The Immortal Empire – Episode 21: Hall of Ancestors

"You're not actually going to stay here, right?"

That was the question posed by Kalin Clan-Clan to her cousin Aisha, as the two of them sat in the small rooms given to her by the Empress Kasara IV; the sitting room, adjoining study, bedroom and bathroom were arranged in the style of a hotel suite in the Old Summer Palace, the No-Ken-Hokaiteino, across the moat and over the wall from Kasara's state apartments. They even looked like hotel rooms, down the large bowl of complimentary chocolates, still in their wrappers, on the sitting room's dining table.

"Well, I kind of have too," Aisha replied, reaching into the bowl without breaking eye contact with her cousin, taking one of the chocolates and resisting the urge to stuff it, wrapped, into her mouth and instead fidgeting with it with her white gloves. "She gave them to me. Personally."

"Except Her Highness didn't give them to you. Not literally."

Aisha devoured the chocolate and rolled her eyes. "Fine. She asked the Imperial Household Agency, who asked Mr. Rafe, who arranged for me to have this room. Am I missing anyone?" she countered belligerently.

Kalin shrugged. "So if you declined, it wouldn't necessarily reach back to her."

Aisha gave a haughty cock of her head. "Cousin, you're not at court, you wouldn't understand."

"You were at the Imperial Court all of ten minutes longer than me!" she snapped back. "What about your parents?"

"I've been gone for two years! They still got to keep all their houses last I checked!"

"You know what I mean, Aisha!" By now they were shouting at each other across the table.

After a few seconds of angry twitching, Aisha gave a deep sigh. "Father's still with the navy, it's not like they run these wargames to pass the time. And apparently mother's progress is being delayed by a bunch of arbitration requests."

"Arbitration?"

"A bunch of formal requests for personal audiences by representatives of the major agrarian labor unions in the Barudaruda Archipelago. Apparently they're on the verge of striking over changes to the profit-sharing agreements affecting how pensions will be calculated in twenty years? Or something?"

"Glad to see you care about the plight of the working class."

"Don't talk to me about the working class," Aisha told her, sticking her tongue out. "Miss I-Never-Had-a-Civilian-Job-That-Wasn't-Serving-Lunch-To-My-Schoolmates. I could tell you things about the plight of the Terran working class that would…"

Aisha's rant was interrupting by a commanding knock on the suite door, causing both Clan-Clan women to turn and look at it. "Expecting company?"

"What do you think?" Aisha asked before crossing the room and opening the door. Behind it, one of those young women in the extremely conspicuous formfitting white uniforms of Her Majesty's Handmaidens. This one's white hood partially concealed a mop of dark burgundy hair and a face that more than a little resembled Kasara IV.

"Hey!" Kalin said over Aisha's shoulder after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Excuse me, Lady Aisha, but there's just been an opening in Her Highness's schedule and she was wondering if you could attend to her personally."

"Sure," Aisha answered, a little too quickly. Her eyes widened into saucers. "Wait, you mean alone?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She could feel Kalin smirking at her back. "H-How..."

"It should take no more than a half-hour. Please accompany me to the Hall of Ancestors in less than five minutes. This will be a personal audience, your current attire will be fine."

Aisha looked down at herself, as if remembering what she wore: a newly-issued composite breastplate in the low-cut style, over a fresh uniform skirt and dark, untorn leggings with new boots. Her hair was still in the single large braid from the day earlier.

"Uh…" she said, glancing over her shoulder at her cousin, who just raised her hands defensively.

"What are you looking at me for? I just came by to say hello."

The handmaiden disappointed Aisha by ignoring the opportunity for an obvious joke and indicating with subtle body language that she would wait in the hall until Aisha was ready. Aisha gave a tense nod and close the door, then sat down in an armchair near where Kalin stood.

"You were saying?"

Kalin cocked her head. "Wear your coat."

"What, you think it's cold down there?"

