[i]Project Archimedes[/i] was what it had been named. It was a challenge, partially. Normally one didn't name projects so... Blatantly. So openly, but this was supposed to be open. An invitation to Hollywodite spies, if such things even existed, to piece together the meaning of a reference to a past they claimed to know.

The Zetans had considered the nature of how, exactly, to penetrate a massive hardpoint like the [i]Aegis.[/i] Surely they were not the only ones with the idea. Having dispensed with the idea of military subtleness then, Project Archimedes was a set of designs and concepts, to be implemented with the heavy lifting done by their new compatriots in the Lorne Administration. It was, to be frank, slightly ludicrous. If the [i]Oistos[/i] had been overkill, [i]Archimedes[/i] was its larger brother. A capital ship shield-smasher, discarding the ability to defend itself with its armaments to instead rend hardpoints asunder.

At the heart of it all was the uncreatively named Maiman Macrocannon. Alas, no Zetan Maimans had participated in its construction, but its name still rang true- the father of LASER would have been proud of this creation, no doubt. The truly prodigious batteries that had been pioneered with the [i]Oistos[/i] prototype design thrown up before the ECU's invasion had uses other than giant electromagnets. It turned out that other weapons could be powered with such a design too, and the Maiman was the next one to be realised.

Really, it wasn't quite as fancy as 'macrocannon' implied. Take a LASER gun, and then keep scaling it up. And then up. And then up some more. Up further. Once you had done that several more times, you were left with a weapon that could turn a ship’s armour plating into plasma frighteningly quick. Of course, as previously mentioned, the disadvantage was that the colossi that the macrocannon was mounted on would be basically defenceless. The power required to fire the macrocannon meant that almost nothing else could be spared. Shields? Barely, yes, and engines, those as well, but mounting additional weapons? Almost impossible. It was a battering ram, essentially- good for one thing, and one thing only. Hells, the weapon wasn't even particularly good against planetary targets either: atmospheric dispersion would diffuse a lot of the impact, rendering the weapon merely powerful rather than apocalyptic. 

That being said though, there was usage against non-static targets too. The beam was so large and moved as quick as light (obviously, as it was a LASER,) that it was actually theoretically possible to use it against ships. There was some theorising that a new Oistos system could also use this weaponry, but that was not within the remit of Project Archimedes.

Lastly, there was one additional issue. The only even vaguely portable battery that could produce enough energy to power the macrocannon- fission. How bitterly Zeta wished it had managed to realise fusion power. Technically, this would not have been an issue in and of itself, but the fact was that there was no way to mount the batteries (being named the 'wave motion' batteries for the fact that the wave motion of particles could actually become visible within the batteries) [i]and[/i] sufficient radiological protection to keep the crew safe. 

It was good then that the Zetan population was freshly flush with military-minded individuals capable of ignoring radiation.

[hr]

[center]|[@Sep]|[/center]

A Zetan ship sailed in to dock at the [i]Meeting Place.[/i] This was the first Zetan ship since the beginning of the blockade, and it brought with it several new staff for the ambassadors and staff aboard the station. One, though, beelined his way towards the Lorne Administration's offices, carrying a briefcase. He looked deceptively human, but underneath his skin he was much more metal than many of his kind. 

Lambada-Röntgen made a simple request. "May we speak with a high-ranking member of your company? We come bearing certain... Unusual and top-secret plans that the Collective would like to discuss with you." He held up the metal briefcase and gave it a little shake to emphasise his point.

[hr]

[center]|[@Timemaster]|[/center]

The crew aboard the small shuttle were not prepared for what they found. Not even remotely. Skin and bone draped about like they had been catapulted back in time, and a gaggle of identical clones greeting them. The Consciousness might have just met the one nation that was [i]more unusual[/i] than themselves.

"Greetings," the leading member of the expedition said, blinking rapidly. "I am Tau-Kao, of the Zetan Consciousness. We are... Very... Pleased? To meet more fellow humans." There was a long pause as the crew considered if these newcomers were even humans, or merely looked quite similar to humans. "We must say, you've already managed to surprise us a great deal."

