[AgentZero]

Puke mentioned that it's been a while since I updated HifH, so here you all go. We've got nods to Schlock, fun being poked at internet memes, Puke got his own star system (after a fashion), and even a great reason for the whole world to look forward to the future with breathless anticipation. Enjoy!

Tadhg Kagan (of no relation to James Kagan), was a simple man. In another place, another time, another universe, perhaps, he might have been a great man. But in this universe, he was but a simple Station Operator for the Puk'ng Port Authority, charged with providing insertion instructions to arriving freighters and keeping an eye out for things within Puk'ng's jurisdiction that perhaps shouldn't be there. Puk'ng was a quiet system on the fringe of Imperium space, so Tadhg's job was not particularly strenuous. Ever morning he shuttled out to his little station and sat with Sven Armstrong for nine hours, until Margaret Hussein and Samantha Turtledove showed up for the night shift, then he shuttled back home in time for dinner with his wife and children. Every so often, there was a bit of excitement (thrice in fifteen years, as a matter of record), when a few pirate raiders would stick their noses into the system, only to be chased off by Puk'ng's attention-deprived space navy.

Today looked like it might be action-packed and fun-filled, Tadhg mused, as an alarm on his board squeaked to life. Whoever had designed the station had likely known that it was to be placed in a small backwaters system where nothing of any importance ever happened, and had designed it's warning system accordingly. There were no loud hooting alarms, no overly dramatic flashing lights, just a meek, almost apologetic, squeak that suggested that maybe, if you weren't terribly busy and weren't engaged in more important matters, you may want to have a look at something the computer had noticed that didn't quite fit with what it had been told was a normal state of affairs.

“Looks like someone's fooling around in sector B-Ninteen,” Tadhg said casually, running his fingers over the control pad. “You mind swinging Dish Six around so we can have a look-see?”

“I suppose,” Sven Armstrong replied with mock reluctance. “Not like I wasn't about to glass the Phong homeworld or anything,” he added as he cleared a game from his screen and set about pointing the station's primary sensor array in the requested direction.

“Damn Phong,” Tadhg grinned. “Every time I send them a Trade Agreement, they send me back naked pictures of themselves dancing. Can't for the life of me figure out if that means yes or no.”

“I'm fairly sure it's a commonality to all sentient species that swinging your reproductive organs in anyone's general direction is to be interpreted as a negatory,” Sven said dryly.

“Is that what those are?” Tadhg replied incredulously. “Gross.”

“Best guess, mate,” Sven laughed. “But if I were a xenobiologist, I wouldn't be stuck out here with you every day for the last- Oh, hello.”

Tadhg glanced up at his friend sharply, instinctively reacting to the sudden stress in his voice. “Something?”

“Somethings,” Sven answered quietly. “I'll put it up on the main.”

The main display flickered briefly before changing over from a large clock counting down the hours until lunchtime to show the output from Dish Six. Tadhg suddenly found his mouth rather dry, and his forehead rather wet.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Hello.”

There were indeed a multitude of somethings speeding along the outer edge of Puk'ng's space. Large somethings. Very, very large somethings. Dish Six, despite being able to pick out individual rivets on freighter's hull from twice this distance of these somethings, was having awful difficulty resolving any sort of image. Instead, it displayed large, fuzzy blobs, moving through space rather faster than anything that large had any rights to.

“New freighter design?” Tadhg wondered hopefully.

Sven shook his head. “Gravatics say those things outmass a Monolith-class freighter by at least a factor of six, and if someone had come up something bigger than a Monolith, I think we'd have heard about it by now. Could be military having a little fun spoofing our array.”

“It's not a spoof,” Tadhg said. “I can tell from looking at some of the pixels and by seeing a few spoofs in my day.”

Sven turned his head slowly towards his friend and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Tadhg caught his gaze and shrugged. “I thought I mentioned I turn into a total ****wad when I'm about to die a horrible, messy, painful death.”

“Wouldn't worry about that,” Sven reassured him. “They're traveling tangentially to the system, and at that speed it'd take them the better part of a week to decelerate enough to turn in-system.”

“Really? Well that's great to know,” Tadhg said with forced relief. “Especially that whole week thing. Because that reassures me that it's just my mind playing tricks on me when Dish Six says they just decelerated and turned in-system in less time than it took you to tell me they couldn't.”

