audio test jdv

by Hankton

narration test

3. gw

From the old ruins did the Gate-Walkers came. They brought strange artifice, alchemy, and sorcery to rival Old Valyria. They sought lands to colonize, but found us already here. They offer their treasures, their knowledge, and their power; but at what cost will we pay, not now, but in the future? What will we become? And will they ever come to trust us?

This crossover fan-fiction is intended to be in the same spirit as works like Event Horizon: Storm of Magic or related "Sci-fi civilization meets fantasy civilization". This story will not be about techno-curbstomps; while the Eclipse Phase factions are significantly more powerful than any human faction on Planetos, they have to bring nearly everything through the gates. Thus, they will have to play to their strengths and ideologies to gain a foothold in ASOIAF. This story will involve a lot more technological and cultural exchange.

I intend to have a mixture of 'in-fiction' text as well as 3rd-person narrative prose. The idea is to provide a sense that the peoples of Eclipse Phase and Planetos have exchanges and developments outside of the main characters as well as to provide more detailed worldbuilding.

BREAK

Receiving farcaster uplink from address' 143-B, 987-C, 532-C,132-E, and 743-G.

Routing uplink to secure server MATRIARCH… Complete.

Client IDs retrieved through uplinks, beginning download… Complete.

Packages received, extracting data… Complete.

Initiating ego spin-up on extracted data… Complete.

Client IDs assigned to appropriate ego sandboxes, running simulspace #29-B.

Cacophonus linked;

Das Frettchen linked;

Sustenatrix linked;

Les Merci linked;

Graystone linked;

Simulspace boot complete. Meeting started.

Das Frettchen: This cannot be real. A whole world, millennia old, filled with renaissance fair rejects just out there in the void? 'Earth analogue'? Please, this has to be some form of misinformation.

Cacophonus: You say renaissance so pretentiously. How long did it take you to get that accent down? Anyways, far as I can tell this is legit. As stupid and weird as it is, this is legit. I even have some of the records from both Gatekeeper and Pathfinder. I hear that TerraGen got a colony down in Sothoryos; the southernmost continent. Rumor has it, there is a functional equivalent to Tasmania down there.

Sustenatrix: I'm just happy to know that humanity has a couple thousand years of space colonization under our belt; makes everything feel a whole lot less pressing. Maybe there may be more? This may not be the only world with transplants through the gates.

Graystone: That is a highly likely possibility. I have already had my contacts analyze historical records, they have identified 185 different potential references to gate travel in old mythologies and histories; they have not yet exhausted the whole historical record.

Les Merci: We need to find all the records we can on Planetos, including old ruins. There may be more information pertaining to gate travel. Westeros will be easiest, thanks to Gatekeeper, but Essos and Sothoryos will be a pain. Doubt Pathfinder or TerraGen will be willing to allow potential competitors into their playground.

Sustenatrix: 'Their' playground?

Das Frettchen: Of course. You expect those baseline savages to challenge hypercorp claims? My larger concern is how much they may inadvertently bring through the gates.

Cacophonus: I see that your skepticism is gone. Looking forward to roleplaying as a 'Celestial Knight'?

Das Frettechen: Mayhaps. When we know that the dirtball isn't infected with any DTI's.

Cacophonus: Of course, my liege. Can't have the filth even glancing at your supremely perfected form.

Graystone: Focus. This prattling wastes valuable time. I am confident that we must act quickly to infiltrate agents into the colonial missions; too much is at stake if we allow this unknown to fester further. We have already wasted 12,000 years.

Les Merci: I have connections with Gatekeeper and the Navy, I should be able to pull some strings with Gatekeeper.

Sustenatrix: I have some potential pull with TerraGen. We should contact Sun Fuchun; they may be able to arrange something on Fortean. The Westerosi records already scanned suggest that Sothoryos is basically TerraGen's and Dalton's wet dream. There may even be some pseudo-mythical lifeforms.

Das Frettchen: You suggest we trust that exhuman sympathizer?

Les Merci: Overblown fear-mongering and inter-server rivalry. She will do what she needs to.

Das Frettchen: I am not so sure. I suggest you look into some of her 'private' communiques with Dalton, if you are so sure she -

Graystone: Silence. We have safeguards in place.

Das Frettchen: Mind elaborating?

Graystone: No.

Les Merci: What about Pathfinder?

Das Frettchen: I have connections and sentinels in Pathfinder. We will have some men on the inside. Say, maybe we should bring in Pyrrhos? He may be down with busting some good old fashioned flesh trade.

Sustenatrix: You really are looking to make yourself into a Celestial Knight. Charge in on wings of lightning to save all the poor, flea bitten serviles of the 'Free Cities'? You'd really bring yourself so low to the plebians?

Das Frettchen: As an elite, it would be my duty to protect the small folk. Heavy are the weights of lordship, no?

Cacophonus: I can't believe I am hearing this.

Graystone: Bring in Pyrrhos; the slave busting program will be used to establish Consortium dominance by eliminating a competing labor market. Pyrrhos will give us a significant path into a major source of information and influence.

Les Merci: Slavery for contractual servitude? I almost feel sorry for them, but I suspect it would be a significant improvement. The media will eat up the 'righteous liberator' angle. We should also look into checking all of the old ruins and records for any potential TITAN or Iktomi influence; we can't leave anything to chance. TITAN influence can be deadly, and Iktomi will help us better understand what transplanted these people.

Sustenatrix: And certainly will give you a leg on your fellow academics.

Les Merci: I have a reputation to keep.

Das Frettchen: And you all act like I'm the unethical one.

Graystone: Incorrect, Das Frettchen. I recommend correcting your statement; it implies I am included amongst your critics.

Das Frettchen: Bite me, you overdeveloped lie detector.

Cacophonus: Frettchen, you are a damn saint compared to some of these rulers. What savage would bash a baby?

Das Frettchen: Give me a meeting with Tywin, and I may be able to have Gregor on ice till the heat death of the universe. I expect gratitude once I have his freshly coded stack in the toybox. Maybe we could turn him into an eraser?

Graystone: That plan has potential, but we need more data to determine risk factors.

Cacophonus: I retract my prior statement. Do it anyways, karma won't tip the scales itself.

Les Merci: We need confirmation on this 'Ice Wall' as well. There is no way a bronze age culture would be able to maintain a structure like that; something is happening in the north. Given the seasonal cycle, there may really be 'White Walkers' out there.

Sustenatrix: Not the strangest thing we have seen.

Graystone: That risk factor should be eliminated as fast as possible.

Cacophonus: Gatekeeper will not pass up a giant ice wall. Place could be advertised as a summer retreat in Nyhaven.

Das Frettchen: Positively tropical.

Graystone: The satellite network will be invaluable to maintaining contact between operatives in the different settlements. I recommend we keep their identities secret from each other. They cannot be suspected of colluding with each other, lest they get removed.

Cacophonus: That will make things harder, but shouldn't be too much of an issue; most of them will likely not meet regularly.

Sustenatrix: The uplift program Gatekeeper is initiating will certainly throw a wrench in the spanners.

Das Frettchen: More than the Consortium selling them bots and healing pods?

Sustenatrix: Those services can't be reproduced; a printing press will be. And so will blast furnaces, float glass, and basic chemistry. The Essosi will have trinkets and luxuries; the Westerosi will be making gunpowder before long.

Graystone: Both will alter the equations. Neither are truly without precedent; I will not be thrown off by their influence.

Les Merci: We will have to live with it. This will happen no matter what; no way any of the gate operators or their sponsors will let this opportunity pass by. FOMA will ensure that. If it was one gate? Sure, there could be an argument for 'preservationism'; not with three.

Simulspace timer will conclude soon. Please finish all meeting discussions for disconnection.

Das Frettchen: So much to do, so little time. When we meet again.

Cacophonus: Peace.

Les Merci: Näkemiin.

Sustenatrix: Toodles.

Shared simulspace has ended. Would you like to initiate another?

Graystone: Connect me to toybox.

Connection established. Secure simulspace booting… Completed.

Graystone: I have some requests to make. I shall not leave any avenue unexplored.

Secured list extracted. Initiating search…

BREAK

BREAK

Eddard I

The biting wind of a spring winter cut across Eddard's face as the party of Stark men and guards made their way towards the Wolfwoods. While the cold was only just beginning to grow deep, Eddard was confident that this was the sign of the start of true winter. Nine years of summer was certain to promise at least as many of winter; crops would have to be stored, smallfolk housed, winter clothes made.

Winter is coming, thought Eddard, and with it a hundred concerns.

The villager came only to Winterfell only two days ago, spreading stories and fire of green 'witch light' at the dead of night in the Wolfswood. While Eddard supposed that the claims likely came from idle fantasy, he decided that it would do no harm to patrol the woods. Dismissing concerns of strange magic would be a happy coincidence. However, as Lord Stark and his party made their way towards the Wolfswood they heard the same story repeated time and again. An ominous green light at night, a strange thrumming hum, and a palpable sense of dread. Eddard hated to admit it, but the stories seem to have gotten to him and his men; all of them carried themselves tenser as they approached the woods.

Certainly it was the stories. For what foul force would be capable of pervading the very air with fear?

"By the Drowned, this is utterly droll. Perhaps we could just claim to have checked the woods? Prance about the countryside a night or two and board at a cheeky brothel for a third," Theon carped out.

Jon scoffed at the comment, "All you think about is brothels. It is important that we maintain the confidence of the smallfolk. They have concerns that we are bound to address. If we were to lie about investigating this 'witch light', we would be looked upon as no better than southerners."

Theon sneered at Jon for a moment, "Ah yes, the bastard is concerned for his reputation. You really shouldn't be, and neither should we be concerned about these snarks in the woods," Theon retorted with much heat.

Just as Jon was about to respond to the insult, Robb interjected the both of them, "Enough. Father has determined that it is best to dispel these rumors. It is no real harm to patrol the land. We may even find wildlings or bandits on our search. Best to keep the lands safe and civil."

Eddard was thankful that Robb seemed to have taken after his level-headedness. It brought him confidence that when the time came, he could leave Winterfell and the North in steady hands. It also didn't hurt that Robb helped keep the peace between Snow and Greyjoy.

Eddard spotted Jory Cassel crest over the hill facing their path towards the woods, returning from a short scouting into the woods proper. Jory kept a solid gallop till a couple paces from the main group before pulling back on his horse's reins, bringing the beast to a stop. The Winterfell party came to rest in front of Jory.

"Have you spotted anything yet, Jory?" Eddard inquired. Jory shook his head before answering, "Nay, m'lord. But I came upon a farmer and his son. They both swear by the old gods and the new that they saw the green witch light. The boy says that he believes it to be in a small clearing just north of a small stream. The clearing is circled by old building stones."

"Circled by old building stones?" Eddard echoed.

"Old smallfolk witching circle, more like," Theon commented before Robb tapped his shoulder in reprimand.

Eddard ignored the statement and pressed Jory further, "Would the boy or the father be willing to guide us?" Jory grimaced lightly and replied, "They may be able to, but they were carrying grains to the mill. We'd be imposing on their business. They say the clearing isn't far or hidden; we should be able to find it."

Eddard nodded in acknowledgement. It would have made the search easier, but this whole situation was likely nothing worth interrupting the smallfolk. As Jory fell back in line with the Winterfell party next to Alyn and Harwin, Eddard prodded his horse to continue onwards.

"We will find the clearing ourselves and camp a night to dispel any fears," Eddard commanded the party. A wave of ayes and a grunt of acknowledgement from Theon followed soon after before the party made to crest the hill.

Once they arrived at the edge of the wolfswood they began following the edge till nightfall. Camp was made in short order and a soup made from smoked meat and some wild herbs was had for supper. As night fell and the moon edged its way to the horizon, Jon looked up and coughed violently on his waterskin.

Eddard started in surprise and asked, "Jon, what's wrong?" before he followed the bastard's gaze to the Wolfwood behind the tents. Eddard blinked in disbelief before gaping for a while. The whole of the camp became deathly silent as their gazes fell upon an ominous green aura a distance into the Wolfswood. The light would flare and weaken periodically, but stayed steady for a while before fading away into the night.

"Gods be good," Robb swore, "a green witch light in the dead of night. The smallfolk weren't wrong. Honest witch light."

Eddard returned his gaze back to his son and honor guard. All of them wore stunned faces while Theon looked almost fearful. Eddard felt the anxious hum in his stomach pulse stronger than before. Jory cast Eddard a look filled with worry, but Eddard was pleased to see his features were schooled with determination.

Theon croaked a moment before stuttering out, "T-that may just be… a, uhm… s-swamp f-fire. I hear t-talk of it from h-hunters of the Neck. Just-... just swamp gas." Theon kept glancing between the men and the direction whence the witch light came from, looking for reassurance.

Jory tried to harden his features before reassuring Theon, "Aye, I hear of that too. But swamp gas ain't that consistent, not from the tales I heard. It's rare; too rare to appear every night," Jory returned his gaze to Eddard, "what do you make of this, m'lord?"

Eddard gulped silently, but his throat felt drier than it ever did in the dead of winter. "We ride for the witch light. It is clear that something is happening, and it is my duty as Warden of the North to resolve any threats to the people," Eddard declared with as much steel as he could muster.

"I'm with you, father. This is my realm too," Robb pledged, to which Jory and Jon nodded in agreement. Alyn and Harwin gave affirmative ayes, while Theon tried to school his face into one of confidence.

Eddard smiled back at his men, pleased to see their resolve under such strange circumstances, before declaring, "We will need our strength for tomorrow; we know not what awaits us at the clearing. We shall rest for the night, but ride out right after dawn." The men nodded their heads in understanding, before attempting to simmer down for sleep.

Eddard worked to push thoughts of the witch light from his mind, but found that they would not leave. The anxiety in his stomach twisted slightly throughout the night, which guessing from the shuffling of his men, Eddard assumed coiled within them as well.

BREAK

BREAK

Eddard II

Eddard Stark finished securing the saddle to his horse, a final check before he mounted the steed. The other men - his sons included - all finished packing up the camp tiredly. Eddard's suspicions from last night seemed to have been confirmed by the mood of the whole party at dawn. The feeling of anxiety still slithered and coiled within his belly, setting Eddard on edge. Theon clasped his hands together in front of his mouth, using them to clasp a hot breath of air to help loosen his ligaments and catch the heat across his face. The breath of both man and steed came out as visible clouds in the early spring-winter morning.

As soon as the whole party was mounted, they silently began making haste to the clearing where the witch light shone last night. Rather than prepare breakfast, all in the party chose to snack on smoked meat and hearty bread to save time. All were quiet for a time, until Robb called out to Eddard.

"Father, I believe I see the clearing. The ruins circle the clearing, just as the farmer said."

Eddard glanced at his son then followed his gaze to the clearing. A stone block was buried in the soil, crooked at an angle and covered in snow. Several other blocks and chunks were scattered near to the first block, weathered with pits and corners smoothed dull. The clearing had a light dusting of snow, but gave way to glistening frost before fading towards dusty grass. Trees blocked the center of the clearing, but something… spherical lay in the center.

"Aye, good eye Robb. Let's make our way closer. Jory, I want you to take the lead. Jon, Theon, stay with Robb and follow behind me. Alyn and Harwin will guard the rear," commanded Eddard.

The group began making their way down hill to approach the clearing, Jory leading the way with Eddard close behind. Amongst the snapping of twigs, the crunch of snow, and the heavy breathing of his mount Eddard could clearly feel the feeling of anxiety bloat larger within his being. The sensation made his heart pound audibly in his ears. Besides the movement of the party, the area surrounding the clearing was unnaturally silent. Noise seemed to almost disappear into the very air itself.

Soon after Jory passed the treeline and looked right, his face went from apprehension to confusion. Jory's horse whinnied pensively, stopping in its tracks and turning its head away from the center.

"Jory? What is it, why have you stopped?" Eddard called out to Jory, and as soon as he passed the treeline, he looked right into the clearing.

The object was indeed a sphere as Eddard surmised earlier, roughly the size of a barn stall or two. It was made of some kind of metal and was an open framework with a hollow center. The metal structure flowed and curved like water, tree roots, or the wrought iron works. But Eddard could immediately understand that the whole structure was wrong. Wherever his gaze fell, Eddard found that the edge of his vision suggested flows and patterns that were different from when he last saw them. His gaze was pulled across the thing, following a discordant rhythm of stops and fallbacks. As his eyes moved from place to place he found that what form he expected to be there was different than expected, as if the whole thing was transforming exactly where he wasn't looking. But when he forced his eyes back to the place he previously observed, he found that the sight was the same as when he first saw it.

The whole object refused to exist as a singular whole in his vision. It defied understanding.

It was not supposed to be here.

"F-father? What is… that?"

Eddard started, not expecting his son to ask him a question. It was as if he had forgotten that there was anyone else in the clearing besides him and the structure.

"I… I don't know, Robb. I don't know," admitted Eddard. Through not inconsiderable effort, he was finally able to pull his gaze from the structure to his son. Robb stared on with trepidation and confusion, clearly afflicted with the same sense of incomprehension as Eddard himself. Jon, Theon, Aly, and Harwin all shared similar expressions.

"Seven hells, what is wrong with it?!" cried out Theon, his horse chuffing angrily. Eddard felt his own mount put effort into attempting to stay away from the structure, throwing its head left and right.

"The horses dislike that thing as much as we do. I think we need to tie them up, away from the clearing," proposed Jon as he fought to keep his steed calm.

Eddard dismounted his own horse, "Aye, that seems best."

The whole party dismounted and led the animals back into the treeline. After tying the animals to trunks, the whole party made their way back to the clearing, taking care to avoid looking at the object too long.

"I'd bet a whole dragon that the thing is the source of the witch light," japed Jory. Eddard suspected as much as well.

"We will investigate the clearing, see if there are any clues or marks as to what happened here when the witch light shone," Eddard commanded the party.

As the group spread around the clearing, Eddard took care to observe the ground. Now that he wasn't captivated by the unnatural imagery of the sphere, he could appreciate the fact that the air surrounding the sphere felt somehow warmer - or perhaps more energetic some - than the air just past the clearing. The ground on the clearing was clear of grass and strangely flat; it was as if someone plucked the grass from the soil and smoothed everything out. Eddard did not suspect that, as there were no marks save for the ones he and his men left. Which also meant that animals did not pass through the clearing; Eddard didn't blame them.

Making his way closer to the center, Eddard brought up the courage to look at the sphere up close. At only five yards away, Eddard found the strange visual qualities of the sphere to be reduced. Feeling more confident, Eddard moved up to observe the metal up close. The metal was a strange matte-green hue, unlike any other steel he had ever seen; if this structure was even steel at all. The metal flows were covered in strange etchings that were reminiscent of some bizarre hybrid of leaves and cracked ice. Much like the sphere as a whole, the patterns seemed to defy singular perceptions: wherever his gaze fell, Eddard found that his periphery suggested something dramatically different. Up close, the effect seemed as if the etchings were moving; shifting up and down, left and right, even in and out. Placing a hand on the structure, Eddard could tell that no, the metal was not shifting like a pile of insects. But it was warm, and sent a strange shiver up and down his arm. It was not a shiver of cold, but yet Eddard could feel his arm tingle to some invisible pulse, a pulse that kept pace with the coiling anxiety in his stomach.

Eddard sharply pulled his arm from the sphere and turned around to observe his men. Robb and Theon were crouched above a black mark, whispering to each other. Jon stood above them, glancing at the mark but casting his gaze to the woods around him. Jory was walking the treeline, clearly tracing out the almost unnatural precision with which nature gave way to the mystical clearing. Alyn took off his right glove, knelt down to the soil, and felt the earth. Harwin was walking from one scorch mark to another.

Eddard called out to Alyn, "What have you noticed?"

"The earth, m'lord. It is warm. Too warm."

"Aye," Eddard agreed, "that it is."

Harwin spoke, "The scorch marks look like lightning strikes. The soil is burnt in the same way. Some of the marks seem to drag across the ground, bu…" he trailed off.

"But what?" asked Eddard.

"But… they seem to… circle, or perhaps… spiral around the object. Away from it from one perspective, towards it from another," Harwin clarified.

Theon stood up, "The marks are still recent, and the air is warm. Maybe… the witch light was lightning?"

"But the witch light thrummed. It did not flash like lightning," Robb countered. Theon contemplated the contradiction, until Jon spoke up.

"Maybe… the lightning did not strike, but cut across the clearing."

The whole party was silent for a moment, attempting to understand what force would be capable of controlling lightning to such a degree. Eddard looked across the clearing and came to a conclusion.

"We should camp out past the treeline tonight. Behind a hill. We have to observe this witch light directly if we are to understand what is happening here. If this… thing is a threat."

Jory bit his lip. "With all due respect, m'lord, but… is that safe?"

Eddard gave Jory a sympathizing look, but reaffirmed his decision, "I do not know if it is safe at all. But clearly something is wrong here, and we cannot ignore it. We must deal with this decisively, but caution and investigation is essential."

A moment after Eddard's decision, the party began moving to a hill in the treeline where they could set-up camp. The horses were re-tied to trees behind the hill and camp was being set. Tents were set up and Jon was getting dry wood for a fire. Little conversation was had, with everyone glancing in the direction of the sphere.

Then, the anxiety in Eddard's stomach became a foul dread permeating his being. The horses begin to whinny, pulling and kicking at the trees. The whole party glanced in the direction of the sphere as one. A low crackle began to emit from the clearing, a strange noise like groaning ice but with a viscous sharpness. Eddard waved everyone towards the hill, getting down on his belly and shuffling up towards the lip to observe the clearing. As the party shuffled up to the lip, the horses went deathly quiet and the dread Eddard felt gave way to a chill nothing.

Eddard glanced up past the lip of the hill to the sphere, and was once again found utterly stunned by the sight that greeted him.

Unlike when the sphere was simply sitting idly, the structure was now truly rearranging itself; the bends and flows shifted to accommodate a larger volume than before, making larger gaps into the center. However, Eddard found that despite the obvious physical changes the strange imperceptible nature of the sphere made it seem as if the environment was the one rearranging around the sphere, as if the sphere was the only static object in the clearing. Arcs of green lighting licked out from the metal struts, striking the ground and carving the strange spiral that seemed to flow into and out of the metal cage. It was as if reality itself was flowing through and out of the cage, flowing into something plainly impossible.

Then, when the activity seemed to reach a peak of complexity and strangeness that made Eddard wonder if he would even be able to understand the sight before him, the restructuring stopped. At the same instant, a dot of absolute nothing formed in the center of the cage. It slowly expanded to encompass a space as wide as the Winterfell gate. Or at least, that's what Eddard estimated. Getting a read on the relative size of the cage to the circle was a practice in guesswork at best. Eddard was about to stand-up to get a better view, when something utterly strange happened.

Out from the circle of nothing, seeming like an assassin leaving the shadows, stepped a man clad in strange armor. He strode confidently out of the metal cage and into the clearing, observing the environment around him. Rather than a knightly helm, the piece covering his head looked like some sort of strange glass dome made of gold.

Then, more began to step out of the gate, all just as strange as the others. Following after them were strange metallic carriages carried upon black wheels, propelled by some unseen power. Eddard took count of the people out in the clearing, a total of eight with one great wheelhouse the size of a small cottage flanked by two of a more reasonable size for a typical horse-drawn carriage. Puttering about where around the people and vehicles were smaller metallic creatures, a full dozen of them scurrying around like a swarm of rats.

The strangers immediately began setting up strange devices in the clearing. Eddard realized that they were setting up camp. The strange circle of nothing seemed to swallow itself, disappearing and leaving regularity in its place.

"Father, what do we do?" whispered Robb.

"Get the hell away from here!" Theon hissed back.

Jory cursed under his breath, "Damn! There are eight of them, one more than us. I don't see any swords or bows, but I wouldn't trust that they aren't armed."

Jon was silent but slowly began unsheathing his sword, careful to avoid making any noise.

Eddard was at a loss as to what to do. He did not recognize the armor the strangers wore and the sigils they bore were strange and foreign. Then, one of the shorter members jogged up to the first one who walked through the strange shadow portal. The shorter one bore pale blue armor, while the taller was dressed in an onyx black that reflected the light. Gesturing around but speaking no words, somehow the shorter individual had communicated something to the taller.

The onyx stranger and the shorter blue then glanced over towards the hill that the Winterfell men were hiding behind, staring directly at where Eddard Stark was.

BREAK

Robb I

A breath was caught in Robb's throat as he saw two of the strangers from the black portal look directly at him and his compatriots. Robb did not know how they noticed them, as the strangers were lower into the clearing and the hill was covered in shrubbery. It was by no means a proper hiding spot, but the strangers had done no searching that would reveal the Winterfell party's position. Not only that, but somehow the strangers were able to communicate only through gestures. Or at least, that was how it seemed.

Robb heard some shuffling to his left and saw his father stand up and rise to the top of the hill.

As Robb followed after his father, Eddard called out to the strangers, "Halt! I am Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North to his Grace King Robert of house Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. I hereby command you to declare your party's loyalties and state your business in the Wolfswood."

All of the strangers in the clearing halted in their tracks. They all turned to face the Winterfell party, as the other men had risen to join their Lord. The large metal carriages halted in place, but the smaller ones merely slowed in their scurrying, maneuvering around as if to get a better view. The whole clearing was silent as both groups stared at each other. All was still for a minute.

Robb's father cleared his throat and repeated, "Again, I hereby demand that you declare your party's loyalties and state your business in the Wolfswood. I will not ask again."

The tall ebon-colored stranger seemed to speak up, but Robb could not understand how he - guessing from his voice - could be heard properly behind such a strange helm.

"Uh… my name is Samuel Meyer, team lead for Gatekeeper first-in expedition 12-37-CC. We came here on a joint research and expeditionary mission sponsored by Titan Autonomous University and the University of New Shanghai," Samuel Meyer muttered out loud enough to be heard but indicative of the man's discomfort, "did you say… Seven Kingdoms?" he asked pensively. Robb noted that his accent was strange and unfamiliar; he did not sound of the seven kingdoms, but he spoke clearly and without error.

Robb and the other Winterfell men shuffled a bit, his father responding back with a hint of confusion, "Aye, Seven Kingdoms. The Seven Kingdoms would be known of as far as Essos… you said you were sent by this 'Gatekeeper'?"

Samuel merely nodded his head in affirmation.

"And might I presume that the 'gate' in 'Gatekeeper'," Eddard pointed at the strange structure, "is referring to that?"

Samuel glanced back at the 'gate' for a moment before turning back towards the hill. "Yes, that would be the gate. So… you saw the gate 'open'?" answered Samuel, lifting up both hands and using his pointer and ring fingers to make some strange clawing motion on the word open. Robb wondered if it was some sort of charm or ward these people made when referring to opening the gate. Seemed like a reasonable enough tradition, considering the unnatural properties of the gods damned thing.

Eddard nodded back and said, "Aye, we did."

Robb's father began walking down the hill to approach Samuel, with Robb and the Winterfell party following close behind. The strangers shuffled about anxiously while Samuel seemed to cast glances between his companions and the party.

Robb's father stopped two or so yards from Samuel, looking pensive for a moment before speaking, "Research, you said? And you did not recognize the name of the Rightful King nor the Seven Kingdoms. Where is this Gatekeeper located? I have not heard of 'Titan' nor 'Shanghai' either."

The pale-blue stranger spoke up, her feminine voice coming out with a raspy quality similar to Samuels, "Gatekeeper is the corporation we work for, located on Pandora. Pandora… borders Titan, the homeland of the Titanian Commonwealth. My name's Aili Kanerva, team sensor tech, by the way," Aili then began pointing at the other strangers - who were approaching the small gathering point - and began calling out their names.

There was the 'medic' Enzo Millet, in a matte white suit with black accents and red highlights, wearing a solid helm with a pair of myrish lenses and some strange protrusions from where the mouth is located; the militiamen Robert Loupe and Alvin Sundqvist, suited in matt black and wearing some form of gambeson covered in straps and pouches, with a similar helm to Enzo; the 'Xeno-Archaeologist' Carmen Whitaker, wearing a lighter suit of dull gray covered in straps and pouches, wearing a hood and the same strange mask; the 'ecologist and geologist' Ceti Vega, clothed in a light-green padded suit again covered in straps and pouches, but wearing a myrish-glass mask under a hood; and the field engineer Leo Olsen, suited in drab yellow knightly plate with a helm covered in tiny telescopes. Aili Kanerva was suited in pale-blue and wore a helm that most resembled a knights, except the visor was covered with myrish-glass.

Carmen and Ceti spoke in the same accent as Samuel, while Aili, Alvin, and Leo spoke a different one altogether. Enzo and Robert also had their own, but it was somehow familiar to Robb.

The Winterfell party introduced themselves after the gate-walkers - for what else to call them? - finished theirs.

Robb's mind raced with a million and one questions, but Jon spoke up before he could decide on one to ask, "You were sent by Gatekeepers? Are you not Gatekeepers yourselves?" Robb wondered about that detail as well; these strangers spoke of a singular Gatekeeper, but called it a 'corporation'.

Carmen shook her head and clarified, "No, Gatekeeper is the name of a corporation. A sort of company. They were formed by the Commonwealth after the discovery of the Pandora gate, to manage and study the gate for the benefit of civilization as a whole. We just… work for them."

"So Gatekeeper keeps the gate," Robb elaborated, "but you walked through this one. The gates are connected, then?"

"Yes, they are connected. But only if Gatekeeper dials in your gate," affirmed Leo, seemingly to the chagrin of his compatriots. Robb pressed further, "So you can connect to other gates?"

Leo shuffled at the statement, looking at Samuel for a moment before facing Robb again. "Yes, we can dial-in other gates. But we have no way to know what's on the other side… so we send people through. Explorers and researchers, so that they can report back on what they find," Leo explained with an edge of uncertainty. Robb grimaced slightly at Leo's hesitance and tone; why was he so reluctant to explain that they were able to access other gates? These people clearly spoke of other gates, specifically one of their own. Clearly, there were multiples.

Theon piped into the conversation, "So you all are gate-walkers. You do not keep the gate, but walk through it."

Samuel glanced at Theon and added, "Well, we call ourselves gate-crashers, but I suppose that actually makes more sense. Theon gave a confused look at the moniker, and Robb could understand why. The gates were, well, gates. A structure leading from one place to another. Not some ship that could be marooned upon land.

Jon cut in suddenly and with some suspicion in his tone, "So what is Gatekeepers intent with our lands? They are my fa-, my Lord's - sovereign territory, and his authority is second only to his Grace King Robert of House Baratheon."

Robb was stunned for a moment by Jon's brashness, but quickly came to realize that the gate-walkers only spoke of exploration and research. They were portraying themselves as intrepid adventurers, but all men had a motive. What did they get out of this endeavor? What did Gatekeeper? They said that there was no way to know what was on the other side of a gate, so being a gate-walker was a dangerous profession. Thinking back on it, they seemed to not like that Robb and his comrades had seen the gate open or the gate-walkers step through; Leo looked to his leader for confirmation on whether to confirm that it was possible for gates to connect to more than one other gate. They seemed surprised that anyone was on the other side, which implied that they didn't meet any other people through the gates. Everything about the way they were handling this affair was odd.

What was their game?

The gate-walkers seemed uncomfortable for a few moments before Samuel finally spoke up, "Well… that usually depends on what is on the other side of the gate, and who sponsored a particular venture. As I said, we came here on a sponsorship from Titan Autonomous University and the University of New Shanghai. Expedition and research." Robb saw his father crease his brow at the evasion. Samuel had already said who their sponsors were, but that did not mean other sponsors would hold the same intent.

Losing his patience, Jory drew his blade and held it in a low stance. "Let us get to the point, then; are you mercenaries? And will there be more of you?" demanded Jory.

Samuel and Aili held up their hands and took a step back passively, while Robert and Alvin placed their hands on some strange handles placed within some sort of holster. While Robb did not recognize the devices at their hips, he could presume it was some sort of weapon from the way the militiamen held themselves. The other gate-walkers took steps back cautiously.

"Enough, Jory!" commanded Eddard as he placed his hand over Jory's chest, keeping him back.

"Look, I understand your concerns. I really do. But we promise that we have no malicious intent for your land," pleaded Carmen, "but we didn't expect there to be humans here at all!"

Robb glanced at Carmen for a moment, somewhat confused. His father asked, "Humans? You did not expect there to be people beyond the gate?" Samuel nodded his head and affirmed the question.

"Yes. You are the first people Gatekeeper has found beyond the gate."

Robb looked to the other Winterfell men, all of them trying to understand what was being implied.

"I apologize, but we cannot trust that you are being truthful while you hide your faces. Please remove your helm, so that we may know you are honest," commanded Eddard.

Enzo stuttered for a moment before speaking, "Samuel, no! We do not know if the environment is safe! Forget about medical regulations, this would put everyone here-"

"I know!" interrupted Samuel. Robb wasn't sure why their maester was concerned about removing their helms, but the man seemed legitimately upset at the proposition. Samuel continued, "I'll remove mine, but the rest of you keep yours on. I'll play guinea pig. Aili, you got command if something happens to me."

Aili nodded her head in response to Samuel's command. Samuel then faced back towards the Winerfell party.

"Well, here goes."

Samuel placed his hands at the sides of the helm. His thumbs flicked at two latches, which released sharply with click. He then placed his left hand towards the back of the helm and his right towards the front. When he twisted at something at the back, a hiss sounded from the helm as air visibly escaped the helmet. Slowly, he pulled the piece forward and off his head.

He was surprisingly northern in look. His skin was cream colored and his hair was solidly black. His blue eyes almost glittered, but Robb dismissed that as a trick of the light. Samuel held his breath for a moment, before taking in a large gulp of air. Enzo tensed at the breath, looking ready to intervene. However, after nearly a minute of Samuel breathing in and out, nothing seemed to be wrong.

Samuel gave a sheepish grin. "Well, sorry about not being neighborly. Not every other gate leads somewhere breathable, and disease is a concern," Samuel laughed, his voice notably absent of the strange buzz that came through his glass helmet.

"Look, Mr. Stark… er, Lord Stark, I know that you are concerned for the safety of your people and your land. But we do not have any negative intentions. Nor does Gatekeeper. In fact, they may want to negotiate once we tell them about you," Samuel reassured Robb's father, looking and sounding honest in his words, "to be honest, this is probably the biggest discovery that we have ever made. We do not want conflict. We just want to explore and learn."

Samuel held out his hand towards Robb's father, looking sheepish. "We can learn about each other. Our history, our people, our culture. For the betterment of civilization."

Robb glanced between Samuel and his father. Jory and Jon were more relaxed, but still looked ready to lash out if necessary. Theon seemed uncertain and looked to Robb for support. Robb couldn't see Alvin or Harwin behind him, but he presumed that they were equally anxious.

Finally, Eddard spoke, "Aye. I suppose that is reasonable," then reached out and clasped Samuel's hand.

BREAK

Astika I

[Director Murray would like a report on the defensive cordon], drawled Muacalinda, Astika's personal Muse. Astika responded with a dismissive emoji, sighing internally as he reviewed the volumetric layout of the power distribution system for the powered components of the interior defensive cordon.

[Tell him that the automated defensive systems will be on within the hour, then I will move onto prepping the overhang for the ferro-crete emplacements] replied Astika, the waveform tinged with an exasperated sigh. Mucalinda merely chuckled back, his chiming tone lifting Astika's mood just slightly. The colonial council was hot on his shiny-metal-ass for the past three days; he has really only had about ten hours of free-time to himself, and that was filled with constant notices marked urgent or pushed to the top of his to-do list. HR and Research were juggling second and third place only the night before.

Astika extended his arm and clasped a bundle of power lines, the fingers and duo-thumbs twisting and bending in inhuman fashion to pull apart a couple of loose wires. A severed wire reflected brightly in UV, immediately showing him the source of the earlier power-up failure. Astika then unfolded his integrated utilitool from his other arm and configured the welder, focusing the short beam on the severed ends of the offending strip of fullerene. He closed up the power cable before reclasping the heavy chord onto the underside of the subterranean tunnel.

Astika began to crawl out of the tunnel, his robotic body twisting and coiling around to give him solid traction. As he pulled himself fully from the entrance back into the noon sun, he took a moment to check his industrial plating. He recently had some bodywork done to make the shell more flexible and aesthetic. Besides some light scratching on his breastplate, most everything looked fine. His tail was coated in a complex array of black-scales that give him exceptional traction and flexibility. His torso was designed to look like medieval plate armor with a notable industrial flair; one of the indentured workers said he looked like a transformer. When the fellow pinged him some low-quality jpegs, he supposed that the comparison was apt. He at least didn't have the weird machine mouth, but he took effort to make the head look like a knight's helmet with a snake motif; cameras in the eyes and the 'visor' housed the lidar array. His shoulders and arms were similarly done in a fantastic manner, his hands ending in wicked claws and fine-decals stitching across the whole framework.

There was absolutely no way he was not going to take full-advantage of this situation; a literal fantasy planet! He could almost just imagine the faces the natives will make when they see him. Didn't hurt that the whole set was full industrial armor; every piece was a refractory superalloy, dense as hell but just as tough. He could probably survive hell for good while without issue, to be honest. On top of that, every piece was carefully nano-fabricated with some of the best composite patterns known, built for maximum performance from the nano- to the meso-scale. Everything was linked together by nano-architectured memory metal scaffolding, making the plate metaphor quite literal. Under that was a sheath of flexible aerogel which helped to insulate the delicate electrical components and myomer actuator arrays. Astika was fairly certain there was nothing on this dirtball that could seriously threaten him, besides all of the transhumans.

Then again, he was also responsible for running their defense grid. Which was shaping up quite nicely, all things considered.

The gate was located in a small clearing in the Qohor forest, west of the Dothraki plains and east of a part of Rhoyne flowing downward south towards Volantis and north of Qohor proper. Right alongside the western edge of the clearing was a steppe about four or five meters above the level of the Dothraki plains. The solid stone earth was rather good fortune, as Pathfinder was deeply concerned about securing the colony against the Dothraki. As such, he was the Head Engineer in charge of getting the steppe raid-ready against a bunch of mongolian wannabes. The area surrounding the gate was already set-up by the time he slithered through planetside, so he was immediately ordered to begin work on the cordon. A spot to set-up a river harbor was found about a half-kilometer downriver, so it was decided that a small mag-lev line would be set-up to ferry goods down to the drop-off point; that is, once the auto-harbor was put together. That little project was put on the backburner to place focus on establishing power, mesh, housing, and defense. Then they wanted to have a depot put together that would house some travel vehicles. The idea was to initiate land-trade with Qohor and Volantis at first. A micro-fusion generator was hauled through to power the colony as a whole, but a lot of wind-turbines and solar arrays were being set-up to supplement the whole system. Of course, he had to set-up a number of CerLiqMesh fission banks to power the defense grid, as the Colonial Board wanted the defenses to be entirely separate from civilian power grids. In an emergency, power could be routed from the cordon to the typical colonial systems.

Astika spotted a pair of indentured laborers lazing around some emptied supply crates, likely shooting the shit while they waited for him to fix the power lines. Astika rose up a bit and called out to the pair, "F9, CC, get the mortar set-up with some dumb-munitions. I'm gonna run the pre-check then we'll hit the test again. The thing should fire now."

The pair reluctantly got up and walked over to the munition bunker nearby. Astika then turned his attention to the mortar. It was about the size of a truck but had a wide base with some composite nano-steel walls that people could hide behind. The stuff wouldn't hold against a hypervelocity sabot, but would be nigh-invincible to some spears and arrows. There were biometric lockers holding some electrokinetic PDWs and small arms for self defense. The lockers were, well, locked during standard operations, but an executive command would unlock them for common defense. Colonial policy forbade weapons access to anyone who wasn't a colonial officer.

An officer like Astika.

Astika casually flicked his rattle tail against a panel hinged above the tunnel hole, slapping it back down. He unclipped his 'nail gun' from its holster, switched the smart magazine to nails, then went about punching the plate back into the stone.

Astika was rather proud of his sidearm; the colonial administrators had deemed it a 'Utility Electrokinetic Handgun'. He designed the tool, putting a lot of thought and effort into what he wanted out of it. It used a helical-railgun - colloquially, 'Hell-Rail' - actuator that was fed by a memory metal integrated magazine. The motor and stator used room temperature superconductors - a composite of glassy pentary super-hydride sheets sandwiched between quasicrystalline stacks of elemental nano-films wrapped in pure-iron micro-plates - and fullerene electrical bundles to achieve slow hypervelocity. The power supply was a solid state aluminium nano-fractal rechargeable fuel-cell that had twice the energy density of primitive hydrocarbon fuels. The holster would inductively couple with the hell-rail to recharge the gun, but the handle also had an inductive charger as well. A broad spectrum laser system was able to produce target painting beams from near-infrared to low-ultraviolet - or widen out to produce a colored flashlight. Ubiquitous integrated camera, only 4k resolution. Variable power output, so Astika could go as below hyper-sonic as he desired, conserving energy or optimizing the ballistics. The weapon had an adaptive integrated sabot that could slot up to three-quarters caliber. Alongside a smart link through the grip, Astika had a truly exceptional sidearm.

Astika spotted the laborers carrying the dumb-munitions from the bunker. All of the colonial indentures were sleeved into some construction synths from Fujizo; lightweight composite-fiber and metal foam frameworks held up by myomer bundles and SMA interconnect, simple sensor buoys housed in a construction-hat like cranium, and all of the delicate internals were 'clothed' in some lightweight impact-fabrics colored in bright yellow or green. All non sensor or fabric portions were coated in black rubber padding.

Astika pulled a smart material Cat17e smart material jack from a socket on his shoulder and attached the connector to the I/O for the EK mortar control system. A new entoptic window opened in front of him with a minimal OS running a command line.

[naga mk-virtualbox: ~/DA-terminal/auto-mortar2$ cd ]

[naga mk-virtualbox: ~/DA-terminal/auto-mortar2$ ls]

[ ]

[naga mk-virtualbox: ~/DA-terminal/auto-mortar2$ sudo run kill-POST]

A wall of diagnostic data flooded down the terminal until he got a positive full check; last time he got a power fluctuation error. He didn't bother fixing one of those some years ago, the whole kinetic-actuator burnt-out and generated an EMP. He was not letting that happen again. Couldn't see straight for a week.

Pulling the ethernet from the console, Astika remotely initiated the test procedure. The motors whined and pulled the mortar into a 45° and the magazine box popped open with a beep. The indentures loaded four dumb-munitions, pointed slugs the size of a trash bin.

"You sure it'll fire this time, boss? That alarm from earlier was real screechy," asked F9. Astika waved off the question.

"It should work. One of the power cables must have been man-handled badly, a signal wire was severed."

CC shuttered a moment. Kinesics were tough with most synths, but there were a few tells.

"Hey, we weren't the ones who hauled the cables, 'kay? Must have been the off-duty team," CC groused out.

Astika sighed. "Don't worry, it wasn't a big deal. Could have been caused by almost any handling," lied Astika, "but it was a simple fix. Just took a minute."

[Mucalinda, broadcast an alert on the test-fire. Mid-priority.]

Mucalinda chirped and the notice popped up on Astika's entoptics.

Astika gestured and sent the command to initiate the test-fire. The magazine box clasped shut and the loader shifted rapidly, slotting in the four slugs. The siren blared shortly before the mortar quickly let off each round in sequence, the air-cracking as solid brass and steel surpassed the sound barrier and sailed into the plains. A few seconds passed and some unfortunate rock in the distance was turned to sand as four great plumes of earth and dust were kicked into the air. A quick sequence of four claps reached the mortar platform a moment later.

Pulling his nail-gun from its holster and switching on the laser, Astika ran a range-finder script and compared the reading to the mortars manual specifications.

"Off only by 0.013%," Astika muttered as he returned the nail-gun to it's holster, "pretty good deviation, to be honest."

F9 seemed giddy from the quiet whining of micro-motors. "Damn, Mukesh! These things are AWESOME! Ain't no way those horse-fuckers'll try anything with this baby loaded!" chirped F9.

"You think this is rad? You should see a proper kinetic strike some time," replied Astika. Making his way out of the platform, Astika did a quick remote check on mortar 1 and then whistled sharply. What appeared to be a gray-yellow pylon about one and a half meters tall suddenly stood up on four spindly legs. Four more thin arms popped out of the shell as Astika's servitor Kep chirped an acknowledgement. Kep made its way to Astika's side and followed at an even pace. His dwarf bot - Gimly - woke from sleep mode and rose up a half meter.

"Gimly, gather the empty crates and bring them to recycling. After that, I want you to drill eight 300 centimeter wide 100 centimeter deep tunnels every four meters on the steppe edge," ordered Astika, then turning towards F9 and CC, "go into the storage shed E and pull eight security pylons. We'll be putting up a deterrence fence next."

F9 and CC left the platform and walked back towards the storage sheds, past the steppe and closer to the colony center. Gimly stomped towards the nearest empty crates and began picking them up, whistling happily along the way.

Mucalind piped up, [Priority notice from the First-Contact Specialist. She wants the colonial board and officers present for an announcement about indigenous relations at the pavilion. It will start in an hour.]

Of course, Astika thought, more in-person meetings. What a waste of time.

It was strange, really. The second first-contact that transhumanity has experienced is with a transplant culture of literal humans. They are humans - the biology department verified the reports Gatekeeper provided to Pathfinder. Besides the local flora and fauna, an initial scout team came upon a couple of dead bodies in the plains; from the clothing, it looked like some conflict between Dothraki got violent. The bodies were still relatively fresh, so genetic analysis was possible. The corpses were taken back to the colony and dissected thoroughly; as human as any Jovian luddite. Once the Research Division confirmed that fact, shit got serious. Astika was 'selected' by Pathfinder overseers as an ideal lead engineer for the burgeoning colony. Corps were practically tripping over each other for a chance to invest in the Qohor colony; some corps redirected low-priority colonial supplies to the colony. All at a tidy premium for Pathfinder, of course. Supplies were flowing in daily, often for hours at a time. The Consortium Council must have given an executive command to prioritize the colony. Things were still pretty bare bones, but for a colony only two weeks old the joint could stand toe-to-toe with some older places.

Astika began slithering his way towards the central pavilion. Maybe they would vote on a name today? Checking the local soc-nets, that seemed to be the leading rumor at the moment. Most colonies wouldn't have a name, but Planetos was likely going to be an exception. There were other cities to contend with. Of course, the First-Contact Spook may call for a name vote at the meeting, but Astika supposed that would be secondary. So far the only official guidelines on how to interact with the natives were the ones penned by Gatekeeper, and those were specific to the Westeros natives.

Astika made his way to the worn path connected to the pavilion and slid his way past some of the indentures rushing about. He eventually found himself lining up with some other colonial officers. Those sleeved in biomorphs weren't wearing any vacc suits, as biocompatibility was basically ideal. Of course, everyone still had some emergency face masks in-case they needed to avoid breathing anything too nasty. Astika was the only officer who used a synth; another reason why he took the effort to make his shell chic.

Eventually, Astika had settled into a middle row off-center from the short pavilion stage.

Since it was still a half-hour till the meeting started, Astika decided to check the net. Computer networks post-fall were a rather unique affair; the absolute annihilation of several long-standing terran organizations and companies left some serious authority vacuums in the digital ecosystem. On top of that, many of the protocols and standards had been divisioned with organizations and corporations that no longer existed. Thankfully, the Argonauts inherited enough authoritative figures from pre-fall to implement an open-source set of standards for the surviving polities and habs to use.

IPv6 had already been an established standard for decades before the fall, but IPv4 was always an odd hangup. While IPv4 was still in practice, it was completely re-portioned; besides the two broadcast addresses and the non-routing ranges, the remainder was basically set aside for interplanetary network addressing. Things like transmission satellites and planetary routers got precedent, with planetary agencies run by argonauts administering ranges set aside for the major orbital bodies. Anything smaller than that was given IPv6. The gates all got IPv4 for addressing as well. Pathfinder, Gatekeeper, TerraGen, Love & Hate, and Go-Nin all got rather modest ranges for institutional purposes. Exo-planets across the gate did not receive any IPv4, as the number of destinations were easily expected to strain the limited ranges given to gate orgs. Instead, old school NAT strategies were implemented; Pathfinder used as a proxy address for all personal email communications, for example.

Besides some reshuffling of other addressing standards and redefinition of particular protocols, most computer networking remained largely the same since it stabilized around the 2040s. Quantum systems did peak computing and comms for a good while, especially with hybrid systems, but things had mellowed out a decade before the fall.

Astika navigated towards . /research and checked for any significant developments from the north-west. Besides some reports on the progress of various archival projects and some rather bland updates to the bio-logs, there weren't any seriously interesting research releases. However, there was a neat announcement about Eddard Stark getting a letter saying that King Robert was hiking up North to appoint Eddard as 'the Hand of the King'; apparently, the previous dude died. Of old age.

Fucking weird. Good for Eddard, mused Astika.

Astika decided to track articles on finished proposals for blast furnaces, float glass, mechanical looms, printing presses, and some miscellaneous products that were accepted by the Starks. Gatekeeper had also provided maps - printed ones - that indicated rich ore veins in the North. Once the Starks got a blast furnace, Astika expected that better agricultural equipment, new greenhouse, and stainless steel were going to be the next big developments. Astika felt kind of miffed by the good luck that Gatekeeper had; they were a hop-skip and jump from Winterfell, so trade was basically started right away. Pathfinder was still busy getting security up and the terrain mapped so that they could safely send buggies out to trade in goods. Gatekeeper got to snuggle up with the natives; too bad they had such a restrictive infrastructure policy. Pathfinder was going to catch up soon enough.

At long last, the meeting started. First-Contact Specialist Kyon Sung-Eun took the stage and began to give some refined spiel on the good work that everyone was doing, how proud she was to be part of such a historically important project, and that she looked forward towards further endeavor with the executive teams. She announced that a colonial name would be chosen by vote with candidates provided by the committee. The vote would be held the next day, so people had time to review the choices and decide on a name.

Kyon then began talking about policy for indigenous interaction and what standard procedure was to look like regarding the natives. Astika recognized a lot of general points from the Gatekeeper public records, so he mostly just paid attention to the procedure for dealing with Dothraki raiders. He would read the full documentation later, since the wiki was already updated with the new framework. Instead, Astika pulled up an encrypted private chat that some of the officers set-up; the thing ran on SCTP through a couple jury-rigged routers set up on various installations. Everyone used a lattice-key to decrypt traffic and the keys were only offered through hard media.

[Jesus, listen to her drone on and on… has she taken a breath yet?]

[Bet 'ya 50 milliCreds that she got an implanted rebreather.]

[I'll take that.]

[Smart Contract signed: *******~ +50 mCr, *****~ +50 mCR. Standard pot rules set, trial-by-peer enabled.]

[Childish.]

[Hey, I did some digging through the solarchive. I think this chick may be an oligarch!]

[Yeah, right. Like they'd dirty their hands out on this mudball.]

[I'm serious! Listen, I checked some public inheritance records and compared them with some old New York Stock logs. Encryption keys were cracked some time ago, so I ran a script and found her name pop up! I checked mortuary records, and found some stuff on her death in 2078. Guess where the inheritance was passed?]

[Chick with the same name?]

[Yup!]

[Whack-ass early sleevin' standards.]

['xactly. Now, records get real patchy with the fall, but the same name pops up in early Consortium records. She held a lot of shares with some mid-level corps and even had some with Cognite! Far as I can tell, she's just been hitting gates with promising life-signs.]

[Not a lot of public appearances or news on her; must like her privacy.]

[Y'all have gone technical over this spook.]

Astika was pleased to see that one of his schemes paid off. He noticed that one of the systems techs was part of the chat, and after having checked their soc-net history he could tell that the guy liked celebrities, oligarchs, and some light conspiracy theories. Astika had prodded the tech in a prior session, encouraging him to 'dig deeper'; the tech took that hook, line, and sinker. Astika decided to cache some of the linked articles for later review. He already suspected that Kyon was older and more powerful than people expected, but he was more concerned with finding some personal info he could use to check against Eye files later.

Astika knew there were other Firewall sentinels in the Pathfinder colony.

The routers had decided that anonymity and observation were the name of the game, so all of the sentinels went in without any info on who was with the 'wall. Astika didn't like not knowing who else was in on the conspiracy. As such, he decided to start looking into people's backgrounds for anything that would implicate them with the Eye.

So far, he suspected Kyon Sung-Eun of potentially being a sentinel, but he wasn't confident on that. She clearly strong-armed and backdoored her way here, but that could just be because she was wealthy and influential. The lack of media attention was what really made him suspect she was in on the game. Since she was a First-Contact Specialist and would likely head Pathfinder's indigenous outreach program, he would have to keep a close eye on her.

There was one other person that stood out to Astika: Marguerite Djetou. She was a security contractor and drone operator out of Extropia. Not uncommon for Extropian mercs and yuppies to get into Pathfinder missions, but she had a black mark on her CivicNet records. Apparently, she was 'the Butcher of Paris'. He tried poking around to get a higher-up explanation, but all he got was some variation of 'Exceptional security concerns qualifies exceptional methods'. No one seemed keen on hanging with her, so he would have to be careful attempting to socialize with the woman. Considering that they were both on security projects, he may be able to get a private moment where he could prod a bit into why she was here.

[Alert on . /Casual/Panogram, a new album was posted. Headers are marked the right way,] Mucalinda interrupted Astika's musings.

Just in time, thought Astika. The meeting was finishing up and people were dispersing. He began worming his way to the flash-kilns and navigated to the domain. The album popped up in his entoptics, vid captures of Northern scenery and wilderness. Most people would think this is just a natural record and scenery porn site, but Astika had specific instructions from his router. Every so often when the gate would open for supply runs, the solarchive would be updated and Astika would get some encrypted private email traffic. The emails seemed innocuous, but they were actually coded messages containing details on sites and services that served as discrete data drops. The panoramas from the site were ever so subtly edited to have a lattice key and contact headers encoded into the pixels, which could only be extracted from a specific analysis program.

Astika extracted the data drop details and plugged into a radio booster beacon. He initiated some diagnostic programs, but then he injected the data drop. The beacon connected with the satellite network and linked up with another client at Gatekeeper. Another sentinel. The exchange would not be recorded or stored, the comm network would show a diagnostic run and some standard testing pings between the different networks on the logs.

[Sunspear, this is Evergreen. Halo charlie zulu.]

[Evergreen, this is Sunspear. Kilo sierra delta.]

[Got caught wind that the King's in a pit of vipers. Potential power play.]

[Unfortunate, but not our concern.]

[Not necessarily. I have some suspicion that the issue spans the seas.]

[And?]

[Instability would be detrimental; check the mythology files when you are unwatched.]

[Mythology? Got it. Anything else?]

[The scholars are spiders. Don't get caught in their webs.]

[Roger.]

[Wilco.]

The connection was cut. Double checking that the data forgery was clean, Astika made his way back to the security cordon. He had some reading to do.

BREAK

BREAK

Varys I

Varys had found himself walking the halls of the Red Keep with the Master of Law Lord Renly late in the afternoon. They had been engaged in some rather dull conversation about matters of import to the Kingdom when the subject of the 'gate-walkers' came up.

"It really is surprising that Lord Stark would fall prey to some mummer's fantasy so easily. I wonder how they pulled it off? Must be some rather impressive stage-craft," mused Renly. He had expressed suspicion of the rumors rather off-handedly, which was reasonable enough on the face of how absurd the tales sounded. Varys, on the other hand, was not so quick to dismiss.

"I doubt Lord Stark is as foolish as you make him seem. To be fair, I would have sided with your determination were it not for the tales that my little birds have brought me. Fantastic that they are, but they are so fantastically consistent," murmured Varys as he and Renly made their way out to the Red Keep gardens, "I would personally find it suspicious that so many tales would come out the same as this talk of Gatekeepers has."

Renly scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, "I had thought that you would be one of the reasonable people in this city. I fear that everyone has gone mad. Talk of magic; magic has been dead. All of the learned men know of this."

Varys was not so sure.

"Nevertheless, what do you make of His Grace making Lord Stark the new Hand?" redirected Varys. He doubted that he would be able to convince Renly of the gate-walkers. He had heard similar tales from his little mice all the way out in Essos, but he was not about to flash his proverbial knife so readily.

The pair made their way to a gazebo overlooking the cliffs of the Red Keep out towards the Blackwater Bay - towards the east, towards Essos. Towards more gate-walkers.

Stopping to rest in the gazebo, Renly looked out past the cliffs for a moment, seemingly in thought. He returned his gaze to Varys, wearing a sad and tired look.

"I feel sorry for him. He will find this pit of snakes and lice to be… difficult," surmised Renly. Varys nodded his head in sympathy. He did not expect Lord Stark to survive long in King's Landing.

Renly seemed to tire of conversation and made to take his leave, "See you tomorrow, Master of Secrets. Maybe you will finally receive news of my dear brother disposing of some profane trickster sometime by the morning."

"One could only hope," replied Varys. While Renly left the gazebo and made his way out of the gardens, Varys remained looking out over the bay.

Another ball in the juggler's hands, one of uncertain weight. The gate-walkers were completely unexpected and threw decades of careful work into the metaphorical gutter. These people supposedly had command over living artifacts of metal and strange materials; they possessed supreme scrying powers that allowed them to locate veins of metal wealth; they had medicines - likely poisons as well - to dwarf the greatest alchemists in Essos; and they stepped through gates that rent the firmament itself and stitched it back together, like a seamstress stitches garments.

Varys dreaded if the whispers of sorcery were true.

The only consultation he felt was that there was no talk of blood magic. The gate-walkers worked their craft through esoteric rituals and crafts, but they seemed to only need tools and raw materials. They abhorred violence, taking effort to avoid it, and at least in the North they were forthcoming with their lands. One little bird spoke of the kingdom bordering their gate in 'Pandora', a land of supreme cold and solace to rival the North beyond the Wall. This kingdom - this Commonwealth of Titan was a realm where all men and women were equals, where there was no slavery and no coin, only the common nobility of fellow citizens. They were all rulers of the realms, educated and devoted to the common good. If there was a fairytale to be had about these gate-walkers, it was surely that one.

And if it was true, then Varys would once again curse the Gods for having him born in Lys.

But the most challenging facet to the gate-walkers was not the surprise, nor was it their magic or their foreign ways, but instead it was their insularity. They took great pains to ensure that their secrets stayed only with their people, which caused great consternation with the Starks. They have thus far refused to allow anyone not of their realm to pass through the gate to Pandora. Varys wondered how long their procrastination would last with His Grace the Drunk making way towards the North. Only time would tell how that encounter would play out.

As the sun finally began to set, the skies due east began to darken and give way to the stars. Varys looked up and kept his eyes open for a new addition to the heavenly tapestry; bright, fast-stars that streaked the sky in precession and order. He actually saw them ascend to the heavens some fortnight ago or so. This event was what truly made him certain of the powers of the gate-walkers, seeing with own two eyes a great streak of purple fire streak through the sky before dispersing four and a score of bright new stars. When he had first brought this to Pycelle's attention, the old maester had at first been dismissive; it did not take him long to accept Varys' claims. But a couple days after that spectacular event, he had noticed that more of the fast stars had appeared; he suspected those were the work of the Qohori gate-walkers. His little birds said that the gate-walkers called the fast-stars satellites - though they said the gate-walkers called the moon a satellite - and that they used them to communicate. Using light beyond sight, the gate-walkers could speak with each other across the world instantly.

Varys would be changing many of his plans thanks to the gate-walkers, but he would be damned if he did not try to take advantage of their artifice. At least, take advantage of their gifts before the decadent nobility has a chance to.

BREAK

BREAK

Robb II

The whine of the gate-walkers 'buggy' hissed lightly behind Robb, following the Winterfell party into the Wolfswoods in search of game for when His Grace King Robert came to Winterfell. Thanks to the scrying power of the gate-walker's 'sensors', the party already had a strong idea of where the deer were roaming as of late. Days of searching would be saved, which Robb was most thankful for. However, he wondered about how such power could be used for the defense of the realm; an assassin could hide in shadow, but he could not hide the heat of his flesh. Let alone an ambush, or an army.

Robb frowned a touch, once again miffed about the exasperating refusal by the gate-walkers to show anyone how they controlled their magic toys. They seemed attuned to them in a way that bordered on disconcerting, often simply gesturing or glancing in some vague command before one of their machines went to work. Robb swore that he once saw Svafa look towards a closed door, only for it to open a moment later with one of her compatriots. The two didn't even greet each other, the man simply handed her a tool she had needed while stringing up lights in the crypt before walking away, nary skipping a beat.

Svafa was a curiosity all her own.

Robb could tell that the other gate-walkers were putting an effort - strange as it might be - to actually communicate in ways that he and his own could understand. Not Svafa, though Robb wondered if that could be due to his fathers strange reactions to the woman. When his Lord Father had first gazed upon Svafa, he seemed to suddenly be caught in awe and disbelief. He had attempted to work his mouth to say something, but couldn't seem to bring himself to state a single word. After Svafa snapped her fingers in his face, Robb's father finally shook himself from his shock and then properly greeted her. She said something in a tongue Robb hardly understood, though it sounded a touch like the language of the First Men:

Hän okei? Ei niin, että olisin niin viehättävä. Whatever that meant.

Robb at first thought that his father had merely mistaken Svafa for someone else, but he kept noticing that his Lord Father would often stare at her - though not in any hostile or lascivious manner. Like he was reliving an old memory, which happened every now and again. Robb's mother said that sometimes happened to men who faced great trials, but Robb could not understand why that would be.

Suddenly, Jon skipped up to Robb's right and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He was holding out one of the new maple cookies that the Winterfell chefs had baked. Taking the sweet from Jon and popping it into his mouth, Robb took a moment to appreciate the unique texture and flavor of the goodie.

"Of all the magic that these gate-walkers brought, I think this is the best," japed Jon, happily popping another of the small confections into his own waiting mouth.

Robb laughed at the joke and said, "Maybe not their best, but certainly their most popular." Jon smiled back at Robb and returned his gaze to Svafa.

"If I didn't know better, I would have thought her of the North," whispered Jon. Robb agreed with Jon on that matter; Svafa had angular features and sharp eyes of deep blue, with straight black hair that she styled into an asymmetric bundle of braids and ponytails. Her pale skin never seemed touched by the cold of the north and she wore clothes that were more fit somewhere down in the South; she did dress like a man, though. The clothes were made of materials that Robb couldn't identify, mostly black with splashes of gray or white in certain parts. Her shoulder had a gold sigil placed across it: four leaves stood under a five pointed star pointing down, wrigned in a gold halo that looped out front. Robb couldn't understand what the sigil was supposed to represent, but he was told that it stood for the Titanian Commonwealth.

Something else about Svafa: she was pointedly proud of being a Titanian, and apparently she was here as an official representative of the domain. She was a 'Science Police Investigator', a strange role that mixes the duties of a skilled maester and lordly guards. She was apparently sent here by the lord of her order, Minister of Science Pedro Transfinity. Svafa was adamant that he was no Lord, though; the Stark household wisely chose to study into the proper honorifics of the Commonwealth. It would be bad manners to deliberately ignore their customary titles.

One of the Winterfell scouts stepped out from some trees and approached Robb. He bowed his head and pointed somewhere back towards where he came from.

"M'lord, I found a blood trail. Right scuffle, looks like. I followed the trail about a dozen paces or so before I came across a small nook with a dead buck. Another blood trail led off deeper into the woods, but I thought it best to report back," explained the Scout. Robb looked at Jon and asked, "What do you think, brother? A cougar in the Wolfswood wouldn't bode well for when His Grace arrives in a few weeks."

Jon twisted his mouth into contemplation for a second before answering, "Aye, we best handle the cougar. I think it would also be wise to send a second party to follow the bucks trail, it may lead to a gathering point for its herd."

"Based on descriptions and reports of your current ruling Monarch, I surmise that he would interpret the hypothetical puma concolor to be an exciting challenge for his recreational slaughter of animals. However, tracking and disposing of the predator would serve as an excellent opportunity to source biological samples and study the Wolfswood ecosystem. As such, I concur with Jon," Svafa rolled out with flat disinterest. While she often didn't speak, when she did it was with utmost verbosity.

Robb quirked an eyebrow up while Jon seemed to work the statement around in his head. "Right… then it is decided," Robb hesitantly affirmed and then pointed at two other guards, "go see if you can track the bucks trail to the herd. Try not to disturb it and return back here if you find it or the trail goes cold."

Robb turned back to the scout and asked, "How far away is the nook?"

"Not far, m'lord, just past that hill and about forty paces into the trees."

Robb nodded and spoke to Svafa, "The buggy would slow us down and alert the cougar. I recommend it stays here."

In response, Svafa merely nodded curtly before snapping her fingers. The buggy whined for a moment then relaxed lower towards the ground. Robb waved the Winterfell party to follow him and the scout towards the dead buck. After a short walk, they came upon the buck's corpse.

The buck had scratch and bite marks across its flank, its neck, and its head. The stomach was split open and some of the intestines were spilled out across the soil. There was no rotten smell, which meant that the kill was recent. The two guards tasked to track the herd found the trail leading towards the body and made to follow the path back to its source. The other guards formed a perimeter to watch for the cougar, while Robb, Jon, and Svafa stepped closer to the body.

Svafa put her arm in front of Robb and Jon, halting them in their tracks.

"Sit back for a minute. I want to investigate," she replied curtly.

Jon looked confused while Robb felt mirked by the woman's sharp tongue. Biting down his annoyance, Robb instead chose to observe Svafa while she investigated the scene.

Svafa began stepping oddly towards the body, taking wide steps before lightly tapping around a branch or blood splatter. She would pivot on her toes or heels and double back erratically. She looked away from the immediate space in front of the buck and spotted a tree. She then leapt from rock, to trunk, to tree limbs. She observed the scene from a higher vantage for only a moment before she leapt behind the buck and stiffly made her way back to the other side. She then pulled out a small kit of tools, taking out a strange glass tube with steel finger-holes and a thin, sharp steel tip. Plunging the implement into the bucks neck and pulling back on the handle, Svafa extracted a small quantity of the animal's blood. Lastly, Svafa pulled a small tan sphere with a black cap and threw the tiny object on a nearby tree, where it stuck to the trunk solidly and made a quiet chirp.

Svafa stood back, held out her hand and started checking her nails.

"I suppose you finished your work," muttered Robb, as he and Jon stepped up to the buck. Kneeling down to get a better look, the first thing that Robb noticed was how large the cuts and punctures looked.

"This bite is huge, but it looks like a wolfs," said Jon. Robb looked at the bite mark, noting the distance between the different punctures. Whatever animal bit the buck could fit Robbs whole head in its mouth.

Robb shook his head, "The only other beast large enough to make that size of mark would be a bear. But the bite is too narrow," Robb contemplated aloud. Jon nodded in acknowledgement before turning his attention towards the trail of the 'cougar'. Robb noticed that Svafa had already begun making her way to the nook mentioned by the scout.

"Well, only one to find out what the killer was," Jon commented before following after Svafa. Robb huffed lightly then gestured for the guards to follow again.

The party made their way downwards to the nook, turning around a short cliff before making their way towards the bottom. As they passed the trees, Robb immediately spotted a large white wolf - easily the size of a horse - sitting in a huff, covered in blood. The beast had a gouge across it's shoulder blade; likely inflicted by the buck. If the aim was a couple inches further inward, then Robb supposed that the antler would have solidly pierced the neck.

For all that Robb knew of the world, there was no mistaking a direwolf.

"By the old and new, a direwolf!" one of the guards blurted out. The direwolf's ears pricked up at the outburst and the beast turned its head towards the party. It quickly bared its teeth and growled deeply, standing wobbly to its paws. Clearly, the creature was hurt from its scrap with the buck but still seemed ready to fight the party. Robb was confused for a moment before Jon placed his hand on Robb's shoulder.

"Robb, she has pups," Jon whispered quietly. Robb followed his brother's gaze and spotted the little bundles wriggling around under her.

Robb cursed under his breath, "Fuck, no wonder she isn't running. She'll chase if we turn and run."

Jon took a short step back, trying to create distance without giving the she-wolf his back. In response, the dire-wolf took a shaky step forward and lowered her head, growling louder and opening her mouth a touch wider.

Shit, Robb thought, she thinks we're after her pups. We may have to kill-

Before Robb could finish his thought, Svafa stepped closer towards the direwolf slowly. The animal turned its attention to the gate-walker, hunkering over the litter.

"Is she mad!?" hissed one of the guards, and Robb had to wonder if her mind had gone in the short time they were out in the Wolfswood.

Svafa gripped a handle attached to a device strapped to her hip and pulled the implement free of its holster. She stared at the direwolf for a moment. Just as Robb was about to run out to try and intercept the angry beast, Svafa pointed the implement at the wolf and pulled on a trigger. A sharp 'thup' came from the device and Robb saw the direwolf look surprised for a moment. Then, the direwolf shook a bit before it lowered itself to the ground and slumped down loudly.

Robb was stunned for a moment and wondered if the she-wolf was dead, but the slow rising and lowering of the direwolf's chest confirmed that the beast was still alive. Svafa turned towards the party.

"I have incapacitated the canid. What do you recommend we do with the animals, Robb?"

Robb looked at the mother and her litter of pups. "Direwolves haven't been seen south of the wall for centuries. I'm not sure what we should do with them," Robb admitted.

Jon looked pensive for a moment before speaking up, "There are five pups, one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of house Stark; they used to be loyal companions to your ancestors. Perhaps it is fate that you take them?"

"Your ancestors too, Jon. But perhaps you are right," Robb offered. Svafa glanced at the mother before adding in, "I recommend we bring the mother as well. If this animal species is as rare as you propose, Robb, then it would be in the best interest of scientific interest to keep her contained somewhere we can study her directly. This would also help ensure that the canid does not disrupt the local ecosystem, as it appears that the species is not indigenous to this region currently."

Robb nodded his head in affirmation, "Then it shall be so. We will need to retrieve the buggy if we are to haul the she-wolf."

"We will not need to leave to retrieve the buggy." Svafa tapped a finger against a wrist bracelet, which chirped in response. Robb heard the buggy off past the hills, seemingly making its way towards the nook.

The party did not have to wait long for the buggy to make its way down. Once it had come to a rest, Svafa retrieved a woven black collar with some metallic strips and wrapped it around the she-wolf's neck. She then waved her wrist over the collar, which caused the bracelet and collar to chirp in sequence for a moment. Robb and the guards walked up to help load the mother into the buggy, which gave Robb an opportunity to spot a small metal dart embedded into the direwolves shoulder.

Once the beast was secured, Svafa retrieved some pliable strips. She flicked the strips sharply, which caused them to contort strangely and form a small basket. A light creaking escaped the material as it seemed to self tighten. Svafa handed the basket to a guard, who placed a small tarp into the basket. Robb then gathered up the pups and began placing them atop the tarp, the pups whimpering rapidly the whole time.

Jon then walked up towards Robb and drew his attention to a sixth pup; this one was the clear runt, but it inherited it's mothers white coat and blood red eyes.

Robb smiled at Jon, "It seems that you get one of your own, brother."

Jon smiled lightly at Robb before placing the albino with its siblings.

BREAK

Sansa I

Sansa looked out past the window of one of Winterfell's towers, towards one of the latest projects of the gatekeepers. An immense teardrop shaped object slowly grew in size, its white surface almost blending into the snowy fields that surrounded it. A tiny metallic contraption was strung to the tear by thin black tethers. As the tear drop grew, it lifted up into the sky, carrying the contraption along with it.

The gate-keepers called it a 'High-Altitude Vacuum Balloon', or sometimes halve-bee. Apparently, the teardrop was a resilient material that was filled with nothing; the very air was removed from the volume. This resulted in the balloon pushing the air around away, causing it to lift in the sky. At least, that's how the device was explained to her.

The gatekeepers said that they could scry from the contraption carried by the balloon, allowing them to see the earth from up on high. They said that the balloon could also communicate with their devices, allowing them to control it from the ground and direct its behavior. Sansa wondered why the gatekeepers needed a balloon when they already had 'satellites', but she supposed that the finer details were better understood by the strange allies.

Allies.

Sansa remembered when her Lord Father returned back home, bringing with him foreigners dressed in inexplicable suits and commanding living-metal carriages. The tale that her Lord Father and brothers told was incredible almost to a fault, but the presence of the strangers with their wondrous artifice dispelled any doubt. The gatekeepers brought offers of peace, benevolence, and trade to Winterfell. They showed her Lord Father and his loyal vassals the hiding place of unimaginable wealth, gave them beautiful depictions of fantastical devices, and gave them alchemical recipes of the most brilliant sort.