"No, I think it's weird that your first instinct is wearing a breastplate on a daily basis." To emphasize her point, Kalin flexed her own back, arms raised.

Aisha buried her head in her hands in response and groaned. "Crown Princess Fatima warned me about this."

"About what?" In response, Aisha just groaned again through her hands and Kalin shook her head. "Whatever, you know she wants something from you, right? She's not doing this to be cute."

"Like what?"

"How should I know? I'm just telling you this in case your two years among the Terrans left you, well, stupid."

The Hall of Ancestors, which Aisha only knew by reputation, was a specific length of subterranean tunnel not far past the entrance of the Mausoleum of the First Tomoyo-Tomoyo Sovereign, left behind by the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire's first imperial dynasty, itself an underground pyramid outside the Imperial Capital. From the surface, the thousand-year-old necropolis was only visible as a decidedly symmetrical truncated pyramid that would otherwise be confused for a natural hill, surrounded by interwoven stone paths, gardens, and a single obsidian monolith emblazoned with the name of the first dynasty in ancient script marking the entrance. As a child, Aisha had seen the cavernous stone entrance descending underground on a school trip, and like the rest of the public, no further.

"Great, it's underground. I've had great experiences underground," she muttered, following her handmaiden guide through a police-guarded checkpoint near the entrance. She was surprised to see clear evidence of archeological work being done, with folding tables and containers of equipment of modern vintage sitting around every corner.

The handmaiden seemed to detect her confusion. "There's been ongoing research work done by the Imperial University for some time now."

"For how long?"

"About three-hundred years," she replied tersely.

The two maneuvered deeper into the necropolis, their passage being indicated by the decreasing artificial lighting from the entrance. Aisha noticed, even as they reached deeper, the surrounding empty corridors and visible rooms remained furnished with pale walls of marble and granite. When they reached a higher, wider corridor that she thought must be the Hall of Ancestors, Aisha solemnly halted just before the entrance, clasped her hands together flatly, and began praying loudly.

The handmaiden waited for her to finish, a hand on hip. "Her Highness is down the hall," she told her before dismissing herself and vanishing into the gloom of another connecting hallway. After a few seconds, it dawned on Aisha that she'd been left, alone, in an underground crypt, presumably filled with the interred bodies of royal dead, without so much as a map or a flashlight.

"Lady Aisha!" a chipper voice cried out from another direction to her relief. In the low light, she could make a number of humanoid shapes lining the long hallway as it curved gently. Clutching her uniform greatcoat over her shoulders like a cloak, she hurried in the direction of the voice to find Kasara Bakr Novo-Novo almost a hundred meters down the hallway, in what seemed like wholly inappropriate attire: a different sleeveless dress cut high at the legs, high-heeled strapped boots, along with arm-length gloves, all in a deep burgundy color, and a comparatively restrained amount of jewelry versus her appearance at court.

Aisha did her best not to betray her skepticism at the choice in fashion and instead looked at the rest of her surroundings. The figures around her turned out to be not that at all: they were row after row of life-sized statues intricately carved in pale marble, each standing in an almost military-posture on their respective obsidian pedestal, dull electrical light emitted from a recess between them as they faced one another. Otherwise, Her Highness appeared to be unaccompanied. There's probably one of those weirdos in white watching me behind them, Aisha concluded.

"Good afternoon-zona," Aisha managed to stutter out before bowing rigidly. Kasara IV acknowledged her with a friendly smile that suggested the formality was unnecessary but not unappreciated. The first gentlewoman of the Orion Arm. Not like those Terran monarchs.

The empress's smile persisted just enough to verge on the awkward before Kasara IV turned to face the nearest of the statues; Aisha looked at it and frowned, focusing on the details in the low light. She thought there might've been some similarity between this particular standing tomb effigy, and the woman standing before her, but after a few seconds, she concluded there were not: if anything, the statue looked more like Aisha herself, a lean, almost lanky young woman with muscular limbs and comparatively broad shoulders, in contrast with the curvaceous sovereign.

