Backstories!

[Cirrial]

Well, I was going through my old text files and found a short story written as an immediate backstory for 501's arrival to Blackstar. Seeing as it seems complete, I think I might as well post it. And then I can use this thread to post any other backstories for my characters when I find/write them.

501's backstory occurs immediately before "Click-click-whirr", the starting of which is referenced in the ending of the story.

[Cirrial]

BUSINESS AS USUAL

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"You cannot be serious."

501 stared, blankly. With his mostly static face and unblinking eyes, this wasn't the most difficult of tasks. "No, really. You cannot be serious. I mean, a Neomeme invasion I could quite readily accept. A Neomeme invasion and a seperate enesi attack, that's kinda pushing it, but it's still a little believable. But Neomeme, enesi, AND a fleet of biorbe ships approaching fast? That's just ridiculous. It's not even funny."

He continued to stare in disbelief at the image suspended in front of him, a phantasm of light across a cloud of projector nanobots drifting like motes of dust in the air. Looking back at him was an avian face vaguely similar to a keynain's, but slightly more mathematical in its construction and tinted the same shade of light blue that pervaded the Maratix design aesthetic.

501 was in his personal quarters, a humble room by Maratix standards. The door was firmly sealed with seven different varieties of mechanical and electronic lock. He gestured pleadingly to the phantom keynain. Outside his room he could hear saa-kru arguing heatedly, gibbering, calmly discussing strategies and the dull thud of one poor saa-kru falling to the ground, presumably curling into a ball.

"NIDS, tell me this isn't happening. NIDS? NIDS, why aren't you saying anything?"

The image stared past him to the blank wall, closed its eyes slowly and began to speak.

"The Neomeme capital ship Imperalist is approaching with an escort force of twenty fighters and four heavy assault ships. For Neomeme, it is a dangerously weak escort force for such an important ship. For this reason I deduce that Neomeme is not here to initiate attack.
The enesi ships are of miminal threat. Their course is changing, albeit subtly, and I presume that they are not intending to attack us either.
The biorbe fleet is a typical size for biorbe colonisation with over two hundred ships. Based on previous biorbe fleet behaviours, I have reason to believe that they will not attack unless provoked.
While the odds of three factions of questionable intent approaching the Marasphere at the same time are astronomical, so are many of the things most Maratix sophonts deal with on a daily basis."

501 nodded. "I'd like to believe all that, but that's exactly what they want us to think. ...I think. Anyway, what's the general consensus with the rest of the echelon?"

NIDS' representation opened its eyes again. "Ak-tse wishes to remind you that constantly referring to the leadership group of Maratix as 'the echelon', 'the cabal' or any other such term will only further cause suspicion and rumours by those who aren't certain who or what makes all the decisions. Please refrain."

501 sighed, and clasped a claw over his face. "And I wish to remind Ak-tse that we're about to be attacked by no less than three armadas, and that there's a time and place for workplace protocol, and this really isn't that time. Most offices don't have to deal with this. ...In fact, I can't think of any other corporation that DOES ever have to deal with this."

NIDS' avatar turned to face the side, its face in profile to 501. "The decision of the network is to wait and see what happens. If they approach further, there will be a meeting tomorrow in sector A9. For the time being, all blue zones have been sealed off, and all other zones have been put on yellow status minimum. If evacuation is required, several additional vector clamps have been installed in residential zones, and several destructor units have been put into place to remove all traces of scalvagable technolo-"

501 slammed his talons on a table and leant forward, agitated. "No! We can't just dismantle the Marasphere! I'm not just being sentimental here, we actually can't! Think of the damage we'll do! We've got more universes tangled into this thing than there are threads in a ball of... well, thread! ...Probably not quite that many, but my point still stands! No-one with any sense has ever tried to attack the Marasphere from the outside, so why should we do it ourselves?!"

