—Tap Tap Tap Tap
A long olive-colored hallway was almost quiet except for a steady tapping protruding from the end of the corridor. The walls were covered in vines, with budding white flowers tinged in green. Insects with large ivory thoraxes that produced a faint glow twinkled ever so often, giving the space a rainforest-like esp.
Miya sighed while continuing to tap her black leather soles onto the floor. She leaned against a set of double doors made of a glassy-diamond material; the surface had twinning wisps that were flat and ribbon-like.
On both her sides were two armed security detail with midnight-blue battlesuits, ESC-9 class, and MP9-23 rifles. Six more guards were aligned on either side of the hall adjacently, with their heads facing straight and long four-fingered hands easing on the trigger hold of their artillery. Both their body and face were hidden under their black mechanized holo-shields.
ESC-9 stood for Esacluro Sophistic Class Project 9, battle suits manufactured by the high-detail armament corporation Esacluro Ltd. While it came with the standard advanced biometrics systems, instinctive attenuating components, and increased mobility and strength, the instincts of the model were what made it fascinating.
The idea around the suit was to make it so that, whether or not the individual wanted to murder, apprehend, or inadvertently give their life for someone else’s, they would never need to think before doing so. The mainframe embedded into the chipset of the suit implanted nanodes into the host’s cerebrum that provided delusory or biased neural agreements that made decisions less ideal for a sane person, perfectly plausible for them. Embedded with semiautonomous rifles in both arms, or MP9-23 monatomic-plasma ninth-grade rifles like the ones they held in their hands, the only thing needed was for someone to act as its host.
And although the question to be asked was why have a host in the first place when conflict droids could be ethically better; Aestero and Galactic Law influenced the use of conflict droids in the care of non-militarized groups considerably, especially those in sovereign jurisdiction.
Undisputedly the shortest out of all the surrounding security personnel, Miya continued to look further out of place, only having a white fleece jacket with the Galactic Federation insignia on the back covering her black hex-gridded body suit and two-inch galvanized leather boots with white pulsing helms.
—Bzzt “… Isochronal check of all posts on the east-royal wing of the Koninklijke Bloem.”
Miya sighed and tapped on her Proatrix communications device in the shape of a white choker wrapped around her neck. “This is Xarzallon. East-royal wing of the Koninklijke Bloem secured. Nothing out of the ordinary, and all team posts accounted for.”
—Bzzt “… Acknowledged, Xarzallon. Next routine check-in seventeen mekts, standby.”
Miya tapped her foot at a slightly increased rate with a click of her teeth.
Was this supposed to be some kind of joke? And what's with that stupid code name the Coordinant game me? This had to be some sort of elaborate prank to test one’s patience. It’s bad enough that I’m left with these mindless idiots, but then I have to guard some stuck-up royal family behind this stupid door. And all of these plants and colors are driving me crazy!
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The Koninklijke Bloem, a luxurious voyage craft owned by the renowned Amaranthus family. A high-performance pathfinder that introduced both class-leading range and exceptional defense abilities. Expanding sixty meters in length, twenty meters in height, and a literal glittering silver spec in the sky.
All judgments aside, Miya would rather contemplate the reasoning for giving such a task that was, in her eyes, subservient to her abilities. Miya folded her arms in front of her chest and bowed her head, remembering the exact words Coordinant Emelia told her before sending her off to this "lag-some" assignment:
“Though you have exceptional abilities that can provide generous incentive to those in higher positions… You don’t have considerable accolades that can justify any of our divisions to give you any tasks for the time being. So, with that being said I’m sending you on a security job to gain some exposure. Play nice, okay?”
Miya’s eyelids opened in a rush of fury, exposing her mocha-brown eyes. “Did those ungrateful fucks forget that I saved there asses from that raging suited-freak? All the other officers thought it was a lost cause but I gratiously decided to risk my life! That should be incentive enough dammit!”
One of the security suits on her side turned down to look at her. Miya flashed them a glare, then turned to the side.
—Bzzt “Young Miya, was it? Could you please come keep me company in the upper observation bay? Thank you.” A young woman’s voice daintly invited through Miya’s neck-comms device.
Miya groaned while taking her back off the doors then turning around.
And to make things even more dire… The fucking sesnir is some bossy little bitch that keeps calling my name.
Miya nodded her head toward both of the security detail who then stepped to the side. With a satisfying click, the metal door then crawled open like a set of lines crossing in front of another’s path. The east wing of this custom ship was equipped with seven different observation bays, with most other luxury vessels only having one or two.
Miya passed by the two doors leading to the lower deck observation wards, then stood in front of a large oval-shaped hatch leading to the last on the hall. She reached her hand out, but before she could knock, the door slides to the side.
The floors were painted a pleasant royal blue, with the ceilings and surrounding walls being window panes revealing the night sky. Observation decks were usually supplied with either large racks for armor suits and weapons for security personnel on board or gravitational orbs to create Zero-G experiences as a party trick. This one, however, had neither, but instead, two glass rooms on either side with command module synthesizers, printing machines that are able to construct sustenance, repair vessel parts, or more or less anything as long as you have an equivalent resource.
Miya approached the lone observation chair sitting in the middle of the room, close to the frontal casement. A young Aerlalian woman wrapped in silk-white clothes with a matching veil hiding her face sat with her legs crossed and a relaxed expression.
The Aerlal, while most of their race are birthed either brownish or gray, those of royal lineage have a bluish tint. One of their religious beliefs is that the lighter your tone, the higher calling you have with their monarch, Mavi’olan, and are destined for greatness.
The sesnir had the usual light-blue tinted skin with two long-bulbed antennae sticking from her forehead, pulsing with a cyan gleam like a spark of electricity. Her hair, almost like a forest of pink, orange, and yellow shards, also pulsed in congruence with her antennae as if they were a separate entity altogether.
Miya stopped a few feet behind the seat and spread her feet apart while folding her hands behind her back. “You asked for me, sesnir? Is there something wrong?”