"And who is this?" Aisha asked, in spite of herself.

"Marianna III, my ancestor and my aunt's namesake."

It was impossible for Aisha to conceal her immediate dismay, notice of which Kasara IV made obvious in turn. The two stood in gloomy silence until Aisha worked up the confidence to build it up. "Of course. She's my ancestor too, Your Highness," she despaired, clasping her hands together and uttering a quiet, rapid prayer.

The sovereign gave a knowing nod. "She only ruled for four years before she was assassinated during the First Century Logan Revolts…"

"By the Kei Pirates," Aisha muttered, before putting a hand over her mouth.

Kasara IV gave a sad smile, an expression Aisha hadn't previously seen. "That's right. Before she took on her regnal name, her surname was Clan-Clan. I thought you might know of her."

Aisha gave a deep, uncomfortable sigh. "Everyone in my family does. Her and her twin brother, Tycho Clan-Clan, who was in the army." She could feel herself shrinking. "Is she…buried near here, Your Highness?

The empress glanced at Aisha, apparently deciding from her expression she didn't really want to know the answer to that question. "The third dynasty, the Hashiyo-Hashiyo, have only been around for two hundred years. There aren't as many effigies here as you might think," she explained, steering the subject in a different direction.

Aisha glanced down the hall in the opposite direction, as if to confirm, optimistically, there was space for many more statues. Kasara IV followed her eyes as she counted the statues reaching forward in time from Marianna III. "They say it's the duty of every Ctarl-Ctarl to see them, their sovereigns, and be in their presence. Of course, nowadays that's a practical impossibility."

"You couldn't open this…place…to the public?" Aisha shrank a little into her greatcoat's collar. "Or is that not how things are done, ma'am?"

She kept her eyes on those of the effigy. "I'd like to be able to do that. In the next ten years." She gave an informal sigh. "A great deal of work needs to be done."

What am I even supposed to say here? It was becoming obvious that the particularly reverent noises Aisha and anyone of her age could make at the mention of their ancestors wouldn't be enough. She'd been summoned to this necropolis by her sovereign, her commander-in-chief, the personification of the state and the head of the national religion, and for what? To review statues of dead people she'd never met or seen in person? She could feel her eyes widening in barely-stifled panic.

"H-How far back do these statues go-zona?" she heard herself ask.

Kasara IV turned to face her directly, jewelry twinkling in the dim light. "Excuse me, Lady Aisha?"

Aisha made a deep guttural noise, but the sovereign's mind had moved on. With unnecessary gentleness she had taken Aisha's gloved forearm and with the minimum necessary voice half-guided, half-dragged the captain-lieutenant down the gently curving hallway past the rows of effigies. As the two women continued, they passed through the ranks of the Hashiyo-Hashiyo monarchs and into the short-lived second dynasty and their comparably smaller numbers of well-worn statues.

"And this one…this one is…?"

Aisha squinted unnecessarily. "Otori II, the fourth and last sovereign of the second dynasty. He abdicated in Notok-Notok 103, before his cousin married your royal ancestor, Empress Lena Aishin Bakr Hashiyo-Hashiyo." She turned to see that the sovereign was staring at her with a different expression. "I was valedictorian of my graduating class."

"Really?" Aisha gave an exaggerated nod when Kasara IV sounded impressed.

"And I think if Your Highness looks down the hall, you'll see the monarchs of the first dynasty," she announced, looking in the direction of the effigies as they changed in their style of dress but maintained the same unforgivingly rigid posture on their pedestals. Aisha had no idea how many dead sovereigns were actually interred in this necropolis, but it appeared as though every ruling sovereign as far back as the Warring States Period, if not longer, was represented.

"May I tell you a secret, Lady Aisha?" the empress asked, not waiting for an answer. "I've been in this hall many times, but do you know how many times I've ventured back there?"

