Chapter 4: Of Exposition

One day later...

Location: Utopia System; Tenjo; Stadium.

Opposites both attracts and repels, locked in a bond of apposition and opposition. Love and hate. Organics and Synthetics. Red and Blue. To co-exist, or try to exterminate one another.

Such is the case here as two great forces, hundreds strong, clashed. One painted Blue, one painted Red – both locked in a merciless battle of supremacy. From the rim came the Red, a regimented and orderly force of hawkish ships, gathered in small formations spread across a wide theater. From the core came the Blue, a vast horde of oval vessels that pushed toward their enemy with pure simplicity of intentions.

Through a vast gulf of space they traveled, until they finally met within effective range of their guns – effectively several light seconds apart when both fleets locked on target, and let loose a torrent of destruction.

And that was when it started to fall apart.

Annihilation was the goal of either force – but key differences made the outcome clear from the viewpoint of observers. Red advanced, each shot calculated, each attack and salvo a continuation of a preceding one. They attacked by strike force, and spread cautiously while their middle withdrew to provide a greater depth.

Blue however plunged forward without the slightest deviation, launching volleys with the deliberation of hooligans. Their plan was simply to rip out the enemy's heart and force knife fights across the theater in an orgy of violence – all shots aimed forward in mindless pursuit of that goal. There was no flexibility or change in motion, they simply advanced like one – as much a one as a rabble could be.

And they paid for it

Sure the Blues' barrages were massive, but to little effect as Red were too dispersed and lost only a few of their numbers – most shots clean misses. Blue however were too bunched to even begin to evade as the Reds' coordinated salvos reached them.

Dozens of Blue ships fell out of formation almost instantly, either whole with huge holes in their hulls or in pieces – leaking atmosphere into the empty vacuum of cosmos. Frigates were simply pulverized, while Cruisers fell apart in a storm of parts – expelling a large quantity of their crew that also soon expired.

Such casualties in the opening shots of their little war, but still no deviation. Blue rushed onward and paid for it as the Reds simply parted wide and let the reckless Blues fly into a properly prepared kill zone. The destruction that followed were predictable, one-sided and absolute.

Fortunately it was just a holographic simulation.

Across the stadium, all in attendance – hundreds of dôji spectators – observed with a mixture of wonder and horror that was difficult to expel. Veterans identified similarities to their war on Earth, where Dôji quality fought Kurozu quantity, and took it all in stride. Younger ones however simply stared nervously at the terrible show.

And as the ongoing simulated battle turned into a one-sided massacre, a single dôji rose onto the podium and gestured to what was going on with an elongated clawed gauntlet. "As clearly at least some of you can see, this is a textbook example on how not to fight a battle in space." Pardonner the Aspect of Patience called out to the attendees.

Only a few eyes could divert from the slaughter to look upon the slender figure of their teacher in this session as he strode onward, and looked over the expressions of all present and deemed it satisfactory as far as reactions go.

"In the times that wait for us, our approach to war is going to face significant challenges. The most difficult transition being space combat." he continued and imparted some mild anger into his tone that made most pay more attention with no desire to upset their lord, "Unlike ourselves, our ships do not have a nigh-unlimited capacity of self-repair. Anything that doesn't break our cores, we can recover from. Such is not the case for our ships."

Pardonner flicked a claw and extracted from the battle a Cruiser as a form of presentation. Like their frigates, it was oval in shape but more elongated at that and vertically thin to present a smaller target. "Human vehicles does have some manner of repair capability, but for that not only does the ship require a lot of energy, but a ready storage of nanomachines. But note, that does not make your ship harder to kill. Those machines can only repair by sacrificing a different part of the craft – such as thinning out the hull. All it does is maintain functionality for as long as possible. It can still be sunk in one good shot. Vigilance and situational awareness is key – recklessness however is not!"

"And that brings us back to this ill-fated 'battle'." he flicked a glance across the audience, his students, "Can any of you tell me what went wrong here?"

It was fairly obvious to any experienced eyes, but he wanted answers from the younger generations so he can be sure that the lesson has sunk in. All of these in attendance are those who will be commanding officers on each their ship and impress on their respective crews the lesson they themselves learned here.

"Um." one among these young ones raised a gauntlet.

Pardonner folded his arms and turned to the dôji in question, "Yes Baron?"

