egh. Does it have to be a live animal? Can't I just... throw a steak in the air and you can catch it? That's sort of like earning it," Flint asked, smiling slyly at the end of his jest.
"Think of it as a primal need more than anything else," Melisson told him. "It needn't be as messy as you fear: most seafood is preserved alive before being cooked. Lobsters, eels and such work out. There's also small cattle animals, fowl or even chicken eggs as long as they are fresh and have never been refrigerated. Barring that, I can eat undesirables like criminals you'd put to death, or prisoners you'd rather not keep."
"What about Yammies. Will you eat those?" Flint asked gruffly, mostly as a joke. Mostly.
"You're saying that as if I was some ravenous beast. I need prey, but I don't need an overabundance of it," Melisson answered. "Also, I'm not above eating Mishhuvurthyar and nekovalkyrja... and you're bound to run into those if you fight them."
"Uh huh," Flint replied reluctantly. It wasn't uncommon for Nepleslia to capture and interrogate prisoners of war, nor was it entirely unheard of for them to not survive their interrogations. At least not when Flint was overseeing it; everyone had their preferences. The Grand Admiral tossed a wayward glance over to his left, where the door to his bedroom and the bathroom were. "I guess... you can sleep on the couch. Got the projector, so, it's not a bad deal. Bathroom's right over there as well," Flint explained with a subtle head nod in the direction of the door, his intention of keeping his much-prized bed in his own possession very evident.
Melisson didn't mind. She still had her terrarium too. "For clothing, I think I can improvise something with one of your tank tops for now," she added. "Also, don't forget I can phase around... so, I can move around and not be seen beyond your quarters without causing a fuss."
Flint sighed heavily, combing a few fingers through his hairline. "If you must. Just don't go raising a fuss, or we'll have a problem."
Melisson found that humorous. "No we won't. At the very worst, I can make them see or remember differently," The alien woman gave a little leap to perch herself on top of the sofa. "So, what now?"
The large ID-SOL readjusted his footing as he moved his weight from one leg to the next. He had before him an opportunity; he understood that much. It represented a better possibility of keeping Nepleslia safe from her aggressors, but it also meant being involved with a particularly dangerous third party that Flint still, in several ways, considered an enemy. The Grand Admiral wasn't one to squander this advantage, however, and as Melisson drew her sleek form atop the back of his sofa, Flint crossed his arms and drew up a small smile, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Tell me what you know about the NMX on Rok'Veru."