She smiled at Aisha's bewildered face in the darkness. "Only the one time. I'm not completely sure why. Am I afraid of first dynasty ancestors? Afraid of what they think of our imitations of their guardians?"

Aisha could feel herself shrinking into her greatcoat at the inquiry. "It's our duty to look our ancestors in the eye this way. But do you think they're looking back at us?" Kasara IV asked, dread creeping into her voice as the two stared into the rows of stone effigies in their robes, dresses, and military uniforms. "Do you think they would like what they see?"

"We're going to the War Ministry." This is what Jim Hawking had told the rest of the company after a short videocall to the suite Lady Clara had put them up in after their arrival in the Imperial Capital. "There's only four of us now, so I convinced them to send a car."

"Only four of us?" Gene echoed. Jim gave him a cold look and an image of mental picture of Bethany and her undersized blouse reentered his mind. "Oh, right."

Jim's explanation, though not untruthful, was somewhat misleading. The Imperial War Ministry's central location was a small city in of itself, across a major canal from the edge of the Imperial Palace grounds, more than half a city away. Where the military limousine took them was the Central District Reserve Army Depot, managed by the Directorate of Army Supplies and Logistics under the War Ministry, largely consisting of a number of unimpressive large rectangular warehouses on an old military base located outside the city, past Airstrip 4.

"So, I'm guessing the Ctarl-Ctarl War Ministry isn't just a bunch of warehouses outside of town next to a fancy country manor." Passing the warehouses, they had exited the armored car in front of an almost-palatial manor house. This looks like it's straight out of a more genteel time. His imagination quickly filled the gaps: some landowning family of old Ctarl-Ctarl money surveying its vast country estates, hosting debutant balls for their daughters and growing whatever it was the Ctarl-Ctarl ate on this planet. Terrans, when they're angry. Still, the site had a genuine, rustic beauty about it, if one overlooked the rows of military-looking banners that now adorned the manor house and the stacks of antique field guns arranged on the manor grounds, their steel barrels raised towards the sky.

"Mr. Starwind."

The four turned to see a Ctarl-Ctarl naval officer in his dark green greatcoat leaving the car he'd been waiting in. "Artem, Grand Admiral Badono-Badono's lawyer," he reintroduced himself. "Thank you for dressing for the occasion."

Gene and Jim had done so. The one, dark-colored suit Gene had purchased shortly after they left Sentinel III for the first time was paired with a light-colored blouse. It did something to distract from the special suitcase he was still carrying around. Jim had tried to match before they left Heifong, but settled on something at least more formal than cargo pants and a buttoned-up windbreaker: a somewhat flattering sweater and untattered khaki slacks, over a blouse and dark-colored tie. It wasn't easy to get good clothes in his size, Jim complained. It's because children didn't wear "good clothes", Gene had jeered back. The two women dressed much the same: as usual, Melfina wore her blouse, miniskirt and suspenders over leggings, paired with a matching athletic jacket that was more convenient than her Blue Heaven-style traveling cloak. And as usual, Suzuka hadn't changed her clothing for any reason, though her kimono did feature an additional layer of cloth, perhaps adjusting to the alien weather.

"Sure, no problem," Gene replied, holding back a chuckle at the Ctarl-Ctartl's humorless statement. He gave a relaxed glance around, stopping on Suzuka who, since exiting their vehicle, had been surveying the grounds past the manor house. "Nice digs for a warehouse."

"They're not just warehouses," Artem answered.

"Huh?"

"Sirs, if you'll follow me?" A woman in a uniform like Artem's but more modest approached them from a smaller door on the manor's front façade. "The Deputy War Minister and Secretary from the Foreign Ministry are both waiting for you."

