[b]Deep Space- [i]Coronation[/i], Regulator-Class Battleship[/b]
+++SYSTEMS QUICKRUN DIAGNOSTIC+++
REACTOR: 90% FUNCTIONAL.
HULL: NO BREACHES DETECTED.
COMMUNICATIONS: ALL OFFLINE.
WEAPONS: ALL FUNCTIONAL.
*FOOTNOTE: 01001100 01101111 01101110 01100111 00100000 01001100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01000101 01101101 01110000 01110010 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01001011 01100001 01101100 01111010 01100101 01110010 01101001 01100001 01101110 *
	Deckmaster Argyll re-read the information on his datapad and waved over the nearest underofficer. “Communications are still offline…” He left the sentence hanging like the executioners axe over the head of an innocent man. The accusation was clear. “S-sir, we’ve been working around the c-clock to put the comms back in working order. It isn’t a systems problem, I c-can’t fi-” the officer stopped his stammering when he saw Argyll flick the orange tab on the side of his datapad. Argyll’s voice rasped ominously in the empty bridge of the ship. “I’m aware of that. It’s a mechanical failure. Simple malfunction. Care to explain the footnote on my datapad, underofficer?” The young man’s face drained of color. A perceptive man like Argyll might also notice that his hands were shaking slightly. “It’s binary… just another one of V.I.C.E.R.O.I.’s loyalty subroutines, right?” Argyll frowned. “Can’t you read binary?! ‘Long live Empress Kalzerian’ is what the message says. Now tell me son, how is it that she’s empress unless Fashti has been proclaimed dead?” The young man nodded, understanding his meaning perfectly. “While our comms were down, V.I.C.E.R.O.I has been processing events going on. He’s up to date.” Argyll smiled. “Exactly. V.I.C.E.R.O.I!” The datapad’s screen was wiped clean and replaced with V.I.C.E.R.O.I’S avatar. “Good morning Deckmaster! The atomic clock built into my servers registers the time as 0200. You have 108 unread messages!” The simple face of the AI’s avatar animated a smile in welcome. “108?! Settle in son, we’ve got a lot of reading to do…”

[b]Waystation A-14, The Rubicon Fringe[/b]
	Drogan Asuul stood in the main hangar of the waystation, surrounded by an entourage of R-96 security droids. After nearly ten minutes of waiting, the intercoms finally transmitted the all-clear for the refugee ships to open and release their passengers. Ships of every make and model were present. Almost exclusively civilian ships. Asuul closed his eyes for a minute, communing with V.I.C.E.R.O.I to scan the ships’ identifications numbers and process them all simultaneously.[i] From all corners of the empire seeking refuge. But mostly Almata.[/i] Drogan plugged one of the numerous cables that were worked into the fabric of his synthweave habit into the nearby intercom, broadcasting his voice to the multitudes of frightened refugees. “My fellow Arcturians! Welcome to Rubicon! I am speak for the Emperor in this sector, and know that by the grace of Fashti, you are safe here. You have suffered many hardships to come here, but they are now at an end! Here, you will be processed and assigned a place within our organization. Together, we will provide for your needs and work to restore what you have lost in these dark times. Please refer yourselves to the terminals located in the next room, and allow V.I.C.E.R.O.I to oversee your admission. You will be on legal record as documented immigrants into the Rubicon system. I don’t know how rulers are carrying themselves in the core territories, but we still follow the laws here. These lands belong to the Empire and its citizens. Conduct yourselves in a manner as befits that station. Nothing has changed.” Drogan glanced around the crowd, at their grim expressions and resolute faces. Though he had long ago replaced his eyes with more efficient artificial scanners, he met their gaze. Though he knew machines better than people, he could read their faces. [i]Everything has changed.[/i] The Technocrat swept out of the room, accompanied by his bodyguard. Working his way through the narrow corridors of the station, he found himself in the command post before long. There arrayed before him were more of his R-96 droids at attention around a conference table, where sat three other men, and a robot whose head had been replaced with a monitor. As Drogan took his seat, the screen on the robot buzzed to life, displaying V.I.C.E.R.O.I’S avatar. Asuul looked around at the assembled personages before him. A man in the dark uniform of a naval officer, a man in gilded garb, and an imposing power armored soldier.
	“Now that we are all here, we can begin our discussion.” Drogan smiled as he stared at those in attendance. “I have my additional labor force. Once they’ve been allocated-” “Full allocation will take approximately 6.1338 days” the AI cut in. Drogan dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. “After they’ve been assigned to work, my shipyards should be at full production capacity. Expect a production rate of no less than three regulator-class ships per day. This in addition to my current standing force of 87 similar such ships already in attendance-” “Production rate after assignment process will yield an average 3.20 ships per day. Current fleet totals when limited to vessels fitting the parameters of regulator-class include 88 as of .00009 seconds ago.” The group assembled let the AI’s interruption sink in. Another ship had been produced in the half-hour that Drogan had been away on other business. Drogan Asuul cleared his throat. “As you can see, Admiral Odom, my production facilities move swiftly. Rubicon is not a stronghold, but we will have all the ships you could need if you but give us the time.” The officer shifted in his seat. “What about crewmen? You don’t have any soldiers here. All the ships in the galaxy are worthless without trained crews to fly the damned things!” The Technocrat laughed derisively. “Entirely automated. My AI’s programming is built into all of the ships, as well as autonomous integrity stabilizers, flight controls, and weapons systems, should they become disconnected in some unthinkable way. The ships lack manual controls of all kinds.” The admiral radiated unease, but said nothing as Asuul turned to the nobleman in the rich clothing. “Lord Valdesh, I’ve sent a team to Almata to search for our magnificent Emperor. The [i]Coronation[/i] is en route as we speak. It is crewed by loyal men and will return with confirmed news of our glorious leader one way or another. We will have our answer. In the meantime…” Drogan turns his attention to the last man at the table, a power armored soldier that towers over the others seated by nearly a foot. “You are with the Empress-regent Kalzerian. I am preparing my fleets and forces for the Alasaiian System. You question my loyalty to Lady Kalzerian. Know that I am loyal to the Empire, whoever rules it. I am loyal to the Imperial line, to the rightful ruler. I admire your “Coldfyre Imperium” as you call it for the order it is maintaining, but until I have a confirmed report on the fate of Fashti, you do not have my support. I expect the Coronation to return at the end of the week. At that time my forces will mobilize to the Alasaiian system at Admiral Odom’s request, to do them will of our ruler. Whomever that may be. You now know my strengths and my plans. Take that to your Lady, along with my best regards.” The assembled men stood and were escorted from the room by the R-96 units. Except for Drogan. Asuul closed his eyes once more and focused on using his neural implants to access The Uplink. [i]V.I.C.E.R.O.I- fabricate conflicting reports of Fashti’s confirmed demise and upload them into the databanks of the Coronation. Disable their comms and orchestrate a series of low-risk mechanical failures.[/i] The AI processed the command.[i] As you wish, master. May I ask why?[/i] Drogan responded audibly. “To buy us some time.” [i]I fully expect Fashti to be alive and hunted by Kalzerian. I have other ways to search for him. This would at least slow Argyll’s return and provide a reasonable excuse for not mobilizing against the superior forces of the Coldfyres until our production capabilities make us a valid threat. I’ve no intention of throwing my lot in with a pretender while our true emperor yet lives.[/i]