All dôji have glasses and visors with which to protect their optics, but like quite a bit else dôji can grow up with a few unique characteristics. In the case of Baron, his glasses were composed of no more than a single monocle. The youngster flushed at being referred to by name and dipped his head low, "T-there were no tactics at work, no flexibility."

"Exactly. Each species maintain separate types of warships for a reason, they all have their purposes – oft specialized ones. Fighters."

To the fore he brought the image of the dôji nation's first dedicated fighter craft. As of late, they tended to name things after objects and people in old human mythologies. Military classes are no exception – in which case the names have come to be primarily Hindu in origin. This particular craft for example was named the Kalki-class Fighter. It was thirty meters in length, and in shape was like a stylistic interpretation of a winged assault rifle with the upper 'handle' holding the cockpit which design matched that of any other ship below the super-capital ship classes. It was armed with two triple-barreled mass accelerators – using alien inspired technology in most of their fleet-based weaponry.

"Their job is to counter their enemy equivalent, intercept guided munitions and support frigates."

Next he brought up the Asura-class Frigate, one hundred and fifty meters in length. Shaped like a curved inverted teardrop, it compensates for its low hull-strength with heavy armament and an oversized engine section that grant it speed and agility second only to fighters. To complement this, just ahead of its engines there are several 'slits' in the hull where fighters can dock, allowing the frigates to bring their fighter screen with them – a trait common to all ship classes to various extents.

He intended to develop a dedicated Carrier, but that would have to wait. They did not yet have sufficient strategic depth nor the number of fighter pilots to warrant the development of such a vessel. Pity really as the Citadel seem to have no concept of such dedicated craft.

Anyway, he brushed this brief moment of thought effortlessly aside and continued; "Frigates serve as attack and ambush vessels operating in wolf-packs of four to six. They are built entirely for the purpose of closing the gap and engage in knife fights – primarily to destroy weak or weakened craft and disrupt elements. Offense is their primary concern."

Next was the Vajra-class Destroyer – same length as the preceding craft, but with a vertically flat design akin to the Kalki, and coated with countermeasure systems and point defenses. Their purpose is entirely separate of the Frigate.

"Destroyers' only task is to safeguard our heavier vessels. To protect them from enemy fighters, frigates and munitions that our fighters can't handle. In either case, these will allow us to more easily deploy our heavy guns..."

The Shiva-class Cruiser was next. Seven hundred feet in length, it looked like a larger and wider version of the Asura, with 'wings/fins' directed downward. It has better armament that includes a spinal mass accelerator, better armor, can carry more fighters.

"Cruisers are the workhorse of the fleet, they create the very real line between our enemy and our people. Gathered in strike fleets set up in stacked formation their purpose is to provide a wall of heavy firepower. Naturally each strike force will be allowed a certain freedom on how to go about their orders, but leave out pin-point strikes against particular targets to our Dreadnoughts unless told otherwise."

So came the Brahmastra-class Dreadnought, one and a half kilometer in length. Of those they only have three so far, with two more on the way, so large that they need to be built in sections and assembled in Tenjo's orbit. Most dreadnoughts are built to bombard planets, but these are exclusively for fleet-bombardment – armed with a spinal projector, a massive laser cannon meant to snipe targets from extreme distances.

"They are our dedicated snipers, and it is absolutely forbidden for them to enter knife fights. If that occur..." Pardonner hesitated, "... then something has gone terribly wrong."

Lastly came a comparatively diminutive craft, the one hundred and fifty meters long Kurma-class Corvette. More utilitarian in appearance, they are heavily armored, got powerful engines, but armed exclusively with large sensor arrays and passive defenses.

"And these are our little helpers, little but no less important. They are ELINT craft. Cyber-warfare and electronic countermeasures are their suite. Like is the case with Dreadnoughts, I want them nowhere near a knife fight. If that happen and those of you on them survive," Pardonner put palms to his hips, "you will answer to me. Is that understood?"

A nervous set of responses followed in the affirmative.

That only left what would be the jewel and flagship of their nascent fleet. But it was not necessary to bring it up yet as construction was not nearly done. The Chakravartin-class Juggernaut with its size of five kilometers would be their greatest warship, obscenely heavily armed and armored.

"To avoid ending up like the Blue fleet, we must become like the Red fleet. Keep these bits of information in your minds as well as those of your assigned subordinates, for it will be important when we start doing mock battles, even more so when the war begin. Don't let me catch any of you slacking in your training, or I will damned well make sure you won't see the bridge on any ship for the next fifty years." he continued in a tone that left no doubt that he meant it, "Do you understand!?"