There were more than those two waiting for them. In a first floor conference room in the manor, two men in military greatcoats waiting for them, one in the usual dark green and the other a particularly dark burgundy with slightly different metal decorations. The two were joined by six other, much younger Ctarl-Ctarl, four women and two men, in a mix of military uniforms and what Gene thought must've been civilian office dress: something very closely resembling the three-piece suit that you'd see worn back on Heifong or across human space, but missing the necktie typically worn by men, and with large, angular collars that gave them a vaguely militaristic air while managing to not be actual uniforms. All six of them remained seating while Artem stood with other arrivals and the woman who had escorted them made quick, professional-sounding introductions.

"Deputy to the Minster of War, Soban-Soban. Terran Affairs Secretary for the Foreign Ministry, Rhan-Rhan. The liaison from the Naval Industry and Trade Ministry, Bosoni, and their lawyers." She turned. "Sirs, the representatives of the Terran transport company Starwind and Hawking."

The two oldest men seemed to be in charge. Bosoni, a swarthy younger woman with very long hair neatly tied into a braid that almost reached the floor from her sitting position, had a more discreet presence. The lawyers had almost no presence at all.

Jim turned to Gene. It was happening: that unfortunate mainstay of their actual business, when they had business, and not excuses to chase people, to be chased, shooting people or being shot at in turn. The uncomfortable silence at the start of a more formal business deal, when Gene, as the closest thing to an authoritative adult and with half the company's name, was expected to start the transaction. In a more informal setting, or even just a neutral one, this could be avoided, but it was hard to imagine more formalized employment than by three different ministries belonging to the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, and their legal representation. Gene's face betrayed nothing but a smug confidence, but Jim could see it in his body, now rigidly frozen in its previously relaxed, semi-informal posture.

For god's sakes, Gene, say something, he barely kept himself from saying aloud.

"So, I heard you guys are selling some guns," Gene declared, just loud enough to sound decidedly awkward.

Jim openly put his head in his hands. Suzuka sighed quietly. Melfina said nothing.

"Please sit down, Mr. Starwind," Deputy Minister Soban-Soban growled, gesturing with one gloved hand. It took Jim a few seconds to realize his growling wasn't some demonstration of hostility, but his attempt to manage his very apparent accent as he spoke Terran Mandarin, much stronger than those possessed by Artem, Bethany, or the other Ctarl-Ctarl they'd met who all spoke Terran languages as a courtesy to them.

"We heard you had some trouble at the border," Rhan-Rhan said, leaning forward, with a much milder accent.

"Would that be the borders of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, or when we arrived on this planet?" Jim asked, trying to add some levity.

One of the lawyers looked up and, looking clearly alarmed, posed an unmistakable question in her own language. Jim could guess at what she was saying, but Rhan-Rhan made it clear anyway. "Across the demilitarized zone. I wasn't aware of any problems more recently."

"Because there weren't any," Gene assured him quickly and with exaggerated casualness, loudly deposited the heavy suitcase onto the conference table in front of them. "So, again, the guns?"

Jim audibly groaned. "Per our instructions from government representatives from Eisensteingrad, we are in fact supposed to present you with payment before taking delivery." Gene gave him a deliberately coy look, as if suggesting he was only looking out for their client's interest, while one of the lawyers stood up from the table and took the suitcase.

"Well, I'm glad to hear the Social Democrats in Novokhabarovsk aren't prone modifying agreements," Bosoni announced, managing the name easily as the suitcase was brought back to her. Instead of opening it, as Gene had anticipated, the minister simply checked it with a small scanning device she'd concealed in the palm of her hand barely the size of a pen, holding it for a few seconds over the suitcase, then turning to Soban-Soban and saying something shortly in Ctarl-Ctarl, who replied after a few seconds of thought.

Gene was clearly holding back a sigh of relief. "So, uh…" he began before Soban-Soban looked back at him.

"So how about those guns, Mr. Starwind?" he asked, smiling for the first time.