Especially maple syrup. Most especially maple syrup.

The gatekeepers were also mystic and inscrutable. They seemed prescient, or somehow able to communicate silently and at a distance. They casually commanded their artifice with gestures and simple words. The only time Sansa felt that they legitimately worked their creations in a recognizable way was when they were constructing the artifacts themselves. It mystified and disturbed Sansa in equal measure to think of this esoteric awareness.

At least she could take some measure of pride in the awareness that they were clearly not used to communicating without the aid of their second-sight.

Sansa heard some distant cursing and the slamming of a door, roughly in the direction of Arya's room. Arya had been even more obstinate since the arrival of the gatekeepers; they fascinated her deeply, in no small part due to their crass habit of all dressing like men and being composed of hardy explorers. Sansa had noticed that Arya would escape Septa Mordane's lessons far more regularly, and would stay away for far longer. What was worse, almost all of the gatekeepers in Winterfell seemed to ignore or even permit Arya's behavior. When her Lady Mother had pressed Ser Samuel Meyer (for it was the nearest title her Lord Father had ever provided on the man) about his complicit behavior towards Arya, he seemed confused about the importance of a lady's education.

Sansa took a deep breath, exhaled, and then made her way towards Arya's room. If no one else was going to keep her little sister from making a fool of herself, then Sansa would have to do it herself.

After a short walk, Sansa stood in front of Arya's room. The door was closed. Raising her hand and daintily knocking on the wood, Sansa called out.

"Arya? Is everything okay? I heard you slam the door, you know how the crofter feels about that."

Nothing. Knocking harder, Sansa raised her voice an iota higher.

"Arya, be reasonable about this. Whatever it is you have gotten yourself into, it is better that you fess up now."

The door latch clicked open and the door was opened about an inch or two. Arya stuck her head by the crack. She was wearing a strange metallic… tiara, of some sort upon her head. It was asymmetrical and didn't properly loop around her forehead, seeming to grip upon the back of her cranium with a spindly arm placed upon her left temple. What appeared to be bizarre earrings - made of the same metal - clasped onto the back of her ears tightly. Around her wrist was a simple bracelet - again of the same metal - that finally helped Sansa recognize what her younger sister had 'acquired'.

"Sansa? Come in, quickly!" whispered Arya. Arya opened the door just enough for Sansa to enter, then once Sansa was inside completely Arya slammed the door shut and closed the latch. Sansa shook her head; why whisper if she was going to make such a racket? If Arya was more careful, she would probably be as unnoticeable as a shadow.

Sansa looked at Arya's desk and saw an assortment of small gray cases. They were the size of a handheld satchel and shaped roughly like horseshoes. On the front of the cases were the odd writing of the gatekeepers and the sigil of the Commonwealth. One of the cases was already opened, emptied of its contents.

"Sansa Sansa, I think I figured out how the gatekeeper's second-sight works!" Arya exclaimed excitedly. Sansa saw that there was a second wrist bracelet on Arya's other arm.

"Arya, what have you done? You stole something from the gatekeepers-" Sansa paused to think for a moment, "again!"

Arya's cheerful grin gave way to an agitated frown, "They weren't mad about it last time. I just wanted to see the little bot was all," replied Arya offendedly.

Sansa shook her head in frustration, "You are such a child, Arya."

Arya got a touch red in the face and countered, "Samuel says I am a child, Sansa! And I just wanted to know how the gatekeepers could see without seeing, or speak without speaking. It's not fair."

Sansa was exasperated for a solid five seconds. Slowly composing herself, she began to formulate a response when Arya beat her to the punch.

"Just look! It's incredible the kinds of things they can see!" Arya scampered towards her desk and retrieved one of the unopened cases. She held it up closer to Sansa.

Sansa was surprised for a moment, but having had some time to calm down she realized that she could have handled the situation better. Arya seemed really excited about these strange accessories, and all Sansa had done was to pull the rug out from Arya. From everything Sansa knew of the gatekeepers, if Arya was able to get a hold of it without them noticing then it likely wasn't dangerous. They were adamant about staying away from some of their machines; one of them melted rock with a spear light! Sansa could probably just appease Arya's curiosity and then ask for forgiveness from either Ser Samuel or Lady Svafa.

"Oh fine, give me it," Sansa replied harshly, but Arya seemed undeterred by the negative tone.

"Place your thumbs on the little round corners; the case will beep and open up!" explained Arya. Sansa repositioned her fingers where Arya had indicated, and indeed the case beep and the latch popped open.

Sansa placed the case on Arya's bed before sitting herself on the edge. Pulling the lid away from the case, Sansa saw an assortment of jewelry exactly like what Arya had on. However, there was also a thin, semi-transparent strip and a long block cylinder with an oddly shaped end made of soft material included. Sansa took the bracelets - as they were the most familiar - and put them around her wrist. At first it seemed as if the bracelets were too large, they suddenly pulled tight while emitting a crinkling sound. The bracelets were snug to Sansa's wrist, but not uncomfortably so; when they seemed to settle a strange physical pulse coursed up her arms. This shocked Sansa for a moment, almost causing the case to fall.

Arya giggled, "Yeah, they're kinda weird."

Sansa pulled out the thin strip and looked at it curiously, "What is this?"

Arya pointed at her neck, which caused Sansa to realize that this was a necklace of some sort.

"You just put the ends together; they're not sticky, but they somehow hold fine," offered Arya.

Sansa took the necklace and looped it around her neck, clasping the ends together such that the necklace was fit snug against her throat. When she lowered her hands, the necklace seemed to tighten and then soften, removing any sense of pressure or contact. A tingle then went up and down her back, causing her to nearly jump off the bed. The tingle wasn't intense, but once again it was unexpected.

Sansa huffed as she calmed down, "By the Seven, do they all do that?!"

Arya gave a sheepish smile for a moment and replied, "Yeah, they all kind of do that. It's not that bad, just…"

Sansa understood what Arya meant; get over it. Sansa decided that this was likely important to the working of the trinkets and took the hearings, placing them behind her ears. Again, the rings seemed to shape-shift to fit her best, but instead of a pulse Sansa heard an odd bell. The sound was crisper, cleaner than any she heard. It had a strange tone and timbre that Sansa had never heard before; she merely sat for a moment in awe.

Arya gave Sansa a knowing look, "You heard the bell too, huh? It's so pretty! I haven't gotten it to repeat the noise, though," Arya explained the experience sadly. Sansa couldn't blame Arya; the chime was wonderful.

Feeling a bit more confident, Sansa took out the strange cylinder leaving the tiara for last. Sansa rolled the cylinder around her palm, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be.

"What… what should I do with this?" Sansa asked.

Arya had a nonplussed look on her face, then went to her desk to retrieve the cylinder seemingly from the case that Arya had opened. Arya explained while placing the odd end of the cylinder closer towards her eye, "You put it near your eye."

Sansa lost her confidence for a moment.

"Is it bad?"

"It's weird," replied Arya.

Sansa looked back towards the cylinder. She slowly raised the odd end towards her eye. Looking towards the edge of her vision, Sansa saw Arya motion for Sansa to go further. Sansa took a gulp and placed the end upon her right eye. The strange material contorted oddly for a moment. Then, Sansa lost control of her right eye. It stayed wide open as a flash of indescribable color played out rapidly for a split second. In that short fraction of time, Sansa saw a rainbow of colors of the purest saturation and the pitchest of black, colors of stunning luminance and what could best be described as red-green and blue-yellow, like how purple was red and blue at once. Then, Sansa felt a subtle pressure on her eye before the device let go of her face. Sansa threw the offending object to the bed and rubbed her eye; it did not sting, but it did bring her comfort.

Blearily blinking her eyes open, Sansa was immensely relieved to see, well, sight. Nothing was wrong! At least it seemed like nothing was wrong.

"You need to do your left," Arya added somberly. Sansa gave her a disbelieving gape before she took the foul little monster of an object and finished her left eye.

"Ahhh! Do the gatekeepers go through this every day!?" Sansa whined indignantly. Arya shrugged dismissively.

"Maybe? It would explain why they look so uninterested. Everything is dull to them."

Sansa hesitantly took the tiara up in her hands and looked to Arya for assistance. Arya, however, seemed most excited about the modest headband.

"This is where the real magic comes! Put it on, put it on!" encouraged Arya. She seemed to bounce in place in anticipation of the crowning - heh - of the whole discomforting ritual.

Sansa gave Arya a slight frown of hesitation before facing the tiara. Sansa fitted the thin item across the back of her head and waited. This time, it took a second or two longer than the other trinkets before the headband contorted to fit Sansa's head. After that, nothing seemed to happen.

Sansa gave Arya a disappointed tilt of her head, "Arya, was this some kind of-"

Suddenly, Sansa's vision exploded with strange opaque windows and gatekeeper script. A series of chirps echoed in front of her as the Commonwealth sigil floated proudly in midair, resplendent in glowing gold of pure light. Her arms, hands, and fingers tingled sharply before a warm wave passed up towards her chest. A soothing feminine - or was it masculine? - voice of haunting cadence spoke up.

[POST positive. Hardware is functional. BOOT loaded, cryoMint OS set-up complete. Ready for user registration.]

Arya looked supremely smug. And had a faint gossamer halo around her head.

What.

"Tell it your name, Sansa! It wants to know you!"

Sansa returned her attention to the sigil, " Um… I'm Sansa. Sansa Stark. And you are?"

[Greetings, Sansa Stark. And my name is for you to decide. I am your Muse, a personal artificial limited intelligence designed to assist you with all mesh activities,] replied the ephemeral voice.

"Wait, are you some sort of slave?!" Sansa groused in disgust.

[No. Based on local Gatekeeper records, I believe I have an explanation that would be more understandable for you. I am a machine spirit; it is my purpose, my duty, and my fulfillment to help humanity to achieve the pinnacle of their capability. If you would like, I could choose a name for myself, if it would make you more comfortable.]

Sansa gaped for a moment, taking in the new information. A machine spirit? The wonder and mystique of the gatekeepers only grew ever deeper.

"I… uh… sure. What did you have in mind?" Sansa answered hesitantly.

A moment passed, before the machine spirit responded.

[I was thinking of Rouva. Is that okay with you, Sansa?]

Sansa smiled at the name. "Yes, Rouva is just fine. A pleasure to meet your Rouva," Sansa replied softly.

"Isn't it just amazing?! They have spirit companions! My muse, Jeanne, told me that all of the machines and contraptions the gatekeepers use have their own spirits! They talk to each other and to the gatekeepers, and they can speak over great distances, they can show each other visions of nearly anything and everything!" Arya rapidly spoke, barely taking a moment to breathe.

[And we can locate where some of our little toys were appropriated.]

Sansa and Arya froze. They both heard the voice, but couldn't identify its source. But they both knew who it was.

Sansa began to panic a little, "Lady Svafa, I am so sorry! Arya shouldn't have taken your scrying tools, I shouldn't have tried them, we should have just returned them, and… and…" Sansa suddenly felt a deep apprehension fill her. Was Svafa going to take Rouva away?

A knock came from Arya's door, [It's okay. I'm not mad. Can we talk for a moment?] assured Svafa. Sansa was rather surprised, Svafa seemed almost sorry for having intruded on the Stark sisters.

Arya gave Sansa a pleading look, but Sansa chose to stand and open the door for the gatekeeper woman. Svafa looked pensive in the doorway and immediately spotted the trinkets. She gave Sansa a small, gentle smirk.

"You two enjoying the ectos?" Svafa asked.

"Ectos?" Sansa and Arya mimed.

Svafa gave a short chuckle, "Yeah, we call them ectos."

Sansa then realized something, "You don't have the tiara."

Svafa bit her lip nervously before stepping into the room. She slowly and gently closed the door. Then she flicked a finger and a strange gossamer scroll appeared before Sansa. It was written in the odd text of the gatekeepers.

Rouva chimed in, [A moment, I will correct the language settings.]

Suddenly, all of the gatekeeper script was replaced with standard Westerosi. Sansa saw a string of text towards the upper left read, 'Shavian script enabled.' Sansa looked back at the scroll and saw that a notice was presented to her. It was asking for permission on an 'incoming connection' from Svafa, with a green yes and a red no. Sansa hesitated a moment before tapping on the 'Yes'.

Suddenly, a gossamer and featureless head appeared in front of her. Strange runes and luminous lines raced across areas and throughout the cranium.

"Most transhumans - gatekeepers - are born with something called a neural lace. That's the wiry framework inside the head. This is then connected to mesh inserts - those sharp angled sheets where the skull is - through some limited bypass interconnects. Basically, it is a built in ecto," explained Svafa.

Arya seemed to realize the implication, "Most? Why would some people not have this? Why don't we?"

Svafa looked contemplative for a moment before responding, "Some people are averse to implants - stuff like the neural lace - or opposed to it. But really, it's basically grown through medicine before a baby is born. There are places where this doesn't happen, for various reasons."

Sansa was left speechless. This was something Svafa was born with?

Without thinking Sansa spoke up quietly, "Will you take our ectos away?"

Svafa looked surprised then hurt for a moment. She schooled her features into a reassuring smile.

"No. I won't. And neither will the other gatekeepers."

Relief flooded through Sansa, so much so that she almost fell over.

[Sansa, are you alright? Your stress levels just pieroted wildly. I could call for Gatekeeper first-aid specialists,] Rouva inquired concernedly.

"No, Rouva, I'm fine. Just… I was worried I'd have to give the ecto away," Sansa answered back. Svafa tittered amusedly.

[You don't need to speak to communicate with Rouva, or anyone with an ecto. Or born with neural lace. Just think it, and silently speak the words with your throat,] explained Svafa.

Sansa was surprised once again, then she heard Arya through the second-sound.

[Like this?]

Svafa nodded her head in approval, [Exactly.]

[So this is how your prescience works!] Sansa accused playfully. Svafa gave a mock expression of insult.

[Woah is me, the secret is out. Whatever shall I do? Maybe beg forgiveness for this transgression,] played Svafa.

[You are a lot more friendly, Svafa,] Arya suddenly interjected. Sansa gulped in awe at her younger sister's audacity. She looked worriedly at Svafa, only to see that the woman looked somewhat ashamed.

[I… I wanted you to feel better about the ectos. My shrink - or, my maester of mental health, calls it post-traumatic virtual withdrawal. I shut out people in the real, basically,] Svafa elaborated ashamedly.

Sansa didn't fully understand what the strange condition name meant, but she seemed to understand that something happened.

[Traumatic?] Sansa hesitantly asked.

Svafa looked withdrawn for a moment, looking away from the girls towards the ground.

[A lot of people went through some bad stuff some years ago. I just… deal with the cleanup more than others. It's not good.]

Sansa shot Arya a look before the younger sister could ask another question. Sansa realized she was stepping on some rather sensitive discussions and decided it was better to give the lady some space.

Sansa smiled back at Svafa, "Well, thank you for being understanding." Svafa looked back up and smiled lightly. Then, she snapped her finger and another notice appeared before Sansa.

"That's a list of some informational articles on using ectos and some sites you can visit we have stored on the local mesh. They can be useful," Svafa explained. The woman then opened the door and left the room.

BREAK

Samuel I

Samuel Meyer was reviewing the latest proposal for the Gatekeeper Westerosi Uplift Program, or GWUP. The proposal was for a physically programmable punch-card system that would be used to control mechanical looms, allowing for easy control and automation of fabric weaving. The punch-card system was to be later expanded into other data encoding and programming areas, as punch cards were relatively simple and familiar as physical artifacts. They also served as an early introduction into digital computing and binary math.

The proposal was not presented to Samuel as a file, however. Gatekeeper didn't really trade many computing devices (besides the ones that Arya took, but Samuel allowed that as a gift of friendship between Gatekeeper and the Starks). Samuel was holding a piece of holographic smart paper that had the full schematics and manual included into it.

The smart paper was built from a schwarzite sheet, through which nano-wires, sheets, and dots were laced and interconnected. A dilatant nano-film coated the paper, which would stiffen on impact to become as hard as diamond. The whole sheet was solar powered and all of the data and computing were physically encoded. The holographic effect was an actual hologram; what most people called holograms were actually volumetric displays. The holographic display allowed for depth-perspective; readers could see depth and layout through the paper, and see different perspectives by changing viewing perspective. The paper was touch and voice enabled, which allowed for manipulation of the schematics and manuals. This also allowed for fingerprint biometric IDs to be recorded; the sheet was already registered for Lord Stark and his attendants.

"I believe that the punch card system will be essential for advancing the Westerosi mathematics and logic fields. This should help them to kickstart an industrial revolution; I can have my team prepare a proposal for coal powered machinery with some zeolite smoke capture stacks ready in a couple days, per your review."

Samuel looked up at the Technical Lead for GWUP, Diego Farias da Fonseca. He was an expert in non-digital machinery and technology and had degrees in history, mechanical engineering, and art. He came highly recommended by the Commonwealth Ministries of Education and Culture. He wore a rather nice outdoorsman suit that had some floral patterns on the upper overcoat and what appeared to be authentic leather jeans and boots. His ecto was styled like a pair of artisanal glasses, and some bronze-plated accessories. His black hair was cleanly swept to his right and clearly oiled, which framed his rather rugged tan face and pale-green eyes.

And he was a Jovian. Weird times.

Samuel smiled at Diego and rolled up the smart paper, "I agree. I want your team to focus on some basic engines to power the looms, forges, and glass-blowers. After that, focus on some easy implementations of punch card systems. Maybe we could get an actual computer setup? Not sure how, though."

Diego smiled back at Samuel and took the proposal from his hand. The two began walking their way out of the office that Lord Stark had provisioned for Samuel in Winterfell, heading to Eddard's office to give him the proposal.

"I'll have my team work on getting a design for a differential engine ready," offered Diego politely.

Samuel had to admit, the guy was rather nice to talk with. Diego was religious, but he wasn't very strict about it and seemed more interested in the spirituality and philosophy of religion as a whole. Diego had even offered a recipe on how to create whiskey and provided a schematic for a flash-aging oven that could get basic samples out within a week. It had been ages since Samuel had a good whiskey; Diego offered to have some actual vintages shipped in, but Samuel declined; he'd rather work on helping the Westerosi produce their own.

The whole of the Jovian Developmental Team was rather well spoken and quite knowledgeable. They had been egocast from a secured research station to Pandora for resleeving; The Republic had provided strict standards for sleeves for the research team. Splicer model only, no mesh inserts, neural lace and cortical stack with a dedicated remote backup system, and a whole suite of Jovian specific hardware. The request was rather simple, and Gatekeeper needed experts in the fields most relevant to GWUP. The Commonwealth and Gatekeeper had rather sparse records on all of the requisite technologies for the proposed uplift, but the Jovians were happy to provide the data and experts. They just wanted a fair share in the developmental project.

Which was what was strange. Samuel had to interview all of the team to try and figure out why the Jovian Republic was okay with gate travel and colonization now; most of the answers had to do with anthropological research projects (several of the team were PhD students) but a couple expressed a desire to aid fellow members of humanity. In any case, the JDT was behaving well and integrating excellently with the rest of the staff; some political discussions were brought up, but things tended to not get heated. Samuel had to admit; he actually didn't know a lot about how the Republic was actually run. He still disagreed with some of their policies and governmental system, but he found himself re-evaluating his view of the people.

Samuel and Diego arrived at Lord Starks personal office, the door closed and flanked by guards. The two men recognized Samuel and Diego, however, and they politely called out to Eddard after knocking on the door.

"Ser Samuel and Ser Diego have arrived, m'lord. Looks like another project."

"They may enter," Eddard replied.

The guards opened the door and ushered the pair inside. Once they were in the office, the guards closed the door. Eddard stood up from his desk to greet the pair.

"Well met. What do you have for me and Winterfell today?" asked Eddard.

Diego handed Eddard the proposal and Eddard unrolled it to review the contents. Samuel remembered when he and Diego had first shown the Starks the smart paper; they were awed by the incredible detail, the holographic effect and bright colors fascinated them. Maester Luwin was ecstatic about the material, especially its ability to dynamically display information. The smart paper was designed to be a solid, durable, and long-term form of records for the Westerosi. So when they expressed concern over the toughness of the article, Diego had requested a dagger and promptly stabbed at the sheet; naturally, the smart paper held excellently and bore no mark. Also, they were waterproof. Some spilled wine nearly gave Luwin a heart attack before he realized that the record was unharmed.

"'Punch cards'? You can store information on those?" inquired Eddard. Diego smiled and answered, "Yes. The presence of a hole or not can encode information; think of a hole as saying 'yes', while no hole is a 'no'. Machines can be built that implement decision making based on yes and no. It is quite handy; eventually, you will be able to have a machine completely change its behavior based solely on what punch cards were loaded."

"Amazing. Simply amazing. Is this how your devices work, Ser Diego?"

Diego smiled and replied, "The basic idea, yes. The exact mechanism? No, we have far more complex and sophisticated methods. We plan to eventually help you build your own someday."

Eddard rolled up the proposal and added it to a shelf containing other proposals.

"I'll show Luwin later; he may ask your students for further assistance, Ser Diego," said Eddard.

Diego nodded his head in understanding, "They will be happy to help. By the way, isn't His Majesty King Robert arriving sometime tomorrow?"

Samuel was expecting King Robert's arrival. He hadn't had much of a chance to get more information from Lord Stark regarding what the King's arrival would look like or what was planned for the occasion.

"I have been curious about that as well, Mr. Stark. Some of my subordinates have given me proposals on some possible activities or goods we could offer. I'm just not sure what is appropriate or not," Samuel added in, looking to get some clarification. He and Diego both knew that getting on Robert's good side was essential to the future success of GWUP, so this event was an excellent opportunity to put their best foot forward.

Eddard thought for a moment before explaining, "The King will arrive and Winterfell will customarily kneel in honor of His Grace. Then, we will have introductions. I recommend that you introduce your company after me and Robert have finished catching up. Later that evening before dusk, we will have a feast in honor of the King's arrival. My cooks and chefs are already planning on including maple syrup and candies in the festivities. Some of your whiskey stocks would be appreciated."

Samuel nodded while Diego stroked his chin in contemplation. Then, Eddard looked nervous.

"I do have a concern, however," admitted Eddard. Samuel was confused for a moment, but waved for Eddard to continue.

"It is Lady Svafa. She is… well…", Eddard seemed hesitant, almost ashamed, "she looks exactly like my dead sister. Lyanna Stark, Robert's original betrothed."

Samuel blinked his eyes in shock. Wait, seriously? Why didn't he say this before? I thought he was just weirded out by her clothes and attitude! Samuel thought.

"Shit, what do you think will happen?" Samuel asked. He wanted to be prepared for this event; he did not expect that his second-in-command would be a potential problem.

Diego spoke up, "Based on what I have read of your records Lord Stark, I would presume that His Grace would be… shocked. Confused, he may think that Svafa is Lyanna. We may need to think of how to break it to him gently."

Eddard looked contemplative before he faced Samuel, "Would it be possible to have Svafa stay back so that we can explain it? I do not know if it would be an offense to have her not present when the King arrives."

Samuel thought about the offer, but decided to dismiss it, "No, we should just get it over with as quick as possible. We can just say that she looks like Lyanna. Better to have all hands on deck; plus, I think Svafa would fucking smack me upside my head if I left the explanation to someone else. I'll tell her what to expect."

Eddard and Diego nodded in agreement.

"Then it is decided; I just hope Robert will be reasonable about everything. I still worry how he will react to gatekeeper, however," said Eddard.

Samuel put on a smug smile, "I've actually got some plans for our boy Robert. I think he will really like them."

Diego smirked confidently, "Oh you won't be the only one having fun, Ser Samuel. I will be sure to prepare the finest in entertainment and dining. I'll have my students prepare an itinerary; make sure to send your plans over to me, and I'll produce the most regal schedule possible."

Samuel, Diego, and even Eddard chuckled from the exchange. Samuel had to admit, he was really enjoying it in the North.

BREAK

Eddard III

Eddard and his family stood out by the gate of Winterfell, awaiting the arrival of the King. The gatekeepers had been tracking the Royal Party's pace through the North, and Ser Diego had informed him that the King would be arriving within the hour. Winterfell itself was a flurry of activity, not just from Eddard's own servants preparing for the King's arrival but also all of the gatekeepers at Winterfell; Samuel, Diego, and Svafa had been working together on a rather fantastical itinerary to impress the King. Eddard had received a final formulation from Svafa sometime last night at Dinner; after that Eddard, Luwin, Samuel, Diego, and Svafa had worked together to review the finer details. Eddard knew that today would be the first impression that Robert would receive of the gatekeepers; it was essential that Eddard did his best to make that a positive impression for his friends and newfound allies.

Eddard reviewed his family and their presentation again. Everyone was dressed in clothes made from the new fabrics spun by the first mechanical looms built in Winterfell, exceptionally fine and sturdy fabrics that were light to the touch. The alchemical formulas offered by the gatekeepers were responsible for the supple nature of the new cloth. All of the clothes were designed to incorporate some of the stylistic features found in the gatekeepers' more casual clothing; a sign of solidarity. New buttons, clasps, and buckles kept the garments together, made from bronze forged in the new smithing facilities. The clothes were still austere, but there was a notably brighter palette of colors. All of his family members retained their traditional fur cloaks, but even those were improved; thanks to the production of soaps and shampoos in the new alchemist's chambers, all of Winterfell's clothing were cleaner and softer.

Eddard looked at his daughters and once again felt a twinge of concern; Arya had once again taken something of the gatekeepers without asking. Ser Samuel said that it wasn't any great offense and Lady Svafa had helped his daughters to learn how to use their new 'ectos'. Eddard wasn't sure if he should be proud or concerned for the fact that his daughters now possessed the gatekeepers 'second-sight', but at least he knew that their power was through machines and artifice. The knowledge was reassuring.

Cat had wanted the girls to give back the ectos, but Arya and Sansa were adamant about not doing so. Cat only relented when Lady Svafa had sworn to guide and protect the girls in their mastery of the new tools. Septa Mordane had thrown a fit over the things; Eddard made it clear that the girls were allowed the devices, largely because they seemed to finally be getting along thanks to their newfound hobby. Lady Svafa offered to help the rest of the Stark family with using ectos as well, but the offer was politely declined for the moment. Robb, Jon, Bran, and Theon had all expressed interest in the devices but were hesitant over how much like women's jewelry they looked. Eddard and Cat had declined as well, largely because he and his Lady Wife felt somewhat intimidated by Sansa and Arya's tales of attuning with the trinkets. Eddard and Cat had decided that Rickon was too young.

Eddard had allowed the girls to continue wearing the ectos, so long as they didn't make the devices capabilities obvious; Diego had explained that the devices were still outside of Winterfell's ability to manufacture, and the Stark family were allowed to keep the devices as a gesture of goodwill. For now, they would remain artifacts.

The direwolves had grown quite considerably; the gatekeepers were utterly fascinated by the animals. After they had treated the mother, the gatekeepers began doing tests and taking things like fur, saliva, and blood. Once they had performed their alchemical ingredients, they decided to provide some collars for the animals. Apparently, the collars were of a similar nature to the ectos, but less versatile; Sansa and Arya had taken to giving Lady and Nymeria commands over the second-sound. Eddard was also thankful for some of the gatekeepers teaching his children techniques to train the animals, as it helped the beasts to behave properly. Eddard and Cat have even taken in the wolf-mother, naming her Forest. The she-wolf had taken a liking to sleeping at the foot of Eddard and Cat's bed; for some reason, he felt more calm with the animal present. For now though, the direwolves were kept in the refurbished kennel.

Some of the most welcome changes were the ones related to food and dining. The gatekeepers - and especially Diego - had brought a variety of incredible new tools and recipes for Winterfell's kitchens. Maple syrup, sugar, and candy were the most popular treat; Eddard had taken a liking to the new 'flash-aged' ale and the potent whiskey; a strange new concoction of drink the gatekeepers called 'soft drinks'; new sauces such as ketchup, marinara, mayo, and more; new fried foods like chips, fried cheese curds, and chicken was universally beloved; a legion of new spices and herbs, thanks to the gatekeepers, which were already planned for the new glass-garden being built; and best of all were the new cooking and eating utensils. Eddard and the chefs most understood what this new 'stainless steel' could mean for dining. With superior cookware, the Winterfell kitchens could turn out better and more consistent food. Cleaning was a new priority, and the gatekeepers had provided whole new organizational systems to keep everything ordered. The stainless steel plates and utensils offered a far more luxurious eating experience, while being easier to clean. And the glass-blowers have even offered the first proper glass goblets and cups.

Before Eddard could re-review the changes made to Winterfell's buildings themselves thanks to float glass and steel, Eddard heard one of the guards announce the arrival of the King. Eddard straightened and Cat gave the children some final instructions.

"Make sure to only rise when the King says to rise. Be sure to show the royal family respect and be sure to give your father, Sers Samuel and Diego, and Lady Svafa some space and privacy for their meetings."

A quiet wave of affirmations came from the children. Robb and Jon whispered to each other for a moment, snickered quietly but quickly composed themselves. Sansa and Arya had smiles on their faces, but looked forward and didn't make a sound; they were probably having a whole conversation at that very moment, for all Eddard knew. Maybe he should try using an ecto.

Appearing through the gate of Winterfell came a small team of gold cloaks, followed by the Kingsguard and the royal carriage. Riding alongside the carriage was Eddard's old friend and King, Robert Baratheon. Eddard and his family kneeled deeply, as well as the rest of Winterfell in the presence of the King. Eddard saw from the corner of his eye one of the Royal attendants place a stepping stool by Robert's steed, upon which he descended.

When did he ever need a stool to dismount? Eddard thought.

Eddard returned his eyes to the ground as Robert approached him. A moment of silence passed.

"Come on, get the bloody-hell up Ned."

Ned rose to his feet and looked his friend and brother in the face for the first time in years. Robert looked at Ned a bit, then scoffed lightly.

"You've gotten fat."

Ned gave an obvious once over to Robert, which caused the man to begin laughing uproariously.

"Oh, it is good to see you!" bellowed Robert, pulling Ned into a hug.

Ned returned the gesture, "Aye, it is good to see you too, Robert. I have so many things to tell you about."

Robert laughed, "Aye, I see you've acquired some new help and toys! Why, you're building a whole new glass-garden! Where did you get the dragons, eh? Found them screwed up your arsehole?"

Ned laughed back at Robert's jape and replied, "Nay, whatever may lie there remains unmoved. But all of this has not been nearly as costly as it would seem, my friend; we made the glass ourselves."

Robert looked confused then shocked for a moment before demanding an explanation, "Made yourselves? You got a Myrish glassmaker now? How long has it taken to make it all?"

Ned shook his head and gestured for Robert to follow. The rest of Ned's family took the cue to stand as well as the rest of the Winterfell people present. "We have not acquired any Myrish glassmakers either, as our new allies provided us the knowledge to make float-glass ourselves. I would like you to meet them, Robert."

Ned noticed that Robert's wife and children had fallen in line with Ned's own family, with the Kingsguard standing keeping pace with their King. Ned led the party to where the leaders of the gatekeepers awaited their formal introduction. This was one of the most important parts of the first meeting.

"Robert, I am proud to introduce you to the leaders of the noble company of the Gatekeepers! Ser Samuel of house Meyer, Ser Diego Farias of house Fonseca, and Lady Svafa of house Norqvist," Ned gestured to each of the gatekeepers as he called out their names.

Robert looked towards the gatekeepers for a moment before his gaze fell on Lady Svafa. Robert suddenly stopped still and stared straight at the woman. Ned knew to expect a reaction at Svafa, but his guts still coiled in anticipation and dread.

Svafa, for her part, looked unfazed.

Robert and the whole of the Winterfell grounds was quiet, the only noise being the work of the other gatekeepers and Winterfell staff throughout the keep. Ned looked between Robert's shocked expression and Svafa's uninterested gaze. Back to Robert. Back to Svafa.

Before Ned could speak up Robert spook first, "Ned… I… is that, well… I… L-... Lyanna?"

Another moment of silence.

Samuel decided that it was time to get the wheels turning again, and chimed in to break the silence, "I apologize for taking so long to introduce myself, King Robert. I am Samuel Meyers, Colonial Director for Gatekeeper in the North."

Diego followed suit, kneeling deeply before Robert, "It is a most humbling experience to meet you in person, My Grace. I am Diego Farias da Fonseca, senior researcher for the Jovian Development Team, sent on behalf of the Jovian Republic. I look forward to future endeavors to enrich your Kingdom and learn of your people."

Robert seemed to not notice them. Svafa spoke next.

"Greetings, Monarch Robert Baratheon. I am Svafa Norqvist, Vice Colonial Director for Gatekeeper in the North and representative for the Titanian Commonwealth on behalf of the Ministry of Science."

This finally snapped Robert out of his stupor, shaking his head and taking another look at Svafa. Robert looked somewhat embarrassed. Ned glanced back towards Robert's family and saw Cersei give Svafa a nasty look.

Cersei stepped up to Robert's side and spoke, "My King, are you displeased with this foreigner for not kneeling before you?" A subtle hint of venom was laced in Cersei's question, but Ned suspected that Cersei was trying to get an answer from her husband.

Robert looked shocked for a moment before stuttering out, "N-no! Lady Svafa just… Well, I think I saw a woman like her many years ago… I apologize, Svafa," Robert composed himself before speaking louder, "it is a pleasure to meet you all. Ned here tells me that you gave away the secret to 'float-glass', a feat that I find rather incredible. The Myrish have refused to divulge their techniques for centuries, and here you all are simply handing it out!"

Diego laughed lightly before answering, "Oh, it was nothing, really. We are simply more interested in the betterment of our fellow men and women than we are in keeping some advantage. In fact…" Diego trailed off for a moment before pulling out a roll of the 'smart paper'. The Kingsguard put their hands on their pommels, but did not act further. Diego handed the roll to Ned.

Ned slowly unfurled the roll for Robert to see the magic contained within the thin sheet. Robert looked intrigued at first, but then he looked awed by the sight of the 'holograms'. Beautiful renditions of the highest quality, life-like images that could be manipulated to one's desire. Ned saw that the Queen was fighting to keep a stunned expression off her face, the King's children ooing and awing at the page, even the Kingsguard seemed lost in the imagery. Ned felt a sudden surge of immense joy, even pride, well within himself at having been the one to bring such wonder to the Royal party. Once Ned had fully unfurled the sheet, he handed it to Robert, who took the page in his hands in amazement. The whole of the Royal party were now gathered around to gain a closer look.

Ned glanced at the trio of gatekeepers, who all gave Ned a knowing smirk. Returning his gaze to the page, Ned illustrated some of the finer features of the smart paper as well as the proposal as Diego explained the contents. Robert began trying out swiping, pinching, and pulling across the page after Ned had explained the manipulations. The image responded with speed and clarity.

"Ned, this is INCREDIBLE! These… gatekeepers made this? What kind of sorcerers have you come across? … Are there more?" exclaimed Robert excitedly. Ned saw the whole Royal party look expectant, for varying reasons.

Smirking, Ned confirmed Robert's suspicions, "Why, I have nearly a dozen in my personal solar at this moment. All just as incredible as the last. And yes, the gatekeepers did make these. I'd be happy to show you." Robert looked back up at Ned and gave a huge smile.

"Then what in the Seven Hells are we waiting for? Get to it!" declared Robert, handing the smart paper back to Ned.

"Sers Samuel and Diego have some offers and proposals they would like to present to you while we meet in my solar. Lady Svafa will have to manage the other gatekeepers and my servants for tonight's festivities. We have all worked together to put together an incredible feast tonight, as well as a light show," Ned explained to Robert. Robert looked a smidge saddened when he heard that Svafa would be away for the meeting, but seemed to perk up at the mention of the feast and a 'light show'.

Ned realized that Svafa had left already, likely to finish preparations for the night. As Ned led Robert, Samuel, Diego, the Queen, and two of the Kingsguard up to his personal solar he could only feel grateful to the Old Gods that he had chosen to take Samuels hand in acceptance that evening nearly four months ago.

BREAK

Tyrion I

The journey to Winterfell was finally starting to look worth it to Tyrion Lannister.

These 'gatekeepers' were an unexpected but utterly fascinating surprise to the half-man. He first caught sight of something strange about a day or two from Winterfell; strange figures gathering random plants, waving strange devices around. The only reason why the King's Party didn't question the strangers was because they were always accompanied by the Winterfell guards; His Grace had figured that Lord Stark knew what was happening and would be able to explain it. Later, as the party was approaching Winterfell keep itself, Tyrion saw just how prolific these strangers were. They were busy setting up camps and odd contraptions everywhere, their living steel carriages and pets scuttling around of their own accord and providing labor. Winterfell itself looked like quite a lot of work was done; the banners were bright and unfaded, of a far finer quality and detail than ever before, the whole keep cleared of vines and foliage, workers climbing up using strange systems of rope and pulley to effect repairs. Tyrion even saw them carry many panes of the clearest Myrish glass he had ever seen towards the windows of the keeps, installing them into place.

Lord Stark had been busy. Very busy.

The whole debacle with meeting the gatekeepers' leaders was quickly overshadowed by the King's desire to learn more of the gatekeepers secrets. His dear sister, the Queen, seemed almost at a loss as to what was happening but composed herself well enough to join in the discussions. Jaime had stayed with Tyrion and the rest of the Royal Party. Tyrion and Jaime had toured around Winterfell and spoke with some of the gatekeepers; they were a surprisingly informal but friendly lot. Well spoken, literate, and supremely strange. Tyrion had asked some of the Winterfell servants about the gatekeepers, and Tyrion had heard that they possessed some sort of prescience or 'second-sight'. Seeing that they seemed to know exactly when materials or compatriots would arrive and often proceed with work in complete silence gave some weight to the rumor.

Jaime had decided to join back with his sworn brothers in the Kingsguard, which left Tyrion some time to tour the new glass-garden by himself. The thing was already looking far superior and more grandiose than the old one. One of the servants told him that they already decided on a plot for a second.

Eventually, it came time to feast in the grand hall of Winterfell. All of the Lords and Ladies made their way into the dining space and found it to be completely unlike any other before.

The great hall had - much like the rest of Winterfell - been renovated. New tapestries hung from silver and steel armatures, the dining tables appeared freshly cut and coated in some sort of solid, dry wax. The chairs were silvery-steel frameworks upon which comfortable cushioning was placed and they slid upon soft pads that protected the floor and softened any scraping sounds. Brilliant new bronze chandeliers and brazier were seated strategically around the room, and the fire-light within was cast far wider and more evenly through even more clear Myrish glass. The tables were set with soft doilies and clean white handkerchiefs were wrapped around proper silverware. All of the utensils were made from the same metal. Tyrion could tell that this was some sort of steel, but it shined and reflected beautifully.

When all were seated, the feast began. But where Tyrion had expected the servants to carry out the courses, instead the living metal pets of the gatekeepers performed the duty. They flew on strange saucers that hummed quietly nearly four or five yards above everyone, but they carried everything on long black tendrils that snaked around dexterously. They had tiny but seemingly strong hands to grip all that they handled. They flew about in an elegant dance of movement and action, placing plates and goblets made of - you guessed it - clear Myrish glass before all of the nobles. Then, the food was carried out on a great table held aloft from below by two large and wide living-metal pets. They had landed softly into a resting position on bird-like steel legs, allowing for their smaller flying cousins to begin distributing the food to all.

The meals provided included typical Westerosi stock, but there were some wonderful additions that Tyrion knew were from the gatekeepers.

A range of delicious new sauces: marinara, ketchup, mayonnaise, ranch, worcestershire. Scrumptious little fried hand-snacks called chips - long and thin, flat and crinkly, thick wedges - were provided fresh from the kitchen, and paired brilliantly with the sauces or the unique spinach dip. New and soft blocks of cheese were provided, far easier to cut than typical cheese and which melted far more readily. Salads were had by all, every piece of vegetable crisp and clean. An absolute legion of deserts were offered: sweet cakes with a caramel flavored swirl called cinnamon, delectable soft little candies called maple cookies, sweet dark brown chunks of chocolate, solid but soft pieces of caramel, and a strange but wonderful chilled dessert of iced cream. Drinks were no less delectable. The ale was crisper, cleaner, colder, and more flavorful than any Tyrion had drank before. An assortment of novel 'fizzy' sodas that assaulted the palette with a wide variety of aromas and flavors. A new and potent alcoholic called whiskey, that tasted of vanilla, caramel, and maple. Mixtures of the sodas and the whiskey were offered, providing a sweet and crisp balance to the hearty tones of the whiskey; Tyrion was fond of the 'Jack & Coke'. Not only that, but solid cubes or chunks of ice were offered to chill the drinks and water them down.

As the feast continued, the gatekeepers brought in entertainment of all sorts. Many played novel instruments that produced exotic sounds, while others brought in board and card games from their homeland. The young children adored a toy called a 'race track', where they would command tiny little self-propelled carriages to sprint through obstacles and routes to a finish line. If they were not careful, the little carriages would crash and they would have to start from the beginning. Brilliant little living puzzles, where the movement of pieces caused the whole problem space to rearrange itself. The King was offered a small onyx stand that had a short inverse arch, upon which little metal spheres rested. By tapping a specific part, the balls would suddenly float above the arch and start clacking into each other, the force transferring to the far end. Occasionally, one of the balls would arc around smack into the set from the other side. When the little flying pets - bots, he was told by one of the gatekeepers - were not as preoccupied with serving the feast, they took to rest on the top of the tapestries and emitted colorful light displays onto the fabric.

As the night progressed and drink flowed more freely, two of the gatekeepers - a man and a mean looking woman - took to a strange but entertaining game. They would alternate in competing in a variant of cevasse and bouts of fist-to-cuffs, seeing who held the greater endurance of both body and mind. Tyrion caught whiffs of a strange pungent odor emitting from outside and heard the angry tirade of Ser Samuel chastising some of his subordinates about 'contraband compounds', but the smell seemed to only grow stronger throughout the night. Some of the gatekeepers would leave and come back, their eyes bloodshot, in good mood and hungrier than before.

Suddenly, King Robert had a demand to make of the gatekeepers, "Ha Ha! We have had your meat, your drink, and your games but what of your songs? Not the strumming of your lutes, but a true ballad! I wish to hear one!" Cersei rolled her eyes as the king took another sip of his whiskey.

The gatekeepers conversed for some time and seemed to have formulated a plan. They directed the bots to string up a great sheet of the 'smart paper' that the King had been shown. It was nearly as wide as the hall, and reached as high and low as its rectangular form would allow. Then, upon the sheet's surface appeared a strange sight - as real as looking through a window. Four great machine centaurs stood upon dark rock against an ominous yellow-orange clouded sky, an immense mountain rising in the distance. One of the centaurs stood upon its hindlegs as the front legs morphed into arms, all four appendages grasping a long metal stick. The others grabbed various instruments, while the fourth sood closest to the front. Tyrion wondered why the fourth had no instrument, but learned it a moment later. It raised upon its hindlegs and bellowed out loudly as the compatriots took to their tools, rapidly building out an aggressive and foreign song. The great bellower fell back to the ground with a mighty thump, cracking the rock below like ice. He then began to growl out lyrics in a strange tongue that Tyrion did not recognize, galavanting about the rocky outcropping and gesturing aggressively. For nearly 8 minutes the music shifted and flowed, then a strong crescendo came as the singer changed to a tone of haunting sadness and reverence, reaching longingly for the sky. The music moved far faster than before for another four minutes, until the bizarre players came to complex flourish to finish their song. As they bowed deeply, King Robert clapped and laughed heartily, as several of the more boisterous revelers cheered the performance. The more reserved members looked shocked and confused, but seemed to enjoy the odd form to some extent.

Then, Lady Svafa came in, smiling at the raucous behavior of her comrades. She spoke in the same tongue as the machine-centaurs, which made Tyrion wonder as to the strange home of this woman. She whistled loudly for all to hear, the gatecrashers quieting first, wearing faces of immense joy and anticipation. The nobles went silent soon after. As soon as Lady Svafa had the floor, she spoke loudly for the whole hall to hear.

"I am most pleased to see that you all are enjoying the effort that Lord Stark and Gatekeeper has invested into making this a memorable festival. I am also pleased to see that you have been able to get these icey assholes I call coworkers to have some real fun," several laughs came after Svafa's jest, "but we are not done. We are happy to announce that with it now being nighttime, we are ready to initiate the light show. Please, everyone rise from your seats and make your way out to the Winterfell yard and parapets. The show will be starting in an hour. If any of you feel queasy or sick, please speak to some of our maesters. They will have a red cross printed on their clothing. They will help you to feel better."

Svafa turned to exit, excited chattering following her wake. Tyrion got up himself to make his way out into the yard, when Lord Stark's son Robb tapped him on the shoulder.

"Follow us. We know where the best view will be," the young Lord offered. Tyrion looked to his family and saw that they were following the other Starks as well. Smiling, Tyrion replied, "How generous of you to offer. I may still need a stool to get this view, but it warms my cold little heart to know you care."

Robb rolled his eyes; Tyrion noted that they looked slightly bloodshot. Tyrion made a mental note to inquire as to this 'contraband' later, and followed the entourage onto the top of an open tower. Tyrion looked out towards the sky and spotted some of the strange new fast-stars high in the heavens. They had appeared some time ago, but Tyrion has yet to find someone who knew of their origin. The gatekeepers may have an explanation; mayhaps they were responsible for the change?

No, don't be so naive. They are no gods. Tyrion thought.

Suddenly, the elder Stark sister spoke up and said that the show was about to start as her younger sister started hopping in anticipation. Tyrion wondered how she knew that, but put it out of his mind when he saw the opening strike of the light show.

A great purple spear of flame suddenly shot out from a far off field, rising rapidly into the sky ever higher and higher. Then, a low rumble sprinted past the tower, the very air rattled by the power of the great flame. As it rose ever further, Tyrion thought it resembled a falling star he once saw as a child; suddenly, Tyrion felt silly for having doubted his imagination. The spear reached a peak and broke apart into a small fleet of bright white lights streaking further into the heavens.

Then, many more great lances of fire shot up into the sky in sequence, shooting up for a couple seconds before Tyrion was slapped stunned by what he saw. The little objects blossomed aggressively into immense fire-flowers in the night sky, bright sparking petals and seeds trailing colorful lines in the sky. They were accompanied immediately by immense thunderclaps, nearly causing Tyrion to trip over himself.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

A wondrous opera of light and sound, every twirl and flourish accompanied by the joyful cries and awing of the whole Winterfell keep. The show's intensity would ebb and flow, the great peaks accompanied by waves of applause. Tyrion suddenly felt the urge to relieve himself, but he found it difficult to bring himself to leave the show. He asked Robb about the privy, to which the young lad pointed to a 'porta potty' down the tower. It was only a couple floors, so Tyrion hopped rapidly down the stairs.

The porta potty was a most wonderful thing. It had not stank of shit and seemed bright and clean, a queer white light illuminating the interior excellently. Some instructions were printed on the wall, which instructed him to tap a 'button' on the wall to have the potty dispose of his waste. The toilet made an aggressive hissing noise as water washed away the effluence with ease. When he left, he saw that there was a small tower with a strange white cylinder on the top. An image depicted putting one's hands under the cylinder, to which Tyrion found the device dispensed a slightly foamy but strangely dry substance that smelled of lilac.

How courteous; free perfume after a piss.

As Tyrion was about to make his way back up, he spotted Lady Svafa and the bastard Jon on the wall above him. He decided to make his way towards the pair, but stopped short of exiting the doorway and the shadow as he heard them converse. Maybe he could drop some eaves for a moment.

"Listen, I don't think that you should become some sort of snow monk, okay? It seems a little extreme to me," stated Lady Svafa. Jon shook his head in disagreement, and replied, "I'm a bastard; I have no place in Winterfell. I can inherit no land nor no title. At the Wall, I could serve the Kingdom."

Lady Svafa guffawed indignantly, "Bullshit! It is not your fault that you were born out of wedlock. You get along with your siblings, think about their feelings, Jon. They're gonna miss you. Just 'cause Cat is a bit of a bitch to you doesn't mean you need to exile yourself."

Jon looked sadly at Svafa but smiled slightly, "Aye, I suppose you may be right. But what is right is not always what happens."

Svafa looked back towards the sky, her face lit in the great light of the fire-flower show. Her eyes sparkled in a magical way, making Tyrion's heart flutter.

She is rather beautiful, the half-man thought.

Svafa spoke up quietly and hesitantly, "Look… I probably shouldn't be offering this, but… well… maybe I could get you to become a Commonwealth citizen."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. He had heard Svafa say that she was a representative of a Titanian Commonwealth; knowing that the Gatekeepers were a company, Tyrion surmised that it made sense there would be some kingdom to rule over them.

Jon looked at Svafa in surprise but shook his head again, "I appreciate the offer, but would your people really accept me? You have refused to allow any Stark or Westerosi through your gate. I have the sense that your people want us here." Svafa looked struck by the statement.

Most interesting, Tyrion had heard no explanation of what the 'gate' in 'gatekeeper' referred to; he had not been present at the meeting of the minds in Lord Stark's solar.. Here, it seemed to be some sort of passage. Maybe a literal gate, but Tyrion suspected that the name was somehow metaphorical. And apparently, the gatekeepers had forbidden any travel through the gate by any Westerosi. But yet they were allowed free exchange. Maybe that was how Lord Stark was able to get all of these wonderful new toys; they offered them in exchange for control of the gate. Tyrion supposed that Lord Stark could amass an army to oust the foreigners if push came to shove; the gatekeepers clearly felt that the incredible gifts they bestowed onto Winterfell was worth keeping the gate.

Svafa seemed to try and say something, paused, and then finally muttered out, "You're probably right. I.. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have offered. Don't know how I'd convince gate control or the Plurality to let you in."

This was such an enlightening conversation. Gate control? The Plurality? Sounded like an intersection of political power.

Jon placed his left hand on Svafa's right shoulder and looked into her eyes, "You don't have to apologize for trying to help me. I really am grateful for it." Tyrion's heart stopped when he saw the bastard look right where he was hiding. Well, not really hiding, just hanging out away from others.

"Bloody impish little eavesdropper!" Jon sputtered out, shocking Svafa for a split second before she looked at Tyrion as well.

"Dude. Not cool," groused Svafa.

Tyrion stepped out from the shadow in the doorway onto the wall proper. The brilliant fire-flower show continued on in the sky, illuminating the wall.

"And you expect privacy out here? Please, I could have simply passed by and heard plenty. I will apologize though, first for being a dwarf, and second for listening in. I am curious though; just what is this 'Titanian Commonwealth'? Why are they so concerned with the gate?" Tyrion countered. He figured that going on the offense here would allow him to work his way into the discussion.

Jon clicked his tongue while Svafa looked offended for a moment.

"Whoah, hold on, why should you apologize for being a dwarf?" Svafa asked with seemingly legitimate confusion.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow and replied, "My father has made sure I apologize every day for being a half-man. I make it a personal mission that his criticism comes off as legitimate."

Svafa gaped for a while, seeming to not comprehend. Jon merely scoffed but said nothing more.

Svafa seemed to finally rally her wit.

"Okay, not gonna lie, I don't get that. Your dad sounds like an asshole."

Jon decided he had to explain for Svafa, "Dwarfs are considered abominations before the gods; I even heard that Joanna Lannister died giving birth to the imp."

Svafa gaped in shock, looking between Tyrion and Jon.

"Jon, I really want to slap you right now," said Svafa. Jon looked a touch surprised by the statement, but seemed to brush it off, "Aye, you can try. May I ask how I offended you, so that I may avoid doing so in the future?"

Svafa deadpanned Jon before answering, "How can you be so critical of Tyrion? He is just as much a victim of his birth as you are."

This time Jon looked offended and countered, "He is a trueborn son of his father! It does not compare!"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their fathers eyes," Tyrion offered towards Jon.

Jon looked confused for a moment before he seemed to think about the implication.

Svafa shook her head.

"I relish the opportunity to help enlighten your people to the beauty inherent in the birth-bodies God bestowed upon her children."

Tyrion pierotted on his heel to see Ser Diego step out from the doorway, looking casually confident in himself. He had four of the silver-steel goblets in one hand and a growler of ale in the other. Tyrion wondered how the man had snuck up on them; Tyrion was short and ignored, Diego seemed like a figure of attention.

"And in what dornish city did you learn to move like a mouse, hm?" Tyrion japed at the man.

Diego pursed his lips and replied, "A once beautiful little coastal city named Rio de Janeiro." Diego handed a goblet to Tyrion before handing another two to Svafa and Jon. Svafa looked rather unhappy about the man barging into the conversation.

Tyrion thought for a moment before realizing something, "Ah, my apologies! If I remember correctly, you said you were from the 'Jovian Republic'; I presume that this Rio can be found there."

Diego stopped stock still for a moment, before somberly replying, "No, actually. That would be my second nation. No, Rio is even further than that." Diego uncorked the growler and poured himself a cup, moving on to pour a glass for Tyrion. The fire-flowers grew to a new height of intensity, seeming to reach the final peak.

Tyrion turned to watch the sky for the grand finale.

"I am sorry for my presumption. Poor habit of mine; certainly not my worst, though," Tyrion apologized. Diego sounded truly pained to speak about his old homeland. Diego laughed politely as he poured a cup for Svafa and Jon, leaning the growler against the wall.

"It is alright. You were simply connecting the dots; you are quite the clever man, I suspect," Diego affirmed. Tyrion smiled a little at being called a man. Tyrion then thought about Diego's first statement.

"'God?' Her children? I take it that you are a devotee of the Mother, or perhaps the Maiden? No, no, certainly the Crone. But based on everything you have said, I shall take a wild guess and say that you do not follow the Seven," Tyrion pressed Diego for information. He was curious about what kinds of people these Titanians and Jovians were; while they were all gatekeepers, it was only due to them being bannermen under the Gatekeeper company. A whole new web of politics to untangle; Tyrion felt giddy at the prospect. Or maybe it was the ale?

Svafa groaned in annoyance and muttered, "Now he's brought up religion, fuckin' kill me now…" Diego simply tutted at Svafa while Jon looked equally curious about the man's faith.

"Oh, I know how these topics can be utter torture to you transhumanists, but I am more than happy to discuss philosophy and faith. I do not expect you to convert, nor do I pretend to think that Tyrion nor Jon will either. I just find such topics deeply enlightening and fulfilling," Diego took a swig of his ale and seemed to savor the taste for a moment. A brilliant roiling pinwheel of roses twisted in the sky before falling back to the earth.

"I was raised as a devout catholic by my family in the early years of the Claw Back. I remember how my father would go out to sea, to work with other poor Brazilian men to clean the oceans so that life may flourish, so that my people could eat something other than recycled gruel. My mother said that father was doing God's work; that she, in her infinite wisdom, had bestowed the knowledge on how to heal the waters, to purify them of the arrogance and sin of materialists," Diego swirled his cup and sipped again. Jon and Svafa looked at the man with legitimate curiosity. Tyrion had determined that Diego's true homeland was this 'Brazil', based on the naming scheme of these gatewalkers. Tyrion had also filed the words 'transhumanist' and 'catholic' into his memory; they sounded like some sort of competing faith.

Another brilliant starburst sparked in the sky, a sequence of fire-flower shooting from the ground and forming a field of lights. Diego's face was lit by the white light, and he had a distant and aged look to his face; Tyrion felt that he was nearly ten, nay, twenty years older at that exact moment.

"When the Americans finally admitted that their overdeveloped machine spirits were off the leash, all hell was already breaking loose. The Machine Gods had already begun unleashing their killing machines and war plagues in the Amazon; thousands of unique cultures, histories, languages, peoples were wiped out in mere weeks. I was 24 at the time, a little too old for the draft. But everyone younger was already brought into the fight. So, when I was approached by the security police and told to report for duty, I had to say goodbye to my mother for the last time in my life. I didn't even get to see my father when I was dragged to war.

They rushed me through boot camp; they needed troops and guns on the field. I was assigned to a platoon in the 42nd Regiment of the Moinhos de aço, a guerilla force sent to destroy the control towers commanding the Machine Gods inhuman legions. Those short towers were some of the most heavily and violently defended portions of the machine legions; I gave up remembering most of my comrades' names. Just call signs and numbers; easier to move on from," Diego spoke with an edge in his voice, a tone eerily similar to Tywin's when he spoke of the rebellion or Castamere. Svafa looked solemn and sad, while Jon watched with rapt attention; the boy was clearly engrossed in Diego's story.

Tyrion tried his best to sort all of this new information, but two things stood out to him: this man was a veteran of a brutal and violent conflict, and that there were machine gods. What had initially started as a question about faith progressed to something far deeper. Sweeping green, blue, and purple feathers sailed across the sky, whistling along the way.

"We lost, naturally. Machines feel no fear, hold no memorial, and take no prisoners. My platoon was nothing more than a fireteam by the time we had evacuated to the nearest port we could find. I don't even know where I was; all navigation systems were destroyed. We operated off of word of mouth, and the Iron Wind had reshaped the land too much to be recognizable," Diego spoke the next words from his mouth with bitter shame, "I fled like a coward. Where all those young men and women died to ensure that as many innocent people could escape the destruction, I gave up on my duty and saved my own skin."

Diego downed his goblet in one go, took a quick breath, and poured himself another drink. Tyrion realized he had not even sipped from his yet. He suspected that Svafa and Jon were the same.

Jon spoke up quietly, "And that's how you came to… Jove?" He was clearly working off the same observation of names as Tyrion had. Diego chuckled emptily.

"Yes… yes, that is exactly how I came to Jove. The storm giant. The everlasting hurricane. My exile. That was where I saw the fight to keep the survivors alive in a hostile land where the very aether itself worked to kill you, where we could not trust our neighbors, where sobbing children were set to flame for having pock marks. Where I came to truly understand the wisdom of God, and how we squandered all that she gave us. Our intellect, our will, our tools, and our very bodies. We pissed on all that was sacred," Diego suddenly looked up at the sky. A bright blast gave way to the sigils of the great noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms - absent dragon - and two strange new symbols that Tyrion had glanced on the artifice of the gatekeepers and on Diego's left breast pocket. A small leaf branch standing tall, wreathed in a halo and crowned by a starburst; and a great eagle trailing stars as it flew into the heavens. Diego and Svafa smiled at the display.

"To the fallen," Diego affirmed loudly. Tipping his goblet over the edge of the wall, Tyrion saw Diego pour his drink away. Tyrion was confused but a moment before he saw Svafa do the same.

"To the fallen," Svafa replied in solemn agreement. Tyrion looked at Jon, and the bastard seemed to come to the same realization. Jon walked up to Tyrion and helped him to the edge of the wall.

"To the fallen," Jon whispered.

"To the fallen," Tyrion echoed.

They were all silent for a moment, the fire-flowers having finished their display. The flying bots flew into the sky, glowing in bright pastels and swirling into a whirlwind of images. Great teardrops descended from above, their surfaces seeming to be of the same material as the smart sheets, flying apparitions of great golden fish swimming in the heavens or lithe dancers twirling through the stars.

BREAK

BREAK

Darya I

The strange static pulse carried across Darya Gorgage as he stepped through the Discord gate onto an overlook. It was midday, the sun bright and luminescent. Thick, tropical vegetation surrounded the overlook. The overlook had an unobstructed view of a great forest or jungle, stretching off into the distance. Past some mountains, a series of colorful ziggurats poked above the surrounding terrain. A flock of colorful birds chirped in fear, flying away from the stygian anomaly of an opening gate.

Stepping around the area and checking for any potential contacts, Darya took a moment to look down the overlook; a solid thirty or forty meters, give or take. He walked away from the overlook and closer back towards the gate. Stepping out from the void came his compatriots: Dolma, Petrov, and Naomi. True warriors and righteous overhumanists, much like him. Following his comrades came the Go-Nin first-in team. They looked around in awe, pulling out their sensor and communication tools to get a read on this bizarre world.

Planetos, Darya nearly scoffed, sniveling Gatekeeper. How childish.

One of the researchers took out some specs to zoom in on the ziggurats, "Sugee~! Honmono no isekai ga mitsukatta!" One of the sensor techs clicked his tongue audibly.

"Sore-zore no tobira-adoresu wa, betsu no hen'iki ga aru. Demo, sou mitai. Sou mitai da," the tech tittered out rapidly. Darya glanced at Naomi, who merely shook her head at the exuberance of the techs. Petrov signed to Darya, looking for confirmation. Darya signed for his signal, he wanted to time this right. He became giddy at the prospect appearing before him.

The comms tech spoke up next, "Pathfinder no tsuushin-eisei o hakken shita." The lead researcher - the one with the specs - turned around and gave the comm tech an order, "Hajimeyou, hando-sheiku o."

Before the comm tech could begin the operation, Darya had signaled to Petrov. Dolma unsheathed her hyper-edge blade, the subtle hum of phononic and plasmonic fields crackling through the air. Petrov flicked a switch - which looked like a latch on a buckle - into the on position, sending out a low-level EMP. The pulse would take out delicate comms tech for a bit, but leave more potent tools unaffected.

The pulse shrieked through Darya's entoptics, throwing them into disarray before they collapsed completely. The whole research team looked shocked and stunned, clearly disoriented by the pulse. The lead researcher called out to Darya, a terrified face shielded by transparent nano-composite.

"Oi, bushi! Dou shita!? Inpurantu ga kieta!"

Darya merely began walking up to the nearest technician who was fumbling with a pocket lab before they noticed Darya approaching. They looked up at Darya - who nearly easily exceeded two meters in height, thanks to his re-engineered physiology. They began to stutter when Darya drew his own hyperedge bastard sword, pulling the trigger to activate the charged vibro-edge, the serrated teeth slicing aggressively in a rapid chitter. They seemed about to scream for help when time slowed down for Darya, his reflex booster sending nerve signals over superior CNT wires laced throughout his nervous system. Darya relished the slowly shifting look of terror, then pain and disbelieving shock wash over the technician's face, as he rapidly plunged his sword into the technician's chest. He twisted the blade and swiped upward, the meta-material blade body rapidly adjusting each centimeter of the blade to cut with optimal speed. The sword sawed upward and out of the technician's head rapidly, bisecting the poor gene-scum from the sternum upward.

A brilliant arc of crimson feathers was sent soaring, the spread pattern pulsed further and more evenly thanks to the harmonic frequency of the sword. Darya glanced over at Naomi, who had just finished detonating the comm techs cranium using an impulse club. The small shockwave rushed past Darya, buffeting him in its force. Petrov was twirling around behind Darya, eviscerating the sensor techs who went back into the jungle for bio-samples. Dolma leaped past, her graceful form sailing through the air as she prepared to slide into a roll to half another of the Go-Nin genetrash in half.

Darya grabbed a short dart and flicked it out at the lead researcher, propelled to super-human speeds by his enhanced musculature twisting mightily against his reinforced skeleton. Thanks to enhanced spider silks and shape-memory alloys, his tendons and ligament twisted and strained with ease under the pressure. The dart plunged cleanly into the researcher's kneecap, crippling his ability to stand and sending him onto the ground. Darya was almost concerned the welp would roll off the edge and crash into the forest canopy below, but the man seemed to not realize that was his best chance for escape.

Darya hopped away from the fallen body of the first technician and began walking towards the wriggling form of the lead researcher. Darya allowed his teammates to finish off the other weaklings while he removed his helmet; this was his first chance to breathe natural, clean air in a long time. He inhaled deeply, his enhanced lungs filling greatly with the atmosphere. As he exhaled, he allowed his reflex booster to disengage.

When Darya reached the lead researcher, he saw the man was attempting to pull a concealed pistol from a shape-memory pouch. Just as the fool pulled the weapon free, Naomi leaped to Darya's side and obliterated the researcher's hand and weapon in a strike as fast as a cobra.

The researcher screamed wildly in agony, clutching at his pulverized arm. Darya knelt before the man.

"How unfortunate. All this money, all this research, and all this effort; yet here you are, broken and confused. I almost feel bad," Darya mused condescendingly. Darya picked up on the gentle hiss of the gate closing behind him, Dolma engaging the disconnect on the control unit.

The man looked between Darya and Naomi, then smirked. The smirk melted into a contorted cacophony of expressions as the sweat steamed from his face and his skin seared from within; the empty sack of skin slumped dead.

Emergency farcast. How cute.

"He appears to have escaped… will this compromise our mission?" Naomi asked with concern.

Darya stood to his full height and kicked the corpse past the overlook, trees snapping and animals screeching as the body impacted tree branches before smacking into the ground.

"No. His signal will take decades to reach sol. We will have achieved our ascendancy by that time," Darya affirmed. He returned his gaze to his comrades. They had begun extracting the equipment from the dead researchers and technicians.

Darya smiled widely, his teeth peeking out from his lips. Our Ascendancy.

BREAK

BREAK

Astika II

The walls of the Qohoric abode slowly cracked and crumbled as the non-explosive demolition charges expanded within the stone, breaking the structure down. The charges were a sophisticated nano-powder mixture that would chemically react upon an electric charge, expanding to nearly a hundred times its original volume. Placed evenly and strategically across the structure, the simultaneous pressure from all of the charges could break down any stone just as surely as a more conventional explosive could.

Once the building crumbled down to its foundations, Astika signaled for the bots and labor synths to begin clearing the rumble away to some dumpster. These would be hauled away to a nearby storage facility, where Pathfinder planned to eventually build a plasma furnace to recycle the matter.

Astika was dismantling the old and abandoned buildings to begin construction on a new Pathfinder lev-train station in Qohor. This new station would connect to the line that already existed between Aries Point and Qohor, and allow for the network to be expanded further north-west into Norvos, then split out to Braavos, Pentos, and Lorath. The lev-train system was rather lightweight compared to the proper railways found on Mars: two large control towers were set up between Aries Point and Qohor, which connected to smaller pylons that were planted between the towers and the stations at Aries Point and Qohor. Connecting each of these nodes were CNT spindles manufactured by the towers, which used the local trees as feedstock for the specialized fabricators. These spindles provided power but also served as latchment points for superconducting programmable magnet arrays that would couple with the actual 'rail-cars'; simple cabins with superconducting magnets that would hover thanks to flux pinning and the meissner effect. The programmable magnet arrays could precisely attune the magnetic field so that the cars were kept within predefined space relative to the cabling. The cabling was interconnected with the magnetic array as a tensegrity arrangement. As the cables were effectively smart rope, this allowed for the whole system to remain stable and adapt rapidly to forces imparted externally or internally. The rail-cars would be connected together by smart material latches, allowing for easy reconfiguration.

As Aries Point also had a line down to Volantis, the cable-rail network was already extremely popular (and profitable) as the newest trade system for the two Free Cities. The cable-network would allow freight to move from Qohor and Volantis in only one or two days; a solid fraction of that time was due to customs inspections at the stations in Aries Point, Qohor, or Volantis. Pathfinder was not going to go lax on their inventory standards; Oversight would be up their ass if they didn't. As only Pathfinder personnel knew how to maintain and run the network - and Essosi military capabilities being so far below Pathfinder's - it allowed Pathfinder to enforce rather tiddy tariffs on the high-speed transit. Even the Essosi natives were allowed to use the lev-line - either for a favorable trade deal or as part of a trade deal.

Kep chirped and chittered behind Astika, alerting him to an inbound order ticket. Astika would sigh if he could, but simply opened the ticket in his entoptics. The contents however, were not what Astika had expected.

[Well, it seems that we have been assigned something a little more subtle than the usual fare,] quipped Mucalinda. A volumetric map of the area surrounding Qohor was opened in Astika's entoptics, giving him a detailed view of the surrounding landscape. Mapping drones had been established at the Qohor station to maintain a constant vigil over the city. Astika filtered out the information on the city's inhabitants and the Pathfinder personnel and infrastructure, clearly showing the large army of Dothraki raiders passing close to the city. Astika pinged one of the surveillance drones and streamed its optics. The drone zoomed in on the horde, picking out a couple individuals of particular note.

[It appears that Khal Droggo's khalasar is making a detour for Qohor. They may be drawn by Pathfinder infrastructure. Direct Action security teams have already taken defensive positions, but are on standby. They want to see if this khalasar can be negotiated or traded with. It seems that you have been selected to be part of the public relations team; you have quite the reputation,] explained Mucalinda.

Astika hummed in thought, [Maybe we could kill two birds with one stone? We've been planning on getting more recon out further east, I could plant some spy motes and transponders.]

Mucalinda chittered in contemplation, [Likely. We may be able to sell, trade, or most likely 'gift' some of our networked jewelry and other trinkets to the khalasar.]

Astika liked the idea of straight up giving the barbarians the spy devices. He pinged the plan to command; a minute later, Astika got the approval but only as a secondary objective. Astika did feel miffed at having to play diplomat, though; he was an engineer! But that didn't really matter.

'The Bronze Naga', was what the local Qohori apparently called him.

This name made its way across the Free Cities, to the point that Astika had to admit that he was definitely going to be a celebrity on Planetos. Or Tegon, Draegon, or what-the-fuck-ever-a-gon that the local Essosi academics called the damn planet. Astika did enjoy the shock and awe at first, but it quickly became tiring when some local thieves and hired-killers decided to prove their mettle by trying to fight him. While Astika knew he was not a real soldier or fighter, he was sleeved in a top of the line synthmorph with plenty of bells and whistles; the whole scuffle turned into a local - then Free City regional - legend. It even made waves on both the Pathfinder and Gatekeeper networks. He was just waiting for confirmation that the Westerosi knew of the Bronze Naga; he had made a smart contract that he would change his display name to 'THE Bronze Naga' when that happened.

[At least I get to mess with these Dothraki,] Astika quipped to Mucalinda.

[And spread your notoriety further east; maybe you could put this in your resume? 'Good with advertisement and public relations stunts', or something similar.]

Astika finally sighed audibly, though it sounded more like a small pneumatic pump was running.

Astika made his way through Qohor, passing by the markets and slums of a Free City. People parted before Astika's serpentine form, gaping openly at the machine marvel. While Astika's upper frame was not noticeably larger than transhuman standard, his tail made him significantly larger, especially if he stood to his maximum height. Astika glanced around tagging anything of note or value for later acquisition. As Qohor found itself smack in the center of a great forest, wood was their primary stock and trade. Beautiful wood carvings, furniture, and even humble planks were offered readily; Pathfinder had already made an insane profit with Qohori wood, as natural trees were so rare. Combined with the exotic and 'authentic' (whatever that could be, people still made everything) origin of the wood crafts, it was all too easy to set exorbitant prices on all imports onto Mars. Pathfinder was double dipping on the Planetosi side as well; the Qohori had no framework for some of the trinkets Pathfinder traded for wood goods. Bracelets that changed color based on temperament, magnetic toys, simple tools made from superior materials, holographic fabric; all of these goods and many more were cheap and plentiful to transhumans.

Even the coins that Pathfinder was minting weren't really worth that much; asteroid mining made gold and silver abundant to the point where the elements were considered on the same level as ferrous-clay or diamond. Astika did find it interesting; the locals called the coins 'wreaths', after the wreath found in the Consortium sigil stamped onto one side. The war god Ares was stamped on the other. Better name than what the colonial executives offered; 'Elemental Exchange Token' sucked major motor pipe.

Some of the other valuable goods Astika took an interest in included tapestries and some of the uniquely colored metals. The metals were actually something special; analysis showed that the locals found a way to basically incorporate nano-materials and unique forging techniques to make simple metallic metamaterials. Transhuman manufacturing could far-exceed what the Qohori produced, but researchers were interested in figuring out how the natives got that to work. There was a shiny smart contract patent offer for any Qohori smith willing to spill the beans, and a rather appealing Pathfinder sponsorship to boot. The most fascinating alloy was hands down Valyrian Steel. That stuff was some space metal bullshit. Astika had acquired a small ring made of the alloy and found the substance to utterly defy his expectations.

