Story: The day Planet Quintessa died.
Chapter 2.

[Khalanxis - Somewhere in the compound.]

"Revered Master Salaxorius Sir! Sir!" A young Quintesson rushed through the hallway, bravely (or foolishly) passing members of the Arma Iustitiae as they were escorting the Master of Inquisition through the hall. Two of the big Allicon warriors close to Salaxorius spun around sharply, bringing the blades of their ranseur polearms horizontal to about neck height of the Quintesson intruder. Approaching any further hinted at a painful removal of anything above the shoulders. "I am quite busy right now." Salaxorius replied without looking up, and without stopping.
"Revered Master Sir! I was- I was just wondering if you required further assistance with the evacuation, Sir! The legislation documents and court journals- They're of the utmost importance to the Empire! As well as your treatises of the justice system…" Salaxorius halted, slowly… but he did stop to turn around. His face switched to blue and silver. "And what, pray tell, is that worth to you?"
"The-the safe keeping of the knowledge… of your work, Master of Inquisition…" The young Quintesson whispered, "Our Empire…"
"And you believe you are adept enough to safeguard the knowledge of the Empire? You?"
"I- I…"
"DO you?" Salaxorius's tone of voice was cold as it urged towards an answer, and the shifter of his faces twitched with the urge to swap. "I have a small legion of Allicon and Sharkticon at my disposal, at my command. You think you are a better caretaker of my knowledge? That I, somehow, failed to preserve my knowledge and power?" That threatening shift from silver and blue to red and black happened, following with a dark snarl, "That I am somehow caught off guard by this event? This calamity' to happen? That it surprises me in any way?" The younger Quintesson shivered, and frowned, "It-it does not?"

The look of the five-faced Quintesson turned frosty at the question. "Ah… yes. Now that I give it more… consideration… there is something I require that I would not trust in the hands of my personal guard. There is a document remaining in my office; be a good and loyal citizen and retrieve it for me."
The younger Quintesson tilted his head just so. A shameful display of its confusion, Salaxorius thought idly through the retreating haze of his anger. "And… what kind of document is that, Most Revered One?"
"The kind that makes you stay and miss the evacuation, you displeasing spawn of Qandrius."
The shock and horror that formed on the face of the distracting Quintesson was a mild consolation.

It would have to do.

[Khalanxis - Somewhere even more else.]

"Macetail, I care not and I got no time!"
"But Comrade Brother Cindermaw!" "I said NO, Sharkticon. Are you right deaf?"
"But…" "One more word and I'm dropping Prometh right upon your head."
Much to his surprise, Macetail indeed stopped talking. Whatever Prometh was, it was of Aphos, and that meant it was probably not very healthy to have dropped on one's person. But Macetail continued following the Allicon not unlike a dog right up to the Talcath-Xilantha spacecraft.

"Go to your own ship, Sharkticon." Cindermaw growled as he disappeared into the cargo hold to store the project he was carrying in the proper place. "Alright, we got Prometh, the Mirr, that other doohickey... we're missing one. What am I mis..." His murmurs trailed off as he looked around the room. "Macetail, you -are- deaf, aren't you?" He spoke softly, slightly tired, slightly annoyed.
The Sharkticon was but a dark silhouette in the mouth of the cargo hatch, but the yellow optics stared at him silently. Cindermaw might've asked him what it was that he wanted so badly in order to be this obnoxious, but one of the other Sharkticons spoke up. Seeing as how this Sharkticon was actually part of the ship's crew Cindermaw paid him all kinds of mind.
"The D-Hex is not here, Guard General Cindermaw Sir. The Net says it was last seen in the Aphos cargo hold 2. And the 3th Mirr is also not here yet. It should still be in storage since I haven't confirmed anyone moving it."
"Is the D-Hex completing orders to collect the 3th Mirr?"
"Negative, Sir."
"Hrmph, alright then." Cindermaw snarled, and then turned to Macetail.
The Sharkticon leapt in response at the opportunity, "I go find?!"
"No. You mosey off before I give you a well-deserved smack on the head!"
Macetail grimaced sadly as he watched Cindermaw transform and race off to get the missing crewmembers.

[Khalanxis - Merchant's plaza]
"W-what do you MEAN, the market is closed?!" Large and round, dressed in flamboyant garbs and fingers hidden beneath large bejewelled rings, the merchant trader huffed, "I've come all the way from Port Yamoro to sell my wares here, the market. cannot. be. closed. Do you hear me?" His thick walrus moustache wiggled with every syllable, and the Merchant jutted out his chin while grasping the rims of his brightly colored haori.
"And yet it is. You've received the No-Docking memo. It is automated procedure today." The bulky Sharkticon guard almost growled the words, almost ignoring the fact that he was talking to nobility... of some alien kind.
"My ship's pilot made all the arrangements-"
"Then your pilot made a mistake; I suggest you take your wares and request clearance to depart immediately." The Sharkticon interrupted, voice almost a snarl, almost ignoring the tiny fact that he was addressing nobility... of some kind. The Merchant huffed louder, "And I'm saying that you are the one making mistakes; My pilot made 'special arrangements', you see. 'Special'. Do you understand?"
It took a while, but then the Sharkticon's face lit up in understanding, "Oh... /special/ arrangements."
"Yes, so you will let me pass right this instant, and I might not take this incident up with your masters." Now that wasn't even a request; that was a full-on command. As well as a threat. Thing with the new Quintesson creations, however, was that they do not take well to commands of non-Masters and non-brethren. The Sharkticon immediately ground his teeth across each other in irritation.
"You may do exactly one of two things... /Sir/" The aquatic mech replied, voice dark and sour, "One, you turn around, walk away, queue up in order to depart. Or two, you will enjoy a personal escort to the watch station for an official investigation to the suspicion of bribery of a space port control tower officer!"
Considering that no mech on the planet was going to do official investigations of well, almost any type anymore, that event would turn rather sour for the walrus-moustache.
"I-I!" The Merchant, much to the Sharkticon's mild amusement, seemed to turn a furious shade of purple. How much had he paid? Who had played the opportunistic bastard to earn some extra funds today, out of all days?

"You will be hearing of this!" Was the last sentence with which the Merchant attempted to turn his embarrassing retreat into something that his sense of honor could live with. He stomped off.

[End of Chapter 2]
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