[hr]

[center]Mega-Collab between |[@Tortoise]| |[@Raylah]| and |Myself|[/center]

Kelsie wriggled her body, trying to get the dress into a more comfortable and less revealing position. When it was just hanging flat on the cloth hanger the split on the side didn’t seem to go that high, but when she was actually wearing it, it felt a bit too revealing for her liking. Along with the moderately-heeled shoes, she didn’t even recognize herself in the mirror. It made her body look hot though.

Worse thing than her naked legs was the fact she was unarmed. Weapons were not allowed at the gala, and even if they were, she had no idea where she would hide one wearing this ridiculous attire. As she watched her people in formal uniforms wiggling uncomfortably, she knew they felt the same. All of them had years of training in hand-to-hand combat, but a gun is a gun, it is always good to have one at hand.

“Alright, guys, it’s almost time.” Trying her best to ignore them staring at her in such unusual clothes, she turned to the Reapers. “You. Don’t you dare to cause some diplomatic incident. You are under strict orders to avoid Zetans. If they approach you for whatever reason, you smile politely and walk away. Do not respond to any provocation. You can drink, but in moderation, don’t you dare get wasted and cause some scene. If you fuck this up, I will personally cut you into little pieces and space each one through a different airlock, is that clear?”

The squad stood at attention. “Yes, ma’am!” six voices sounded in unison.

“Lieutenant Rodriguez, Sergeant Springer,” she turned to Alfonso and Janice, “you two are personally responsible for the squad’s conduct on this mission. Make sure you represent us well. Now go get ready.” The Reapers saluted her and left the room, leaving her alone with David and Julianna. The young scientist was wearing a dull grey outfit, uninteresting and hopefully unnoticeable. David was in the same uniform as the Reapers, plain black jacket and pants, with subtle silver embroidery on his shoulder, showing the Undefeated symbol and his rank. “I hope I don’t have to tell you two not to get drunk.”

Julianna just smiled and shook her head. “I think it’s not us who has had some problems with drinking too much,” David added, smirking.

“Oh, shut up, will you stop reminding me of that?” David threw his hands in the air in the surrendering motion but kept quiet. “Fine. You know what to do. You go in, try to be invisible, and spy on their technology. If they are willing to talk about it, get as much information as you can.” Julianna nodded; they had discussed this earlier. “And your job...” Kelsie turned to David.

“Is to make sure you don’t break a leg in these ridiculous shoes,” he interrupted her, sending a disapproving look down to her feet.

“What, you don’t like my shoes?”

“Oh, I love them, they just don’t seem very… practical,” he shrugged and leaned towards her to whisper directly into her ear. “In fact, I like them so much that I can imagine you wearing them when we get back. Just the shoes and nothing else.”

Kelsie giggled and blushed. Dammit, wasn’t she a bit too old for this? “Let’s focus on the mission now, Major.”

“Yes, ma’am!” His attention position and salute were exactly by the book. The grin that appeared on his face was definitely not in any of the military books.

Even the shuttles from the Meeting Place to the Santa De Angelo had been fancified for the grand gala. Guests stepping aboard either the Marengo or the Palomo would find themselves treated to a cushy trip. Matuvistan Marines and ISOCs stood as silent sentinels, the former in their shiny grey uniforms and perfectly fitted berets, and the latter with their Mesoamerican-style patterns and face paint gave a wonderful contrast and introduction to the differences one could find in Matuvistan society. Both the Marengo and the Palomo also contained a small dispatch of mathetes, should scientists from foreign nations come aboard, as well as a staff of patricians and plebeians both.

With maté, the second most popular (but official) beverage of the Republic, both shuttles contained small cafes dedicated to the drink, including its traditional gourd and with a silver bombilla. For those that wanted something more familiar, or, perhaps more desired, several blends of Matuvistan coffee were also available, along with tasters of wine and rum. For children and those disinclined to drink, a host of juices were also on offer, and canapes were regularly carried around, allowing individuals to unwind before they arrived on the Santa De Angelo.