Starting with the conventional aspects, Valyrian Steel was basically a molecularly manufactured beauty; exacting engineering similar to the work done to create hyper-edge blades, every single grain and boundary was perfectly aligned and ordered on a mesoscopic scale. The metals were brilliant folds and composites of metallic glasses and conventional alloy crystals, structured in a way that mimicked Astika's own designs; Valyrian steel looked like mantis shrimp dactyls clubs, herringbone walls and foamed pillars arranged in a fine metallic weave. The outer face was nowhere near as hard as the fullerite coatings common on contemporary blades, but corundum equivalent was nothing to sneeze at. The alloy also had the super-solid behavior of the latest developments in hyper-edge materials science; grains would literally flow by dislocation and reassemble into a fractally self-similar pattern. This made the blades tough as hell, have a phonon conduction out of the stratosphere, and self-reforging under sufficient stress. Under most practical conditions, the shit was basically nigh-invincible. He had not yet figured out how to re-forge the material without sublimating it, so he was constantly looking for some sort of leverage to pull on these lucky-ass fantasy smiths. Because he only had a ring of the stuff and plenty of stories, he was not yet able to analyze the sharpness of a blade made from Valyrian Steel.

Astika had already done the modeling, and found that it would be exceptionally easy to make a true hyper-edge blade from Valyrian steel if he had a pre-shaped sword or dagger. He was just giddy at the prospect of testing out that kind of design.

What was truly weird was how well the thing conducted psi waves. Astika made sure not to tell the colonial executives about that; psi was hush-hush that he only knew about because of Firewall. Psi was just shorthand for a bizarre physics phenomenon that no-one in the know understood at all: asynchronous quantum field effects. Asyncs were named in honor of the rather nerdy name, but the strange abilities were all too real. Leading theories all basically proposed some variant of 'macroscopic quantum entanglement'; actual Schrodinger's cat shit. That kept Astika on his toes; he suspected that Evergreen noticed this as well and did some digging into the archives and found concerning information.

Like white-walkers.

If there was an exsurgent virus strain (or several) on Planetos, then things got a lot more serious. But galavanting off on indigenous superstition would just give away that Astika or the other sentinels had other allegiances. That or they would just get labeled crazy. As such, slow and steady was the name of the game. Who knows? Maybe Valyrian Steel was somehow anti-alien or anti-psi. That would be useful.

Astika finally slithered his way out towards the northern gate of Qohor. Waiting there already were some mid-level noble 'Free Men' and 'Masters' that were placed on Dothraki duty by the more powerful families and individuals. They had baskets, crates, and chests of Qohori goods and valuables. Alongside the nobles were some Pathinder managers and Direct Action security guards. They had also brought some 'gifts' for the incoming horde, all carried in crate-bots or atop robo-tables. It seems Pathfinder had taken the liberty of setting up some smart-fabric canopies to provide shade. One of the nobles - a scrawny and fidgety little rat of a man - noticed Astika and gave a simpering smile.

"Ah! The almighty and wise Astika, the Bronze Naga, my lord Mukesh Grigoropolous! I am most honored to be in your resplendent presence, and I offer you my most humble gratitude for being here with us. However, I must inquire as to your purpose in meeting these barbarian savages?" the rat-noble said to Astika.

[He wants to know if you're here to cause trouble, it seems,] pondered Mucalinda.

[That, or confirm I'm here to protect him.]

The lead manager glanced at Astika and pinged a live-chat.

[I made sure that everything we offered was GPS enabled and secured to our sat-net. Plenty of spying potential; the larger stuff all have black-boxes if they get damaged or destroyed,] reported the lead manager.

[Good. Anything else you got for me?] Astika replied.

The lead manager grimaced a smidge. [Yes. Apparently, a Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are part of the khalasar. I did a pattern match on convo logs, apparently Dany married Khal Droggo in Pentos. Seems like some sort of power play by Viserys to build an army to retake Westeros,] the lead manager explained.

Astika flicked his tail in annoyance, spooking the rat-noble. Astika almost forgot he had been asked a question by the man; thankfully, techno-telepathy was a smidge faster than regular speech, so Astika could play this off somehow.

Astika faced the rat-noble, the man scrunching up somewhat under Astika's machine gaze, "I picked up on some rumors that former nobility are in this khalasar. That true?"

The rat-noble blinked in confusion for a moment before comprehension washed over his face.

"Ah, yes, I have heard such small-talk myself. I have no way to know if this is Khal Drogo's khalasar, or if the Targaryen marriage rumors are true. But this particular khalasar's size and movement fit quite well with the stories. Do you perhaps intend to… parlay with the Khal?"

Astika coiled his tail into a resting position under him; it also allowed him to build up some elastic strain in his framework, in case he needed to spring into action somehow.

"More so that Pathfinder is interested in expansion further east. The Dothraki just so happen to be in the way, is all," Astika offered. The rat-noble seemed to contemplate Astika's response before returning to his own group.

Astika spotted the front of the Khalasar pass over the nearby hill, all mounted atop horseback and riding at a leisurely trot towards the field just in front of Qohor. Astika zoomed in to watch the looks on the Dothrakis faces; most looked somewhat surprised or confused, but others only had a keening interest in their eyes.

Interesting reaction, Astika thought.

Then came the man identified in the ticket that brought Astika to this place: Khal Drogo. He was damn near built as well as an olympian or even a remade, bulging with muscle and quite tall. He looked dispassionately at the nobles but settled his gaze on Astika. He raised an eyebrow and quirked his head slightly to the right, clearly in thought about the armored snake-man. Astika chose to mirror the gesture, even slightly loosening some helm-scales to mime the Khals eyebrow. Drogo returned his head to its original orientation and turned towards someone riding up next to him and seemed to ask her something.

The girl was clearly young and seemed quite lithe. She had distinctive platinum hair and purple eyes, alongside some supremely pale skin. She looked at Astika and had an unmistakable look of awe and wonder at the engineer. She muttered something back to Drogo, which Astika had Mucalinda analyze using lip-reading software paired with some of the laser microphone systems that swept through the area occasionally. Pathfinder's Dothraki lexicon and translation matrices were woefully under-developed, but Astika figured something may come out of analysis for later use.

The khalasar arranged itself before the Qohor greeting party, and the rat-noble walked up and spoke towards the Khal. He said some stuff in Dothraki, likely thickly laying down platitudes and kissing plenty of Drogo's horse mounted ass. At some point, Drogo seemed to tire of the man's noise and waved forward some knight looking dude in plate armor.

"Yes, yes, we all know what this is all about. Khal Drogo would like to get this done with quickly, which I'm certain you would be happy to oblige," said knight dude. He cast a glance at the Pathfinder team and stared a touch longer at Astika. Astika decided to start 'playing the part', and rattled his tail; a fun little choice, he had to admit.

Knight dude's eyes widened a skosh and he gulped silently before returning his gaze to the rat-noble. Rat-noble himself looked relieved by the cowing of the man; Astika was pretty sure the real threat was the khalasar, but he supposed that small victories were still victories.

"Very well, if it is what the Khal wishes. We have some truly sumptuous gifts to offer his khalasar, and our new neighbors - the Pathfinder company of Aries - have decided to bring forth some of their own wonders in honor of Khal Drogo's magnificence," the rat-noble unctuously offered. Astika noted that a couple of Khal Drogo's subordinates were whispering into their warlord's ear; likely translating, but Astika had no way to confirm without a translation index. He literally had every syllable in a text document, and no way to understand it.

Several of the khalasar members walked up to take the Qohori gifts and present them to the Khal for his approval. He would usually do nothing, but a couple times he would dismiss a gift, rejecting it and having it returned to the Qohori nobles. Then they moved on to the Pathfinder offerings. This time, the process was quite different. The Khal took time to carefully inspect the offerings, clearly unfamiliar with some of them or curious about odd qualities to familiar items. He would also pass each gift to Daenerys and seem to inquire as to what she thought. The lead manager was asked several times to explain some quirk or function, which she performed dutifully. Astika noted that the Khal would regularly steal peeks at him every now and then, but seemed focused on the trinkets.

Suddenly, Daenerys looked pleadingly at the Khal and seemed to make a request. The Khal stared at Astika intently, seeming to try and gauge the synth some more. Ser knight dude noticed this and walked to ask what was up. The Khal answered and pointed at Astika, to which the knight dude nodded hesitantly and returned his gaze towards Astika.

[If they ask to have me, I'm filing a complaint,] Astika pinged to the lead manager. She only twitched in response, but Astika noted that the Direct Action security teams had raised the security alert a level.

His lord and grace the Knight Dude walked up to Astika, but seemed to pause about two meters away.

Astika tilted his head askew and crossed his arms.

"Well?" Astika asked.

Knight dude seemed taken aback at the synthetic quality to Astika's voice, which he supposed made sense; none of the indigenous ever had to deal with radio, let alone a synth vox.

"It seems that the Khaleesi would like to speak with you. You would have to approach her, as the Khal does not wish to have her in the midst of your people," explained the knight dude. Astika looked back at Drogo and Daenerys. While Drogo seemed defensive, Daenerys was plainly fascinated with Astika.

Astika sighed, which frightened the knight dude and the Qohori nobles, the strange whistle of mechanized pneumatics clearly alien to the people.

"Fine. I expect you to translate for me. I'd rather have a dedicated ALI module, but you will have to suffice," Astika answered. He then began slithering casually past the knight dude and around the khalasar. When he reached Drogo and Daenerys, he rose up high enough to be at head level. Astika noted that Drogo seemed to have a moment of respect, but the man seemed to hide it quickly without much other reaction. Daenerys looked awed by the apparent height, clearly not expecting Astika to rise like he did.

"Incredible. I have not heard of any stories on a… well…" trailed off Daenerys.

"Bronze Naga?" Astika finished. Daenerys looked confused for a moment but nodded her head in agreement.

"Yes, a Bronze Naga. How do you control your armor?" inquired Daenerys. Astika chuckled in amusement, knight dude translating what was being said dutifully for the benefit of the Khal.

"It is armor, but it is also my skin. A part of my body. I am quite proud of it, actually," Astika answered, rising a decimeter higher in pride.

Astika was surprised when Khal Drogo suddenly said something. He looked to the most ubiquitous dude of knight for assistance.

"The Khal says to prove it," elaborated knight dude.

Astika looked back-and-forth between Daenerys and Drogo, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright."

Astika reached for his helmet and grabbed onto the sides. Khal and Khaleesi looked on in anticipation, then surprise, then awe as Astika removed the outer refractory layer to his cranium. Due to the outer plating needing to keep the internal layers isolated from the outside environment, the whole suit was sealed tight. The clacking of SMA latches gave way to the sharp hiss of pressure seals opening and a static crackle as electro-magnetic interconnects decoupled. Astika pulled the outer plating off to reveal a bio-mechatronic framework, organically molded metallic endoskeletal scaffolding interleaved with graphite-black myomer muscle woven with SMA wire. Astika supposed that it looked like some gruesome flayed cranium woven from steel to the pair.

Several in the khalasar and amongst the Qohori gasped in shock, awe, and horror. Several horses whinnied in fright, while the Khal and Khaleesi worked to steady their own beasts.

[What fuck are you doing!?] screeched the lead manager, clearly fearful of reprisal for mishandling the 'trade negotiation'.

[Gaining their trust,] replied Mucalinda, his tone hashed with amusement.

Astika returned his helmet to its proper resting place, the metallic shell snapping aggressively back into place. Astika shuttered the entirety of his outer plating, evicting unwanted air in sharp hisses and rattling.

The Khal had a look of awe upon his face, muttering something to Daenerys, which she only nodded to. The Khal looked pensive for a moment, before announcing something loudly to the whole khalasar. The khalasar mumbled amongst themselves while Daenerys suddenly wore a face of excitement.

"Uh… it seems that the Khal wants to hear more of your people, Ser… or, uhm… I'm sorry, I never caught your name?" stuttered knight dude.

Astika looked down at the man.

"I go by Astika, but the locals call me the Bronze Naga."

Knight dude finally seemed to find his courage, steeled his face, and held out his hand.

"I am Ser Jorah Mormont."

Astika shook Jorah's hand and had Mucalinda run a search on the name.

Why is that familiar? Astika pondered.

[I have found some relevant Gatekeeper records that match this man's name and appearance,] pinged Mucalinda as he displayed the relevant record's summary for Astika's perusal.

Oh. How interesting. When did I become an espionage agent? Oh right, Firewall.

Astika began writing up notes, hypotheses, and plans while he led the khalasar down towards the Pathfinder overhang. He also placed requests for more amenities, which were being processed.

This meeting was proving to be a very auspicious advantage.

BREAK

Astika III

Astika was rather fond of the sunrise in Qohor.

He had never actually seen the sunrise of earth in person, mostly being familiar with Martian ones. While Astika knew that Planegon had a 'normal' color transition, it just felt exotic compared to the Martian sunrise of blue to orange. Eventually, Mars would have a sunrise just like earth or Tegos once the atmosphere was thicc enough with oxygen.

Yes, two 'c's thick. The planetary engineers were aiming for a slightly more massive atmosphere than earth, to compensate for gravitational differences and mitigate off-gassing.

"You really sure you want to do this?" asked Jorah.

Astika looked at Jorah for a bit before directing his gaze towards Khal Drogo. The Khal was sitting - meditative style, as is proper - and had his eyes closed; he balanced a blade - some hybrid between a scimitar and a khopesh - across his lap atop a leather shield. Khal Drogo's breathing was steady and rhythmic; Astika directed a laser system to estimate Drogo's lung capacity.

Well above human normal. Some genemods and KD would be able to handle Mars' climate just as well as any ruster, Astika mused to himself.

Astika waved off Jorah's concern, "I'll be fine."

Jorah shook his head, "Alright, at least this isn't to the death. I just wonder what has driven you to accept the Khal's offer. Most would rather not fight him, let alone parlay." Astika shrugged his shoulders.

"Call it curiosity."

Really, Astika figured this would be a good opportunity to get some hand-to-hand training in; he was woefully underprepared for a proper CQC encounter. Considering his line of work - and the planet he was on - getting some one-on-one with some mighty warlord seemed a good enough place to start. That, and the Dothraki responded to might and force pretty well; bluster and bravado was the name of the game when it came to working with them. Astika was mostly worried about setting a solid example for Pathfinder.

Astika waited till the sunrise illuminated Drogo. Once this happened the Khal stood up, strapped on his shield, and readied his blade. Astika slithered into the impromptu arena as Drogo casually walked in as well. Drogo lowered himself into a combat pose, holding his shield at a slight angle facing Astika; Astika coiled around his tail, tensing the elastic joints and myomer cabling in his shell.

Drogo struck out first, hopping quickly to Astika's left and striking from high-right to low-left; Astika swerved out of the way but the sword scraped against his shell, trailing sparks. Astika countered by throwing a left claw straight for Drogo's head, but the Khal quickly caught the attack with his shield and knocked Astika's strike downard. The Khal then pushed in with his shield throwing his weight against Astika's upper body, pushing the slitheroid back; Drogo then attempted to work his blade into the seams on Astika's torso armor, but he could not find an opening. Astika released the tension in his tail, sending him forward towards the Khal with incredible force. Drogo once again used his shield to redirect the energy of Astika's attack, but this time the Khal absorbed the momentum and used it to push off from Astika and create space.

Astika whirled around aggressively and attempted to trip the Khal with his tail; Drogo seemed to have read Astika's intent, and hopped over the whipping attack. Once Drogo was back on the ground, he immediately rushed for Astika again and hopped on the synth's back. Again, Drogo worked to slip his blade past the seams in Astika's shell; this time however, Khal Drogo was able to work his blade into a proper opening. Astika wasn't worried, however, as the outer shell was multilayered; nothing of importance to Astika's control system or machine-musculature was located in the plating. Astika initially thought to throw Drogo off like a bull, but found that the Khal had a solid grip on his sword. Astika figured that while he could just reach around and pull Drogo off, the better choice would be to body slam backwards. Astika tensed his tail to slam his back against the ground, the long appendage twirling aggressively off the ground and kicking up dust.

Yet again, Drogo proved to have the advantage of reflex and had simply leapt off before Astika could ground the warrior. Astika found his back smacking solidly into the earth with no fleshy bits cushioning his impact. Before Astika could get back up, Drogo ran up and smacked the edge of his shield into Astika's head; this threw Astika through enough of a loop that by the time he had recovered his senses and rose up, the Khal had retrieved his blade.

Astika slithered forward and threw claw-hook after claw-hook; each attack was either countered or dodged by the Khal, who seemed to handle the extreme speed of Astika's strikes with ease. Astika knew that he was likely more physically powerful than Drogo, but the Khal seemed to know where each of his attacks were intended and responded just in time to foil Astika's assault.

Then, Astika over-reached and found that Drogo had slipped closer in the opening. Drogo quickly plunged his sword into another seam in Astika's shell, but once again found no serious harm.

Suddenly, the Khal pulled his blade from the seam and rolled away from Astika. Just as Astika turned to continue his offensive, he saw Drogo sheath his sword. Astika paused mid-strike, confused at the sudden change in the man's demeanor. Drogo simply gave a curt nod before turning and leaving the small arena, quickly muttering something to Jorah. Jorah looked confused and looked at Astika.

"What gives?" Astika asked.

Jorah bit his lip and answered, "The khal says that 'there is no point in bleeding metal'. I… suppose that makes it a draw?"

Astika actually agreed, "Fair. I couldn't get a hit on him, he actually got several on me."

The fight was watched by several of the khalasar and qohori as well as a couple off-duty Pathfinder personnel. There was murmuring amongst all but the transhumans, likely wondering at what the outcome of the fight represented.

"You were definitely stronger and faster than the Khal, but you seem to lack skill. You made no faints, and you spent too much time winding up your attacks," commented Jorah. Astika rattled his tail in annoyance.

"Yeah, I'm not a fighter. But I will have to look at the elastic framework of my body; that was as fast as I am able to build tension. Not something I thought I would have to design for," Astika muttered mostly to himself, though still loud enough for Jorah to hear. The man looked curious for a moment but seemed to let the statement slide.

Astika picked up on the nearby muttering of the present Qohori.

"Gods, who made 'is armor? Not a scratch…"

"Not a scratch? How many layers are there? The khal got in several good stabs, and the Bronze Naga seems none worse for wear."

"Didn't you hear, ya nunce? The Naga ain't even made o' flesh…"

The Dothraki seemed to look at Astika with a mixture of respect and consideration. It was clear that Drogo was the superior warrior, but yet he could not draw a single drop of blood. Though, to be fair, the Dothraki also knew that Astika didn't have any blood. Astika was actually somewhat impressed by Drogo's quick concession; the Khal knew that he was unlikely to outlast steel, and chose to keep his reputation by dismissing the idea of bleeding a machine as pointless. Drogo was more political than he at first seemed.

"Quite the reputation you have, the Bronze Naga," drawled Jorah, "I have only been in but one inn for a single night, and I have already heard ten different tales of your mis-heroics."

Astika scoffed, a puff of vapor blasting out from the vents in his helm, "Yeah, the locals got some real loose tongues. Don't pay too much attention, most of it is bullshit."

Jorah hummed a bit before muttering, "Not all of it, though."

Astika let the comment slide this time. The pair made their way back into Qohor; Astika had some synths to manage and Jorah seemed to like watching the slitheroid work. The walk was fairly uneventful, and Astika finally got back to doing what he loved; organizing and implementing highly-technical projects. Astika was a nerd and proud, dammit. Jorah seemed to just find a spot away from the main work to drink and loiter.

An hour or so into laying nano-crete molds down for the foundation of the Qohor-Norvos station, Astika was alerted to a tagged VIP walking into the construction area.

Astika wondered what Daenerys was here for, but he suspected that she was just curious. She had three other people with her. When Astika turned to greet her, he noted that the three following Daenerys seemed pensive before the slitheroid. Daenerys seemed more adjusted to Astika's presence, but looked just as curious as when she first saw him.

"Well, what would you like to ask today? Last I remember, you were asking about how the rail-cars hovered," Astika offered. Daenerys shook her head in the negative.

"I had been wondering about your past. What caused you to become a suit of mail? I have heard many strange tales of great sorcery, but yours must be something rather fantastic."

Ah. Someone finally popped the cork on that topic, Astika groused to himself. Pinging Mucalinda to manage the synths to continue wiring up the foundation so that they could later pour the nano-crete, Astika took a moment to think up a response.

"Ser Astika? Are you well? I'm sorry if I asked something too personal," apologized Daenerys. Astika shuttered a split-second then waved off her concern; it seemed that he had 'frozen' in thought again.

"No, it's nothing too personal. I was just parsing out how to explain things, is all," Astika partly lied. The real answer was less interesting, so Astika figured giving something with a dramatic ending would fend off future inquiries.

"Some years ago, I was leading a small excavation project out in an uninhabited wasteland. Some Pathfinder explorers had found an old ruin of iktomi make, and they wanted it dug up and documented. The whole thing was buried some distance into a mountain, so we had to dig and blast our way through. The explorers only knew about the thing because a part was jutting out.

Anyways, things were going fine but someone asked me to double check some supports in the tunnel. I went in to take a look, lo and behold, the support was faulty and just about to fail. I called an evacuation alert, but by the time people started moving the tunnel above me collapsed and crushed me under a rock. The rest of the tunnel was fine, but I had to be removed with my intestines hanging out," Astika told the tale with a flat disinterest, but Daenerys and her buddies looked somewhat queasy.

"Bronze Naga was once man?" Asked the one chick to Daenerys' left.

Astika nodded, "Yup. Obviously, my body was fragged from the waist down - can't be healed, basically - so the doctors offered to have some pseudo-tissue legs printed to replace the natural ones. Problem was, pseudo-tissue and regular flesh don't mesh well, so I'd have to take medicine to prevent tissue rejection."

Daenerys sadly asked, "For the rest of your life?"

"Something like that," Astika cryptically replied, "which I thought was kinda annoying. I decided to just have this body made for me and had the doctors… well… 'transfer my soul' to a crystal mind etched with runes, powered by light and lightning. That way, I can never be subject to the kind of injury I suffered in that tunnel."

Again, Astika partly lied. He had originally transferred to his first synth due to an accident, but he chose to stick with metal because he found it more convenient for his job. That kind of answer would prompt more questions about why his primary concern was convenience; something dramatic like this implied that most people wouldn't do it - or have the option to. He did lie about having the sleeve made for him - his first shell was an off-the-rack synth he sold about a month later to get a slitheroid.

Daenerys looked a touch awed by the story.

"How long ago was this accident, Astika?" asked Daenerys.

"'Bout six years ago," Astika answered simply. This time, Daenerys seemed a touch disappointed; did she expect something like '300'? Astika decided to turn the tables on the Khaleesi.

"So, how did you end up part of Khal Drogo's khalasar? No offense, but doesn't seem like the typical life choice a princess would make of her own volition."

Daenerys looked surprised at the question, while her compatriots looked somewhat offended.

"Well… that is a complicated story. But I suppose that fair is fair," relented Daenerys. Astika listened to the girl tell her tale, asking clarifying questions and generally being attentive. When Daenerys finished her story, Astika nodded his head in thought.

"I see… so your brother is an asshole," Astika blurted out casually. Daenerys blinked in surprise and shock, while her buddies smiled lightly at the blunt assessment.

Astika carried on without much fanfare however, "I also think he's gonna fail miserably. I'm no expert, but Bobby B and his Wardens of pig-piss would definitely wipe the floor with the khalasar as it is. Again, I'm no expert, so grain of salt and all that."

Daenerys gaped openly while her companions seemed shocked dumb by the off-handed insult. This only lasted a moment before Daenerys gathered her wits and responded.

"My brother is the true and rightful King to the Iron Throne! It is his by birthright, and the usurper stole it in blood and rebellion against his rightful Lord!" countered Daenerys.

"And?"

Daenerys blinked in confusion and asked timidly, "Wha… What? What do you mean 'and'?"

If Astika had eyes, he'd be rolling them.

"And? So what? It clearly doesn't matter who is the 'rightful' King; Bobby is the one planting his ass on the throne. And he planted it there under the support, loyalty, and military might of the noble lords who backed his efforts. What does your brother have?

Nothing. He sold you, 'cause he has no support base and no resources; he has to rely on the word of your husband that he would sail his khalasar off towards some foreign land across the sea. And in case you haven't noticed it, Drogo isn't going to do that because Viserys wants it. Viserys came to him; he holds all the cards. If anything, you're the one who could be your husband to actually consider the idea. On top of that, I haven't seen your husband even look at your brother as anything but an insect scuttling around the whole time you've been here. I literally stayed up all night talking to your people. None of them like your brother at all," Astika explained. He wasn't going to be nice about this, the girl was under some serious delusions about her situation; Astika knew he couldn't correct them all, but her brother seemed like a good and easy start.

Astika pressed the point even further, "The Seven Kingdoms have logistics and the home field advantage on their side. In fact, how do you think the average Westerosi potato farmer is gonna receive your brother haul in a bunch of foreign invaders and declare himself 'King'?"

Daenerys seemed to actually consider the points, while the three other girls seemed appeased that Astika made Drogo look smart and willful by not listening to Viserys.

Daenerys perked up and stood tall, "The people of the Seven Kingdoms make secret toasts to my brothers return; they await the day that the Targaryen dynasty will retake the Iron Throne and return the proper rule of Kings to Westeros."

Astika made a show of contemplating the declaration, scratching at his 'chin' with a knuckle.

"Got a source for that?"

Daenerys gaped a bit and responded, "The Magister Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos tells us that his contacts in Westeros confirm such truths."

Contacts in Westeros? Maybe this conversation has some utility outside of tough therapy, Astika noted absently.

"Damn, the word of one wealthy merchant and slave owner who cites vague allies and spies across the sea. I can understand that you buy that bull 'cause your young, but your brother is getting his chain pulled, Dany. That man is conning him, most likely," Astika asserted. Daenerys looked ready to counter, but seemed to fall into sullen contemplation.

"Do you… do you really think that is possible?" asked Daenerys pensively. Astika actually felt kind-of bad about bursting the girl's perception, but this band-aid was coming off today.

"I've seen a whole lot worse for lesser gain. I don't know if that's the case, but I would not be surprised. Your brother seems hopped up on copium and his own delusions of grandeur," Astika affirmed for the poor girl. She seemed to think for a few seconds before looking back at Astika.

"Where does that leave me? If what you say is true, then my only true allies are my Sun and Stars and his khalasar," inquired Daenerys. Astika fell a bit at that, trying to bring his height more in line with Daenerys'.

"I don't know; only you can figure that out for yourself. I'm not going to say trust no-one or tell you to only rely on yourself - both are dumb, everyone needs support - but I sure can tell you that Viserys does not have your best interests in mind," Astika carefully placed his hand on Daenerys' shoulder, "don't let him drag you down with him."

With that Astika rose up and returned to his work. Astika picked up on Daenerys' tag leaving the area while Jorah approached closer, but Jorah didn't pass into the construction zone.

"You could have been gentler. I don't disagree with you, but I only let you continue because you seem like a reasonable man."

Astika faced Jorah and shrugged, "Better sooner than later, J."

Jorah raised an eyebrow at the nickname before following Daenerys.

Astika was finally able to finish pouring the nano-crete and setting up tape barriers when he decided to take a break. He had clocked a good six hours, so he spent his time in a privacy tent; he loaded some transcendental math narcoalgorithms, watched smoke waft from some incense sticks, and jazzed out in some Solid-Works CAD designs. By the time his break was up, he left the tent and went back outside to deal with other people's problems yet again.

Or at least, he would have. But some platinum blonde little-shit was giving him the death glare right as he left the peace of his tent. Viserys stared at Astika for a solid minute - eye twitching in rage, sheathed sword clattering in his hand - while Astika just waited for the nuisance to fuck-off or say something. Astika was already clocking the time as an obstruction.

"Elysium's ass-crack, what do you want?" Astika finally decided to break the staring competition.

"You dare insult ME? Denounce my birthright, call me a fool, and make me less than those horsefuckers!?" screeched Viserys. Every syllable was accompanied by visible shaking and a sudden rise in the clattering of Viserys' sword.

"Yes. I did, you are, and you are."

Viserys gaped in total disbelief, his shaking finally stilling completely. He stood there, his eyes darting mildly, before he finally said something in return.

"I challenge you to a duel!" hissed Viserys. Astika noted that a number of rather unimpressed and clearly annoyed Dothraki were hanging out in the background, likely sent after the beggar king. Several Qohori civilians also milled about, fascinated by the scene before them.

"Is that the exile prince?"

"Beggar king mo' like."

"He challengin' the Bronze Naga? He must be mad!"

"Ha~! He is a Dragon after all! Guess insanity does run in royal blood~."

Viserys seemed unperturbed by the clamoring and rumoring of the people around him. Astika pointed at Viserys and looked at one of the Dothraki.

"This yours?"

While Astika was definitely an inferior fighter compared to Drogo, Viserys was a totally different story. Astika simply weaved and flowed out of the way of the prince's wild swings, casually avoiding the swipes with minimal effort.

"I WILL MELT YOU DOWN AND TURN YOU INTO A SHIT BUCKET!" declared Viserys, his pitch high and grating.

Okay, I'm done with this, Astika thought. He grabbed his smart rope and threw it at Viserys. Astika pinged the material, which immediately contorted wildly in the air and swiftly started wrapping around Viserys' extremities. Smart rope was made from multiwalled CNT that was woven and pleated from the nanoscopic level up. The CNT strands were then composited with a special dilatant ionic-gel composed of nanites and diamond nano-particles, which allowed for charge transfer with the forests of CNT; this allowed the individual strands to contract with the power of a jet engine. The gel would stiffen and harden under compression, mitigating the weakness of bends in dumb-rope. The rope was then pleated with programmable magnets, allowing the whole thing to freely and powerfully contort by itself.

Astika watched dispassionately as the prince was hogtied by the rope, clearly infuriated and confused.

"What foul trick is this!? UNTIE ME!" demanded Viserys. Astika wasn't feeling the proposition, however. He felt good about the current circumstances. Astika spotted some crowds parting for more of the Khalasar, Qohori watch, and the Khal and Khaleesi make their way towards the scene. Astika's privacy tent was located just at the edge of town, so it clearly didn't take long for others to notice what was happening. The witnesses to Viserys' stupidity reported what happened to Drogo and Daenerys.

Daenerys pleaded, "Please, Astika, I apologize on my brother's behalf! He knows not what he has done!" Viserys began cursing out the khalasar and Daenerys, calling them incompetent cowards. The civilians were muttering wildly while the Dothraki mostly just chuckled and smirked at the prince's plight. Astika thought about Daenerys' request.

"Naw, I'm good. He's more entertaining this way."

Daenerys was about to protest when Khal Drogo spoke up. Astika spotted Jorah amongst the crowd and waved for him to explain.

Jorah sighed, "The Khal says that Viserys is your property by right of combat. You may do with him what you will."

"Lucky me," Astika groused. The prince was flopping around violently, unable to do anything. His curses and insults had devolved into incoherent gibberish by this point. Daenerys looked pleadingly at Astika.

"Will you not consider releasing him?" she asked.

Astika pondered what he could do, without giving up a valuable resource. This idiot stumbled right into Pathfinder's hands, and Pathfinder was not likely to find a more convenient opportunity to acquire such a useful asset.

"I'll trade Viserys back if the Khal Drogo signs a contract promising to never threaten Pathfinder personnel or facilities, nor the assets of their trade partners," Astika offered.

Daenerys looked stunned and asked, "And how do you intend to ensure that my husband and his khalasar honor this contract?"

"Well, it used to be standard practice for signing parties to use their DNA as the seed for a hash, so Drogo would need to provide a blood sample."

Jorah sputtered violently, his eyes wide in shock, "A Blood Magic contract?!" The muttering in the Qohori crowd grew to a fevered pitch, while a couple individuals looked interested in the proclamation.

Astika shrugged, "Yeah, sure, whatever." Astika didn't really know what 'blood magic' meant for these people, but it seemed serious enough to be of use. Interesting that a couple of the people in the crowd didn't look surprised; Astika would have to send spy drones after them.

It seemed that the trade offer and its nature was explained to Khal Drogo and the rest of khalasar, who looked terrified at the notion. Khal Drogo for his part seemed to only raise his eyebrows a touch. Daenerys was gob-smacked. Khal Drogo made another short proclamation, to which the khalasar seemed visibly relieved. Daenerys deflated a bit.

Jorah spoke up, "The Khal rejects your Blood Contract, Astika." Astika waved off the dismissal.

"It was a long-shot. Well, unless there is anything else to discuss, I'd like to get back to work."

Daenerys nodded her head solemnly, "If it is what my husband has determined and that is the price you have set, then I suppose there is nothing more to be done." Viserys spitted and cursed his sister's name as she slowly returned back to the Dothraki camp with the khalasar. As Jorah Mormont was about to leave, Astika pulled out a small, flat and rounded device from a satchel and threw it towards the exiled knight. Jorah caught it easily.

"What is this?", asked Jorah as he eyed the object warily. Astika dismissed his concerns but offered a vague explanation.

"It isn't 'blood magic' or anything like that; it's a comm-link. If you want to talk with me, just press the green button on the corner and talk into those grilles."

Jorah eyed Astika with consideration for a moment before he pocketed the device. Astika waved Jorah goodbye as the man left to follow the khalasar.

[Incoming call from Kayle Velik, the local manager. They're on the lev-line back to Aries Point,] Mucalinda interrupted Astika's thought process.

[Agggh… I really don't need this right now. Patch 'em through.]

The line opened and Astika was immediately put on full-blast.

[Dammit, Mukesh! What the hell?! I literally haven't even cleaned up the Dothraki mess yet, and you fucking kidnapped a prince!] karen'd Kayle. Astika made hand-mouths as the lead manager spoke.

[I didn't intend to kidnap him, he attacked me. The prince just invoked some native custom about duals, and the Khal said he belonged to me since I won. I provided a trade offer, but the Khal turned it down. Unfortunate, I know,] Astika double-spoke. He knew he wasn't lying.

Before Kayle could respond Astika decided to press the advantage, [And I felt that it was better we kept the former prince. He could help us clear out a potential security leak and open up a new market in one go.]

Kayle was silent for a moment, [How?]

[See, I think there's a spy-network operating in the Free-Cities. I've been checking some of our surveillance logs, and I noticed that several people consistently pass information to each other; now this may not seem strange, but these people don't associate with each other in public life. I ran some topology analysis on these people, and suddenly there was a giant network with a root at Pentos.]

Kayle's response was hashed with annoyance, [Really? Let me check… damn. You're right. What about it?]

Astika chuckled lightly to himself, [I think Pentos leads out towards Westeros; Gatekeeper archives on native literature have several times referenced a spymaster - also known as the spider - a lord Varys. Man seems to have an awful lot of connections in distant places. The little prince here and his sister somehow escaped Bob's rebellion some years ago - and I think Varys had a hand in that little operation.]

Kayle chuckled audibly on the line, [I see where this is going. Robby's got a hard-on for getting this little shit removed, so you figure we could make demands of the man. While we're at it, we can squeeze on the ghosts of Varys' balls and get some local dirt.]

[Exactly~,] Astika chimed. Kayle seemed pleased with the proposition.

[I'll put it up with the board. Keep his royal highness somewhere safe and comfortable; he is going to be a major pawn in our future Westerosi expansions.]

[Right-o. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do,] Astika cut the line and picked up the prince, who just stared in confoundment at Astika. Kid was probably wondering why the slitheroid was stock still for a solid minute.

"Alright beggar prince, let me get you set-up in one of Pathfinder's finest survival tents. We're going to get real acquainted from now on," Astika teased Viserys, slithering towards the Qohori requisition depot.

BREAK

BREAK

Luwin I

The early morning sun filtered through the window in Luwin's turret, but that was not where most of the light was coming from. Above Luwin was a couple of the new crystal lenses that would effectively capture and direct the light of the sun into the room, illuminating it far better than if Luwin relied on the window alone. Luwin was dressed in some of his new clothes, lighter than standard cloth yet they kept warmth just as well as regular clothes. Of course, Luwin was not as layered as he normally was; he and the rest of Winterfell's inhabitants now bathed in the luxury of improved water and steam piping. Alongside the windows - double paned, to better insulate heat - helped keep the inside of Winterfell warmer in the mid-summer winters, let alone the benefit when true winter arrives.

Luwin was busy writing down some notes and observations in his new journal, made from fine leather and brand new paper. The journal was brilliantly well made; it had a series of horizontal lines that were perfectly spaced, making it easy to write evenly and regularly. The paper was extremely smooth, and took ink quite well. Luwin's new fountain pen (a gift from Diego, though Winterfell already had produced its own) left clean lines across the page without the old maester ever having to re-ink the tip. The ink dried exceptionally fast, requiring but mere moments before being solidly emplaced upon the page. Luwin's new glasses had also helped him to write finer and cleaner than before; he had been shocked by how much his vision had apparently degraded over his life.

Luwin was busy writing out in his journal so that Diego could have the notes 'scanned' and transferred to a sheet of the brilliant smart-paper of the gatekeepers; sadly, the wondrous material was well beyond Winterfell's ability to produce. Because of this, Luwin had originally fretted endlessly about what to write about the ocean of knowledge provided by the gatekeepers, so that the maesters at the citadel could understand the opportunity these newcomers represented. Diego had picked up on Luwin's concerns and offered not only to scan all of Luwin's documentation but also provide a copy of the printing-press proposal to include in Luwin's message. Luwin intended to include a more conventional letter, so as to help assuage possible doubt about the authenticity of the wondrous smart-paper. Luwin could just imagine the transformation that such an instrument would have on the Citadel; hundreds of copies - all as perfect as the first - produced in mere days, if that. Of course, Luwin requested that a blueprint (odd name to Luwin, but apparently it had historical origins with the gatekeepers) of a fountain pen be included as well. A more personal offering to the Grand Maesters.

Luwin also thought back to the academic ideology of the gatekeepers: the Scientific Method. Diego told Luwin that 'Science' effectively meant 'to know', and the Scientific Method had been the great philosophy to have allowed the creation of all the incredible works of the gatekeepers. Luwin loved everything about the philosophy of Science; empiricism, reproducibility, experimentation, standardization, hypotheses, theories, mathematical laws, and so much more. Science felt like the crystallization of all that the maesters and the Citadel stood for, but stripped of any mysticism or faith. Diego had given Luwin several books of Science that greatly influenced gatekeeper history, two of which Luwin had only just begun to understand: Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica by Ser Isaac Newton and Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems by Galileo Galilei. The idea that mathematical formulas and notations could exactly predict such cosmic phenomena as the motion of planets stunned Luwin, but the realization that the Sun was the center of cosmology for Tegon had been a shock. Of course, the far simpler and more powerful model was enough to convince Luwin of the truth of the matter. Apparently, these were texts on older and outdated models for the cosmic motions; Luwin was willing to put-off reading Einstein's work till he had finished the more approachable texts. Once Luwin was done with Newton and Galilei, he intended to read The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin.

As far as Luwin was concerned, the gatekeepers were not just powerful, but utterly enlightened by Tegon's standards. No culture that Luwin knew of could match the works of these newcomers. And Westeros - and more specifically Winterfell - was to be the seed of a new age of thought unlike any other before.

Luwin finished a page and took a moment to sip some coffee; if Science was a machine of knowledge, then coffee was to be the steam driving its forward march. Coffee was apparently originally derived from the dried seed of a type of berry; when the seeds were ground and steeped in hot water, an invigorating and earthy brown drink resulted. The new glass gardens actually had some seeds of the plant, but they would not yet be ready for several months; instead, the gatekeepers brought 'synthetic' coffee to Winterfell. Winterfell had produced several different types of coffee-making tools and a small industry of 'baristas' had sprung up to begin filling demand for the energetic drink. Workers would practically chug barrels worth of coffee to stay alert and awake; Luwin noted that nearly all of Winterfell's servants and laborers had become more attentive and productive since the advent of coffee. Luwin swiftly found coffee to be his favorite drink; Luwin loved a good ale or aged wine just like any sane Northerner, but coffee made Luwin's mind sharper, not duller. Luwin had read about the popularity of the drink with the gatekeepers scientists - current and historical - and he could not help but feel that the advent of Science laid with the discovery of the drink.

Luwin grimaced as his stomach grumbled and an uncomfortable sensation filled his belly and loins. There was one downside to the drink; it resulted in a dramatic increase in the need to relieve oneself. Luwin stood up and walked to his bathroom - another new addition - and took time to tend to bodily needs. The new water and steam piping also came with 'plumbing', an incredible invention that helped to ensure that the privy did not stink or fester. Luwin washed his hands using the new sink - hot water at a touch - and made sure to double check his appearance using the mirror. The gatekeepers had provided the alchemical formula to turn sheets of float-glass into mirrors, which quickly resulted in the rapid spreading of the once rare luxury to nearly every man and woman in Winterfell's vicinity. Once Luwin was done with his tending, he returned back to the main study.

Hygiene was one of the gatekeepers highest priorities, and it now reflected throughout the rest of Winterfell. The keep had been swept and dusted, vines and foliage cleared, and new cleaning alchemicals provided to all. The most common was hand-sanitizer and 'isopropyl alcohol'; confusion was quickly dismissed by the gatekeepers, by explaining that isopropyl would cause a man to violently retch the contents of his stomach and soil himself violently. However, the substance quickly 'evaporated' - dissipated into the air - after a minute or so. The kitchens had not only stainless steel cookware and utensils, but immense sink-bays with plenty of liquid soaps to keep everything clean. Bathtubs had resulted in Lord Eddard declaring new standards for personal hygiene for all servants and laborers, ensuring that they were as presentable as possible for any guests - especially the Royal party and the King. Luwin rather also liked how much nicer everything was because of the new standards of hygiene; food and drink were always excellent, the keep was clean, and everyone seemed so much more radiant when they bathed regularly.

Luwin noted that these changes were to eventually find their way to the other keeps and villages of the North; Lord Stark had sent ravens sometime ago requesting that all of the noble houses of the North send delegates to speak with the gatekeepers on plans to implement similar changes. Yes, change had come to Winterfell, it will come to the North, and it will come to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms; His Grace the King Robert of House Baratheon had made it very clear that he adored the gatekeepers.

Just as Luwin was about to sit back down for some more writing, Luwin noticed a commotion rumbling out beyond his room's door. Luwin went and opened the door, then walked downstairs to the floor of the wall. Luwin saw several servants rushing over towards one of the un-renovated towers; as much as great change and transformation came to Winterfell, there were only so many laborers and materials to be had. The old tower was placed below the other projects to improve the more used portions of Winterfell, so it largely sat unchanged.

Luwing waved over one of the servants and before he could ask what was happening, the woman told him the most awful news. Luwin felt his gut clench and his heart nearly stop when the woman spoke.

"Maester Luwin, come quickly! Bran Stark has fallen from the tower!"

BREAK

Svafa I

Svafa rolled the thin metallic cylinder around in her fingers, feeling the smooth surface and the subtle impression of the button. The vape was rather unassuming and was meant to be easily kept in a smart-pouch for when Svafa needed it. She only really had it out because she was in the privacy of an office afforded to her by Ned and Cat.

Svafa didn't ever really think up a name for the nanite-pharmaceutical mixture.

She had a scum narcoticist based in Phelan's Recourse help her devise the serum; Svafa had plenty of information to offer thanks to her working with Firewall, but it still took some convincing to get the crafter to help her devise the formula. She had wanted to be able to easily recreate the mixture, so it involved a good amount of conventional dumb drugs wrapped in nanocytes and laced with a pinch of specialized nanites. The mixture was kept as a colloidal dispersion in some cannabinoid oils for flavor and a clean vaporization. The end product was something between fokus, klar, and stiff. There was one unique aspect to the cocktail, however:

It suppressed emotions in the present but left them alone in memory.

Everything Svafa felt while on the stuff was a more 'distant', easily analyzed, drug-induced state of dissociation and arm-chair general. Later, Svafa would be able to analyze her feelings and sort through them. Svafa didn't want to forget what it was like to be human, to really care.

The problem was that Svafa seemed to care too much. She had a strong empathetic capacity - which was partly why she was good with interrogation and investigation - but she also had a tendency to get really hooked on how she or others felt. Her friends growing up said she was obstinate - her teachers called her willful. Firewall called her emotionally-compromised.

But Svafa could not just ignore what was out there, what threatened transhumanity and all it represented. She had to do something, even if that meant putting herself into the fire. So, to make it easier for her to jump headfirst into hell, she had this stuff.

Her own personal lotus nectar.

Svafa gripped the vape firmly then pocketed it in her pouch. She needed a walk. Right now, maybe outside the wall around the first keep; the old, dilapidated buildings had a strangely homely quality to them that made Svafa feel calm.

Svafa got up and left the office, walking down the stairs and passing by some of Winterfell's servants. Once Svafa got downstairs she walked out a nearby door into Winterfell Courtyard. Svafa spotted the radio booster suspended in mid-air by CNT spindle lines, to give it the best angle to ping the sat-net. It also served as a convenient way to string up LED lights for a touch of festivity. The courtyard was busy but fairly relaxed compared to normal; the feast and fireworks display last night resulted in a lot of late-night revelry. Svafa also supposed that quite a few people were nursing some righteous hangovers.

Svafa glanced towards her right as she walked towards the nearest gate outside and spotted a butcher pick up a blade and prepare to cut into -

Helay as the woman looked on in terror at the three meter tall stalker sprint towards her, its hyper-edged whip blades swirling around in an arc of destruction. The crystalline and bug-like war-bot finally reached Svafa's companion; all Svafa could do from the elevator was watch as the stalker flayed Helay alive -

Svafa shook her head aggressively, finding herself already outside of Winterfell. She was shaking steadily, her breathing shallow and rapid. Svafa began fiddling with the poly-magnetic bracelet she wore, a good fidget for helping her control her emotions. Svafa leaned against a tree for a couple minutes before she felt good enough to begin walking around the keep.

Svafa could have gone to a psychosurgeon. She could have the emotions suppressed, the memories blocked, or even had her sensitivity to violence lowered. But Svafa didn't want that; she wanted to care, but she also felt that fear was a survival mechanism. Everything she experienced had taught her a valuable and unforgettable lesson about the horrors of the cosmos; she saw 'hard-ass' veterans make stupid mistakes or underestimate a risk far too many times for her liking.

Svafa also feared that she wouldn't really be her if she had some of those changes made. Skinwalker and Chi would probably have a couple things to say about that belief.

As Svafa walked around the walls of Winterfell and took in the natural air of the North, she began to think about the Starks. They were really friendly, humble, and dedicated people; hell, they'd probably make excellent Commonwealth citizens. Not like they aren't used to the cold. In fact, since Svafa let Sansa and Arya keep their ectos, the Stark sisters have become something of darlings to the Gatekeeper staff Plantos side. While the Gatekeeper network had certain content filters set-up for the Stark sisters ectos, they still had a lot of freedom to read up on the solarchive. Arya was really into the talking with Gatekeeper personnel on things like self-determination and gender-equality; Sansa on the other hand had really taken to reading up on Titanian Commonwealth political theses and articles. She seemed really fond of the Social Democrat lens - Sansa felt that the social-democrat talking points most lined up with Stark philosophy on duty and societal obligation. Something that Svafa didn't expect was how horrified Sansa was by the Consortium credit system; after some research, Svafa found out that debt, interest, and loan-sharking was sometimes viewed as morally wrong by certain medieval European societies. Since gold and silver coinage was a physically limited supply, interest was considered predatory, parasitic, and fundamentally exploitative. Digital currency didn't have the physical constraint issue like coinage, but Svafa agreed with Sansa that the technical difference shouldn't matter. The Consortium was a hyper-corporate pyramid scheme that existed to facilitate exploitation. In fact, Sansa and Arya had a rather substantial following outside of the Planetos Gatekeeper teams; since Gatekeeper had a transparency policy, a lot of the Stark sisters' blogs found their way onto the Saturnian internet. Naturally, the Social Democrats adored Sansa; plenty of political slogans about how their policies reflected principles more universal than transhumanitys current framework. They didn't know it, but they had some very real impact on the Commonwealth.

Svafa found her mood improving considerably. The Starks were incredibly personable and friendly, and Svafa found that she really enjoyed their company. Svafa really liked talking with the Stark children, especially Sansa, Arya, and Jon. Robb was nice and friendly, but Robb often hung out with Theon; Svafa couldn't stand the man. He was a sexist pig as far as Svafa was concerned. Robb seemed to pick up on the animosity and make efforts to avoid issues or keep Theon in line, which Svafa appreciated to a degree. She just wished that she could be friendlier with Eddard and Catelyn; Svafa felt intimidated by authority figures.

Which also led to Svafas latest problem. She had always disliked taking the drug, but it made things manageable. But Svafa hated how she behaved around the Starks when on the narcotic and she always felt guilty about her interactions while under the influence. She had been taking the mixture less and less lately, which came with some intense mood swings. Svafa didn't know if that was some sort of addiction side-effect, or if she was way more unstable than she had thought. Neither thought was pleasant.

Svafa made her way around towards the First Keep. Svafa, Samuel, Eddard, and Diego had decided to shelve any renovation plans for that place as it was little used. Not only that, but initial analysis showed that the First Keep was somewhat unstable. Eddard issued an order to have people use that section of Winterfell as little as possible when Svafa explained the possible danger. A proper renovation would probably have to involve some controlled demolition and a full-scale rebuild. But the First Keep had a really nice aura about it, so Svafa took any chance she had to record the place and post it to her architecture blog. Not that the rest of Winterfell wasn't a marvel, but the First Keep was just photogenic in a rather special way.

That's when Svafa saw Bran fall from the Broken Tower.

Her heart nearly stopped and Svafa lost track of her actions as she almost unconsciously sprinted for where she saw the Stark boy fall; Catelyn's warnings echoed in her mind, instilling cold knives of dread and shame. Svafa wasn't sure why she felt shame, but she (alongside practically everyone else in Winterfell for any length of time) knew that the boy loved climbing the Broken Tower.

I should have issued more stringent measures: put up warnings, set up barricades, built Bran a fucking climbing wall, SOMETHING, Svafa berated herself.

Svafa burst out of the trees and spotted the boy's body laying in some grass, his form seemingly still. Svafa had already issued an alert to the Winterfell LAN on the emergency, and Enzo Millet said he was making his way over as fast as he could.

But that wasn't fast enough for Svafa.

Without thinking about it or even paying attention to her own actions, Svafa picked up Bran and sprinted in the direction of Enzo. Apparently, she had opened a line with Enzo without realizing it.

[Damn it Svafa, talk to me! What did you see?] demanded Enzo. Svafa shook her head to try and clear her thoughts.

[I… I saw him fall from the Broken Tower. He… he's not really moving… I… I don't…]

Enzo took on a more authoritative but controlled tone, [Alright, Svafa, I need you to open an XP stream for me, got it? Then, I need you to take a look at him.]

[Al-alright,] Svafa initiated the XP stream and sent the data to Enzo. Svafa took a good look at Bran; normally, she would be a lot more attentive to the slow but weak rise and fall of his chest or notice the particular complexion his skin took.

[Okay, he's still alive. Look, me and two of the servants are coming around in your sight-line, past the trees. Do you see us?] asked Enzo. Svafa looked around and spotted the white and red suit the medic always wore. The two servants were carrying a stretcher with them, unfolding the contraption swiftly due to memory-metals and -plastics.

"Place him on the stretcher, just like that," encouraged Enzo as Svafa followed his directions. The servants looked upset at Bran's condition and muttered.

"By the Old and New, he's so pale…"

"Gods be good to this boy."

Enzo led Svafa and the stretcher carriers back towards Winterfell proper, checking the boy's vitals with medical assays and scanners.

[I can stabilize him. I will need another professional's help… Okay, Luwin knows and is on his way. Good,] chattered Enzo, [but his lower vertebrae look crushed.]

Svafa wondered where the feeling of her stomach disappeared. She didn't really think too much or pay much attention to it before now. Svafa followed along under some strange impulse, unsure about who was commanding her sleeve to move.

Before too long - or was it an eternity? - the group made it back into Winterfell and a drone had already set-up a workspot in a nearby room in the keep. Svafa entered with the rest of the group - and a lot of other people, Svafa hadn't noticed that yet - and Enzo directed the stretcher carriers to carefully lay the device down onto a table. Luwin rushed up next to Enzo and the two immediately got to work.

Luwin provided Enzo some glass vials and medical instruments from Enzo's first-aid kit. A drone removed Bran's upper clothes to gain access to his arms, chest, and back. Luwin acted as a second set of hands for Enzo while the medic got to work on applying a variety of pharmaceutical cocktails to stabilize the boy's condition.

"His breathing is too shallow, he may choke."

"Crack the respirocyte vial and draw 40 CCs with the syringe; that'll keep him oxygenated until we can stabilize his breathing properly. Take the adreno-serum and connect it to his arm, the latchment point will handle the rest."

"He's beginning to shake!"

"Get the anesthetic-hypo, the yellow one. Check his eyes with the hand-flashlight."

"They're dilating."

Svafa started to feel queasy; Das Frettchen's condescending sneer flashing through her mind as he recommended having her discharged as a sentinel. Andreas' dead face falling into the darkness of Iapetus' caverns. Helay's unrecognizing gaze as Svafa met them for the second first-time. The broadcast entoptic of images of the start of the Fall when Svafa was in Secondary School.

I need to leave, Svafa meant to say, but merely began pushing her way out of the room. She needed to be calmer than this - she was fairly certain she was hyperventilating - and she couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

Suddenly, Svafa smacked into Eddard. The man looked at Svafa with concern.

"I-I'm r-really sorry, L-Lord Stark but I… I need to -" Svafa stuttered out, but before she could sneak past the man he placed both of his hands firmly on Svafa's shoulders.

"Svafa, calm down. Listen to me. It's okay. You did everything you could," reassured Eddard. Svafa weakly tried to wriggle out of Eddard's grip, but found that she couldn't really control her body all that well.

"He… he fell from the tower… I knew t-that it wasn't safe! I - I could have…" Svafa trailed off.

"Svafa, look at me."

Svafa looked at Eddard's eyes; they were strong and in control. Svafa found that her breathing began to slow a bit.

"You were there to bring my boy to Enzo and Luwin. There is nothing more I could have asked of you. Please, be calm. We need you here. I need you here. You can do this," affirmed Eddard. Svafa looked deep into Eddard's eyes and took deep, quivering, but calming breaths. She fiddled with her bracelet, the clacking providing a familiar grounding for her senses.

"Okay. I… I'm okay. Maybe not okay, but I can manage. I'm sorry," Svafa said as Eddard released her. Svafa saw Eddard make his way to where Enzo and Luwin were finally stabilizing Bran. Catelyn rushed to Eddard's side while Robb, Jon, Sansa, and Arya took up places by Svafa.

Sansa took Svafa's hands in her own, tears streaming down her face, "Thank you, Lady Svafa. If you weren't there to find Bran, he may have been there for too long. I… I can't stand the thought of him… of him… alone in that field."

Arya was holding Jon's arm for comfort while Jon watched with rapt vigilance for his half-brother. Robb Placed his hand on Svafa's shoulder and thanked her for finding his brother.

Svafa completely forgot about the vape in her pocket.

BREAK

BREAK

Svafa II

"I've been able to stabilize Bran and he is taking the neurogenesis injection well; he should suffer no cognitive damage. In terms of cracked and broken bone, a dissolvable capsule near his chest will disperse nanites that will promote improved mending and healing on that area. Thankfully none of his internal organs were ruptured and he seems to have suffered no internal bleeding. There is one problem, however," explained Enzo Millet, the Stark family listening intently. They were waiting in Bran's room, the boy sleeping peacefully. Samuel and Diego were there as well. Svafa knew what was coming next, but she still cringed when Enzo gave the prognosis.

"His lower spinal column is basically crushed. The vertebrae are completely misaligned, and the spinal nerve is torn in the area. I don't have the skill, equipment, or facilities necessary to effect a repair. If his spine isn't reconstructed through surgery, he will never walk again."

Ned gulped at the statement. Catelyn sobbed lightly while Robb, Sansa, and Arya held together well enough; they still looked somewhat devastated. Rickon had fallen asleep in his room, watched over by some of Winterfell's maids.

Bran was stabilized some time ago, but Enzo wanted to make sure that he mitigated or prevented any long term damage. The biggest concern was internal bleeding and ruptured organs, as those could still result in death if not treated. Concussions and brain damage were next, followed lastly by the skeletal system. Svafa knew that once Enzo had verified the condition of Bran's spine, he had formulated a prognosis for the family.

While Enzo was busy with maintaining Bran's long term health, King Robert and some of his Royal party showed up to offer their prayers and condolences. Notably absent was the Queen and Joffrey; Robert said that they wanted to pray alone in the Sept. Svafa didn't really buy that; the Queen and her 'Golden Boy' seemed like the definition of blue-blood elitist royalty. Robert did heartily congratulate Svafa for having found the boy and acting swiftly to bring him to Enzo and Luwin; Svafa felt like she didn't deserve the praise. Wasn't that the bare minimum of human kindness? Robert said that he wanted to officially congratulate Enzo and Luwin once they were done tending to Bran. The Starks had then publicly declared that they were grateful to Svafa, Enzo, and Gatekeeper as a whole and that if Gatekeeper needed a favor then Gatekeeper would have it. The Starks would definitely fit in with the Commonwealth; reputation and favors were the bread and butter of civil society.

Svafa was broken out of her thoughts when Sansa spoke up, "You said that you don't have the skills or facilities to heal Bran's spine; would those qualities and materials be found beyond the gate?"

Svafa suddenly remembered, Duh idiot, Gateway has Top Notch hospitals! They even got a half-dozen chrysalis pods; some spinal reconstruction would be easy for them.

There was only one problem. Samuel grimaced and answered with hesitation.

"That would be the case. Problem is, Gatekeeper has a rather stringent quarantine policy; they are concerned about disease and plagues. Not only that, but they have some documentation about certain restricted fields; the Gatekeeper executives would throw a fit if I brought Westerosi through the gate without their approval. They might not even approve at all if I waited till the next check in to ask…"

Catelyn shook her head, "I would not be okay with Bran passing through your gate alone. If what you say about your 'executives' is true, then I doubt they would be any more pleased with two."

Svafa felt anger well up within her chest; Gatekeeper may have offered it's assistance and support, but the executive board was adamant about the quarantine. Svafa could understand that they were concerned with disease, but she also suspected that they simply didn't want to deal with the complexity of Westerosi travel to Pandora. It raised too many sticky topics, and the official policy was still a general caution around tranhumanism with the Westerosi. It would be impossible to avoid questions about those topics if Bran or Catelyn talked with any of the Pandora-side personnel, gatecrashers, or even the tourists. But Svafa didn't think that those things couldn't be worked out; Gatekeeper executives were choosing control and convenience. Didn't matter if these people were trapped with backwards medicine and superstition; it didn't matter if they were subject to gross authoritarian governments; and it didn't matter that they were just people trying to survive.

Svafa stood up and spoke her mind.

"Screw what executive will think. I think Bran deserves to walk again; and no matter what, I think that Gatekeeper needs to recognize that the gate is on Stark land. The Starks have just as much a right to the gate as Gatekeeper does. And I don't think that some fancy blueprints, cheap drone labor, or friendly fucking handshakes are worth locking them out from the rest of transhumanity!"

Diego raised an eyebrow while Samuel gaped at Svafa. Svafa knew that Diego had dropped transhuman with Tyrion and Jon, but both men seemed more interested in Diego's story at the time. Neither Jon nor Tyrion had seemed to ask about the word yet. Not that Samuel knew that little fact. Enzo facepalmed while the Stark family looked confused (Sansa and Arya had filters on their ectos), and Luwin looked intrigued by the word.

[Incoming voice line request from -]

"Hell no, we are speaking about this like normal fucking people, Samuel!" Svafa quickly rejected the comm line and pointed a finger at Samuel.

"Dammit Svafa, what are you thinking? What happens if the executive board decides to implement stricter policies? They are liable to have us replaced! Do you really think that is what is best for the Starks? For Westeros?" argued Samuel. Svafa scoffed angrily.

"Fuck executive! They aren't the ones running this show, we are Samuel! What the hell do those corpos know about these people, this place? Jack shit! I say we assert some damn independence." Svafa retorted. Samuel rubbed his eyes in agitation.

"I cannot believe you are saying this. They could rescind colonial support, or send in some fucking mercenaries to establish order," countered Samuel.

"What a real great look. 'Listen, everyone, we totally respect the sovereignty of the Westerosi people, but our executives just cannot afford a little respect for the indigenous, so when the local directors decided to protest our bullshit, we gunned them the fuck down in front of the damn royal family!" Svafa yelled at the top of her lungs. Summer howled at Svafa's enraged pitch, while Bran remained asleep, breathing slowly. The Starks looked like unrelated friends at the family holiday dinner.

Samuel knitted his features into an angry glare, "You are talking about secession; let's say they don't just send in the Gorgon goons, they'll still completely cut us off. We will be totally hamstrung without regular shipments; feedstock can only be manufactured in zero-gravity, and we have nowhere near the space program to get that off the ground!"

Svafa crossed her arms.

"Leave us high and dry while Pathfinder builds a personal empire in Essos? Yeah, and Elvis is still alive as well, right?"

Samuel looked ready to counter the point, but he seemed to realize what Svafa was implying; Gatekeeper could not afford to let Pathfinder have free-run of Planetos. Svafa spent some time thinking about the whole situation; this wouldn't even be the first time that gatecrashing companies had problems with their colonies listening to mandates. Kind of hard to enforce your will when the other side could just lock the door. Svafa talked with several of the more veteran crashers amongst the Wolfswood personnel; colonies and colonists held more power than the corpos wanted to admit. That's why they always wrote broad policies, to give themselves enough rope to hang dissenters with.

This didn't mean that what Svafa had offered wasn't incredibly stupid. But Svafa knew that too.

"Look, Samuel, I know you are concerned about the fallout; so am I. But I think that Gatekeeper will be willing to bend a lot more than you think. The whole Commonwealth loves the Starks; they love the North, and they love what we are doing here to help these people build a better future for themselves. The media coverage writes itself.

Imagine how they'd react if Gatekeeper kicked Bran and Catelyn back through the gate; 'Soulless Gatekeeper executives deny a mother and her son medical service'. They'd get spitroasted for that. But now look at it from the other angle; 'Magnanimous Gatekeeper leaders freely offer medical care to a mother and son, treating a disability that would have been untreatable back in their home'. Think of the Kroner that would be invested, think of the 'generous donations' by rich oligarchs, think of the Autonomist sympathizers volunteering free of charge. What do you think looks better to the corpos?" Svafa finally explained her point in full. It wasn't perfect, but Svafa knew that Gatekeeper was always concerned with its image above all else. What better way to get them to sweep an infraction under the rug than a generous marketing opportunity?

Samuel seemed to seriously think about the notion. He grimaced slightly and shook his head however, "You're probably right, Svafa. But I can't just do it without some reason other than generosity. They'd at least have you and me drawn back through to Gateway and fucking kick us out the damn airlock."

Diego, silent for the argument so far, decided to throw in his two cents.

"I think you should do it, Samuel."

Samuel seemed to have forgotten about Diego, as he double-took the man in shock.

"You what now?"

Diego smiled broadly before speaking, "Let us discuss the matter in a privacy tent."

Svafa felt a wave of complete confusion smack her in the face.

Excuse me, what the fuck? Svafa thought. The Starks, Luwin, Enzo, Samuel, and even Summer stared at Diego stupidly. Suddenly, Samuel seemed to stare at the space in front of him before his confusion washed away.

"Alright. There's a tent available out in the courtyard. Let's go," declared Samuel. Samuel and Diego walked out of the room and closed the door.

Svafa looked to Enzo for assistance; the man did the same for Svafa. Sansa suddenly lightly smacked Arya upside the head.

"Ow, I didn't say it out loud!" the younger sister complained.

"It's still rude," countered Sansa. Ned and Cat looked at the sisters with disapproval - and some concern - before speaking with Luwin.

Robb rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably, "Is… is that… normal? I'm sorry, I don't know what a privacy tent is supposed to be." Svafa gave a sympathetic look at Robb.

"It uh… ensures that no spying can happen. It prevents the second-sight and the second-sound from passing through the tent," Svafa explained. Robb 'ah'd silently at the explanation.

"I see… so, what kind of conversation would require that kind of privacy?"

Svafa cringed physically and grimaced in shame before replying, "I uhm… should have probably spoken with Samuel about Gatekeeper in a privacy tent. Sorry about, you know, all of that…"

Robb simply nodded slowly. Svafa was starting to really feel shameful about her outburst; the mood swing made her reckless and impulsive. She must have looked crazy to the Starks; cold, indifferent, and calculating at one moment then emotionally charged and unstable the next. Ned spoke up towards Svafa.

"I appreciate you vouching for us, Lady Svafa."

Svafa was shocked for a moment but let Ned continue.

"I understand that you feel that you and gatekeeper have been unreasonable, but I can assure you that is not how it has looked to me. Your executives have to watch their borders and secure their territory; it only makes sense that the gate would be of prime concern to them. To be honest… I treated the gate as a border. Between your lands and mine. The land surrounding the gate I offer to you so that we may trade with each other and come to know alliance. But I have no idea how the gate functions; its operation is a mystery to me. I decided to leave the gate to those who keep it as their duty. It would be arrogance on my part to presume I have any control over the thing. So, thank you for vouching for us. Everything you and gatekeeper have done cannot be repaid in a hundred lifetimes."

Svafa sighed out in relief then smiled at Ned.

Just as the awkward atmosphere disappeared, Svafa tensed as Samuel and Diego returned from their talk. Diego looked confident as always while Samuel seemed far more collected than before.

A moment passed before Samuel spoke.

"It seems that Diego has forced my hand; I have decided that allowing Bran through the gate to receive treatment is the best course of action to take, for the continued success of GWUP. As the next scheduled dial-in will be tomorrow at noon, I feel it is best if Lady Catelyn and Enzo Millet discuss what passing through to Pandora will look like. Enzo, I will message you about the details as they are put together."

Svafa was confused by Samuel's statement. What did Diego say? Samuel seemed to notice Svafa's miscomprehension, then he smiled at her and winked. A chat request opened, which Svafa silently accepted.

[Diego gave me a very compelling reason to approve this action. Apologies for being such a downer back there; guess I just needed you to light a fire under my ass about this.]

Svafa didn't respond but smirked in satisfaction. Samuel shook his head in amusement, then left to manage the Gatekeeper projects. Diego leaned casually against a pillar.

Catelyn got up to begin speaking with Enzo on the specifics of what to expect while Ned left to tend to his duties. Robb walked up to Svafa and bowed slightly.

"Thank you for vouching for my little brother".

Svafa nodded back, then Robb walked up to Diego to thank him for having convinced Samuel to approve of the proposal. Svafa received a chat request from Sansa and Arya.

[I've been checking some of the 'configuration files' on my ecto, and I would like to know what a 'topic filter' is. I presume it is why I never heard 'transhumanity' before, hm~?] Sansa chided. Arya nodded her head in agreement, [Yeah! I tried looking up vids of the lands that you keep mentioning, but I keep getting no answer! What does Saturn look like? How can it have an immense ring?]

Svafa cringed a bit.

[I'll… see about having those filters rescinded - or at least loosened - when your mother and Bran go through the gate. Cat will be out of the bag at that point.]

Sansa and Arya looked weirded out at the saying. Svafa groaned internally.

[Shit… okay here, {Link ping sent} just read the article. I'm not weird, you are,] Svafa teased with a hash of playfulness laced throughout the last statement.

Sansa and Arya took a moment to read the article before Arya began giggling while Sansa flushed a touch.

[You… ah! Fine, you win this one,] relented Sansa while Svafa ticked up a point on their shared score board.

Svafa waved the sisters goodbye as they left for their lessons. Arya took to the lessons better because she could now pretend to listen while she actually wasn't; it still resulted in Septa Mordane chiding the young girl.

Svafa was about to leave when Diego placed his hand on her shoulder, sending her a chat request. Svafa looked at the Jovian with some suspicion for a second before she accepted the request.

[What is it?] Svafa asked. Diego pursed his lips in contemplation before replying.

[The First Keep and the Broken Tower have rather basic motes planted about. They mostly just check for seismic activity, smoke, chemicals, temperature, or movement. About an hour before Bran's fall, I received an alert from the First Keep and the Broken Tower about an unscheduled entry. I dismissed it at the time, but the timing is rather strange. Bran never trips those sensors; we don't have any motes monitor the exterior.]

Svafa blinked in surprise before picking up what Diego was putting down.

[Then why don't we just initiate the executive override? We only need a two-thirds majority to interrogate the mote network. Even if Samuel doesn't agree - which I doubt - we would be able to do it,] Svafa inquired. Diego looked at her with a hint of concern in his eyes.

[Call it a hunch. Or, to speak in lawyer, an 'inchoate and unparticularized suspicion'. I would like you to investigate the Broken Tower and see if there is any evidence that could serve for reasonable suspicion. I'd like to afford some judicial procedure to this situation, whether it turns out to be nothing or not,] Diego shrugged lightly, [shouldn't be too difficult for you.]

Svafa pursed her lips in contemplation. It seemed that Diego was implying that Bran's fall wasn't an accident. Svafa looked into Diego's eyes with determination.

[On it, I'll be there tonight. I'll requisition an invisibility suit,] Svafa affirmed. Diego simply removed his hand from her shoulder and Svafa left to prepare for the night.

Later at night after the sun fell, Svafa snuck back into Winterfell. Her form was at most a distortion of the air, but when in shade she was totally invisible. Invisibility tech wasn't truly invisible; certain EM spectrums could still pick up the suit and echolocation was notoriously non-reliant on light. But amongst the Westerosi, the tech practically made someone a ghost. The flexible metamaterial weave and holographic coating worked together to project photo-realistic images from all angles, from the near-infrared to the far-ultraviolet. If combined with heat-sinks and radar absorbent metamaterials, the only wavelengths of light capable of piercing the illusion were x- and gamma-rays. External vision was possible through a sparse metamaterial array of cameras and solid-state LIDAR that provided hyperspectral vision and powerful zoom capabilities.

Svafa made her way towards the outside of the First Keep and approached the tower. She double-checked that no-one else was around and initiated a LIDAR scan of the surface topology of the tower. A thin and diaphanous pane of rainbow light passed swiftly over the Tower, passing the data back into Svafa's entoptics. She had her muse - a mute ALI named Silence - combine the LIDAR sweep with recordings of Bran climbing the tower. A volumetric projection of the boy scuttling about the tower appeared in Svafa's entoptics, showing her the paths he could have taken and the places where he could have fallen. Svafa refined the simulation by having Silence work in data on Bran's injuries and some data on similar fall injuries. A broken portion of the wall was highlighted as the likely falling-off point.

Svafa began climbing the tower to reach the point, the nano-hair gecko-tape grips on her hands and feet greatly aiding her ascent. Svafa climbed up into the hole and into the tower proper. It was dilapidated and messy. Before stepping anywhere else, Svafa popped some forensics mites and tossed the powder into the air. The glittering micro-bots fell daintily around the room, settling over footprints, handprints, bodily excretions, loose skin flakes, hair, and other details. The mites slowly clustered around the points of interest, painting them clearly in sparkles.

Svafa did another LIDAR scan and recorded the mites positions before projecting the data into her entoptics. Svafa dropped the mite capsule on the ground, the glittering dust crawling across the floor to return to its resting place. When the mites were gathered, Svafa took to picking up a couple loose hairs with fractal-digits attached to the gloves of the suit.

Blonde hair. Short and long variants; both look well kept and moisturized. Access to hair products would be a luxury for the Westerosi. Minimal DNA would aid genetic analysis, but better samples should be found.

Svafa pocketed the hairs into a special container for later analysis in a forensic analyzer. She stepped around and swabbed a mostly dry stain on the wood flooring, depositing the swab into its own container. She then stood up and had Silence distinguish between the hand and footprints. Another simulation appeared, this time producing a number of different plausible actions based on the print distribution.

Each simulation has the same figure standing by the broken wall.

Svafa contemplated the implication. Clearly it was possible that one of the figures pushed Bran; or they merely frightened him, causing him to lose his grip. The latter option was accidental, but Svafa tried to figure out why the figure would push Bran. The fluids suggested sexual activity, but that would not justify pushing the boy. Svafa knew that several people in the King's party had blonde hair; apparently it was a common Westerlands and Lannister trait. Svafa then remembered that the Westerosi had a far more regressive view on sexuality. Maybe somehow the coupling was forbidden? Svafa wasn't an expert in primitive romantic relationships, so she figured that Diego would be the best one to suss out a potential motivation. The hair alone suggested a possible involvement by someone in the King's party, while the bio-samples could be combined with later DNA and fingerprint analysis to identify the subjects. Bran could also provide testimony, though traumatic brain injuries could risk memory loss. Hopefully, Enzo's treatments would have prevented that possibility. Svafa decided to leave the broken tower the proper way; she checked that all of the motes installed in the Broken Keep were still functional.