His students universally stood and bowed with a repeated choir of affirmatives such as "Aye sir!", "I understand!" and, "One hundred percent, lord!"

"Good." Pardonner's voice carried across the chamber and closed the holographic images close with a metallic snap of his fingers, "Class dismissed." and watched as the students started to file out in orderly lines – less orderly so where sons of the sins congregated. Only once most of these had left did he start to descend from the podium in a series of light steps, and widened his stance slightly as a diminutive body intercepted him into a glomp. The aspect made an elegant smile as he patted his son on the head, "Whoa there Hikari."

"Dad, that was amazing!" Hikari chimed in, a dôji who had turned out like predicted by others early on – a clingy son that despite nearing the state of adulthood showed no sign of being willing to leave his father's side.

Pardonner did not mind it at all. Most elders of their kind enjoy the prospect of offspring willing to stay with their parents for longer than what is usual. He held his young one who now buried his face into his dad's apron with much paternal love. "It was just a teaching session Hikari. Nothing special."

The youngster pouted childishly, "It was special to me."

"I suppose it was." he mildly cooed.

"But one thing dad, a friend of yours told me he wanted to see you after this."

"Oh... and who was tha-" Pardonner asked in interest before he was made to glance sidewards as a familiar figure rose from a distant chair and moved in on them, "Oh, it's you." he sighed under his breath, "What have you come to me for this time, Désir?"

Désir, the Aspect of Lust came sauntering over with arms folded, quite shameless in how he flaunted his figure in every motion – an exercise backed by centuries of practice. An aspect who oozes sex appeal, he is the object of desire for countless dôji. Désir made a point to gladly provide any that catches his attention a perfection of bliss that could not be found anywhere else. Part of it came from centuries of non-stop experience and a devious mind, but most of it came down to a very creative use of his Noh power that allows him to make a target vulnerable to him in any specific way he choose. Simply put he could project onto his 'prey' an unending wave of ecstasy – fully blowing away the perceived 'pleasure ceiling' most organisms up to and including dôji are subjects to in the quest for supreme all-consuming euphoria.

Pardonner however was not particularly interested in such primal pursuits, which placed him in the unique position as the only aspect Désir had not conquered yet, and thus by extension made him a big target, a mountain to scale.

"I would guess you already know the answer to that." the pink-maned dôji sniggered quietly as he beheld father and son with a thoughtful smirk, "But rest easy~ I came here to make an invitation."

"Let me guess... another date?" the aspect of Patience could not resist the reflex to roll his eyes, "Not interested."

"Not a date, though I really could make it one~" Désir softly spoke and unfolded a gauntlet to show off a package, dangling it in the air in front of the two.

Pardonner stared at it, or more precisely its contents. Sausages. "What, you offering me hot dogs for dinner? Did not think you could be so mundane."

"Not just any hot dogs. Sausages made from Gargants." the other gleefully explained, "Bought these a little while ago and wanted someone to roast and share them with." he licked his lips hauntingly, "Might as well be you."

Not the approximation of hot dogs, but the real deal? Suddenly the invitation had a startling amount of merit. According to rumors, the meat of those creatures are positively delectable.

Seeing this faint interest, Désir widened his smile. "So how about it, does my invitation sound more... inviting... now?"

Pardonner sighed in apparent defeat, "Fine, but Hikari comes along."

"Good." the fellow aspect recollected the package into his grasp, "So when will you be available?"

"Once I am done with my work for a while." he said resolutely, and extended his arm for a data pad he quickly brought up to read and check the schedule, "It will take a couple of days, but I'll call for you to come to our cabin when ready."

Intrigue was quickly apparent as the smirking Désir's vast orb of a tail bobbed seductively in reaction to the astonishment his sultry expression wouldn't show, "Inviting me to your cabin, Pardonner? Truly auspicious, makes me hopeful."

"Don't read too much into it, Désir." Pardonner gave a slightly indignant huff as he continued to pat his son who remained silent as the two conversed. "It's a dinner between colleagues, nothing more."

"Of course~" he laughed and in deliberate slowness turned to saunter away, "Looking forward to it."

A fair while was waited, at least until the fellow aspect had left, before the father whispered quietly; "Do make sure you do not fall to his wiles..."

Hikari looked up like he had not heard that, "Huh?"

