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=======Luminaire Galactic Command========
========== Beta Aquilae System==========
=============Year 29.001=============

New Years Day, Terran Standard was quietly uncelebrated within the heart of the space station Gargantua-1, high in orbit over Luminaire. Crews in their flashy uniforms worked patiently in their crew pits while an Admiral strutted past on a raised catwalk with a baton tucked under an arm. Activity only buzzed in one small partition of the massive command room lit only by the light of the system's primary floating overhead through a clear AlmostGlass(tm) dome.

"Hyperwave Transmission Inbound. Source: Civilian Survey Pinnace 'Minnow XL5', located at Galactic Scale (-11,-6) Terra Focal."

The portly form of Admiral Kearns brushed his fuzzed moustache, grimacing as he walked over along the catwalk above the station. He said nothing as he watched over the working staff. Makay Sector? Nobody's gone there for years...

The Hyperwave Operator depressed her chair, screen dilating with colors. Her hand cusped over her standard pluslarge Hyperwave Receptitron Earplug to listen in, conspicuously turning off a small Sensovid unit to the side of her console. The televised Adventures of Dr. Anonymous vanished off the screen before any superior could take note.

"It's garbled, and... they've found human settlement. Reports of extensive asteroid mining activities in progress by the colonials..." she paused, then listening in. "Incoming visual. Main screen turn on." she said, as the entire section of Galactic Command looked up to watch a rapidly expanding image in the great AlmostGlass dome.

The picture was blurred and covered in static, colors shifting from the long distance attenuation of Hyperband signals. Images of crude mining ships flew by, with exceedingly primitive defense cruisers guarding the system, each magnified and made cinematically acceptable by the Survey Ship's tele-dar. "We're losing the signal." the tech replied, as for a brief moment, the outline of a massive vessel, of a tubular body with a pair of extending pylons beneath it's hull, thousands of kilometers long fusion torch cutting through space. Mysterious and alien in shape, It was larger than any Battleship in service with Astro-Fleet.

Then the screen flickered off.

"Signal lost in the interference, sir! The last contact was unlike anything we've ever registered!"

The Admiral looked troubled, then paused, head gesturing behind him. "Hrm." he snorted, arms folding out and holding the Marshall's baton in front of him. "What do you think that was?" he asked patiently. A figure stepped up behind him.

Captain 'King' Kaplan smiled, teeth pearlescently shining beyond the glint of his freshly buffed spacesuit collar, wavy mahogany hair immaculate above his expressive eyes. "Why Admiral!" he chuckled in a smooth Tenor. "It's an opportunity. They've clearly lost much of their economy since Terra was defeated, and that's an Alien Oppressor if I've ever seen one!" he gripped a hand boldly in front of him, space glove crushing in the gesture. His lips closed slowly, maintaining the exaggerated smile. I'll show Bourne he isn't the only hero in this outfit...

Kearns smirked a little behind his heavy moustache, his older visage warping gently to express it without revealing lips. "I will ask the Council to release the First Expeditionary to follow this up. In the meanwhile, you're free to deploy to it's station pending authorization."

Kaplan grinned and turned in place, adjusting his rocket-pack and low-slung zorch-ray blaster. "It's settled." he tilted his head, speaking into his comcord.

"Avalanche! Prepare for hyper-burn in ten! Captain Inbound!" he called out to the air. On cue, an aperture in the floor dilated open, dropping the Captain to his waiting ship in the rocket-docks below.

==========================================

==========Planet Aesir, Asgard System=====
==========Metallkonige Space===========
==========Pregame==================

Ruck Tsar Magnus Korblson sat in his office, seemingly lost in thought as he tuned his axe, but it was really just a show to keep one of the most dangerous men off guard. Jaakko Blunt was the head of the Agency, the Konige intelligence branch. It was their job to find the places ripe for a tour stop over, and for centuries they had played a brutally Darwinian game of cat and mouse with the Empire.

Small and unassuming without the power armour that Magnus wore, Jaakko was the leader of the Agency because he was one of the most cunning men in the nation and he had most likely assassinated his way to the top, similar to the way Magnus had won his throne. Still, it was unlikely he would turn on his Tsar, seeing as Agents rarely aspired to the the Iron Throne as it took them too far from their scheming and plotting brethren.

"You have news for me?" Magnus asks while pulling out a whetstone to begin sharpening the blade of his axe.

"We have begun passively gathering intelligence on the nearest fragments of the Empire so as to ascertain their war making capacity. There are several major groups that have ramped up their war making capacity since the fall of Terra, and they may become a threat to us later if allowed to continue to grow," Jaakko reports.

"So we strike first," Magnus replies. "I have already dispatched a raiding fleet to sit in the void and wait for targets of opportunity. I expect you to ferret them out as is your way, for they will not wait long."

