Teeken stood on a rocky outcropping just outside of the Nest, and looked out into a desert with more than human eyes. Her eyes were evolved for night and distance. She saw, she swore on some clear and sharp times, almost to the bending of the world, and past it into the void of space, where long before the supplanters had come. But this was not really possible. Her sight, specialized and focused as it was, did not see quite so far. Even on the very clearest and sharpest night, when she'd freshly eaten [i]little brother[/i] and slept plenty the day before, the furthest her eyes saw was to the outskirts of the city the humans called Neo London, where it sat fat and sleeping on the horizon. Teeken did not know this is what it was called. In the half-spoken, half-pheromonal language of her species, the Ura'eek, this city was named [i]The Place Where Sickness Landed.[/i]

Teeken was a native to Gilt, and one of the few still alive.

She was young. She was old, by human standards. But she was young for an Ura'eek, only seventy. She'd lived in this place her entire life, for the Ura'eek only migrate when it's time to reproduce, and her Season has never come. It should have come by now and this worries her deeply. It troubles her enough to pull her constantly, like tonight, out of the tunnels and shallow caves her clan lives in and make her take the long crawl to the surface and gaze pointlessly at a poison city on the horizon. Deep down, she thinks, she blames them. The word "human" is not in the Ura'eek vocabulary; none of them have ever spoken to a human face-to-face, and this one only knows awful rumors about what they look like. Teeken has a close friend (who also happens to be her mother- but that's hardly important) who says that the supplanters are huge, four-limbed mutants. She says they're missing shells so they have to make a second layer of skin to wear. She says they can speak to your blood and change your shape into something else. She says they were born in the stars the day the gods spilled poison onto the night sky, made by accident. The word 'poison' [i]always[/i] comes up when the supplanters are talked about. In Ura'eek language, the pheromones they release play as much of a role as the spoken sounds, so no exact translation can be made for anything they say. But the closest rendering of the Ura'eek word for humans might be [i]The Poison-Breathers That Fell Out of Night and Take.[/i]

She let her black carapace feel the desert wind. Her eight legs twitched with pleasure.

An odd sensation struck her. Something was wrong. She isn't sure which sense told her, "look up," but one did, and she obeyed, and in the tapestry of the night sky she suddenly saw something opening up which was a terror to her kind. It was a myth, a rotten omen. The Sun At Blind Midnight was suddenly shining over her head, the same one that her forebearers saw three centuries before which had heralded the coming of the Poison-Breathers. It was too much brighter than the day sun. Her sensitive eyes went blind, and she thrashed. She lost all her oreintation and screamed. She understood its name. Across the city of Neo London, humans would be looking up and saying "It's the Gateway! It's open!" But here Teenek was horrified. Her first thought: [i]What did I do to have to be the first one to witness this?[/i]

It would be her job to tell the others in her nest. She would be renamed by it. Seeing something so big and mythical, it would become her identity in the eyes of the others. They might kill her. A Mouth Bringing Bad Things.

[i]What did I do to deserve this?[/i]

She wanted to pray. The gods heard the Ura'eek. But in all the writings, the gods had never heard just one of them. Prayer was a communal thing, something you did with your nest. It required hours and the use of your bodies, as you danced and spun around each other in special patterns that signified your needs, leaving traces in the sand. She knew the patterns by heart. But she could not go to face her nest now, with this black news in her stomach. She needed... she did not know, but she needed something first. Something she could bring them so they would not be angry with her for witnessing this.

Taneek's sight was slowly coming back to her. So she crawls from her rock perch and lets her legs sink into the sand. It's course, and rough, and it'll stick to her when she returns. This place here- outside of the cave system they nest in- is where the rituals usually take place, with a minumum of a hundred participants. The gods do not hear one. Still, Taneek walks herself into a wide place, and begins the ritual motions. She dances as if there are partners there when she knows there are not. She dances with her imaginary clan, and hope the gods take pity. Alone, one alien spider spinning under a sighing and pained sky. A prayer. The waves and bends of her body are a plea for help. [i]The gods, the teachers, let them show us another way, let them restore what is lost, let them make new again what is old, let them, let them, let them...[/i]

---

[right][sub]Addressing: [@Sigma][/sub][/right]

"What have you learned?" a gentlemen representing Oldwell Conglomerate leaned back in a leather chair. He was tired, but invested in this conversation. He had let this professional spy into his [i]Rainbow[/i] onboard apartment to hear it.

"Most signals around here are encrypted," the corporate spy answered, "but there's a few juicy bits you can pick up on that aren't too protected. And the diplomats and politicians are always too willing to talk, of course. The comings and goings of ships are a language all their own." This spy was a sym, one based on a long-gone human. He still wore a layer of synth-skin to look like the dead man who's mind he had.

"What's all that tell you?"

"You're looking to sell weapons, right?"

"Defensive purposes only- stop waffling, sym. Who do you think is going to buy from us?"

The spy hesitated visibly. "Sir, we're still new to this game. Please be patient. But there is one nation- the FRA, Free Republic of Americana. They've been fighting a neverending war with an alien threat for decades, and nobody has a clear enough advantage to win. The aliens took their homeworld, even. But nobody is getting any further than that. Stalemates create desperation."

"I heard about that, I think. You have reason to suspect they'd want an edge?"

"If I may?"

"You may."

"I have reason to suspect them and the aliens both would. Their weapons are probably about as advanced than ours, baseline, but I think we can produce faster. I don't believe they have an equivalent to syms nor stamps, and all that makes our labor cost almost nothing. Cheap wins wars, too."

The Oldwell representative's eyes went wide. "Did you just say we might sell weapons to an alien invader?"

The spy shrugged. "I believe I said that we might sell to both."

The representative awkwardly shifted in his seat. But when he failed to say 'no,' the spy prompted: "So, should I begin to draft a message to them, sir? The other corps will need to sign off on this."

[hider=Message to Yulzan]
Hail,

From across the Gateway, we have heard stories of a divine race. It seems that a society of faithful individuals such as yourselves were betrayed by a dishonest nation, and though you succeeded in chasing them from your beautiful planet of Columbia, they remain active on the outskirts. Such a conflict is always sad to see, and we would be very glad to aide the most righteous side. We have created serviles capable of producing goods- including weapons, armors, ship components- at a much accelerated rate. Both the goods and the serviles can be traded, should we find new, worthy partners.

Having heard your story, we are certain we have.

Sincerely,
The Gilt Division
[/hider]

[hider=Message to the FRA]
Greetings,

From across the Gateway, we've heard tragic news about a fellow human nation, mistreated and driven out from their homes by aliens. As a people who have always strived to maintain our humanity in the face of an uncaring universe, we were moved by sympathy to hear your story. It appears you and the aggressors are at a stale mate; well, we would like to help you break that standoff. We can provide weapons and armor to your forces at low prices- we may be corporations, but for a good cause, we know that it is worth discounting things.

With liberty and justice,
The Gilt Division.
[/hider]