"Never mind. Wanna come along to the ship yard? Another Shiva's almost done."

Excitedly the young jumped, "Sure!"

Pardonner grinned at such innocence and pushed the youngster along as they headed out for the nearest tram, "Alright, off we go then."

Meanwhile...

Location: Utopia System; Eden Prime; Oinari village.

"Argh... my back!"

Lyta Lyle stabbed his hoe into the dirt as he looked on with dry amusement at the newly employed farmhand who so colorfully complained at how hard the work was. "Put your back and hips into it. You're so stiff I'm starting to doubt your elite soldier credentials."

"S-shut up." from where he stood little more than fifty feet distant, Balak shot him an irritated look. "Don't you have any machines for this kind of work?" he loudly shouted in pained frustration, rubbing his sore back while supporting himself against the hoe he was supplied with. "Bloody hell..."

"Of course I do! That's us."

"You know what I mean..."

"Huh. All of our production facilities are busy on more essential functions." the dôji swung his hoe onto the shoulder, looking over the tater field he wanted to expand, "So until they're fully established we plow the old-fashioned way."

"Old-fashioned is way overrated."

"Quite. But we're doing it, so get going. Another ten meters before break time."

Balak grunted harshly an affirmative as he continued nursing his back, mustering the strength to go on. He had turned brave enough to talk back to his synthetic employer, but not nearly enough to dare any real defiance. But as soon as he hefted the hoe, a heavy stomp-like tremor made the dirt shift slightly about.

"Up earlier than usual, Hatter?" Lyta Lyle casually greeted that which walked along the not-so distant road, a rather huge figure that towered over any dôji, and Balak for that matter who stared wide-eyed at it.

Maybe it more of what counted as a terrifying synthetic to the organics out there, the gaunt and rather hunched figure of a Frogfoot, though more and more dôji collectively referred to the results of studying the Undertaker found in New York as 'Taison'. Since those studies were completed, several more had been produced in its likeness, if somewhat smaller by a few feet.

Of all the Taison that exist now, most live in Yggdrasil as a police force of sorts. Only one of them chose to live out here; the strangest one. The terrifying image was spoiled somewhat by that big straw-hat held in place by its horns, which by itself was only the start of Hatter's eccentricity.

Most of its kind replied in kind when addressed, but Hatter turned its upper body to face them and stared with its cold and swiveling blue optics before it raised an elongated arm to a space behind its back and pulled out a wooden sign which read as 'Good morning, Lyta Lyle.'

It hesitated, withdrew the sign, and held out another one: 'Something's wrong with this picture.'

Lyta Lyle paced closer, "Oh you mean this?" while idly pointing out the organic, "This is Balak, my newly employed farmhand."

Said batarian huffed, "Impressed into service."

"You make it sound so bad." the dôji tutted with palms on hips.

"This or prison. I'm not sure which is worse."

"In the latter, it is possible that you'll either be babied into changing your ways by lord Ultimo, or lord Regula would mind-wipe and put you in a less than desirable place – such as that Citadel spacecraft still in the system."

A defeated groan announced his understanding of the limitation of his options. "Here it is then..." Balak rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

Lyta Lyle gave a tiny grin, "Good boy."

Hatter slumped slightly, and switched to another sign: 'How troublesome. It'd be a real chore to put forth a report about this...'

"You're surprisingly lax for a Taison, Hatter." Lyta Lyle giggled, amused by how much of a slacker this machine was. "I guess that's why you chose to live here."

The 'Aye' sign came up, followed by 'I'll just pretend I did not see anything'. Hatter swiveled back to continue its walk. 'Just don't let him cause any trouble'.

"You can count on me." he waved idly, "And someday, I swear I'll find out exactly where you pull all those signs out from."

'Good luck with that' the Taison sign-wise shrugged as it left.

"The lot of you are insane." Balak grunted in glum observation, "Why in the world are you so fixated on cultivation of food anyway? It's not like you can eat anything."

"We can."

"Huh?"

Lyta Lyle indicated his chest, "We have a processing system that serves as our equivalent of a digestive tract, just far more efficient."

Having heard this, the batarian's expression twisted in an interesting imagery of repugnance given the extra two eyes on his being. "Disgusting..."

"Hah, at the very least we do not need toilets." the slender dôji quirked his head cleverly, "You organics have a singular knack for dirtying up places."

The alien snorted. "Shut..."