"Do you wish me to make targets of opportunity?" Jaakko asks.

"No, just find that which is already there," Magnus says while plucking a few strings on his axe.

"Very well then, we shall have an analysis ready for you soon," Jaakko replies before bowing his head and taking his leave. Both Tsar and Agent had other things to do.

=======Hearth System=======
== Corona Stars Commonwealth ==
=======Pregame===========

"Thanks for helping me with my bags. I would have had to make two or three trips to carry all this stuff myself."

"Happy to help. This your first shipboard post?"

"Ha, you can tell huh? What gave it away? Is it because of the way I walk? My friends told me that it was a sure way to spot the rookies."

"The way you walk? Hah, no, everyone walks about the same way when they're carrying heavy loads. I could tell because you've brought all these personal belongings with you. Most rookies bring a lot, and then send them home the first chance they get."

"But I- hmm... I guess I won't have much room for all this, will I?"

"I don't know, I've never seen inside of an officer's quarters before. Though I doubt they'll be too spacious."

"Oh, I've heard dreadful things about how enlisted have only a footlocker to themselves, and no privacy at all."

"That's about right. All the big bulky necessities are provided, so there isn't any need for them, and we live in pretty close proximity. You're from the Inside, aren't you?"

"And how would you know that?"

"All these things you hear. Insiders gossip more than, than, uhh..."

"And you must obviously be a native, judging by your totally inadequate education."

"Guilty as charged. But at least we natives have enough sense to introduce ourselves properly when we meet someone new. My name is John, nice to meet you."

"I'm... ehh, call me Tiffany."

"Alright then, Tiffany, let's get your bags packed away and head down to the mess hall. The meeting's about to start, and the captain wants everyone to be there."

"Sounds like a plan."

Primarily Hangerbay of Teknotron-1”

The time was, chronologically, just after noon on the immense Planetoid Teknotron-1. A crowd of untold thousands had assembled at the great berths of the planet ship. The Drydock, a full km across and five km deep was built to house any ship within the Imperial Navy. Yet for the past five years it had held within itself the greatest civilian ship the Kushawni people had ever launched. At 5500 metres long, the ship dwarfed all others in the Kushawni fleet. It had been a city-state unto itself for decades, holding thousands on bored and the center of trade fore the Kushawni as well as a symbol of their wealth and power.

However this great ship could no longer be a purely civilian asset. For the past five years it had been militarized, outfitted with a fearsome array of arms, weapons and the most terrible of great cannons. For five years the Kushawni people awaits its return, the return of their symbol, of their great protector, of the Avatar of the CityMind himself. And today was that day.

The opening to “Drydock #7” was lined with well over ten thousand starships, virtually all of the small civilian cargo haulers. Indeed the often-crowded Starlanes of the Province were virtually empty of traffic this day as the greatest ‘cargo’ ship of all prepared for Re-launch.

At 12:00 hours the field around Bay#7 collapsed and the ship began to emerge. Thousands of specially formulated fireworks erupted, designed to flare in the vacuum of space, the formed clouds around the great Harbor ship as the long line of cargo ships stood at ‘attention’. While conducted in the vacuume of space, each ship was tuned to a preset comm.-channel the broadcast a shared single they could all hear. This was their day, the civilians of the Kushawni Province one and all beamed with pride as the great Golden ship emerged. The military were there, mostly on guard duty patrolling the perimeter. As the fireworks continued to explode to the combined cheers of thousands, both before the ship and across the Province, a small group of military advisors watched from a suite overlooking the bay.

“Waste of resources if you asked me, sure its big, but nothing more then just another civilian ship with guns strapped to it.” Vice Admiral Tosok Kensven said as he watched the ship glide by his viewing window.
“Just another civilian ship under Military control I might add Tosok, and if you had read the breakdown of it, you’d know it is easily worth one of the new Exelion battleships” Richard spoke from behind him, the Class5 CyberHuman walking back to his chair, his metallic body shinning as his face smirked. “Trust me Tosok, I’ve be inside that ship in ways you won’t ever comprehend, don’t dismiss it too easily”

Kensven simply scoffed as he turned back to Richard, picking up an envelope, the true reason for their meeting.

“Perhaps, in the meantime, it seems the CityMind has finally decided to investigate Makay, far overdue I must say. They used to be one of our regular trade parties, as far out on the rim as they where, too quiet from them for far too long.” He said as he opened up the letter printed from the CityMind. Richard’s digital face quirked an eye.