When they did though... The Matuvistans weren't messing around with their propaganda barrage. Docking aboard the De Angelo, guests were immediately met with a long hallway totally encompassed by a vast mural, showing a sanitised version of Matuvista's history. Plaques on the walls spoke of the greatness of De Angelo, the evils of the Yyassum, and the bravery of the patrician jet-knights, seen at the end of the hallway blasting off, into an unknown future.

At the end of the hallway had been stationed young patricians to hand out programmes and act as tour guides. Ranging from twelve to sixteen, they were all dressed in proper military wear, familiar to those who had met with Alfonso. The programme was vast and all-encompassing. An art gallery, a concert hall, cocktail lounge with jazz band, a euphemistically named 'indulgences room,' a theatre and even a ballroom were all on offer, and a steady train of waiters and waitresses topped up glasses and filled up stomachs.

[hider=ECU]
“I’ve never really liked art,” was the first thing an ECU diplomat said. But the second was “How could you say that? It’s beautiful!”

The first was from Abadi and the second from Tanaka, walking through the mural-engraved hallway together. Both were still technically Liaisons, sent by their government to meet up with a promising- or, hopeful- new contact. All they had heard about the Matuvistans spoke of a strong, mostly Old Earth culture, seemingly very Hispanic (or Latin?) in inspiration. As Abadi spoke some Spanish, her assignment to greet them was a natural choice.

On the other hand, Tanaka knew nothing of Hispanic anything except what little bit could be gleaned from old Western cowboy stories, and spoke no Spanish or Portuguese whatsoever. But he simply refused not to be brought along. It was common knowledge that he would soon be pushed aside as the main Liaison in favour of Abadi, but the young man seemed determined to ignore that fact until the very instant it was official. He showed up in his old office the day they were scheduled to meet the Matuvistans, all smiles, and nobody had the heart to shake him off.

“It’s gorgeous here,” Tanaka spoke first, to the nearest young patrician tour guide. “We from New Hollywood always appreciate artistic flair,” Abadi finished for him.

“We’re very glad to hear it,” the young woman said, with a beaming smile across her face. “We’ve heard lots of fantastic things about the Cultural Union as well! That your leadership is the most cultured of the nation, just like our Senate!” She held out two of the brochures, then launched into a quick spiel.

“You’ll have a few hours to enjoy the various exhibits, and then we’ll be asking all guests to arrive at the main auditorium for a short speech by Diplomat Alfonso, and then it’s back to a free enjoyment. If you’re looking for specific events to attend, we have several!” She paused for a moment.

“We have a performance by the [i]Desembarco Youth Choir[/i] starting in just a few minutes, an official tasting of various Matuvistan liquors starting in fifteen minutes, a book signing by an up-and-coming author in twenty-five minutes… Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to find something that’ll interest you! If you’d like me to escort you around the [i]Santa De Angelo,[/i] I’d be more than happy to! My name is Maria, I’m thirteen cycles, three quarters and five days old, and I’m studying fashion design alongside my military training!”

There were mixed reactions from the ECU two. Both of them had grown up fairly comfortable with the idea of assuming responsibility at a young age- Abadi herself was still a student, only nineteen years, when she first met Sigma-Devi and Kelsie. (She had a birthday and two promotions since, but still felt uncomfortably young among the various old diplomats of the Meeting Place.) But military training? For a child? That was a rare and new idea.

"So, I'm curious," Abadi asked the patrician child, having all this in mind, "your mural had a lot of figures on it that looked, at least to me, like aliens. Is..." she wasn't sure how to phrase the question for someone so young, but Tanaka jumped in on her behalf: "Are these creatures the reason you need military training?"

“Ah yes,” Maria nodded. “The Yyasum. My great-grand-uncle died fighting them.” She paused for a moment, as what could only be described as patriotic fervour swelled her voice. “But he died resisting the xenos invaders, and protecting our people. He might be gone, but we’ll never forget him.” Her back had straightened out a little as she said that. “The Yyassum are our biggest enemy. They’ve been threats to honourable humans for centuries now, and it’s the duty of all patricians to be able to resist their incursions.” She beamed.

“I started on my training jetbike when I turned twelve, although it was my brother’s originally. When I turn sixteen I get my own. I can’t wait!”

