Diane shifted her jaw in irritation. She looked off to her right and saw the cobbled streets and wood-and-stone construction of the capital city, stretching off into the distance in its neo-Victorian glory. She looked to her left and saw the pristinely gleaming surfaces of plastic and metal of the space port interior. Then she glared at the man who was behaving as though he was the sole gatekeeper holding back the ravening hoards with nothing but the power of obstructive bureaucracy.

"I don't care," insisted the man in his rather petulant voice, "That you're some high and mighty whatever out in the black, here in the real world," the sneer was unnecessary, like pouring the contents of a bedpan on an overturned outhouse, "Women know their place and don't go about unescorted! They need men for protection and keeping you women from bankrupting your house, and the documents you have clearly say that there's no men in your party."

Diane looked down at the man's desk. It was just as anachronistic as one might expect of someone who'd been raised in a culture where the highest form of record keeping tech was a fountain pen and mass-produced low-quality paper doing a job in a building dedicated to the operation of FTL-era space vehicles. There was an analog-style keyboard, a screen, and a tablet, but the electronic devices were layered in dust from disuse. The printer next to the screen saw more use as it would regularly churn out the documents the man needed. He would then fill out the forms by hand…then place them on the scanner on the opposite side of the desk from the printer before stacking whatever forms he was working on, stapling them together, and then putting them in a manual file.

Diane sincerely hoped whatever A.I. was in the computer that had to deal with this simpleton wasn't sentient, as having to put up with this level of luddite on an ongoing basis would qualify as cruel and unusual torture.

Her eyes fell on the stapler, something she only barely recognized from her elementary school days. Even in technologically backward America (relative to the U.N. parts of the world), paper was falling from everyday use, so a device whose entire function was to fasten sheets of paper together simply wasn't common. She knew that construction still used a variety of staples so the tech wasn't obsolete, but the desktop stapler was a tool that would likely, in one or two generations, be only fit for the museum.

The model on the man's desk was big and chunky, made of metal and wood. The one piece of office equipment would likely cost as much as a small family home on this world and, given how it held pride of place and was clearly more important to the desk jockey than anything else on his desk, was shining and didn't have a speck of dust on it.

Saying nothing, she reached over and plucked the surprisingly heavy device off the desk and handed it to Cecily. "Cece," she said, using the nickname she'd started calling her newest friend on the trip to the planet, "Demonstrate why we don't need a man for protection."

The diminutive woman's mouth quirked into a tiny smile as she wrapped both hands around the stapler and twisted, the metal shrieking as she casually deformed the device, the sound of cracking wood and snapping metal filling the nearly empty spaceport. Once the piece of office equipment was in two irreparable handfuls of scrap, the GeneMod set the newly minted hunk of junk on the desk.

"Now," Diane growled, "Demonstrate why we don't need a man for matters financial."

Cecily had obviously caught on to where Diane was going with the encounter and swung her purse around her body and onto her lap, digging briefly before pulling out a bulging sack. She examined the ruined stapler before opening the sack and pulling out a stack of gold coins (minted at the station during their prep for the mission; gold was not a rare resource in space, being far more common than oxygen or water) and setting them neatly next to the shattered piece of office equipment. "For the replacement," chirped the smaller woman.

"Now," growled Diane, "You've already confirmed our papers are in order. You've confirmed we're not bringing illicit tech. You've confirmed we're here at the request of Duke Morninglory," she leaned forward and pulled her lips back in a Morvuck snarl, letting her fangs drop very visibly, "You are now going to stamp our passports and wave us through."

Now with visibly shaking hands, the man picked up the passport stamp and, with a pair of thumps, marked the two off-world women as cleared for visiting Loaran.

As Diane stood, she kept her eyes locked with the man. Cecily plucked the passports off the man's desk and tucked them into her purse, almost bouncing with apparent nonchalance as she rose to her feet. The GeneMod showed no reaction as Diane began making a cracking, popping noise in the back of her throat in the manner of crocodilians from Earth.

Cecily nudged Diane with an elbow, "Oh, stop, you're making him piss himself."

