Humanity Endures

Part 2 - The Senate | Chapter 7

Quenthal took some solace in using such words to describe the woman, even though she was objectively quite young, and even younger than he was — it was the mildest revenge he could undertake, to mock the mocker, even if he did so only to himself. Truly, only Farlina could make the otherwise extroverted Quenthal desire to avoid the galaxy at large.

Hardening his countenance and armoring his spirit, Quenthal, ordering his second-in-command to temporarily take his place, disconnected himself from his digital desk and unharnessed himself. His weary back sending a few subtle jolts of pain reverberating throughout his body as he stood, Quenthal uneasily made his way to the nearest hypersphere; clambering inside, he was soon catapulted at awe-inspiring speed towards the part of the Ruthless he most dreaded, and, after roughly a minute's worth of nauseating travel through the innards of Xertaza's ship, he arrived. As his hypersphere burst open and he stepped out, Quenthal was blinded as one would be if they viewed a star without dimming their eyes; a hurricane of sparks, the cacophony of grinding metal, and the inane prattling of ill-disciplined engineers assailed him. These engineers' military garb was uneven, oil-stained, and often besmirched with personalization; their clothing was as revolting as their attitude towards work. The thought that he had to seek out the leader of these dogs made Quenthal sick, though the excessive quantities of industrial chemicals wafting through the air made him sick much quicker faster; his implants beginning to filter out the toxins from his lungs, Quenthal pressed onwards through the industrious hell. Shielding his eyes with his gloved hand, Quenthal walked past mobs of excited engineers, crowded around digital desks or terminals, as they directed the Ruthless's industrial power, all while above and around him swarmed entire squadrons of construction drones; these carried building-sized plasma turrets to workstations, or, working in groups, airlifted freshly-refitted nuclear turrets back to their spots along the ship's hull. Its efficiency would be impressive, if its lack of discipline and protocol weren't so prevalent, Quenthal thought. The next moment, a somehow intact, fist-sized meteor fell from its lodging in a turret, and nearly slammed into his head; within the domain of Farlina, it seemed, safety was not just nonexistent, it was loathed.

Quenthal's utter disdain for his current surroundings, coupled with his grim expression, stood in stark contrast to those hundreds of jubilant, cheerful engineers around him, all of whom were excited to be given direction, and were displaying it to everyone, as they went about their daily business. Quenthal, despite being occupied with work, could only be envious of those who actually enjoyed it. All of these engineers were subordinates of Farlina, and there were in total a hundred thousand such people who milled about the Ruthless's well-equipped engineering wing, yet how any of them could be happy when serving the gorgon, Quenthal did not know. As he walked, Quenthal realized that Farlina had likely failed to reply to his — to Xertaza's — request for a status update not out of ignorance, but out of spite, and a sheer desire to annoy him at every possible turn. Before he even laid eyes on her, this plan was succeeding, flawlessly.

As Quenthal wound his way through the bustling engineering section, his apprehension at the prospect of speaking to Farlina for any period of time growing greater with each step he took; bursts of noise and frequent showers of sparks unsettled the hapless man as he drew further and further away from the light of civilization, of discipline, of an ideal world where people had respect for protocol. The Engineering chamber was vast indeed, though just as Quenthal was beginning to wonder whether or not Farlina was actually in her engineering department — a possibility, as his quarry had disabled the implant that allowed her superiors to track her location — a painfully cheerful voice called out from behind him.

"The illustrious Quenthal consciously tries to find — and even goes so far as to speak — with me? And just when I thought I'd never hear that sublime voice of yours again in my life!"—the wretched voice grew nearer, and Farlina's tone soured just slightly—"What do you want? By your sour demeanor, I believe that I can safely assume you did not come all the way down here to enjoy my legendary hospitality and witticisms, as much as it pains me to admit it."