"Verbal sparring won't get us anywhere productive. Now," he verbally rapped at his four-eyed worker, "get back to work. Ten more meters."

Balak held his tongue and trotted back to continue where he left off, probably thinking all sorts of nasty things as he chopped up the soil and overturned it.

"Planned to go downtown today, but I guess coaching you will take priority for the time being." Lyta Lyle said conversationally, "Work well and I'll bring you along."

"Would prefer to stay."

"Chained in that case." that the alien would try to use that to try and flee was clear as day.

Resignedly, Balak growled, "... I'll go."

"That's a good boy." Lyta Lyle said in an almost paternal manner, "Now finish up."

Twenty painstaking minutes later, Balak lay like he was a corpse upon the marvelously soft bench within the dôji's little home. It was like every section of his spine had been dislodged from the work. No more than ten meters, but it might as well had been a hundred for all the ache he was immersed in.

He almost looked forward to whatever that machine would cook up, even if it happened to be poisoned. To help cope or just end this altogether, either was good he simply decided. And thus he waited in anticipation, panting as he listened to the surprisingly pleasant sound of boiling water, accompanied by a gentle hymn as Lyta Lyle busied himself.

"Seriously," he could hear the dôji sigh from the kitchen, "it really makes me wonder if your soldier credentials are at all real with such poor conditioning."

Balak grunted, "Urgh, s-stow it. My people's special force training is the hardest in all the known galaxy."

"Really. So far I've seen nothing to indicate that as anything but wishful thinking."

Hissing in restrained anger, the batarian held himself from letting out a scathing retort at a robot that could possibly separate him into pieces like he was wet paper and tried to ignore any further comments. To help in the self-distraction, he articulated his head to look about the room in a state of total focus till he tilted far enough back to look at a small pedestal next to the bench, complete with a framed image he could not see clearly till he despite himself raised a hand and grabbed to haul in and get a better look at it.

An image of three dôji greeted him. Balak recognized Lyta Lyle who stood to the left immediately. The rest however were unknown, including a bigger synthetic to the right, and a much smaller one between them. It was bizarrely like looking at a family photo.

Subsequently he could no longer quite ignore his machine host as he finally came, with two bowls that reeked of strong-smelling sensation cupped in each of his palms. "Fetched some interest in my photos, have you?" the slender mechanism clucked in observation.

"Not really..." he refuted.

A sigh was released and Lyta Lyle alternated the grip on a bowl, "Is that so?" and put it down on the table in front of him, "Here you go, this strong stew will set you straight."

Balak stared at the bowl as his host sat on the adjacent chair and elegantly began to drink from his own bowl with a utensil to help ushering the food into the barely agape mouth of his. It made the batarian shudder with revulsion as he picked himself up to stare into that food that was cooked up for him. It was red, surprisingly red-hot, "... And this is safe?"

"Don't be such a baby." the other cooed in a paternal manner, as if talking to a defiant child. "Eat up."

Cursing severely in his mother tongue he grabbed the boil and with the utensil took a taste. It was indeed red-hot, and spicy like all hell as proven when his tongue abruptly swelled. "Bah, what the hell is this?"

"Spicy stew." Lyta Lyle shrugged and said right after a hearty swallow, "It does one good."

Balak put the bowl down. "Too hot at the moment, need to cool down." he excused to not rile up his synthetic host.

"I see."

"... So who the hell are these?" he picked up the photo from before and pointed out.

"Is that the right phrasing one should use?" Lyta Lyle frowned as he took the photo in an elongated motion as he lowered his own bowl of food, unaffected by its extreme heat. "They're my most recent family after all."

"Machines with families." Balak chuckled at the ridiculousness of it. But he made sure to stifle it quickly as the robot frowned and turned the photo around, pointing the image at him:

"That's right. We form relationships, get married, and copulate like organic beings would do. Our father made us so that we approximate organic society as closely as possible. For example, we eat, we sleep, we bathe, we fall in love." the dôji's tone changed slightly and became a littler softer: "This guy here's my most recent bond mate, such a strong and caring one... just like one can expect from a son of Gauge. His name is Switch."

As expected, Balak could not help but feel revulsion, but did not let it show. It was too dangerous to do so. "Huh." was all he answered with. That and, "And where's he now?"

"We had a differing in opinion. I wanted to start a farm, he wanted to rejoin the military. There was a little fight before he departed and left me to raise our son alone." Lyta Lyle recounted sadly as he pointed out the smaller figure, "Our little son Sullivan. Since the image was taken he has grown up and left though. Too much of his childhood he was raised on stories of our past battles with the kurozu I guess, so now he's gonna join the military as well."