Diane parted her jaw and darted her tongue out as though tasting the air before pulling back in with a small 'thp' sound as she returned her features to their normal resting position. The room was filled with the acrid scent of urine and the bureaucrat's face was flaming scarlet. His survival instincts were locking him up in a 'freeze' mode, however, so he barely moved beyond his eyes tracking the reptilian woman as the two offworlders turned to the wide egress leading to the outside.

Once the pair of women exited into the light of day and headed to the sparsely staffed luggage claim, Cecily broke out into a fit of giggles, "You didn't have to scare the literal piss out of him!"

Diane was smirking, "You participated," she said simply.

Diane had to keep her pace slower than usual, something that gave her something of a strut given the way her outfit made her look like some variety of steampunk era fop. Cecily's clothing being what could charitably be called 'high class slutty' by the local fashion police only complimented the impression that she was a wealthy philanderer, nouveau riche, well aware of the fact, and willing to flaunt it.

Their luggage wasn’t much, just a bag for her clothes, another for Cecily's, and three more bags for various supplies they felt they needed. And the heavily secured mini-vault that Katrina had whipped up when they'd determined they'd need a lot of cash-on-hand in the form of plentiful gold coins. Given what they understood the exchange rate was, this single safe had enough wealth in it to purchase an entire estate from a member of the planet's nobility. The bags had already been loaded aboard a horse drawn carriage in the luggage rack on the top of the cabin. The porters were having some difficulty with the mini-vault, however.

The oldest worker on the team, likely the leader if she was judging the deferential behavior of the other two was any indication, turned at their approach and doffed the hat he was wearing to protect his bald head from the afternoon sun, "Begging your pardon, mistress, but we're having some difficulty with this last piece of luggage. It's…er, we may need some special equipment to get it aboard the coach."

Cecily giggled at the use of the title 'mistress' (which earned her a remonstrative nudge from Diane for all the taller woman was having to contain her own giggling), and Diane gave him a friendly smile…with closed lips. Flashing fang would have given the wrong impression. "Oh, it's quite alright," she said reassuringly as she knelt down next to the porter's baggage cart and lifted the portable safe with deceptive ease, "We were expecting this particular piece of luggage to require special handling. You and your crew did just fine with the rest. Cece, kindly reimburse the gentlemen for their time."

The men gawked at Diane tucking the mini-vault under one arm, giving Cecily the chance to dig into her purse and pull out her coin pouch again. The smaller woman distracted the head porter by saying, "I'm sorry, we haven't been able to get to a moneychanger yet, I'm afraid all I've got are gold sovereigns."

The eyes of all three men turned to the GeneMod as she pulled out four of the coins and handed one each to the two underlings and two of them to the older gentleman, "I added the extra in case we damaged your cart with the weight of the mini-vault."

As the two porters open-mouth gaped at the coin that could buy them an entire house for someone at their social standing, the older gentleman stammered, "…I, er, that is…I'm not sure I can even spend this."

Diane frowned, "Well, that won't do," she turned to one of the footman that had arrived with the carriage that had been sent by the duke to pick them up from the spaceport, "Would you be able to spare a runner or footman to take these men to where they can get the sovereigns changed for money they can better use? And at reasonable rates?" she added that last to ensure the poorer men wouldn't get robbed blind.

"That'd be a question for the under-butler, ma'am," said the man she'd addressed.

"Oh, my apologies," she gave him her best 'vaguely clueless' smile and turned to see a man who was a bit better dressed than the footman she'd been talking to, "Ah, you'd be the under-butler?"

"Yes, ma'am?" he said, stopping short.

"Could you spare someone to help these men change their sovereigns to smaller currency at reasonable rates? I'd have my lady-in-waiting attend the matter, but I'll need her with me while I keep my appointment with the duke."

The man took a look at the gold coins being held by the rather stunned men and Diane could see when the realization of the predicament registered on his face. He gave Diane a confident nod, "I'll see to it, ma'am. Are we ready to depart?"