“What?” Sven exclaimed, his head snapping back to the main display. “What?” he repeated. “No... That... They can't... [censored].”

“We are going to die, aren't we?” Tadhg said resignedly.

“Yes, Tadhg,” Sven said sadly. “Yes we are.”

“Think we'll get probed first?”

“We can only hope.”

“I suppose- wait, what?”

The next few hours were spent in silence, after sending of the requisite dispatches to the military station, there wasn't really much to do except sit and wait as the mysterious ships grew inexorably closer. After a while, Tadhg noticed that his companion kept glancing in his direction, then looking back at his display for a time before throwing another furtive glance his way.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” Tadhg said finally.

“I ah, just noticed the ships have entered range of our visual array,” Sven replied. “I was trying to think of an appropriate way of asking you if you wanted to see the ships that are probably going to murder us.”

“Wasn't so hard to be subtle, now was it?” Tadhg muttered. “Sure, throw it up. Let's see what those sons of *****es look like.”

The main display flickered again, and there before them was a veritable wall of ships. They were unlike any ships either man had ever seen before. They were long, sleek, and gloriously white. Their designers had clearly put equal thought into form and function, and these magnificent vessels slid through space with swan-like grace. But all the form in the universe couldn't disguise their function, as each and every one of them positively bristled with every weapon system imaginable, and a good number that had heretofore yet to be imagined.

“My gods,” Sven whispered. “They're beautiful.”

“And shiney,” Tadhg agreed, then a moment later added, “Is it me or is their shininess getting shinier?”

“It's not you,” Sven replied. “It would appear as though we're about to get vaporised.”

“Oh,” Tadhg replied shortly. “So no probing then?”

“Doesn't look like it.”

“Well... Thank heaven for small mercies.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Wow. That's really really bright.”

Eternity passed.

“Still there, Sven?”

“It would seem so.”

Tadhg opened his eyes. He was still seated in his chair aboard his little station, and Sven was still sitting across from him. What wasn't still there were the colossal warships. Of them, there was no trace. Tadhg turned his gaze towards his friend and fixed him with a steady stare.

“Sven, old friend... What the hell was that?”

The Elarians, as far as the rest of the galaxy was concerned, were a dying race. The Elarians themselves, of course, new better. Once a great power in galactic affairs, indeed for several millenia, the undisputed greatest, over the last few hundred years they had slowly withdrawn, and eventually disappeared entirely from the galactic stage. Scout ships sent to their worlds found former city-worlds barren of any sign of advanced civilization. Planet after planet was discovered to have returned to it's original, pristine state, with no evidence that the Elarians had once flourished there. Any thoughts of detailed examinations of the planets were gently dissuaded by the still-functional and hideously effective Elarian orbital automated defense grids that still surrounded each world, the only demonstrable sign that there was ever anything less primitive than particularly intelligent trees inhabiting the planet.

What was happening to the Elarians, and where they were all going to was one of the great mysteries of the universe to everyone except the Elarians themselves. They themselves knew full well where they had all gone, having for the most part transcended to a higher plane of existence, another dimension in which thought itself was made manifest, and where such petty concerns as wealth, power, and influence were of no concern to anyone at all. Some Elarians remained, however. Semi-transcended, they existed in both dimensions, yet in neither, a testament to Elarian pride and their doubt that the galaxy could really continue to function without their presence.

Two such Elarians stood atop the great spire of the Seat of Righteousness, the massive structure that once held Elaria Prime's galactic government. Their eyes were turned upwards, seeing beyond sight, space and time of little relevance to either. Eventually, the shorter of the two, Cadence Of A Dying Breath, turned it's gaze towards the taller.

“As they have, do, and ever shall,” it said softly. “They are moving again.”

“As they have, do, and ever shall,” Chorus Of Harmonious Joy agreed. “An arrow seeking a worthy heart. To be deflected by a skilled hand or left to find it's mark.”

“A blade seeking the throat of an innocent,” Cadence countered. “The hand possesses naught but the skill of it's master. But a clumsy limb is compelled.”

