Box'noxia (Trade Planet), Sector 98-A, Neutral Space
The Milky Way Galaxy
2398
Tiff scowled at the ugly, hissing puddle of goo and spikes that had chosen to lay in the middle of the only road she could walk down.
"What is that?" She asked.
"A g'nok," Bryce said, nodding slowly. "Centurions love em."
G'noks were not as cute as Tiffany had hoped -- and just as Sebastian had promised, they were absolutely everywhere on the streets of the primary city of the trade planet that the colonizers had named Sn'Gar. It had originally been called Box'noxia by the locals. Said locals looked less than pleased with the change in who was the top dog around here: They were clustered in alleyways, sitting in open doorways in the shanty houses that sprawled around the glittering skyscrapers that made up the center of the trade city.
The Centurions seemed almost proud of how shitty the Kor, the natives, had things. They had planted a road right through the middle of the slums, with huge electrified fences and watchtowers. The towers were manned by star elves with heavy duty looking rifles. Most of them were bored -- but a few aimed their rifles down at the Kor with malicious eagerness. Tiff could almost smell their eagerness to have a reason to shoot.
The Kor were all pretty skinny looking, with pasty gray-brown skin that sagged off their bones. They had three arms -- two on the sides, with one of them emerging from their chest and terminating in a small grasping claw. Their eyes looked empty and witness. Most of them were drinking from small bulbs of plastic -- filled with glowing green liquid. Tiff shuddered as she carefully stepped over the hissing g'nok.
"Why are they so..." Tiff paused. "You know. They look like my uncle after he had too much of the 'shut the fuck up and stop asking questions Tiff' juice."
Bryant's ears were pinned back against his head and his nose was wrinkled in distaste. "It's a drug -- they're all malnourished because their food is crap and they have no healthcare." He shook his head. "Centurion bastards."
"Not so loud," Bruce said, walking ahead of them. If Bryant's nose was wrinkled up, Tiff tried to not imagine what Bruce's nose was feeling right. He was a full on fuckmothering werewolf, walking through Slumsville, Spacetopia. Tiff's own Hunter enhanced senses were all screaming at her: Desolation. Despair. Death.
"What's a Centurion again?" Tiff asked as they finally emerged from the slums and started to walk through the parts of the city that were made to sell things to astros and spacers from across the neutral zone. In a single glance along the boulevard, Tiff saw more aliens doing more alien things than she had ever expected she would in her entire life. Which, admittedly, was zero and never before last week. So. Still. She saw a quarter of people who looked like hunched over armadillos, with heavy armor plating on their backs and four stubby arms which they used to manipulate things while they stood on heavily braced, tree-trunk like legs. Their tails -- broad and flat -- slapped the ground in unison. They were haggling over a gun bigger than her entire torso with a tall, gray skinned...woman? wearing a shapeless gown of glittering silver.
There were ants. Literally, giant ants, walking along as if they were the most normal thing in the world. They were surrounded by a haze of shimmering black spheres, which warbled and chirruped in a dozen languages. Some of the ants were carrying tall, robed figures with sleek rifles on their backs, who looked down at her as their mounts (friends?) stomped by. But then her attention was drawn by a star elf reaching out with what was unmistakably a clove of garlic, clutched in his hand, a crucifix in the other. "Vampire supplies, young miss?" He called out. "Buy it for fifty UC, and you'll never fear a vampire again! Vampire supplies!"
"No thanks, I'm good!" Tiff said, holding up her hand and backing away. Bryant caught her arm and ushered her away.
"Centurions are one of the major imperial powers," he whispered. "They're the star elves that refused to join the Federation. They didn't want to give up conquering planets. Or the colosseum."
"Colosseum? Like in Rome?" Tiff asked.
"Do you think
they
called themselves Centurions?" Bryant asked as they stepped past the stalls and into a large open air plaza. A massive screen dominated one of the skyscrapers. On it, two warriors were facing off against one another. One of them was one of those huge armadillo guys, though he was missing two of his arms -- making him look more human, if you ignored the stumps. He was holding a massive battleaxe in his arm, while across from him, a space elf with a pair of buzzing daggers darted backwards. She had short cropped black hair and dark black eyes and she was dressed in a mesh top and fishnet leggings and that was
it
for her battle armor.
"And it looks -- yes! Shadowknife has baited The Tower!" An excited voice boomed from the speakers as the armadillo looking gladiator swung his battle ax over handed, smashing it down into the ground. Shadowknife sprang over him, slamming her knife between one of his armor plates and jerking it free, spraying green blood into the air. Cheers filled the air.
"Holy fuckballs..." Tiff whispered as music blared from the speaker. It was really fucking familiar music too. Her brow furrowed. "...is that..." She cocked her head.
"It's an ancient Earth melody, yeah," Bruce said, pausing to turn back and face her and Bryce. The other marines were fanning out through the crowd, acting like a normal independent crew, doing normal crew things. "The Capellans asked for our entire Alpha Site storage copy. In the interests of peaceful interactions between us and a then unknown alien race, we agreed. It's all media, nothing like state secrets. And so, that's why you can buy merch based off human properties across-"
"Is that a
fucking
Darth Vader action
fucking
figure?" Tiff blurted out, walking over to a tacky kiosk that was manned by a floating bag of shimmering gas contained in a glistening, membranous cal. Tentacles floated below the gas bag and they flared with an inner light as a calm voice spoke from it.
"You can buy any number of Agents of Empire action figures you wish at my kiosk human," the gas-bag said. "They are all in their original packaging."
Tiff picked the plastic package up, turning it around, and read aloud: "Tevan Mok is a cybernetically augmented..." She narrowed her eyes. The race name of the Star Elves, as it transpired, was written out as a fifteen character long collection of symbols that she was fairly certain would literally require her to rip her tongue out to pronounce. "Star Elf..." She muttered. "Who loyally serves the just Emperor to hunt down the terrorists responsible for destroying the Den'Bok Defense Station, including his wicked son, Luuke Starkiller, that's some
fucking
bullshit!"
"I think it's kind of funny," Bryant admitted, walking over and picking up an action figure -- it was a snarling, brown haired lady who definitely reminded Tiff of a certain actress she knew. "Leeya the Terror Republican."
"Oh, sure, she's a Republican, meh mhe meh..." Tiff threw the Darth Vader knockoff back onto the table, scowling at the gas-bag. "I should sue. I'm the only capitalist left in the whole Federation, ergo, I own Star Wars, you piece of...you...what are you?"
"She's new," Bryant said, hurriedly, taking Tiff's arm and gently guiding her back to Bruce, who was shaking his head slightly. He leaned forward, whispering to Tiff.