"Oh, I'll just…" she stepped up next to the carriage and gingerly set the mini-vault in the luggage rack. The coach itself was just as anachronistic as everything else on the planet. It had materials that were of modern quality but had clearly been hand-tooled with filigree and decoration. The wheels were as large as any she'd seen in pictures of pioneer-era and earlier vehicles of the same type, but they were metal-spoked and clad in hard rubber tires. The cabin was a blend of wood and metal with a layer of paint and sealant, but the construction of various components, like the shocks and struts of the wheel assembly, were clearly of more contemporary design than the whole thing being horse-drawn would imply it should be.

And said shocks sagged noticeably as Diane settled the weight of the mini-vault on the top of the carriage, all without even having to stand further on her tip-toes than her high heeled boots otherwise required.

All the men around them gawked at the casual display of strength as Diane gave them an affable grin, "So, shall we?"

The footman shook himself out of his shocked state and opened the carriage door for the two women. Diane stepped in, having to twist slightly to fit her larger-than-average (significantly so) frame into the vehicle, followed by Cecily. They settled into the rather comfortable benches facing each other and waited as the footmen finished prepping for the trip through the city and the under-butler dispatched a member of his team with one of the porters to exchange the gold coins. After about 10 more minutes, they finally got underway, the smooth ride a testament to the fact that the horse-drawn carriage was still built in the 27th century as the clip-clop of the horses shoed hooves carried through the cracked windows.

Cecily made it all of thirty seconds after they started moving before breaking out in a fit of giggles, "Their faces!" she almost squealed, "They've clearly never seen a Morvuck or a GeneMod before!"

Diane couldn’t help but chuckle along, having to slouch in the seat to fit without her head banging the roof, "So you've adopted the station's nickname for your family?"

Cecily's giggle trailed off to a mild chuckle, "Yeah, it's kinda catchy and requires less explanation that saying 'the family' to people who've never met one of us."

Diane nodded at that but said nothing, content to just smile and watch the city scroll past their vehicle through the glass windows.

---

Their destination was, quite literally, a castle. Stone, ramparts, defensive walls, the whole works. Granted, the materials were the kind of stone any medieval mason would have wept bitter tears to work with, the tools and techniques that built it the best that could be had for steam power could provide, and the design more akin to a modern (for IRL standards) hotel, but it was very clearly intended to be seen as a castle fit for nobility.

After removing the mini-vault from the top of the carriage for the footmen who were obviously not prepared to deal with it, Diane and Cecily followed the under-butler into the estate, where they were lead to a man dressed in blue and white refinements appropriate to the station of a duke. He stood from his desk, putting down a rather nice looking fountain pen, and circling to extend a handshake to Diane, "Ah, greetings, Commander," he said with a curt but courteous tone. "Pardon me for being busy as I receive you, I'm trying to wrap up some affairs before we leave for the conference."

Diane shook the man's hand firmly, ignoring his flinch from the strength she inadvertently applied to the grip. Men generally didn't react well if they thought you were lording your strength over theirs through a handshake. "It's quite alright, if anyone knows about the business of running a domain full of people who rely on you, it's a station commander."

Duke Morninglory grunted in amusement, "I both do and don't envy you. To have the types of tools and technology available to you would be a godsend; my workload would nearly vanish. But to have to rely on it...I greatly prefer the strength of my own arms or of people who I trust."

She gave him a smiling nod, "It's not so different for me, I just have to account for some of those people being digital."

"Indeed," he said as he returned to his desk, "How much do you know about the trip we're about to take?"

She shrugged, noting that when the duke sat down, so did Cecily. Diane opted to remain standing, "The basics. My friend Cecily," she gestured at the couch the other woman was sitting on in a...similacrum of demure manners, "Relayed the information you gave to Benjamin. Your daughter needs protection, the kind that your world isn't equipped to offer a woman during a trip out of the areas you control. We have the muscle and station to provide that protection."