"Another machine itching to commit murder." slipped out of him.

The dôji looked him over morosely, "That is my son you're talking about."

Balak understood his misstep and swiftly but partially changed the subject; "S-so how was your kid made? Did you order the parts from some factory or something."

For some reason, the parent got more annoyed. "Not produced like that." but managed to simmer himself down slightly, "Though you may be loathe to disbelieve it, but I meant it when I said 'copulate' earlier. To achieve childbirth we engage in intercourse with the impregnation of the other as the goal – though ours is a bit different from yours. Observe."

The idea of machines having sex was deeply disturbing, previously thought to be the realm of perverse fetishists of the highest order alone, but this time he managed to keep his tongue still from actually wording it and instead watched as the dôji raised a gauntlet, eyes widening as it began to pull itself apart rearrange by a mess of segments. It took only a moment to complete its transformation and what came from it was a black blade vastly longer and more massive than the gauntlet it had originally been.

If it was not for the wall behind him, he would have in horror fallen away from the massive raised blade so easily brandished by that diminutive figure.

"Karakuri henge:" Lyta Lyle smirked lightly at the astounded batarian's wide-flung eyes, "Obsidian blade. With this I've laid waste to eleven thousand kurozu across my centuries of battle. But that is besides the point, as you can see we can deploy tools and weapons that far exceed our original mass. We dôji do this through a method of energy to matter conversion that our father invented and embedded into our kind so we could fight back without need to torture the earth like the kurozu do and still does."

"And... this has what to do with childbirth?"

With a slight move, the blade collapsed back into the gauntlet it was before as the machine continued softly, "We can use it for different things. That includes exactly that. Through copulation a karakuri henge occur for the simple purpose of creating a child – though it takes far longer than the one I just showed to complete, resulting in a time spent 'pregnant'." Lyta Lyle flexed the returned claws a little and giggled at the fond memory, "Once I was done carrying Sullivan to term, couldn't move my hand in quite a while. But it was worth it. I never grow tired of that moment, when a new life emerge and open his eyes for the first time."

Balak tried to view this coldly, but the dôji was so quietly passionate about it that even he could not help but be very slightly moved. "So that is how it works. Damned weird." he tried to cover it up.

"Maybe you'll be more accepting should you ever witness it in person." Lyta Lyle grinned at him in amusement, "And that is perhaps bound to happen."

"What are you planning?"

"Did tell you we're gonna head to town, once I'm done coaching you. Among the things I hope to find is a useful guy. I very much plan on getting pregnant again."

"Hopefully not just to demonstrate the process to me."

Lyta Lyle cocked his head and beamed, "Of course it's a plan I had in mind before you came. After Sullivan's departure I decided that my next child should be raised on the virtues of agriculture so that he'll stay with me and help manage the farm – even take it over if I happen to be in the need to commit to far-away business."

It had occurred to him before, but it was especially apparent now how he appeared to be under the same roof as a machine that has a very womanly mannerism, "How... ambitious of you."

"Oh, right. I must not get so far ahead of myself." Lyta Lyle laughed, scratching his chins in slight embarrassment, paused, then flashed a look at the batarian's stew. "Aside from that, you should take that food in now. It'd be a waste if it gets too cold."

"Yes mom." Balak rolled his eyes, annoyed as he once again tried the stew and now found it somewhat passable.

Apparently satisfied with this progress, the synthetic finished what was left of his stew then made his return to the kitchen. "Once you're done, put the bowl here on the table."

"Anything else?" he growled over the food.

"Nothing else." Lyta Lyle verbally shrugged, "I'll have to iron out a proper training schedule for you, so go ahead and take a nap."

…

One thing was sure, he did not at all look forward to whatever schedule the other sought to build, but the offer for a nap on the other hand was a godsend. So he quickly emptied the bowl and took it to the table before returning to the room he was bunked at – only pausing to stop and lock the door with absolutely no illusion that it would stop the synthetic but assured simply by it being there.

Just knowing that the dôji would give him an earful for sleeping in it, he quickly undid the overall and got settled, and fainted more from the aching back than inherent sleepiness. It would have to do.

It simply had to do.

Author notes: Originally planned to have details on the fleet wait till the real sequel, but decided to put some basic information on it here instead.