At this point, Tanaka started thinking about how heroic it all sounds, and how cool jetbikes must be, and so simply nodded along. “I am glad for you people, then,” he said, “that they have not fallen to alien influence. It’s vital that humanity remains who we are. Some forget that.” 

Abadi didn’t add anything, this time; she felt disturbed by the whole idea. And the last time she was disturbed by a foreign culture, it started an intergalactic war. She smiled curtly.

Besides, another part of her was still busy thinking about their outfits. After her conversation with Kelsie, Abadi had thought more about clothes than she usually would, and realized how odd most ECU dress habits must seem to other cultures. Like, what was the word one foreigner used- like ‘costumes.’ She’d given that advice to Tanaka, and they both agreed to wear something more expected.

The only issue was, of course, that they had no idea what was expected. There was no point-of-reference, no intergalactic standard for formal dress. After an hour of arguing and debating and some fairly disastrous try-ons, they landed on Abadi in a somewhat decorated abaya, and Tanaka in a montsuki. It was the only time anyone had seen him wear something stereotypically Japanese, and it took the combined persuasion of seven people to convince him not to bring the cowboy hat.

Luckily for the ECU, there were plenty of oddly-dressed people walking about the [i]Santa De Angelo.[/i] Of particular note, of course, was Sigma-Devi, who was also currently immersed in talking to one of the young patricians, wearing her now-iconic sari. For their part though, the Matuvistans were united in military uniforms.

The young patricians all wore junior infantry fatigues- a lighter, more jungle-y green than the typical khaki, combined with a black beret, a single golden star pinned to it. The marines on guard contrasted with them slightly: their uniforms were blue, and their berets silver, but the overall appearances were the same. It was only the ISOCs that looked demonstrably different thanks to their usage of their full-dress uniform, including all the patterning. It helped draw attention away from their firepower.

“We’ve made sure of that!” She said with a smile. “We also have problems with the moons sometimes. My dad says that the criminal elements there keep undermining faith in our government, which is why we need to enforce law and order there properly. My brother’s been deployed there, actually.” 

At the mention of criminal elements- and ones that undermine faith in a good government, at that- Abadi and Tanaka both had to glance at each other. The parallels here were strong. The anti-protector movements back on New Hollywood were very quickly becoming anti-Oligarch as well, and the government had yet to scramble together a real response to this wildfire of a cultural shift. With the protectors momentarily gone, all the pent-up rage and mistrust the non-Oligarchs had built up over centuries of abuse was pouring, flooding out. And it was too late to put the cap back on the bottle.

Maria paused for a moment, cocking her head.

“But we should go and see some of the exhibits! Which would you like to visit first?”

[i]Whichever one Sigma-Devi isn’t at,[/i] Abadi thinks, while Tanaka decides “I daresay, ‘various Matuvistan liquors’ won’t compare to what we can grow on New Hollywood. But we may as well check out our competition.” He smirked.

“Alright! To our distillery it is!” She beamed, then began walking, rattling off facts as she did so. “The first distillery on Matuvista was founded just three weeks after initial landfall from colonisation. After we discovered that we could grow sugarcane on Matuvista, the Zamorano brothers established their ‘New World Distillery,’ and began to produce rum. Apparently at first it was so strong that it could be used to power trucks!” She giggled.

“With the Zamorano brothers opening the doors, lots of other distilleries and breweries opened up too, although they had plenty of competition from other substances.” She continued to lead the duo through the Gala, past guests milling about and soldiers politely nodding. Every now and again a trickle of music or poetry or a film could be heard from one of the rooms, until at last they arrived by a large, open-plan bar area. Barrels were artisanally stacked so that their various labels were prominently displayed, and a tremendous bar area constructed out of heavy, dark hardwood dominated most of the space. Behind it stood bottles, casks, flasks, flagons, jugs and mugs of all shapes and sizes.

“If you need any more assistance, feel free to ask one of the soldiers, or one of the greeters located conveniently about the ship! Thank you very much for attending our gala!” With that, Maria was off, and the duo had quite the choice of drinks.

