ONE WEEK KING - Bracewell Port
16 Apr 2018Commander-Wingnut
Remember, Wingnut. Decorum.
Being among a society of noble aristocrats, you are expected to conduct yourself with dignity and poise at all times.
Eye contact.
Square your shoulders.
Fold your arms thus.
Keep your heels together.
Turn your nose high, and address everyone you meet with the utmost of chivalry - as befits your rank.
You are on parade now.
Do as the Romans do.
He - or more specifically, Outsider Robert Archer - was meeting his first Imperial contact, under the pretense of having been a political prisoner of the Federation for three years.
Released under the auspice of a routine prisoner exchange, "Archer" was now among the controlling faction in this particular slice of the Empire's capital territory.
::--::
"Commander, welcome to Bracewell Port. I am Sir Marlin Grieves. I would offer you a fanfare, but alas I am merely a humble Knight -"
Behind Archer's face, Wingnut nodded graciously, already formulating what he hoped would be a sufficiently formal response.
"- of the Brotherhood of Gits."
SNRRRRRRRRRK!
A long, flatulent snort echoed out through the cavernous hangar of Pad 04.
The ground crew, indentured Imperial Slaves to the man, all froze.
As all eyes fell back upon the grey-haired stranger, Archer had already recovered the stoniest expression he could muster, as though nothing at all had happened. He made a special effort to clamp the flare out of his nostrils and tighten his lips innocently.
Decorum.
Bracewell Port, HIP 5570 System
Catching up on homework...
Outsider Robert Archer (presumably), had finally a moment to himself to catch up on some light reading about the people he was blending in amongst.
In his temporary quarters at Bracewell (which, admittedly, was nicely furnished and far more spacious than even the finest of the officers' quarters he had perused in Federation Space), he hovered before the holographic screen of his terminal.
Wall after wall of glowing blue text scanned past his tired, baggy eyes, locked into automatic scroll for more than fifteen minutes now.
This was all very basic stuff, but he needed to understand it all, know it all, embrace it all. His cover depended on how intimately he held himself to the identity and core values of Outsider Archer - who was, in fact, languishing quite uncomfortably at Barcelo Penal Colony upon the hyper-eccentric moon of Mitterand Hollow.
::--::
GALNET Interpedia
Galactic Superpowers > The Empire
The Empire is a galactic superpower and hereditary monarchy. It is the second largest major faction in the galaxy.
The current reigning Emperor is Arissa Lavigny-Duval.
The Imperial Palace, seat of the Emperor, is situated on Capitol in the Achenar system.
Although a peace treaty has existed between the Empire and the Federation since 2382 CE, there have never really been any peaceful relations between these two old enemies. The Empire despises the Federation and everything it stands for, and vice-versa.
The Empire is less technologically dependent than the Federation, choosing to keep and employ slaves for the work which machines would usually perform in other parts of the universe. The Empire is also a proponent of human cloning rather than robotics.
::--::
Imperial society is based on a cliens system - much like ancient Rome - and strictly stratified, with people being able to move between strata based on money, patronage and influence. It values both status and honour very highly. Whilst it is acceptable to flaunt wealth, treating people well is a question of honour - and this includes slaves.
Having an unpaid debt is seen as utterly dishonourable - an honourable Imperial citizen would sell themselves into slavery to clear a debt they couldn't otherwise afford.
The Imperial Law is seen and enforced by Senators who themselves are above the law. They can order executions, and can even kill people themselves, though sometimes (rarely) they may be held to account for their actions by the Emperor.
In the Empire very little is illegal, but many things are frowned upon, like excessive use of narcotics.
::--::
Due to the Empire's obsession with wealth projection. Imperial design puts an emphasis on opulence, style and quality with no expense spared.
This is apparent in their cities, ships by Gutamaya and clothing of Imperial citizens.
::--::
It was time to start undertaking assignments.
In order for his covert mission to progress, Archer needed to gain trust and rank with the Empire.
And his abilities would be severely hampered by his present status as a lowly Outsider.
In the hangar, he was approached by a ground controller - an Imperial slave, who held the approximate rank of NPC anywhere else.
Archer was reminded of a man named Vega, from what already seemed like another lifetime.
It had only been a week.
::--::
"Milord, I must beg to inquire. A Keelback?"
"Is there a problem?"
The slave's nostrils flared with poorly concealed distaste.
"Sir.... respectfully, we do not often see a Lakon ship in our hangars.
They are quite.... uhm. Quite federal."
He whispered the last word as though it were taboo.
The two of them looked back at the blocky freighter that towered over the both of them.
It was a chunky brick of a ship, with the stencilled nameplate most prominently featured.
The name of the ship had been the "Big Black Do ge", a reference to the "Copperhead Road" that had long since lost one D and become an oblique reference to something else entirely.
A Commander named Wingnut had joked that the doge had already been fixed, and that replacing that D would only be a step backwards.
::--::
"It is what the Federation saw fit to provide me with for my voyage home."
"But sir, it would do you much prestige to exchange it for something a little more.... appropriate.
A proper.... Imperial offering.
I can offer you an excellent arrangement for something from Gutamaya.
An Eagle, perhaps?"
Archer froze, his head swiveling to affix the slave with a cold, piercing gaze.
Uncomfortably, the controller quickly looked away and scratched an itchy nostril.
"Do you ... do you thumb your nose at MY ship, sir?"
"I thumb my nose, milord."
"But do you thumb your nose at my ship?"
"Would it offend you, milord, if I say yes?"
"It most certainly would offend me, sir."
"Then no, milord. I do not thumb my nose at your ship, but I do thumb my nose, milord."
Lying would be a grave offense - a very punishable one - but that itch wasn't going away.
His nostrils flared involuntarily as the slave tried to ignore it, giving the poor sod the expression of further bemusement.
Seeing this, Archer's eyes narrowed. "Do you quibble, sir?"
"Quibble, milord? I do not understand the meaning of this word."
"Do you QUARREL with me, sir?" Archer clarified sourly, his arms crossed in a rather undiplomatic manner.
"No, no quarrel - er... quibble, milord.."
"I suspected as much.
Now kindly stop scratching your nose, and let us consider your master and his kinsmen."
He noted with some small delight that the Slave paled considerably at the velvet-clad threat, and offered him a way out of this mess.
"Let us consider your... arrangement."
::--::
And that was how Outsider Archer had wound up with not just his Federation-issued, fully crewed Keelback, but also a brand new Imperial Eagle as his "town ship" - all without spending a single credit.
While somewhere beneath the surface of distant Terra an ancient bard began to spin restlessly in his grave, Archer smiled to himself as he climbed aboard the INS "Selfless Jester."
This was going to be easier than he thought.