All of the data, sitting encrypted for the moment.

Svafa paused before leaving the First Keep proper. Staring out at the Keep was Jaime Lannister, one of the Kingsguard. Apparently he was responsible for the assassination of the previous king. Jaime Lannister didn't appear to notice Svafa at all, so she decided to watch him for a while. Jaime looked concerned and worried; he would occasionally bite his finger knuckle, seemingly in thought. Jaime suddenly appeared resigned and turned to leave. Svafa took the opportunity to sneak up and pluck a hair from the man's head.

Jaime yelped and turned on his heel; Svafa had already dodged to his side. Jaime looked around nervously before rubbing the back of his head.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

Jaime turned to leave again, Svafa staying behind the man till he began to make his way back to the Kingsguard's chambers. When Jaime closed the chamber door, Svafa took the opportunity to quickly scan the handle with the LIDAR. There were a lot of fingerprints, but some analysis showed that some of the possible fingerprint patterns lined up with the fingerprints scanned at the tower.

Svafa decided to bring the samples and the data back to Diego; he would have a plan for future investigations. Svafa knew that there would be a lot more tracking of fingerprints, however. Thankfully none of the Westerosi nobles would understand the action.

BREAK

BREAK

Catspaw I

The Catspaw was bound by the living rope of the gate-walkers and led into a small, strange spherical structure made of triangular sheets of gray material. The sphere was tethered to a round pedestal with a short flight of stairs leading into a triangular doorway. The gate-walker guard pushed the Catspaw into the sphere, and the door sealed behind him by itself, like drawing a curtain. The spherical room was well lit by some slits at the edges of the top triangles. There was nothing else in the room for a couple seconds.

Suddenly, a chair rose from the floor just in front of the Catspaw. It seemed to almost float in midair, but when the Catspaw took a look below, he saw that the chair was held up by more thin black lines. There were metal hooks of some kind attached to the floating seat and the floor, the hooks connected by another thread. Catspaw was hesitant at first, but after pushing down on the chair he found the object quite sturdy. Catspaw found that the wires allowed the top of the chair to twist somewhat, but he couldn't really get the leverage to see how far the top seat turned.

When Catspaw settled for a moment, a similar tether-table popped out from the floor. He found this table to be practically unyielding when he attempted to turn it. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to the hit? These gate-walkers had living-metal, living-rope, floating-wire furniture, and he was fairly certain they spoke with nothing but their eyes.

Suddenly, the opposite end of the room opened to allow a tall and well-dressed Dornishman to stride confidently into the room. He had short hair swept to the side, a pair of very delicate Myrish glass upon his face, a dark brown and intricately detailed leather coat, black leather gloves and fine bronze or gold bracelets, dusty blue fine woven pants that looked thick and tough, while his boots clacked against the metal floor.

Another of the wire-chairs popped up for the Dornishman to sit on, while to the mans left a strange wire-mesh pale popped out of the floor. It had a rounded chamber at the bottom. The Dornishman placed a tall, cylindrical, and sealed metal tank on the table. The man pulled out two short metal cups, uncapped the cylinder and poured what seemed to be some of the Starks new 'coffee' into each cup. The Dornishman placed one of the cups in front of the Catspaw and sipped from his own.

"Ah… I really can't wait till the greenhouses start producing some natural roast, this synthetic garbage is just too bland."

The Catspaw didn't recognize 'synthetic' as a word, but presumed that was just more evidence of the Dornishman's noble lineage.

"You's a lon' way from th' sands, Dorney," the Catspaw slurred out. The Dornishman perked an eyebrow at the statement but seemed unaffected by the comment.

"Well, I just may have to visit sometime in the future. Good spice is hard to come by here in Winterfell, maybe we could bring back some seeds for the greenhouse?" commented the Dornishman, seemingly to himself. The Catspaw was beginning to wonder where or how the Starks got someone like this man. This little game was already getting old.

"Jus' do wat ya came here ta do, Dorney, so I'z can rot in da gate-walker cell."

The Dornishman pursed his lips in mock disappointment. "Now now, we have just gotten to meet each other. I really feel a connection! I'm sure we can spend some time, get to know each other, shoot the shit if you will."

The Dornishman suddenly pulled out a thin white bag of some make and removed an apple from the strange material. The Dornishman threw the white fabric into the pale, which suddenly flew in with vigor before a strange circular lid slid closed to cover the space. A subtle whining sound came from the pale before the lid slid open, revealing the space to be empty. As the Catspaw returned his gaze back to the Dornishman, his heart sank a solid foot into his gut; the Dornishman was holding the dagger he was given to kill the Stark boy.

The Dornishman appeared to be carefully appreciating the blade, turning it over in his hand and even flipping it to hold it by the blade. "Excellent craftsmanship. The handle seems to be carved from some rather exotic bone and wrapped in fine leather," the Dornishman flipped the blade back and held it by the handle, "simple, humble, but oh so very fine; I'd rather feel distraught if I was to lose something this valuable."

The Catspaw swallowed anxiously; he decided that it was better to not say anything, just let the foreigner yap about. The Dornishman started skinning the apple with the dagger. Smiling, the Dornishman continued speaking by himself.

"Have you met that Jaime fellow? Jaime Lannister? The Kingsguard who killed the previous royal? He has rather exquisite taste in jackets, I will admit. He's rather good conversation if you're willing to maneuver around his… temperament, let's say. Quite funny too! When Lord Stark mentioned that Jaime's armor looked unmarred, he had a rather quick quip about not needing it since he was never struck in combat. I'm rather terrible with jokes, I assure you it was much better in person."

The Dornishman would occasionally flick apple skins into the pale, which ate them readily.

"Though I must admit I have better humor than the Starks. Not to insult them, they are just ever so serious. Maybe I could introduce them to dry comedy? I am a dorney after all. To be fair to myself, I believe I would make an excellent Tio Silencio. Ever heard of him?"

The Catspaw shook his head in the negative.

"Usually a rather dour fellow. I'd like to think I'm more cheery and personable, like a Latin - oh, sorry, Dornish - James Bond."

Who was Tio Silencio? Who in the seven bloody hells was James Bond?! The Catspaw was increasingly lost in this conversation; if it could even be called that. The Catspaw was also fairly certain that this wasn't an interrogation either, or he'd eat his boots.

"Wat do ya wan', Dorney?" the Catspaw suddenly interjected before the Dornishman could continue. The Dornishman looked amused by the change in the Catspaws tact.

"A lot of things, actually. But I'll start simple. You see, since me and the other Directors initiated the Executive Override, I've decided to take the opportunity to cross my Ts and dot my Is. Can't have another incident like the Broken Tower; no no, I don't need any other monkeys throwing wrenches into the works. So I started looking through the local mesh logs, checking for anything I couldn't cross reference with work-sheets or known daily routines. Fairly simple stuff. Lo and behold, there were some rather strange movements about Bran's chambers and that movement was leading towards the Library Tower! Now, I have a bad habit of following hunches you see, so I decided to see if there were any monkeys carrying any wrenches near the Library Tower. It appears that God had deigned to grace me with some of her rather limited fortune, as I found that monkey with his little wrench. Good thing too, I don't think we fire-proofed the Library yet."

The Catspaw was now sweating profusely as the Dornishman finished his story. The apple was finally peeled, so the Dornishman began cutting pieces off the apple, stabbing them with the dagger tip and eating them straight from the blade. The Dornishman chewed the first piece slowly and carefully, seeming to savor the morsel. Finally swallowing, the Dornishman spoke up again.

"By God, it's been years since I last ate a natural apple. Most 'apples' out on the market are 3D printed masses of cellulose and force-cloned tissue; they still taste pretty much like an apple, though. Sometimes better, in fact. The apples I have eaten here have sometimes been mushy, sometimes sweet, sometimes sour; even a mixture of all three. These apples have seeds and cores, which can't be eaten. But do you know why I would rather eat this apple?"

The Dornishman held up a fresh cut of the apple on the dagger tip, pointing it towards the Catspaw. The Catspaw slowly shook his head in the negative. The Dornishman smiled without teeth and then ate the apple piece before continuing.

"Because of the story, my man. I know the farmer who grew and sold this apple; he can show me the trees he maintains and picks from. He can tell me the history of his family - all apple farmers - and he will tell it with pride. I can remember that he had brown eyes and graying black hair, that he walked with a limp and his son's name was Heffin. Whenever I eat that man's apples, I think of those things. And all of a sudden, I would rather not have any other apple."

The Dornishman leaned in closer to the Catspaw, refraining from cutting another piece.

"I distinctly remember His Grace the King proudly and drunkenly waving a dagger eerily like this one around the night of the feast. I haven't seen the blade since. Curious, isn't it? Now just where did that blade go?"

The Dornishman began drawing the tip of the dagger across the Catspaw's cheek, leading down towards his chin and drawing a thin dribble of blood.

"What stories do you have to tell me?"

BREAK

BREAK

Catelyn I

The early morning mist reflected the sun's light into the gatekeepers camp - they had named it Wolfs Gate - into rather appealing curtains of light. She was wearing a suit provided by the gatekeepers - something called a 'vacc-suit' - that fit snugly to one's body in a way that was almost lewd. Catelyn had been told that her conventional clothes would be a hindrance in Pandora, and that the vacc-suit would help her 'fit in'. The suit was, admittedly, extremely comfortable. It almost moved or flowed around one's body, maintaining a practically perfect fit at all times. The suit also served as some form of armor; Catelyn supposed that it was some gatekeeper equivalent of gambeson.

"Nervous?" asked Ser Enzo suddenly. The gatekeeper medic had helped explain to Catelyn what gate travel entailed as well as roughly what awaited her at Pandora. Next to Enzo was a hovering bed - something about a 'meissner' effect and lev tracks on the ground. The wonders never ended, did they? - carrying Bran. Enzo had told Catelyn that the potions he provided Bran would leave the boy in a deep sleep until his spine was healed.

"I hate to admit it Ser Enzo, but yes - just a bit," Catelyn answered. Enzo smiled gently.

"Everything will be fine, you'll see. Things will just be… frantic is all."

Catelyn took a deep, calming breath to relax herself. A chime played in her head, alerting her to her daughter Sansa requesting to speak over the ecto. Catelyn accepted.

[Don't look so tense, Mother! The gatekeepers do this all the time. I'm just jealous that you actually get to see something of their homelands,] reassured Sansa. Catelyn tutted disapprovingly.

[Jealousy is not befitting of a lady, Sansa dear. I will be sure to… what was it again? 'Capture a video' for you. Gods, saying that makes me sound like a hunter!] Catelyn replied. Sansa sent a 'file' - something with far more variety than the name would suggest - of some sort of well-known Commonwealth woman making a dismissive gesture and face.

Catelyn turned to look at Sansa, throwing her a glare. Her daughter simply smirked back smugly; Catelyn couldn't do anything unbecoming in front of the Kings party. She would just have to chide Sansa later.

Ned had been very concerned about His Grace wanting to see the gate opening; her dear husband described the experience as 'indescribably bizarre and somewhat disturbing'. His Grace had dismissed such concerns, and brought along a number of other people with him: Her Grace the Queen, the Crown Prince Jeoffrey, all of the Kingsguard in the party, the Imp, and even Luwin was there (of his own accord; he had not the time yet to watch a gate opening). While His Grace still exuded a solid amount of confidence and bravado, Catelyn noted that he seemed taken aback by the gate's appearance when he first laid eyes on it. As had Catelyn and everyone else who had not seen it before.

The gate did not belong. There was no better way to describe the feeling in her gut; the gatekeepers she spoke with confirmed that the feeling was practically universal. They said that it was due to the gate being a 'metamaterial' that created illusory imagery. While Catelyn could understand the notion that the gate just looked strange, she still felt that the thing seemed to breathe or squirm like a pile of insects. Not even the improved vision afforded by the 'bionic lenses' that Catelyn acquired from having to endure the process of putting on the ecto made her feel any better.

Matron - Catelyn's 'muse' - chimed in, [I have just picked up on Ser Diego's mesh signal; he is in Wolfs Gate, near the meeting tents. He had apparently activated privacy mode on the tent, so I have no idea what he was busy with.]

[Thank you for the news, Matron,] Catelyn replied cordially.

[Always, my Lady.]

Catelyn once again thought about the odd behavior of Ser Diego and Lady Svafa last night and this morning. Svafa had just disappeared sometime after her outburst and Ser Samuel's approval for the gate trip. She didn't return until this morning; Catelyn asked some of the keeps servants and even a few of the gatekeepers, but none of them knew where Svafa was. Diego had been oddly reserved last supper, then in the middle of the meal he suddenly got up and excused himself curtly. He had waved over one of his Students to help him with something.

Catelyn dismissed the concerns; they were the leaders of Wolfs Gate, the Directors. Of course they would have important matters to attend to. It was just strange how sudden their absence was.

From the command booth on the other side of the gate, Catelyn heard Samuel announce loudly. "Alright, we have dial-in! Prepare for spatial warp; get your doggy bags ready, people. Cthulhu's doorbell will be ringing in three, two, and a…"

Catelyn had tensed with anticipation; she could not have anticipated the 'spatial warp'. It was exactly as her dear husband had said: the space around the gate flowed into the ominous structure while the gate itself somehow ballooned (weird word, but she understood why the gatekeepers used it after seeing their devices) to fill the space without actually growing at all. Catelyn's head hurt a touch as she looked at the event while Bran seemed to stir gently in his sleep. The King and his entourage gasped or mumbled incoherently at the sight. "Gods be good…" muttered Luwin. Catelyn silently agreed; may the gods be good upon her, as she was about to walk through the awful thing.

Suddenly, the horrid shifting stopped and a small dot of nothing appeared in the center of the gate, growing rapidly to fill the framework. Samuel called out yet again.

"Spatial warp successful, handshake and authentication locked! Prepare for convoy; stay away from the designated convoy tracks until I give the go ahead."

From the circle of nothing came more floating furniture, pushed by some of the gatekeepers bot servants. This continued for about five minutes or so before regular gatekeepers began walking out of the portal. They would sometimes stop and stare at Catelyn and Bran or the Kings party, but would move on quickly; others only stared but continued on without pause. Finally, it seemed that nothing more was coming through. The local gatekeepers who were transferring out on leave started walking into the portal.

"Alright, you're good to go, Enzo. Bring 'er in to station," stated Samuel. Enzo nodded and turned to Catelyn. "This is it. Just follow me, do as I say, and everything should be fine."

Catelyn nodded in understanding and kept pace with Enzo as he pulled Bran into the gate. Right before Catelyn entered the gate (gods the thing looked wrong), Catelyn looked back at her husband; he nodded reassuringly while Sansa and Arya gave her a 'thumbs up'. Catelyn gulped and faced the gate before step -

The void surrounded her. A ghostly glow emanated down on Catelyn, illuminating her in the vast empty expanse. Catelyn looked around, trying to see if there was anything distinguishable in the distance.

Then, Catelyn suddenly became aware of a presence behind her. She felt a deep tension fill her being as she turned around to address whatever was behind.

When Catelyn finally turned, she saw an immense figure over twice her height stand before her. The figure was clad fully in a blue-steel plate armor covered in sashes and scrollings written in a strange flowing script. The knight held an immense double-guarded greatsword in one hand and propped across his shoulder. He stared down at Catelyn while Catelyn stared up in awe at the giant.

Suddenly, the knight spoke.

"Break the chains of fate, she-wolf. Ascend destiny itself."

- ping through the portal.

Catelyn suddenly found herself weightless and falling she screamed and flailed, the ground seeming to approach at a tortuously slow pace. Enzo suddenly caught her, but the force and pressure was nowhere near what Catelyn expected.

"Woah, woah! Easy there, you're alright. Let's just get you settled," assured Enzo. He helped lower Catelyn to the floor, allowing her to be grounded again. Catelyn felt relieved that she was no longer falling, but found that the sensation of groundedness, of weight, was not as great as she understood it. It was almost as if…

"Feeling lighter?" asked Enzo, to which Catelyn nodded numbly. "Yes, lighter. You said that things would be 'lighter' on Pandora, but this…" Catelyn mumbled.

Enzo chuckled a bit. "Yeah, Pandora has an escape velocity of something around one and a half kilometers a minute. Everything here falls around…" Enzo seemed to think for a moment. "An inch faster and faster as time goes by."

Catelyn didn't really understand what Enzo was saying, but it seemed that things weighed less and fell slower. She watched as several gatekeepers bounded great distances easily, almost gliding through the air. It reminded her of the fanciful holographic dancers on gatekeepers balloons during the light-show. She seemed to be in some large domed structure, the walls and ceilings made of gleaming metal. All around her were some of the gatekeepers' bizarre tents and equipment, many of which seemed to float about slowly. Workers and bots flitted about like fairies, performing their duties with a slow but efficient grace that seemed utterly otherworldly. It felt like Catelyn had found herself in a realm of fantasy.

Catelyn spotted several of the Pandora workers hopping over towards her and Enzo. They were wearing bright yellow suits that completely covered their bodies, their faces covered in gas masks. Enzo swiped his hand above Bran's bed, summoning a diaphanous sheet of text and sigils. He made some changes and wiped the sheet away as Bran's bed began moving of its own accord towards the yellow-suited workers. Enzo waved for Catelyn to follow. Catelyn took a steadying breath before she lightly pressed her toes against the ground.

Catelyn soared casually after Enzo, crossing a couple yards of distance with minimal effort. She waved her hands frantically, the medic catching her with his arm. Enzo laughed lightly at the display, causing Catelyn to blush in embarrassment.

"It's okay, just follow the arc. You'll get used to it before long," affirmed Enzo. Catelyn made more tentative skips and began to find her rhythm in this strange land. Catelyn and Enzo finally reached the yellow-suited workers, who ushered the group towards one of the sphere tents made from triangles - 'tessellated', if Catelyn remembered correctly. The doors pulled open like a sheet, allowing for entry. Once inside, the yellow-suited workers began asking Catelyn questions and started spritzing her with some sort of alchemical mist that helped kill disease.

"Have you been sick or been around anyone else with a notable illness?"

"Please spit into this cup. After that, we will need a hair strand."

"We'll just be taking some blood for analysis. We'll also provide you a spectrum booster, it should kick in slowly over the week."

Catelyn did as the strange workers asked. They waved instruments at her and took to cleanliness with a dedication that Catelyn had never seen before. Catelyn took a moment to look at Bran; the workers had gently lifted him into the air, his serenely falling form lifted by gentle finger pushes while the workers did similar tasks to the sleeping boy. The workers would even carefully spin him in the air to get a different angle for their tasks, so slow was his fall. Once done, they gently placed him back into his bed.

Catelyn, Enzo, and Bran waited in the tent for about a half hour before the workers told them they were clear for Gateway. Enzo had told Catelyn that Gateway was the keep that the Gatekeeper company hailed from. It was an immense structure holding somewhere around forty to eighty thousand people; travelers were very common. The whole structure was shaped like a great ring, with different towns placed in different arcs. The whole place was dedicated to the gate of Pandora, a place of immense commerce and exploration. Much like a harbor town, come to think of it. Would Winterfell be like that someday?

"Alright Catelyn, we'll be taking the lev-tram to the Gateway hospitals. Bran will be able to receive his treatment there," Enzo said as Catelyn followed after him and Bran's bed. Enzo seemed to remember something before speaking up again. "I recommend you get the vid capture ready. Sansa and Arya will love it."

Catelyn pondered what Enzo meant but took his advice. Sansa had explained to her some of the functioning of the ecto; while strange, it was rather intuitive. With the assistance of Matron, Catelyn found the ecto to not be as insurmountable as she had assumed.

Catelyn made her way through a number of 'security checkpoints' before she arrived at the lev-tram with Enzo and Bran. The lev-tram was a strange, metallic, and sausage shaped thing that hovered unmoving in the air. Doors tilted upwards of their own accord to allow for entry; upon entering the tram, Catelyn found a number of cushioned seating placed around the tram's rim. The tram had an open-view roof; somehow, the gatekeepers could make a material that was metal on one side but glass on the other. Bran's bed was slowly brought into the cabin before it was latched to the ceiling, floor, and walls. Enzo sat opposite Catelyn.

A voice spoke up in the tongue of the Titanians, which Catelyn was thankfully able to understand thanks to Matron translating the speech.

[Departing for Gateway hospital section 3. Please buckle your seatbelts and secure all loose items. Beginning departure.]

The tram shifted out towards the tunnel, turning slightly and slowly picking up speed. Catelyn began the vid recording and looked up out of the window.

Catelyn sat stunned speechless. An immense yellow-bronze sphere hovered above her in a beautiful night sky filled with stars. The immense sphere was circled by a great ring that appeared to touch the horizon. The great object was quickly labeled by Matron as Saturn. Matron began identifying various other wondrous sights, the second most incredible next to Saturn itself was an immense spear of a ship floating above Pandora named Lost in Neverwhere, surrounded by flitting lights. Catelyn looked around the night sky, one clearer and more brilliant than any she had ever seen. Matron directed Catelyn to look towards one side of Saturn; Catelyn's bionic lens zoomed in, giving her a clear view of a dark and muddy sphere flanking the great bronze giant. The sphere was labeled Titan.

"That… that's Titan?" Catelyn stuttered out.

Enzo looked in the same direction. "Yup. Single most populous and industrial place here in Saturn's constellation. That's where Svafa and Samuel come from."

"There? But… I don't… how?" Catelyn muttered to herself. Matron spoke up. [Let me be of assistance Lady Stark.]

A vid panel appeared before Catelyn, showing images of great cities on Titan. They were immense circular parks and plazas capped with great domes of glass, wilderness parks regularly interspersed with webs of brightly baubles and spheres suspended in the air, the surfaces a riot of colors casting off their light into the ruddy sky. People flitted about and lived their lives, associating with each other and speaking vigorously.

Catelyn had 'known' that the gatekeepers came from a strange portal leading to a distant realm, but this experience redefined that notion totally. Who had Stark allied with? Who were these people?

Catelyn swallowed, bringing herself to speak. "Enzo… what is transhumanity? What are you?"

BREAK

BREAK

Sansa II

Sansa was happy that she had convinced her Mother to finally try the ecto; that way she could still talk with her while away in Kings Landing. Same with Robb and Jon as well; Robb had seen the value in the device, while Svafa had a helping hand in convincing the bastard to go through the process. What would have been a separation of family - which it still was - was now far less impactful. Thanks to the ectos, Sansa and Arya could speak with all of their family members, even as far away as Kings Landing!

Sansa placed some of her clothes on her bed, folding them carefully to place in one of her trunks. When Sansa was done with a dress, she placed the article into a nearly full trunk and latched it close. Through some effort she lifted the trunk and placed it into the limbs of one of the 'servitor' bots. They were four-armed, four-legged things that could spin about their waist feely and chirped happily while they worked. Most of the rest of the Winterfell servants and laborers were still busy with renovations, so Samuel offered some of the bots to help with the packing. Not that the bots would leave the service of the King's party; the gatekeepers had chosen to send an envoy down to the capital as well.

Nearly fifty different gatekeepers were to be led by Svafa in lockstep with the King's party on the return trip down to the capital. They were bringing several of their buggies, trucks, and a menagerie of bots along with them. Sansa heard Svafa and Samuel talk about bringing a 'cornucopia machine' and some feedstock; they were apparently concerned about powering the device and getting a steady supply of feedstock. They had decided to bring a modest supply of feedstock in case of emergency, but most anything the Kings Landing envoy didn't immediately need would be transported by air using the vacuum balloons. Sansa had asked why the vacuum balloons couldn't transport the King's party, but Svafa explained that the balloons were very carefully weighted and couldn't support too much extra supplies. Not only that, but apparently the vacuum balloons would have been deeply uncomfortable to fly on. Though Svafa did mention something about getting proper air transport; Sansa was hoping they would bring some of those 'ornithopters' that were common on Titan!

Sansa smiled a bit as she double checked her new research list; a whole swathe of new topics were open to her. Arya still had some more stringent filters on particular topics, but Sansa was pleased to see that things like 'social media', 'transhumanism', and 'augmentations' were no longer blocked searches. She didn't yet have the time to dig any deeper into the topics, but Sansa enjoyed watching the vids of Titan's great cities and their wondrous 'Commonwealth Hub' space harbor. Sansa was giddy with excitement at the prospect of her Mother bringing back her own recordings of Pandora or Saturn. The gatekeepers sailed the heavens; the idea seemed like pure fantasy, yet the evidence was plain to see.

[Chat request from Arya,] said Rouva. Sansa smiled and accepted.

[Sansa, I saw a really cool vid of 'Venusian Cloud Diving', you just have to see it!] Arya said excitedly. Sansa searched the link and watched as people clad in strange wing-suits leapt from a hovering platform into white-gold clouds, soaring through the sky with ease. Arya talked about the things she had learned about Venus.

[Apparently, the surface of Venus is so hot that lead melts. Instead of living on the surface, Venusian's live in great floating balloon cities! Normal air is thinner and lighter than the Venusian air, so the cities can float much like the gatekeeper vacuum balloons; apparently, something called a 'square-cube' law means that the bigger balloons actually float better. There's vids of some of the few surface settlements, and it looks like one of the Seven Hells!]

[Arya, watch your tongue,] Sansa chided her younger sister while looking through the same surface vids. [But you are right. Is that a… rock crab?]

Arya paused a moment before responding. [It is a type of bot, made to survive the surface. Venusians use them for mining.]

Sansa shook her head; apparently not even a Hell made manifest was enough to deter these 'transhumans'. Sansa didn't fully understand why they made distinctions between human and transhuman, but apparently transhuman included things that weren't strictly normal people. Sansa supposed that giants would be included in transhumanity, if they were real.

[Also,] interjected Arya, [Jon gave me a going away gift. He had a sword forged for me! I named it Needle.]

Sansa paused in shock for a moment before ordering her wit. [Arya… be careful with that. Swords aren't toys. Just… just try to be careful with it, okay?]

[Alright…]

[Well, talk later? We'll be having lunch before we head to Kings Landing. I hear that Diego himself has put together something called 'pizza', apparently in an 'italian' style.]

[Ah, Diego always makes the best food! Too bad he isn't coming with us.]

[Make sure to give him a proper goodbye,] Sansa directed. [Bye!]

[See ya later, sis!] Arya said as the chat chimed closed. Sansa sighed as she looked at her now bare room. She had taken the opportunity to take recordings of her space before packing up, but she found herself feeling strangely forlorn at having to take apart her childhood room. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"May I come in, Lady Sansa?" asked Diego.

"Why yes, you may Ser Diego," Sansa answered. Diego opened the door and stepped in, looking around at the now barren space.

"It almost looks like you are going away for college, but the reality is quite different. Though, I suppose that the abstract principle is the same," commented Diego.

Sansa didn't recognize what a college was, but Rouva provided a definition almost instantly. "Oh, I am no novice going off to the citadel. But I do suppose that I think I know what you mean. This all feels so fast, it is a little overwhelming. When I look at how my room is, I feel…" Sansa racked her mind for the right word, but Rouva offered a rather accurate one, "nostalgic. I start thinking about all of my memories here."

Diego nodded his head in understanding. "That is a very common feeling, Sansa. Going away from home can feel very trying, but I think you will not regret expanding your horizons. Besides, it is not like you can't return home at some point." Diego spoke the last sentence with a tinge of sadness. Sansa picked up that Diego had gone through a similar situation before, which made her feel better about the move.

"I will miss your excellent cooking, Diego. As will Arya! Make sure to send me some recipes for the Kings Landing cooks to try; I intend to help Father implement some 'fine dining' at the Red Keep."

Diego chuckled lightly. "Considering His Grace, I am certain that the capital will be in need of some refined culture. Just send me some ingredients lists and I will put something together for you."

Sansa smiled at the Jovian, but her eyes caught a new addition to the man's attire. "What is that, Ser Diego?"

Diego followed Sansa's eyes to the handle at his belt; he made an 'Aha!' face and smiled lightly. "Oh, this is just a gift from a grateful Winterfell resident. They wanted to express their gratitude over all that me and Gatekeeper have done for the Keep and for the Starks."

"Oh~! Well, that was most generous of them. Such a coincidence as well, Arya just told me that Jon gave her a rather similar gift just this morn."

Diego raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Really? Well, I will have to inspect Jon's gift, make sure it is of a high enough standard for Arya." Sansa giggled as Diego's jest. "Speaking of gifts, I actually have one for you as well."

"Oh?" Sansa asked. Diego smirked and removed a small wooden case inlaid with bronze from his satchel. He handed it to Sansa, which she took gratefully. Sansa opened the case and saw a gorgeous little bracelet laid onto lavender satin cushioning. The bracelet was made from gold, silver, and bronze strands twinning around each other in a graceful pattern. Fine white ceramic leaves tipped the ends of the metallic vines. A small onyx stone was placed in the center of the bracelet while thin bronze sheets connected rings for the thumb, pointer, and middle finger. The set was for Sansa's right hand.

Sansa gasped in awe at the craftsmanship. "Oh, thank you Ser Diego! This is gorgeous." Sansa took to putting on the new accessory after handing the closed case to the servitor, which took the container with one of its free hands.

Diego waved off the compliment. "Oh, it was nothing. Though do be careful, it has a bit of a bite."

Sansa looked confusedly at Diego, who smiled mischievously. "Think of it as a surprise," Diego said. Sansa shrugged her shoulders; knowing the gatekeepers, the new bracelet probably had some fantastic utilitarian function. Sansa trusted that Rouva would figure it out at some point.

Diego bowed deeply before stepping towards Sansa's door to leave. "Well, I shall be off. The pizza should be ready soon, so make sure to head down to the Main Hall before you leave for Kings Landing."

Sansa bowed her head in gratefulness and goodbye. "I wouldn't miss your cooking for the world, Diego."

Diego stepped out of Sansa's room and closed the door.

BREAK

Eddard IV

"Aghhh! Gods be good, Ned, how can you drink this stuff straight?" Robert complained loudly. Ned finished sipping from his mug to see his friend pouring maple syrup and whiskey into the mug. Robert stirred his coffee and sipped, looking much more pleased with his concoction. Ned shook his head.

"I find the bitter flavor helps jolt me awake in the morning," Ned said as he took a piece of the maple-candied bacon prepared by the King's party cooks. Ned and Svafa's parties had left Winterfell about two weeks ago and were making their way down the king's road and were about to pass into the Riverlands. Ned and Robert had gotten up about a half-hour ago and were sitting down on some new stainless steel chairs and were eating on a small table. Ned had brought some of the new air-gapped ceramic-steel mugs made by his craftsmen in Winterfell, which were excellent for storing fresh coffee. Both men had rolled omelets, bacon, and some mashed sweet potato (wondrous food provided by the gatekeepers) topped with melting butter. A hardy but rather sweet meal considering the potatoes and bacon. Ned always had his coffee plain but he was grateful for the contrast.

Robert took a heaping helping of the sweet potato and downed it in one bite. "Never knew that I would actually like potatoes, Ned."

Ned chuckled lightly. "I'll have some spuds sent down from the new glass-house once it is completed. We'll also be growing golden rice, purple tomatoes, and some new crop called 'corn'; there are sweet and black varieties. Let alone all of the new herbs and spices."

Robert nodded his head vigorously as he scoffed down a spoonful of omelet. "Have it done, Ned. I just wish Ser Diego could have come with us back to Kings Landing, the man was a sorcerer in the kitchen. Though I suppose it is important that he manages all of your new projects."

Ned smiled lightly and took another invigorating sip of coffee. Ned - like the rest of Winterfell - had quickly come to love the bitter brew. He had gotten more work done than ever, and that was ignoring the assistance of the gatekeepers. Maester Luwin hounded after the drink nigh constantly. The concoction was versatile as well; as Robert had demonstrated, a variety of flavorings could be added and the drink could be mixed with milk. His daughter Sansa preferred latte, while Cat usually just added milk. Ned was sad for a moment. He knew that Cat should be returning through the gate by now, but he felt that maybe he should take up Sansas offer on getting an ecto.

"Say Ned, why do the gatekeepers spend so much time picking plants and cracking rocks? I've seen them do that constantly, at least whenever they aren't putting up their devices or talking with the smallfolk," Robert asked suddenly. Ned looked at Robert and thought about the question for a bit before responding.

"Well, Gatekeeper is first and foremost a company of explorers and scholars. All of the gatekeepers are always doing studies or running their experiments. I think a lot of their devices are needed for the second-sight and the second-sound, but they also use them for scrying. The smallfolk though? I think they just like the conversation."

Robert appeared to think about the answer for a bit before speaking up again. "Well, all the power to them. If that is the price they ask for the gifts they bestow, then STUDY AWAY I SAY!" bellowed Robert. "But I really am grateful for you having found these gatekeepers, Ned. They may be just the thing I need to finally solidify my rule. I'll be remembered not as King Robert the Usurper, but King Robert the Industrialist, the King responsible for bringing the wonders of the gatekeepers to the Seven Kingdoms!" Robert sipped his coffee. "Though their gate is a damned eyesore."

"That it is, Robert. That it is," Ned agreed. Robert tapped Ned in the shoulder.

"What was it like, first seeing the gate without knowing what it was?" asked Robert.

"The gate almost seemed… misplaced. Like it wasn't supposed to be there. I still haven't decided if it is comforting or disturbing that all of the gatekeepers say that all gates are like that. The gatekeepers still don't even know where the gates came from; if the gatekeepers are powerful, think about whoever made the gates."

Robert shuddered at the thought. "I'd rather not Ned, thanks for the future nightmare. But in all seriousness, I thought I would lose my eggs when I saw the damn thing." Ned laughed lightly at Robert's joke. "Seven Hell's, I feel so good about the prospect that I might leave the Dragonspawn be. Not like they have gatekeepers of their own," said Robert. Ned looked at his friend in surprise.

"Really now? Well, it is for the best. Better to put our efforts into the gatekeeper projects, rather than chase children halfway across the world," Ned commented.

Robert harrumphed. "I'd still like at least Viserys bound and hogtied, though. But I doubt that the Gods would be generous enough to drop something like that in my lap." Ned had to agree, there was no way something like that would happen.

There was silence for a few minutes before Robert spoke up again.

"She is the spitting image of her, Ned. She really is."

Ned stopped halfway from sipping his coffee. "Aye. That she is. But Svafa isn't Lyanna, that much is certain." Robert laughed heartily for a moment.

"She has Lyanna's spirit and fire at the least! She actually slapped me when I suggested we get to know each other better. Had to leash the Kingsguard about that, I certainly deserved the strike." Ned Looked at Robert with something approaching disapproval for a second before shaking his head.

"I feel ashamed, Robert," Ned said. "Every time I talk with Lady Svafa, I cannot help but look at her like Lyanna. I find myself treating her like my sister; I shouldn't. She isn't Lyanna, she is her own person. I don't know if she realizes that I am doing it. All of the kindness, all of the reassurance, all of it I give because I think of her as Lyanna; not because of who she really is."

Robert looked at Ned, looking sympathetic. "Cheer up now, Ned. You treat the women just fine. It seems to have done you wonders in your relations with the gatekeepers. If it works, then why question it?" comforted Robert. Ned didn't really agree, but he suspected that Robert was all too ready to replace Lyanna with Svafa; Robert hadn't really spent anywhere near as long in the crypt when he first arrived in Winterfell.

"By the way, Ned," Robert spoke up. "I heard from one of the more luscious serving girls that Svafa and Samuel had a little spat in front of you and your family. She had only heard pieces of it." Robert gave Ned a quizzical look. Ned sighed and answered the unspoken question.

"It was about healing Bran's spine. The techniques were not present in Winterfell or Wolfs Gate, so the only way was through the gate. As you saw," Robert nodded his head in agreement, allowing Ned to continue. "Samuel said that the High Lords of the Gatekeeper company - the executives - had forbidden certain actions, and bringing Bran and Catleyn through the gate violated those proclamations. Svafa basically said that Wolfs Gate should have just rebelled."

Robert blinked in surprise, his mouth agape. "Damn, she really does have Lyanna's spirit. Clearly, Samuel relented." Ned nodded his head in agreement and explained further.

"Svafa said something that made Samuel think the idea was somewhat sound, but Samuel needed a reason besides charity to order the action. Diego had apparently given Samuel that reason; I don't know what it was, but Samuel said that it involved the greater good of the gatekeeper projects here in Westeros."

Robert hummed a bit. "She is a right mystery. When I first met Svafa, she was stiffer than Twin's arse and looked at me like I was some sort of barn animal. The way she spoke as well; I haven't heard her use that way of speaking since. Any idea why that is?" asked Robert.

Ned finally finished his coffee and ate the last of his omelet. "I asked Sansa about it, she is close with Svafa. She didn't give me a direct answer, but it seems that Svafa has seen combat, or something equally awful. Apparently Svafa does that to maintain distance with people. To be honest, I don't really know." Robert finished off his own meal and commented on the explanation.

"I suppose Svafa is a woman after all; war is no place for her."

Ned disagreed with Robert's view, he didn't think war was a place for anyone. Ned felt that Svafa was a tough woman; he suspected that something else was at play. Women weren't any more prone to the horrors of battle than anyone else, as Ned had seen plenty of grown men break down at the sight of a cavalry charge. Not that Ned thought to convince Robert of that view, the man loved battle to a fault.

Robert slapped his knees and stood up out of his seat. "Well, let's hope that you are able to help the woman feel more welcome in the Seven Kingdoms. We'll need every one of the 'Directors' telling their 'Executives' about how good and noble the Seven Kingdoms are. As strong as your own reputation is, Ned, it may just be enough to carry the burden for the other Wardens."

Ned stood up as well while the servants cleaned the tables, packed the chairs, and moved the table. "Aye, as you wish, Your Grace."

BREAK

Sansa III

The Trident was quite scenic and wonderful, Sansa had to admit. It had a pleasant quaintness and homeliness that felt inviting and relaxing. Of course, the scenery was nowhere near as striking as Saturn or Olympus Mons, but not everything had to be otherworldly to be beautiful.

"I must say, I do rather miss the cooking of that Dornishman, Ser Diego. Mayhaps when I ascend the throne I can order him to come to Kings Landing. What do you think of that, my dear?" Joffrey asked. Sansa looked at the Prince and pretended to think about the issue.

"That may not be necessary, my dear Prince; if what I have seen of the recent plans for Wolfs Gate, they may have a far faster form of transport set-up. Diego would be able to travel the whole length of Westeros in but a couple days," Sansa answered diplomatically. "Mayhaps he would be of greater utility exacting refinement throughout the whole kingdom?"

Joffrey seemed intrigued by the answer by the tilt of his head. "Yes… I suppose that would be the greater application of his talents. Presuming of course that the gatekeepers are capable of such a feat."

"They have surprised before, my dear Prince." Joffrey seemed to have grown tired of the topic as he simply remained silent. Joffrey unscrewed his wineskin and took a sip before offering it to Sansa.

"Oh no, that is fine. I have found that I prefer wine only later in the day," Sansa said. Joffrey simply shrugged his shoulders before taking another swig. He stumbled slightly but caught himself quickly.

Sansa and Joffrey had decided to take a walk to the nearby stream, to get to know each other better. Joffrey had asked about the gatekeepers, to which Sansa attempted to answer as politely as she could. The most difficult topic was Svafa; it seems Her Grace the Queen's dislike of the woman had been passed to Joffrey. Sansa had found that Joffrey couldn't really articulate why Svafa was somehow a whore, especially after Sansa had carefully prodded Joffrey's own personal understanding of Svafa. Joffrey seemed to have ceased speaking of the woman once Sansa had 'guided' the Prince to realizing that Svafa was deeply uninterested in any Westerosi man.

Focusing her attention back on the environment around her, Sansa made sure to pay attention to every bird and plant she could. Rouva would outline and label each lifeform, providing detailed information on their biology and habitat. Sansa also took the time to practice controlling her bionic lenses. She would use the polarization feature to darkent the environment or use opposite polarization on each lens to see unique details normally invisible to sight. Sansa would also casually wave her bracelets at different items around her, the hyperspectral cameras gathering an expanded range of light and projecting into Sansa's entoptics as hyper-, stygian-, and impossible colors. Sansa had even learned how to differentiate different stones entirely using the sensors. Sansa could even place the bracelet near a tree and have the microphone pick up on the scurrying of animals.

Naturally, Sansa had been recording the entire walk. She had taken a liking to the pastime of 'life-logging'; once Sansa had learned of her online presence on Titan, she decided that it would be best to foster a more diverse presence by sharing her travels of the Seven Kingdoms. Of course, Sansa had no live feedback from Titan or the Saturnian Autonomists due to the nature of gate travel, but Sansa looked forward to regular updates.

Sansa paused for a moment while following her betrothed when she saw Arya's mesh ID tag appear in her entoptics. Sansa sent a chat request. Arya accepted, but seemed strangely stilted in her responses.

[Sansa! - - Hold on, just give me - a moment. Kinda - - kind of busy,] chatted Arya, her response staccato and uneven.

[Me and Prince Joffrey are coming up by the river, so don't be surprised.]

[Got - got it!]

When Sansa and her dear Prince finally made it to the river, Sansa saw that Arya was stick fighting with the butcher's boy. They were clacking their wooden weapons together rapidly, which would explain the strange chat tone Arya had. Joffrey sauntered up drunkenly while Arya and the butcher's boy stopped their play. Sansa cringed a bit inside when she saw how nervous the boy was.

"Well well well, what do we have here? A girl and a peasant playing knight?" sneered Joffrey. Sansa saw Arya's cheeks flush in frustration.

"No. Just stick fighting," answered Arya. The boy merely nodded his head in agreement. Sansa's heart almost stopped when Joffrey drew his short sword and approached the boy.

"So you want to be a knight, hm?" asked Joffrey. The boy nodded his head shakily.

"Y-yes, m'lord. Al-always b-been my dream," the boy answered. Joffrey shifted his weight sloppily into a fighting stance - Sansa could tell it was bad, she had seen her older brother and half-brother fight - before Joffrey made a shallow thrust at the boy, who hopped back fearfully.

"Then you should know how to use it, welp!" Joffrey mocked. Arya ran up and pushed the Prince away as the boy fell into the river.

"Stop bullying him, you prick!" Arya yelled. Sansa rushed up to her sister's side to try and do some damage control.

"Arya, stop that! We can't attack the Prince!" Sansa pleaded. Joffrey scrambled back up to his feet, rage plastered across his face.

"How dare you lay hands on me! Get here!" screeched Joffrey as he reached for Arya. Sansa reached out with her right hand to try and stop the Prince.

Then, an entoptic display formed in Sansa's vision. Rouva chittered with confusion.

[Warning! Fear response detected, hostile intent on subject: Joffrey confirmed.

[Initiating defense protocol: 'Little Bite'. Anesthesia mode selected.

[Discharging.]

All of this happened in a split second, and in the other half of the second Sansa could only watch helplessly as something bizarre transpired. The bracelet that Diego had gifted Sansa glittered with blue lines before a flash of light and a popping sound escaped from her palm, extending into Joffrey's shoulder. Joffrey looked confused for a moment before his eyes fluttered closed and he dropped his short sword. Sansa rushed to catch Joffrey as he fell forward.

"G-gods be good!" the boy stuttered out. Sansa was fearful for a moment but remembered one of the emergency medical vids for Wolfs Gate personnel she had to watch when her filters were lifted. Sansa quickly placed two fingers on Joffrey's neck while she waved her other hand's bracelet over his head then down his back. Sansa sighed in relief when Rouva confirmed that Joffrey was simply unconscious.

Rouva chimed in, worry hashed in her voice. [Lady Sansa, I am so sorry! I didn't recognize what Diego had given you; it appears that he is a clever coder. The bracelet software was obfuscated; it is a type of neuro-lash. It can inductively couple with nervous tissues and generate a variety of patterns. It appears that an anesthesia mode was used on His Grace the Prince.]

[No, it's not your fault Rouva. It seems that Diego was concerned for my safety; I'm just glad he had the foresight to have a non-lethal option set as default,] Sansa assured Rouva. The butcher's boy shakily got out of the river and walked up to the Stark sisters.

"What… what was that?" the boy asked. Sansa held up her right hand and pointed at the bracelet.

"Sansa, what are we going to do? The Prince will go right to his bitch mother when he wakes up!" said Arya. She was looking around nervously, trying to see if anyone else had seen what happened. The butcher boy looked frozen stiff with fear as he looked to Sansa for an answer.

"I… I don't… well, we can…" Sansa stuttered out. Rouva chimed in again.

[If I may, Lady Sansa. Neuro-lash incapacitation has a tendency to affect memory formation in people; considering His Grace the Prince's state of inebriation just moments before he was put unconscious, the Prince will not easily or even at all remember what happened. As sapient memory retrieval is more-so a process of reconstruction, you may be able to exploit the Prince's upcoming state of confusion.]

Sansa was confused for a moment before an idea formed in her mind. She smiled wickedly and waved the boy and Arya closer.

"Alright, here is what we shall do."

BREAK

Joffrey I

"Ughh…" Joffrey Baratheon groaned out tiredly, slowly raising his hand to block the flickers of sunlight passing across his eyes. Joffrey began to wake fully from his sleep and took stock of his surroundings. He seemed to be under the shade of a tree by a shallow river, the sun still high in the sky. Birds chirped and butterflies fluttered about from flower to flower.

What… how did I get here? Joffrey thought. He heard some quiet but distinct clacking to his left. Joffrey twisted his head to see his dear betrothed sitting down next to him by the stream, using one of the gatekeepers' new hand-loom devices to weave some sort of fabric. Joffrey looked in the other direction to see his sword resting against the tree and his wine-skin on the ground. Returning his gaze to his betrothed, Joffrey saw Sansa give him a wide and gentle smile as she greeted him.

"It seems that you have woken from your rest, my dear Prince. I apologize if my weaving disturbed your sleep."

Joffrey blinked confusedly for a moment. "My… my rest? I don't seem to remember…" Joffrey trailed off. Sansa looked concerned for a moment before offering an explanation.

"Oh, well after you had finished your wine, you said that you felt tired and wanted to sleep a little. We found this shaded tree and you simply laid down to sleep. I of course stayed by your side, as is proper for a betrothed lady."

Joffrey blinked again and returned his gaze to the wineskin. Picking up the skin and shaking slightly confirmed that the container was indeed empty.

Huh.

"I suppose I must have forgotten. I thank you for having greeted me so… gently, considering my surprise. Maybe I should stop drinking as much wine…" Joffrey muttered. Sansa smiled gently once again.

"I would recommend drinking some coffee; I know a delectable latte recipe I think you would quite enjoy," offered Sansa. Joffrey thought that the prospect sounded interesting.

"Yes, I would like that."

Joffrey sat up and watched Sansa weave and relaxed in the calming nature of the Trident. It seems that the stress of being a future monarch was weighing heavily on Joffrey; maybe some more invigorating drink and relaxation was what he needed to get back up on the horse.

BREAK

Illyrio I

The seagulls cawed readily above the harbor of Pentos as Illryio Mopatis relaxed in the shade of the Pathfinder solar. He watched as Astika guided a number of the 'bots', indentures, and harbor workers on where to move Pathfinder tools and facilities and directed the movement of Pathfinder trade goods for distribution to the other Free Cities via sea. The Bronze Naga was efficient in his work, direct with his commands, and harsh with his criticisms.

Illyrio liked that cut of that naga.

Illyrio sipped a cocktail that had been provided by the other Pathfinder representative, Lady Kyon Sung-Eun, a Yi-Tian by looks. It was sweet and tangy with an intense citrus aftertaste that he quite enjoyed. Illyrio remembered when Pathfinder first came to Pentos; by that time the rumors had already spread about their rapid rise to providence, but no one expected to arrive so quickly. There was quite the commotion when they had established a trade deal on the exact same day as their arrival. Soon, an absolute deluge of gold, valuables, trinkets, and almost magical services were flooding into Pentos. Illyrio had been approached by Pathfinder representatives about establishing a naval trade deal, where-in Illyrio would get a generous cut of all Pathfinder goods sold using his ships. They had even offered their own mercenaries and 'security drones' for all of his trade vessels, whether or not they carried Pathfinder goods. Naturally, Illyrio accepted.

Of course, Pathfinder represented a distinct thorn in his side. He had heard whispers of parlay with Khal Drogo's khalasar, and while Illyrio had tried his best to gather information from the Pathfinders he could not get any confirmation. If rumor was to be trusted, then the Bronze Naga had won the exiled Prince Viserys through trial by combat and now kept the boy as his personal hostage. Supposedly, the naga took great joy in toying with the boy, but that seemed strangely out of place in light of the naga's personality. That, or the naga found the Prince's personality to be intolerable and simply exacted appropriate humiliation. If these rumors were true, then Illyrio would have to seriously rethink his plans for Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms. Thankfully, he would be meeting with Varys soon enough.

Which led to another odd development; the Pathfinders interest in establishing trade routes with Kings Landing and White Harbor. Illyrio had grown tired of the Pathfinders refusal to explain anything about Viserys, so Illyrio made them agree to an initial envoy voyage towards Kings Landing. There the Pathfinders would plead their interest with the Usurper or his new Hand and Illyrio could gather some information from Varys. Certain whispers from across the sea were beginning to concern him; that there was a separate group of gate-walkers in the North. How fortunate for the frozen mutts, if that was true. Illyrio realized some time ago that the new 'fast-stars' were the work of the gate-walkers, but from what he heard from their workers not all of the fast-stars belonged to Pathfinder. At least this allowed Illyrio and Varys the opportunity to poise the two gate-walker groups against each other.

Illyrio returned his attention to Lady Kyon. The woman was standing on a pier and facing a group of about two dozen dolphins, all of whom poked their heads out from the water and were paying rapt attention to the woman. Lady Kyon would squeak, click, and whistle in a bizarre staccato rhythm at high speed while the dolphins would 'reply' back with their own chattering.

Lady Kyon had said that she was engaging in a trade parlay.

Illyrio saw Lady Kyon grow more aggravated with the front-most dolphin - who had one of the Pathfinder 'ectos' strapped to its head - as the front-most dolphin made aggressive splashing actions at the woman. Lady Kyon had apparently gifted the ectos to the animals as an introductory gift, but had insisted that she was interested in establishing something more substantial with the creatures; information. Apparently dolphins got around, who knew?

Illyrio decided to get up and ask what was the matter with the beasts. He approached Lady Kyon's side and waited patiently for the woman to acknowledge him. She didn't, so Illyrio decided to speak up himself.

"Pardon me, Lady Kyon, but it appears that you have encountered some sort of… obstacle in your negotiations. May I somehow be of assistance?"

Lady Kyon glanced at Illyrio. "No, I'm fine, I'll have Astika handle anything I might need. I'm just getting brick-walled by the pod-alpha here." The dolphin in question chattered excitedly, to which Lady Kyon sighed and placed her face into her palm.

"So… what is it that the 'pod-alpha' desires? Surely, with Pathfinder's immense wealth, you should easily be able to slate their desires."

Lady Kyon returned her head from her palm and stared daggers at the alpha. "So, he likes what we are offering him; ectos, smart toys, mandates against hunting and trade in dolphins, and various smart tools like bots and smart-rope. He's also fine with providing the requested intelligence that his pod has and is willing to help spy on the other Free-Cities."

Illyrio tapped his fingers together nervously. "That all sounds very good, Lady Kyon, but what is the problem? It sounds like you have a deal." He was talking about a pack of dolphins. Were they really that smart?

What did Illyrio miss, was this actually common knowledge?

"The pod-alpha wants sexual favors from me is all. I refused and I am trying to talk him down, but he has been adamant about that. I think it is some dominance thing 'cause I mentioned I was female."

Hold on, what did she just say?

Illyrio coughed a little too strongly into his fist. "I apologize Lady Kyon, would you be willing to repeat what you just said?"

Lady Kyon simply ignored Illyrio while the pod alpha made regular cawing sounds at him. Illyrio decided that he needed some normalcy and left the pier to speak with Astika. While the naga was a literal steel snake, he at least seemed rather down to earth and business oriented.

BREAK

Darya II

The deserter screamed in agony as his limbs popped under the intense strain of four horses pulling them apart with fullerene-rope. The other men of the new Ascended Eagle Company looked on dispassionately or with disgust at the torturous execution. Darya himself was busy whittling a small eagle statue from some wood while the man was slowly dismembered.

"Ple-e-ha-ase! M-mercyyyY! Ah, gods-s w-why!?" the deserter cried out. Darya flicked another wood scraping onto the man's face.

"I'm afraid that the 'gods' have no part in what is happening here, coward. Only your desertion of duty and my lack of patience with incompetence," Darya drawled casually, flicking another shaving. Darya heard some distinct pops - likely some tendons in his shoulder, based on the distinct timbre - and smirked a touch. "Though I believe that you will have quite a while yet till you have your mercy."

Darya took a look at his handiwork. Sloppy. He would have to practice some more. Darya sat up and dragged the dagger across the man's cheek and swiped up swiftly, eliciting a cry. Darya wiped the blade of the blood and made his way to his comrades solar, the two guards bowing dutifully. Petrov was busy at the nano-pharmaceutical lab, producing a couple valuable toxins for later use. Naomi was busy setting up the dragonfly drones while Dolma was inspecting some maps of the local slaver cities.

"What have you for us today, Dolma?" Darya asked the woman. She looked up but quickly returned her gaze to the maps.

"Astapor is by far the weakest of the three major settlements. They have poor city defenses; the only saving grace is their eunuch armies. Yunkai and Mereen have better defensive emplacements and are wealthier, so they have a greater capacity to hire mercenaries. They buy Unsullied from Astapor, but nothing has stopped them from training their own. If we can get some drones into the cities, I should be able to locate holes in their defenses."

Darya nodded in understanding then he looked towards Petrov. "How goes our little project?"

Petrov rolled his shoulders. "Well enough. Just get me a DNA sample and the nanocytes should do the rest. The general agents are a powder, so we can emulsify them, dump them in water, or simply toss them in the air. Contact initiates reaction protocols. I have several vials of industrial smart-acid at the ready." Darya patted Petrov's shoulder in approval.

"Good man," Darya said as the dying screams of the deserter echoed into the tent. The shuffling of the rest of the mercenaries indicated that they had begun cleanup. Naomi stood up and approached Darya, one of the drones flying beside her.

"The drones have new independent survey protocols. We just designate a pickup and they should dump their recordings appropriately. Their radio transceivers have been set to mute mode, so they'll only respond on the priority key," reported Naomi.

Darya cupped his chin in his hand. "Sounds like we are finally ready to start really building our reputation. I suggest we take contracts from Mereen, they are closest to the Dothraki. I've received word earlier that Khal Drogo's khalasar is making good pace towards Vaes Dothrak. The gate is secured, we just need to clear the way for operation Blue Horizon," Darya said aloud. Suddenly, Darya called out aggressively. "Quen! Come here!"

The mercenary entered the solar, pushing the flap aside. He kneeled, showing respect to his superiors. "What do you desire, your Grace?"

"Prepare the Company. We march to Mereen, where we shall acquire work befitting our ability. I want the traitor's body tied up and set to flame, then leave it out in the field with our banner. Oh, and bring me wine."

The mercenary left hurriedly to convey Darya's orders and prepare the troops for the march. While Darya despised having to play petty mercenary captain with these genetrash, he supposed that it was an important step in future missions. He would just have to wait, hide, and scurry about like a rat until the Ultimates were ready to reveal themselves.

Then the real fun would begin.

BREAK

Bran I

A great amber sky filled with black clouds extended towards a mountainous horizon. A low howling wind ripped through the area as Bran walked across the rocky surface. Streams flowed around him, cutting into the rock and etching swirling forms across the landscape. The environment was devoid of life; bare sand with no grass, no forests or trees, no shrubs, no animals of any kind. A desolate, chilly wasteland extending as far as the eye could see.

Bran walked in this lonely environment for some time, a time whose length he could not discern or tell. Then, Bran came upon a prairie with a single immense man standing cloaked in black fabric. The man was followed by a flock of caribou, the first animals Bran had seen in this strange land. They somehow grazed upon the sand, lapping it up eagerly. The shepherd - Bran realized that the caribou belonged to the stranger - held a great twisting metal cane, with which he directed the caribou. Bran wanted to call out to the man, but he could not find any words to say.

Finally, Bran found his courage. "Who are you? Where am I? I don't know what's happening. Can you help me? I need answers."

The man seemed to acknowledge Bran, then he pointed with his cane towards a great series of hills in the distance. Somehow, Bran knew that he was to head to that place. There he would find a clue to this mystery. Bran walked for what could have been hours or days, passing over sharp rocks and coarse sand to reach the hills identified by the shepherd in black. When Bran reached the hills, he saw the tallest hill had a structure of some sort built atop it. Bran bounded up the hill, eager to find out what this place was.

When Bran finally reached the top, he stopped in his tracks and stared at the sight before him. An immense altar stood upon the hill, round-stairs surrounding the altar and leading to the top. Upon the altar was a great mass of curving black blades and thin steel threads, extending out from the center towards the horizon and the sky. Upon the altar was a massive, multi-limbed creature. It stood upon two legs (or were they arms?) and used its other three pairs of arms to manipulate and pluck at the steel threads. Its hands had but only four claw tipped fingers each, with which the creature plucked the strings and cut the threads. Every string pluck echoed out to the vast terrain surrounding the hills, echoing in a throbbing drone. The creature paid Bran no attention, seeming content with its work.

Bran swallowed nervously before approaching the altar. He stepped up the stairs and stood behind the creature. Bran reached out a finger and touched it's back.

The creature paused in its work, then twisted its head straight backwards to look at Bran. Its spine curved inward and its arms and legs twisted, seeming to completely flip the symmetry of front and back on a dime. The creature's head was a bizarre, spider-like thing with many eyes and clacking mandibles lined with teeth. Bran froze in fear at the sight, his voice gone and his instincts leaving him.

The creature stared at Bran before it began clicking and chattering; however, Bran understood what it was saying as if it was speaking the Common Tongue.

{Hatchling, you have come far. You have been pulled past the folds of time and space, cast to this realm. They - the embryonic beginnings of gods - have brought you here, to learn of them and to be healed by them. Do not leave. There is much to learn. Do not let the nest pull you back to the egg, for it will be your doom. Leap, young hatchling, and cast your web and your sail here. Find him under the glass-house upon the hill, and he will teach you. And then you will finally be able to teach the embryo's to see - to ascend.}

The creature reached out a finger and tapped Bran on the forehead.

{Open your eyes.}

Bran opened his eyes, waking from his sleep. He was on a strange bed in a room he didn't recognize. Normally, he would be terrified by this situation, but Bran saw his mother sleeping on a chair. She was wearing one of the gatekeeper garments and had rested her head against the table, a half eaten plate of food left on a counter.

Catelyn stirred and opened her eyes. When she saw Bran awake, she got up and rushed forward to hug the boy. "Oh, Bran I am so glad that you are okay! The Pandoran maesters said that you should be able to walk as soon as you wake up, but I told them you would need rest. How do you feel?"

Bran endured the barrage of concern and looked his mother in the eyes. "Mother, are we… past the gate?" Catelyn nodded her head. "Is… is Titan nearby?"

Catelyn looked confused but answered the question. "Why, yes it is. A short trip on their space boats, about a day or two they said. Why?"

Bran swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want to go there. I need to see Titan."

BREAK

Sandor I

The Commonwealth militiamen chatted casually as Sandor followed them back to the King's camp. Their 'pack-bot' - a strange four legged machine that looked roughly like a horse or donkey, with no head but a pair of arms where it's neck should be - held onto the buck that he and the militiamen had hunted and killed.

It was one of the strangest hunts that Sandor had ever been on.

The militiamen had shown Sandor an image of what their flying balloons could see. The balloons had an incredible view of the forest below, able to pick up deer and rabbits with ease. The foliage posed no obstacle, as the scrying power of the sky-device could see the very heat emanating from a living creature. There was no tracking, only the planning of an approach and the picking of a kill. Sandor didn't really understand why he had to follow along, though he suspected the King wanted Sandor to maybe learn something of gatekeeper manly activities.

Sandor didn't even get the honor of killing the buck; one of the militiamen did. The militiamen had used a 'long-rail' - a crossbow-like device with a long barrel and a Myrish eye atop the body - to kill the beast. Sandor didn't fully understand how the weapon worked, but he knew it was deadly. The militiaman had pointed the weapon at the buck and pulled the trigger, a great whip crack echoing and the buck screaming its dying breath. But what truly terrified the hound was not the speed or range, but the power; the militiaman had fired the long-rail straight through a great oak, piercing the tree with contemptuous ease and leaving a nasty mark upon the thing.

Finally, the trio of hunters made their way back into the King's camp, the pack-bot providing the buck to one of the butchers to be prepared. Sandor made his way back to his tent, but was stopped by the sight of the Commonwealth woman walking with the Stark girls out towards their tent. Sandor looked on with a mix of fear, trepidation, and awe at Svafa. Sandor had overheard a conversation between the girls and the woman late one night outside of the camp, when they had probably assumed everyone was asleep.

The gatekeepers were liches.

Not liches of corpses, but machines. They had artifice to capture the soul in light and store it in a diamond. That was the gist of what he had heard. The Commonwealth woman had said something about not caring what her masters thought of her speaking on the topic; apparently it was forbidden by the lords of the gatekeepers. The Stark girls had asked Svafa about something called 'transhumanism', which Sandor took to be the faith of these gatekeepers; for what gods would one need if death was no obstacle? Svafa explained a device - the 'cortical stack' - and how it was a diamond for trapping a reflection of a person's soul. They would take this reflection and put it into bodies; man, machine, or even as just a spirit. They would knit flesh like a woman knitted clothes. They viewed grievous injuries such as dismemberment and beheading as mundane and treatable.

Apparently, the Stark girls wanted an explanation because one of the militiamen had mentioned something about having died. Sandor was curious about that tale, but he didn't know how to broach the topic. To remember one's death; now that must be a tale.

Suddenly, the bitch Queen walked up to Sandor. "Hound, my son has traipsed off with his betrothed. I would like you to watch over him. They are due south, heading towards a river mentioned by one of the smallfolk." Sandor nodded his head in affirmation and went that way.

Sandor had caught up with the children, but the bitch Prince had dismissed Sandor; said he wanted privacy. Sandor pretended to relent, but when they had left his sight Sandor simply went into the thicker parts of the forest to trail them. Sandor watched as Joffrey slowly drank himself stupid while Sansa pranced about, waving her hand over trees and rocks and watching the wildlife with rapt interest. Sandor had been convinced since Winterfell that the Commonwealth woman had taught the Stark girls some sort of gatekeeper magic; the girls seemed to have the 'second-sight and second-sound' of the gatekeepers. If that was the case, then Sandor wondered if there was a good reason why he should watch over the brats; the gatekeepers' machine-spirits would do that just fine. Then again, the bitch Queen would probably not trust the artifice.

Eventually, the pair made their way down towards a river. There, the other Stark girl and a butcher's boy were stick fighting. Sandor watched as Joffrey drunkenly challenged the boy, who fell into the stream in fear of the short sword. Sandor held back a scoff. Then, the younger Stark girl pushed Joffrey, calling him out. Sandor sneered at the weakness of his 'future King'; the Prince wasn't even able to hold his own against a girl three-quarters of his height. As the Prince reached out to grab at the younger girl, Sansa reached out her right hand to stop Joffrey by pushing on his shoulder. Just then, a flash and a crack echoed out from the girl's palm. Joffrey dropped his sword and fell into the elder Stark girl's arms.

Sandor gaped. He had only seen similar sorcery at Winterfell, the night after the Stark boy's fall. The dornishman, Ser Diego, had suddenly left the main hall and walked out towards the Winterfell courtyard. Sandor decided to see what had drawn the man's attention, so he got up and trailed after. Sandor had followed the dornishman out towards the keep library, where the catspaw that Joffrey had hired was preparing to set a fire. The catspaw did not have time to even see Diego as the dornishman pulled out a strange handle with a metallic protrusion and fired a bolt of lightning at the crook. The catspaw fell unconscious on the spot. Two of the dornishman's students came by and carried the catspaw away.

Then, Ser Diego looked right at where Sandor had been hiding and made a shushing sign with his finger. The dornishman walked away and said nothing about the event to anyone. Sandor noticed the next day that Diego had procured the dagger that Joffrey provided to the catspaw; no sign of the catspaw could be found anywhere. Whenever Diego was asked about the origin of the dagger, he would always say that a grateful citizen had gifted it to him.

Sandor had his suspicions about where the catspaw disappeared to. He had seen the gatekeepers dispose of poisonous waste using something called 'smart-acid'; they would pour the bright blue liquid onto something, then the acid would spread over and spear through whatever it contacted, turning anything from flesh to stone to a fine gray powder. Perfect tool for disposing of unwanted bodies, Sandor supposed.

Sandor thought about whether he should intervene; the Stark girl clearly had the same sorcery as Ser Diego. The bitch Queen would have his head if it was revealed he had done nothing; but he could just say that he obeyed the Prince's dismissal. Then, Sandor saw the elder wave thin curtains of light over Joffrey, proclaiming that the Prince was unconscious. The other brats freaked out for a bit, but the elder girl came up with a plan. Sandor found the prospect funny, so he decided to watch the affair from afar. He watched as the young butcher boy dumped the wine while Sansa and Arya dusted off the Prince's clothes. They moved the royal brat to a nearby tree, and planted his sword and wineskin by the Prince's side. The elder Stark girl sat down while the other brats left, then she started weaving using a gatekeeper device.

An hour passed before the Prince woke up. He was confused for a moment but seemed to accept the Stark girl's lie. The Prince laid down, apparently content with his situation. Sandor decided that he would best leave like the Prince had originally wanted. Sandor was not about to intervene with the workings of a newly trained sorceress, let alone the fact that the Commonwealth woman would probably have far greater power to cast upon Sandor if angered so.

Sandor had decided to keep his ruminations secret from the Lannisters. If what Sandor heard was true, then pissing off the gatekeepers was a grievous mistake. Tywin and Cersei could send an assassin and somehow succeed against the gatekeeper sorcery, but that would just result in the gatekeeper returning with a vengeance. Robert could not threaten execution; it meant nothing to the liches. And Ned would likely roll over like a good lap-dog for the Commonwealth woman, as would Robert under most circumstances.

No, the best thing for Sandor to do was ingratiate himself with the artificers; tattling like a child about the Prince's misdeed to the bitch Queen would do none of that. Keep the secret though? The gatekeepers were liable to casually give Sandor some magical artifact that would make him either immensely wealthy or incredibly powerful.

Sandor walked off and said nothing of the incident to anyone. The venison that night was quite good, though.

BREAK

Astika IV

Viserys lounged on his bed, scratching at the restraint necklace wrapped around his throat. The exiled Prince looked bored and despondent, which made sense considering that all of his aspirations had dried up like Lunar water these past couple months. Astika simply continued working at his auto-forge and auto-lathe, trying his best to work the Valryian Steel samples using some of the techniques he got from spying on the smiths. Unfortunately, it was increasingly apparent that human sacrifice was somehow essential to the damn process.

Fucking disgusting.

"You Pathfinders are quite loose with your gold, Naga." Viserys said. Astika looked over at the hostage Prince and scoffed.

"We have good reasons for that. Part of a long-term strategy. By the way, your ancestors were immoral sociopaths if my hypothesis is correct," replied Astika. Smearing synthetic blood on the steel before it was worked by the roller seemed to have failed.

"Shit," Astika cursed. He smacked the auto-forge in frustration, producing a loud metallic ring. Viserys glared at the slitheroid.

"My ancestors were empire builders and masters of the realm; they did as they pleased. Though I would say that your people do not seem all that different, just more mercantile in your ambitions. Also, long-term strategy? To what, empty your coffers?" mocked the hostage Prince. Astika glanced back at Viserys and sighed. He was doing that a lot lately, maybe he should run some simulations to see if it affected his pneumatic piping.

"Okay, economics lesson then. First question: What is money?"

Viserys looked confused for a moment. "It is gold and silver, obviously."

"Incorrect, dumbass." Astika made an error noise. "Money is not a tangible material. It is a concept, idea, or representation. It is anything with value that can be traded or exchanged. It is gold and silver, but so much more; stocks in a company, land, loans, checks, bonds, and so much more. Next question: What is currency?"

Viserys gave an offended look at the naga before sighing in exasperation. "Gold and silver?"

Astika bleeped an error noise. "Wrong again, numbnuts. Close though. Currency is a physical representation of value that is issued by a trusted body. This includes coins minted by kingdoms or promissory notes issued by banks. Currency doesn't have to even be physical, but I'll leave the contemporary stuff for later." Astika leaned in closer to the hostage Prince. "What gives currency its value?"

Viserys seemed to think deeply about the question. The hostage Prince had an 'Aha!' face before answering, "Rarity! Gold and silver are rare, which is why they are used as currency."

Astika dinged in confirmation. "Bingo! Gold and silver are also consistent, malleable, resistant to corrosion, and rare as you have said. Yes, the rarity of currency gives it value, but the rarity only matters if a trusted source issues the currency. The Valyrian Freeholds were powerful and influential, so when they issued their own currency people trusted that the currency would be useful for trade." Astika leaned away from the Prince and continued. "What happens when currency isn't rare?"

"Why, it loses its value," Viserys answered but then he seemed to realize something based on the surprised look on his face. "Then why do you give away so much coin, then?" Astika chuckled.

"You see, Viserys, what I just taught you is basically secret knowledge on this world. The only other people who probably know about this idea are the Iron Bank and maybe Lord Tywin; well, until Pathfinder came along, that is. Which means that all of the uneducated plebeians out there in the Free-Cities don't realize that the Pathfinder Wreath and Spear are not of equivalent value to their own native coins. At least not yet, that is. But the Iron Bank will know, as will all of the smarter Magisters," Astika explained. Viserys was paying attention now, probably because Astika made him feel special by pointing out how uncommon this knowledge was. "Now, all Pathfinder contracts and trade deals involve generous offloading of Wreaths and Spears and generous onloading of the local coin. The common people think that gold itself is valuable without thinking about the rarity, so they think they are getting a lot of money. But they aren't, at least not in the long-run. By the time the Magisters and Iron Banks realize what is going on, they are going to do the same thing as Pathfinder; get a lot of coins that are not the Wreath or the Spear."

Viserys made an 'Oh!' face in realization. "So the local currency rises in value! The Wreaths and Spears aren't worth as much. But what will that do? I mean, prices are fairly fixed, right?" Astika shook his head in negation.

"Nope. All of the Magisters, merchants, traders, and sellers are going to start jacking up their prices. They have to; if they don't, they think they are missing out on all of the moola going around. Or they know what's up, doesn't matter really. Now for a complete tangent before we wrap this up nicely with a bow: Why does Pathfinder keep buying slaves in bulk, free them, then offer them generous indenture contracts?"

Viserys pulled his head back in surprise at the diversion, having sit-up at this point. "I have wondered about that. No one really questions it, but it is now suspicious since you always pay with Wreaths and Spears." Viserys tilted his head and scrunched his face in thought. "I don't know. I had thought you were just being charitable, but most slaves don't take the indenture."

Astika tittered in excitement. "Prince, what will happen when the market prices rise in unison?"

"The people will have to spend more."

"Which means they have less money. But the prices keep rising. What then?"

"They need more money."

"But businesses don't want to pay more for workers."

Viserys gaped in realization. "You're going to buy up all of the workers!"

Astika dinged again in confirmation. "Bingo bongo, snow head!" Astika laced his fingers conspiratorially. "Pathfinder is flooding the market with currency to crash the Western Essosi economy. There will be a depression, and we will be the only solvent organization willing to hire. We offer generous contracts, hijack the labor force, and take over the entire economy." Astika leaned back and spread his arms wide. "Total conquest without a drop of blood! Maybe some starvation and desperation, but a whole lot better at preserving valuable markets and infrastructure than war."

Viserys gaped in awe at Astika. "So, you people really are the Freeholds reborn. Powerful magic and ruthless ambition; just more mercantile. Kind of like that, actually."

Astika waved off the praise. "We try."

Edit: I realized I had goofed and said Eastern Essosi economy; that should be Western Essosi economy. Big oof. If anyone notices this mistake anywhere else, please tell me.