Obviously, the Matuvistans were proud of their rum. It was easily the most varied type of drink on display, from golden to white, spiced to dark, of every possible flavour and combination. [i]Nuevo Porto[/i] was also prominently displayed, with plenty of varieties on offer. For those of a less discerning taste, beers and ales of all kinds could be found, with plenty of exotic names for them, and the selection was rounded out by tequila, schnapps, vodka, whisky and more.

“Got any Ellaryian whiskey?” Abadi asked.

They did not.

So she settled for one of infinite rums, this bottle of a golden hue. Picked purely for its colour. She didn’t drink as often as a more stereotypical New Hollywoodite, but loved gold as much as they’re meant to. (A lot.)

She noticed her colleague drinking his own choice of rum- one so dark it almost looks black. Pitch black. Tanaka has been drinking like that often lately, always going for the darker end of the spectrum, and his other habits are starting to match. Ever since he was released from the Zetans; it’s getting worrying.

But then he turns to glance at her, and a familiar glint in his eye makes Abadi feel completely relieved. He’s just drinking that to feel like a pirate.

Eventually, the pair decide it would be a poor idea to get drunk at a fancy gala, and twist each other’s arms into going to one of the other rooms. He wanted music, she wanted theatre, neither could agree, neither wanted to make a scene, and their subtle tug-of-war ended them up- somehow- at a poetry reading. This turned out not to be so bad for Abadi, who recognized the words as William Shakespeare’s. But then she recognized them a little too well, and-

[i]A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change as is false women’s fashion;[/i]

“Oh, by Earth,” she groans aloud, “they’re reading from his Fair Youth poems. Of course. Sonnet Twenty.”
[/hider]

[hider=Undefeated]
The Matuvistans were show-offs, that was for sure. The beauty and wealth they put on display for everyone at the Meeting Place to see were astonishing, especially to the practical Undefeated used to plain and simple things. The extravagant luxury was almost intimidating - how can you just sit on a sofa that probably took months to make and cost a fortune?

Kelsie tried to ignore the decorations on the Matuvistan shuttle and focused on the people instead, her eyes naturally drawn towards the soldiers standing guard. Despite all the shiny decor, fancy uniforms, or even ridiculous paint markings some of them had on their faces for some reason, she could tell they were professionals and well-trained fighters, nothing like the ECU protectors. ‘This is not someone we want to go to war with,’ Kelsie made a mental note. Not that the Undefeated wanted to go to war with anyone at this point, it was just an acknowledgment that this would be a tough enemy to beat.

She moved around the ship, tasting some of the offered beverages, avoiding any alcohol for now. Coffee was never her thing; the smell made her nauseous and she couldn’t understand how someone could actually enjoy the horrible taste. But even she had to admit that what they served here seemed way better than the swill the Undefeated cooked in dirty kettles over campfires while on missions. The maté was interesting, finally something worth trading. She would have to talk to someone about sending them a small shipment to try it out.

After a short trip, the delegation moved over to the Santa De Angelo, only to be welcomed by even more wealth and luxury. Kelsie and Julianna took their time to walk by the murals on the walls, carefully studying the depicted historical events. David followed them around like a silent bodyguard. The Reapers were much less interested in displays of wealth and even less in history and headed straight towards the party. Kelsie soon lost sight of them and just prayed they wouldn't make a mess.

The look at the offered program made her swallow a quiet moan. Art, music, theatre, even dancing? Kelsie only knew one dance which included a lot of stomping and clapping and required a sturdy table and some very drunk people. It was definitely not something one should show in a company like this.

She looked around, hoping to see Abadi’s friendly face somewhere. Hopefully she won’t have to visit the theatre to find her.

Luckily for Kelsie, although Abadi was not present, another individual was. Dressed in the Marine uniforms seen elsewhere, this particular individual had a few interesting differences that set him apart from his comrades. A set of silver epaulettes, several medals clipped onto his breast, and no less than three badges pinned to his blue beret. “Officer Kelsie, of the Undefeated?” He inquired, then extended his hand quite formally.