"If you allowed me to finish, the destructor units have been altered so all structures critical to the integrity of the Marasphere will remain. It will be as an empty shell, devoid of any trace of us ever being here."

501 slumped backwards into a plastic-coated olive beanbag chair. It was filled with a strange deformable gel that never found any use elsewhere. Its very existance was a testament to Maratix refusing to give up on even the most clearly pointless ventures.

And it was this chair, of all things in the room, that gave 501 a new idea.

"Wait. The stuff in this thing. The thing I'm sitting on."

"Your superflous tail?"

"No, the squidgy thing! The chair! The stuff in it. What is this stuff?"

"An inert transclucent gel substance that none of Maratix's greatest scientists could develop a use for."

"Right. What if we... uh... fire it at the ships?"

"...Apart from the absolute, undeniable idiocy of deliberately provoking an attack when there likely will be none, I have my doubts that firing a useless gel at a spaceworthy vessel will have any detrimental effects beyond being difficult to scrape off when cleaning the ship."

"Is it explosive?"

"501, I understand we're erroneously reputed for... flaws, but our standards are higher than supporting the manufacture of exploding furniture."

"Acidic?"

NIDS' avatar slapped its talons to its face. "501. Look at the chair. Notice how it's currently not doing anything? Now allow me to tell you what the word 'inert' means. Inert. Lacking reactivity. Deficient in active properties. Doing little or nothing. What's it doing right now? Being sat on by a robot with a clearly inert brain. I'm trying to think of defensive measures we can take and you're sitting there on your inert chair asking me questions about a project you had no interest in overseeing when it began."

501 looked to the floor slowly, then suddenly looked back up. "'Defensive measures'? You said we had nothing to worry about!"

"There's no loss in taking precautions. Additionally, that meeting scheduled for tomorrow? It's actually being held right now. I would have told you earlier had you not interrupted. The nearest vector clamp is to the left as you leave the door."

501 stood up with a jump and hastily began unlocking the many locks barring the door. "Would it kill you to be nicer to me once in a while?!"

"I didn't lock the door, did I? Oh. Wait. That reminds me." A click and a whirr, followed by the clang of a lock falling from the top of the door. "There. The meeting won't start until all required personnel are there, so I don't entirely understand why you're in such a rush."

"...Maybe it's because of the THREE WAR FLEETS CLOSING IN ON US!"

"One escort fleet, one war fleet and one colonisation fleet."

"Whatever!"

501 flew through the door, with enough force to sever it from its hinges. Without a moment's hesitation, a new door slid into place from a vent underneath, accompanied by robotic welding torches. 501 sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the puzzled and paranoid glances of the assorted sophonts wandering the halls.

He ran straight into an offline vector clamp, and after picking himself up from the floor, he tapped on a console next to it.

"Sec-tor A-9 meet-ing room." Voice recognition always was a little screwy.

The vector clamp shuddered. 501 glanced casually at a note he had somehow failed to notice, pinned directly above the console. "Hmm... 'Do not use - horribly broken - not sure if you'll come out the other side at all'? ...Screw that. I need to get to the meeting!"

The vector clamp sparked, and its three spokes flung open wildly and erratically. More sparks, this time blue, and the vector clamp tore open a triangular hole in the universe. The portal wavered and wobbled.

"Huh. It shouldn't do that. Should it be doing tha-"

The portal twitched and convulsed, before lunging in the direction of 501, almost tearing itself free of its vector clamp frame. 501's last words were engulfed, along with himself, as he fell into the strange universe of Bluespace.

Flailing helplessly he stared, directionless, blinded from the burning white glow of a universe filled with far too much energy. Shielding his eyes from instincts both mechanical and biological, he started to scream.

He stopped screaming after something hit him, hard. Something flat and large. He gently moved his arms away from his head, and looked dazedly at the green grass.

Slowly, he craned his head up. There were clouds and a sky, and buildings behind him. Figures, humanoid figures, gave him odd looks before walking away.

And then the world exploded.