The Ctarl-Ctarl Empire's representatives then split into two groups: the Trade Minister who left with the suitcase and one of the detachment of lawyers for the room next door, leaving them with the Deputy War Minister and Terran Affairs Secretary, and their own squad of lawyers. Jim had expected the typical pre-business formalities of small talk and refreshments, but apparently the Ctarl-Ctarl weren't having any of that today. The four of them, followed by Artem, were escorted to one of the massive rectangular warehouses and each given a protective white hardhat with Ctarl-Ctarl writing across both sides; after Suzuka declined to put it on, they were escorted into the pitch dark, unlit interior where Artem held a flashlight up for the Deputy War Minister who was consulting a piece of paper on a clipboard.

"Don't mind us just because we can't see anything," Gene declared loudly as they closely followed the Ctarl-Ctarl.

He had to wait for a response. "Here we are, Mr. Starwind. Lot number sixty-six. Can we get the lights please?" Soban-Soban shouted loudly into the darkness.

Harsh ceiling lighting flooded their positioning, and after taking a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, Jim squinted past Gene in the direction of the Ctarl-Ctarl. Past them was an assortment of large, blocky objects were arranged in a long line roughly fifty meters to their left and right. As his vision returned, Gene gave a long whistle at the sight: the blocky objects were large shipping crates, roughly cubed-shape with each side a little taller than Jim stood in height, the same as you might see on any planet. In each group of four to six crates, one of the lids had been moved to the side, allowing the contents to be seen. Molded into the crate's sides were convenient that would allow someone to climb up and look inside. Gene and Jim immediately did so; Melfina awkwardly attempted to follow, impeded by her heels.

The inside of the first crate they looked into was packed to the point of bursting with metal tubes arranged in neat stacks and with multi-colored paper wrappings around the ends: refurbished recoilless gun tubes formerly used by the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire's army troops. There were at least fifty individual artillery tubes packed in this lone crate. Jim gave an appreciative whistle.

"Finally, you can claim to be an actual transport business," Suzuka declared, unable to resist the joke. Gene didn't seem to notice, dropping off the side of the crate with a mischievous grin on his face, then strolled over to the next open crate and asked "And this one?"

"Uh…" The deputy minister consulted the clipboard again. "Type 53 vehicle-mounted armor-penetrating particle cannons."

"And after that?" Suzuka asked with her usual indifference.

"Type 70 guided anti-vehicle missiles." Soban-Soban turned the clipboard to face them. "It's all on the manifest, purely defensive, terrestrial war materiel."

"Excuse me?" Melfina was still staring, uncertainly, into the first open crate.

"He means they'tr intended to be used by a planetary defense force," Jim explained, eyebrow raised. "Since the Novokhabarovsk Republic only controls a few planets in separatist space, all they can use these for is defend against a planetary invasion."

"They can't even try and break the years-long naval blockade they've been living under," Gene pointed out, dropping himself back onto the warehouse floor. "Not that that's our problem."

"It wouldn't be. And how will you be arranging transport to…wherever it is your ship is currently?"

Gene cleared his throat. Jim recognized this as one of his many tells that it was time to talk business in earnest. "We know that no Ctarl-Ctarl freight company will move this across the border, not without demanding an absurd percentage of own fee and probably not even then. I have a few different reputable companies bidding for the job to move it to the edge of the Outer Periphery."

"What system?" Artem asked, feigning curiosity.

"I have a few in mind depending on the price. New Avalon, the Gobo-Toboro Cluster, Yaga-633. Maybe Victoria." Gene looked in time to see Jim's eyebrows rise in surprise at the amount of research that had been done. "If you think that's good enough, I mean," he added quickly after looking back.

Soban-Soban laughed abruptly, vigorously rocking his shoulders. His detail of lawyers were snickering too, as he said something in Ctarl-Ctarl to Artem, who had an unmistakable smirk on his face.

"What was that?"