"Quite right," Morninglory nodded and opened a drawer on the desk. A pleasantly spicy aromatic smell wafted into the room, and a moment later the source proved to be cigars, the tightly wrapped tubes of tabaco that simultaneously provided a mild narcotic effect on human physiology at the price of introducing toxins and carcinogens to the lungs. The man glanced up at Diane, "I'm sorry, where are my manners?" he reached back into the drawer and retrieved a second cigar, holding the tube out for her to take, "Please, do partake, I don't have guests as often as I'd like to share them with."

As Diane gingerly reached out to take the cigar, he turned with curiosity to Cecily, "Would the madam like one as well?"

Cecily shook her head, "No, but thank you. I'm afraid my enhanced genetics would render any benefit a regular human might get from them null."

The duke nodded again, "Ah, that's right, that's what Benjamin said when I offered him one, as well." He pulled a small knife from the cigar drawer and gingerly cut the tip off the end of the cigar, "Benjamin also said," he continued as he put the knife back in the drawer and slid it closed, "That you're not just any commander, but you're one of the fabled 'Commanders' that have been rumored to pop up around the galaxy." Morninglory plucked a match from a silver dish obviously intended for it and then struck it on the base, which was apparently made of a stone that was rough enough to provide the right sort of friction to light the match. "Would you happen to have any abilities because of this that would help us on our current endevor?"

Diane spun the cigar in her hand idly, "Nothing that would help us here, no. My Commander's Ability utilizes song to make computers dance to my tune. Your world has no computers save those we left behind at the space dock, so we're relying on our own, native assets." Smiling somewhat smugly, she flicked a claw out and used it to cut the tip off the cigar, then retracted it. She grinned, allowing her fangs to show clearly in her smile.

To his credit, he only coughed once as he puffed on the cigar to light it, "Ah, yes. As fetching as you are it's easy to forget you're not human, appearances notwithstanding."

She leaned over his desk and retrieved a match, lighting it before straightening and mimicking his motions to light the stogie. She'd learned the trick to smoking when she had to during training. It wasn't a pleasant experience at the best of times, and while she was trying to maintain her cover wasn't the best time to discover that she found the smoke from cigarettes rather unpleasant. She puffed the smoke through the cigar and into her mouth, breathing in through her nose and using her tongue to dam the cigar's exhaust in her reservoir of her cheeks. Unless one were watching for her exhaling smoke, rather than just puffing it out, they'd never know she wasn't actually breathing it in. Once the tobacco was lit, she shook out the match and dropped both it and the nub she'd cut off into the nearby ashtray.

He smiled at her, apparently satisfied that she was observing some decorum by partaking in his chosen vice, "As I'm sure you may have heard, we're encountering some pockets of, putting it frankly, rebellion." He sighed, then took a puff of his cigar and held the breath.

Diane gave it a mental five-count before she repeated his action, though not going so far to take the smoke into her lungs and not bothering to pretend to hold it as he did before she gently blew it out through her lips. "I'll confess, I'm not accustomed to men in power speaking so plainly. What makes you believe you're in the middle of a rebellion?"

He acknowledged her observation with a laugh, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, "Beyond the fact that I'm one of the men in power on this planet, the rebellion isn't against me, per se. I do at least try to fulfill my part of noblise oblige. This has the benefit of, if you'll pardon the apparent bragging, instilling trust in those who I'm privileged to lead. As a result, when some unrest began in some of the neighboring dutchies, my own people were willing to approach me to inform me that the same elements who'd caused the neighboring disturbances were also not only intending on doing the same in my dutchy, but they had also approached my people about joining their cause."

Diane decided she'd literally stood on formalities enough and settled into a nearby armless chair so she wouldn't have to figure out what to do with her sword. "That's a rare privilege for someone in power, being trusted like that. It's an attitude I hope I'm doing a good enough job to engender on my station."

Morninglory smiled at her, "It is good to 'talk shop' with someone who understands the unique challenges that leadership brings. I dare say that Benjamin was right to recommend you for this."

She took the cigar in her teeth and gave him a toothy smile.

"In any case, this is the inflection point our colony finds itself saddled on; not enough of the other oligarchs on the planet understand the basic truth that they are but one part of the machine that provides us the wealth and prestige we enjoy. They treat their people like replaceable cogs rather than the investments that they are. And, my dear commander, people do not like being treated like pieces of machinery."

