To: The Order Overwatch, Grand Admiral Golanski

[Omicron]

Order Admiral resided in the captain quarters of the OCV Fedayeen, trying to take the doomed hours between combat operations with something productive. Resting on a coach, enjoying read of hard-back special edition of "Solaris" - an old literature gem saved from the Great Solar exodus - printed specially upon his request. The product in his hands was not something extragavant but filled his physicall needs. He'd hate the holograms and missed the feel of oldschool paper under his fingers. In his understanding, the book treated about futility of communication with another intelligent species.

"Admiral, you have one new message."

Bodyless voice announced in calm tone, some kind of more complex artificial assistant coming from computerized insides of the Fedayeen's computing network. He sighed, as only messages of importance and therefore prioritized higher upon the overarching hierarchy of priorities would interrupt his free time. Heavily encrypted, clearance only to his own eyes and scrambled location. Few in the Sirius sector would bother him with such cloak and dagger needlessly. The AI's subroutines had scanned the neural net information packet possibly a hundred times by now, the Order's EWar defense systems in action.

A big list, full of some demands. A man... or at least he thought it to be a man in a mask, grotesque and devoid of art and emotion cold-steel mask covering one's entire face. He pressumed he was 'graced' by another toaster, more of a machine than man. He recalled his disgust at subpar augmentations used amongst the Unioners that he had doubtful pleasure dealing with. He looked at his fully rebuilt left arm, feeling and looking the same as the old one did but stronger. They had to take the old one during last stand of Toledo, he was glad he did not needed to be conscious when any of that happened.

He hated the masks. It was nothing of the stylish masquarade type of pieces of art within itself that were used among old fashioned balls among Sirian elites. He remembered taking some pointless he thought dancing lessons for one of these. He had made a point of never dealing with masked individuals ever again, carrying such a negative connotation he once reprimanded spy on his direct payroll for copying the style of Sapphire Raven. He hated anyone who would not reveal one's face to him. He would not deal with nameless edgy persona thinking they are doing far better job than he.

"Hipocrites."

He thought. One of the more superior advantages of The Order technological thought concerning post-humanism. The nonmaterial voice had deleted the message, confirming his action without Admiral doing a single move upon any console, no voice command or any discernable signal in his body language indicated any order. He moved away from his personnal computer at his office desk, retreating again towards the sofa - one of the more luxurious posessions of his. Admiral's eyes adjusted again for most optimal focus and zoom for purposes of one of the few passions he could enjoy.

Auxesia would not receive the answer they were looking for. In fact, they could wait forever.