“As they have, do, and ever shall,” Chorus reminded it's companion. “The bowls are both full and both empty. Tied together, one does, the other does. Eternity passes.”

There was a soft noise behind them, and both glanced backwards, more out of mortal habit than any particular need to see who had joined them.

“There can be no harmony without balance,” Symphony Of Willful Disregard informed them softly. “Without balance, a sphere cannot fail to act, it is compelled and must obey.”

There was a moment of grave silence before Symphony gave it's judgment. “A skilled hand is of little use to a pierced heart.”

Cadence bobbed it's head sadly. “Innocence weeps,” it murmured softly.

“Innocence weeps,” Chorus and Cadence agreed.

The Elarians, in their own particular way, had agreed to stay on the sidelines at let one of the greatest acts of carnage, bloodshed, and violence in the history of the galaxy come to pass, but James Kagan knew naught of this. Nor, had he known, would he have particularly cared. He was far too busy staring down the barrel of a very high calibre weapon being wielded by an impressively large war machine. While the cannon aimed at his nose was a more immediate concern, Kagan couldn't help but let his gaze drift over to the machine's other appendage. It was a cluster of close-combat ordnance, the least horrific of which was banned by no less than seven interstellar treaties and the worst of which was proscribed by every religion in the galaxy as a crime against Creation. One of these machines, Kagan was sure, would be a match for an entire regiment of Imperial Marines. And there were two of them.

And between them, stood yet another Alice Fiona Komatsu. At the moment, she was staring at herself, or rather the other Alice Fiona Komatsu. The one that wasn't passed out on the deck, that was. Kagan felt a twinge at the back of his head as his brain pulled a muscle trying to keep all of the Alice's straight. The Alice that had just recently arrived was gazing at the Alice that Kagan had fallen in love with, her look of cool dispassion barely masking and exuberant curiosity. Kagan's Alice, on the other hand showed no such reserve, and stared at her clone with open fascination, going so far as to poke and prod at her, even lifting her lips to have a look at her teeth. After a few more minutes of inspection, the new Alice gave a satisfied 'hrmph' and took a step back.

“Special Operations Combat model,” she said, sounding mildly impressed. “A Mark-Six, if I'm not mistaken. Remarkable mental stability.”

Kagan's eyes widened. “You call that mentally stable?” he asked incredulously.

“I feel like a kelapa hijau,” Fiona announced from the floor. “Green and bitter on the outside, sweet and pink on the inside.”

“You're not green, sweety,” Alice informed her.

“It's an imperfect world,” was the ominous reply.

The newest Alice turned her head slowly towards Kagan, her only reply an arched eyebrow that when used by his lover he found immensely arousing, but when used by his clone, he found... immensely arousing. Which in itself was immensely disturbing.

“Right,” Kagan said. “So, I might have missed that part, but who did you say you were again?”

The new arrival didn't answer immediately, turning to face O'Shea and Saraea instead. “I suppose,” she said quietly. “I'm the one you've been looking for.”

“You?” exclaimed O'Shea, pointing a finger at her, and apparently forgetting that his finger was still wrapped around the trigger of a rather powerful hand-cannon. One of the machines made a rather ominous hum, and O'Shea sailed across the hanger, careened off the Daedalus, and face-planted rather spectacularly onto the deck.

“Jaysus ta [censored]!” Kagan exclaimed, his hand dropping towards his own holstered sidearm.

“Relax,” New-Alice said, holding up her hands. “These machines have been configured for non-lethal force only.”

“Y'all right, bud?” Kagan called towards his friend, trying to simultaneously look behind himself and keep an eye on the war machines in front of him.

O'Shea groaned loudly. “'Non-lethal' is not the same thing as 'non-painful',” he grunted as he rose to his feet. “But I'm alright. My stalwart companion, on the other hand, has seen better days,” he added, looking down at the twisted chunk of carbon-steel and circuitry that had once been an exceptionally lethal weapon. “So,” he continued, limping back towards the three Alices. “If you're who you say you are, I suppose you would be properly addressed as Admiral Komatsu, to avoid confusion, hmmm?”

“That sounds much better than New-Alice,” said Alice. “Or 'the recent arrival', or 'the newest Alice', or even 'another-Alice', or any other such contrivance one might use to skirt the issue until such time as O'Shea made the relevant point.”