“Wonderful to see you here. Major Luciano de Medivaine, of the Matuvistan Marine Corps. We’ve heard much about your martial nature, and I wish to extend to you an apology that Alfonso has not yet contacted you. As I’m sure you can imagine, things have been busy ever since the portal opened.”

Kelsie turned to the man that addressed her. “Yes, I’m Guardian Kelsie Blackwood, representative of the Undefeated. This is Major David Parker.” David nodded respectfully, still standing silently behind her. Julianna had disappeared somewhere in the crowd earlier. “It’s an honour to be here.” She wondered whether Luciano’s medals were from actual combat situations, or just some honorary commendations. Was this man simply a diplomat and a bureaucrat, or was there a tough soldier hiding under the flashy exterior? From the way he moved, Kelsie would guess the latter.

“I completely understand you haven’t had time to contact us, new arrivals always get swarmed by eager diplomats from all nations. You must have also heard a lot of bad things about us due to the recent events, so it is understandable you would be a bit tentative to establish diplomatic relations.” Alright, enough of the indirect apologizing. “I’m not really an expert on the matter, but it surely seems you know how to throw a party,” she smiled, attempting to lighten the mood a little. “I have only tasted a small selection of the offered beverages so far, but I have to say some of them are very interesting, especially the ‘maté’, am I saying that correctly? I think the people of my nation would appreciate it; we have to talk about some sample shipments later. If you are willing to sell such treasures that is,” she laughed and sipped something bubbly from a tall glass the waitresses were offering to everyone.

“On the contrary.” Luciano shook Kelsie’s hand once, then pressed the back of her hand to his lips before releasing it. “From what we’ve heard about the war, you comported yourself excellently. Summoned to the front by an ally, you gave your assistance with professionalism and grace despite overwhelming resistance. We tip our hats to you.” He reached up and tugged ever-so slightly at the rim of his beret.

“I am so glad to hear that you enjoyed the maté, and we would be more than happy to trade some of it. Hopefully your men enjoy it as much as ours. Now then, would you like me to show you about the Santa De Angelo? I’m sure we’ll have plenty to discuss.”

Kelsie did her best to hide her surprise. Someone was actually commending them for the Zetan war? That was the first time. A bit suspicious if you asked her, but then again, these people were a bit strange. Their obvious endearment of fancy things raised an inevitable comparison with the ECU. But the Matuvistan culture seemed more compact, not a bunch of random things smashed together the way the Hollywoodites did it. The result was way more elegant and incomparably less chaotic.

“Thank you, not many countries share such opinions. I would be happy to see your ship.” She put an empty glass on a tray and acquired a filled one. It was mildly alcoholic, she should probably be careful with it, but for now, it helped her relax and converse, keeping her nervousness to a manageable level. “I have seen the history display in the lobby. It seems like your nation can handle a fight as well. I am sorry that your planet is in constant danger of alien invasion. We have had a lot of dealings with aliens ourselves, it is actually part of the reason our society might seem so militaristic.”

“As ours.” The major spread his arm out to show the hallway again. “War is a part of the tapestry of our history, and we wear it proudly on our chests.” He tugged his shirt, causing his medals to jingle, the effect only adding to his words.

“Where would you like to depart first? Our distillery? A fencing tournament, perhaps?” He bounced on the balls of his feet a little, keeping his back straight and hands behind him. 

“Anywhere that’s not a theatre,” Kelsie laughed to make it sound like a joke but was in fact deadly serious. She fully intended to leave this gala just as ignorant about Shakespeare and his plays as she was on arrival. “I would leave the distillery for later, the tournament sounds intriguing.” She had no idea what fencing was, but it must be interesting if they made a tournament in it. Maybe they competed in building fences on time?

“I have to say I am surprised by how highly you value art, music, theatres, and culture in general, I would not expect that from a militaristic nation. Don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly, realizing her words might have sounded a bit rude, “I admire that you still find time and space for it. In my world, everything is strictly practical, and culture hardly has any place there.”