BREAK

BREAK

Svafa III

[I need more detailed scans of Kings Landing before I can devise a new sewer system, Svafa. I don't know what kind of renovations will be necessary until I have accurate maps and models,] chimed Diego as Svafa responded to messages from the KL envoy team setting up shop in the capital. Svafa quickly pulled up a window and ordered the dragonfly drone swarm to start mapping the capital.

[The drones are scanning. I will have them send the data to you as they generate it.]

Svafa had arrived at Kings Landing with the Stark and King's party just that morning. The King had requisitioned lodging and offices for everyone, so the whole entourage was setting up shop in the city. The first - and most unfortunate - feature of the city was the smell. Well before stepping into the capital proper, the Gatekeeper personnel had donned simple face masks to block out the smell. The Stark and King's party members had asked for the masks as well, being very grateful for the face covering. The city itself was a filthy blemish upon the land, a twisted mess of disorganized planning and terrible design. Surprisingly, a party of Lannisters were present at King's Landing as well; Tywin had heard about the Gatekeepers and the King coming to some deal somehow. Svafa didn't really pay attention to the King's messages to the rest of Westeros. As soon as a basic radio booster and mesh network were set-up, Svafa had called Diego to figure out some way to fix the city's god awful odor.

Diego sighed. [I'll see what I can do Svafa. By the way, I don't recommend smoking that cocktail you have just to tolerate the smell. Not healthy, I'd say.]

[I can report with certainty that the narcotic serum has a notable but non-total capacity to lessen the negative experience of having to breathe the local atmosphere. Please send over an alternative pharmaceutical method for reducing the sensations impact.] Svafa replied. Diego sighed but signed off soon after.

Along the way to Kings Landing, Svafa had a couple chats with the other firewall sentinels. BrightShadow had reported some strange quantum readings from various ruins while MockingJay described a complex of iktomi ruins buried under more human architecture. Beyond that, not much new in terms of firewall movement. TerraGen had already released rather substantive data on radiological dating of various ruins and fossils; far as they could tell, the ten thousand year history of civilization was somewhat accurate. Give or take a couple thousand for particular ruins, but things were so far strangely consistent with indigenous records.

As Svafa finished approving the installation of a vehicle bay next to some unused stables in the Red Keep, a knock came on Svafa's office door. Svafa didn't stop working on projects when she answered. "You may enter."

The door opened to reveal the Master of Whispers Varys and Warden of the Westerlands Lord Tywin Lannister. Varys looked around Svafa's office casually but found himself in front of her desk rather quickly. Tywin on the other hand looked around at the variety of tools, computer hosts, collapsed bots, and knick-knacks. Tywin watched a kinetic sculpture of multiple smart magnet bands float in orbits around a central metallic cube, which hovered silently and spun on its vertical axis lazily. "Curious toys," Tywin muttered. Svafa simply glanced at the Warden.

"Any particular reason you wish to speak with me in my office? I apologize if I am short, the atmosphere in this settlement was intolerable enough for me to have taken drastic measures," Svafa pressed. Tywin merely raised an eyebrow while Varys gave a simpering smile.

"Lady Svafa, I apologize for having disturbed you but I and Lord Tywin were simply eager to meet the leader of these gatekeepers we have heard so much about," Varys explained while he set the superconductive Newton's Cradle to motion, "and inquire as to the future prospects your company has for Kings Landing." Tywin finally walked up to Svafa's desk and took a seat, as did Varys. Svafa finally decided to close her entoptic displays to converse with the men.

Svafa laid her elbows on the desk and spread her hands in an introductory motion. "I am one of three Directors in charge of Gatekeeper operations on Planetos," Tywin and Varys gave odd looks at the previous word, "and a representative for the Titanian Commonwealth. In terms of future prospects, hopefully a sewer renovation project and plans." Varys smiled at the comment while Tywin snorted with disdain.

"That'd be a miracle," Tywin said.

"Quite," Varys agreed, "but it would certainly be a most appreciated one, if true."

"And exactly how much would you charge for such a project?" Tywin questioned. Svafa glanced at the man and shrugged her shoulders.

"Besides alliance, exchange of information, housing, and basic respect we would offer you the plans for free. We would even be willing to assist in the project, our own work schedule allowing," Svafa answered. Tywin seemed to not believe the response.

"I had heard that you 'gatekeepers' were rather generous, but I find that difficult to believe. What do you get out of this?"

Varys looked on with carefully restrained interest while Svafa spoke. "First of all, good publicity. The Gatekeeper homefront is dominated by media relations and reputation farming. Second, cultural and archaeological research, your people represent a fundamental disturbance to my people's understanding of the universe." Varys raised his eyebrows while Tywin tilted his head slightly in confusion. "Third, my homeland has a housing and population issue. Too many people, too little property. We have already brought in over a thousand semi-permanent and permanent colonists at the Wolfs Gate settlement next to Winterfell. There will slowly be more, but nothing too substantial." Both Varys and Tywin looked surprised at the last sentence.

"And the King has given his blessing for these things?" asked Tywin.

"I'd imagine so," added Varys.

Svafa nodded her head. "Yes he has. The current ruling Monarch has provided a rather generous charter for Wolfs Gate. The King is very interested in expanding Gatekeeper presence in the Seven Kingdoms."

Varys raised a hand and tilted his head questioningly. "Might I inquire as to what event would create a population issue as you have described?"

"A war of extermination," Svafa replied dryly. Varys seemed to want to press further on the answer, but Tywin butted in before that could happen.

"Do you intend to carve out your own little Kingdom, then?"

"No," Svafa said flatly. Varys looked at Tywin in concern, but the Warden seemed to not care or notice.

"Care to explain?" Tywin pressed on.

"It appears that I will need to elaborate on Gatekeeper's position. My people consider Feudalism and Monarchy to be barbaric and uncivilized forms of governance. Any local governing system implemented by Gatekeeper will inevitably follow Democratic and Representative ideals as enshrined in Saturnian tradition," Svafa explained. Tywin and Varys looked a touch offended but more so confused at the response.

Tywin huffed indignantly. "A republic within the borders of the Seven Kingdoms. The Gods must be drunk."

"I assure you, Warden Tywin, that the 'Gods' you speak of have no place in what has, is, or will happen regarding Gatekeeper or the gate itself. I will have some of my subordinates produce documentation on current Gatekeeper projects as well as copies of GWUP blueprints and proposals; they are free to have. If you are interested in further working with us, I recommend you prepare some records and documentation of the status and layout of your own personal settlements. My Co-Director Diego Farias da Forsenca, who is a representative of the Jovian Republic, would be happy to assist you with modernizing your state. Also, I feel obligated to offer you a place at tonight's feast being held in honor of the King's, Hand's, Gatekeeper's, and your arrival in King's Landing. Some of Warden Starks cooks and chefs will be preparing recipes provided by Gatekeeper. I believe you may enjoy them," Svafa said with great disinterest and flatness. Tywin rubbed his eyes in exasperation.

"I suppose I have no choice; mayhaps I'll take the opportunity to inquire as to my future granddaughter and Lord Stark's current plans," Tywin said as he got up and left Svafa's office. Svafa and Varys watched the Old Lion leave before returning their attention to each other.

Varys smiled coquettishly and rested his hand in his palm. "You are such lovely conversation Lady Svafa."

"I highly doubt that. I am currently inebriated on narcotic compounds. Do not inquire about them further."

Varys fluttered his eyes in confusion but seemed to dismiss the statement. "I have been dying," Svafa interjected with 'Doubt that' but Varys ignored the comment, "to inquire as to whether the fast-stars are the doing of you gatekeepers. I have heard some interesting theories from several Maesters, but the rumors from the North have remained stubbornly persistent. I've even heard whispers that you launched more of the fast-stars as part of an incredible light show for the King!"

"Approximately nine-sixteenths of the 'fast-stars' - more properly referred to as network satellites - are due to efforts by Gatekeeper to build a proper planetary internetwork. The rest are provided by Pathfinder and TerraGen. My Co-Director Samuel Meyer had planned for the launch to coincide with the King's feast and was the opening act to an evening light-show, consisting of: the aforementioned satellite launch, a fireworks display, aerial drone calligraphy, and aerial holographic displays. We actually have been working with the King and Lord Stark to implement a similar show for the tournament and feast in honor of the new Hand and Gatekeeper," Svafa said with perfect flatness. Varys simply listened intently.

When Svafa was finished, Varys clapped his hands together lightly. "Such wonder! I shan't miss it. You said 'Pathfinder' and 'TerraGen'? Are they gate companies similar to your own Gatekeeper? I've heard such rumors from Essos." Svafa nodded her head in affirmation.

"That is correct. Pathfinder has a gate East of the Qohori forest in Western Essos - an unfortunate fact for the Free-Cities, I assure you - while TerraGen has a gate and operations down in Sothoryos. There may be more gates, but they are difficult to locate due to their disturbing metamaterial qualities. I have an informational pamphlet on what Gatekeeper currently knows of the other gate operations on Planetos," Svafa said as she handed said pamphlet to Varys, the eunuch quirking his eye at the planetary designation, "I shall distribute these to Tywin, the other Small Council members, and have deliveries sent to the other Wardens and Lords of Westeros."

Varys eyed the pamphlet lazily, seeming only slightly interested in the contents. "I must ask, but how does one go about building a 'gate'? The stories I have heard do not give me many positive impressions of what the process must look like," the Eunuch folded the pamphlet back up and placed it in his sleeve.

"No transhuman or human civilization has the knowledge, capability, or understanding on how to construct gates; they are ancient ruins that have been uncovered in desolate landscapes most of the time. The oldest gate on record is approximately eight-point-six-five-nine billion years old, which aligns with current hypotheses that the gates are products of an ancient and incomprehensibly advanced alien civilization that would make what me and my compatriots must seem like to you look like barely conscious nematodes messing with the leavings of gods. I personally subscribe to this viewpoint and believe this alien civilization poses a gross and deeply existential threat to transhuman and human existence. Are we done? I have a lot of work to do today."

Varys yet again rolled with the bizarre punches, stood up, and bowed gracefully. "Once again, I am deeply sorry and apologize for having disturbed you Lady Svafa. This has been an utterly enlightening conversation. I've heard that the King has given you permission to join in on council meetings; I look forward to working with you in the future, hopefully while not under the influence." Varys then took his leave of Svafa's office.

"I'm sure the conversation was," Svafa commented when Varys finally closed the door. Svafa's eye twitched as she realized the kind of political snake's pit she had found herself in.

The dinner feast the King held in pretty much everyone's honor was certainly an interesting experience, but nothing Svafa hadn't experienced before. Tywin had been a pushy ass but he at least kept his daughter on a tight leash; for that, Svafa had been willing to kiss the man if he had asked. He honestly wasn't bad looking. Besides Tywin and Varys, Svafa identified Littlefinger as one of the more dangerous politicians in KL; Diego had confirmed this suspicion based on the recordings Svafa provided. Food was decent, apparently Sansa had gotten some recipes from Diego and had made herself a little girlboss tyrant in the Red Keep kitchen.

Svafa was so proud of her; she was a burgeoning Social Democrat and techno-socialist. This just helped reinforce Svafa's conviction to honor her promise with the Stark sisters to set up a stack implantation system. Svafa already had the KL envoy in on the plot, since nearly all of them were Titanians who felt that Gatekeeper was gatekeeping a little too hard. Diego probably knew somehow - the man admitted to being a spec-ops spook - but so far he had made no inclination that he was going to do anything about it.

Good. One less thorn in Svafa's increasingly acupunctured side.

Svafa had excused herself for the night and went straight to her new bedroom. Svafa had been able to get the place disinfected and aerosolized with odor killing compounds, and she had a proper mattress and bedding put down. Sweet, sweet sleep after a trying day of pig shit and political prodding.

…

[HAZARD ALERT, CODE: VIOLET.

[HIGHLY REACTIVE REAGENT MIXTURE DETECTED BY DF SWARM.

[DF Drones 77, 8B, and AA were destroyed in the process of extracting samples.

[Compound Designation: T-783 is highly reactive, highly flammable, and exceedingly unstable.

[T-783 Composition: Chlorine trifluoride, chlorine tetrafluoride, sodium azide, nitrogen azide, lithium azide, molecular hydrogen, molecular neon, … {Select to see full list}.

[DF Swarm has designated investigation of concentrations of T-783 to be TOP PRIORITY, mapping in progress.

[Current estimates of total liquid volume: 17,619 Liters, total volume as yet undetermined.

[HAZARD ALERT, CODE: VIOLET.]

Svafa scrambled out of her bed, the obnoxious red alert flashing aggressively in her entoptics. Svafa blearily blinked herself awake, trying her best to process the disturbance. Svafa unconsciously accepted chat requests from Sansa and Arya.

[Lady Svafa, what is a hazard alert? Are we under attack!?] Sansa was panicking.

[What's chlorine tetrafluoride?] Arya sounded sleepy.

Svafa tried to wave away the questions in futility. [Girls, GIRLS! I just woke up, let me read the damn thing.] Svafa finally bothered reading the alert in detail. She was thankful that she had the foresight to have used the restroom before bed. Svafa's brow became sweaty and her pulse quickened to a worrying degree as the full weight of what the drone swarm discovered hit Svafa with the subtlety of a brick.

[Girls, get your father and his advisors up NOW! Tell him to call an emergency Small Council meeting. I'm going down to drag His Grace the fatass out of his cushy bed - kick the Queen along the way - to the Small Council chamber, because I am going to unfuck this pending disaster TONIGHT!]

BREAK

BREAK

Sansa IV

The crowds clamoring at the harbor had to be stymied by the King's Landing militia and the Gold Cloaks, so large was the throng of people. Sansa watched from the Red Keep walls as a small pontoon boat made by the gatekeepers slowly sailed out into the Blackwater Bay, following a bright glowing holographic track that curved up north into an even greater holographic demarcation. The demarcations were bright and had both the 'latin' script of the gatekeepers and the 'shavian' script of Westeros, warning people to stay away from the designated routes. The pontoon had on its top a hexagonal container loaded with seven barrels of wildfire, the dangerous substance held securely in metafoam spacing. Sansa looked upwards and towards the south, where one of the great vacuum balloons of the gatekeepers slowly descended on the south-north demarcation. The balloon top proper had bright warning chevrons - transitioning from yellow to green - circling the thin material while a green-yellow flame symbol flashed ominously. More text circled the chevrons and ringed the symbol; 'Warning!: Wildfire disposal in progress. Clear the designated Zones', was written in both latin and shavian.

Sansa returned her gaze to the pontoon boat, which had finally reached the balloon's route and was slowly sailing north. Suddenly, the vacuum balloon began projecting an acoustic hologram to the bay and the docks, the words echoing up the Red Keeps walls.

"Warning! Wildfire disposal in progress. Please clear the designated zones. Failure to heed this warning may result in injury, death, or destruction of property. All interference or disregard for this order may be subject to both the King's Justice and Gatekeeper retaliatory legal action. Gatekeeper and His Grace King Robert of House Baratheon thank you for your cooperation."

The warning continued to play and repeat; it would likely do that until the pick-up was complete. Sansa watched the balloon - a truly immense object, nearly as tall and as wide as the Red Keep's greatest towers when deflated for this altitude - slowly descend and leveled out over the Blackwater Bay. As the balloon soared above the pontoon, the smart magnet grapnels shot out from the balloon carriage and latched onto their partner joints on the wildfire container. Sansa heard a faint whirring as the carriage lifted the container, before the balloon began to ascend towards the sky again. The pontoon lazily made its way to the return channel in the Red Keep, and the holographic demarcations only disappeared once the balloon had cleared the Blackwater Bay.

Sansa had to admit, it was an impressive sight to say the least. The civilians of King's Landing seemed to agree; this was the first pick-up for the wildfire disposal program. The whole spectacle was likely to create quite the reputation for Gatekeeper, considering how exotic the sight must be. Of course, Sansa expected it to become mundane after enough times. Sansa yawned drowsily before beginning to make her way back indoors.

Last night had been tiring beyond belief. The hazard alert had scared her that somehow King's Landing was under attack, but apparently a different threat had been detected; wildfire. Over one-thousand barrels - each holding two bushels of fluid - of wildfire had been discovered in the catacombs and sewers of King's Landing by the Gatekeeper drones. Three of the poor little dragonflies had been destroyed in an attempt to analyze the awful substance before they had gathered enough data to determine the danger. Svafa was furious to say the least; Sansa had never seen her Father cower like he had at the woman's wrath, and His Grace King Robert seemed even worse off. The small council had a strange mixture of reactions - Svafa later told Sansa that some of them might have known about the wildfire cache - but they all agreed that something needed to be done. Svafa had also called Samuel and Diego, which allowed for the leaders of King's Landing and Wolfs Gate to devise a disposal strategy. Svafa, Diego, Samuel, and her Father had been adamant that the substance not be anywhere near King's Landing. Robert was rather passive on that point, but Varys and Baelish seemed to object. King Robert had decided to have all of the wildfire removed from the city, but his proposal to dump it out into the sea was met with resistance from Svafa. Sansa agreed with Svafa that the potential dispersion of poison was environmentally irresponsible and would potentially violate cetacean civil rights, but the fact that other kingdoms or even Pathfinder could interpret such action as hostile served to convince the King to back a different position.

Instead, an entirely exotic solution was proposed. Gatekeeper actually had an abundance of vacuum balloons - as they were relatively simple and made from cheap fullerenes - and the device's electro-hydro dynamic drives allowed them to remain stunningly stable against even intense gales. The balloon carriages had smart magnet grapnels as standard, so all Gatekeeper personnel had to do was package the wildfire safely and devise a pick-up system. Since the wildfire cache was stored next to the sewer system, it was considered rather simple to have an automated pontoon sail out to Blackwater Bay for the pickup. This also reduced the risk of physically hauling the substance through the city. Gatekeeper was given authority to commandeer the alchemists guild - with the support of Gold Cloaks and Commonwealth Militiamen - under the order of the King for the purpose of preparing and safely loading the wildfire cargo containers.

Once the container was acquired by the vacuum balloon, the balloon would fly out north towards the snowy desolation past the Wall. There, the vacuum balloons would use their sensors to find an uninhabited area up in the Far North to drop the wildfire, so that the container would burst and allow for the wildfire to safely burn itself out. Due to how sparsely populated the Far North was, the risk to people's health and the environmental impact was minimized. Besides the preparation and transfer of the wildfire to the pontoons, the whole system was automated. The King had agreed much more heartily once it was explained how loud and public the warning system would have to be; the King insisted on certain inclusions, while Svafa had tried to keep the actual speech relatively simple and short. Sansa felt that the final result was a rather pleasant middle ground; authoritative but cordial.

"Quite the showing, isn't it?" said Sansa's dear betrothed. The pair walked alongside each other as they made their way out towards the gardens for lunch, a servitor bot trundling beside them.

"Indeed, my dear Prince. It also helps show the people of King's Landing the strong alliance between His Grace, your Father the King and Gatekeeper. Apologies if I'm a little tired and unenergetic, I had little sleep last night."

Joffrey looked concerned for a moment. "Perhaps we should have the servitor fetch some latte? I heard that the Gatekeeper alchemists have produced some new 'matcha' flavor." Sansa thought about the offer and found it to be welcome.

"Yes, let's do that. Also, I acquired more ectos from some of the Gatekeeper personnel. I would like to show you how to use them, they are wonderful!"

BREAK

Varys II

"Irasshaimase!" chirped the servitor bot as Master of Laws Lord Renly walked into the Small Council meeting chamber for the day's business. Certainly not the nights; that had been resolved. Varys did lament the unexpected discovery of the wildfire cache, but he would just have to re-weave his plans. In all honesty, Varys would likely have to completely rework his plots and objectives considering the arrival of the gatekeepers.

Varys caught a tired yawn with his fist, trying his best to stay awake after the debacle that was the emergency meeting. Not a day has passed and Lady Svafa was already aggressively throwing her weight around, pulling on her influence over Lord Stark and His Grace the Drunkard to get her way. Varys had been rudely woken by one of Lord Starks Household advisors and was informed that the Hand had called an emergency meeting. By the time Varys had arrived, Lady Svafa had already dragged the King from his chambers (she had used a 'taser' to knock his guards unconscious) and demanded to know what the substance was. A servitor had cast images of what the dragonflies saw onto a clean sheet for all to see, clearly displaying the wildfire barrels and the unfortunate aftermath of early contact between the metal bugs and the substance. Naturally, Lord Stark immediately identified the substance and explained its nature to the Commonwealth woman.

Lady Svafa certainly had a deep well of breath to draw upon.

The other Directors of Wolfs Gate were 'called' using the second sight and the servitor, clearly just as bothered by the disturbance as the small council. They became far less grumpy after hearing of the wildfire. Suffice to say, things progressed from there. While Varys and Baelish had made an attempt to have the substance kept somewhere more accessible, the adamant refusal of the gatekeepers and the Hand had swiftly removed such a possibility. Varys did find the solution proposed to be quite interesting; these vacuum balloons were quite versatile, from what the eunuch could gather.

Lord Stark blearily blinked awake from a short nap as Lord Renly pulled out his chair to sit. "Are we all here then?" Lord Stark asked as he looked around the room. "Where is His Grace? This is a Small Council meeting, the affairs discussed here should be of concern to him."

"His Grace attends or leaves the meetings as he sees fit, Lord Stark," Varys droned out.

"'Counting coins', he calls it," added Baelish. The Littlefinger seemed far less enthused to engage in the meeting than he normally was.

Lord Stark sighed and rubbed his eyes in frustration. "I need coffee…"

The servitor rolled up to Lord Stark and spoke in a strange tongue that Varys did not recognize. "Nani o meshiagarimasu ka?" Lord Stark eyed the bot before making a request.

"Strongest black you can have brewed." The servitor dipped its head as if bowing.

"Kashikomarimashita. Shou-shou o-machi kudasaimase," the bot then trundled over to Varys. "Nani o meshiagarimasu ka?" Varys looked confusedly at the little thing before looking to Lord Stark for explanation.

"My daughter, Arya, 'weebified' this servitor. I tried asking what that meant, but the gatekeepers just laughed about it. They find it amusing. Just tell it what you want to drink."

Varys looked around and saw that Pycelle, Baelish, and Renly all looked just as confounded as Varys felt. Varys returned his gaze to the 'weebified' servitor. "Um… maybe something… sweet? I don't really know what you offer, I'm afraid little one." The servitor bowed again.

"Kashikomarimashita. O-Maccha-rate o o-tsukuri itashimasu. Shou-shou o-machi kudasaimase." The servitor then went to the other present Small Council members, seeming to request what they would like to drink. Pycelle and Baelish both asked for the same as Lord Stark, while Renly specifically requested a maple mocha. While Varys had taken some time trying to understand the new Stark 'coffee' and its seemingly endless variety, he hadn't had a chance to try any to discern his palette. Once the servitor had gotten requests from everyone, it rolled out of the room - likely to prepare the drinks.

Discussion on the Kingdoms finances happened after that, Lord Stark balking at the rather tall debt that the Crown owed to Tywin and the Iron Banks. Varys knew that Baelish was likely overselling the issue, but he wasn't as good with coin as the man so he did not have a position to dispute the claims. Not that Varys would, of course.

"Six million dragons… how could it have become this bad? And these tournery costs! I'm just grateful that Gatekeeper doesn't care for coin. How are we supposed to resolve this? Where would we even get the Dragons?" Lord Stark said with much dismay. Varys actually felt bad for the poor dog, the King's messes were notoriously difficult to clean up.

"Sumimasen, o-matase shimashita."

Just then, the servitor returned to the Council chambers carrying a tray covered in various drink items. It provided the simple cups of straight coffee to Lord Stark, Petyr Baelish, and Pycelle before moving on to Renly and his mocha. Finally, the little bot approached Varys and offered him his 'Matcha Latte'; a tall glass with a green foam and white cream on the top. A thin metal pipe stuck out of the drink and bent forward. Varys had seen various people drink from this 'straw', so he knew the purpose.

Varys accepted the drink. "Thank you kindly, little one." Varys took a sip of the matcha and found the flavor to be quite pleasant. He could not tell what kind of herb this drink was brewed from, but he found the sweetness and the delicate aroma to be rather delicious. Quickly after the first sip, Varys found his head slowly clearing of the fog that had plagued it since last night. He quickly began taking more sips.

"Arigatou gozaimasu. Nani-ka o meshiagaritai to, o-yobi kudasaimase." The servitor then rolled over to face Lord Stark. "Sutaaku-Sama, Pasufaindaa-Kaisha kara no meeru de gozaimasu. Go-happyou itashite-yoroshii desu ka?"

Lord Stark stared at the servitor, seeming to not know how to respond to this particular sentence. "Yes…?" the Hand said hesitantly.

"Kashikomarimashita, Sutaaku-Sama," the servitor answered before rolling to the center of the Council chamber and pulling out a cloth of the gatekeeper 'smart paper', holding each corner in one of its little metal hands. It rose up on its four legs and leaned its top forwards, so as to make the paper face the Council members.

The paper suddenly became a discordant flurry of black and white streaks, while a horrendous chitter emanated from the surface. Then, a proper image - like looking through a window - appeared on the wondrous fabric. On the paper was what appeared to be some sort of knightly plated snake-man, a number of what appeared to be sellswords dressed in gate-walker gambeson, and what Varys supposed was the exiled Prince Viserys. The Prince had some strange necklace or collar on, and the collar had a 'fullerene smart rope' attached to the front and was held by one of the sellswords. The Prince looked quite displeased with his predicament, while the sellswords appeared to be drinking and smoking some sort of substance. The sellswords would jeer at and harass the Prince occasionally while the metal naga spoke.

"Ey yo, what up, it's ya boy, Astikaaaaa!" An obnoxious horn stuttered out after the introduction. "This message is addressed to my main DILF, the Usurper, the King, Bobby B! How ya doin'? Listen, I was just interested in droppin' a DM to tell you that I found myself this-" the Naga tugged on the rope, "lil' blonde shit actin' up in my construction site. Naturally, kicked his ass for ya, ya know, bros being bros."

Varys gaped openly at the image being shown to him. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but yet the horrendous image remained. Varys glanced at the other Council members, who all looked just as shocked as Varys felt. Varys looked back at the strange display.

"And I know what you're thinkin', 'Ayo, that the lil' SHIT that be simpin' fo' my throne!', and you'd be right! Don'cha worry though, I made sure to leash his bitch ass up for ya. Don't worry, I make sure to feed and clothe him, even gave him his own personal gooning tent to blow off steam. Now listen, I'm here to offer ya some Good Shit-" an obnoxious and deep voice repeated the words 'good shit' loudly, "-so that the 7-K and Pathfinder can get to know each other a little better. Now, I got some rather nice trade deals for ya that I think you'll like. And they can be all yours!" A pastel colored rendition of 'All yours!' appeared in front of this 'Astika' moving in and out confusingly. "But ya gotta agree to some, uh, terms lets say."

"Terms?" Baelish asked in confusion.

"First: I kinda like this little shit. So I'm keepin' him, and I'll even get him to formally relinquish his claim to the throne; so no killin' his ass. Second: Ya gotta agree to an exclusive bankin' deal with the newly formed Pathfinder Planetos Public Bank! Or Triple-PB for short. Good deal, right? Listen," the view moved right up to Astika and Viserys' faces as the metal naga smashed his head against the exiled Princes, "I know ya want to see it. This little SHIT here on his hands and knees, giving up his claims, whispering 'My King' while kissing ya boots." Viserys raised a hand with his middle finger extended at Astika. "Come on. Just sign the dotted line, Bobby B. You won't regret it." The image of the exiled Prince and the naga was suddenly replaced with a strange image of an army of the exiled Prince doing some strange dance while the text, 'Viserys when he found out Pathfinder needed a new fuckboy' was portrayed prominently over the absurd action.

By the mercy of the seven, the servitor folded up the smart paper and removed the offending imagery from view. "Go-happyou wa owarimashita."

Lord Renly loudly stood up from his chair, took his drink, and left the Council chamber without saying another word. Baelish was busy rubbing his face in disbelief while Pycelle was fast asleep. Varys looked over to Lord Stark, who seemed completely unentertained at the moment.

"Servitor! Get Lady Svafa, I want her opinion on that foul imagery." Lord Stark snapped at the little thing.

"Kashikomarimashtia, Staaku-Sama," replied the servitor while it left to find the Commonwealth woman.

BREAK

Tywin I

"I do not trust this offer an ounce." Lord Tywin said as he threw the smart paper containing the relevant Pathfinder information onto the table. This whole Viserys deal was quickly turning into a debacle to eclipse the wildfire or the damned Greyjoy rebellion.

"I don't trust Pathfinder on principle, but sure, let's hear your thought process on the topic, Tywin," commented Lady Svafa. Tywin pointedly ignored the insult.

"They are offering us 100,000 Gold Wreaths, 1,000,000 Silver Spears, a tonne of diamond, sapphire, emerald, and ruby upfront with no conditions. Let alone these psychotic fractions on all trade between the Seven Kingdoms and any of the Free Cities. All for the simple price of only banking with them. No. This is a ploy, there is no doubt about it. No one is this generous without getting a significant advantage, and exclusive banking is only the start of Pathfinders game, no doubt." Tywin felt it was bad enough with these Gatekeepers polluting the great game, now this Pathfinder comes in and flips the cevasse table over itself. They were even dangling the beggar prince like a fisherman dangled a worm for the trout. His Grace had been predictably interested in that part of the offer.

Baelish shook his head in disbelief. "Let alone where this deal would leave us with the Iron Bank."

"But look at how much we get from trade! They are even offering to remove all tariffs between the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities; the upfront offering is only the icing on this cake. I can't believe we are actually discussing this," added Lord Renly. Tywin scoffed disparagingly.

The eunuch hummed in contemplation. "My little birds and mice tell me that this isn't even uncommon. Pathfinder has been making similar deals all across the Free Cities."

"How can we be certain that these Wreaths and Spears are truly trustworthy? Where would Pathfinder find all of this gold and silver, if it is true that this is common for them?" questioned the new Hand Lord Eddard Stark in disbelief. Pycelle wringed his hands.

"I do not even know if that much gold could exist in Essos. They must have laced their coins aggressively to get these numbers," the Grand Maester added in.

On the center of the table were two glass cylinders containing the images of the other leaders of the Wolfs Gate gatekeepers. Samuel was dressed in some gatekeeper winter garb, standing next to Stark's bastard while Diego was sitting in a chair and sipping tea.

Samuel shook his head in disagreement at Pycelle's claim. "Afraid not, Grand Maester. All of that gold probably comes from the gate, all of it mined by the Planetary Consortium. Not to shock anyone, but we gate-walkers have an overabundance of gold and silver." Tywin looked at Samuel with disbelief while Diego continued the point.

"Asteroid mining yielded a couple billion tonnes of gold shared amongst the LLA, the Planetary Consortium, my own Jovian Republic, and the Titanian Commonwealth alone. Extraction of gold and silver has only increased because they are often found with more valuable metals. As such, it is perfectly within reason for Pathfinder to be able to offer more coins than the whole of Essos and Westeros combined and not seriously see a meaningful impact on their budget."

Robert spat his drink out aggressively while Tywin sputtered incoherently. "A… a couple billion tonnes…" muttered Baelish. Lord Stark simply seemed to have resigned himself to the insanity of the gate-walkers while Varys fluttered his eyes in disbelief. Renly slumped into his chair.

Tywin finally rallied his reason. "Gods be good, that is insane!" Svafa looked at Tywin tiredly.

"Look, I know it's hard to believe, but absolutely no polity on our side of the gate seriously cares about gold and silver. They have their uses, but those uses certainly don't justify the quantities we have. Some people think that gold and silver and bland and low class, actually."

Tywin shook his head to try and clear the thought from his mind. "What in the Seven Hells is an asteroid?" Tywin's smart paper chimed as it showed him a perspective view of an immensely ugly rock floating in a black void while small gate-walker craft flitted around it freely. Text appeared explaining what the sight was. Tywin saw the little arrow indicating another 'page' and swiped left to view it. This time, Tywin saw a map of the known asteroids of Jupiter, the Solar Asteroid Belt, and the rather pathetic gathering for the 'Inner System'. Tywin read the small text explaining the total number of asteroids and their combined weight. He gaped at the smart paper in disbelief. "You truly are devoted to this story of sailing the heavens, aren't you?"

Lady Svafa sighed in exasperation. "Believe it or not, point is Pathfinder gives zero fucks about the amount of noble metals they are throwing around. In fact, no polity in the Solar System uses physical currency at all, so they only minted the stuff so they could trade with the Essosi." Svafa grabbed the coffee pot and poured herself another cup, looking Tywin in the eyes. "Care for another?" she asked lazily.

"Please." Tywin answered. Svafa poured the cup, Tywin downed it in one go, then he held the cup out again for another pour. When his cup was filled again, Lord Renly had finally decided to interject his own opinion.

"Then we should definitely accept! Clearly, Pathfinder has gold to spare, whether or not this tale of 'asteroid mining' is true or not!"

Petyr Baelish gave Renly a look of disrespect. "That is not the concern here, Master of Laws. The problem is why Pathfinder is throwing all of this wealth around. From what Lady Svafa, Ser Samuel, and Ser Diego say then Pathfinder is a ruthless corporation of viciously greedy businessmen. They would not be charitable for any reason unless it somehow profited them. We are trying to determine what that profit could be."

His Grace King Robert finally decided to speak up. "And why do they ask for five-thousand Dragons and fifty-thousand Stags? They would still be losing money with those amounts. Why trade coin for coin like this?" The King scratched his beard in thought. Tywin had also wondered about that.

"I believe I may have an explanation for that, actually. And for this whole odd offer, to be more precise," said Diego. Tywin looked at the Jovian (there was some initial confusion regarding the man's homeland) and waited for the explanation. "I'll have a model of the Western Essosi market and economy displayed on the dome above us." From the cylinder came swirling curtains of light, which painted a detailed map of the Free Cities and the corresponding area of Essos on the ceiling dome. "Please take note of the currency key," Tywin did so, noting that there were symbols for all of the currencies including the Wreath and Spear, "which is separated into gold and silver variants, as appropriate, with gold on the left of the period and silver on the right." Tywin noted the details. "Also take note of the polity key and their holding of all of the currencies. Green numbers indicate positive growth, red negative." What was this? The Jovian continued his demonstration.

"I have taken all of the confirmed reports on Pathfinder activity in Essos, the information from this offer, and a highly aggressive market ALI designed to obey limitations dictated by the data. The ALI attempted to simulate a feasible market strategy for this behavior using the data, treating the Pathfinder offer as a sample of their typical behavior. Please watch the results that were simulated," the Jovian finally finished as the demonstration finally started properly. Tywin watched the movement of coin and the relative value of everything as the 'ALI' attempted to mimic Pathfinder. Tywin noted some text indicating the value of all of the coins relative to the Dragon and the Stag. As the 'simulation' continued, Tywin saw a pattern and realized what Diego was trying to explain.

Tywin slammed his fist against the table. "The craven bastards are trying to destroy the damn economy!" There was a wave of shock at the proclamation before the implications set-in.

Diego spoke up before anyone could interject. "Not only that, but Pathfinder has been buying slaves, freeing them, then offering indenture contracts. When the Western Essosi economy crashes, people will flock to Pathfinder for a contract just to survive. They are stealing the labor force out from under the Magisters feet."

"By the Seven, how far along in this plot are they?" asked Lord Renly.

Samuel winced. "Assuming this simulation is accurate, Pathfinder has already dumped enough garbage currency into the market to guarantee a depression and market crash."

"And I doubt they will be stopping anytime soon," Tywin added. "They undermine the Magisters, steal their slaves, and carve out their own domain from the whole of West Essos. And now," Tywin picked up the smart paper displaying the Pathfinder offer, "they intend to rope us into the madness."

Lord Stark gaped openly before turning to King Robert. "Your Grace, reject this offer! We would be slaving ourselves to Pathfinder if we accepted." King Robert didn't answer but instead looked at his smart paper, which likely still depicted the beggar prince in chains.

"You cannot be seriously contemplating this." Tywin said to King Robert.

The King held up his smart paper for all to see, which confirmed Tywin's suspicions. "They are offering us the dragonspawns formal relinquishment of his claim to the Iron Throne! We could finally end the Targaryen threat once and for all!"

Svafa stood up and threw her arms out in disbelief. "Robert, who gives a fuck!? The Prince is Pathfinder's prisoner at this point, he can't do shit! Pathfinder doesn't give a fuck about the Iron Throne, they just want the economy!" King Robert stood up from his seat.

"Then they may use the Prince to press a claim to the Throne; they'll have total control over Westeros at that point! Do we just allow them the opportunity to implement such a plot?"

"Then we just implement better security and import policies on everything from Essos! Pathfinder is ruthless, but they won't engage in open war," countered Svafa.

Tywin nodded his head in agreement. "I concur with that proposition, Your Grace. Pathfinder represents a threat to our sovereignty no matter what we do; best we do not simply allow them into our borders."

Robert seemed to think about the arguments, looking longingly at the image of Viserys in the collar. He threw the smart paper on the table and sat back down in defeat. "Fine. The dragonspawn was to be Pathfinder's 'fuck-boy' anyways, might as well deny them the satisfaction of having exploited the Throne."

Tywin sighed in relief; the first obstacle was cleared. Now for the next hundred or so. "That still leaves us with the question of how to handle Pathfinder's eventual dominance of West Essos. They will not sit idly by while we reject their advances," Tywin raised the issue.

"I suspect that Pathfinder will either forcibly acquire the Iron Bank or chain them to their will; either way, our debt with the Iron Bank will become our debt with Pathfinder. From the 'simulation', I suspect we have a year at most. We cannot pay our debt in that time," Lord Baelish said. Diego shifted a bit before speaking up.

"That may not be entirely true, Lord Baelish. I believe that not only can we pay the debt, I think we should pay it soon."

"What? How?" asked Lord Renly. Diego stood up and started pacing; the image of him didn't waver on its focus.

"I can pull some strings to have gold shipped through the gate. The gold can be minted into ingots, then shipped off to the Iron Bank. We settle the debt and add more currency into West Essos, accelerating the economic collapse," Diego said. Tywin smiled as he finished the Jovian's explanation.

"Thus protecting the Seven Kingdoms from Pathfinder's influence while allowing our own currency to rise in value compared to Essosi coins. Not only that, but we put Pathfinder on the back foot not just by rejecting their offer but by contracting their time frame. They will have to scramble to adjust, even if just a bit."

Svafa gaped in shock at the proposal. "Accelerate!? Diego, that would not only help Pathfinder, but hurt all of the Essosi along the way. This is immoral!"

Tywin scoffed in disdain. "There is no helping the Free City smallfolk, Lady Svafa. Pathfinder's plot has already succeeded; our best move is to do as they do and profit from the coming disaster. I even recommend we raise taxes and tariffs on all Essosi imports and exports, stemming the flow of our own coin while we and Pathfinder sink the Free Cities market ship." Lady Svafa looked shocked by the proclamation before shaking her head and attempting to deny the truth.

"No, no! I won't back this plan, Diego. Samuel, back me up, please!" Lady Svafa pleaded. Samuel simply looked away and put his hands in his pockets. The Stark bastard shuffled awkwardly, probably wondering why he was still listening to this discussion.

Diego sighed and looked Svafa in the eyes. "Svafa, I will be putting my foot down on this issue. To give you some incentive on backing this proposal, be aware that I know about your little project." Diego said. Svafa blanched in shock and her breathing became shallow. "Do not panic, I will not do anything about it; in fact, I'll help you. But you must support this proposal. Do I make myself clear?"

Lady Svafa fell into her chair and planted her head in the crooks of her arms, screaming silently into her own flesh.

"Svafa?" Diego asked. Tywin looked on in interest; so there was some division amongst these gatekeepers. Tywin was intrigued by this little project, he would have to look into that. Diego was a smart and ruthless man; he knew to say what he did publicly.

"Fine." Svafa finally relented. Tywin shook his head in disbelief.

Diego sat back down in his chair as a servitor brought him a fresh cup of tea. "I know that your bleeding techno-progressive heart goes out to the poor plebeians in West Essos Svafa, but this is not the time to be sympathetic to the plights of others. We must protect our own, here in Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms." Tywin was really liking this Diego Farias da Fonseca; which also meant that Tywin better be careful around the man, he was clearly dangerous.

Tywin looked to Lord Stark who sighed in resignation. "Your Grace, I formally recommend we implement Ser Diego's proposal. It is the best action we may take in response to Pathfinder's aggressive mercantilism," proposed Lord Stark.

His Grace King Robert shook his head. "Seems that there is no disagreement, then. Alright, I, King Robert of house Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm formally declare and command that Ser Diego parlay with his people so that we may procure the means to collapse the West Essos market, and I shall also formally give full authority for the Small Council to implement all of the measures offered by Warden of the Westerlands Lord Tywin, so that the Seven Kingdoms may engage in hostile mercantile ventures against the Pathfinder company. I need a fucking drink and a whore." King Robert then stood up and promptly left the chamber. Samuel and Diego disappeared from the glass cylinders.

"Jingoist Jovian Jackass!" Lady Svafa screamed out as she stood up and threw her mug against the wall, shattering the ceramic before she stormed out of the chamber.

Lord Tywin looked around at the gathered Lords and Council members. "Good meeting. See you at supper."

BREAK

BREAK

Catelyn II

All for Bran's sake.

Catelyn walked through her assigned home, looking for Rickon. The boy had been brought through the gate as he was upset about Catelyn's absence. While Catelyn was scared about the prospect, Bran had assured her it would be for the best. Bran assured her. The home was roughly spherical with multiple overlapping floors, but the only walls were the sphere walls themselves. Catelyn's home was filled with trinkets, toys, gifts from her friends in Nyhavn, and other assorted knick knacks. Several dragonfly drones rested on a chandelier hanging from the opened ceiling. The home was made fully from shape-memory fullerenes, a wondrous fabric like material that could become as stiff and hard as diamond or flexible as silk. It was stronger than any other material, and exceedingly cheap. It was holographic and an active display, which Catelyn and her neighbors used to bring brilliant color to the neighborhood. The colors, of course, were only visible on a widened spectrum of light due to the darkness of Titan. On Titan, the only light was what transhumanity produced.

Transhumanity. Fairy tales made into flesh. Bran insisted.

Catelyn was told that Titan had strict health and security measures; these included required bio-modifications, cortical stacks with neural lace and backups, bio-monitors, and a variety of other augmentations. Bran insisted on them. Most of them were necessary to navigate the Saturnian moon's exotic environment. One of these was dramatically expanded vision; 'hyperspectral' it was called. Catelyn had seen hyper-, stygian, and impossible-colors but they were associated with completely different waves of light on Titan. Reds were the heat of bodies or the cities, purples and blues the ultraviolets, while everything in the middle was for the range from near-infrared to the normal visual of Westeros. Titanian eyes were well made for their dark but still light-filled home; Catelyn's eyes were no longer natural. Bran said it was necessary.

"Rickon, where are you? We will be late for Bran's aerial-football game. Don't you want to see your brother play?" Catelyn listened for any movement; somewhere up above her, some shuffling. Catelyn tensed her throat in a peculiar way that had become all too familiar: she chirped out like a bat, sending sound waves into her home. They bounced off of everything, including her youngest son. The boy was hanging upside down behind one of the hammocks. Smart-cloaks were ubiquitous - if not necessary - on Titan. Every square inch of their surface was living fabric controlled by one's mind. In this case, Catelyn and her sons did not need ectos to perform such things due to the neural lace. Bran needed to be here, and Catelyn with him. The smart cloak allowed one to extend prehensile tendrils of cloth to grab items or hold one upside down; gravity was a touch above one-eighth of Westeros, so weight was of an equivalent fraction. Rickon giggled lightly, the little chirps of the vocal augmentation chiming in Catelyn's ears. Bran thought they were fun. Catelyn smiled coyly up at the young boy.

"I see you are finally strong enough to jump up there by yourself. Now come on, you can show your brother your progress at his game." Catelyn held her arms open for Rickon and her smart cloak unfurled a small hammock to help catch the child. Rickon leapt down, falling slowly, into Catelyn's arms. The smart cloak wrapped Rickon tightly to her chest, keeping him secure.

[Matron, open the bottom iris. I'll be leaving now. Close both the top and bottom iris until I get back.]

[Of course, Catelyn.]

The bottom iris of the sphere-home opened up, showing a glimpse of the bright environment that was Great Nyhavn. Catelyn quickly hopped and swung down to the lower external railing, a ring of material upon which the home partially attached. Catelyn swung downward to fully exit her home. Bran thought living like bats was fun.

Catelyn had seen vids of 'Christmas' decorations; beautifully inlaid little spheres, tear drops, and other pleasing shapes connected by brightly colored strands and lights. Great Nyhavn was like Christmas decorations but scaled up and made into an entire city. Even the smells apparently lined up; cinnamon, pumpkin, nutmeg, and more wafted past Catelyn's augmented nose. Bran loved the more potent smells. The whole parade of building-ornaments weaved into and through each other like a great three-dimensional tapestry, immense fly-ways left open for the common use. Catelyn heard the chittering of the Titanians as they made their way through the city. Parks sat atop immense tables held aloft by magnetism and tensegrity fullerene cable arrangements, filled with immense oaks and pines and various winter animals. Dragonfly drones buzzed about, doing menial tasks for the Titanians while servitors climbed like spiders to weave this brilliant display together.

Bran said they could fly.

There were very little to almost no streets on Titan. Thanks to gravity and smart-cloaks, Titanians had a superior form of personal travel.

They flew.

Catelyn released the smart-cloak strand for her foot and allowed herself to fall for a second before unfurling the smart-cloaks wings, the fabric made into a bat-like surface thanks to stiffened rods in the framework. Catelyn righted herself, caught a draft, then ascended with the other fliers. Rickon held on casually, used to this form of travel. Catelyn began chirping to allow her to 'see' the aerial environment. Bran said they had freedom. Echolocation - the vocal augmentations alongside hyperspectral hearing - gave Catelyn a far superior and more responsive way to understand the environment around her. She soared into an open path, gliding through the fly-ways and slowly working her way down to the little-league aerial-court. Catelyn passed through Great Nyhavn's brilliant architecture; soaring past bulbs, bubbles, baubles, and blimps interwoven together with fullerene spindles. Titanians roosted atop patios or dangled upside down from brilliant living-room chandeliers. They laughed, chirped, and conversed eagerly amongst each other; the hyperspectral hearing allowed for excellent discernment and awareness. Conversations could occur across a dozen others without issue. Every building and Titanian was a riot of hyperspectral color, their palettes a haunting mixture of supreme saturation and stygian hues.

Bran said he loved living in a fantasy-land.

Catelyn passed a diner, several people hanging below and engaged in discussion or roosting atop stiff rings, sucking on juice bulbs or enjoying fruit mixtures. Most meat that was had was fish-like and flakey. Bread was common, as was baked goods but hard-candy dominated in Great Nyhavn.

"Momma, momma! Look, the strawberry!" Rickon shuffled excitedly, pointing out one of the candy shops with hanging fruit-packets. Catelyn smiled and detoured over towards the shop, her smart-cloak gripping onto the chandelier and allowing her to rest. Catelyn always made sure to tie her hair into a bun, as was the style on Titan. Catelyn 'crouched' upward to get closer to the strawberry packet. Information on the packet - such as its age, ingredients, and what auto-vat manufactured it - were displayed in Catelyn's entoptics. Catelyn plucked the treat and pocketed it in her smart-cloak.

"Ah…" Rickon whined. Catelyn chirped sharply in response.

"Last time you spilled yours; remember how you had to apologize to that gentleman? I will give it to you at the aerial-court."

Catelyn took to the fly-ways again, not needing to pay. One of the benefits of a techno-socialist society, as Catelyn had come to understand it. While Catelyn didn't at first understand why Sansa and Arya were so enamored with the Commonwealth, she had slowly come around to their viewpoint. While Catelyn couldn't live-chat her family back on Westeros due to the nature of gate travel, messages and files could still be sent. It was quaintly like Westerosi communication. Catelyn had been happy to vlog with Sansa, happy to see the girl's growth and maturation while Sansa was ever more excited about eventually coming to Titan. Lady Svafa was already working on ensuring her family's safety by working with like-minded Titanians on Westeros in setting up a neural lace and cortical stack implant system at King's Landing. Catelyn was also pleased to know that Joffrey had taken an interest in Titan; apparently the young Prince was intrigued by a society where he wouldn't be treated as a royal, but just as another teenager. That, and methane skiffing.

The little-league aerial court finally came into view, a wide bowl shaped building supported on root-like struts attached to Great Nyhavn's floor. Catelyn slowly circled down into the building, finally landing on the entry patio just on the outside wall of the structure. Catelyn released Rickon from her smart cloak, the boy scurrying out eagerly.

"Momma, the strawberry!" Catelyn chuckled as she handed Rickon the fruit-snack. The boy happily started slurping on the fruit, chirping through his nose.

"Come now Rickon, the game should have started." Rickon followed Catelyn as she made her way through the hall into the building space proper. There were rows upon rows and chandeliers upon chandeliers of spectating spaces. Catelyn knew exactly where to sit, however; Heikki Virjonen's mesh ID was plainly visible.

Heikki Virjonen was the current Minister of Finance and Labor, a rather prestigious position; but on Titan, people were all citizens first and celebrities second. Even Catelyn, mother of the ever popular Sansa and one of the first two Westerosi to walk through the gate, was not bothered by her notoriety in public. It was refreshing to be among the people rather than above them.

Heikki looked at Catelyn, the woman flashing her elongated canines and smiling widely. Heikki was a 'Vampire Chic' woman, who really lived up to the popular images of the legendary creature.

"Ah, Catelyn! You made it just in time, the match just started," said Heikki. Of course, the conversation was in Skandinaviska; Catelyn had taken time to learn the tongue, but she was heavily assisted by Matron's translation assistance. Bran and Rickon had taken to the language eagerly, though. Even in the three short months, Bran had become a fluent master in Skandinaviska; while playing the rhyme and reference game popular amongst Titanian children, Bran would insert chirps, whistles, and clicks so naturally it was like they were supposed to be part of the language. Apparently, her second oldest son was a savant of some sort.

Bran said they needed to be here, to belong here in time.

Catelyn returned Heikki's smile. "I would have been here sooner if Rickon hadn't finally reached the top of my home bulb." Heikki made an exaggerated 'Oh!' face and gave a beaming smile to the young boy, her pupils widened beyond even the Titanian normal.

"You have become oh so big and strong! I miss when you were smaller, you were so cute I could have just eaten you up!" Heikki made a play bite at Rickon, who giggled at the jest. Heikki returned her attention to the game.

"By the by, Cat, did you see your daughters vlog on the wildfire disposal? Rather ingenious system, honestly. Scary compound that wildfire." Heikki said offhandedly. Catelyn did see that vlog; she wasn't particularly happy to know that some of the mad king's insanity still plagued the realm to this day.

Catelyn sighed. "Yes, I'm just happy they quickly devised a system to handle the issue. I swear, I would actually be worried for my husband's safety if Svafa wasn't watching over him." Catelyn spotted Bran make a sweeping dive to the side of the field, building up speed for a swift upshot catch on the ball. Heikki had offered to let Bran stay at her home-bulb last-night, as he and Heikki's son Josef had apparently practiced for today's match quite late.

Heikki clicked out a chuckle. "Oh, that is just how husbands work in heterosexual relationships, isn't it? I've heard that Varina and her husband Viggo switched sleeves, and all of a sudden Viggo was the attentive one! Must be a sleeve memory thing…" Catelyn shot a look at Heikki. Heikki seemed to have noticed the glare - or perhaps expected the response - because she returned her gaze to Catelyn with a mischievous grin plastered across her face.

"Oh, Cat, did I just say something icky? I apologize, I'll try to be better in the future."

"It's fine, Heikki. I'm just not used to your standards yet." Catelyn replied sharply. Heikki leaned in closer to Catelyn.

"Cat! C~at! Ca~t! Cat~! You know I don't mean any harm by these things; you're just so adorable~ when you're a sour-puss~." Heikki enunciated every repetition of Cat's nickname while drawling her syllables aggressively. Bran passed the ball to one of his teammates, the girl weaving towards a flanking position. Catelyn sighed at her friend's teasing. "Listen Cat, you really need to loosen up! Look at Bran, he took to Titan perfectly." Catelyn watched as Bran soared across the field, smiling wildly as Josef set-up a shot for Bran.

Catelyn looked at Heikki to say something, but Heikki had been distracted by a particularly handsome man flapping by above their spectating position. Heikki purred at the man, who smirked and purred back. Catelyn gaped at Heikki. "Heikki, really? We were having a conversation." Catelyn gave her friend a disappointed look.

Heikki looked back at Catelyn quickly. "Oh, Cat, don't be that way. Me and my husband have been looking for a new boy-toy after our previous minx moved to New Quebec. That man there is just our type." Catelyn rolled her eyes and head in exasperation.

"Heikki, you are four times my age!"

"Yes, and look at how childish I am, Cat. Your point?"

"You and your husband have been married longer than I've been alive!" Catelyn offered in exasperation. Heikki looked softly and sympathetically at Cat.

"Yes, and we still love each other dearly. I'm sure that you and Ned will still have your bond a century down the line."

Catelyn blanched at the mention of century. "What? Century? No… I… I'm not really, well, uh…" Catelyn found that she had no argument. Did Catelyn really change that much? Bran said change was good. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing?

Heikki tittered in amusement at Cat's flustering. "Listen Cat, me and my husband - and plenty of other couples - have our own ways of spicing up our romantic lives. Lust isn't love, darling! I may lust after that fine specimen roosting above us, but I have and always will love my husband. This kind of relationship has been a thing since before cortical stacks and sleeving. I know that the early 'sexual revolution' literature may paint a debauched picture, but the reality is more mundane and special."

Catelyn thought about Heikki's statement. While Catelyn didn't necessarily agree totally, she didn't find the woman's philosophy to be all that unreasonable. From a transhuman perspective, it made sense. Like hanging upside down like bats or living in a chandelier city. You know, reasonable things. Bran said that it was only reasonable to adapt.

"I… suppose you have a point, Heikki. Sorry for being judgemental." Catelyn apologized. Heikki shook her head and tittered.

"You don't have to apologize, Cat. I know all of this must be crazy~ to you, but you and your children have handled it really well. I'm proud of you. Oh, Bran's about to score!" Heikki shot up a bit to get a better view. Catelyn followed after, chirping out her support. Bran dived and rolled furiously, looping around the guards before sending the ball through the lev-goal and scoring a win for his team. Catelyn cheered alongside Heikki.

Whatever these transhumans would offer, Catelyn would just have to accept.

All for Bran's sake.

BREAK

Bran II

Gliding through the artificial woods, hopping off of tree branches and landing in snow, Bran was on the run. He moved with speed, taking great leaps across the snowy landscape and catching small drafts to redirect his movement. Running on Titan was inefficient; not impossible, but certainly not the best form of motion. The heavy chuffs of one of the engineered wolf-bats - wolves modified for low-gravity, with prehensile paws and tails, and a set of gliding membranes - chasing after him. He suspected that the others weren't far behind.

Normally the neuro-implants in the wolf-bats would have made them totally dismissive of transhumans as a safety precaution. But Bran needed to push himself, to prepare for his return to Westeros. And to master his new abilities.

Bran saw where a new snow drift would flare up, giving him ample time to take advantage of the coming wind force to carry himself up into the trees. Bran extended the wings of his smart-cloak at the perfect moment and soared high-up, evading the predators yet again. They had to change tact and began climbing and gliding their way up through the trees after the boy.

[Is it cheating if you use your gifts to win aerial-football?] chimed Whisper. Bran felt his back tingle; he flipped backwards and avoided a nasty swipe, landing cleanly on a branch.

[Is it arrogant to use your talents to outwit all the other children?] Whisper continued. Bran swung around the tree, leapt off the back of a wolf-bat and ascended ever higher.

[Is it wrong to manipulate your mother, the Commonwealth officials, and Gatekeeper to get what you want?] Bran leapt up out of the forest, soaring overhead to gain distance and search for the clearing.

Bran glided down into the snowy clearing, the wolf-bats hot on his pursuit. But this time Bran did not run or fly away. The predators glided towards Bran, their fangs and claws barred, ready to rip into the juicy morsel of meat. All Bran did was stare into the beast's eyes, before Bran slithered his will into their psyche like a snake slithered into a burrow.

The wolf-bats stopped in their pursuit, slowing down and forming a semi-circle in front of the boy. The huffing of the animals was the only sound in the clearing. Bran picked out the wolf-bats next target; their own alpha. The lead animal remained passive and uncaring as its compatriots tore into its flesh, pulling out its throat and spilling its blood across the surface. When Bran felt sick of the sight, he dismissed the animals back into the forest.

Bran noticed Whisper glide down behind him, having watched the whole affair. The man simply walked up to the quietly dying animal, knelt down, and injected a smart-preservative laced with respirocytes; by the time the mesh system was back up and the wolf-bats neuro-implants turned back on, the cocktail would have put the creature into a form of stasis. Then, the park rangers would simply patch the creature up and wonder what had happened.

Whisper stood back up and faced Bran. [Good work, wolf-bat. It was only natural that the pack followed the will of the more capable alpha.] Bran shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

[Maybe. But it doesn't seem right.] Bran replied. He knew that the animal would live, but he didn't like the fact that he had chosen for this suffering to be inflicted on the creature.

Whisper placed his hand on Bran's shoulder and squeezed. [Right and wrong are relative, Bran. Just like time and space, fact and truth, or one and zero. They are defined arbitrarily. You must accept this fact if you are to understand our enemies. Have you had more visions of the three-eyed raven?]

Bran thought about the strange sights he would receive. A three-eyed raven would flit about Nyhavn, just past his vision. The creature would go unnoticed by those around it; Bran knew that it was no neo-corvid, as it was too small and had no mesh ID. When he would check the public spime recordings later, he would see that the creature wasn't there.

Bran nodded his head in affirmation. [I think it's lost. It doesn't understand this place. But I feel like it wants to tell me something, something about Westeros.] Whisper removed his hand from Bran's shoulder and placed it on his chin in thought.

[Perhaps you should return to Westeros soon. I can help get things accelerated, if you would like. Firewall would be able to push me through.]

Firewall. The conspiracy against extinction. They had quickly noticed Bran on Titan; asyncs were a speciality for them. They had offered for one of their own asyncs to help train Bran in the use of his abilities; they had not seen an async from Westeros. What it implied disturbed the leadership. Since Bran had been inducted, he had learned terrible things about the universe; things that boded ill for his home.

Bran shook his head. [I'll just ask mother if we can return home to see family. We have been missing them. I can always ask to come back, if the leaks on formal immigration procedures are true.]

Whisper nodded his head in agreement. [Sounds good. Before you go, I've got an iktomi artifact to give you. One of their song discs.] Whisper removed a small, plate sized object from his smart-cloak. It was an oily-black metal that reflected oddly in the light, wreathing vines wrapping around each other like tangled tree roots. Strange metal discs were attached to the vines by thin steel threads. When Bran plucked one of the metal discs, the others would twirl on their own axis, producing a strange flowing rhythm. Bran stopped the discs by simply halting one of their motions. He placed the gift in his smart-cloak. When Bran looked up, he saw that Whisper had already left.

Bran sighed before unfurling his smart-cloak wings and taking to the air. He slowly made his way up towards the bright residential spaces of Great Nyhavn. Bran received an entoptic news alert. He willed the message to play.

[Just this in, Commonwealth satellite arrays in the Kuiper Belt have confirmed that high-energy spikes consistent with particle-weaponry have been detected around the dwarf planet Eris. As is known, this is the world where the Discord gate of Go-Nin resides.

[Current speculation revolves mostly around two competing theories: that either an exhuman faction is yet again attempting to take the gate facility by force, or that the Overhumanists on Pathos have made a power-play. We have no official statements from Go-Nin, the Ultimates, or any of the known terrorist groups out in the Kuiper Belt.

[Discussion is running rampant about the implications of these actions. Many believe that Discord and Fissure gate may have as-yet undiscovered addresses to the exo-planet of Planetos or Tegon. Not only that, but the Plurality will be called in a short emergency session to devise what - if any - potential military implications this development has on the Commonwealth.]

Bran dismissed the news broadcast. So that happened. Sooner than expected. Bran slowly made his way back towards his home bulb, connecting to the Eye to see about getting his return expedited.

Last edited: Wednesday at 7:25 PM

BREAK

Vacuum Balloon 2A I

Strong winds, air thermals, and electrohydrodynamic drives carried Vacuum Balloon 2A to the region designated as the 'Far North' in relatively little time. In about thirty-seven hours, the first wildfire disposal run was set to be completed. Several other balloons were following behind already. 2A began the descent sequence and scanned for any lifeforms on its intended drop-off path in a relatively barren snowy plain.

The sensor readings came up with a notable anomaly. A distinct group of forty-five human sized and shaped heat signatures were detected fleeing the intended drop-off path. The anomaly was a group of visual signatures which read as animate humanoids, but had no thermal signature. This group was indeterminate in quantity, about two-hundred individual bodies. The anomalous group was following behind the non-anomalous group and were going to enter the drop-off path. 2A activated the warning optical and acoustic holograms in an attempt to clear the drop-off path. When it appeared that there was going to be no response from the anomalous group, 2A activated a subroutine to divert course and find an alternate drop-off path.

However, before 2A could complete the process, a high-priority signal was pushed through to be processed immediately.

[Inbound QPN connection request: Accepted.

[Bind Request received: Authenticated.

[User: EG, Role: Universal Admin, SID: \{Error: Root access required, SID read denied.}

[Log Configuration file changes saved.

[ reloaded.

[Received new WF_Disposal_ , restarting WF_Disposal_ .

[Adjusting drop path.

[Script received, execution running.

[User disconnected.

[Log Configuration file changes saved.

[ reloaded.

[Initiating drop.]

2A had already ceased the warning hologram projection and its drives had flared, driving the balloon to a new drop-off path. 2A's ALI highlighted the anomalous bodies and determined the optimal drop time to create a maximum spread profile based on simulations of wildfire burn and spread properties. 2A released its smart magnetic grapnels, dropping the wildfire container which split open midair and released the barrels onto the designated drop-off path.

2A watched carefully to ensure that the target path was properly saturated, storing any deviations and possible corrections to log memory.

Apologies for any slow or late posting today; my internet is having an emotional breakdown and is too busy eating chocolate ice-cream to do its job.

BREAK

White-Walker I

The manlings ran for their petty lives, fleeing from the drones under the White-Walkers control. The display was rather pathetic, the White-Walker had to admit. He wondered when he would finally get a chance to taste real combat, like what happened during the Long Night. Manlings did not pose anywhere near as significant a threat as the Old Ones, but the White-Walker supposed that anything would do at this point.

Suddenly, a strange light appeared across the landscape between the drones and the fleeing weaklings. The lightshow used some sort of worthless manish script and a bizarre manish voice echoed across the landscape. The White-Walker had no idea what any of this meant, so he commanded the small horde to stop. Watching carefully, the White-Walker noticed that the manlings had stopped in confusion as well. Then, the strange lights and voice became discordant and ill-formed before vanishing like they never existed.

The White-Walker waited a couple minutes to see if anything would happen, as were the manlings. Shrugging his shoulders, the White-Walker was just about to command the drones to charge yet again when he caught glimpse of something that would from that moment onwards drive the icey entity to fits of rage and despair. The first-salvo of an inexplicable campaign that he would forever curse to his dying throes.

Seven barrels. Seven simple, wooden barrels fell from the sky in a line across his small horde before impacting the snow violently.

Then the green-flame roared to life.

He could taste the arcane energy guiding and flowing through the awful substance, directing the terrible compound to consume and obliterate his drones with hungry abandon. The flame was practically a living thing with only the desire to consume. He stood atop his steed, stupefied by the sudden change of events. The White-Walker didn't even notice the manlings run-away in fear so great was his confusion.

Fuck this.

The White-Walker left his doomed horde to disintegrate in the inferno, leaving to relay the sudden event to his compatriots and hopefully determine what had just happened.

BREAK

Darya III

The slave gladiator charged at Darya, swinging his ax blade in a downward chop to split the Ultimates head. Darya pushed forward, taking the offense from the attacker and struck out with a kick at the genetrash's knee. The swift strike was rewarded with a solid crack of bone as the gladiator fell to his knee, unable to stand. The gladiator swung wide, to which Darya bent backwards to a nigh impossible degree. Darya spun on his axis to right himself and build momentum for a final kick to the battle-slaves head. An unnecessary flourish, but Darya needed to challenge himself somehow. His heel connected with the man's cranium, cracking the skull open and spreading a fine splatter of blood into the sand behind the dead-man.

The gladiator fell to his sides, dropping the ax. He coughed and sputtered stupidly, likely severely brain-damaged from the impact. Darya simply stepped up and crushed the man's skull with his foot, ceasing the unsightly shaking. Darya did not even unclasp his hands from behind his back.

"As I have said, I could kill your best warrior with but my legs, Master Heshk Ghazeen. Now I believe you owe me the rest of your warrior stock." Darya turned on his heel to face the man, whose Green tokar was lightly mired in blood. The man had some obnoxious horn curls teased together on his head, his face a stupid plaster of surprise.

"We-well, I-I'd say that, uh… you have p-proven your point, Commander Darya. I'll… have them prepared for you," said Heshk, making a motion to one of his slave attendants. They looked between Darya and Heshk with concern before gulping quietly and making their way out of the arena.

[Naomi, tail that one. Make sure that whatever safeguards or ploys Heshk has devised do not succeed,] Darya signaled to his comrade. Darya made to leave the arena, heading back out to Mereen proper. His attendants bowed in respect and followed him close behind. Darya spotted one of the city's nobles in a litter, being carried like an infant through the city streets. Darya walked everywhere in the city; he was no pampered weakling.

Darya went to the market and acquired himself a mango, pulling out his vibro-dagger and cutting the fruit up for his consumption. Darya savored the flesh of real food, enjoying the experience as much as possible. Petrov sent a stream link to Darya, which he opened to find a view of the sorcerer they had been tracking. The man was tied with smart-rope and unconscious, his mouth gagged. Darya smiled.

[Excellent work, Petrov. Keep him in our personal abode, he will be of value later.] Darya commanded. Petrov merely pinged his acknowledgement before closing the stream. The whole team had been so busy as of late; they barely had any time to bond any more. Darya figured that he should find some sort of opening so that he and his comrades could administer pleasure onto each other. Naturally, all of the Ultimates refused any and all advances by the gene-trash whores of this filthy city; Darya and his comrades had higher standards, and the only ones remotely capable of meeting those standards were the Ultimates. Not that Darya and his team hadn't bonded physically before, merely that they now only had each other. It would have been nice if it wasn't for the primitive scheming happening all the time.

Darya finished his mango and disposed of the skin, making his way back to he and his comrades personal abode within Mereen. He ascended the stairs and found himself in the large open parlor, drapes hung-up to allow the wind to cool the room. Dolma was carefully attending to the acoustic wall generator - a device capable of creating an acoustic hologram that would absorb all sound passing in or out of a small bubble - inspecting the metamaterial membranes on the device.

"Dolma, I don't suppose that thing is actually in need of repair?" Darya asked his comrade. Dolma looked up from her work and shot Darya a bored look.

"No. Just nothing better to do," groused the woman. Darya frowned in sympathy of the feeling.

So far, the Ascended Eagles had gone from a simple company to a proper legion in about a couple months time. The initial mixture of sellswords, mercenaries, and battle-slaves were pruned of the weak and refined down to only those worthy of commanding in the Ultimates stead. These individuals were selected through a brutal process where-in they were sent on suicide missions, ordered to assassinate each other, or forced to duel the ultimates themselves and survive for at least two minutes.

Only thirty men and women had made it through such a minimal filtering. Quite upsetting.

The survivors - or rather, the closest thing to the worthy on this rock - had been given dignity, honor, command, and luxury to ensure their loyalty to the Ultimates cause. A small selection even showed real promise to be Remade. These men and women had taken quite a bit of the micromanaging tedium out of the operation in Slaver's Bay, but Darya and his team were still often left busy with more important tasks. Unfortunately, these tasks merely required patience and time; this left little freedom for the team to find some measure of entertainment or objective.

Darya walked up to Dolma and kneeled down to meet her face. "It should not be long now, Dolma. The Go-Nin dogs will be ash and trapped spirits in due time, then we will finally be able to achieve our Blue Horizon," Darya gently placed his hand on Dolma's cheek, his comrade pressing into the contact, "but maybe I should find some time for all of us to bond again? We haven't had a chance in quite a while."

Dolma smiled slightly at the suggestion, but then an alert played across Darya's entoptics. It seemed Dolma had received the same message. Darya was almost angry for a moment before he saw the content of the notice.

[Operation Ice Viper successful. Gate dial-in complete, portal open. Eris has been secured. Prepare for operation Blue Horizon.]

Dolma looked shocked but ecstatic at the message. Naomi and Petrov joined into a group chat to plan their next moves. Finally, thought Darya.

Naomi sounded giddy with excitement. [I've dealt with Heshk's slave, no need to be subtle anymore. We can finally put this shit-hole to the torch!]

Darya tutted out into the chat. [Now now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. The city must remain mostly intact. Begin poisoning and assassinating key players in the city's operation. I'll deal with Hizdahr zo Loraq myself. Dolma, go get the Ascended Eagles and have them burn our holdings in the city walls and set them to march into the Dothraki Sea.] There were affirmations from all of Darya's comrades as the chat closed. Dolma looked somewhat disappointed at the fact that skinship would have to wait.

Darya brushed his thumb against Dolma's cheek before removing his palm and standing up. "Do not worry, we will have our chance. And besides, we will not be without goals soon enough." Dolma nodded her head in affirmation before she left to initiate the sabotage of Mereen. Darya went into their abode's basement and activated the gene lock on the weapons locker. Darya selected a number of tools and weapons for his own personal mission: a smart-cloak, his vibro-sword, an EK-PDW loaded with poisoned darts, smart-rope, grenades loaded with asphyxiant, a sealed helmet and mask, and an electro-laser bracelet. Darya suited up and made his way out of the city, screams already echoing through the streets as the Ascended Eagles sacked where they could and his comrades sowed discord.

From Discord they came, to discord shall they plunge these primitives.

BREAK

Tyrion II

Sipping from a piping hot cup of creamed-coffee, Tyrion Lannister found his breast swelling with warmth as he reviewed some of the news from the gatekeepers. He swiped up casually, the second-sight responding instantly and providing him further information on the new plan for fixing the King's Landing sewer system. If anyone can do it, it would be them, Tyrion thought. He swiped up again and found the most recent news on the first drop-off of the wildfire. What had at first looked like a terrible disaster for the program turned out to be the third crisis that his Father, Gatekeeper, and the Council had to deal with within the first week. Not even the first three days, actually. Though he supposed it was better to get these things done with quickly, considering the Hand's & Gatekeeper's Tourney & Festival - Gods, that was a mouthful - was to be by the end of the month, or about two weeks at best. Best not to have any crisis raging by then.

The first drop-off had apparently proven some old legends correct. The Others. Tyrion didn't want to believe it, but the images of the foul undead burning under the bright green of wildfire were rather convincing. Gatekeeper quickly monikered it the necro-plague, presuming that some sort of parasitic creature would possess the corpse and grow some pseudo-muscle as a means of animating the body. Tyrion felt that was just a shot in the dark, but the explanation would certainly confuse the illiterate to a sufficient degree that they would not question Gatekeeper's evaluations. The initial drop-off failure was deemed to be due to a flaw in the ALI that controlled the vacuum balloon, the machine spirit viewing cold bodies as perfectly suitable kindling to burn out the wildfire.

Tyrion wasn't so sure on that explanation either, but that was just a hunch he had. Imp intuition, if you will.

It was very quickly determined by the Council, the Directors, and Tywin that the necro-plague posed a threat to the Seven Kingdoms. Later vacuum balloons and surveillance drones practically proved that an undead horde was slowly marching down south, driving the wildings towards the wall. The Wildfire Disposal Program was then worked into the Zombie Eradication Initiative, the both of which fell under the new Biochemical Hazards Bureau; the BHB was intended to happily encompass any further initiatives dealing with similar dangers as the zombies or wildfire. Tyrion was rather proud that his Father had proposed simply reprogramming the balloons to just 'bomb' the undead legions with wildfire to help control the tide. A proposal to make more wildfire was rejected, but Gatekeeper had devised a safer incendiary substance to use once the wildfire was depleted.