“What an odd thing to say,” Admiral Komatsu said.

“Not really,” said Kagan. “I mean, for her.”

“There are fourteen million, six hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and fifty two rivets in the ceiling,” said Alice. “But only fourteen million, six hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and fifty one rivets in the floor. One over there is missing,” she said pointing into the distance.

“See?” said Kagan.

“Why did you clone yourself so much?” Alice asked suddenly.

“I-” Admiral Komatsu hesitated a moment, slightly taken aback. “A lot of reasons,” she said after a moment, deflating slightly as if resigning herself to the inevitable exposition. “Mostly to keep an eye on the galaxy. An immortal grand-admiral with the most advanced warship in all of creation can still only be in three places at once, after all. There were certain threats that required neutralizing, certain parties that required distracting, but for the most part the clones were designed for simple espionage.”

“She doesn't look like a very good spy,” Alice pointed out, aiming a finger at Fiona, who had somehow managed to not only convince Komatsu's robotic butler to dance, but had taught it to waltz.

“She's not one of mine,” Komatsu replied. “One of my clones managed to get herself brain-wiped and captured by some sort of clandestine organization. They made her, and a large number of very unstable others. It took a significant amount of subtle string-pulling to arrange for the destruction of the organization and their facilities, but they were meddling with things beyond their understanding, and it wouldn't be long until they created an abomination that would be a threat to the stability of the entire galaxy.”

“Well that wouldn't be good,” said Alice. “An army of telekinetics that think their a rare fruit. It would be the end of civilization as we know- wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “One of yours. Captured. Brain-wiped. It was me, wasn't it?”

Admiral Komatsu nodded slowly. “Yes. I'm afraid-” Whatever else the Admiral had to say went unuttered as she sailed gracefully across the hanger and slammed into a wall.

“Jaysus, Alice, the machines!” cried Kagan.

There was an ominous hum, an even more ominous crunch, and two massive war machines crumpled impotently to the ground.

“I was wondering when you'd realize you could do that,” Komatsu said, rising easily and dusting herself off. “And in all honesty, I probably deserved that. But please bear in mind, should you be tempted to express yourself physically, that you are but a copy of me. An imperfect copy at that. And I can hurt you in ways you've never dreamed of.”

“Understood, ma'am!” Alice exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Terribly sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to, ma'am, an older boy told me to, ma'am. But, can I ask, how did you stay hidden if you had all these clones nipping to and fro, gathering all this information for you. That's a lot of shuttle traffic, not to mention the price of cantaloupes.”

“It's usually best to ignore the last thing she says,” Kagan supplied helpfully in response to Komatsu's puzzled expression. “If you enjoy your sanity, that is.”

“That's what I've been doing,” Alice agreed. “And it's worked out pretty well so far.
“Although sometimes it's best to ignore her entirely,” Kagan added.

“Alright,” Komatsu said slowly. “Any of my clones don't need to be physically present in order to gather information for me. All of you have an organic null-space transmitter build into your cerebrum. Everything that you experience is transmitted every two hours to this ship's mainframe where it can be analysed for relevant information. Mundane experiences are filtered out, anything unusual is catalogued and prepared for a daily briefing.”

Alice looked uncomfortable. “Um... Everything we experience? Even, um...” She glanced in Kagan's direction, then made an obscenely biological gesture.

Admiral Komatsu coughed into her fist and coloured slightly. “Ah, well,” she stammered. “Adjustments had to be made to the system's filters to account for your unusually... active personal life. Though sometimes something unusual enough to creep through would make for a rather crude wake-up call. Though I'm quite sure it filtered out... that. Whatever that was.”

“Oh good,” said Alice. “I'd be quite mortified if anyone ever saw me doing that.”

Kagan cleared his throat loudly. “I'm sorry to interrupt, ladies, and the whole spy story is facinating, really it is, but big picture-wise, what the hell is going on here?”

The floor hummed slightly, and Komatsu smiled. “Impecible timing, as usual. We just entered null-space.”

“And where exactly are we going?” Kagan inquired with exagerated politeness.

“As you have said so many times before, old friend,” Admiral Komatsu said with a wry smile. “We're going to Hell.”