Diane flinched internally, Not even the ones who actually are machines, she thought as she puffed on the cigar again without actually inhaling.

"While I'm at this conference, I'm hoping to convince my fellows that the only way we can calm the rising storm is to set new policies across the colony that guarantee the rights of workers and codify the responsibilities of those in power. I'm afraid it will be a bit of an uphill battle."

She mimicked taking a drag again and gave him a languid shrug, "I'd offer to help if it were within my purview. Heaven knows we need more leaders who keep an eye on the long game like you're doing."

Morninglory nodded, "In any case, once I've finished up some of this," he gestured to his desk, still festooned with paperwork, "I'll have the servants prepare tea, at which I'll introduce you to my daughter. Until then, I welcome you to refresh yourselves in the guest rooms."

Understanding it for the dismissal that it was, Diane and Cecily rose from their seats and the under-butler, summoned by a little silver bell on the duke's desk, guided them to their rooms.

When they arrived at the rooms, Diane was somewhat amused to discover that the duke's staff was experiencing the same difficulties with the mini-vault as the porters. Someone had managed to move the heavy piece of equipment from the luggage cart Diane had put it on earlier to a smaller cart clearly built to allow servants to move the tools of their trade around the halls (if Diane had to guess, it was a laundry cart with most of the bags that held clothing removed) and gotten it to the door, but the cart wasn't built to go into the room and none of the staff seemed to be able to lift it.

Diane quickly reassured the concerned under-butler, the maid, and the footman who'd been pushing the cart that she wasn't bothered by their inability to lift it. Tucking the cigar in the corner of her mouth and gripping it with her teeth, she knelt down in a proper lifting position and rather easily lifted it, this time using both hands so as not to make anyone feel too badly. As she stood she realized that she'd pretty much unconsciously closed her mouth and inhaled through the cigar, the smoke going directly into her lungs...and nothing untoward happened. If anything, she felt surprisingly normal, like she'd simply breathed regular, clean air.

She waited until she and Cecily were in their rooms and the staff bustled off to whatever tasks filled their day when not attending to visitors before she examined the still burning cigar more closely. She went over to the en-suite fireplace and flicked the ashes off the burning end before lifting it to her nose and taking a whiff, Yeah, that's tobacco...or at least the in-game version of tobacco.

"Something wrong with the cigar?" asked Cecily as she joined Diane via the private door that connected their very well-appointed suites.

(The duke knew how to treat a guest, she'd give him that.)

Diane didn't bother hiding her confused surprise, "No, nothing at all. In fact, I was wondering if it was actually a cigar at all. When I took it into my lungs, I didn't feel any irritation or need to cough it up, and I'm not a smoker."

Cecily's eyebrow went up and she reached out a hand, "May I?" Diane shrugged and passed the stogie over. The GeneMod gingerly took a small puff, inhaling it into her lungs. She blanched and gave a mild cough, a cloud of smoke escaping her lips, "No, it's real all right. I can feel my body reacting to the toxins."

Diane carefully took the cigar back and gave another experimental inhale of her own, amused to discover that she not only wasn't unpleasant, her body was acting like it was a rare treat. The smell would be off-putting after a while, especially with her Morvuck nose, but she felt surprisingly refreshed. That's likely the nicotine's effects without the downsides that my body is, apparently, not susceptible to.

"Huh," she said as she held the cheroot out to visually examine it, "I'm not feeling it. Not even a desire to cough. I wonder if it's a Morvuck thing?"

Cecily gave her an incredulous look, "You don’t know?"

"Grew up on Earth, remember," she said before taking another puff, "There's a lot about my species I don't know. Not going to start chain smoking any time soon," she observed, "There could be all sorts of reasons this is actually bad for me. I'll have to check with the doctor back at the station after the mission."

The GeneMod gave her an amused look and just shrugged, "Well...enjoy, I guess? Just...open a window, or something. That thing stinks."

Diane just stuck the cigar between her teeth and gave her friend a sharp-toothed grin.