Tyrion switched his focus from infrastructure and waste disposal to Sansa's vlogging channel. The girl was quite the little socialite; while Tyrion - like everyone on Tegon, Planetos sounded ridiculous - couldn't access the live feeds from Saturn, the archived information definitively showed that Sansa had become exceedingly popular. This fame extended to her mother, who had adapted suspiciously well to the fantastical lifestyle of the Titanians. Lady Stark even found herself in the good graces of the Titanian elite, which certainly made for some interesting discussions. Never figured Lady Svafa for a bat, Tyrion thought. Whatever the case, Sansa was happily showing off some of the plans and developments for King's Landing that she had a part in. Joffrey had developed his own social media presence - he was popular with the minority Oligarchs party on Titan - and was eager to assist Sansa in the modernization initiatives Gatekeeper was implementing. Joffrey had confided in Tyrion that he wanted to make sure that the Royal family had a young and relatable figurehead in the mesh space, demonstrating the Iron Thrones dedication to the coming Industrial Revolution. Tyrion figured Joffrey just liked the attention, but it seems the Stark girl had a positive influence on the future monarch; he seemed legitimately happier than he had previously been. Tyrion wondered if the fact that Cersei had been busy cat-fighting with Svafa kept the woman from smothering the poor boy. Tyrion had his muse Imp set a reminder to thank Svafa for keeping the Queen busy with petty slights.

Tyrion checked the time, noticed that the incoming ornithopter was arriving in a bit, then finished his mug of coffee. Tyrion unseated himself and made his way out to the yard of Castle Black. Jon Snow was already waiting there with his direwolf Ghost, who had grown substantially. Ghost was the only direwolf to have not been kept at the kennels in Winterfell. The canine had become a bit of a mascot for the Night's Watch, finding the great beast to fit in quite well with the somber environment and cold. Tyrion looked at the new glass-house being built and smiled at the knowledge that the Night's Watch would have better food and a respite from the cold within the next month.

Returning his gaze towards the southern sky, Tyrion spotted the dragonfly form of the ornithopter as it flew shakily towards Castle Black. It seemed that Robb was practicing again today; he was more stable this time. Good on the lad.

"It seems that your brother has improved significantly, bastard," Tyrion mentioned.

"It would seem so, Imp. At least he can reach the stick," Jon countered. Tyrion smiled at the jest; he was rather fond of Lord Stark's bastard, once the boy developed a sense of humor.

The ornithopter shakily lowered itself down on the designated landing space, the great wings casting snow and wind about wildly. The legs of the metal beast lowered, allowing for the vehicle to rest solidly upon the ground and finally still its wings. As the wings pulled back, the hatch at the rear of the machine lowered to allow Samuel and Robb to leave alongside four other gatekeeper personnel.

Samuel cracked his neck while walking towards Tyrion and Jon, Robb in tow right beside the Director. "Stop jerking the stick around so much, let the machine stabilize on its own. The systems are passively stabilized."

Robb nodded his head in understanding. "I'll work on that. Still getting used to how it handles."

Jon walked up to Robb as the brothers opened their arms and threw themselves into a hearty hug.

"How's the renovations going, Jon?" Robb asked as the brothers pulled apart.

Jon pointed with his head at the rebuilt Wall elevator. "Finally finished putting in the new elevator. Much more stable now. The glass-house should be done by the end of the month." Robb nodded his head at the progress, then the two brothers began walking towards the armory. Tyrion and Samuel followed at their heels. "We have glass floats, glass blowers, and the new blast furnace. With some of the ores shipped here by Gatekeepers trucks, we've been able to start replacing aging portions of buildings. Gatekeeper has set up a garage for the vehicles, which makes it possible for us to use them for our patrols past the Wall."

"And what of the wildlings? With news of the undead threat, you are sooner to encounter them than the zombies," Tyrion interjected. He was legitimately curious about the plans the Night Watch had about such an event.

Jon sighed. "I'm not certain. The rivalry between the Night's Watch and the wildlings is old and bitter. I do not believe a war with the wildlings would be good for the Watch, especially if the undead tide cannot be culled fully by the time they reach the wall. Current estimates put them at roughly a hundred-million. We will run out of wildfire before we destroy that number. And the balloons can only be requisitioned for such a purpose so often, as they are required for other tasks." Tyrion bit his lip at the assessment; the army of the dead was certainly going to be a longer term problem. A more serious effort would have to be taken to fully rid the menace from the face of Tegon, but for now the wildfire would do well to keep the tide back.

The group made their way into the armory, which had been expanded and cleared for the new manufacturing space. The whole room was significantly hotter than outside, but Tyrion refrained from removing his winter coat for a quick visit. Robb looked on at the new works with concern on his face. The young Lord knew that the undead posed a significant threat to the North; the weight of authority was clearly already settling on him hard.

Samuel stiffened suddenly. "Robb, Jon. News from beyond the gate, your brothers and mother will be returning home from Titan. They'll be here next week." Robb and Jon turned suddenly, surprise writ across their features. The both of them suddenly started flicking through their own second-sight, likely searching for the notice.

Robb pulled back a bit. "Bran wants to visit King's Landing? That's… actually not as difficult as it once was. It would be nearly five hours and uncomfortable, but it could be done. Gatekeeper has plans for an airfield in King's Landing, His Grace King Robert has already signed it over to them." Robb stroked his chin in thought, contemplating the possibility. "Bran may just wish to see Father. But this gives me an opportunity to broach the issue of the wildlings to King Robert directly. I could potentially get some sort of plan set-up to handle the defense of the Wall."

Jon looked up in excitement. "Yes! Svafa mentioned that a proper incendiary lab would need to be set-up to eventually replace the wildfire. Castle Black could be where this lab is built, and we may be able to justify having a wildling management program established. Castle Black is ideally positioned to serve as the frontline for this crisis." Robb nodded his head in agreement at the idea.

"It would only be natural for the Night's Watch to perform their traditional duties to the Seven Kingdoms. They will just have Gatekeeper artifice to aid them. Samuel, would it be possible to have proposals for an expansion of Castle Black into some sort of administrative center sometime next week?" Tyrion wondered aloud. The half-man was beginning to see this as an opportunity to help him put his mark on history.

Samuel paused in thought but smiled confidently. "Yes, that should be doable. Thinking of helping Robb plead his case?" Samuel grinned at Tyrion.

"And ensure that House Lannister has a proper place in the defense of the realm. Not only that, but I would have an excuse to ride your ornithopters more often, to attend all of the important policy discussions about the program down south," Tyrion replied. He had ridden in the ornithopter back down to Winterfell and even to White Harbor, watching as Robb Stark brought the gifts of the gatekeepers to the rest of the North. Tyrion planned on using this as a chance to help convince his father to begin accepting the gatekeepers' proposals, so that House Lannister would not be left behind in the coming age of machines.

Robb nodded his head in agreement. "Then it is decided. You will fly with me, my Mother, and my brothers down south to King's Landing so that you may stand in favor of making Castle Black into the spearpoint against the undead menace." Robb held out his hand for Tyrion.

Tyrion took the young Lord's hand and shook it firmly. "I look forward to the trip, Lord Robb."

BREAK

BREAK

Astika V

[The phonon-couple simulations show that a number of slight inefficiencies are likely the cause of the off-tuning,] mused Mucalinda, the muse. Astika pulled up the relevant data and had an evolutionary ALI attempt to work out the errors while he finished up beta-voltaic power cells and the ultra-capacitor array for his new pet project. Astika had finally 'acquired' a proper Valyrian steel shortsword to experiment on; the naga had given up on reforging the metal, finding the idea of human sacrifice to be debased and cringe. He had taken nearly immediately to turning the shortsword into a hyper-edge blade, putting some of his ideas and theories to the test.

Viserys was lounging on a chair while he overlooked the Bay of Pentos, the trade ships sailing across the Narrow Sea. He had a tall glass cup filled with cherry coke and occasionally sipped on the refreshing drink through a thin metal straw. Astika continued to work on his project through his entoptics and the mobile auto-forge that he used to work on his new prize. The slitheroid took out a fresh print of the phonon-couple and tested it on the de-handled dagger.

[The off-tuning has disappeared, the frequencies are lining up exactly now,] reported Mucalinda. Astika was giddy with his new toy, like a primitive child on Christmas day playing with their parents last attempt at salvaging their marriage. As Astika set the auto-forge to print the inductive-couples to connect to the planned beta cells and capacitors, he received an alert on the Seven Kingdoms offer. Astika casually flicked the message open.

[The Seven Kingdoms has officially rejected the Westerosi Trade Development Offer. No counter offer was provided.]

"Motherfuckers!" Astika puffed out angrily, his pneumatics quivering in rage. Viserys loudly popped his lips off of the metal straw and stared at Astika's outburst.

"Whatever is the matter, Naga? An unforeseen hitch in your hobby?" Viserys asked.

Astika took an empty chair and threw it over the balcony, sending the seat out into the streets below. A distant crash and screams echoed up from below. "The Iron Booster Seat rejected our damn offer!" Astika's mood was now thoroughly soured.

Viserys smiled teasingly and swirled his coke for a bit. "What good fortune, I no longer have to renounce my inheritance before the Usurper. I suppose Pathfinder will just have to find more overt means of taking over Westeros." Astika filled in the blank left by the exiled Prince.

"You would think that, wouldn't you? Poppin' your bubble kid, even if Pathfinder actually takes the idea of putting you on the Iron Porta Potty seriously, it won't' be till after we have cemented control over West Essos," Astika explained as he rubbed his hand against his head in agitation. "I'm just not looking forward to Kayle riding my shiny-metal-ass on 'fucking up the deal'," Astika said sarcastically, making finger quotes as appropriate.

Viserys raised an eyebrow. "But did you not, Naga?"

Astika stared at the Prince for a solid minute. "Fuck you. But you are right, but also not really."

Viserys quirked his head in confusion. "And how would that be so?" The exiled Prince pursed his lips around the straw and began slurping on the iced sugar water.

Astika crossed his arms. "Delivery ain't the problem that caused this rejection. So long as Bobby B knew that you would renounce your claim, he'd marry the damn offer if he could have just to prove a point. That man has a one-track mind, and it only services booze, bitches, battle, and overdeveloped reptiles. Which means that someone else with more than two brain cells to rub together and an ounce of economics 101 is responsible for making my near future evenings a hellscape of HR whinging."

Viserys blinked his eyes for a moment before tilting his head at Astika. "Are you suggesting that Tywin Lannister advised the Usurper?" Another dainty sip.

"That's one possibility. For no good reason that I can discern, Tywin is at KL and saw the Pathfinder offer. Somehow, he figured out that the deal was a honeypot and talked sense into Bobby before the deal was accepted," Astika said, stroking his superalloy chin.

"And the other?" Viserys asked, waving for one of the pleasure pod indentures to refill his glass. The buxom gynoid sauntered over, took the glass, and walked into the manse proper to use the Mixologist-Replacer 69©. Much like the shortsword, Astika had 'acquired' the luxurious manse from a particularly reluctant Magister who was caught attempting to subvert Pathfinder operations in Pentos.

"That Gatekeeper has a commanding officer in KL who's not a total socialist loser, and that they not only sniffed out the honeypot but figured out Pathfinder had a medieval hyperinflation fetish." Astika quickly used his admin privileges on an invite only smut site to add the tag. "However, I gotta stress that this isn't an XOR situation here. Both possibilities could be true," Astika added.

The mixologist slurred out 'One bloody nose-candy, comin' right up!' before the machine whirred to work. "I see. So, what does that mean for Pathfinder? Or my Throne?" Viserys inquired. The Prince grabbed a nacho-cheese dusted tortilla chip from a ceramic bowl and popped the junk food into his mouth.

"If option one is true, then we could engineer something to move or eliminate Tywin. Option two is a bitch and a half, while both possibilities being true makes Westeros tough as a Cortical Stack, economically speaking," Astika said. The pleasure pod returned with Viserys' drink and handed the cup to the Prince and made her way back into the manse. Before she could leave the patio, Astika lightly whipped his rattle at the gynoid's rear, making her squeak before leaving. "Fuckin' Gatekeeper gatekeepin' the 7K market; goddamn capitalist nightmare."

"Isn't that Yi-Tian - Kyon, if I recall - sailing to King's Landing with Magister Illyrio Mopatis? Maybe you could call her, figure out some new strategy." Viserys slurped his drink again.

Astika thought about the suggestion, but was distracted by another new alert on his entoptics.

This better not be fuckin' Kayle lookin' to ride my dick about this shitshow, Astika groused before opening the message.

Oh.

Now that was interesting.

Okay, things are coming together again, Astika mused to himself. Astika immediately got to work, opening up CAD and his IDE to begin drafting up a solution to his problems.

Viserys removed his lips from his liquid candy and frowned at the slitheroid. "Finally been outwitted, Naga? Or are you just ignoring me?"

Astika hushed the Prince, which sounded like a quiet rotary saw revving up. "Not now, coke-crotch. I'mma finna trip cyber-balls and prove yet again why everyone is dumber than me." The Prince shrugged his shoulders and motioned over another one of the pleasure pods, a wide grin on his face. Astika ignored the environment around him, booting up his narco-algorithm and playing his favorite psychedelic jazz mix.

Astika was going to do what he has always done to solve his problems; get high-as-fuck and engineer something ridiculous.

BREAK

BREAK

Tywin II

"And you are absolutely certain you are not interested in re-negotiating the deal?" the Pathfinder envoy asked. Tywin, the Small Council, Lady Svafa, and his imp son had been in parlay with the woman - Yi-Tian by appearance, but more specifically Korean according to the envoy - who had been vehemently attempting to get the gathered Westerosi and the gatekeeper to accept the horrid offer.

Lord Baelish opened his hands magnanimously. "We have pre-existing debts with the Iron Bank, and quite substantial ones at that. While you have provided reassurances that the debts will not be a problem, we simply feel it is in our best interest to resolve them before attempting to bank with Pathfinder," drawled Baelish, laying on some heavy condescension to throw off Lady Kyon. The Pathfinder woman seemed unaffected.

"Our offer provides plenty of gold upfront and is quite generous with other trade matters. You would be much better suited to resolving your loans with our support," countered Lady Kyon.

"While your offer affords a substantial sum of Wreaths and Spears, we already have an absence of Dragons and Stags. Our people would find it difficult to do business without our kingdom's preferred coinage; a most inhibiting situation, as I am sure you are aware of," Tywin replied coolly. He smirked lightly at the Pathfinder woman.

Lady Kyon squeezed her 'stress ball' - some type of springy material comprised the thing - and set her jaw tight. "Perfectly."

Lord Stark waved to indicate the whole table. "As I have said, the whole of the Small Council and the King's advisors are in agreement about your offer. We cannot accept it as it is now." Lady Svafa smirked at the final conclusion.

Lady Kyon sat back in her seat in thought. "Then how about I change the offer? Provide a whole new deal, in fact," said Lady Kyon. Tywin tensed his fist; this woman was going to try and appeal to them? Tywin wondered what her game was, as whatever Pathfinder could offer Gatekeeper was liable to give freely.

"In what way?" asked Lord Renly. Tywin seriously contemplated smacking the man silent, but held his temper. Lady Svafa lost her smirk and frowned at the change in the conversation.

"We, of course, have become aware of your necro-plague issue," said Lady Kyon. Tywin felt the tension rise in the room significantly. "Pathfinder has devised an automated zombie eradication system to supplement your vacuum balloon bombing runs. We have surmised that your current system is insufficient to eliminate the zombie hordes, considering the limited supply of wildfire and the need to create a safer incendiary mechanism. Our lead engineer - a good samaritan concerned with the wellbeing of your people - has personally devised these systems to satisfy a number of security concerns that our assistance may normally pose." Lady Kyon snapped her fingers while the Westerosi received a new message on their smart papers. Lady Svafa pulled back in surprise.

Tywin saw a strange, hawk-like machine poised next to a non-descript man for scale, being roughly twice as long as the man was tall. Lady Kyon explained the image presented to Tywin and the others. "These are the Thunderbird aerial bombers. They are designed to support a number of munitions and integrated with a sophisticated ALI that would independently devise optimal bombing strategies while completely avoiding human casualties. It also mounts precision PEP emitters that are capable of providing fire support for when zombies are clustered too close to living entities." Tywin saw a visual demonstration of the described weaponry, zombies detonating and catching flame under the Thunderhawk's watch. "The Thunderhawks will be hard-coded to never strike living creatures or destroy artificial structures. As such, they will not pose a risk to your sovereignty or lands; naturally, more close-quarters defenses would be left to the Iron Throne and Gatekeeper's discretion. To construct a fleet and support the eradication effort, we would also provide specialized auto-factories hard-coded to obey your specifications," added Lady Kyon as an image of the structure was shown to all.

Tywin looked up at the gathered Westerosi leaders. Lord Stark was clearly suspicious of the offer, while Pycell and Varys seemed more interested in the exotic design of the war-system. Baelish looked unimpressed - clearly waiting for the price for such a boon - while Renly and Tyrion seemed interested in the offer so far. Lady Svafa gaped at the Pathfinder woman.

"And what, pray tell, will this cost us?" inquired Lord Baelish. Lady Kyon smirked and snapped her fingers again. Tywin saw a new offer appear on the smart paper.

[A Pathfinder Embassy in King's Landing.

[A Pathfinder Planetos Public Bank (PPPB) branch opened in King's Landing.

[An official royal writ authorizing the use of indentured servitude solely by Pathfinder only within King's Landing for official PPPB and Embassy operations.

[A mutual self-defense pact between Pathfinder, the Seven Kingdoms, and Gatekeeper.]

Tywin stared at the new offer. He then glanced over at Lord Stark, who eyed the proposed deal cautiously. Tywin returned his gaze to the smart paper, took the 'e-pen', and wrote a message quickly to the other Westerosi members and Lady Svafa. Tywin looked back at Lord Stark, who read the suggestion and looked hesitant.

Lady Svafa sighed. "We do need a more substantial plan and infrastructure to deal with the zombies. I'll make one last recommendation," said Lady Svafa, who blinked rapidly for a second before Lord Stark and Tywin looked at their smart papers again. Tywin nodded his approval at Lord Stark.

Lord Stark straightened himself in his chair. "We will only accept your proposal with the following changes added," spoke Lord Stark as Lady Kyon took interest in the shift in the discussion. "First, Pathfinder agrees and swears to have all operations and mercantile ventures operating within Westeros obey the Laws and Regulations as defined by the Seven Kingdoms. Second, that all Pathfinder operations ensure that all Dragons and Stags remain within Westerosi borders and be subject to banking laws as appropriate, including legal action if necessary. Third, Pathfinder shall relinquish the offered designs and their ownership to the Seven Kingdoms and Gatekeeper. Fourth, that Pathfinder acknowledges the Seven Kingdoms and Gatekeepers sovereign right to engage in our own mercantile ventures without undue litigation or management by Pathfinder or its owners. And Fifth, that the ALI is to be modified or replaced as necessary so as to allow for remote piloting by human controllers. Is that acceptable?" Tywin watched Lady Kyon carefully.

The Pathfinder woman rolled the stress ball in her hand. "That will be acceptable, Lord Stark. I have modified the contract appropriately," said Lady Kyon as Tywin checked the updated terms, "and believe that we are ready to sign a deal."

Lord Stark nodded his head in agreement as he placed his signature on the smart paper, as did the other members of the Small Council, Lady Svafa, and Tywin himself as witness. Lady Kyon stood up from her seat. "I apologize for being crass, but is there anywhere in this city that doesn't stink of piss and shit?"

Lady Svafa made a series of chirps, whistles, and clicks that shocked Tywin nearly out of his seat. To his utter surprise, Lady Kyon replied with an alternate sequence which was countered by Lady Svafa raising a middle finger at the Pathfinder woman. Lady Kyon shook her head and promptly left the meeting chambers.

Tywin turned to the council members and the gatekeeper. "Can I just have some official position now? Ask His Grace the King to make something up."

BREAK

Luwin II

Luwin looked through the new reports on his administrative smart-paper. It was like the original sheets given by Gatekeeper, but it was a full computer system. Using the wondrous e-pen, Luwin no longer needed ink. These sheets were intended to help dramatically expand the industrialization of Westeros and connect the disparate Kingdoms and holdings through the Gatekeeper network. Of course, Luwin received his for other reasons.

Luwin heard a knock on his door. "Come in, it is unlocked," called out the old Maester. The door opened and Diego stepped into the turret room. Diego closed the door behind him and latched the lock. Luwin opened a hidden compartment on his desk and retrieved the privacy field pad, setting it on the table.

"Maester Luwin," said Diego.

"Ser Diego," replied Luwin. Luwin tapped the privacy field power button as Diego walked up and took a seat next to the Maester. A low thrum hissed out, the air distorting for a moment; now, they could speak privately.

"Sentinel," said Luwin.

"Sentinel," said Diego. The Jovian pulled out a cigar box, took out one of the spiced delicacies, and took to preparing a smoke for himself. Luwin waited patiently throughout the whole process, watching as Diego cut the end and carefully set flame to the now exposed edge. Diego took a quick puff on the item and blew out.

Luwin reclined in his chair. "So, the boy confirms the contents of the letter?"

Diego took another puff and exhaled, reclining in his own chair. "That he did. Left for King's Landing a couple hours ago, he should be able to help keep our little web tied up"

Luwin scoffed at the comment. "I wonder endlessly if it was the right choice to join you, Diego. I've cared for the Starks and the ravens here in the North; to betray both is rather weighing on me. To think, so many dutiful birds carrying messages to and fro, they will all die of a tumor. Just to read the contents of a letter."

"And quite the contents we have read, my comrade. Imagine the disaster that would have occurred if that ill-woman's letter had reached Catelyn," reassured Diego. Luwin shook his head.

"Did Whisper not already confirm the meaning of the letter when we sent the scan? I could imagine that you would want a second opinion, but I don't think it would have been impossible to consult another async."

Diego took another drag, but then pulled out a whiskey flask. He blew out the smoke and took a sip. "The contents I was confident about, but I knew not if the letter itself held any secrets our machines might have missed." Diego stared up at the ceiling, looking wistful. "It was just a happy coincidence. Bran did what he always did with the Tower, the siblings did what they always have done behind closed doors."

Luwin shot Diego a frown, one filled with shame and guilt. "You've acted on quite a few hunches, Diego."

"And look how often I've been right."

Luwin sagged into his seat, defeated. "I'm just glad that you caught that Catspaw. How many spaces did you run, again?" Diego looked up in thought.

"One-hundred and forty-two different variations, with all of the psychosurgical tricks I knew. Joffrey really is an idiot." Diego took another swig of whiskey, pulling a stool up using his feet and crossing his legs over the top of the support.

Luwin leaned on his elbow, resting his head on his fist. "So, Bran goes to the Wall next. Jon is ready?"

"As ready as he'll ever be. After that, we just have to keep an eye on the Ultimates. Wherever they are. Interesting stories coming out of East Essos, though."

Luwing looked at one of his older books, one that detailed the different gods of Westeros, Essos, and even some beyond that. "Can we win, Diego? I know not what it will cost us to survive."

Diego closed his cigar case, capped his whiskey, righted himself, and then looked Luwin in the eyes.

"I have faith, comrade. As should you."

BREAK

Joffrey II

"And here we have some of the new horticultural, agricultural, and biotechnological offerings being provided by Gatekeeper for the upcoming HGTF event. What you see are display offerings, while blueprints and manuals will be distributed as the newly improved smart-paper and e-pen sets. Not only that, but we have bio-sample tanks and basic crates with all the materials necessary to bootstrap an agricultural revolution. We expect many great things for the future of farming in Westeros, all thanks to Gatekeeper," explained Joffrey's betrothed, Sansa.

Sansa was indicating a large Gatekeeper garden space, like the ones that would be installed in the new glass-gardens being built by the Starks and the Night's Watch. There were a variety of new plants - most of which were genetically modified - to help improve and supplement the Westerosi diet. Staple foods such as golden rice, arctic-wheat, purple-tomatoes, disease resistant yams, sweet potatoes, even corn. A variety of other native Westerosi stock was present as well, all of which were genetically modified for a variety of purposes and climates. Drought resistant, reduced water intake, insect-repellant, disease-resistant, temperature-tolerant, altered soil preferences, accelerated growth, and expanded yield. A variety of new symbiotic crops were also available: enhanced peanut grass for nitrogen fixation, fungi to distribute nutrients, and spores that helped eradicate weeds.

Joffrey and Sansa made their way to the tanks and crates. Sansa opened one of the crates, showing off the kits needed to implement many of the new changes. "Here, we have the tools necessary to genetically modify crops. We have determined that individual lords and the Wardens would be best suited to determining what modifications would best serve their needs. All genetic samples are included in the bio-sample tanks, which can be reproduced and multiplied using the genetic kit included with everything. Naturally, the smart-paper will hold all relevant manuals as will the tank and crate. Smart-paper may also connect to Gatekeeper repositories to receive up-to-date information on all genetic projects." Sansa pulled out all of the items included in the kit, explaining what they were and what they were to be used for. Joffrey watched attentively, recording the whole process using his ecto. Jester - Joffrey's muse - labeled everything appropriately and with good comedic taste. The couple were both recording their endeavor, vlogging their contributions to the upcoming Hand's & Gatekeeper's Tourney & Festival - HGTF for short - to have sent through media channels back to the gate-walkers home system. Joffrey and Sansa would record each other and provide the combined data into a single press-release for consumption and modification by the transhuman media.

The intent was simple: drum up support for continued and expanded uplift projects in Westeros. Joffrey may not be King and Sansa may not be Queen - may not ever, with trans-mortality - but this was the pair's way of contributing to the good of the realm. Joffrey also enjoyed the attention from the Commonwealth Oligarch party and many of the inner system groups.

In fact, Joffrey and Sansa had taken great care to cultivate their media presence and style; thanks to the wonders of XP recording, Joffrey had altered his personal clothing style and took effort to alter the way he held himself in public. The young Prince was rather shocked by how undignified he had looked; that would not do at all. Joffrey selected many patterns from Elysium's own royals - the Oaxaca-Maartens - to incorporate into a new and modernized wardrobe. He had acquired many of the gatekeepers exotic clothing materials and worked with his betrothed to design sets that were a blend of Elysium and Westerosi aesthetic; the set was a smash hit, to say the least. Joffrey had the foresight to patent the patterns - something his dear betrothed disliked but relented to - so that he may license them out to fashion corporations throughout the Solar System. The end result was a healthy supply of financial resources; Joffrey had appeased Sansa by ensuring that all acquired wealth was invested into Gatekeeper for expanded operations. Joffrey's civic-net and -list followings received notable boosts from that particular venture. But Joffrey truly felt pride when his Father, Uncle, and Grandfather had praised him for his initiative and accomplishment. His Mother had praised him - naturally - but she had expressed doubt over his use of the gatekeeper tools for such an achievement. Joffrey had dismissed the concerns, as he was fairly certain that his Mother was just unfamiliar with the wonders of the gate-walkers. He and his dear betrothed had built themselves a reputation, one potent enough that Joffrey contemplated proposing the establishment of a media business with Sansa.

Naturally, Sansa had been a media and fashion diva herself. Much of the genius behind the clothing line came from his betrothed, and Sansa's feminine fashion line had a supreme impact on Solar sensibilities. Whereas Joffrey's venture had accrued much wealth and resources, Sansa had the most sweeping influence on the fashion scene; Lunar houses had made mimics and copies of Sansa's free- & open-source clothing. Much like Joffrey's masculine line, Sansa had incorporated transhuman and Westerosi aesthetics; in this case, Sansa had taken Titanian fey and gothic styles and worked in traditional Westerosi dress elements to create what she called Business-Duchess. Even Heikki Virjonen took to the style, in solidarity of Catelyn's return to Westeros and as a sign of friendship between the Seven Kingdoms and the Commonwealth.

Sansa then signaled for Joffrey to take control for the next portion of their tour. Joffrey smiled as he led his dear betrothed to where Gatekeeper personnel and bots were busy setting up the sports and games for the festival. Joffrey waved to a field with a number of subdivisions and demarcations set-up. "Here we have the sports field, with areas set-aside for European football, rugby, and volley-ball. Gatekeeper players and instructors will help teach these sports to interested individuals and ensure that fair-play is had by all," Joffrey said as he sauntered off to a separate area filled with many soft bodied obstacles aligned around each other, "and here we have the fields for free-running, parkour, and competitive tag. Similar personnel arrangement as the open-field sports."

Joffrey moved his way to another section of the festival park set-up by Gatekeeper. "If I remember correctly, that will not be all for contests and sports, my Dear Betrothed," Sansa added in. Joffrey smiled and nodded as the pair reached a roped off space.

"Here we have the boxing and MMA ring. Alternating games will be set-up, and score boards will help track competitors in a tournament over the coming festival days," elaborated Joffrey as he indicated the ring and scoreboard. "But, that is not what I am most looking forward to," Joffrey said as he walked to the cliff-side field furthest from the other festival sites.

The space had been cleared and roped off with clear danger signs posted around. Joffrey nodded to the gatekeeper militiaman watching over the space, who allowed Joffrey and Sansa through. Making his way to the northern facing side of the space, Joffrey picked up one of the gatekeepers sporting long-rails. He then began explaining the device and the sport it was to be used for. "Here we have the Commonwealth Militia Straight Arrow sporting long-rail. This is primarily a hunting and sporting weapon with rather minimal power and discharge-rate, but excellent precision and ergonomics. Note how this weapon clearly evokes the smooth stylings of wooden-stocked firearms of old. This device releases discarding-sabot finned-darts and is reloaded using a bolt-action mechanism. Power cells are minimal, as the device is expected to be plugged into an external power source. Gatekeeper has tapped the Blackwater Rush and installed both solar and wind systems to provide power in King's Landing. To ensure that these weapons cannot be used for nefarious purposes, they are gene-locked and use detection methods to determine if a living target is in its firing line." Joffrey returned the weapon to the rack he pulled it from. Joffrey waved out past the cliff-side. "Gatekeeper personnel will set small automated balloons out over the Blackwater bay to be used as targets. They will float out to various heights and distances, and some will even move. Balloons will also be color labeled as targets or preserves, with point deduction or elimination from hitting a preserve balloon. My Father His Grace the King has formally ordered that the Blackwater Bay be cleared of ships in this particular area to ensure that this sporting event may occur safely; both Gold Cloak and Commonwealth Naval Men will help ensure that these orders are obeyed."

Joffrey returned his gaze to his dear betrothed and found her hopping in place excitedly, clapping her hands eagerly. "Oh, Joffrey, you looked just like those 'field reporters' of the Commonwealth, or even Experia! This festival is going to be spectacular! Lady Svafa informed me that they have begun work on a light-show display, one even bigger than the one in Winterfell," preened Sansa. Her face brightened a bit and smiled widely. "Let's interview Svafa! That would be great for the vlog."

Joffrey smiled back and nodded his head in affirmation. "That sounds like a splendid plan. Let's get to it, she may be busy with the Small Council later."

Joffrey followed along his betrothed and took a moment to appreciate her 'dress'. Something Joffrey had originally found distasteful but had now grown on him was the gate-walker preference for pants and leggings. Sansa had eagerly incorporated form-fitting pants, shorter skirts, and tall high-heeled boots into her clothing line. While the traditional dresses and gowns of Westeros were excellent and beautiful garments, Joffrey had quickly decided that he preferred the more adventurous designs of the gate-walkers. Not only that, but Joffrey found that his own garments were better fitting and more freeing than more constrained Westerosi designs.

Joffrey spotted Lady Svafa's mesh ID tag somewhere in the Tournament camp being set-up and made his way to approach the Commonwealth woman. However, his dear betrothed grabbed him and pulled him to hide in a bush, a worried look on her face. Joffrey was about to ask what was happening when he saw the cause of Sansa's actions: his Mother was approaching Lady Svafa at a notably swift pace.

Gods be good, Joffrey prayed, hiding further into the bush while he and Sansa watched the unfolding conflict.

"I demand you remove the foul trinkets from my son and my future daughter-in-law; it has come to my attention that they have been defiled by your peoples disturbed standards of dress," demanded his Mother.

Lady Svafa stopped flicking through her entoptics, and turned to face his Mother. "No. They are responsible with the ectos, and they deserve some independence. You should be proud of them; they aren't even full-adults yet and they already have a fashion business. They wouldn't have been able to pull that off without the ectos," countered Lady Svafa as she returned to her work. "Also, 'disturbed'? I just think you dislike being the third prettiest female in this damn city." Lady Svafa made an exaggerated face of shock and dramatically faced Joffrey's Mother yet again. "Oh no, did I just say that out loud? I did, didn't I? Well, secrets out I suppose, can't put it back in Pandora's box. Now, fuck off. I'm busy."

Joffrey's Mother gaped viciously at Lady Svafa, and pointed accusingly at the woman. "You put them to it, didn't you?! Trying to sully the good image of the Royal family, by having them dress as you, whore!"

Lady Svafa performed a heel-face turn towards Joffrey's Mother. "Okay, guess we're doing this bitch. Or should that be Queen Bitch? Certainly an appropriate title for someone like you."

"Such disrespect against a Royal. Your degenerate democratic ideals will be your end, whore."

"Is that a threat?"

Joffrey's Mother smirked condescendingly. "I could have my husband - the True King - order you beheaded," Joffrey knew that wouldn't work, "for your treasonous slander."

Lady Svafa laughed once. Then twice. Then she fell into a hysterical fit of giggling, her voice twinged with the chirping quality of Titanian mirth. "Oh, that is rich. You are fucking lucky I have zero attraction to your husband; if I did, I'd have fucking replaced you by now. Robert isn't going to do anything, and there's nothing you can do about it," mocked Lady Svafa. Joffrey cringed at the assessment; it was painfully accurate, he supposed.

"You dare threaten to usurp me!?" screamed Joffrey's Mother.

"Aha~! No, bitch. I said I could replace you. I have no interest in being as sad and unhappy as you."

Joffrey's Mother fumed visibly, her breathing rapid and shallow. "I am the QUEEN, my husband is KING, and your insolence will end toda-" screeched Joffrey's Mother, letting out a sharp yelp as Lady Svafa stepped forward and plucked one of the Queen's hairs from her head. The Gold Cloaks looked stunned by the act; they had expected this screaming match to be like the others. They glanced at each other in confusion, unsure as to what to do.

Joffrey looked on in shock himself, his dear betrothed clutching his shoulder in fear. This had never happened before between the two.

"I… yo-you MONGREL ANIMAL! Seize her!" Joffrey's Mother commanded the Gold Cloaks. They looked tense, glancing between each other and between the Queen and Lady Svafa. Just as one of them went to take a step, Lady Svafa placed her hand on her pistol. The Gold Cloaks froze.

"Take another step forward if you want to become fertilizer." The Gold Cloaks stepped back and away from Lady Svafa. Joffrey's Mother stared in shock at the cowardice. "No takers? Smart boys, then. Now, Cersei - Queen Bitch, Bitch Queen, Queen of Bitches - don't ever fucking try this shit with me ever again." Svafa leaned menacingly towards Joffrey's Mother. "And I better not find out you tried to fuck with those kids."

With that, Lady Svafa leaned back and relaxed as if nothing had happened. "Now, please politely leave the camp, leave me alone, and go fuck yourself."

Joffrey's Mother gaped at Lady Svafa before she adjusted her posture, changed her disposition such that it seemed nothing was amiss, and walked away. The Gold Cloaks went to follow her, but it seemed she wasn't having that. "Follow me and I will have your heads."

The Gold Cloaks shuffled uneasily before leaving some other direction, away from the Queen and Lady Svafa. Joffrey saw that Sansa had sent a chat request; he accepted.

[I think she needs space,] whispered Sansa.

[Agreed. I'm feeling matcha today, my dear,] Joffrey replied.

[Sounds good.] The couple slinked away, avoiding the gaze of the Commonwealth woman and taking care to avoid where the Queen may be.

BREAK

Jaime I

Walking through the sconce lit walls of the Red Keep, Ser Jaime Lannister did his best to calm his running mind. The Stark boy had lived - and not just lived, but could walk, run, and glide using the strange fabric of the gatekeepers. Lord Stark had panicked amusingly when he first saw the boy glide down from a tall tree, the miraculous fabric billowing out like bat-wings. Jaime was shocked to see the sight as well, but he quickly got over the feeling.

Jaime's son and the boy's future wife had been all too eager to tell Jaime of the fantastical realm of Titan. They had told Jaime that the Titanians would soar through vibrant chandelier cities, their homes contained in a great aviary. They would live like bats, squeaking just like the infernal creatures - 'echolocation', sight through sound. The couple had insisted that Jaime try the gatekeepers 'ectos', but he had adamantly refused. The little devices somehow connected with one's mind and senses, even allowing for these things to be preserved and sent like a letter; Jaime did not like the idea of the gatekeepers having a potential window into his soul. No, he would make do with the 'false color' images of Titan the children would show him through smart-paper. Jaime had paid more attention to the Titanians amongst the gatekeepers - particularly Lady Svafa, which caused Cersei some consternation - and found that they had a strangely high-pitched chirp to their voices at times. When they laughed or giggled, they would titter out short but quiet squeaks; when they raised their voices, a sharp trill would escape alongside their yelling. Real bat-people, like some Sothoryosi myth.

Strange times.

Jaime's only consolation was that the Stark boy claims to have simply fallen from the tower. The boy told the tale with lucidity and accuracy, how he had simply put too much of his weight on a loose and wet stone. Utter bullshit, that was. How the boy's mother had agreed to let the little bat-to-be learn to fly on Titan escaped Jaime, but he supposed that it might have been some attempt by the mother to protect her child - if the boy could fall, he might as well learn to soar. Whatever the case on the odd Titanian situation, Jaime had no idea what the Starks game was, for there could be no other reason for the boy to claim to have simply fallen if not that he were told to do so by his elders. Jaime supposed that the Starks were being political - the gatekeepers had easily saved the child, and he came back seemingly freer and stronger than ever. But Jaime couldn't simply trust such suppositions; he needed more information.

Suddenly, the torch sconces went out. There was no wind or breeze, the flames had simply snuffed themselves dark. Jaime still had some moonlight through the Keep windows, but he found the sudden darkness deeply threatening. Then came the growling.

Jaime turned towards the sound and saw one of the Stark's direwolves leave the shadows. Jaime swore that he heard no paw steps or panting from the creature, let alone that the beast was supposed to be in the gatekeeper kennels at Winterfell. Jaime Lannister reached for the hilt of his sword, but found his strength failing him. The Kingsguard started to sway on his feet, his eyes heavy and difficult to keep open. Jaime tried to put every ounce of his being into fighting off the unnatural tiredness, but he quickly found that to be a losing battle.

Jaime Lannister fell to a heap on the ground, the direwolf growling the whole time.

BREAK

Bran III

Summer sniffed the collapsed form of the Kingsguard, confirming through Bran's sympathetic link that the knight was fast unconscious. Bran clinged to the Red keep ceiling alcove, his form hidden through his smart cloak. Bran mentally unattached the nano-gecko grips on his feet and gloves, allowing him to enter free-fall. Just as the descent had accelerated to an almost dangerous level, Bran threw out his smart-cloak wings and safely glided down towards the Kingslayer.

Bran looked at the man through his entoptics, the imagery being transferred in by cameras studding the hood covering his face. Bran sent Summer to watch his perimeter and alert him of any trespassers as the boy placed his fingers on Jaime Lannister's temple.

Bran probed the man's psyche and mnemonics, searching through the knight's memories for a particular moment. Bran caught glimpses of the Queen in undue circumstance, causing a well of disgust to form in his stomach; Bran forced the feeling into the id of his own psyche. Finally, Bran reached the memories of the Broken Tower. Twisting his will into sharp scalpels, Bran excised the memories and their associations from Jaime Lannister's brain, eliminating a potential complication for Firewall's operations in Westeros. Bran double-checked that he was still private, and then he sent a subliminal command to the knight.

Bran stepped out of the way as Jaime Lannister stood up like a puppet and unconsciously returned to his own chambers. The knight would have no memory of this evening.

Bran quickly reached out his senses and detected the Queen out in the Red Keep gardens; it seems she was having a late night stroll. The Queen had two Red Cloaks with her - seems she no longer trusted the Gold - and was slowly making her way back to the Red Keep. As Bran approached a window and carefully opened the glass covering, Bran directed Summer to sprint down towards the garden. Bran only had to wait a minute before his direwolf had run out in front of the group, growling and barking aggressively. The Queen screamed while the Red Cloaks drew their swords. Bran sent Summer on a long route through the garden, leading the guards away. The Queen called out to the guards, telling them to protect her. Bran sent his will to the Queen, who shifted around before falling to the ground.

Bran leapt from the window and glided down to the prone Queen. Bran landed just in front of the woman. Again, Bran excised the memories of his fall from the Queen's memories but before he could plant the subliminal message, he heard the shuffling of the guards. Bran quickly turned to face the Red Cloaks, who had drawn their swords and were approaching Bran. Just as the guard was about to actualize his intent to yell 'Assassin!' Bran slithered his will into both men; their minds were weaker than Summer's. The Red Cloaks froze.

Bran sent the command, and the two Red Cloaks faced each other in combat. The larger one thrust forward, attempting to impale his smaller fellow, but the attack missed. The smaller guard came in close in an attempt to put his blade into the larger guard's neck. The larger guard simply shoved the smaller to the ground before laying over-top the smaller man and worming his sword into an opening in the plate armor. The smaller guard gurgled out a bit as blood leaked from his throat and coated his chest and face, while the larger guard stood up. The larger guard then took out a dagger and slit his own throat open. The winner fell atop his defeated opponent, both guards slowly dying.

Bran quickly returned his attention to the Queen and implanted the subliminal command. As the Queen walked off in a stupor, Bran pulled a vial from his smart-cloak. Bran poured the bright-blue smart-acid onto the dead guards, the substance rapidly decomposing their mass into fine dust. Bran searched the recorded maps of the keep, and made his way to the catacombs with Summer in tow.

The Lannister's would no longer threaten the stability of the realm if Firewall had anything to say about it.

Last edited: Wednesday at 7:24 PM

BREAK

Eddard V

Ned hugged Cat as his eldest son and Samuel prepared the ornithopter for a return flight to Winterfell. Pulling away from the hug, Ned looked at Robb one more time; his eldest son had grown significantly in the past months, becoming a proper 'pilot' for Gatekeeper. The young man was busy checking the ornithopters parts, making sure that the flying machine was ready for its five hour flight.

"Ned, I know it is hard, but I think that this Plurality meeting could be immensely beneficial for us - for the realm," Cat reassured. Ned shook his head but relented.

"Aye, I can understand that. But is it really necessary to bring Rickon and Arya along with you? I know that the Titanians are good people, but they are so… strange. It worries me how much we are changing."

Cat looked sympathetically at Ned and stroked his cheek. "It won't be for as long as last time. And I know how you feel, but it is important that we show just as much an effort at understanding them as they show to understand and assist us. Besides, Arya has been begging us to go. Rickon has been wanting to return as well, but I think he just wants the fruit snacks," said Catelyn as she pulled from Ned to pick up Rickon. "Bran will stay with you for the tourney and festival. He says he wants to visit the Wall after the festival is over, for what reason I do not know. But he is really growing to be a strong boy. Robb will help make all of that happen." Catelyn then carried Rickon to the back of the ornithopter and entered the gatekeeper machine.

Ned noticed Robb walk up to him, his eldest son placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Father. If you want me to take you back to Winterfell, or King's Landing, or even Dorne itself then just message me. I'll always be available for you," said Robb as he pulled Ned into a tight hug. After a moment they pulled apart.

"I… I know, it is just so strange. But thank you, my son. I'll be sure to message you if I need anything," Ned said sadly as he waved his son off. Robb went up the back of the ornithopter and Ned saw him take his spot up at the 'cockpit' - somewhat crass name, to be honest - and prepare the ornithopter for takeoff. Ned put in the 'earplugs' to protect his hearing and stepped away from the ornithopter and the airfield. The machine's wings unfolded and began beating rhythmically, the whine of the 'jet engines' picking up even through the earplugs. Then, the ornithopter lifted from the ground and slowly rose into the sky. The ornithopter climbed higher and turned around, making its way back North to Winterfell. And Wolfs Gate.

Robert walked up beside Ned and slapped Ned on the back. "Quite a marvel, that ornithopter is. We spent months on the King's Road, and this gatekeeper machine can make the journey in hours. Too bad it can't hold more people." Ned stared solemnly as the ornithopter slowly grew smaller and eventually disappeared entirely. "So, what does this make your Lady Wife, Ned? A she-wolf, or a she-bat?"

Ned sputtered in surprise, blinking his eyes in disbelief at the audacity of his friend. Ned got control of himself however, and realized that he shouldn't have been so surprised; of course Robert would say that. "I don't know, I really don't… I feel lost, Robert. I really do."

Robert gave Ned a sympathetic look. "Oh, Ned, don't worry too much. Your family is just moving on to new ventures, much like my son, Joffrey. Gods, I am so happy that lad finally found a way to make himself useful. To think, he is one of the prestigious donors to the Gatekeeper company; I finally feel like the Iron Throne is actually paying back some of what the gatekeepers are giving us." Ned sighed in resignation, feeling only somewhat better about the whole situation. "Say Ned, you know your Lady Wife's Titanian friend, Heikki Virjonen? Now that is a right sensual woman, I dare say! Mayhaps in the future we could invite her to King's Landing, and I could show her some Westerosi hospitality, eh? Ha-Ha!"

Ned was about to counter Robert's boisterous claim but Ned remembered some of Cat's stories about the Commonwealth minister's lifestyle. "Aye, I suppose you could, Robert. I suppose you could."

Robert chuckled lightly to himself. "Nay, I'm probably too old, fat, and ugly for her taste. But gods, her husband is a lucky man."

Ned wasn't sure Robert had any idea what kind of life Heikki and her husband led.

BREAK

Barristan I

The whip cracks of the gatekeepers 'sporting long-rails' echoed across the court-yard, the whistle of the weapons bolts sailing through the air hinting at the trajectory of the shots. Several of the balloons floating out over the Blackwater Bay popped loudly, the resulting contact getting tallied on the great smart-paper score board of the gatekeepers. The more precise and centered the shot, the higher the score. A couple of the contestants had accidentally grazed one of the preserved balloons, deducting points from their total. The balloons floated about lazily or swiftly, rising or falling, swaying to and fro; the whole dance was meant to test the marksman's skills and create a more dynamic and entertaining spectacle. Several of the gathered smallfolk had started bets on the different competitors, looking to scry who would be the winner for any given round. Ser Barristan Selmy had actually placed his own bet on the gatekeeper woman Vayl Chang, who so far demonstrated nigh preternatural precision and speed.

The Hand's & Gatekeeper's Tourney & Festival had begun four days ago and the festivities had done nought but grow. Several great lordly houses and a few of the other Wardens had arrived for the event, looking to meet and parlay with the newest addition to the Seven Kingdoms. Gatekeeper personnel and 'bots' were kept constantly busy when they weren't competing in some of their games, speaking with minor and major lords about the projects and offerings the gatekeepers had provided. All Wardens and their houses spoke personally with the Small Council and Lady Svafa about how to implement many of the new gifts and tools being shown off at the 'tech-fair'.

If anywhere was popular, it was that fair. Barristan had walked through that space some time ago and had seen many a wondrous item or demonstration. The houses of the Reach had crowded the section on gatekeeper agriculture, clamoring for explanations and requesting some of their 'bio-tanks' and 'genetics-crates', eagerly inquiring with the personnel on what kinds of offerings were available for their given farmlands. There were exotic windmills - called 'wind-turbines' by the gatekeepers - of several varieties; darrieus, helical, H-rotor, and savonius varieties were all demonstrated. The devices were exceptionally popular, as they allowed for lords to power 'electric motors' using nothing but the 'fullerene-cables' of the gatekeepers, sending force through the air itself to grind grain or turn cogs. Smart-paper sets with their e-pens and carrying cases were given out freely, many a minor lord looking through the wonders on offer that had reputedly made Winterfell wealthy beyond prior understanding. Many of the devices detailed in the smart-paper were present as a form of display, showing off looms, blast furnaces, alchemical sets, float-glass, and even live glass blowers working the once solely Myrish art. Cement, concrete, stainless steel, 'biofilm' sheets and ceramics, and a whole legion of different novel glasses were shown off. Great interest was had in the 'vehicles' and 'bots' of the gatekeepers, but these were only offered specifically to lords who were requesting more substantial projects from the gatekeepers. There were even some attempted thefts of the living-machines; these were quickly stopped by the Commonwealth Militiamen.

Which brought Barristan's mind back to the unpleasant events of the joust on the second and third day. Ser Hugh of the Vale was saved quickly by the gatekeeper maesters, which had done little to quell the anger of Lady Svafa at the incident. Barristan knew that tourney's often dealt with death, but it seems the gatekeepers were significantly less tolerant of such things. King Robert had permitted Gregor Clegane to continue competing, so long as he provided one-hundred gold Dragons to Hugh as 'compensation' for having nearly killed the man, and an extra twenty-five Dragons were demanded by the King as payment for having created a disturbance at the great tourney & festival. Gregor Clegane was upset about the event, but it seemed Lord Lannister had helped to keep the dog's mouth muzzled. Unfortunately, when Gregor had lost to Lorass Tyrell and killed his own steed, the Commonwealth Militiamen had immediately ordered the knight to stand down and surrender himself to arrest. The Militiamen had released warning shots from their weapons, shocking everyone with the display. The lead Militiaman - a Corporal Alana Crawford - had told Ser Gregor 'One more fucking step, and its your kneecaps'. Gregor seemed to have taken offense to being commanded by a woman for the second-time in two days, so he took that extra step. The Militiamen fired into Gregor's legs and knees, throwing the Mountain that Rides to the ground before the gatekeepers 'smart-rope' was loosed on the monstrous man. Gregor fought against the constraint violently while the Militiamen tried to 'tase' him; they had to have one of their maesters administer some sort of sleep poison to finally subdue the man. Tywin, His Grace the King, Lord Stark, and Lady Svafa convened and determined that Gregor was to be jailed by the gatekeepers for attempted assault, animal cruelty, and disturbance of the peace. Tywin had somehow convinced the gatekeepers to heal the Mountain's legs so that he may not live the rest of his life as a cripple. Barristan had heard that Sandor Clegane had only scoffed at the ordeal, muttering something about the folly of challenging the gatekeepers.

Barristan had increasingly come to a similar conclusion as the Hound; the gatekeepers were powerful beyond understanding, and the only people who apparently challenged their supremacy was another company of gate-walkers called Pathfinder. Barristan had heard some of the deliberations regarding the rival gate-walkers, as Pathfinder had deemed it appropriate to somehow cripple the power of the Free-Cities and sow economic sorrow throughout all of West Essos. Barristan wasn't really a coin-oriented individual, but the behavior of Pathfinder was without doubt a gross violence of its own kind. Hopefully, Gatekeeper and Pathfinder would keep their conflict to a level of petty slights and political shanking; open warfare between gate-walkers must be a terrible and destructive affair to rival the Valyrian Freeholds of old.

To Barristan's surprise, even the Dornish Prince Oberyn Martell had arrived with a retinue for the Gatekeeper Festival. The Prince had apparently laughed uproariously at the plight and disgrace of Gregor Clegane, stating that it was justice that women were the ones to bring the Mountain low. Apparently, careful planning had to happen to ensure that Prince Oberyn and the Lannister's were not present for any of the negotiations. Barristan had heard from one of the Gold Cloaks that Oberyn had been baffled by the 'weebified' servitor in the Red Keep. Apparently, all the servitors which spoke the Common Tongue had been busy with more practical affairs. Barristan still distinctly remembers the first time he had to deal with the odd bot, trying to interpret its language and having to ask the Small Council members for assistance. Whatever the case, it seems that Oberyn had secured a special project from the gatekeepers focused on establishing coffee fields down in Dorne, as apparently the climate was more suitable there. Alongside the other agricultural goods provided by Gatekeeper, Dorne would receive - much like the other Warden houses - a company of around two-hundred and fifty gatekeeper personnel to help 'industrialize' the Seven Kingdoms.

From what Barristan had surmised, the Titanian Commonwealth and allied powers around Saturn had gathered up substantial numbers of volunteers and colonists looking to make a life in Westeros. Not only that, but Barristan had heard Lord Stark mention that Lady Stark's parlay with the Commonwealth Plurality was going well, which only meant that Gatekeeper was going to entrench themselves before long.

Barristan spotted Prince Oberyn requesting some coffee from one of the many gatekeeper 'shops' - the gatekeepers charged no coin, merely using a queue for orders. The Prince had acquired a taste for the novel drink, which likely only helped to ensure that the Prince would be courteous to the gatekeepers for the privilege of being the future supplier of the invigorating substance. In exchange, Dorne would work with Gatekeeper to modify their unique crops and distribute them to the growing glass-garden industry that was sure to sprout throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Then, Barristan heard the gatekeepers 'speakers' announce a new event for the crowd. "Attention festival and tourney goers, we will begin opening spectating spaces for the first light-show. We will be holding the light-show for four nights total and in a row, so if you miss one showing you will have a chance with the others. Please, form orderly lines and obey all instructions from Gatekeeper personnel for your own and others safety. The show will start in two hours. Have a good evening." The crowds immediately shifted, rumors of the Winterfell light-show having spread like the now weaponized wildfire throughout King's Landing.

Barristan left the marksmanship court and made his way to the tourney grounds to join His Grace and entourage. They would be viewing the great light-show from a specially set-up viewing area for the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. Barristan saw Lady Svafa, who was rather forlorn for some reason.

"Whatever is the matter, Lady Svafa? The festival has been a rousing success, and the light-show is certain to establish you and Gatekeeper as true masters of wonder in the realm," Barristan asked. Lady Svafa jumped lightly, as if she did not expect Barristan to speak to her.

"Oh, sorry, Ser Barristan. I was just thinking about some Gatekeeper operations, is all. While everything looks smooth and efficient, you'd be surprised by the number of small hitches that crop up for an event this big. Just tired, is all," replied Lady Svafa as she waved off Barristan's concerns. The tone of Lady Svafa's answer caused Barristan to wonder about how truthful the reasoning was, but Barristan deemed it polite to leave the Lady to her musings.

Besides, Barristan was looking forward to the light-show; he had heard many great things from the Kingsguard present for the Winterfell show.

Yes, many changes were coming to the Seven Kingdoms. Many changes indeed.

BREAK

Melisandre I

"Move them to the labor camp and have restraint collars attached. This one shall go with the other maegi," ordered Dolma, the Ultimate handling the new Lhazareen slaves. The maegi - a Mirri Maz Duur - shot a hateful gaze at Dolma, but the look disappeared from the woman's face when the Ascended Eagle legionnaires shoved her away to the other maegi slaves. The other Lhazareen were led past the tents of the camps, towards where all of the other slaves were chained with restraint collars; artifice capable of causing agony, ecstasy, sleep, and more with but a flick of the eye or the snap of a finger. The light of day was slowly receding away, the heat of the sun soon to leave the plains of Lhazar.

Melisandre was rather pleased with her decision to swear allegiance to the Ultimates, the masters of the Ascended Eagles. They had somehow determined that Melisandre was a practitioner of magic, and had asked her many questions about her home and her arts. She informed them that it would take much time, and she had not been wrong; the Ultimates were often busy with their 'Blue Horizon' mission, so they had little time to inquire with Melisandre. They were progressing north from Slavers Bay and making a war-path to Vaes Dothrak, conquering and slaving along the way.

Her visions had changed, many moons ago. They had changed right as the bleeding stars appeared, their purple streaks sailing across the heavens. Then, the blackstone had hummed ominously, causing much prophecy and chaos in Asshai. Melisandre had seen her visions shift and change, the Great Enemy being set to flame by rainbow bats wielding green fire while a bronze naga laughed atop a mountain of gold and a chained dragon beggared at the naga's tail. Then the whispers came, of gate-walkers from beyond the stars, powerful artificers seeking new lands to inhabit and exploit. Melisandre knew that they were the cause of the changes, and that they would be the key to salvation.

But Melisandre still had to find Azor Ahai.

That was the most dramatic change; where before Melisandre had been confident that he who would wield Lightbringer was Stannis Baratheon, the visions now showed Melisandre a legion of supreme warriors unmatched by any other, soldiers who would die and rise again from the ashes, remade. She knew that amongst these immortal warriors she would find Azor Ahai reborn.

She found herself still looking.

"Melisandre, you look quite lost at the moment. Would you care for some assistance?" asked Darya, the leader of the Ultimates that Melisandre swore her servitude to. The man had tan skin, olive green eyes that sparkled in the light, and deep black hair. His face was angular and rough, quite handsome in many respects. But there was something different about him and the other Ultimates, like they were of a different breed.

Melisandre waved away the concern. "I apologize for my distance, I am merely reminiscing. If I recall correctly, you had said yesterday that we would be joining forces with your Lord today; I am merely looking forward to seeing him in person."

Darya gave a shallow smile and stroked his chin. "Yes, he should be here within the hour. It is quite the hike from the gate to this location, and his army was busy dealing with some vermin." Darya waved for Melisandre to follow after him. She stepped after the Ultimate, making her way after the warrior as he made his way to his personal solar; a wonderful artifact, a self-setting tent. It could repel blade, bolt, and arrow with ease and would change form to best suit its inhabitants.

"Dealing with some vermin, you say? So your Lord - my Lord - has just finished with battle, I presume. May I ask what it was about? You have piqued my curiosity," drawled Melisandre as Darya waved for her to enter his solar. Melisandre did as instructed and sat upon one of the strange wire seats of the Ultimates. "I apologize if I come off as presumptuous, I am simply curious."

Darya did not sit but shook his head to dismiss the apology. "Oh, it is alright, sorceress Melisandre. We Ultimates have been carefully plotting for the eradication of a craven pack of capitalists known as Go-Nin. They had hoarded the Discord gate to themselves on the labor of Ultimate warriors, believing themselves masters of Eris. We had built our strength on Pathos - our keep on the bordering land of Dysnomia - and waited for the ideal opportunity to strike. When the gate was opened out east, we knew that our promised land had arrived." Melisandre listened intently to Darya's explanation. It seems that these Ultimates held faith of some kind; Melisandre had seen them pray occasionally, but it was always silent and personal, for the Ultimates kept no shrines to any gods. They had not recognized many of the heathen gods that Melisandre had known, let alone the lord of light R'hollor.

"So these Go-Nin thought to trust you but failed to show proper deference or respect. Most unwise, considering your prowess. Tell me, how did this battle play out? I imagine that your strike must have been most vicious, considering the disrespect." Melisandre spotted a small bowl of nuts and berries, and picked out one of the morsels.

"Indeed, we spared no quarter or mercy for Go-Nin. We had endeavored to craft a mighty weapon - the Lance, it was named - solely for cracking their fort. It used focused light to generate and guide arcs of lightning; the Lance's fury was immense, for it could cast the whole of Mereen into ash with but a single sweep of its baleful gaze. We used the Lance to sublimate Go-Nin and the physical manifestation of their arrogance. The rocks, sands, and volatiles of Eris were ionized and combusted, cast off the world into the void as nought but ash and salt. I imagine it was quite the sight, glittering in the void."

Melisandre quirked her eyebrow in interest. "Really? Tell me, how did you hide the army you say is coming without Go-Nin becoming aware of your plot?" Something tickled at the back of Melisandre's mind, telling her to press on.

Darya smiled wide with teeth. "Why, we grew the army, Melisandre."

"Grew?" Melisandre asked, blinking in confusion.

"Why yes, grew. My people were the pioneers of artifice that would reflect one's soul through light and capture the reflection in diamonds. These soul stones would allow us to cast off our mortal flesh, becoming as immortal spirits, allowing us to inhabit bodies as we saw fit. Pathos had grown the whole army through alchemy, and my people cast themselves from our once-home of Xiphos into the waiting flesh on Pathos. No ships, only slow growth. Go-Nin had afforded us much privacy, to their eventual regret."

Melisandre fought hard to keep her face calm and steady, but the tale was incredible. While Melisandre had no proof, she had seen many strange things; if this was true, then maybe…

Suddenly, one of the other Ultimates - Naomi, if she remembered correctly - burst into the solar and spoke to Darya in the Ultimates tongue. Naomi's speech was frantic but excited, and Darya's face immediately shifted. Darya looked at Melisandre. "Come, now."

Melisandre rose and followed Darya out towards the open field just outside of the Ascended Eagles camp. Taking a place by Darya's side, Melisandre waited for an explanation as to what was happening. Suddenly, a strange humming noise started to cast itself over the hills surrounding the camp. Then came the other ultimates, the victors of the Battle of Eris. They wore strange gambeson and wielded even stranger weapons, carrying a variety of blades at their sides or on their backs. They were flanked by strange metallic carriages that were pulled by no beast and moved of their own volition, while a menagerie of living-metal beasts scurried about their feet. Then, Darya suddenly placed his hand on the back of Melisandre's head and forced her into a deep bow.

"Kneel before your betters, genetrash," hissed Darya. Melisandre endured the indignity of the Ultimates action.

Melisandre stayed like this for but a few moments before she heard footsteps and the clanking of plate armor. She swore that she could feel the ground itself seem to shake from the weight of the coming knight's gait. Melisandre heard a new voice - one resplendent and beautiful, deep and bassy but tinged with a countertenor that gave his speech a strangely ethereal tone - speak in the tongue of the Ultimates. It commanded respect but made no pretense of arrogance, something Melisandre knew only from a deep thrumming in her chest as the Stranger spoke. Darya gulped audibly, seeming to have been cowed; he slowly removed his hand from Melisandre's head.

Melisandre stayed in the deep kneel, unable to see the Stranger. "Rise, Melisandre of Asshai by the Shadow. I apologize for my subordinates Overhumanist overtures," ringed the Stranger. Melisandre felt her chest swell at the mention of her name, and she slowly raised her head to gaze at the Stranger.

He was a King. This Melisandre knew in an instant.

He was tall - easily reaching eight feet in height - and covered in beautifully gold-engraved blue-steel plate armor. He had a gorgeous crimson cloak that billowed in the breeze and his armor was festooned with scrolls and sigils in the flowing script of the Ultimates. He wielded an immense double-guarded greatsword over his shoulder with one hand, casually holding the weighty blade in place. But what stood out most to Melisandre were his features. He looked Valyrian, but somehow more pure: his short cropped hair was a true metallic platinum that glistened in the waning sunlight, his skin was the most gorgeous bronze and lightly flecked with freckles that sparkled like gems, his features were an angular fey, while his eyes were a luminescent violet traced with gold. He stood almost statue still, perfectly composed.

Melisandre swallowed a lump in her throat. "You… you were 'cast' to Pathos, my Lord?" Melisandre needed to know. The Stranger smiled.

"Yes. I awoke in this body during the sublimation of the capitalist stronghold. I slew many that day," sang the Stranger. Melisandre felt her body shudder at his words.

"How may I be of service to you, my Lord?"

The Stranger smiled, his face seeming to cast a light of its own at the action. "Tell me all you know of myth, legend, and magic. Tell it all to me, Melisandre, and I shall listen."

Melisandre bowed deeply yet again, this time of her own volition. "It would be my most humble pleasure, your Magnificence."

BREAK

Varys III

Varys walked with his old friend Illyrio in the Red Keep catacombs, a clean white light cast by one of the gatekeeper 'LED lamps'. Trundling alongside the pair was the 'weebified' servitor, which had been named Kikai by one of the gatekeepers.

"So, I should be hoarding all non-Pathfinder coin, then. To think, they have such unimaginable wealth and they debase it through this scheme of theirs," said Illyrio. Varys shook his head.

"I believe it is us who do not understand wealth, old friend. The pathfinders realized the weakness of coin and have exploited it ruthlessly. I am simply grateful that Lord Tywin and Ser Diego had the foresight to understand the plot, and that they were successful in convincing His Grace the Drunkard to refuse the poisoned chalice," replied Varys.

Illyrio raised an eyebrow and glanced at Kikai. "Is it wise to speak of the King in such a way in front of the servitor?" Varys scoffed.

"Oh, there is nowhere in King's Landing where one can escape the eyes and ears of Gatekeeper. They do not support Robert because they believe him to be the True and Proper King, but because it serves their interests that the realm is stable and compliant. Besides, I have learned that their toys use a… 'encrypted censor algorithm' to preserve the privacy of those in the vicinity of their living-machines. The Gatekeepers have a rather stunning respect for privacy. The information can still be retrieved, but it requires a uniform agreement of the Wolfs Gate Directors to perform."

Illyrio seemed to try to understand Varys' explanation, but still looked at the servitor suspiciously. Varys noticed this and rolled his eyes.

"If it would comfort you Illyrio, I can have the bot dismissed. Kikai," said Varys as the servitor came to attention, "bring me and Magister Illyrio some matcha lattes. We are parched."

The servitor bowed respectfully, the boxlike portion that served as its torso tilting forward. "Kashikomarimashita, Baarisu-sama. Shou-shou o-machi kudasaimase." The servitor rolled away; it would be a while before the machine returned with the drinks.

Illyrio seemed to visibly relax, but Varys refrained from pointing out the dragonfly drone resting on an overhead chain. "I apologize, Varys, but it is all just so strange. What are we to do? I do not know if we may even be able to accelerate our plans; Prince Viserys is the plaything of the Bronze Naga, West Essos is set for disaster, Gatekeeper has upended nearly all of our plots in the Seven Kingdoms, and I have even heard whispers from further east of invincible warriors. If what the gatekeepers say is true, there may be a third gate-walkers faction to contend with."

"Fourth. Do not forget TerraGen. While they are currently content to play with their ruins and exotic animals down in Sothoryos, I do not expect for them to remain so uninvolved for much longer," sighed Varys, shaking his head. "I believe we must start over."

"What?" asked Illyrio.

"Our plans are ruined. There is no salvaging them; if what I heard from Waters and his mistress is correct, then the gatekeepers have artifice and medicine to make the King nigh immortal and heal wounds as grievous as beheading or poisoning. No, the Baratheon's have found what they needed to cement themselves as rulers over the Seven Kingdoms. Our plot was foiled the instant Lord Stark parlayed with the gatekeepers," Varys explained. He placed his hands behind his back and gave Illyrio a serious stare. "I even suspect that the gatekeepers have conspirators of their own; I do not believe that Lord Stark or his Lady Wife are remotely aware of the possibility that Jon Arryn's death is not an accident. I have heard of the scrying artifice that gatekeepers wield; it would be child's play for a conspirator to discern any communication through ravens. Not only that, but Ser Jaime and the Queen have become strangely… subdued. Sometime soon after the arrival of the Stark boy."

Illyrio frowned at the information. "Concerning possibility, that is. I suppose you are right. I am already in a position to protect my assets and ensure my continued influence in West Essos; I will just have to work under the heel of Pathfinder. And you are ideally positioned to work with Gatekeeper, so that we may coordinate our efforts between the two new rivals. What of our darling boy and his guardian?"

Varys placed his hand under his chin, thinking about what to do. "Have them seek out employment with the pathfinders mayhaps? That, or we could have them sent to TerraGen to extend our web down towards Sothoryos. But if there are more gate-walkers further east, then they may find positions of safety or influence there. Too many unknowns; as far as we should be concerned, they are pawns in a new game, and should be placed appropriately." Varys mused aloud. He then reached into his sleeve and retrieved a spare smart-paper and e-pen set. Varys handed the kit to Illyrio, who eyed the small case curiously. "We shall use that to communicate and coordinate. Speak in code; all gatekeeper artifice is connected in their own web, but they do not tend to pry." Illyrio pocketed the kit.

"Years of work, Varys. Gone. Now what? What goal do we seek to achieve?"

Varys thought about the question. "I have heard that there is a gate-walker city, one filled with 'agender' people; they possess no genitals, and do not shame each other over such things. They practice their own form of companionship, and strive to live as one family. I intend to see such a realm, after witnessing the marvel that is Titan." Varys turned to face Illyrio, who looked at the eunuch with sympathy. "I suggest you search for your own goals, Illyrio. They are an enlightened people, compared to us savages. Mayhaps this is a chance for us to be free - truly free of the bickering of slavers and nobles."

The servitor returned with the drinks; that was fast. Varys was only further convinced that the catacombs were no secret anymore. "Sumimasen, o-matase shimashita." Varys smiled, taking the drinks and handing one to Illyrio.

"To our future sailing the stars, my old friend," Varys said as he held his glass out for a toast.

"To our future sailing the stars," affirmed Illyrio, smiling as he returned the toast.

BREAK

Svafa IV

The dock workers slowly guided the dwarf-bots as they hauled the crates to the waiting ship. The crates were shielded with EM-blocking metamaterials and cushioned with metafoam. Inside, they contained the freshly minted twenty-four karat gold ingots appropriated by Diego; the man saw fit to stroke his pride by having the ingots stamped with Jovian sigils and markings. Svafa wasn't sure if it was just nationalist pride or a statement about the importance of the Junta in Gatekeeper's operations, but Svafa disliked that little detail. The crates were shielded to ensure that Pathfinder didn't catch on to the plot, not that Gatekeeper and the 7K weren't legally allowed to do so.

It had been one and a half months since the festival, and Gatekeeper had significantly expanded its operations. Besides the fact that Svafa's personal project had reached fruition - Sansa, Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella were full-fledged transhumans - which helped Svafa feel significantly better about the prospects for a true techno-progressive Westeros. She had not extended the offer to the older Lords and rulers, but they were already benefiting from advanced medicine and pharmaceuticals; Robert and Varys' beer bellies were basically gone, while nearly all of the Lords and nobles looked healthier and younger. No serious augmentation, just some light gene-therapy injections and rejuvenate pharmaceuticals. Gatekeeper has finally pushed towards nearly five-thousand active personnel, many of which were now spread across Westeros, initiating a variety of greatly accelerated projects. Internet and power generation was a high-priority, but agricultural and medical projects were really exciting. King's Landing was already being restored, with new sewage and plumbing developments making the smell much more tolerable. Potable water systems were set-up and they were used to distribute various gene-therapy, rejuvenate, and biomineral treatments through the public tap. Many of the 'smallfolk' - Svafa hated that term - looked much better now, but Svafa was looking forward to the effects on future generations. Gatekeeper personnel were initiating an expanded orphanage program, allowing for transhuman colonists to raise abandoned children; as having children was a rare luxury throughout the Solar System, this was readily marketed to potential colonists beyond the gate.

Gatekeeper was firmly cemented as the new power on the bloc. Every single minor, major, and greater house in the 7K were scrambling to initiate Gatekeeper projects. GWUP was churning out new designs and proposals daily - and had expanded to nearly two-dozen Jovian personnel, to Svafa's chagrin - and were made immediately accessible through the Gatekeeper network. Ned was established as the Hand of the King, while Tywin was picking up the foreign political slack as the new Master of Envoys. Several new shipping, trading, and even union policies were the result of Tywin Lannister's shrewd sense of business and politics. However, Svafa did seriously despise the fact that Tywin had not only thoroughly accepted the truth of transhuman society, but had realized that Planetos was likely the most valuable find in gate-travel history; he had very openly expressed his desire to become an immortal oligarch in a position of power. He even patented his family's genomes. Svafa seriously regretted having initially wanted Tywin to understand the truth, but the Old Lion had completely turned that notion on its head. Svafa feared when Joffrey introduced Tywin to soc-nets; the Old Lion was bound to be an icon to the Oligarch party on Titan, just like the Golden Boy. On a more positive note, Catelyn had been able to actually acquire Commonwealth Citizenship. She had demonstrated a lot of political savvy during the Plurality session on expanding Gatekeeper operations in Westeros, which was partly responsible for the newer projects progressing as well as they are. Catelyn had returned to Winterfell to report her success, but had returned quickly with Sansa and Joffrey to help maintain political momentum.

Sansa fucking rocked her style in Nyhavn. Svafa took a moment to wipe her eyes, tears of pride nearly falling at the success of the young girl. Ned was still weirded out by the whole thing, but Robert had soothed the Old Wolf by saying it was just Catelyn and her children's Whent blood making them feel at home. Poor Ned still seemed worried over them; maybe he would soften up if he got a chance to fly? Not for a while, he was rather busy in KL.