“Fencing it is,” Luciano said with a smile, leading Kelsie through the halls of the [i]Santa De Angelo[/i] confidently, then, with a shake of his head, he responded. “It is vital that we find time and space for it. There’s a saying we have, in Matuvista. [i]It takes nothing to be a tyrant, and everything to be a leader.[/i] Showing we are more than… Backwater brutes, swinging clubs about to rule over each other is of high priority.” He turned back to smile at her. “Don’t get me wrong though,” he said, clearly referencing her earlier line. “There is art in the pursuit of war.”

They arrived at the fencing tournament mid-match. Matuvistan fencing was a dangerous affair. With sharp swords, competitors wore no shirts and only goggles to protect their eyes, lashing out at each other with practised moves. Just as they entered, both competitors' blades struck true at once, leading one of the judges to declare imperiously. [b]”Double touch. Point goes to Jessina.”[/b] The fighters disengaged for a moment, a drop of blood pattering down, and then began once again.

“Excellent. A fight just in progress.”

Kelsie didn’t comment on Luciano’s passionate proclamation, even though it felt a bit offensive. Surely there were more ways to prove one is a leader than having art exhibitions. Kelsie definitely preferred to be a backwater club-swinging brute. 

The sword fighting was impressive, even more so when Kelsie noticed that the weapons are sharp and the fighters bleed from small cuts. “Wow,” she exclaimed when the contestants resumed the fight and exchanged a few fast strikes, the metal ringing loudly as the swords collided. “Isn’t it dangerous? I mean the swords are sharp, and it would just take a tiny mistake…” … to cut that pretty woman’s head off and spray the whole fancy-dressed audience with jugular blood … “... and the fight would result in some serious injuries.”

The woman scored a point again and shook a drop of blood off her sword. Kelsie noticed that she had a small cut on her right breast. Ouch. A competition felt like a silly reason to lose a nipple. Or a life. Fortunately, Jessina wasn’t exactly gifted in the chest area, otherwise she would hardly be able to compete in this strange sport.

“The danger is the point. Medical teams are on hand, but to seriously injure another fencer outside of an accident is tantamount to assault. At this level of competition, you should be able to control your blade better than that.” He paused for a moment. “And, without the blood, without the sharpness, you’re just waving around metal wands. 

He turned to face her. “Does it bother you?”

“As long as they aren’t forced to participate...,” Kelsie shrugged. “It just feels like a waste to potentially lose skilled, trained, and experienced fighters just to put on a show.” The swords clanged in a loud parry and the audience cheered and clapped. “Although it is a spectacular show, I will give you that. It’s not like the Undefeated don’t like competitions and tournaments, on the contrary, my people are very competitive. We have yearly Olympics and plenty of smaller events, we compete in pretty much anything. Various versions of shooting and hand-to-hand combat are probably the most popular, but there are also lots of classical athletic and other disciplines involved.” But none of them involves a risk of people accidentally killing each other. Kelsie did not repeat that out loud, not wanting to push the matter any further and potentially causing some diplomatic incident. The Matuvistans, despite all their flashiness, seemed like someone the Undefeated would definitely want to be friends with. Not exactly brothers in arms, but maybe some weird cousins - not the same in every matter, but still a family.

“Of course they aren’t.” He chuckled happily, then indicated towards one of the seats. “It’s a test of courage. Of prowess. Of skill. Of resisting pain, and of pushing through. A good fencer is a good knight, and what higher measure is there?” He paused for a moment. “Or at the least a good soldier. Not many take it up these days”

Kelsie smiled when he mentioned pushing through pain. Every Undefeated would, the memories of relentless drill sergeants with paintball guns shooting anyone whose cover was not good enough, who was too slow or lazy, or whom they just didn’t like, seemed engraved deep into their collective memory. “We might have different ways of showing it, but we definitely share the same values,” she mentioned walking towards the indicated seat. It was soft and incredibly comfortable. As soon as she sat down, a waitress appeared seemingly out of nowhere, offering her a filled glass and a small tray with a wide selection of Matuvistan delicacies.

Kelsie was not the only one smiling. A small one had also appeared at Luciano’s lips, the man glancing at the Undefeated woman next to him. Yes, the Undefeated would be friends to the Republic. They understood each other in ways that the less warlike nations did not. 
[/hider]