"Designate KhurQuinn, report to Matron Hullessyn."
KhurQuinn's head lifted from the reagents he was working with to acknowledge the sending. His eyes glinted with eagerness. His missive had gone through. A century of work was about to pay off. He carefully put away the delicate ingredients, his mechanical limbs clicking and whirring smoothly. He was quite proud of his limbs. For over three hundred years he had performed his own maintenance and upgrades. Most Zem were openly jealous of his fingers. Delicate yet strong.
As he walked into the halls, his face showed no expression beyond that of his mask. The mask. Before the virus, the masks were a funeral rite. A pretty decoration for a corpse. Now the Zem were walking corpses, and the masks hid the ravages of the plague. But they were a protection as well, a shield for the mind, to fend off the madness of time.
The alchemist entered a transportation tunnel. A disk of force appeared beneath his metal feet and carried him the few miles to the Matron's receiving area. He waited patiently outside the door. His dark skin contrasting with the white robes. They rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, his only movement. Ah, breath. They discovered early that breath was a constant necessity. It was a measure of time. A habit of the body. To stop breathing was to stop everything.
A musical voice called out. "Enter."
KhurQuinn slipped into the doorway. His clicking footsteps echoing off the far walls, hidden in the darkness. He stopped in the center of a circle mosaic on the tiled floor. The Matrons enjoyed the old styles.
"Welcome, Designate. Would you care for something to eat? Perhaps some Celestian wine?" The Matron's voice was a harmony of three. Offering sustenance was a custom in any Zem household. Food was another habit of the body. But a wonderful pleasure that most preferred not to do away with anyway.
"No, thank-you, Matron." He inclined his head politely. He did not have to prostrate himself. A Matron was not a ruler, but an organizer. "If it please, I would not be offended if you indulged yourself."
"Charm is not your strong suit, Designate. We have worked with you too long to not notice." A series of loud clicking brought the Matron to the light. An ornate metal body with many, spider-like legs. Three female torso's emerging from the metal frame-work. If the decorative body was pleasant to look at, it was so much trash compared to the delicate flesh. Preserved with the finest in technology and magic, the skin was flawless. The faces un-marred by the plague. No masks were needed. The Matrons did not hide themselves behind such things, as they were not needed. Their minds were linked, inseparable. Their hands and arms were in constant motion. Caressing each other and running their hands, almost seductively, across their skin. Each head had flowing locks of hair. White, red, and black. "Shall we dispense with the pleasantries?" Their delicate mouths intoned. A hint of a smile on each pair of lips.
"It would please me, Matron."
"Designate, you have sought to leave Nostros. A gift that is granted to few. What is it that you wish?"
"It is in my report, Matron, have you-"
"We have read your report. We wish to hear the desire in your voice." The Matron knelt down to peer into KhurQuinn's eyes. "To see the passion in your eyes."
KhurQuinn swallowed. A nervous habit that he had failed to do away with in his four hundred years. "I have heard the rumors."
"Rumors? Which ones?"
"A new race has begun traveling the stars. Three new races. I wish to study them."
"To study a race is not a Designate's duty. What is your true purpose, KhurQuinn. Is this not better suited for our xeno-biologists? Perhaps even our Psions?"
"Matron, I-"
"What is it you wish, Designate?" The Matron's tones turned harsh.
"I believe they may be the answer to the plague!" He blurted out.
The Matron paused. "A cure?"
He nodded.
"Is that even possible. We are not... healthy any more. It has been far too long."
"This is true. Our bodies are not technically alive, merely sustained. But I believe we can reverse it! There are powerful rituals for restoring the dead to life!"
The Matron raised three eyebrows. "Necromancy?"
"Yes, in a way. I have been studying it and I believe there is a path. A way to restore true life to a body. Not merely a construct or a conjuration but true life!"
"And where do these new races come in?"
"The rumors speak of a dark skinned race. Zemish, with arms and legs like ours once were. Similar skeletal structure at least. Perhaps they are more then just similar. They could be the key to restoring our reproduction! They may carry answers to our condition that have eluded us for so long! I have heard they are even spider worshipers, though I believe that to be a coincidence."
The Matron peered down at her own spider-like body. "I would not call this worship, merely convenience." Her lips smirked in amusement. "Still, there is merit..."
KhurQuinn waited expectantly.
"Very well, you are granted leave of Nostros. You are allowed to leave with a few possessions and supplies. Seek out these... What did you call them?"
"They are either known as 'humans' or 'elves', Matron."
"Seek them out and discover what you can of their physiology. You are also to continue your research into necromancy. You are a representative of the Zem, you are to act as an official in all matters dealing with alien races. A heavy burden is placed on your shoulders, Designate." The Matron paused. "No. Designate, no longer. You are hereby granted the title of 'Protectorate'. Go now, KhurQuinn. We have read your report, thoroughly, but now we see the passion, hear the desire."
KhurQuinn's eyes smiled behind his mask. Protectorate. Or as it is said in his own language; Guadra'Sun.
Bowing before the Matron he is surprised when she leans down and kisses his mask. A flash of power leaves an imprint of her lips upon his forehead, it quickly fades but a faint aura remains. "You have my mark." She whispers. "Travel with my protection."
"I am honored, Matron." A Matron's kiss was considered a powerful charm. Theirs were the only bare lips in all of the Zem race.
With a final incline of his head, Guadra'Sun KhurQuinn turned and walked away.