Funny thing, the Whents were rather happy to flaunt that most of the Gatekeeper personnel were 'of the bat', which caused a lot of consternation amongst their rival houses.

Something that had been a thorough pain in Svafa's side was the Faith of the Seven and the misogynistic ass that was the High Septon. He had constantly made subtle threats to have Gatekeeper personnel and efforts labeled as sinful or heretical; the old man was only satiated with promises of special treatment by Gatekeeper medical personnel. Svafa also assumed that Robert and Ned had Tywin do some backdooring bullshit to keep the religious figure in check, but Svafa felt better about the prospect of keeping the 'smallfolk' happy with new advancements. That had been one of the complaints by the High Septon; a notable reduction in sinners and worshippers coming to their churches. If Svafa had her way, then this primitive dogma was going to be toppled by techno-socialist policy and then relegated to bio-conservative conspiracy boards.

The Pathfinder necro-plague eradication cooperative project had finally gotten set-up, with Tyrion and the Night's Watch initiating a training program to pilot the UAVs. Several promising pilots were already running bombing runs on the zombie hoards, and the XPs of the operation bred like wildfire on local and Solar meshes. Svafa even enjoyed one edited XP of a Thunderbird swooping down and dropping white-phosphorous on a whole swathe of the undead, with some old rock music playing; an homage to Vietnam, or something. Good publicity and good public health policy; that was the central mission of the eradication project.

Svafa spotted a notice about Gregor Clegane. The 'Mountain' had returned to Tywin's custody, leashed with a restraint collar running a probation ALI designed to watchdog for certain prohibited behaviors, actions, and intents. Svafa frowned at the development, but she supposed that it was an acceptable compromise. Gregor had refused all offers of psychosurgical treatment for his sadistic and sociopathic tendencies; Tywin had proposed an alternate solution, with the caveat that Gregor would return under Tywin's authority. The restraint collar was encrypted using lattice-keys held by Gatekeeper and Tywin respectively; any serious changes to the collar programming required agreement between the two. From what Svafa heard, Gregor remained a raging asshole and he only behaved himself because Diego had liberally used the collar to cow the Mountain.

Svafa panned away the notice and watched as the ship finished loading up the crates and prepared to leave for Braavos, to pay the Iron Bank back for the 7K's debt. The dwarf-bots whistled as they returned to the dock workspaces, already getting to work moving shipments and supplies throughout the facility.

Another notice popped up on Svafa's optics, but this one was a very different kind of alert. Svafa opened the site and ran the steganographic software to extract the Firewall comm keys while she walked over to a booster beacon attached to a wall. She quietly connected to the beacon and ran the QPN.

[PolterGeist, this is EverGreen. Gamma beta echo.

[EverGreen, this is PolterGeist. Delta alpha x-ray.

[BrightShadow and MockingJay report that iktomi ruins are exotic, paper coming in a week. Concerning metamaterial properties, absorbs light in an area. More active recently.

[Shit. I'll keep an eye open. Heard whispers of more Solar groups in Essos, can confirm?

[Confirmed. Ultimates.

[Of fucking course. What do we do?

[Nothing, for now. Let them make the first move. We got agents on the inside.

[What?

[Don't worry about it. Additionally, suppress all info on potential assassination or infidelity; 7K must remain stable for our future projects.

[The Lion's may be planning something. I think we should -

[Quiet. Another sentinel has handled that. Don't. Worry.

[Understood.

[Roger.

[Wilco.]

Svafa cursed under her breath right as the link disconnected. She didn't like how things were moving around, but Svafa trusted that who-the-fuck-ever was in charge of Firewall's operations on Planetos had a good plan in the works. Svafa mused about not being able to talk with SunSpear; that sentinel was relatable. They disliked the secrecy of this operation, and Svafa enjoyed bitching about the local politics with them.

Svafa hoped to meet them in the real soon. Making her way back to the Red Keep, Svafa placed a watch tag on TerraGen ruin research papers and decided on some chocolate mocha to soothe her nerves.

BREAK

Euron I

Oily-whispers slithered through his mind as he stared at the Seastone Chair, whispers just as oily as the blackstone the Ironborn seat was carved from. The great Kraken that made up the chair almost seemed to writhe and move, but Euron could not tell for sure. Of course, he did not see the Seastone Chair in person; he saw it in his memories, more vivid and violent than ever before. He sat in his personal room on the Silence, trying his best to understand the changes in his mind.

He had dreamed more clearly and vividly than ever before, but not of anything he could recognize. He dreamed of a strange land - or perhaps a whole other world - where the seas and oceans dominated far more than they ever did on his own world. He saw heavy clouds roil across the land, strangely flat and luminescent with lightning. But he always saw this world from an… alien perspective.

He had been a great sea-hawk, a large creature that swam the upper waves but leaped out to glide over islands and spear prey deeper in the water. He had been a man sized crab that traveled land and sea, ripping open beached fish and slurping out their innards. He had been a great squid-shark, a monstrous predator that opened a tendriled maw to catch and devour morsels, his whip-like tails creating great shocks in the sea. He had been an immense black-worm leviathan, swimming through glittering crystal caverns.

But what had been most incredible were the dreams of the Deep Ones. They had six limbs, the extra pair acting as leg or arm as needed. They traversed both sea and shore, built great harbor cities, and worshiped at blackstone altars. He had been their priests, sacrificing animals and Deep Ones to appease their Gods and beseech their favor.

He had ululated as the priests, watching as a Deep One sacrifice was used to birth Krakens, their many swirling tendrils forming terrible and beautiful patterns, growing unnaturally fast. He had seen the great mushroom that served to control their realm, and he saw their doom.

Their glorious doom.

Their Gods had deemed them worthy of ascension, and transformed them into great abominations that killed and pillaged with freedom. He saw as they freed each other from their flesh, allowing their souls to be joined with their Gods. He saw that slaughter was a mercy as the Deep Ones drowned in their own blood.

Euron Greyjoy had come to understand what the Drowned God truly was; he was a metaphor. A metaphor for the great mercy that was death, and he represented death in all its forms as found in the deep sea.

Euron knew that he had to teach - to preach - his truth to the heathens and the unfaithful, to enlighten the Ironborn to the truth of their nature and their faith. And through his visions, he had learned of the magic of the Deep Ones; he recorded all he could in the Deep One tongue, its odd script as natural to him as the Westerosi script.

He had to return home, to return to the Seastone Chair. His foolish brother would let his ego get the better of him and somehow plunge the Ironborn into disgrace. The only truth was the will of the Elder Gods of the Deep Ones, whose whispers now raced through his mind.

{dRoWn ThEm AlL}

Euron immediately rose and left his room. He made his way to the deck and drew the attention of his crew. "Men! We sail for Pyke, we sail for home." His crew was silent, but they obeyed him as they always have. He would teach his crew true worship, he would teach the Ironborn, and he would teach Westeros.

I shall drown them ALL.

BREAK

Melisandre II

"I stand apart, for I rely on myself.

"I stand above, for I do not fall.

"I look within, to see the need for growth.

"I look beyond, to face new challenges.

"I move ahead, to claim the future.

"I rise, for I am worthy.

"I am Ultimate."

The first Essosi Ultimate Aspirants chanted out the Declaration, swearing themselves to the Ultimate way and the Ultimate cause. Melisandre watched on with passive interest as she stood beside her Lord, Supreme Commander Manu Bhattacharya, as the Lord smiled approvingly at the growing of his flock. The Aspirants had been kneeling on one knee, holding their sheathed 'hyper-blades' across their flat thigh. As they finished their oath, they stood up, unsheathed the blade, then saluted. They first crossed their blade-arm across their chest and held the blade up past their shoulder before bringing their blade to a vertical salute in front of their heads. They sheathed their blades as the other Ultimates nodded in recognition of their new comrades.

Melisandre glanced over at Darya, who was looking at the affair with barely contained contempt. While he had personally selected these Aspirants, he had been reluctant to actually condone their induction into the Ultimate warrior ranks. Supreme Commander Manu had deemed the Essosi elite fighters as worthy of becoming Remade, which Melisandre suspected allowed for her Lord to test out his new flesh sculpting artifice that had been brought through the gate. Melisandre took a sip from her wine as she watched one of the aspirants walk up to the Supreme Commander and salute then kneel. Manu waved the Aspirant to stand.

"Rise, Aspirant. What is it you wish to discuss with me?" asked Manu, Melisandre watched with interest as the Aspirant rose. The Aspirant's face was neutral but had a hint of concern written across his Remade features.

"Supreme Commander, there are many sick and crippled people in tow of the Legion. They have been having increased difficulty keeping pace with the march of the Ascended Eagles, including some of my own family. There have been… whispers of what may be done to remedy this issue. May I know your intent on this situation?" asked the Aspirant, his face somewhat hopeful.

Darya scoffed lightly and rolled his eyes. "It has indeed been an issue, Supreme Commander. I recommend the Mercy of the Blade," offered Darya as the Aspirant's pupils widened in shock, the new Comrade's breath hitching in his throat.

The expression on Lord Manu's face did not change, but he did glance at Melisandre. "And what think you, Melisandre?" sang the Supreme Commander, his resplendent voice washing over Melisandre's body. Melisandre suppressed a shiver at the attention, keeping her features perfectly schooled.

"I believe that a King does what is best for his Kingdom," answered Melisandre. Melisandre saw Darya glance at her statement. Manu's smile lifted a touch as he spoke.

"Have the sick treated with medicine and the crippled assisted with prosthetics. Those who cannot move of their own accord will be placed in the vehicles, while the healthy and able-bodied shall carry the load of supplies." Melisandre smirked at the declaration.

"A most magnanimous decision, Supreme Commander, but will that not hinder our warriors? We may be put on the off-foot in the event of an ambush," interjected Darya. His tone was respectful but Melisandre felt a twinge of disdain ring out from the man's aura. Manu motioned for Melisandre to follow as the Supreme Commander began making his way to the front of the camp. Melisandre and Darya followed after.

"Those who sacrifice the Greater Good of their subjects that they Lord over do not deserve their Lordship. True warriors bear all burdens necessary to sustain their Domain. To do so is to stand above those of lesser accomplishment, a physical proclamation of one's right to rule," explained Manu as the trio finally found their way to the front of the camp. Darya grimaced at the statement.

Melisandre looked out atop a short rock outcropping at the sight of Vaes Dothrak in the distance, the horse barbarians gathered in their khalasars and bickering like savages. Melisandre could taste the flicker of magic and fire, a sensation she knew well. She also felt the strands of fate constrict around the Dragonspawn, the girl residing within Vaes Dothrak proper.

"What have you seen in your visions as of late, Melisandre?" inquired the Supreme Commander. Melisandre organized her thoughts and detailed her latest prophecy.

"I have seen bronze men cast off chains, take up arms, and bathe in the blood of slave-owners and magisters. There is an iron wall, layers of swords, shields, and bolts curtaining the sea. And I have seen oily-black tendrils coil throughout a coast, worming into the flesh of the unsuspecting."

Manu stepped forward towards Vaes Dothrak, falling casually down the outcropping and landing easily with a mighty thud. Manu held out his arm to Melisandre, to which Melisandre allowed her Lord to lower her down the cliff with one hand. Darya leapt down, slightly bending his knees to absorb the fall. The Essosi Aspirants and the more veteran Ultimate warriors followed in their Supreme Commander's footsteps. Manu waved over some of the Essosi servants as he slowly removed his plate armor piece by piece, handing the heavy armor parts to the servants.

"Then we make haste, for our Blue Horizon awaits."

Eventually, the force reached the outskirts of the city as a number of mounted Dothraki called out to the Ultimate warriors. Darya scoffed while Melisandre awaited her Lord's command. Another Dothraki rode out from Vaes Dothrak, his ponytail long and uncut. The other riders parted around the man. Melisandre could tell that it was Khal Drogo himself. Khal Drogo said something to Manu, who was now dressed only in the form fitting gambeson of the Ultimates. Manu laughed and replied in Dothraki, shocking the gathered party at the front.

Melisandre looked towards one of the servant girls. "Khal Drogo says that no blade or bloodshed will be allowed within Vaes Dothrak; his Magnificence the Supreme Commander replied that he did not intend to violate said taboos." Melisandre looked back at Khal Drogo, who seemed to be cautious of the clearly dangerous newcomers. Glancing back at Manu, Melisandre openly gaped when the Lord Commander took his mighty greatsword with one-hand and casually swung it to his left. The blade screamed through the air and embedded itself into a nearby rock, small sparks of lightning flickering across the lordly weapon. Melisandre glanced at Darya, who simply smiled smugly before returning her gaze to the Dothraki.

Most of the savages were just as shocked as Melisandre; the greatsword was made for Manu's impressive stature, so the blade was immense by normal standards. From what Melisandre had gathered, the blade was forged with a mystical metal called 'depleted uranium' and cored with 'tungsten' and 'osmium'; all of these metals were significantly weightier than mundane steel. The rock looked quite cracked, when Melisandre glanced back at the stone.

Khal Drogo looked on, his face barely registering any surprise at the action of the Supreme Commander. The Khal spoke yet again, a questioning inflection at the end of his statement. Manu smiled widely, barring his perfect teeth and replied with a curt statement of his own. The khalasar gaped and muttered, while the servant gasped.

"H-his Mag-magnificence just -" stuttered the servant before Darya suddenly interjected.

"The Supreme Commander has issued a challenge for the khalasar."

Melisandre merely nodded her head at the action; Manu was a King of unequal measure, it was only natural that he assert his authority over the savages. The Dothraki would know righteous rule for the first time since the Doom of Valyria and the fall of the Freeholds.

Khal Drogo blinked in surprise before issuing a command to his men. Darya shook his head while Manu simply kept his heels firmly placed together, his form impeccable. The riders of the khalasar dismounted their horses, drew their blades, and walked towards the Supreme Commander. Their steps were cautious but determined. Manu opened his arms wide in an almost welcoming gesture.

"Oh? You are approaching me? Very well then, I suppose I must prove myself first," mused Manu as Melisandre felt the Supreme Commander's muscles tense in anticipation. The first rider screamed out a battle cry and charged Manu, readying for a swipe at Manu's waist.

Manu sprung into action, moving with the speed of lightning. He left an immense dust cloud in his wake as he shot towards the first rider and planted a knee into the poor man's stomach. The rider's momentum was halted and reversed, sending the savage rolling back towards the khalasar, vomiting bile and blood along the way. Manu clicked his tongue.

"Damn. A touch too much force."

Manu's fist lashed out like a cobra at another rider, who was just about to backpedal to create space. The rider's head snapped back unnaturally, his neck clearly snapped clean from his spine. Melisandre felt the life-force from the first two riders fade rapidly. Manu became a blur, moving from rider to rider, Dothraki to Dothraki, swiftly dispatching them with his bare hands. Melisandre smiled at the display, the clear superiority of Manu's heritage and nature further reinforcing her conviction.

After only a minute, no other rider approached Manu. They all backed away in fear save for Khal Drogo himself, whose eyes flicked rapidly between the different mangled bodies of his riders. Manu returned to his statuesque stance, marred neither by blood or dirt. Manu spoke out to Khal Drogo yet again, and the Khal snarled angrily. Melisandre saw the exiled Princess step out from the throng of Dothraki, dressed in their clothing and visibly pregnant. Daenerys Targaryen ran up to the side of Khal Drogo's steed, begging him in Dothraki. Khal Drogo looked sadly at his wife, whispering back another statement. Manu stood stock still, seeming to wait for the pair to finish their conversation.

Daenerys Targaryen grimaced and stepped away from Khal Drogo. The Khal closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them before dismounting his steed. He strapped on his shield and drew his blade as he approached Manu, a circle forming around the two warlords. Their shadows slowly became longer as the sun began to set, casting the pair in rather auspicious light.

Melisandre watched on with excitement as the Khal made the first move, sidestepping his way up to the Supreme Commander. Manu responded by sliding his foot in a wide circle, forcing the Khal to backpedal. As the Khal regained his composure, Manu came in with a low hook and the Khal barely caught the strike with his shield. The blow was redirected off the angle of the shield - sending most of the force away from Drogo - but the Khal still grunted in pain at the power of the impact. The Khal made a couple of swift cuts at Manu, who responded by using his pointer and middle fingers to strike the swings away with contemptuous ease. The Khal fainted a sword strike and instead lashed out with the edge of his shield, attempting to catch Manu in the face. Manu simply shifted out of the strike and caught both the faint and the shield jab with his fingers.

Khal Drogo blinked in surprise as he fought for a moment before pulling his implements from Manu's grip. Manu stood ready, his smile unchanged since the start of the duel. The two circled each other for a bit, but then the Khal tossed his shield at Manu, seeming to try to distract the Supreme Commander while the Khal came in for a low stab into Manu's stomach.

Manue caught the shield midair and flicked the object into the Khal's sword, knocking the blade from the Khal's hand. Drogo backed away in surprise, fully on the defensive without his weapons. Manu kicked up the sword, grabbed the blade in his hand, and shattered the Khal's weapon into metallic shards in his grip. Manu opened his hand, completely unmarred by cuts or scratches.

The Khal looked somewhat panicked, likely trying to formulate some way to harm the Supreme Commander. Before Drogo could act again, Manu spoke to the Khal. Whispers and mutters spread like fire throughout the gathered khalasar as Daenerys attempted to cover her shocked face with her hands. Khal Drogo gritted his teeth, but sat upon his knees and kneeled his head down towards the ground. Manu retrieved one of the metal shards and walked up to Drogo, kneeling down and grabbing the long ponytail.

Manu cut Drogo's ponytail with the shard and tossed the trophy to Melisandre. "Keep that, Sorceress. Just in case," commanded Manu. Melisandre placed the ponytail into a satchel and nodded her head in confirmation. Manu stood to his full height and faced the gathered Dothraki, who looked on in a mixture of shock and contempt. Manu spoke in the savage tongue, likely declaring himself Khal and asserting his victory.

A number of other Dothraki stepped out from the ring, drawing their own blades. They seemed to issue a challenge, gesticulating wildly and pointing at the still kneeling Drogo. Daenerys was suddenly surrounded by her servants and some Dothraki guards, who were shielding the Khaleesi from the hostile gazes of other Dothraki. Manu shook his head in disappointment.

"It appears that some petty contenders have made themselves known," Manu said as he turned on his heel to address his army. "Ultimates! Teach the Dothraki the meaning of discipline."

Immediately, the Ultimate warriors stepped forward, none of them drawing any of their weapons. They dashed into the khalasar, swiftly incapacitating or mangling the Dothraki who stood against the Ultimate force. Melisandre saw Darya sprint forward towards the first contender, quickly tripping the savage into the air and slamming an elbow and knee together on the man's throat.

The contender's life-force faded swiftly.

Melisandre casually walked up to Manu's side as he signaled for the servants to bring him his plate armor, slowly donning his suit. "It is a rather sad inevitability that punishment must be exacted on the plains savages. Their culture has little respect for the Right of Kings, your Magnificence," preened Melisandre. Manu merely continued donning his armor.

Some time passed before Vaes Dothrak was pacified. Any who refused to kneel were killed, while those who did were spared. Truly capable warriors were offered a chance to prove themselves in training to become Aspirants; a most testing ordeal, from what Melisandre had heard. The great horse statues marking Vaes Dothrak were brought down by the vehicles of the Ultimates, toppling the center of Dothraki might in but a night.

No blade was drawn. Very little blood was spilled, but taboo barely mattered as of this point. Melisandre felt that she could help spin a more fantastical tale from the night's events.

Eventually, Manu and Melisandre stood before the hut for Drogo and Daenerys. An Aspirant stepped out from the building, holding a box filled with three stone eggs. Melisandre felt the twinges of magic begin to writhe in the presence of the Supreme Commander. Turning to look at the disgraced Khal and Khaleesi, Melisandre smiled as she saw the small Dothraki household look on in sadness at the loss of their home and their treasures.

"Tell me, Melisandre, do these eggs yet stir? I see a faint heat from their center," asked the Supreme Commander. Melisandre smiled at her Lord.

"Yes, your Magnificence. But they require blood magic to awaken."

Manu nodded his head in understanding. "Bring the other maegi."

Melisandre was waiting for this moment. The maegi were dragged before the hut, which was torn down and turned into a makeshift pyre alongside some other flammables from other buildings in Vaes Dothrak. Melisandre was given permission to direct the Aspirants, with which she had them tie up the maegi to the pyre.

Melisandre turned towards her Lord. "We need some of your blood and the blood of a royal for this ritual, your Magnificence. Your blood to bind the creatures to your will, the royal to awaken them," Melisandre explained. Manu motioned for an aspirant to cut Daenerys' hand while Manu drew his own blood. Both blades were handed to Melisandre. "Now we must light the pyre. Bring me a torc-" Melisandre was about to say before Manu simply walked up and struck the tip of his greatsword against a small black rock on the ground. A great shower of sparks and lightning shot out, sparking the tinder of the pyre and setting the maegi to panic. Melisandre smiled and stepped before the fire, willing the flame to be filled with the will of R'hollor.

As the flames grew and set fire to the maegi, whose screams began to echo across Vaes Dothrak, Melisandre began chanting in the tongue of Asshai. She called for R'hollor to wake the dragon eggs, to fill them with light taken from the souls of maegi. She called out to the stirring dragons, commanding them to obey their master. And she called out to the souls of the maegi, telling them to give themselves to the ritual.

The flame roared violently upward as R'hollor, the Dragons, and the souls of the maegi answered the ritual and arcane power flowed into the fossilized eggs.

As the fires began to die, Melisandre heard the cracking of stone and the chirps of the dragon younglings.

BREAK

Astika VI

[It's such a fucking joke. We just have to trust that the Ultimates will behave themselves? Something isn't right,] groused PolterGeist.

[Apparently. Pathfinder isn't aware of them yet and neither is Gatekeeper, so it is going to be a rude wake-up call when the Ultimates finally pull something. I've been tracking them somewhere in the north-east Dothraki sea; make of that what you will,] SunSpear replied.

[On top of that, we gotta play medieval nobles with the local rulers. Fucking mad, I'm just glad that things are accelerating. I was getting sick and tired of medieval hygiene.]

[You and me both. EverGreen is planning something, and I'm not sure I like it. Hate not knowing who each other are.]

[Same. When I figure out who EverGreen is, I'm gonna sock one to 'em!]

[Send me an invite. Roger.]

[Wilco.] The private comm line cut as Astika pulled his connector from the radio booster. Sighing at the insanity of the recent developments, the Naga turned around and returned his attention to the new Pathfinder Pentos harbor and dock. Modern ships and submarines were in construction while the cetacean traffic routes were already in use. The cetaceans were doing some good work pulling rare and extinct sea life from the Planetosi oceans, as many of the species getting patented that TerraGen hadn't already grabbed. Expansions were already planned for sperm and humpback whales in the future, their pods passing by soon enough. The orcas mostly stayed up further north, with White Harbor in Westeros already having their own cetacean port. Now that spooked Astika; orcas were fucking terrifying if you gave them weapons and a target. The orca revolts on old Earth were testament to that fact.

Once the first ships were complete, they would send them with cetacean escorts down to Sothoryos to establish trade routes with TerraGen. Routes were already established with Westeros through the native ships, but those would give way to automated vessels soon enough. The cetaceans were experts in sea navigation and the best routes; apparently, Old Valyria was avoided like the plague. Spooky, that. Whatever the case, Gatekeeper and Pathfinder had finally begun working on intercontinental projects and planning out marine colonization initiatives alongside the cetaceans. Astika spotted one of the labor synths walk up while a couple of his buddies sat back and waited for a dwarf bot to finish unloading raw materials for processing.

"Ey Boss Naga, we gonna finish up with the first sub before shift is up. You gonna throw another rager at the manse again? Last one was fuckin' technical, man!" inquired the synth. Astika chuckled, which had a slight metallic warble to it.

"Of fuckin' course. Got some more pleasure pods in from Aries Point and even pulled a fuckin' Elysium DJ, so shit is gonna be a touch nicer than last time. Prince V got some Westerland Arbor Gold through the Pathfinder outlets in KL, so he gonna stream his XP for the whole crew. Shit's good, I hear," Astika explained to the synth. The indentured laborer pumped his fist lightly while his buddies fist-bumped at the news. The synth laborer returned to his work team once the dwarf-bot unloaded the large supplies crate and moved out of their way, the workers already cutting, bolting, and welding parts together on the frame of the submarine hanging over the bay.

Astika's mood fell back down once he received a ping from Mucalinda. [More movement on the Ultimates. It appears that they are moving across the Dothraki Sea, making their way south to Slavers Bay again.]

[Shit. Probably subjugating the Dothraki and plannin' on taking the cities in Central Essos. Any hints that Executive caught on yet?] Astika asked. Mucalinda processed for a moment before answering.

[Some whispers on the obfuscated sniffer systems indicate that the council is pulling sensor data on the Dothraki Sea, so they are likely putting the puzzle pieces together.]

Astika didn't like this situation at all. No knowledge on who his allies were, no orders on what to do about the fascists, and executive breathing down his pneumatics every damn chance they got. Astika had his own property and built himself a rather nice social circle, which seemed to threaten the West Essos managers and upper echelons. They didn't like that Astika had more weight and influence personally than they did collectively; that wasn't Astika's fault, he just didn't have a stick shoved up his exhaust all the damn time.

I need some fuckin' insurance, that's what I need, Astika thought as he pulled up his backdoors and the subverted networks he put together. The executives trusted that Astika would put things together proper and secure - which he did - but that didn't stop the Naga from putting in some precautions. Astika didn't believe in half-measures when it came to cybersecurity, unlike a lot of other people running code rather than nerve. Astika ran some scripts and expanded his own shadow network, hijacking certain auto-facs and drone nets and placing a couple poisoned eggs in the Administration Servers. With some obfuscation of code and deliberately masked location data, Astika could create some 'scratch spaces' for his own personal benefit.

Astika was prepared, and very much on edge. He wasn't going to let Pathfinder know just how much he could do; let them think he was a troll and a clown.

Everyone underestimates trolls and clowns.

BREAK

BREAK

Tywin III

The Alchemists worked constantly, mixing alchemical powders and distilling compounds constantly. They would pass the materials between each other in an organized dance of production, using the Gatekeeper machines to verify and track every step in the process. Metal barrels, wood stocks, magazines, bolts, receivers, and more were stamped with the Gatekeeper 'barcodes' to mark each and every component. One of the workers completed a semi-automatic gunpowder rifle, bringing the weapon up for Tywin to inspect. The Warden of the Westerlands worked the weapon's different components, checking the safety and pulling the trigger, producing a satisfying click. Tywin tested several more pulls, finding the mechanism performed as desired. Tywin then handed the unloaded tool to Stannis Baratheon, who inspected the weapon curiously.

Tywin allowed Stannis some time to observe the rifle. "Every single rifle, part, and munition is stamped with barcodes and identified in the Gatekeeper network. Only the Small Council and the Wolfs Gate Directors have keys to access the logs and records on these weapons. This way we can quickly determine if anyone other than the Alchemists Guild has constructed a firearm, allowing us to exact the King's Justice on any potential traitors or rebels. We will not allow any 'ghost guns' in the realm."

Stannis handed the weapon back to the worker, who took the finished tool to a storage armory. "So we are to arm the new 'National Westeros Military' with weapons like this? Why not the gate-walkers rail or coil weapons?" asked the Master of Ships. Tywin shook his head.

"They are beyond our ability to produce and maintain, and they are notably more dangerous thanks to certain capabilities they possess. Producing our own arms also lessens the strain on shipments from Wolfs Gate and allows us to build our own administration regarding these weapons. A sign of 'Equal Respect between Gatekeeper and the Seven Kingdoms', as Lady Stark called it during one of those Plurality sessions." Tywin flicked his finger as he sent the details to Stannis' smart paper. Stannis looked at the sheet while Tywin merely used his newfound second-sight to review the information again. While smart-paper was a marvel, Tywin quickly found the ectos to be vastly superior. He could manage far more information in practically any way he could conceive, he had privacy from prying eyes (Tywin had learned of 'encryption' and its ubiquity in gate-walker devices), and he had the most ideal advisor and assistant he could have ever dreamed of.

[Leo, send Lord Stannis our estimates on production figures and timelines,] commanded Lord Tywin. Leo obeyed immediately and without delay. Stannis looked through the information, his dour frown never leaving his face. Nevertheless, the grim man nodded his head in approval.

"So the Small Council has also decided to implement these tracking systems on all new manufactured goods. I imagine that would be quite beneficial for managing supplies and distribution," commented the Lord of Ships.

"This also greatly helps with taxes and budget. We shall no longer rely on paper records or word of mouth for such things."

Stannis looked Tywin in the eyes. "And you now ask me to agree to the formation of a 'National Navy'. I presume this has to do with Pathfinder." Tywin nodded his head in affirmation.

"Indeed. We must ensure that the collapse of the West Essos market and economy does not spread to Westeros, lest Pathfinder find an opening to overthrow the Iron Throne and the Noble Houses. A Nationalized Navy and a citizen Coast Guard composed of lesser noble sons would be best suited to such tasks while garnering favor with various houses for the new military organization. Lord Stark's eldest son - Lord Robb - is likely to be offered a new title as Master of Pilots once His Grace gets around to approving proposals for a formalized Air Force and Air Law. Most of the Small Council may not even need to be in King's Landing in the future, thanks to gate-walker communications," Tywin elaborated as he waved for Stannis to follow him out of the arms factory. The Lord of the Westerlands led the Master of Ships to the new docks and harbor that had been set-up by Gatekeeper. "Now that our debts to the Iron Bank and West Essos have been paid, we must endeavor to ensure that we do not fall into such circumstances again."

Tywin and Stannis watched the activity of the dock, seeing some of the new ship designs offered by Gatekeeper slowly coming together. Out in a separate demarcated area of the harbor, Tywin spotted some of the 'killer whales' or 'orcas' that Lady Svafa had parlayed with. They had been given ectos, tools, and bots by Gatekeeper for their loyalty to the Seven Kingdoms; in return, the 'orcas' and all other 'cetaceans' were to be treated as equals to men and all hunting of them was to be treated as murder. Tywin had been rather surprised to learn of the stunning intellect of the creatures, but he had not yet inquired with Stannis as to the man's opinion on the new 'allies' of the seas.

Tywin pointed out one of the orcas. "The killer whales from the north-eastern seas have agreed to help track pirates and tariff runners. I recommend a stiff spine when dealing with them, they respect strength." Tywin returned his gaze to Stannis, who eyed the creatures carefully.

Stannis huffed in disbelief. "I had thought it a mummer's tale when I was told the wolves of the wild sea had 'allied' with the Iron Throne and the gatekeepers, but it is a strange sight to see them congregating at the harbor of their own accord. I still find it difficult to believe them to be anything more than… animals."

Tywin scoffed. "Believe it. We are bound by law to treat these creatures as equals to men, in exchange for them tracking and hunting down our enemies. And as a warning, Lord Stannis: the women lead their societies and are notoriously militaristic." Lord Stannis shot Tywin a glare, while the Lord of the Westerlands showed no sign of jape or mirth.

"You're bloody serious."

"When am I not?"

BREAK

Darya IV

[We have received the last of the ego-casts from Xiphos, which are being resleeved in Pathos as we speak. The final equipment shipments will be sent in sometime after we have sent the last wave of Ultimates through the gate,] reported a veteran Overhumanist at New Zenith, the basecamp at the East Essos gate connected to Discord.

[Then prepare some of our aerial systems and create plans for a satellite network. I want expanded energy generation while we await the fusion generators. We no longer need to hide ourselves from the other genetrash polluting this world,] Darya commanded. He was busy with some petty infrastructure and management duties, but he would not be lax in his obligations. Now that the Ultimates no longer wished to remain secret, Darya could finally begin pushing for some proper civilization.

Darya received another report on some conquest of a meager village or another. There was a name for the mudhole, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Several warriors had been killed but most bent the knee before long; the servile genetrash had to be reorganized into the newly formed Hegemony of Tegon, the supreme hierarchy of the Ultimates extended to low-born weaklings for the sake of order. At least, that was how Darya looked at it. Darya looked over the reports on skilled laborers, craftsmen, warriors, children, the sick, elderly, and even cripples; notably absent were any reports of slaves. Darya scoffed at the listed plans and projects, much medicine and resources being devoted to healing the mud-crawlers and cripples. Darya had personally been opposed to the Supreme Commander's proclamation to have all slaves - even the ones Darya and his comrades had taken - freed, made into civilians and subordinates under the Hegemony's insurmountable authority. The moderate Ultimates had looked upon Darya and his fellow comrades with barely hidden disdain when Manu had made his stance on the institution of slavery clear. They had not cast such looks before the decision was made, however.

Servile boot-lickers, the lot of them.

Darya's only consolation was that the chivalrous fools known as the 'Iconics' had been divided on whether to strive for the Ultimate Blue Horizon or continue coddling the degenerate failures known as the rest of transhumanity. While some of the Iconics had come along to prance about as gallant knights for the medieval dogs, many others had stayed back in the Solar System. Good riddance, they were nothing but liabilities as far as Darya was concerned.

The issue was how much the Iconics that did come along influenced the Supreme Commander's decision making. They were the primary voice calling for the incorporation of the primitive scum polluting the Ultimates new homeworld, claiming that it was the duty of the superior to care for the inferior. The Supreme Commander had agreed, which showed how magnificently magnanimous and benevolent Manu Bhattacharya was; Darya just wished that such a demonstration didn't have to include the freeing of the slaves. So much labor, tossed away. A system for breeding only the best servants and disposing of the unfit, dismantled. Darya would face this challenge of inconvenience, but he had to grit his teeth the whole damn time.

What was more insane was the degree to which the Supreme Commander had taken the advice of the Witch. Darya hated Melisandre with a nigh violent passion; the woman clearly believed herself to be better and more knowledgeable than everyone except for the Supreme Commander, and she was nowhere near being a true warrior. While Darya had to admit that he enjoyed watching the sorceress practically lust after the Supreme Commander, he hated that the Witch had more influence than veteran Ultimates. The moderate dogs have happily rolled over and accepted such disrespect and demeanment, but Darya was not so easily placated.

No, Darya would simply have to prove that he could do more than simply perform as expected; the Witch - as much as the Overhumanist hated to admit it - did possess skills and abilities that were entirely unmatched by even the Supreme Commander. Darya doubted that that situation would last forever, as the Supreme Commander had dove swiftly into learning and mastering the esoteric arts. Darya had consulted with the more scientifically minded Ascetics and heard that the leading theory was some form of psi-ability granted by a relative of Watts-Macleod. Naturally, the Ultimates had experimented with the strain of smart-plague and found it rather inconsistent in reliability. In particular, it often had a negative effect on the psychology of the affected subject, resulting in rather disgraceful cognitive disorders. While Darya suspected that the Witch would prove to have such drawbacks in good time, the prospect of a perfected psi-strain was rather tantalizing.

All of this rumination led to one conclusion: Darya would have to prove that he could contribute something wholly unasked and entirely novel to the Ultimate cause. He had to demonstrate true initiative; strike where he should strike, not where he was told to strike. The issue was finding a goal that the Supreme Commander had not already explicitly set his gaze upon.

Darya was interrupted in his ruminations by an alert from one of the network technicians. Darya accepted the incoming call.

[What is it? I am busy establishing the backbone of our future conquest,] Darya snapped.

[Sir, we have received a communication from the Pathfinder executive leadership located in West Essos. They have found out our presence,] replied the technician.

[Really?] Darya asked. This was a rather fortuitous event. [What is it they want, then?]

The technician seemed to pause, likely checking the details of the communication. [Besides demanding that we explain our secrecy,] Darya suppressed a demeaning laugh, [they are wondering if we would be interested in an alliance. Something about potentially assisting with the disposal of nuisances to their schemes, both in Essos and Westeros.]

Darya was somewhat surprised by the bold action. The Pathfinder leadership must have overreached and are now desperate for some means to correct their cognitive failure, and the Ultimates were just a convenient twist on the whole climate of Tegon.

This may be exactly what I need, mused Darya. The Overhumanist smiled before making his decision.

[Patch them through. I would like to hear their proposal.]

BREAK

Jon I

The whip crack of gatekeeper coil and rail guns echoed out across the Haunted Forest, the bright tracer rounds impacting the zombies and setting them to flame with incendiaries. Jon shouldered his own long-rail and struck a zombie in the head, sending the unnatural abomination to the snow. Ghost paced about Jon, alert to the conflict but well trained; Jon wanted the direwolf to cover his blind spots.

[Keep 'em the fuck back, people! We got airlift comin' in, make sure to get the free-folk in first. If ya got a stack, keep from the damn back!] called out Robert Loupe, the Captain in charge of the company sent out into the Haunted Forest to rescue wildlings from the necro-plague. Jon had a stack, so he kept well away from the back line. Gatekeeper and the Iron Throne had decided that fewer bodies in the Far North for the plague to convert meant a better long-term eradication; largely, Jon agreed but some of the other members of the Night's Watch had been more reluctant on the prospect. The brothers of the Night's Watch had taken to the Pathfinder 'Thunderbirds' rather readily, happy to have a means to strike at the necro-plague and patrol the Far North without having to range out as regularly. Of course, Gatekeeper vehicles and bots made ranging far more tolerable as well, but the necro-plague necessitated some changes to standard operations.

Personally, Jon wanted to be there when he saved people's lives. Some of the other brothers felt the same as him, and together they had formed the New Ranger Corps of the Night's Watch. Tyrion Lannister had been a hearty supporter of the Ranger Corps, identifying a number of roles that the group could fill. Of particular concern was the fact that the Far North experienced regular sensor blocking storms, which made it difficult to implement a fully-automated or remote eradication program. By training the Ranger Corps in the usage of gatekeeper weapons and tools, the Corps could use marker-lights to perform target painting and ground level reconnaissance. Not only that, but the Ranger Corps would be ideal for helping extract or assist the Free Folk out past the Wall.

Apparently, the Ranger Corps made popular media for both the Seven Kingdoms and the transhumans past the gates. Tyrion had been rather swift in marketing the 'heroics' of the Ranger Corps.

"To your left, nephew!" cried out Benjen, as Ghost circled that direction and tackled a zombie to the ground. The direwolf ripped off an arm and backed away when Benjen approached and sent a viscous cough of flaming dragonglass shrapnel from the scatter-gun. The zombie came apart at the assault, becoming an inanimate hunk after a few seconds. Jon nodded to his uncle as he re-shouldered his long-rail and sized up another zombie in the treeline.

Dragonglass had been identified in the scanned archives produced by the gatekeepers, references found in both archives at Winterfell and the Citadel. Tests had quickly been implemented and proved quite successful; all new gatekeeper blades were tipped with synthetic dragonglass and dragonglass shrapnel was popular for fragmentation munitions and scatter-gun shells. Dragonglass couldn't withstand the forces imparted by ballistic weapons, so more conventional incendiaries were used in most other weapons.

[Pull back to the LZ, we're gonna evacuate the civvies before we call in the thunder!] announced Captain Loupe. Jon nodded to Benjen as the pair made their way back to the clearing, Ghost serving interference to any zombie that got too close.

Once the trio made it to the clearing, Jon glanced up to see the immense figure of the vacuum 'zeppelin' that had been developed for enhanced aerial operations. The flying machine was a great ovoid that carried a carriage underneath, one suitable for transporting and supplying a full company. This one would serve as civilian rescue and resupply for the Ranger Corps and the Militiamen company out in the Haunted Forest. The great floating sky-ship hovered just above the clearing, the Free Folk looking up in awe at the great machine. Then, some of the Militiamen approached them while smart-grapnels descended from the belly of the flying machine, which were attached as a harness for the Free Folk. Once properly secured, the Free Folk were then lifted up towards the ship and taken out of harms way.

Jon continued to take headshot after headshot, dropping the foul undead with a stunning speed. Jon caught their movements and heard their shuffling clearer than ever before thanks to some of the 'augmentations' he had received from the Commonwealth Militia medics. Not only that, but Jon had received 'bio-mods' and 'gene-therapy', which resulted in him feeling stronger and healthier before. When Jon had asked Diego about the changes, the Jovian said something about Jon's 'genome' being unique; with the modifications, Jon was classified as an 'Exalt', which meant that he somehow surpassed normal human performance. Some of the Militiamen had been impressed by Jon's apparent natural gifts, but the bastard only really cared about the fact that he could now perform his duties better than before.

As far as Jon was concerned, an improvement was an improvement and he would happily take the gatekeepers gifts.

A loud horn blared from the zeppelin as the last of the Free Folk were airlifted from the snowy field, signaling the escape of the great machine. [Jon, get some cover and shine a marker-light on the horde down south-east of us! Paint the rotten fucks for the cavalry,] ordered Captain Loupe. Jon signaled to his uncle and Ghost, the pair following after Jon as he ran for a nearby hill with a tall tree. Jon slung his long-rail and sent up a smart-hook to embed into the top of the tree. Three tugs confirmed the solidity of the connection, and Jon began scaling the tree. Benjen and Ghost kept the undead away as they slipped from the woods, several stragglers chasing after the Rangers away from the main horde.

When Jon reached the top of the tree, he pulled out the marker-light and used the advanced scrying capabilities of the tool to single out the zombies. Jon started tagging the group and drawing out a proposed attack run for the Thunderbirds, whose pilots accepted the strategy and sent their confirmation. Jon kept the marker-light focused on the targets, making sure that none of the Militiamen or Rangers would get caught in the cross-fire. A low screech descended on the Haunted Woods as the Thunderbirds came in to drop their payload, great detonations and gouts of flame erupting from the forest as the undead horde was incinerated.

Jon quickly descended the tree, making his way to the side of his uncle and unslung his long-rail to help dispose of the stragglers.

"By the Old and the New, Jon, those Thunderbirds are right impressive. Never going to get used to that kind of power," commented Benjen, the old ranger blasting one of the walking corpses head off. Jon merely smiled at the comment while the small group made their way back to the main force.

Once returned to the field, Captain Loupe signaled for everyone to gather to discuss new orders. "Alright, everyone good? Good. New orders from Wolfs Gate brass, they want us to check out some cave with strange sensor readings. Some wack-as-fuck quantum bullshit," explained the Captain, much muttering passing through the assembled troops.

Benjen glanced at Jon. "Quantum bullshit?" asked Jon's uncle. Jon shrugged his shoulders.

"It's the word gatekeepers use to describe magic, basically. Stuff like passing through walls like a ghost or cats being both alive and dead, without being undead."

Benjen blinked in confusion, but seemed to accept the explanation. Jon wasn't sure whether it was a good move to investigate the magic cave, but there was a possibility that it was related to the necro-plague. Captain Loupe began giving squad directions and having everyone mount up on some of the gatekeeper vehicles, the machines making the travel to the cave much easier than it would have been without the artifice.

The company plowed through the woods with great haste, plowing over undead or taking pot-shots at the walkers on their way to the cave. Eventually, the vehicles stopped before the cave entrance, the entrance marked by a pair of weirwoods in the cleft of a hill. The faces were unchanging, but almost appeared to have been watching the company as they set-up a defensive cordon and Captain Loupe designated first-in teams. Jon, Benjen, and two other Militiamen were selected as one of the first-in teams. Ghost followed along loyally, keeping pace with the men as they entered the cave proper.

Jon gave Benjen 'specs', a gatekeeper eye covering that provided superb visual capabilities. The device linked with Benjen's ecto, allowing for Jon's uncle to better see into the dark cave. Jon's vision was already enhanced, but he also tapped Benjen, the other Militiamen, and Ghost's own visual systems and fed all of the different perspectives into a shared 'tactical-network'; this allowed for the first-in teams to coordinate their sweeps and watch from each other's eyes. The cave entrance led into a branching web of cramped tunnels that twisted and linked wildly, the only consolation for navigation being the shared map. Ghost would pad ahead and scout out the tunnels, but the biggest surprise came when Ghost found an immense cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites. As Jon followed after his direwolf, the group came upon a deeper section filled with bones and skeletons of every configuration conceivable.

"Shit, what the fuck is this place?" asked one of the Militiamen.

"A first men crypt mayhaps?" pondered Benjen.

"Yeah, and these 'first men' came in giant and beast varieties?" countered the other Militiaman.

"We keep moving, and we may find the answer," Jon said as he kept pace behind Ghost. The other team-members followed after Jon, looking at skulls mounted in alcoves or gaping at the immense bat bones.

"Too bad those are probably fossilized," mused a Militiaman.

"They may still have some DNA, man. We still might be able to Jurassic Park these things!" offered the other. Jon wasn't sure what 'Jurassic Park' was at first, but his muse - Spirit - quickly gave him an explanation.

"Later. Ghost spotted something," Jon stated as he unslung his long-rail and walked towards the hiding figure that Ghost had cornered. "Come out with your hands up! If you cooperate, you will not be harmed." Jon ordered the figure, which seemed to twitch in shock.

After a moment, the figure stepped out for all to see. Jon gaped as he looked at the being, a small earthy colored child-sized person that had unnaturally large eyes and cat-like features, like some strange novelty sleeve. It was like a little man, but deeply unsettling; Jon heard that the feeling was called the uncanny valley. Jon had not learned where the name came from, but Jon certainly felt a valley of uncanny distance between him and the being.

"What in the hell kind of fucked up neotenic is that?!" exclaimed a Militiaman.

"Children of the Forest! Gods be good…" swore Benjen. Jon realized that that was the most likely explanation, as the Night's Watch and Gatekeeper had quickly confirmed the existence of giants in the Far North. Why not the Children of the Forest?

Jon re-slung his long-rail and commanded Ghost to back-off from the small creature. "Can you understand us? We are the Rangers Corps, we're here to eradicate the undead. Are you hiding from them?" The small figure stared at Jon, not even blinking before pointing deeper into the cave. Jon looked into the cat-like eyes, reminding the bastard of some of the aesthetic modifications common on Titan. Jon waved for the rest of his team to follow as he stepped further into the darkness, following after the small figure.

After a minute or so, Jon and his team came out to an immense cavern - bigger than the previous - that had a natural land bridge leading towards a twisted weave of weirwood roots. A powerful river roared beneath the bridge. The Child of the Forest looked at Jon and waved the bastard to follow across the bridge, Jon noticing the presence of only three fingers and a thumb.

"Come with me, Changed-Men. You must speak with the Greenseer."

Jon listened to the strange accent but did as directed. As Jon stepped across the bridge he spotted the form of a man, interwoven and speared through by the weirwoods, the trees merging with flesh while the man watched Jon and his team with curiosity. Benjen gasped at the sight while one of the Militiamen whistled.

"Damn, don't see that every day. Shit, this planet just gets weirder and fuckin' weirder."

Jon ignored the comments and approached the bound man. "Who… who are you? The Child of the Forest called you a Greenseer, a holy man of their people. You don't seem… surprised to see us."

The bound man looked at Jon a minute before deigning to answer. "As much as I saw you and your Changed-Men allies coming, this event is most unexpected, I assure you. I had originally intended to see your… younger brother, rather than you. And I expected it later than this. You may call me Bloodraven, though I used to be called Brynden."

Jon gaped at the comment. "You expected my brother? Do you mean… Bran?" Bloodraven smiled at the statement.

"Astute. Yes, I meant Bran. It seems that some of the Changed-Men had other plans, however; their home is a strange place, I must admit."

Jon wanted to inquire further as to what Bloodraven meant, but he received a priority alert from Captain Loupe. [Director Diego is on site, I repeat Director Diego is on site. Jon, he wants to speak with you about this discovery. Come back, now.] Jon cursed under his breath.

"I presume you have to go now?" asked Bloodraven. Jon glared at the disturbing man.

"Yes. This isn't over, Bloodraven." Jon waved for his team to follow him back, Ghost following along after.

"Oh, I am certain it isn't."

Jon made his way back up towards the entrance with his team, coming out to the sight of one of the zeppelins hovering above the cave while the tell-tale flicker of the 'agonizer' weapons played out at the zombies in the wood. The rest of the troops would pick off the stunned and dazed undead, keeping an appreciable spacing between the zombies and the new base camp. Jon spotted Diego speaking with Captain Loupe, but he also caught sight of Bran standing beside Diego. A privacy tent was set-up about three yards away from the trio.

Jon walked up to the group, confused. "Bran? Why are you here? It isn't safe past the Wal-" Diego raised his hand and hushed Jon.

"It is safe enough, Jon Snow. I saw what you found, as did Bran," Diego said as Bran nodded his affirmation. Jon didn't know what was happening but waited for Diego to continue. "It is best that we talk in the tent. What is happening here is highly sensitive. It likely will affect the whole world. You too, Benjen."

Jon looked on confused as Diego waved for Jon to follow the Jovian and Bran to the tent, glancing at his uncle for support. Benjen looked shocked and anxious, giving Jon a worried glance. Benjen grit his teeth, closed his eyes, then nodded. "Let's go, Jon. I think I may know what they wish to talk with you about."

Jon decided to follow his uncle's advice, following the pair to the privacy tent. As Jon entered the tent, he felt the subtle static haze of the faraday cage block all second-sight and second-sound from penetrating the tent. Once Benjen entered after Jon, the tent flap closed and Diego looked sadly at the bastard and his uncle. Bran seemed to look away shamefully.

"I apologize for how sudden this is, Jon. And this is an unknown for us too, so-" Diego began speaking but Jon cut him off.

"No, you must have been the one to send us to the cave. Why? And what does Bran have to do with this?" Jon demanded. Benjen looked between the two men.

Benjen gulped audibly. "Is this… is this related to Jon's heritage? I've seen Lady Svafa, and I have learned of your alchemy, Diego. Lady Svafa is no accident, isn't she?" Diego winced a bit but seemed to control himself excellently.

"Yes and no. We are still piecing this all together. I had my suspicions when I first came here, but recent events and TerraGen's research have largely helped confirm me and my colleagues' leading theories regarding your world," explained Diego.

"Your colleagues? Your Jovian students or Gatekeeper? The other Directors?" Jon asked.

Diego shook his head in the negative. "No, very different colleagues, Jon Snow. But let me be clear: I expected the existence of the necro-plague and I suspected the existence of this 'Bloodraven'. I have been endeavoring to uncover an ancient web of influence and powers that extend beyond politics and the conflict of humanity on your world. Jon, humanity is not native to this planet."

Jon gaped at the statement then he glanced at Benjen. His uncle also looked on in shock at Diego. "Not… native? Not just Westeros, or Essos, or even further; but the world itself? Then where did we come from?" Benjen asked the Jovian.

Diego nodded his head in confirmation. "TerraGen's research and Gatekeeper's cross-correlation with your own records have led me to conclude that humanity came to this planet through the gates tens of thousands of years ago. Not only does this confirm that at least one gate leads to old Earth, but that this gate had been open for quite some time. The different populations are too diverse for it to have been a one time incident. Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, I need you both to swear to secrecy before I continue this conversation. What I have just told you will not remain secret for long, but what I intend to tell you after is secret knowledge. And very dangerous knowledge. And Jon, it does personally involve you."

Jon pulled back in shock at the request while Benjen stiffened. Jon composed himself, but took his time to think about his answer. Looking at Benjen, Jon felt confident in his answer.

"I swear myself to secrecy; on my word, on my honor, and on my life," Jon answered. Benjen did the same. Bran sighed after the proclamations, but remained quiet.

Diego smiled slightly at the affirmations. "Alright. Jon, Benjen, human civilization is on a knife's edge. Jon, I presume you have looked into the Fall of Earth?" Diego asked. Jon nodded his head in affirmation. "Good. But for Benjen's sake, as I don't think he knows, I'll just explain the Fall. Ten years ago, all of human civilization came under attack by super-intelligent machines called the Total Information Tactical Awareness Network, or TITAN for short. Confusing, I know. But these machines had turned on their creators, and used their god-like intellects to nearly wipe our species from existence."

"But you won. Otherwise, you would not be here," interjected Benjen. Diego frowned a touch.

"We didn't win. As far as we can tell, the TITANs just left. They were winning, and it was never close. They could have wiped us out, but for some reason they didn't. And it had nothing to do with any of our efforts."

Benjen pulled back in shock, his face filled with fear. "Then… do you propose that these… Machine Gods are here? That they are working to kill us off, that they knew of our existence?"

Diego shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. But the bigger concern is why the TITANs turned on humanity; the official story is that the TITANs went mad or viewed us as a threat somehow. But that is wrong. They were… controlled. Subverted by an even more dangerous and powerful intellect. An extraterrestrial - or non-human - intelligence that far-surpassed anything humanity has ever produced, including the TITANs. This intellect, called the ETI, unleashed a plague of thought and logic on the TITANs; this plague enslaved them to the ETI's will, and the ETI directed the TITANs to exterminate their birth civilization. We still don't know what changed those plans, if they were changed at all. We just know that the active assault has ceased somehow." Jon felt lost in this conversation. It was weaving around different topics madly; how did this relate to him personally? Yes, a war of extinction would concern Jon, but not in a personal manner. Diego breathed in deep before speaking once more. "Me and my colleagues have found the influence of the ETI on this planet. An influence not thousands of years old, but millions. And we have confirmed the existence of a separate alien civilization, called the Iktomi. Me and my colleagues believe the Iktomi were victims of the ETI, the same as us."

Benjen seemed unable to speak, his eyes darting, likely trying to understand what he was just told. "So… why are we here, then? Wouldn't the ETI try to… to…" Jon spoke as realization hit him. Jon looked at Benjen, his uncle coming to the same conclusion.

"The Long Night…" both spoke at the same time.

"That is what I think as well. Maybe not the direct intent or action of the ETI, but the Long Night is somehow their doing. You see, the primary tool of the ETI - the plague of logic - can become a plague of life, of death, and of… well… magic. This plague is called the exsurgent virus, and it is intelligent and capable of terrifying self-transformation. It is what subverted the TITANs, and it is what I and my colleagues believe created the necro-plague. But it isn't perfect," explained Diego. Jon tilted his head at the last statement. "There is a strain of the plague on the Solar side of the gates - named Watts-Macleod - that does not subvert its victims to become a pawn of the ETI. It is… not as aggressive, you could say. And it grants what can best be described as magical abilities. Like what the sorcerers in Essos claim to perform, or what the Children of the Forest can likely do, and what Bran is capable of. But Bran is not infected with a Watts-Macleod strain my organization recognizes."

Jon looked at his younger brother. The boy looked back at Jon, his eyes weighty and half-lidded. "I trained to use my abilities with maegi - or asyncs, as they are called by Diego and I's organization - back on Titan after my fall off the Broken Tower. They tested my strain, and found that it was distinctly different from theirs. Like it wasn't meant for people, but that I had inherited it from Father."

Jon was starting to feel woozy. "Wait, Diego, you mentioned another 'alien' race? The Iktomi? Are you saying that Bran has their version of this 'Watts-Macleod'?" Diego waited a moment.

"Yes. And I believe that, like humanity on the Solar side of the gates, the Iktomi here had survived their encounter with the ETI. And they got their own version of maegi from the contact. Which is significant, for various reasons," confirmed Diego.

Benjen placed his hand on his chin. "That brings up a lot of different issues. Why does this weapon produce a strain that enhances its victim, rather than controls them? If the ETI are so powerful, would it not be possible for them to craft a weapon that never fails?" Benjen pondered before looking at Diego.

"Good thought, and you would be right. Do you want to know how many different advanced alien races have been found throughout gate travel?" Diego suddenly asked. Benjen blinked in confusion for a moment before nodding his head yes. "A dozen. Want to know how many are alive?" Diego asked, but he only received a stare from Jon and Benjen. Diego raised his hand, his fingers and thumb curled into a circle. "Zero. And they all show signs of contacting the ETI. Until we found your world - and evidence that the Iktomi did survive here. And that just like us, they survived with a little magical gift for the trouble. Strange, isn't it? But here's the real kicker; the Iktomi survived long before your ancestors stepped through the gates. And the earliest human ruins share space with some of the last Iktomi ruins. They coexisted."

Jon realized what Diego was saying. "So the Iktomi encountered our ancestors, and taught them… magic? Then why did the Long Night happen? And what of the Children of the Forest?" Jon asked. Diego shrugged.

"We don't know about the Long Night. Best guess? Coincidence, just like what is currently happening with gate travel. Someone poked something, and poof! Things change quickly. The Children are a bit of an unknown, but the leading hypothesis is that they are an early hominid from Earth, before humanity came along. They passed through the gates first. But what is immediately concerning is that the necro-plague and other instances of magic tomfoolery are acting up just as gate travel became a thing again. No hard proof, but I don't doubt that these two facts aren't unrelated. The exsurgent virus is waking up, and it will not be happy that we still exist. Me and my colleagues endeavor to ensure that the exsurgent virus is justified in that worry."

Jon ran his hand through his hair, trying his best to work out his feelings. "You're working to prevent another Long Night, another Fall. You… brought Bran into the fold. And now you… want to do the same with me and Benjen? How… how long have you been working towards this goal?" Jon asked, worry filling his being.

Diego looked solemn for a second. "Before I stepped through the gate, Jon. I poured over the early gene samples of the Stark family, and saw that Eddard and all of his children had an alien maegi strain. When I stepped through, I had already known what I needed to do to help ensure that Westeros was prepared to serve as the bastion of humanity's stand against Alien Elder Gods from the birth of the universe itself. And that included manipulating your father and King Robert."

Jon suddenly stilled. His blood ran cold, the thought crossing across his mind slowly and painfully. "You… made Lady Svafa look like… Lyanna? My dead aunt?" Diego closed his eyes and nodded his head yes. "Does… does she know?"

"No, she doesn't. I acted on a hunch and had her sleeve sculpted before she was brought in. I used the DNA from your whole family, Jon. But I wanted to be sure that I was correct in my design. So I acted on a second hunch regarding you." Jon felt his heart quicken and pointed at himself. He glanced at Benjen, who was giving Jon a pained look. Jon returned his gaze to Diego. "Jon, you are of the Stark line, that is certain. But there was a detail that made me realize you were different; you see, all exsurgent strains have a lineage, just like people. The Stark strain is very distinct. But you not only had the Stark strain, but a second one. So I compared your genome to your family. Jon, Eddard Stark isn't your father. Lyanna Stark was your mother, and that was how I was able to so precisely sculpt her sleeve to manipulate your father and King Robert."

Jon's knees were buckling and his breath was quickening. The bastard looked to his uncle for confirmation. "Jon, it is true. Your mother had your Father swear secrecy on the nature of your birth, and your Father had me make the same oath; you are the son of Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

Jon felt the weight of his body disappear as the floor slipped away from under the bastard. Jon's hearing had disappeared as only one thought had filled his mind before he fell unconscious.

I had thought Lady Svafa was attractive. That's concerning.

BREAK

Griff I

Jon Connington's head rocked back as the Pathfinder sellsword punched him, sending him into the wall of the Shy Maid's cabin. The sellsword backed up, gripping the strange bowless crossbow of the gate-walkers. Jon Connington - or Griff, as he went by nowadays - had seen the weapons used only occasionally, but he knew just how dangerous they were.

"Fucking stay there, primitive," scoffed the sellsword. Several other sellswords were harassing and corralling the crew. Young Griff stood next to Griff, clearly unhappy with the sudden search of the boat. The sellswords opened barrels, physically patted the crew for any hidden weapons, and went into the cabin as well as the lower decks. Griff glanced at the strange metal boats of the pathfinders, swifter than any vessel but likely nigh-invincible in battle. The interception was swift and sudden, the whip crack of pathfinder weapons clearly signaling the futility of resistance.

One of the sellswords walked up and reported the search to the leader of the pathfinder patrol, some sort of gate-walker magister. The pathfinder magister wore some sort of strange gray and black form-fitting gambeson, long-johns made of the same material as the gambeson, tall boots, and had a hood over their head. Griff couldn't tell if the magister was a man or a woman from their body or their voice, though the clothes were fairly manish. This seemed to be common amongst the gate-walkers, based on rumor. Once the sellsword finished speaking using the mystical 'second-sound', the magister walked up to Griff.

"Now I can understand if some basic modern society can be confusing for you, but Pathfinder considers it a crime to sail the Rhoyne without a proper license or paying a toll at the marked ports. Got any excuse for yourself?" said the magister. Griff held his tongue, deciding to wait for the magister to get on with the search. The magister scoffed lightly at the silence, but was suddenly distracted by an approaching sellsword. The sellsword carried a small wooden box which jingled lightly to the sway of the ship. Griff frowned at the development, but still he did not speak up. "Well, look what we have here," sang the magister as they opened the box, revealing an appreciable quantity of various Free-City coins. The magister ran their hand through the pile, looking at the different shapes and insignias. The magister closed the box and nodded their head towards one of the pathfinder boats. "I'll consider that payment for your toll and payment for your fine due to sailing without a license. Next port you hit, make sure to get registered, 'cause I don't want to fuckin' do this shit again." The magister whistled as the sellswords finished their search and left for their own vessels. Griff and his crew did not move from their spots until the pathfinder boats were well out of sight.

Young Griff grabbed a piece of shattered barrel planking and threw it in the direction of the pathfinders. "Bloody fuckin' scoundrels!" cursed the young man as he huffed indignantly. The crew of the Shy Maid went about trying to get the ship back into order as Griff went to console Young Griff.

"Nothing we can do about this, son. We just have to find a way out of the Free Cities. Things will only get worse if we stay," Griff explained as Young Griff sulked. The young man growled before throwing yet another broken wood piece, then Young Griff made like the rest of the crew and went to fix the ship.

Griff cursed silently at the misfortune. It seems that the message about the scrying powers of the gate-walkers was no mummers tale, as the Shy Maid was quickly found out by the pathfinders. While the loss of the coin box was bad, Griff knew several safe-houses at a couple Rhoynish port towns he could use to somehow pay for a 'license' to sail the damn river. He'd rather not be caught up in another of those patrols.

Once the Shy Maid was sailing again, it only took a day to reach the next port town. The crew docked the boat while Griff and Young Griff went out to find the safe-house. Thankfully, the port town was small and had nearly no pathfinder presence. The only notable detail was one of their 'beacons', some device they used to cast the second-sight and second-sound out to the horizon. Once Griff had acquired the valuable Free City coin and made his way back to the Shy Maid, Young Griff pointed out a queer sight. A man was gesturing to a strange construct of black-rock and metal, that had four legs like an insect and four arms shaped the same as the legs. The legs and arms were attached to two box-like frames that were connected through some intricate metal linkage that twisted and bent freely. The construct was half the height of a man, and it had an insignia on its side: a standing branch of four leaves crowned by an upside down star, wreathed in a halo.

"Come one, come all, and witness the work of the gatekeepers of Westeros! This golem of steel and stone is a servant, a maester, and a King's advisor all at once! It contains within its clockwork mind more knowledge than the whole of the Citadel, and it can be yours for a measly ten Honors!" presented the merchant. The gathered crowd muttered at the little wonder; however, it seems that the merchant would have to lower his price before any of the townspeople would buy the construct. Or at least, that would have been the case if Young Griff wasn't there.

The young man grabbed ten honors from the safe-box from the safe-house, and ran up to the merchant. "I'll have 'em! I got your ten Honors!" yelled Young Griff. The merchant smiled widely and rubbed his hands together before taking the coins from the young man. Griff was still trying to work his way through the crowd after shaking off the shock from Young Griff's actions.

"Very wise decision, young man," cooed the merchant before turning towards the construct. "Servitor 1C7, register new administrator. Young man, speak your name and offer your hand, please." Young Griff was hesitant before doing as the merchant said. Griff just arrived next to the boy.

"What are you thinking?" whispered Griff, but Young Griff ignored him.

"I go by Young Griff, golem," spoke Young Griff as he held out his hand to the construct. The strange device then emitted a diaphanous curtain of light, passing the magical illusion over Young Griff's hand before chirping and banishing the light.

"New administrator registered. Biometrics logged. Would you like to name this system, Young Griff?" chimed the golem. Griff gaped at the sight, unsure as to what was happening. Young Griff thought for a bit, the crowd began offering different names.

"Steel Spider!"

"No, Stone Spider!"

"The Metal Hand!"

"Little Metal!"

Young Griff seemed to take in the names, but came up with one himself. "Blue steel. Since me and my father have blue hair." The golem chirped again.

"Designation registered: Blue Steel. It is a pleasure to meet you, Young Griff," said Blue Steel before 'glancing' at Griff. "I presume this is your father? I humbly request your name, paternal unit."

Griff gaped some more at the strange speech, but reigned in his wits. "I go by Griff. And you better be useful. I still have to deal with getting a pathfinder 'license'..." muttered Griff. Blue Steel chirped at the statement.

"I have detected a potential legal obstacle in your comments. Am I correct in assuming that you have not acquired a license from Pathfinder corporation, and that this poses a threat to your financial future?"

Griff was shocked at the assessment and glanced quickly around him, the crowd watching the spectacle with great interest. The merchant smiled coquettishly.

"Y-yes, that would be true," confirmed Griff. The construct suddenly leapt from the short platform to the ground, and started making its way to the beacon at the center of town. Griff stared for a moment before he and Young Griff followed after.

"Please confirm the license type you require," asked Blue Steel.

Young Griff skipped excitedly after the golem. "Sailing, for the Rhoyne!" The golem chirped yet again.

"Confirmed. I shall expand the range to include sailing in West Essos and have trade and transport licenses included into a singular certificate. Give me a moment," chittered the construct as it extended its arm - the arm lengthened, parts sliding past each other - and connected its metal hand to the beacon. The beacon started chirping as well, while strange lights flashed across the pylon. After a moment, the spectacle ceased and Blue Steel retracted its arm, approaching Old and Young Griff. "License acquired. A single asymmetric key signed certificate has been provided by Gatekeeper, which Pathfinder recognizes as legitimate due to political treaties signed by both corporations."

Griff was confused by the statement, but it seems that his license issues were possibly over. Young Griff smiled triumphantly.

Blue Steel tilted its 'head' to better face the father and son. "How else may I be of assistance?"

Last edited: Thursday at 4:57 PM

BREAK

Melisandre III

The Great Pyramid of Meereen was quite the sight from up above. Melisandre stood beside her lord as they looked down on Meereen, safely positioned above the city on the great 'vacuum zeppelin' - christened Leviathan's Maw - that had been brought through the mystical gate of the Ultimates. A series of bright blue streaks raced past Melisandre's vision, the woman looking after them to see the 'seekers' strike the defensive towers of Meereen, sending the once mighty defenses down to the streets below. It was somewhat difficult to see, but Melisandre could certainly feel the panic of the Meereenese at the sight of the Ultimates supreme air ships.

An Ultimate Ascetic approached the Supreme Commander and saluted dutifully. "Supreme Commander, we have confirmed that the controlling leaders of the Noble families have fallen ill to the timed-release smart-toxins," reported the Acolyte. The rest of the bridge of the Leviathan's Maw were working their arcane second-sight, the incredible perception only recently afforded to Melisandre through an 'ecto'. Manu Bhattacharya remained unchanged in his stance for a moment, then he suddenly turned and walked towards the 'drop bay', a section below the bridge. Melisandre followed after her Lord, curious as to his plans.

The drop bay was filled with Ultimate Aspirants, Acolytes, Legates, and even a few Ascendants. They all saluted their Lord, but remained focused on the city below. Manu stepped up to a drop latch, the floor doorway opening of its own accord. Suddenly, the drop bay was filled with the sound of screaming and the whistle of seekers. Manu faced his gathered soldiers.

"Today, we begin our conquest of the Slaver Cities. From there, we shall expand our reach and take all cities east of Slaver's Bay, as far as the Bone Mountains. Once we have claimed Central Essos, we shall pass the mountains, bring low the complacent Yi-Ti, and prove our mastery over this world. Our Blue Horizon awaits," announced the Supreme Commander as he held out his arm for Melisandre. The sorceress took Manu's hand and found herself pulled into her Lord's arms. Manu then stepped out of the drop hatch and fell down towards the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Melisandre was shocked at the action, but she had faith in her Lord. Melisandre glanced around and saw that the other Ultimate warriors had followed their Supreme Commander's lead, leaping from the drop bay hatches and descending upon the city.

The descent only lasted for a couple seconds before the Supreme Commanders cloak flared out of its own accord, forming great wings over twice as wide as Melisandre's Lord was tall, the fall suddenly arrested to a more controlled speed. Melisandre gripped at the sashes on Manu's armor, the ropes overlaid on his plate twisting to life and wrapping around the sorceress. Melisandre saw that the other warriors had similar such living cloaks, falling onto Meereen like the harpy the Ghiscari so revered. A half-dozen of the Ultimates came upon the flanks of Manu, firing the strange bowless crossbows that they wielded. The cracks echoed over the city as the swift bolts cut into the guards spotted through the windows or upon the terraces of the Great Pyramid, sending red gouts of blood out over the bricks of the immense structure. The gathered guards quickly began retreating back into the safety of the Pyramid, having realized the futility of exposing themselves before the falling warriors.

Manu turned slightly, circling the Great Pyramid as the Ultimate warriors fell into the windows or upon the terraces of the Pyramid. Slowly, the Supreme Commander approached the highest terrace of the Pyramid at the apex and landed, sliding across the stone as Manu's plate boots sent sparks forward. The living cloak enveloped Melisandre and her Lord, the twang of bows outside the fabric and the sound of shattering arrows upon the fabric. The guards seemed to have found the courage to fire upon Manu from the walls just outside of the high terrace.

Not only was the cloak a set of wings, but a mighty shield. How convenient.

Manu then rose, his cloak opening and the living rope releasing to allow Melisandre to view the inside of the top of the Great Pyramid. The guards looked on with shock and fear at the Supreme Commander and his dramatic entrance. One guard threw a javelin at Manu, but the Supreme Commander simply grabbed the spear from the air and swiftly returned it to its owner. The javelin flew back with far greater speed, passing cleanly through the breastplate of the guard and passing through the man entirely. Manu began maneuvering his greatsword deftly, changing grip on the double-guard and the double-handles to redirect the motion of the blade as he saw fit, deflecting arrows and even halving another javelin clean down the middle. The greatsword sang, the mystic blade casting sparks of lightning into the air. Melisandre slowly followed after her Lord as his Ultimate warriors fell onto the Great Pyramid terrace and began dispatching the guards. No blade, arrow, or javelin found itself close to the sorceress that did not belong to the Ultimates. Manu approached a whole score of guards and swept his blade in a great arc through the poor men. The blade cut through them with ease, wings of blood and viscera flying away from the Supreme Commander like a storm of flesh. Manu's blade would glance against stone and steel, cutting deep gouges into the brick and leaving mundane steel smoking with heat.

The other Ultimate warriors would use their 'pistols' and their own hyper-edge blades to dispose of other guards, leaving their Supreme Commander to fend for himself. Soon enough, the guards decided to descend the Pyramid to join with their fellows below. Melisandre saw Manu order his warriors down to dispose of the stragglers, slaughtering all who fought or capturing those who surrendered. Manu then returned his attention to the apex chamber itself.

There were several slaves, servants, and what appeared to be Meereenese nobles cowering about the chambers. They looked on with awe and fear at the Supreme Commander and his casual slaughter of their protectors. Melisandre saw an unwounded body lay upon the master bed, a man whose life had passed.

Melisandre pointed out the corpse. "Supreme Commander, I believe that to be the body of the previous owner of this Pyramid. As was reported, the poisons have taken effect."

The people surrounding the body moved away fearfully as Manu approached the bed. The Supreme Commander stared at the body and then glanced at one of the noble ladies. "Once the conquest of Meereen is complete, you may perform your funerary rites. In return, you are to proclaim the supremacy of the Ultimate Hegemony over Meereen and command your warriors to surrender. Come," commanded Manu, waving for the noble ladies to follow. Melisandre smiled at them in reassurance.

"His Magnificence the Supreme Commander, Manu Bhattacharya, is quite merciful if you recognize his authority and kneel to the Hegemony. You will spare much suffering by following his command. You will suffer no harm while you are with me."

The gathered nobles relented and followed Melisandre as she descended the Great Pyramid. Below the apex was a great chamber - likely some meeting hall - that had bricks of purple stone and a wide terrace. Guards were either dead or bound, while servants cowered at the brutality of an Ultimate assault. These servants were ordered to follow after Melisandre and the nobles. Slowly but surely the procession descended the Pyramid, the Ultimates pacifying the lower levels while Melisandre gathered her own host. Sometime later and Melisandre had finally reached the base of the Pyramid, the sounds of battle and the roar of seeker strikes reaching through the openings in the Pyramid. Melisandre saw Manu standing out past one of the great entrances, looking out over the city streets. Passing through the entryway, Melisandre glimpsed the rout of the Pyramid defenders and the capture of Meereen on a far more personal level.