"The Deputy Minister of War is pointing out that the Trade and Industry Ministry has already taken payment. Not delivering the product in question isn't really our concern, since we have more than adequate witnesses to prove that it was released for delivery in the first place."

"So in other words, even an unrecognize separatist government under a state of blockade isn't someone you'd want to cross by taking their money and not giving them anything in return,"' Suzuka explained dryly. "Gene and Jim here are not in the business of robbing people, especially desperate people, believe it or not. We're not pirates after all."

"That's very good to know, Ms. Suzuka," Soban-Soban announced calmly.

"Thanks, Suzuka," Jim said with a half-smile, feeling obligated to acknowledge her defense. "What's the combined weight?"

"Just underneath the pre-negotiated twenty tonnes," one of Soban-Soban's lawyers explained, looking up from her own clipboard.

"And the ammunition is safe for transport?"

"Yes, Mr. Hawking. Much of this ordnance has been sitting inert for thirty or forty years."

"Any more questions, Mr. Hawking?" the deputy minister asked.

Jim dropped himself off the side of a crate filled with decades-old Ctarl-Ctarl assault carbines. "Sure, I've been thinking about one that I've wanted to ask for a while: why would the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire sell weapons, even defensive ones, to an unrecognized, separatist radical human government on the opposite side of Terran space?"

Artem stared at the back of Jim's head, hostility creeping into his previously calm face. Jim kept his gaze locked on the Ctarl-Ctarl Deputy Minister of War, eyes open and a large, unoffending smile on his face. "I'm just kidding, sir. Actually, I have some paperwork I'd like you to sign just confirming this meeting with Starwind and Hawking, separate of the buyer, that is the separate of Novokhabarovsk People's Republic." With a confident motion the diminutive youngster produced a leather-bound notebook and a chrome-plated pen, which he held at the minister. "Of course, you're welcome to show this to your, um, legal counsel."

Soban-Soban, a man whose smooth face typified Ctarl-Ctarl middle age largely indistinguishable from late adulthood, looked at the small Terran and chuckled, taking the pen and the notebook. "On the dotted line, Mr. Hawking?"

Terms to Know:

Imperial Reserve Army of the Central Military District – A army group deployed to Home's Central Military District, the organization unit also including the Imperial Capital. Despite it's name, it is more like a Replacement or Home Army rather than a reservist formation, tasked with training, recruitment, testing of new equipment prior to adoption and retirement of obsolete materiel.

New Avalon – A majority-Terran world on the fringes of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire. Separated by little more than the demilitarized zone, New Avalon was the furthest north of the surviving early human colonies founded at the pioneer rush at the start of the Toward Stars era, and an unauthorized settlement of an almost unoccupied world within Ctarl-Ctarl territory, their own colony abandoned after a mass extinction event. The governments of Earth ultimately made no claim on New Avalon, which was surrendered to the empire but retained its Earthling name. Its seven million residents represent the largest community of between 80 and 90 million Earthlings dispersed throughout in the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, most of whom arrived in the tumultuous early Toward Stars era.

Recoiless Guns – Often mistakenly called "recoiless rifles", a variety of man-portable light artillery distinguished by expelling countermass (propellant exhaust) from the weapon's rear when firing. A centuries-old technology, the Ctarl-Ctarl have been using recoiless guns (and rifles) for close to a thousand years, and in modern application it is a tripod-mounted light artillery tube that fires a rocket-assisted projectile. The "bazooka" rocket-firing weapon in Terran use is a type of recoiless weapon.

Tomoyo-Tomoyo – The royal dynasty that founded the Ctarl-Ctarl's interstellar empire, often called the "first dynasty." Despite their considerable contributions to Ctarl-Ctarl culture, politics and military might, and their expansion of the empire's borders, they were violently overthrown after approximately 240 years of rule and replaced by the second Notok-Notok Dynasty. Known for their tyranny and repression towards the end, the Kata-Kata were exiled by the Tomoyo-Tomoyo after a pair of failed rebellions.