Up to this point, crew on ships bound for Cybrus enjoyed themselves by looking at the nervous passengers, who stared at the approaching planet. In spite of knowing Cybrus' aquatic nature, their eyes scanned, desperately seeking a sign of civilization. They only saw ocean and clouds.
Nervous whispers floated through the crowds of passengers as they disembarked from ships into the Oasis station. The familiar curving hallways reassured them in spite of the fact that Cybrus dominated the view below them through the floor viewports, huge, blue and without humanity's scarring marks.
Many travelers to the Cybrus system would never reach the planet, preferring to conduct their business on the station. Visa requirements and quarantine measures made this common. However, some would board one of the station's dropships, the only legal way to the surface, and strap in for the voyage to Cybrus itself.
With a quick thrust, dropships plummeted through the atmosphere, unpowered and at gravity's mercy. After penetrating the cloud layers, the vast Cybrian ocean would loom before the travelers, endless in all directions.
The blue void would remain in front of them, with no details to provide depth perception. Without warning, the ships would plunge into the water, revealing the true nature of Cybrus. After overcoming the initial shock, which often included minor heart attacks for those with their original organs, the passengers would stare in astonishment at the wonders before them.
Unpolluted waters revealed the glowing splendors of Cybrus City. Built into a vast, natural valley, it appeared as if a giant treasure of jewels had been spilled across the ocean floor. Man's vehicles and the creatures of the ocean cruised through the crystal waters in a manner that implied symbiosis. In all directions, a web of lights stretched into the distance, connecting the people of Cybrus in an environment that both provided for them and would crush them in seconds if given the chance.
As the ship docked, the astonished crowds would talk excitedly. Since the collapse of the Galactic Republic over a millennium ago, the wonders of Cybrus had become legend. Even in this age of post-Reinassance, when the entire galaxy had almost been completely reunited by new technology, information on Cybrus consisted primarily of rumor and conjecture. Which is exactly how the Cybrians wanted it.
They were a hidden people, both physically by their ocean and intellectually by the factionalism that still plagued their region of space near humanity's center, known as the Hub. While they controlled a sizeable coalition of star systems, it was nothing compared to the empires forming closer to the rim and core, where exploration and exploitation continued. As the new galactic powers turned their back on the region they came from, the Hub rotted from segregation and isolation.
Cybrus resented this. They had conquered one of the greatest enemies humanity knows: a completely alien environment. Yet others treated them as a relic of the past, a novelty. In their success, they had eliminated their frontier, the source of their very identity. Complacency replaced the pioneering spirit that had made them strong.
They desired change. A new challenge. A new frontier.
A new enemy.
As he walked along, security teams monitored his approach through hidden cameras and other sensors. Their usual defensive hostility regarding visitors shattered as an instinctive need to protect MacKenzie overwhelmed them. If the building they protected was a vault, MacKenzie would be the jewel in the center. The guards, picked from the elite of Cybrus's Marine and Garrison units, had all taken an oath to put their lives before MacKenzie's, and they took that oath very seriously.
All of this remained unknown to MacKenzie, as did the mobilization of his special protection unit three floors down. He proceeded to an anonymous door on his right, one he had entered so many times that he could identify it from the scratches that the automatic cleaners left. He walked into the door, which slid open just before he crossed its threshold.
"Morning, sir," greeted his assistant. He rose from his desk to take MacKenzie's coat.
"You have an appointment with the PM at eight. The section head briefing is at ten. The weekly finance report is . . ." his assistant recited the list of tasks for the day, a list that MacKenzie already knew perfectly. However, he was not one to take chances. At anything.
"Very good, Colin," MacKenzie replied when his assistant had finished. By this time, both he and Colin had walked into the inner office, MacKenzie sitting at his desk and sorting through the mail on his computer. "Call the Prime Minister's secretary and tell them that I will be there in a few minutes." Colin nodded and left.
MacKenzie looked over his mail. It had already been sorted into business and private, the former being far greater than the latter. Status reports, requests and urgent communications displayed themselves on his screen. He read each impassively, adding their contents to the elaborate structure in his head that served to tie all the functions of his job together.
After finishing the correspondence, he began to issue directives in response until Colin's voice came over the intercom.
"It's time for your appointment with the PM, sir." MacKenzie rose and left without responding, his computer automatically saving his work as he left the office.
"Call each of the sections and make sure that all of the directors are at the meeting," MacKenzie instructed upon entering the outer office. Colin nodded as MacKenzie turned to the coat rack.
Why do we still wear these things? he thought to himself. They served no purpose except fashion in Cybrus's climate controlled cities. It's as if we live on ancient Earth.
MacKenzie considered these thoughts and how they related to the events at hand. His plans for Cybrus would change a few things, including this annoying walk to the Prime Minister he had to make every week. However, he would only succeed if Cybrus was as strong as he believed. A frontier people had no room for senseless remnants of the past. He turned to Colin, his hand resting on his coat.
"Burn this," ordered the Minister of National Security as he left.
Work In Progress