[Supreme Commander, the Khalasars and the Legions have passed through the fallen walls and gates. They are now sacking the lower streets of Meereen,] chimed one of the Ultimate Ascetics, likely safely above the conflict in the Leviathan's Maw. Manu stroked his chin in thought.

[Have the Ascendants in charge of the Khalasars and Legions encourage moderation, but it is infeasible to police such numbers. No, keep half of the native forces in reserve outside of the city. Show me the largest temple in this city,] replied Manu. Melisandre saw the 'volumetric' map of Meereen, the temple clearly painted in bright gold.

"Looking to glimpse the heathen gods of the Ghiscari, your Magnificence?" Melisandre inquired. Manu glanced down at the sorceress.

"I wish to confirm a theory."

BREAK

Walder I

"Alright, just place the power relay down here. Don't let it lay on the roots, we need it stable," directed one of the gatekeeper engineers. Walder carried the heavy machine to a flat piece of ground that wasn't covered in any roots then gently lowered the device down. Walder then went to the power cabling, the black cording thick but surprisingly light, and returned to the power relay to connect the cabling. After that the engineer came up and worked their artifice, bringing the machine to life with a gentle whir. "Thanks as always, Walder. I'll ping you if I need anything else."

"Don't worry about it. Not too difficult," Walder replied as the engineer left back up the main cavern to the outside of the Bloodraven Cave, as it came to be known. Walder had been flown in along with some other workers to help set-up a base camp at the location, along with a contingent of Militiamen and Rangers to permanently watch over the place. A defense cordon had been set-up and expanded, but the gatekeepers didn't want to take chances.

Walder was just happy to be useful, and that all of the pretty girls back at Winterfell weren't bothering him out past the Wall.

The direwolf Ghost padded up to Walder, the large man kneeling down to scratch the beast under the jaw. Ghost accepted the contact readily, panting happily at the attention. Jon Snow walked up beside Ghost as well while Walder stood up to speak with the Ranger.

"Now isn't this just a right strange place, eh? To think, a Greenseer, just like the stories that nan would tell," Walder commented. Jon Snow shook his head.

"Gate-walkers, the Others, Greenseers, and probably far more. All so fast. I'd never think that these things would happen, or that I'd be part of dealing with them. It's all a bit… much," replied Jon. The Ranger seemed to glance away and frowned, looking lost in thought.

Walder slapped his hand on the bastard's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "We're doin' just fine, Jon. With the gatekeepers and all their magic, I'd say we got things covered pretty well," said Walder. Jon looked back at Walder and smiled lightly. "Real shame you took the black, though; that Lady Svafa was right into ya' from what I could tell. You've become quite the man, thanks to all that Ranger work you're doing. Why, she may still try something once you see her again! Ha-ha!" Walder teased the man, smacking his shoulder heartily while Jon looked on with a strangely pale gape.

Odd that, Walder thought; it had seemed that Jon had liked Lady Svafa. Maybe it was the cold? Nah, couldn't be; people are more likely to blush in the cold! He'd just have to try harder to get the reserved bastard out of his shell, have a little fun now and then. The Night's Watch was changing so fast, Walder wondered if the whole celibacy thing was going to be retained in the future. Especially with all the Thunderbirds and glory out fighting the necro-plague, there was talk of loosening the vows to allow for more lesser noble sons to join. Bad for recruitment to have future soldiers relinquish all inheritance and titles.

Jon sputtered in embarrassment. "W-well, I… uh… don't think that L-lady Sva-fa was a-all that interested, and, well…" Jon stammered out. Walder smiled large and deep, then belly laughed at Jon's embarrassment.

"Alright, I'll leave ya' be; for now," Walder said as he removed his hand from Jon's shoulder. Walder turned around to face the Greenseer and Bran, the two conversing with each other through the second-sound. The ecto on the Greenseer made for a queer sight if one looked closely enough, but the device made Bloodraven look somewhat regal at a glance. Which was apparently true; the Greenseer was a couple hundreds years old and a Targ of all things.

Right weird times, that was for sure.

"What ya' think they're talkin' about, Jon?" Walder whispered. Jon shrugged his shoulders and seemed content to just watch. Bloodraven opened his eyes and glanced at Walder and Jon.

"We are speaking of the fate and the history of the world, naturally. That, and I was learning how this strange device works. Personally, I still prefer my own methods of communication, though I see the value," explained Bloodraven. The bound man eyed Walder up and down for a moment. "Do you have giants blood, mayhaps?"

Walder smiled and shrugged. "That's what everyone says. Not really sure myself."

Walder felt his wrist tingle as he received a new work request through his own ecto. While Walder had been using the device for about a month at this point, he still found the whole idea of second-sight and second-sound quite foreign. Walder pulled up the request and read the details.

Walder sighed and tapped Jon on the shoulder. "Gotta head up to help haul some new supplies. Keep an eye on our little Greenseer for me, Jon."

Jon merely nodded before Walder left for the surface, passing through the caves. The bones were still being collected and sorted, the gatekeeper maesters carefully tracking their arrangement and placement. There were lights and gatekeeper second-sight constructs all throughout the cave, providing the wondrous resources to the workers deep in the cave. Physical signage had been placed for the benefit of those without access to the second-sight, as the cave had been carefully mapped out. Walder passed out through the cave entrance and began making his way down to the freshly dropped supply crate being unloaded by various Winterfell workers. Smaller items and tasks were delegated to the gatekeeper bots. Walder identified a bundle of metal piping and struts, which were to be set up so that living fabric and power lines could be strung up. As Walder easily lifted the bundle and made his way to the designated work spot, he took a moment to look at the camp being set-up. The Militiamen and Rangers had placed down barricades and 'smart-barb wire', while tenting had been put up to help block the cold winds of the Far North. Several of the gatekeeper windmills had been placed about while the maesters all clustered around the weirwoods, observing the trees with their scrying tools. A whip crack whistle echoed over the Bloodraven hills, a Ranger eliminating a stray zombie out in the woods.

Walder carefully placed the bundle down on a work table and began taking the metal parts and staking them into the hard soil. As Walder set to work, he received a news broadcast on his ecto. Walder opened one of the floating magic windows and placed the view off to his side, so that it didn't interfere with his work. The window showed Lord Stark and his Small Council standing out before a crowd in King's Landing. Lord Stark spoke up first.

"Today, we have received word of a new faction of gate-walkers out in Central and East Essos," announced Lord Stark as Walder paused to listen intently; the crowd muttered loudly at the news. "From what our sources know, this new group is a militant company of veteran warriors called the Ultimates. Approximately four months ago, they had taken the Discord gate on the distant gate-walker land of Eris, slaughtering the Go-Nin company that held the gate previously. The Ultimates seem to be moving the entirety of their forces through the gate into East Essos, and they have already taken the slaver city of Meereen." Walder gaped at the development while the King's Landing crowd became a riot of questions, shouts, and outbursts. Looking around, Walder noticed that most of the nearby workers were also watching the broadcast. Lord Stark raised his hand to quiet the crowd. "We expect the other slaver cities of Yunkai and Astapor to fall soon, likely within the next month or two. The Ultimates have seized the Central Essos plains and their movements suggest that they will march south-east after they have taken Slavers Bay. As of now, they have made little to no contact with either Gatekeeper, Pathfinder, the Seven Kingdoms, or any kingdom that they do not intend to conquer. They are being led by their warrior king, Manu Bhattacharya." The crowd murmured and rustled aggressively, clearly anxious about this new warrior army out in the East. Lord Stark then announced that the Small Council had devised plans and strategies to help prepare Westeros for the coming changes in Essos. Lord Tywin Lannister stepped up to the podium as Lord Strak stepped away.

Tywin looked out over the crowd, slowly passing his gaze over the assembled people. "Like all of you gathered here today or watching us through the scrying artifice of the gatekeepers, I fear for what threat these Ultimates may pose to Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms. I fear for the violation and illness posed to our realm by the necro-plague. I fear for the blatant and subversive mercantilism running rampant in West Essos. And I fear for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms in the face of such unprecedented upheavals of the old order. I fear for Westeros." Lord Tywin spoke with confidence, allowing his words to pass over the crowd before continuing. "But the Seven Kingdoms are strong! We have always held ourselves to a higher standard than the degenerate opportunism of Essos, and we have held the common good of the realm as a supreme duty to be honored by all. We have fought to overthrow mad tyrants, depose rebel warlords, and strive to bring the new industrial revolution to the whole of Westeros. The Rule of Law and the Divine right of Kings is held sacred by all good peoples born and raised in these lands. But now, we must reach ever higher. We cannot allow ourselves to lapse in our vigilance or our duty while the world outside our borders collapses into anarchy and chaos!" Lord Tywin emphasized his point by slamming his fist on the podium. The crowd was silent, listening intently to the speech. Walder felt a strange well of pride form in his chest at the description of the Seven Kingdoms; he had only rarely felt such a sensation, such as when Lord Stark or Lord Robb commended Walder for his efforts and duty. "A new age has dawned over Westeros - over the whole of Tegon - and with it shall come a new Westeros. To help secure our borders, ensure law and order reign in the industrial revolution, and to ensure the prosperity of our future generations, the Small Council has devised a plan for reform for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. His Grace King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm has authorized this plan and given his blessing to the Small Councils efforts. With the assistance and support of Gatekeeper, we announce that the Seven Kingdoms shall be reformed into the United Kingdoms of Westeros!" A wave of muttering and gossip erupted from the crowd as Walder watched on in shock. "With the creation of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, we also announce the formation of the first National Army, Navy, Airforce, and Ranger Corps for the protection of the whole of the realm. These shall be permanent standing armies, composed of citizen volunteers dedicated to the safeguarding of Westeros and the preservation of our sovereignty. To ensure that the rule of United Kingdoms is in the best interest of all, we have already begun the creation of a new representative body for all of the noble and landed houses of the realm, the Legislature of the Landed Council; we have established a unified and reformed system of justice, the Judiciary of Westeros; and to ensure the execution of the will of Westeros and the will of the King, we have organized the Small Council into the Royal Executive Ministries of the United Kingdoms!" Walder watched on with shock, barely understanding what all of this entailed.

The Seven Kingdoms were to be changed? Walder supposed that it made sense, considering all of the upheaval recently. The giant man also suspected that the gatekeepers had pushed for this change as well. Lord Tywin Lannister stepped down to allow for Lord Renly Baratheon to explain the new system of law, justice, and order to be implemented across the realm. Walder returned to his work, paying half attention to the finer details announced by the other Masters of the Small Council - or Royal Ministers, now - while Walder checked some gatekeeper forums for their own opinions.

Once the official announcement had ended, the broadcast changed to a showing of a very different kind. Walder had seen several gatekeepers bring up this idea - propaganda, it was called - and he watched with fascination as the broadcast played heroic imagery of the Ranger Corps battling the undead horde, of the new naval ships flanked by orca pods, of the great zeppelins rescuing wildlings or delivering supplies, and all of it showed some of the new soldiers of the early National Army. They were supporting the Rangers, manning the boats, and distributing medicine and food. The image changed to a brilliant sky-view of great regiments of the new Army, standing tall and proud with their firearms. Text appeared across the screen, beseeching the people of Westeros to join in on the protection of the realm.

Walder closed the broadcast and finished up his work. He wanted to speak to Jon about what he thought of this development, especially since Jon actually appeared in the 'propaganda'.

Walder was already coming up with some japes on Jon's expense regarding how Lady Svafa would fall head over heels for the bastard because of his grand appearance in the broadcast.

BREAK

Melisandre IV

The temple of Meereen had been taken swiftly, and the strange 'quarantine' of the Ultimates established even faster. The Rajput elites were contained within great panes of glass, their gambeson fully covering them and the warriors wielding strangely shaped weapons. Melisandre stood beside Manu, who looked at the preparation of his elite warriors grimly, his normally placid but confident smile gone. One of the Rajput warriors made signs to the others before twisting the handle on a disc-shaped device stuck to the floor just in front of the statue of some Ghiscari heathen god or another. The Rajput stepped away as the stone beneath the disc was transformed to dust and sand, a great reverberation passing through the sealed glass chamber. As the dust cleared, a hidden passageway was made clear for all to see. The lead Rajput faced Manu as the Supreme Commander signed the authorization to continue. The Rajput saluted, and the group descended into the hidden passageway, passing into darkness.

"Tell me, Melisandre, what do you think of this Ghiscari idol?" asked Melisandre's Lord. Melisandre looked at the Supreme Commander before returning her gaze to the passageway.

"I believe it to be a symbol of a heathen faith, one which fails to see the light of R'hllor. And I believe that it was meant to cover up an even older cult, one which was unappealing even to the Ghiscari slavers. What are you trying to confirm, your Magnificence?" Melisander said as she returned her gaze fully to her Lord.

Manu did not waver as he watched the passageway, his eyes never blinking or darting. "That the idols of this world are not mere fantasy," Manu replied simply. Melisandre raised an eyebrow.

"Are you telling me that you believe these Ghiscari images to represent real gods?" the sorceress asked cautiously. Manu scoffed at the assertion.

"Not an iota. No, they are no gods I worship or respect. Demons? Spirits? Ghosts may be a more apt description, for they are of the land beyond life or trapped by its sleeping masters. But they are most certainly slaves, the misbegotten toys of complacent degenerates. Wasted potential. And they may be the key to my Blue Horizon."

Melisandre furrowed her brow, trying to piece together what the Supreme Commander was hinting at. It was clear that her Lord was being poetic and cryptic, but she still knew not of the faith of the Ultimates; it was a highly personal affair for them. This roused a question within Melisandre's mind, one she had not thought to ask despite spending over two months amongst the remade warriors.

"What is the soul, your Magnificence? I ask only because it seems that your people have a supreme mastery over it."

Manu finally turned his eyes towards Melisandre, a small smirk playing across his features. "I suppose that our use of cortical stacks would make it seem that we are more in tune with the essence of all spiritual contemplation; perhaps we are, but from my own experience the cortical stacks have done nought but breed indulgence, as sad as that is. Let me ask you a question then, Melisandre; what do you know of cortical stacks?"

Melisandre took the redirection in stride, quickly identifying that her Lord intended to teach her by guiding her. "Well, through your artifice and alchemy, you are able to grow a diamond inside at the base of the head, at the back face. This diamond becomes a seed, its roots growing into the head, forming beautifully fine branches throughout the mundane flesh found there. This flesh is called the brain - and it is the seat of the soul. The diamond tree then casts light across itself, and captures the reflections from the brain, which reflects the soul itself. These reflections are then stained upon the seed, like how color is stained on Westerosi glass. Through this, you may escape death, and bring your warriors back from the grave." Manu seemed to take in the explanation without any significant change to his features, his smirk statuesque.

"Is the reflection of a thing the same as the thing itself, Melisandre?"

Melisandre pulled back a bit, but realized what the Supreme Commander was suggesting. "No. But then… how does the stack capture the soul, your Magnificence?" To Melisandre's surprise, Manu chuckled at her answer.

"From one perspective you would be correct. But are you looking at me, Melisandre?" Manu turned to face her completely, his regal form filling her vision. Melisandre quieted her heart as she thought about the question.

"Of course. You are before me, resplendent in your glory."

"Incorrect." Melisandre visibly pulled back in shock this time. "What you perceive is but another reflection, no different than the reflection of the stack. Your eyes do not grasp anything but the panes of light that have cast off of me and found their way towards you. This light has its true origin in the sun, or flame, or any luminescent object; yet, the light shows you something of me. In fact, your eyes aren't even where your experience of me resides; they cast the image - reflecting it - into the brain, where the sensation is passed through more stained glass of the flesh, to become some convoluted representation of what your brain believes to be the outside world. So tell me, Melisandre, how do you actually come to know me? To understand that I stand before you?"

Melisandre took but a moment to find an answer. "I reason your existence. I use evidence and logic to know that you are real, in spite of the illusion." Manu didn't change his figure, but his eyes gleamed.

"But how did you come to know reason? Or come to know how to know in the first place?" Melisandre actually had no answer to that question. "Your logic and reason and knowledge are built on countless experiences like the one you are having right now. Reflections bouncing about, before being cast into the totality of your experience; every one of the qualia that compose this moment for you a unique combination of countless paths and processes. Melisandre, the truth is that the Manu Bhattacharya that you experience before you is not Manu Bhattacharya, but you. The entirety of your current experience is actually nothing but you; it is not Manu Bhattacharya, it is not the temple, it is not the stone floor, nor is it the smell of perfume or the silky brush of your fabric. It is you."

Melisandre gaped for a moment before responding. "But your Magnificence, you exist; my experience is just the colored reflections through stained glass, not the stained glass itself," countered Melisandre. Manu chuckled yet again, his tone dancing in Melisandre's chest.

"Melisandre, are we no more than the gross material substances that comprise reality?" Melisandre shook her head in the negative. "Of course not. We are discussing the soul, are we not? And what if I told you that - through the artifice of the cortical stack - I am able to take the image of my psyche, craft a perfect copy of my flesh, and cast that image into the flesh? Such that it would stand up, and declare itself to be Manu Bhattacharya, and be truly correct in all the practical matters of its behavior, nature, and intellect?"

Melisandre felt her chest tighten in horror at the concept. "That… that would not be possible! It would be a trick of necromancy!" cried the sorceress. Manu smiled fully, filling Melisandre with conflicting beasts of adoration and terror.

"But it is! I have not only done it, but I have taken both reflections, cast them into a single stack, and emerged with the separate experiences of both, like a river forking and merging. Tell me Melisandre, where is the soul in that?" Melisandre suddenly looked at Manu in a whole new light. What kind of artifice did the gate-walkers truly possess, such that the soul could somehow be split in twain?

"Are… are you implying that the soul is… an illusion?" Melisandre asked fearfully, hoping desperately it was not true. Suddenly, Manu's face softened as he fell to one knee, bringing himself to her level.

"Not at all. Melisandre, is the river the water that flows?"

"I no longer know for certain, my Lord…" Melisandre spoke truthfully. Manu carefully placed his hand on her shoulder, gently applying a touch of pressure.

"I apologize for ripping the rug out from under your feet, sorceress. But the answer is no, because the river is the very process of flowing water itself. The water that flows through a river likely never returns, but yet the river remains; the same is true for flesh, for moments in time, and for experiences. But what remains is the process. The action, the verb! That is the true essence of self, of soul. It is a more accurate means to identify life, and it dispels the contradictory delusions of self defined by gross matter. The multiple instances of Manu Bhattacharya are two bodies, two minds, but one process, one soul. Just like the forking river or the fact that the reflections cast of me are only one set of reflections that are cast all around this room to those around you, Manu Bhattacharya is not the material casting these reflections or the thing splitting the river; Manu Bhattacharya is the process of these things, identified through obstruction, obfuscation, and ignorance. And it all is singular, even when the process goes from Manu to Melisandre; for the source is always singular. The head of the river. The heat of flame. The fusion of the sun. All are the spiritual energies by which existence is cast, all simply different perspectives of the same light source. All one spirit, but an infinity of souls."

Melisandre took in the explanation, finally understanding what her Lord was teaching her. "In the teachings of R'hllor, we are told that shadows are the children of the Lord of Light… but I see now that it is not just shadows, but reflections as well. And that all things are shadows and reflections of His majesty," reasoned Melisandre. "Thank you, your Magnificence; you have helped me to see just how close R'hllor is to all of his children. To understand the soul, and the spirit." Manu rose up as Melisandre bowed her head in respect. "Is that why the Ultimates pray to themselves? To know that the divine can be found within?"

Manu smiled brightly, his perfect teeth a brilliant silvery white. "Part of the reason. The other is that the spiritual is a process of personal growth, one of constant self-becoming that can only truly be understood through action. Much of this philosophy is implicit in Ultimate teaching; most reflect on it in their own way." Melisandre seemed to better understand the faith of these warriors. Where she once saw a strange absence was instead innate to their very way of life. It now made perfect sense to Melisandre that the perfected warriors, the chosen of R'hllor, would practice their faith in every action they took; not through overt worship, but silent and austere dedication.

Just then, one of the Rajput returned from the passageway. He carried a strange glass tube capped with metal ends filled with a viscous fluid, while another Rajput came up carrying a glass box with a strange blue sea-shell of some kind. Then more came, each carrying an odd artifact: an arch of oily-black stone, a vial of sparkling and swirling metal dust, a glass urn of a bronze tree in constant growth and death. They placed the items on a table, the Ascetics working their scrying instruments.

"What are these, your Magnificence?" Melisandre asked. Manu frowned at the artifacts, visibly concerned with their presence.

"Reflections, Melisandre; reflections of the past. And through them and the mosaic of my psyche, I shall discern the truth of the present, and the future."

BREAK

Robb III

Gently pulling back on the control stick and gunning the gas pedal, Robb directed the ornithopter to raise its nose and rise up. After a couple seconds of gaining altitude, Robb leveled out the controls and looked out across Ironman's Bay towards the Iron Islands. The sky was fairly cloudy, gray with the filtered light of the sun, while the seas chopped and roiled casually below. Robb spotted a couple boats while his second-sight drew him a prediction of their path, towards Pyke. Frowning at the development, Robb turned towards Diego in the passenger seat.

"What side do you wish to scry, Ser Diego?" Robb asked the Jovian. Diego fiddled with some instruments and nodded towards his left.

"The south-side, need a good look at Pyke. Once I have the data we can fly down to the Westerlands airfield, King Robert wants us to scout out the Dornish border alongside ornithopters oh-nine and one-two. We need a good sweep, so go high to low before changing course."

Robb nodded at the directions and kissed the throttle release a touch more, picking up speed through the jet engines and soaring ever faster towards the south-side of Pyke. Eventually, the ornithopter finally got close enough for Diego to start working his scrying instruments. Robb was curious about the devices, as they did not use the second-sight, the second-sound, or the network of the gatekeepers to work; they were some sort of 'analog' device, much like the controls of the ornithopters. Mayhaps it had to do with increased precision? Robb knew that the analog fly-by-wire and fly-by-light mechanisms of the ornithopters could produce any range of control, limited only by the skill of the pilot. Perhaps the instruments that Diego now used were exploiting a similar such advantage?

Whatever the case, Robb slowly turned inwards towards Pyke to keep a constant distance while he allowed the ornithopter to casually drift downwards. Robb smiled at the thought of the Greyjoys and other Ironborn looking on in shock at the ornithopter, its mighty roar and thrum racing out across their sea and islands. Robb would glance at the holographic readouts on the instrument display screen and the glass hull of the ornithopter while he watched the Ironborn ships sail about. Looking out towards his incoming path, Robb leveled out the ornithopter and twitched the ship upward, rising like a striking hawk over a particularly tall galley, likely giving the crew a right shock by the close pass.

"Dammit, kid! You're way too cocky with these things," complained Diego, "but I got the sensor readings. Let's leave for Lannisport, Kevan Lannister offered some of his own Arbor Gold stocks. Besides, I want to check on the new ballistic weave looms being set-up." Robb shook his head at Diego while turning towards the south.

"I apologize, old man. I keep forgetting that you are nearly as old as my Father," quipped Robb as he pulled up towards a cruising altitude. Diego shook his head but simply returned to his scrying devices, looking out at their readings.

It took only an hour for the ornithopter to reach the Lannisport airfield. Robb carefully landed the flying machine, the nearby workers keeping a healthy distance from the ship. Once landed, the workers immediately came up to check the ornithopters components and refuel the tanks. Diego unbuckled himself first as Robb flipped the switch to open the back of the ship, the warm air of the Westerlands racing into the cabin. Unbuckling himself, Robb worked the controls to pop the Ti-Al fuel cell hatches, so that the large bricks could be exchanged for fresh sets. Robb left the ornithopter after Diego, taking the time to report the maintenance he desired to the workers.

The young Lord then followed after Diego, removing his gloves and heavier winter garments and watched as Diego greeted Lord Kevan. Robb came up beside the Jovian and greeted the acting Lord of Casterly Rock. Lord Kevan looked Robb up and down before glancing at the ornithopter.

"You really have taken to the gatekeepers marvels, haven't you? What's it like, to fly as the Targaryens and Valyrians once did?" inquired Lord Kevan. Robb shrugged his shoulders.

"Quite exhilarating, to be honest. Though you should see images of Titan, where one needs no machine to take flight," Robb responded. Lord Kevan laughed shortly through his nose before the Lord waved for Robb and Diego to follow after him.

"This whole new government change has thrown a number of noble houses into a furor. Of course, most remain quiet as to these decrees, likely waiting to see who the victors of the inevitable conflicts will be. Naturally, I have endeavored to ensure that the Westerlands recognizes the authority of the Iron Throne and their True King, per my Brother's orders. I have also received word from many of House Lannister's sworn bannermen that they have already selected candidates for the new National Military. What of the North, Lord Robb?"

Robb quickly assessed what he knew of recent reports from the sworn of the North. "No dissent from the North, Lord Kevan. We also have received a number of candidates and they are already heading down to the Crownlands to be trained. The Rangers up in the Far North are still working to remove fodder for the necro-plague, but they should be able to spare some good snipers and spotters. Gatekeeper has set up another two zeppelins, and our ornithopter fleet has reached three dozen. I am concerned about our numbers of zeppelins, though; while we have four, I hear that the Hegemony has shown near ten total, all notably larger than ours, especially their 'Leviathan's Maw'," Robb reported dutifully. Lord Kevan took in the information, stroking his chin.

The group finally made their way to Lannisport proper, where a gatekeeper buggy waited for them. The three men stepped into the vehicle and buckled themselves to the seat before the machine began making its way through the streets then up the road to Casterly Rock proper. The buggy was swift but smooth, speeding along gracefully. The whole of Lannisport had the signs of gatekeeper influence everywhere: network pylons, auto-tents, sanitation stations, fabricators, garages, trucks, buggies, and bots performing a litany of minor tasks. The road up to Casterly Rock had been 'paved', a dark black stone serving to smooth out the path up towards the seat of House Lannister.

Diego turned to face Lord Kevan and Robb. "Gatekeeper Executive is aware of these issues, and they have issued expanded aerial assets. However, they will come in alongside other important supplies so it will take time for the Airforce to expand. Gatekeeper is also concerned about the safety of our assets in more… rambunctious regions of Westeros. Priority has been given to helping protect these areas from potential illegal action. We have movement reports from Dorne and the Reach, concerning ones," said Diego. Robb nodded alongside the information.

"We also just passed by the Iron Islands; they are on the move as well. Likely taking the announcement for an excuse to rebel yet again," Robb added to the report. Lord Kevan frowned at that information.

"Damn squids, looking to make trouble for us all. They threaten to split our Navy when Essos is increasingly looking to be a source of trouble. We have not yet finished the new ship designs here yet, so I hope the Ironborn take their damn time getting themselves riled up," groused Lord Kevan as the buggy reached the garage just outside of Casterly Rock proper. The three men exited the vehicle. "Where will you be off to once this meeting is finished?"

Diego popped his neck before responding. "We will be doing a scouting flight along the Dornish border before stopping at King's Landing. After that, I return back past the Wall to work on some new projects," Diego said before changing subjects as the trio walked into Casterly Rock proper. "You could fly with us to King's Landing, get your stack implanted and your mind backed-up. The flight rosters show a flight from King's Landing to Lannisport later in the evening, so it would be only a couple hours at most."

Lord Kevan grimaced at the offer of trans-mortality. "I suppose that would be for the best, better to show solidarity with the Throne and my Brother. What of the rest of the Smal- the Ministers?"

"They have already been incorporated into the system. Lord Stannis has already sent for his family to be flown to King's Landing to engage in the procedure as well," Diego sighed out. Robb had read up on some of the Jovian's attitudes towards trans-mortality, which surprised Robb considering how willing Diego was to support the program. It was clear that the man wasn't necessarily happy with the development, but he seemed strangely passive about the whole affair. At most, Diego simply offered that a consensual spin-down clause be added to the program to help make the implants more palpable to those with stronger religious convictions. It was a touch strange.

Finally, the group made their way to Lord Kevan's personal solar, entering the office space. Lord Kevan waved for a servant to bring the Arbor Gold, which was popped open as soon as it was brought in. Robb only had half a glass, as he was going to be flying later; to compensate for the alcohol, Robb took a gatekeeper tincture that helped clear liquor from the blood and spiked his mind with the effects of coffee. Robb hadn't had a proper cup since early that morning.

Lord Kevan sipped his drink before swirling the cup slowly. "Gods be good, so much has changed… I just hope that we are prepared for these 'Ultimates' if they decide to sail for Westeros," mused the acting Lord of Casterly Rock.

Diego gave Lord Kevan a sympathetic smile before offering a toast.

"Let's make sure that the Ultimates think twice before coming to Westeros, then. Show them that the Westerosi are better than some craven slaver's or unorganized raiders."

Lord Kevan returned the toast while Robb mentally worked out what a proper air defense of Westeros would entail.

BREAK

Eddard VI

Ned scratched at the back of his neck, only the small and receding line indicating that anything had changed about the Warden of the North. Flipping through some of the windows of his ecto, Ned worked with the other Ministers to devise a strategy for bringing the rebel houses in line.

"House Tyrell has only garnered less than half of the forces of the Reach; I suspect that a number of them are more concerned with the Dornish raiders massing on their borders than satisfying Mace Tyrell's ambitions," said Minister of Defense Stannis Baratheon. "The Dornish seem to be uncoordinated, and the Martells have not massed any arms of their own. I suspect that their subordinates houses have simply taken the opportunity to engage in their own personal campaigns. The Ironborn are almost certainly gathering forces to proclaim Balon Greyjoy King of the Squids yet again; to best counter them, I would have to divert ships from our eastern coast to the western until Lannisport can finally sail their new fleet."

Ned glanced over at Minister of Diplomacy Tywin Lannister, who looked at the shared second-sight map on the center of the table. Tywin spun his finger in the air, turning the map to change his view. "We only need a tenth of the current Navy in the east to enforce our policies; the orcas will supplement the lost patrols. Best that they cut their teeth in some action, considering the open rebellion of Everfall by House Tarth," offered Tywin. The Warden of the West then pinched in the air with both fingers before pulling them apart to shrink the view of the map on the Reach. "I will have some of my bannermen blockade movement by Tyrell forces through the Westerlands, while the Army in the Crownlands will march south-west towards Highgarden. They will be boxed in by the Dornish raiders, allowing us to crush their rebellion against the coast."

Pycelle stood up, his skin less wrinkled and color returning to his hair. "Oldtown and the Citadel remain loyal to the Iron Throne; I am concerned for what may happen if the Tyrell rebels attempt to sack the city, considering its new role in the United Kingdoms," mused the Grand Maester and Minister of Education.

"I say we divert some forces to Oldtown, using the zeppelins to move them swiftly towards the city. We should also send Loras Tyrell to serve as a symbol of Reach loyalty at the south-western coast," proposed Renly Baratheon, Minister of Health.

Stannis scoffed at his younger brother. "And give your new husband some personal glory along the way?" Renly scowled at Stannis, but Varys - the Minister of Information - cut in before Renly could respond.

"Oh, behave yourself, Stannis. There will be more of that in due time. Besides, all of my little birds and the little bots of the gatekeepers tell me that most smallfolk in the Reach are uncertain about who is their true leader; Loras Tyrell could serve as a legitimate figurehead for the Tyrell interest in reaffirming their oath to the Iron Throne."

Stannis sighed and shook his head before Petyr Baelish flicked an e-pen through the air, drawing some paths with little zeppelins sailing above the Reach, the pathways leading to King's Landing or Winterfell. "I believe we should also induct any Lords and Ladies that openly adhere to their oaths as trans-mortals. If we are to use the zeppelins, we may as well use them to bring the loyal to us and out of the clutches of potential rebel lords. They will be able to serve us at King's Landing or Winterfell -" Petyr Baelish, Minister of Finance, said before Lady Svafa cut in.

"And keep them in line where our forces could easily cut the stacks from their necks," droned Lady Svafa as she rubbed her forehead in exasperation, "yeah, sure. Gatekeeper will be happy to bus you all around Westeros. Fine. Not like we need them to help deal with the necro-plague, but I guess we can just have the crew and pilots work double-time." Lady Svafa took her coffee cup and took a deep gulp of the drink. "Wanna borrow any of our other shit while you're at it?"

Ned looked at Lady Svafa, the Commonwealth woman leaning back in her chair. "I understand that these requests may inconvenience you, but they will not be permanent affairs. We will just have to ensure that the noble houses of Westeros understand their duty to the Throne, whether that be by pen or sword. If it makes you feel better, I'd be willing to help… process? Process some of the documents," Ned assured Lady Svafa, trying to improve the woman's mood. Lady Svafa sighed but smiled back at the offer.

"No, it's okay. I'll get it done; just not looking forward to all the bitching I'll be getting from the pilot crews. Kikai, refuel me," Lady Svafa said before holding her cup out for the servitor to refill. Lord Tywin held out his own cup for the same, drinking heavily before speaking once more.

"We have not received word from the Riverlands, but I suspect that they will see reason and-" Lord Tywin began to speak but was cut off suddenly. Ned saw a high-priority broadcast, which was likely being shown to the other gathered Ministers based on the collective surprise. Ned swiped the broadcast open and nearly spilled his drink as he stood up to his full height.

Tywin stood up as well, his face twisted into one of barely contained anger. "Stannis! Set the fleet to high alert, I am taking the Gold and Red cloaks to seize Pathfinder assets and personnel!" declared Tywin as he and Stannis stormed out of the Minister's Chamber.

"What the fuck!?" cursed Lady Svafa as Renly, Varys, and Petyr all gaped at the sight that Ned shared with them. Ned immediately started pulling up communication lines for King Robert and his eldest son, Robb, sending them the broadcast and demanding they join a chat space as soon as possible.

"I want everyone to work with their subordinates, gather as much information on this as possible. We need to devise a strategy once Lords Tywin and Stannis return," Ned ordered the gathered Ministers. The other Ministers went to work, contacting their own personnel or subordinates as necessary. Ned was already receiving hastily compiled reports and talking with Tywin and Stannis through text on their progress.

Ned glanced back at the imagery that brought forth this sudden change in priorities. Cities in Essos embroiled in flame and battle, machine men and constructs battling pathfinder sellswords, and the chants of a bloody revolt.

Our Grease is Blood.

BREAK

Astika VII

Slithering and gyrating to the beat of electronic music, Astika slowly made his way around the rooftop pool of his manse while synths and pods danced about. Astika had devised a speciality DDR narcoalgorithm recently and had it distributed to the indentures. The Pentosi night sky framed the sea-side view and the moon offered plenty of lighting. Pathfinder facilities out in the other parts of Pentos had their lights up, but Astika's manse was by far the brightest and most colorful. LED spotlights, firefly swarms, aerial drones, and great holographic pillars and banners added color and variety to the nearby Pentosi neighborhood. Astika had set his inserts to do-not-disturb, allowing only very specific alerts to pass through the filter.

Astika was happy that he finally had more time to relax and have some fun; the early colonization was filled with nothing but work orders and bitching by upper management and the Executive Board for Aries Point. Now that basic infrastructure was up and operations were mostly running on auto-pilot, Astika took a lot of time working on personal projects or rocking out with the indentures. Astika had been able to turn the Valyrian steel shortsword into a hyper-edge blade, and performed quite admirably. He still didn't fully get how the forging process used human sacrifice to bestow the bizarre properties, but Astika had placed that line of inquiry into the 'eck' category and decided to leave it be. Astika expanded on some of the amenities of the manse and had worked to acquire more property throughout the Free Cities; mostly just storage locations, some harbor space, and even some farmland. This had earned him another nickname; the Mamba Magister. Whatever the case, Astika had finally made it. He owned his own property! Sure, it wasn't his own personal habitat, but considering how things were progressing Astika expected he'd have the opportunity in a couple of decades.

Astika made his way to the edge of the rooftop and looked down at the gathering congregation. While he wasn't all that cool with the development, apparently word had gotten out about cortical stacks. Astika blamed that Commonwealth socialist out in Westeros, apparently she had set up an implantation facility. From a practical perspective, it made sense to make the allied ruling elite trans-mortal, as it helped ensure that medieval bullshit wouldn't suddenly result in something like a coup; now that would have been bad for Gatekeeper, let alone people like Eddard who would have to deal with it. Whatever the case, the rumor mill spun itself out and now people in the Free Cities were flocking to Astika's manse in the hopes that he could grant them immortality. As of this point, Astika only had Viserys stacked and backed, as he didn't want to lose the little drake shit. Not because he needed Viserys for bargaining - that shit was flushed long ago - but because he liked having the guy around. Pretty chill, once he knocked some of the 'Royal return' delusions out of the guys skull.

Viserys was down with playing the role of techno-cult leaders, so Astika was trying to figure out how to make that work without grinding his gears against Executive. Astika figured that offering stacks to loyal natives and influential people as part of deals would be a great way to expand influence; it was working well for Gatekeeper, that much was certain.

"Ay, yo, Astika! Some moody bitch finna talk to ya, she seems kinda technical," called out one of the indentures, making his way through the rooftop doors. Astika sighed and paused the DDR process.

"Kayle been doin' nothing but ride my hide. 'We need auto-patrols!' this, and 'You useless clanker bum!' that! Fucking prejudiced ass fleshbag… I hate nepo-spawn," Astika complained to himself as he went down the Manse to the front door. He could have just slithered down the wall, but he wanted Kayle to have to wait.

When Astika finally reached the entrance hall, he was surprised to see that Kayle wasn't there to slave drive him yet again. Some chick in full-body spec-ops ballistic weave was standing in the middle of the entrance hall. They had several throwing knives and darts, a scabbard for a hyper-edge blade, and a pair of EK-SMGs. They had a hood up, but seemed to be a red-head phenotype with cute freckles and emerald eyes. Astika made sure to ping the look to the local bodysculptor, Astika felt like he would like the look on his pleasure pods. Astika's security bots had their guns trained on the woman while bottom floor partygoers gawked at the newcomer. Astika finally made his way to the space just in front of the woman.

"Now what do I have here? You runnin' privacy mode, and I don't see anyone like you on Pathfinder, Gatekeeper, or TerraGen nets. You the moody bitch lookin' to talk to me?" Astika asked the woman. She raised an eyebrow before responding.

"Yes, I would be that 'Moody Bitch' you were told about. I presume you expected someone else, considering your kinesics when you saw me?"

Astika folded his arms and curled his tail into a seat for himself. "Yeah, just upper management. They have difficulty staying the fuck off my robo-dick, but that is just one of the many misfortunes for being as handsome as I am. And now I got some fire-head lookin' for a ride as well; I'm feeling generous, so I'll listen. Shoot."

The redhead blinked rapidly, likely flicking through her entoptics. "I presume you are aware of the Hegemony out east?" asked the redhead. Astika paused for a moment, his attention properly garnered.

"Yeah…? This about them?"

"Yes. I am one of the Ultimate warriors, and I am here to inform you that my less savory comrades will be assaulting this facility within the next three minutes. I intend to assist you in foiling their efforts."

Astika paused fully, staying stock still. The whole crowd in the entrance hall shut up immediately, and the electronic music cut out as word reached the rest of the manse. Without really thinking much about it, Astika immediately forced a call on Viserys and his pleasure pods.

[Get the fuck down to the armory now! Manse is going code red,] Astika ordered his servants and bots to immediately start taking defensive positions and distributing firearms to specified partygoers. Without saying a word, Astika immediately began making his way down to the armory, the redhead following after. Security bots and servitors scurried away from the armory, carrying weapons up to the main manse. Reaching the now opened doors, Astika spotted Viserys getting suited up while the pleasure pods armed themselves with various weapons and kicked security bots into action.

"Naga, what's happening? And… who is that?" Viserys asked, giving the redhead an appreciative stare. Astika ignored the exiled Prince at first as he immediately started grabbing assault coils, long-rails, short-barreled scatter-coils, bandoleers of ammunition and smart grenades, and his own personal brand of hell-rail smart-rounds. The redhead turned to face the Prince as she grabbed a battle-rail of her own and began strapping on ammunition bandoleers.

"I have informed your Master that this building is going to be a conflict zone," explained the redhead. Weapons fire erupted from up above the armory as the assault began, detonations rocking the facility. "Is a conflict zone. I recommend you stick with us for safety," corrected the redhead. One of the pleasure pods handed Viserys a rail-magnum and some ammunition, the Prince gaping at the sudden onset of violence.

Astika slapped in the box mag for his scatter-coil and set the programmable choke to something decent for urban combat. Pulling up and decrypting his archive of custom narcoalgorithms, Astika searched for a particular goody he had for just this occasion.

It was a potent hybrid of DDR, linkstate, and simulated amphetamine effects. The narco worked by jacking Astika's senses up and linking them with sensor systems he had access to; then, a dynamic smart-song provided by Mick Gordon would be set to cue the environment and action around Astika, allowing him to listen for situations and intuitively discern the combat situation. Astika's motor system and processes were then set to 'dance' to the killer track, allowing the slitheroid to respond swiftly and brutally to threats. Astika pinged the audio system in the manse to start playing out the track, so that everyone knew what was up.

Thing was a fuckin' work of art.

Astika booted the narco and led the team of combat ready gynoids, babes, and a Prince out of the vault and into the manse proper. The rhythm started to build up, working towards a beat drop just around the corner. Astika sprang towards a door on his right and pumped his scatter-coil, blasting some fascist fuck in the chest with shrapnel and lit magnesium. The nazi-wannabe fell backwards and rolled out of the way, firing a burst of coil slugs past Astika, the Naga ducking out of the way. Astika rolled into the kitchens and slithered swiftly past the cooking counters. One of the gynoids charged in, sending a burst into the burning home invader and splattering the asshole's internal organs out in a fan towards the window wall. Viserys screamed like a little girl, still hiding in the entrance hall.

Astika made his way to the far side of the kitchen and spotted the mangled wrecks of some of his partygoers. Vaulting himself on top of the counter, Astika pulled back at a high-pitched sting and barely avoided a swing of a hyper-edge blade. The attacker rolled out of the way as the supporting gynoid fired a burst at the invader, missing the merc entirely. Astika rolled down to the floor again, stood up and started blasting his scatter-coil at the ultimate. The jackass dodge out of the way for a bit before sending a burst at Astika with an SMG; Astika dropped low, avoiding the hyper-velocity salvo. The fascist quickly changed targets to the gynoid, forcing the battle babe to take cover and maneuver around.

Astika cursed as a warning thrum - low and bassy - alerted him to nazis on the floor above him; however, the thrum became a buildup of opportunity as the Naga pulled out his utility-coil and switched to remote detonation slugs. Astika fired the slugs, giving each one just enough velocity to imbed them in the ceiling, each shot accompanied by a heavy riff. The fascist pulled behind cover as the gynoid let loose a suppressing burst; that wouldn't stop Astika's plan. Astika triggered the slugs, the little bolts detonating in the ceiling and sending the upper floor crashing down on top of the second kitchen invader, the nazi's on the upper floor falling down alongside the rubble. Astika and the gynoid left cover and unloaded on the stunned opponents, setting them to flame and ripping their flesh to shreds.

The gynoid waved for the redhead to follow after, running up the pile and laying out some suppressing fire. Astika saw the outlines of the fascists still above the kitchen, and switched to his long-rail. Astika took aim and started placing bolt after bolt through the floor and into the home invaders. Some of the hits were instant fatalities, others simply crippled the unfortunate recipient. Whatever the case, the gynoid and the redhead - Astika labeled them Bluenette for their hair, redhead got Ginger - climbed up onto the upper floor and immediately finished off the pricks above. Astika checked the status of his boys and bots, seeing that the first floor was holding steady; apparently, the ultimates came down on the roof using smart-cloaks.

Upwards and onwards, then.

Astika slithered up the rubble pile and sprang out onto the second floor, rolling a flash grenade into the second floor overhang overlooking the entrance hall. Astika swapped for his assault-coil as the grenade went off, sending bright flares all around the area. Astika pinged Ginger to duck as he sprayed-and-prayed through the wall while Bluenette stepped out onto the overhang and fired more controlled bursts at the assailants. Ginger followed after and Astika slithered out just behind the woman as he spotted the gynoids now tagged as Amber and Goldie run up the now cleared stairway to make their way up to higher floors. Security bots followed after while Astika's boys laid out occasional fire into the streets, likely ensuring that the walls and windows remained infeasible points of ingress for the fascists.

Astika and his security troupe made their way up to the third floor, and the soundtrack picked up some new 'instruments' as the action expanded. Ginger kicked bluenette out of the way of a hyper-edge slice and flicked a dart into the eye of the attacker. Astika slithered low and fast past the dueling pair as he unleashed more sprays into the main living room, forcing the nazi fucks to act defensively. Astika cursed as a discordant string rang out as he received glancing hyper-velocity fire, chipping his body plating before he slid behind some reinforced pillars. Ginger beheaded the assailant while Bluenette threw out two frag grenades. The munitions went off, forcing the nazis to maneuver again. One of the fascist fucks fired a long-rail at Bluenette, the slug ripping the gynoids shoulder apart and sending her to the ground. Astika's vision became red as the sleeve pinged him an emergency hibernation and shut-down; Bluenette would be fine, but Astika hated anyone that fucked with his shit.

Looking for an advantage, Astika linked to the radio booster and forcefully overrode safety cutoffs as he dumped power into the machine. With a quickly spun-up waveform generator packet loaded, the radio booster became an impromptu microwave agonizer as the machine started blasting the fascists with concentrated roast beams. While Ginger and Amber started working to pick-off the nazis and Goldie pulled Bluenette out of harms way, Astika ducked and weaved out of the way of some hyper-edge longsword swings. The samurai wannabe kept pushing Astika back, the Naga being forced into his worst combat circumstance. The fascist sliced Astika's assault-coil in half as the Naga used it to block an attack he couldn't dodge, the nazi forcing him into a corner. A warbling riff played as Astika quickly coiled his tail around the legs, hips, and waist of the assailant. The ultimate flipped grip and attempted to plunge the blade into Astika's tail but the Naga lashed out with his arm, the limb telescoping swiftly and his claws digging into the ultimate's forearm. Astika put juice into the limb, his claws ripping into weave and muscle as the fascist lost his grip on the blade. Striking out with his other claw, Astika embedded both of his right arms thumbs into the nazis eye-sockets as his pointed fingers dug into the invaders cranial flesh, encountering notable resistance. Astika squeezed on the nazi's arm, intending to break it, but found the bones unyielding.

Huh. Bone lacing, thought the Naga as he changed tact. The Naga began violently extending and retracting his telescoping arm, twisting and pulling, lifting and pushing the fascist's head about violently. This continued for a half a minute or so, Astika's motions becoming more aggressive and forceful while the nazi struggled harder against the assault. Suddenly, a satisfying crack echoed out from the nazi's neck as their body went limp. Astika released his grip - claws and tail - on the now crippled opponent, throwing the inanimate body onto the tiling. Astika glanced at the radio booster and saw that the machine was now burning; Astika cut off power flow to the wrecked device. He would have to boot up the backup booster on the roof. Astika pinged his remaining gynoids to follow after, Ginger already making her way up to the fourth floor.

Astika didn't follow after, but instead went to the third floor patio and started slithering his way up onto the roof. Astika stopped just short of the top, his security bots and boys feeding him their sensor outputs. Astika swore as he saw that the nazi's had taken the pool, one of his pleasure pods a ruined mess.

[Amber! You got the HMG?] Astika asked.

[Roger that, boss,] confirmed Amber.

[Let 'er rip.] Goldie popped an impact grenade against the impromptu barricade, turning the object into a shower of splinter as Amber stepped out onto the rooftop pool.

"LET'S ROCK!" screamed the battle babe as she unloaded the box magazine into the gathered fascists, sending the stragglers to cover. Once the mag was empty, Amber pulled back as Astika ran interference. A shrill screech and rapid beat played out as Astika vaulted onto the roof and pumped his scatter-coil while he planted zapper bolts from his utility-pistol into the fleshy bodies of the invaders. Ginger and Goldie pulled out onto the roof and helped to pick-off the stragglers. Astika received an all-clear and a status report from his boys and bots.

[Sweep Pentos! Don't know how these fascist fucks got past Pathfinder security, but we will sniff 'em out!] Astika multicast to his boys and bots, sending them out to patrol for more of their invaders.

Ginger walked up to Astika while Goldie kicked at one of the mangled bodies. "Went down real quick for 'Ultimate Warriors', am I right?" mused Goldie. Ginger shook her head and crossed her arms.

"These were native Aspirants; they are not trained and hardened veterans. They were a distraction," clarified Ginger. Astika glanced at the woman.

"Ya' know, a little late to be asking this I suppose, but why the fuck do you want to help us? Some sort of double-agent bullshit?" Astika asked as he pointed his utility-pistol at Ginger's head. The woman didn't seem to care, simply staring at the Naga.

"I personally disagree with the 'fascist fucks'; not all Ultimates are Overhumanists, Naga," countered Ginger. Astika was confused by the statement, slightly lowering his pistol.

"Isn't 'Overhumanism', like, your philosophy or some shit?"

Ginger blinked slowly. "No. It is a political faction within the Ultimates; our philosophy is the Ultimate Way."

Astika fully lowered his weapon. "Well that's just uncreative, isn't it?"

Suddenly, Viserys screamed out in shock and fear. Astika quickly shifted his attention to the exiled Prince, who was being held by another nazi. The fascist pulled out an SMG and swiftly started popping out controlled bursts, sending Astika and the battle babes into cover. Then, a parasail erupted from the back of the ultimate as the smart-cloak caught the wind and swiftly lifted the ultimate and Viserys off of the roof. Astika gaped in shock, but saw Ginger prepare to loose a salvo at the escaping duo. Panicking, Astika leapt at the woman and knocked the weapon out of her hands.

"NO!" Astika screamed out. Ginger struggled under the unyielding machine strength of the Naga.

"We can't let them escape with him!"

Astika grabbed Ginger's throat and squeezed. "You dare fucking hurt him, and I will RIP YOUR STACK OUT AND SELL YOU INTO SLAVERY," hissed the Naga. Ginger stared at Astika but finally relented. Astika returned his gaze to the retreating form of the parasail, flying out into the night sky. Astika finally released Ginger, the woman quickly hopping up to her feet and giving Astika the side eye.

"That is what the Overhumanists were really after," commented Ginger. Astika returned his gaze to the woman.

"What?"

"Well, that and trying to capture your stack. They considered that a secondary objective."

Astika twitched in rage. "Explain. Now."

Ginger sighed as she placed her hands on her hips. "The Overhumanists are dissatisfied with the current policy and pace of the formation of the Hegemony. To garner influence, the Overhumanists current leader - Darya Gorgage - accepted a request for parlay with some Pathfinder Executives here in West Essos. He… well, omitted some details and manipulated the capitalists into believing they were hiring the Ultimates as a whole as mercenaries. In actuality, Darya wanted to capture the exiled Prince," Ginger explained.

"Why do they want Viserys? Bobby B is trans-mortal now, no way the regime will be changing any time soon," Astika asked.

Ginger shook her head. "That's not why the Supreme Commander wants them. I actually don't know what he is planning, but Darya believes that he can garner influence with the Supreme Commander by offering another Targaryen. You just happened to be an obstacle."

Astika took in the revelation and composed his thoughts. "So you're telling me, that the fascist parts of the Ultimates - didn't think I would ever say that - made a deal with my bosses, so they could abduct my Drake to offer to your sigma-male leader, as a fuckin' gift?" Ginger merely nodded her head in confirmation.

Astika stood there for a solid minute. Then, he slowly slithered over to the backup radio booster on the roof. Astika pinged the device to boot up and ripped off a panel, exposing the ports and electronics. Plunging his claw into the ports, Astika directly interfaced with the machine.

"What are you planning?" asked Ginger. Astika didn't even turn to face the woman.

"Starting a hostile takeover."

Astika connected to the Pathfinder network and ran some code.

[Connection… established.

[Admin Backdoor tapped and signed into.

[Uploading executable… complete.

[Running insurance_ …]

Astika connected to the entire Pathfinder alert network and started patching himself through to the entire system.

[Ey yo, what's up, it's ya boy; the Steel Serpent, the Mamba Magister, the Adamant Adder, the Bronze Naga, Astika! I bet most of y'all are wonderin' what this announcement is about, so here is the down low; I just got fucked over and betrayed by the whiney bitches that make up Pathfinder Executive here in the WE. They made some backroom blood-deals with the fascist scum out east, and sent the nazi's to kill me, take my stack, and kidnap the Drake! I made sure to fail the first two, but the third fuckin' happened.] Astika paused dramatically for a moment. [I'm fuckin' done with Executive. They stepped over the motherfuckin' line! These simpering nazi sympathizer fucks think they can slight me!? Hell naw! So here's what's up, my brothers and sisters out there in the Free Cities; Imma free ya asses from Pathfinder. All y'all clankas and meat lollipops, check ya feeds; your contracts been voided, and whatever body ya got is yours. All I ask is a little… loyalty. 'Cause I'm putin' out an APB on the ratfucked nepo-spawn that screwed me! And as a gift to all my good 'lil boys and girls, check the maps; Papa Naga been preparing these goodies for Christmas, but I'll let ya crack 'em open early. Have fun. And bring me their fuckin' stacks. 'Cause I'm tired of the synthetic shit; tonight, my grease will be blood.]

Astika cut off the broadcast and popped the poison eggs on the Pathfinder servers, crashing their network and setting Astika up as the only admin. Astika pulled his claw from the radio booster and listened to the sounds of cheering from the manse as Astika pulled up the feeds of his boys.

Pathfinder treaded on the wrong Naga.

BREAK

Darya V

A great volumetric map of West Essos and Westeros floated before Darya, showing known troop movements and activities. Whenever Darya highlighted a particular event, news and recordings of the event would play out for the Overhumanist, while ALIs provided assessments on the developments. Of particular note recently was the closing of Westeros to all of Essos and the guerilla movement and actions of the Bronze Brotherhood.

The whole operation largely achieved its primary goal; acquire the inbred little girl's elder brother. The little royal already had a cortical stack, which meant that while Darya wouldn't have to have one installed the current one was encrypted and inaccessible. A quick backup scan resolved some of that issue, but Darya would have to be cautious with the male. While the little exile was safely in Hegemony hands, the risk of having to rely on snapshot backup images were not to be dismissed. Now, the objective of Pathfinder didn't go as planned, but Darya actually felt that was a good thing.

While Darya had known that the Naga was hoarding arms like a paranoid brinker, he hadn't expected the slitheroid to be as prepared for outright revolt as he was. Let alone the swift and effective counterattack posed by the synth. Astika was more than just a competent engineer, he was downright brilliant; let alone the fact that the Naga readily exploited any advantage he could ruthlessly and effectively. Darya had reviewed the combat logs of the Aspirant canon fodder, and found the Naga to be almost respectable. With the Naga losing his 'fuckboy' and throwing a tantrum over the attack, Patfhinder found itself embroiled in a Civil War that it was not prepared for. Already, Pathfinder dominance over West Essos had given way to constant exchanges of territory between Direct Action and the Bronze Brotherhood, with the local capitalist leaders hiding away like the cowards they were. The fighting largely avoided native establishments, but the blowover still caused widespread devastation amongst the primitive genetrash of Tegon. The Bronze Naga had such reach and influence that the mongrel nobles and merchants that once ruled the Free Cities had deliberately refrained from taking any sides in the Civil War, often only offering housing or goods at gunpoint. Darya had implemented his own guerilla campaign, one far more targeted at sabotage than open conquest; the Bronze Naga had happily taken up half the work of collapsing the power of Pathfinder, making Darya's long-term ambitions for West Essos easier in some respects. The problem was dealing with either Pathfinder or the Naga once they had finished one or the other off. While weakened, Darya expected the victor would happily exploit the Aries Point gate to garner support or resources some way or another. The Love and Rage Collective had even offered to find a way to dial in to Aries Point if the Naga held the gate, something Astika had yet to accept or deny. While no one had yet proven that the Solar gates could connect to multiple Tegon gates, it was not impossible in principle. No, more likely that Astika would just start his own personal initiatives to bring in resources and somehow ally himself with one of the other transhuman powers.

Darya issued some more hit-and-run operations in Qohor before moving his focus to Westeros, twisting the map around to get a better view. Darya picked up a cup of the recently produced Dornish coffee, sipping from the invigorating substance and appreciating the unique aroma and flavor. A true blend, one with real history and character; one with real soul. And a rare commodity, considering the difficulty of getting blockade runners to transport the contraband good out of Dorne and into Essos. Darya thought about the unfortunate side-effects of Astika's revolt that applied outside of West Essos, turning his attention to the fleets and pods on the east coast. Stannis Baratheon had been swift and brutal in his establishment of a blockade, quickly having realized the risk of allowing potential agents of the Civil War into the western kingdoms. Tywin Lannister had seized all Pathfinder property in Westeros, cutting off a potential escape route for the simple-minded Executives; they were now trapped in West Essos, the Aries Point gate too contested to safely open and traverse.

This whole event had done nought but accelerate the unification of the Seven Kingdoms into a more potent United Kingdoms. Darya knew that the Reach and Dorne would be cowed before long, the primitives unable to stand up against offensively competent transhuman noble savages. Darya begrudgingly admitted that many of the leaders who had embraced trans-mortality would have made fine Ultimates, but they would likely never join in the Ultimate Way. Darya watched skirmishes play out in the Reach, the Tyrell forces being pushed back constantly, Tywin ruthlessly cutting off the north, and the south a death trap of its own. The Army was unforgiving in their exploitation of their advantages; many mounted forces had already been halved through attrition, and the Tyrells must have realized that the zeppelins were placing an anvil of the Army in Oldtown for the hammer of the advancing march to crush the rebels between.

Dorne though? That was likely to calm down, but never really fully heel to the new government. But they would kneel, that was certain.

The real question were the Ironborn. They would certainly serve as a proper thorn in the UKWs side, pathetically exacting tolls on their western coast and sucking up valuable manpower and resources. Perhaps Darya could exploit them in the long-run? They would serve as a solid proxy for infiltrating Westeros.

Darya saw Naomi walk into his personal solar tent, standing at attention. "Speak, Naomi. I presume this relates to the Iconic that foiled our full achievement at the Naga's manse?"

"Yes sir, it does, sir. We have identified the Iconic as Savannah Scullion, a Legate that had infiltrated our ranks some time before the start of Blue Horizon or the discovery of Tegon. A political double-agent, if you will," explained Naomi. Darya raised his eyebrows at the report.

"Just our luck. I expect the other Iconics will split in half yet again, the group lacking the will to devote themselves to one project or another. Not that that will stop them from interjecting themselves in the Supreme Commander's retinue. I feel like Heracles battling the Hydra," Darya mused to himself. Naomi frowned sympathetically at the assessment. Just then, Darya received a request from the Pathfinder Executives to chat with them.

Now this was sure to brighten Darya's mood. Darya patched the request through.

[You lying fascist asshole!] screamed the distorted voice of one of the Executives. A chorus of agreement came after the statement.

Darya finished off his coffee and waved for Naomi to approach, the woman smiling at the implication. [Now now, calling names isn't nice. Might I know what I am guilty of before you start putting me through a kangaroo court? I'm rather busy.]

[Your forces are far smaller than you promised! We can't keep control of the rioters with what little you offered us. We demand what you offered, or you will have hell to pay!] Darya watched as Naomi signaled for the tent to close and triggered privacy mode, only allowing for the port connecting Darya to the Executives.

[But I did provide what I offered! I said about one-tenth of my own forces would assist you with disposing of the Naga and suppressing the rioters. While I apologize for the survival of Astika, I really don't believe it represents a significant threat to your long-term ambitions,] Darya replied dismissively. Naomi stroked Darya's head, waiting for him to signal when he was ready.

Sputtering came through the line. [We have calculated that the Hegemony has tens of thousands of soldiers at their disposal, yet we have only seen three-hundred of your overvalued mercs!]

Darya rolled his eyes while he tapped Naomi on the shoulder, the woman approaching his front. [And three-hundred held Greece against an empire. But I suppose you fail to see the truth of the situation; I suppose I will just have to retract my support, if it is so offensive to you. Don't call me back,] Darya said as he ignored the sputtering from the Executives as he disconnected from the call and closed the port. Naomi had begun straddling Darya while she began to work his shirt off.

Darya smiled in contentment; at least he had the opportunity to personally shatter the delusions of the capitalists, which he felt made up for the headache of having to have dealt with them.

BREAK

Stannis I

An aerial volumetric view of a blockade runner stood before Stannis Baratheon as he monitored the activity in the quiet of his personal solar. A pod of around six orcas were quickly making their way towards the runner, surfacing when they came within distance and firing off their attached harpoon systems. The bolts sailed forward and into the runner, the lines tightening and the orcas pulling away to arrest the movement of the runner. The runner crew panicked, some of the men going to retrieve spears to somehow fight off the orcas. Stannis sipped his coffee before the matron of the pod rammed into the runner, sending the crew towards the floor or even off the boat. Once the runner was completely stilled, a National Navy ship came up towards the runner and began boarding the criminal vessel. Stannis eyed the live transcript as the naval men arrested the blockade runners and searched the vessel. One of the more courageous runners charged at one of the naval men with an ax, but he was cast down by a shot from a rifle. The orcas dislodged and retracted their harpoons and began circling the scene, ensuring that escape or interference wouldn't occur.

Stannis waved away the view and pulled up a pane containing a message from Minister Svafa. The message contained information on the gatekeeper alchemy of 'genetics', discussing the fine details of how the gatekeeper artifice was able to discern the truth of Joffrey Waters heritage. Stannis had long known of the truth on such matters, but he had confronted the Commonwealth woman about the gatekeepers position on the matter of the Throne. Minister Svafa had been reluctant at first, but had established a secret means of communication with Stannis to discuss the matter. It was a shock to learn of how thoroughly the gatekeepers had been investigating the Royal family, as apparently Tywin's idiot children and grandchildren had caused quite a few problems. Stannis had decided that gatekeeper secrecy on the matter made sense, considering the advantages and position they now reaped; causing tension between his brother and Minister Tywin would have done nought but destabilize the realm.

Stannis wasn't sure what he was going to do with the information. By all rights and means, he had a duty to inform his brother of the truth; but with the advent of the gatekeepers trans-mortality, it didn't really matter if Joffrey wasn't the King's trueborn son. Unless Robert relinquished the Throne, but the man seemed rather content with how things were progressing in the realm. Tywin seemed to either completely ignore or simply not know of the situation, apparently totally convinced of Cersei and Jaime's deception.

Not only that, but Minister Svafa explained that some more grande conspiracy was at play. She had been dissatisfied with some of the conspiracy's developments lately, so she was looking to make maneuvers of her own regarding the apparent suppression of the truth. Stannis realized that while he could attempt to reveal the truth, he would be agitating actors whose identity was largely secret to the Stormlands Warden. Minister Svafa told Stannis that the conspiracy was only concerned with the stability of the realm, but for reasons that didn't have to do with the realm itself; this seemed to imply that the conspiracy would happily find some way to 'correct' Stannis if he stepped out of line, though Minister Svafa didn't seem to think that would happen.

A knock came on the solar door, pulling Stannis from his musings. Stannis saw Minister Tywin's second-sight sigil. "Come in, Lord Tywin."

The Warden of the Westerlands opened the door and walked into Stannis' solar, walking up and taking a seat in front of Stannis' desk. "Revolt, rebellion, civil war… here and in the damn east. This Manu Bhattacharya makes his Hegemony out to be Valryia reborn, and Mace Tyrell continues to fail to see reason. I'm just happy the Vale is hiding away in their 'unassailable' keeps," Tywin complained, to which Stannis merely grunted. "In more positive news, I have finally finished cataloging the pathfinders supplies here in King's Landing. They had an appreciable supply of gate-walker arms kept in their storage."

Stannis raised his eyebrows at the actual piece of news. "I presume that you intend to suggest we make use of the weapons?" asked Stannis. Tywin scoffed and shook his head.

"They have been secured using some sort of machine warding; Minister Svafa says that she can have the weaponry stripped of the protection and have wards placed that give us control, but she is reluctant to do so. Not only that, but some of the pathfinders production artifice was taken as well, and could be 'cracked' like the weapons."

Stannis stared at the Minister of Diplomacy for a couple of seconds. "I presume your authority over envoys is not enough to convince the Lady of industry to perform these rituals?" Tywin returned Stannis' stare.

"Yes, that would be the case."

Stannis sighed as he thought about the situation. "I'll see what I can do to convince Minister Svafa to see reason and break these wards. I assume she'll want control over the production machines," offered Stannis. The Warden of the Stormlands was looking to somehow gain some access to the coveted 'fabricators' of the gate-walkers, as the artifice was capable of producing a variety of arms and implements that still laid outside of Westerosi ability to craft. In particular, Stannis was utterly fascinated by the destructive potential of seekers; while the devastation such weapons could bring was terrifying, they had also shown a brilliant capacity to strike with precision and speed in just the right way to cripple an enemy. Some good seekers and a couple of Ranger spotters could utterly annihilate any conventional army, but could also break any fortification with ease. They could strike the enemy's supplies or kill their leader, if a spotter could get a proper sightline.

Tywin nodded his head before standing to leave. "The first new Westerlands naval ships will be leaving Lannisport soon enough. With time, we may be able to ensure that the Ironborn do not molest the west coast when they finally pick a direction to sail in," commented Tywin Lannister as he left Stannis' office.

Stannis immediately sent a message to Minister Svafa, looking to negotiate on the weapons and the fabricators.

BREAK

Bronn I

"Keep 'em flowers the fuck back!" screamed a Westerlands noble lord, standing at the back of the formation and shouting obvious nonsense at everyone. Bronn took aim with his rifle and fired off another shot, the bolt passing straight through the helmet and head of some Reachmen bastard downhill. Bronn ducked and maneuvered to a different place on the barricade, an uncoordinated hail of return fire streaking past Bronn's previous position. While it was likely bloody difficult, it didn't take long for the Tyrells to acquire and discern the operation of gunpowder firearms. The generosity of the gatekeepers had now taken a south turn, the readiness with which they shared alchemical labs and knowledge having provided the means for the Reachmen to produce firearms of their own. The Reach rifles were still inferior to Crownland, Westerland, or Northern stock but were plenty numerous and perfectly lethal; Bronn was simply happy to know that gatekeeper arms were practically magic, and that no man in Westeros could produce tools of their caliber.

Bronn slid past a tree and fired off a quick trio of shots at the sides of some distracted Reachmen, sending them to an early grave. Bronn quickly fell behind a tree and went about loading some fresh rounds from a clip. The sellsword - or was it sellrifle? - had taken up arms against the Tyrell rebels, happy to receive the generous payment of good old Lannister gold. The chance to acquire and use the new firearms was certainly enticing on its own, however.

Bronn looked up after having finished loading fresh rounds and saw a Reachmen just to his right, the lad looking confused. Apparently the both of the men didn't expect the other to be there. Bronn smiled widely at the lad. "'Ello there, lad. Sorry about this," Bronn commented before plunging his bayonet into the man's throat, pulling the opponent down towards the ground. Bronn pulled out his long-dirk and fully slit the poor bastard's throat before wiping his dirk and returning the blade to its sheathe. Bronn quickly maneuvered yet again, taking care to avoid being spotted by the Reachmen.

Bronn was with a regiment tasked with guarding the routes and harbors along the river running from Silverhill to Goldengrove. Some of the Tyrell allied houses took the rebellion as an opportunity to strike out at the Westerlands, testing out their new rifles against the Old Lion's pride. Even with only a little over half of the Reach houses declaring for the rebels, the Tyrell forces were quite substantial. Attacks had initially been somewhat idiotic, the pompous knights of the Reach charging dick-first into stacked rifle fire. The rebel houses quickly learned the painful lesson, spreading their valuable noble leaders out across smaller forces of men and having them guide troops armed with more modern weaponry on hit-and-run attacks across the Reach-Westerland border. With the Tyrell rebels fragmenting and splitting their forces, it became increasingly difficult to cut down the enemy like the loyalists were able to at the start of the conflict. The National Army still marched on, pushing the Tyrells back further and further into the forces sitting on their asses on the west coast of the Reach. As the push continued, the Lannister border forces would compress, hardening themselves against Tyrell attack while also adding more fire into the boxed in rebels.

Bronn finally snuck his way fully down to behind the Reachmen and pulled out a fragmentation grenade from his bandoleer. Bronn spotted a particularly appetizing bouquet of Reachmen within throwing distance, so Bronn pulled the pin and threw the handheld munition. Bronn quickly ducked and ran away from the area, diving behind a rock. Bronn heard frightened shouting from the flowers before the grenade detonated, sending a great blast out over the area. Bronn saw some shrapnel fly out past his boulder, only standing to peak at the scene once the falling debris had ceased.

Most of the Reachmen were scrambling to get back up, but only a lucky few had the time and space to get back into cover as the uphill Lannister forces dumped fire down towards the stunned men. Bronn noticed a couple of other smarter lads make their way down to his position, the Lannister sellrifles laying down a crossfire. Bronn took a couple of opportunistic shots at the once entrenched Reachmen, but refrained from wasting his ammo. Looking to his left, Bronn spotted the Reachmen further downhill begin to retreat, making their way from the lost assault and pulling back to regroup. Bronn spotted one of the Tyrell knights ride out in front of his men, fleeing the lost charge. Bronn scoffed at the rather unintelligent push by the noble knight, considering the absolutely horrid terrain advantage that the Lannister's held. While an uphill fight was painful with nought but conventional steel, it was downright suicidal with rifles.

Bronn chose to take the lull in battle to begin looting some of the deadmen, pulling coin and ration from the unlucky individuals. Bronn ate some rations and drank water, choosing to consume some of the spoils rather than waste his own supply. Bronn ignored the ammunition, as the rounds weren't compatible with his rifle and used a somewhat shittier gunpowder blend.

"Right fuckin' nasty, aincha Bronn? They's bodies ain't even cold yet," commented one of the other sellrifles. Bronn simply pocketed some more coins.

"What? Strippin' a man of his valuables only moral when his knackers cooled?" replied Bronn as the sellrifle worked his teeth on some salted jerky. Another sellrifle pointed up at the sky.

"Gods be good, one o' the gatekeeper zeppelins!" loudly announced the man. Bronn followed the sellrifle's gaze and spotted the immense sky ship sailing southwest, likely one of the reasons the Tyrells decided to leg it. Coming down from the hill atop a destrier was the noble lord - the lieutenant for Bronn's platoon - the man looking exceedingly proud with himself.

"Alright men, we have new orders! We are to march to Goldengrove, to join the main Army forces to besiege Highgarden. Gatekeeper is generous enough to offer some of their trucks for you lowborn bastards, so you don't have to walk the whole way. But you gotta reach the trucks first if you want a seat, so get moving!" announced the pompous blue blood as he kicked his steed forward downhill.

Bronn sighed as he began making his way after the lieutenant, hoping that the trucks wouldn't be packed by the time he made his way downhill. The other sellrifles began talking amongst themselves.

"Ey, ya lads 'eard of Lord Renly marrying that Loras knight fella? Now that is a right fuckin' scandal, two swordswallowers married before the gods!"

"'Ey weren't married 'fore the gods, ya idiot. 'Ey were married 'fore a gatekeeper bot from what I hear."

"Ha! Ain't dat right fittin'? High Septon prolly threw a fit."

"I'ze just lookin' forward to not dyin' once this war is over."

Bronn didn't participate in the gossip, but he did find the prospect of immortality quite appealing. Bronn had never been too religious of a man, but the artifice of the gatekeepers bordered on nearly concerning; downright sinful, if the Septons across Westeros were to be believed. Most of the smallfolk seemed a bit reluctant about the idea, but the gatekeepers had done plenty to make people seem willing to accept the notion of immortality. Bronn simply wasn't looking forward to undying nobility, which was the third reason he joined the Lannister forces; Tywin had offered stacks for all the veterans, once the fight was won.

The Renly and Loras thing? Bronn didn't really find men appealing sexually, but he didn't really think it mattered. From what he had heard, the gatekeepers could grow babes in glass bottles; their women didn't even have the monthly bleed! Bronn figured that bottle-babes were one of the reasons gate-walker women were treated no differently than men; in gate-walker society, a body was a body, all perfectly suitable for the meat grinder.

Westeros was changing, that much was certain.