“Well, what does he recommend?”
“Hmm, A Tradeship sent as a diplomatic envoy to Makay, must say there’s no surprise there.. Hm, what’s this?” Tosok’s eyes grazed down the page as he smirked. “Along with BusterMachines # 11, 15 and 8, for purposes of coveret and Stealthed intelligence gathering, well, that’s a Bold move for our friendly AI Overlord.” Tosok smirked as he folded the envelope. “I must say it does unsettle me, The long silance from Makay, perhaps I am being parnoid in my old age Richard, when The envoys meet, I’m sure we’ll learn a great deal, and of course, We’ll let the BusterMachines find out what is Really going on there.” He said as he turned back out the window, the immense haul of the Bentusilon was almost finished exiting the drydock.

”About time, once it is gone, we can finally focus this resource on making some REAL warships

==Edge of Union Space==
==Pregame==

On both the displays and the mind's eye of the sensors officer, an anomaly flickered into existence. The officer chittered a message to the captain of the cruiser through the the internal comms of the ship, and the captain woke from his semi-sleep, analyzed, and directed the received message to the patrol, not bothering to utilize his comms officer for such a mundane task; hee was bored, it was something to do.

A moment later, several ships confirmed the faint anomaly after redirecting their sensors to the proper area. The captain of the 202-class cruiser Radiant Dawn chattered a query to the lead ship of the patrol, the battlecruiser New London. A brief pause ensued; the posthuman lord of the Radiant Dawn waited calmly, giving a cursory scan to the status of the key ship systems while he waited.

The black-hulled battlecruiser pulsed out a clipped reply in the machine-speak used for most Union communications; a confirmation. A single destroyer, the Sentinel, diverted from its course, having been redesignated to accompany the Radiant Dawn in exploring the faint signature its sensors had picked up. This area was a known transit route for pirates and smugglers looking to get in and out of the Humanist Union: it was lawless space, dotted with independent stations and hidden mining colonies. It was also considered a possible military vulnerability, hence the need for a patrol to begin with. Captain Vladimir Kyznetsov seriously doubted what his sensor officer had detected was a military incursion; a fleet or decent-sized mobile unit would have made a more significant signal, and a stealth ship wouldn't have been picked up by the Radiant Dawn's sensors at all.

Nevertheless, he thought, performing a diagnostic on the warp drives and checking that the Sentinel was properly oriented, it's something more than routine.

The captain unconsciously drew in his breath as he signaled the Sentinel and activated his cruiser's jump drives. The external displays went from displaying the star-filled blackness of real space to the weird blank white of subspace. Normally, the external monitors would have been shut down to conserve energy, but this was only a brief hop. The two military vessels punched back into space, the captain of each demanding a status report from his sensor officer while scanning ship systems and crew reports.

A single vessel could be seen at the edge of vision; the external viewers obligingly magnified the ship's image on the display with an unconscious squint from the sensors officer on each ship. It was a Type-89, an old Union cargo hauler. Roughly cruiser-sized themselves, most shipping entities within Union space owned at least one Type-89; they'd been used for a myriad of roles, from mining shipment to passenger ships to pirate "cruisers." They were rugged, they were modular, and most importantly, they were cheap to maintain. Clearly, however, repairs weren't cheap enough for this particular captain: sensors aboard the Radiant Dawn indicated that the ship's shields were pulsing, their integrity nearing failure before surging back up to normal output. The sensors officer brought up several indicator tags at points on the ship, each one denoting an irregular source of radiation within the ship, probably due to failing components. Another tag denoted the ship's acceleration: it was fleeing.

For the first time in hours, Captain Kyznetsov spoke in his real voice. "Bring up their ID tag," he said, eyes showing a glimmer of real interest.

"They have no legitimate ID tag according to scans," the sensors officer replied in the standard chatterings most bridge officers communicated in, "current tag broadcasted confirmed as belonging to a destroyed vessel."

The captain didn't move and his expression didn't change; he'd been expecting that reply, "Open communications," he said, slipping back into machine-speak and warming his massive ship's guns even as he did. The comms officer beeped by way of reply. Speaking with cold authority, the aging posthuman addressed the other ship, "This is Captain Vladimir Kyznetsov of the Humanist Union Navy. You are ordered to power down your drives and prepare for boarding. If you fail to comply, you will be liable for criminal charges. Reply immediately."

The Type-89 replied by firing its two twin autocannon turrets at the military cruiser. Captain Kyznetsov felt a vague tickle as the crude shells impacted his cruiser's shields, succeeding only in producing weird blue flickers across the sleek black dagger-ship as the shells were rapidly vaporized. Normally, it would be the off/def officer's job to do what came next, but the captain once again took the task for himself: he had come up from the ranks of gunnery himself, and it had been a while since he had enjoyed personally firing upon anything. Analyzing the data fed to him by his sensors officer, Kyznetsov choose one of his lighter medium railcannon, alligning it carefully with the spine of the retreating industrial vessel. Analyzing the irregular pulse of the Type-89's shields he fired his chosen weapon, its barrel venting purplish plasma as the electric connection between the round and the rail broke. A half-instant later the round impacted the Type-89 directly on top of its spinal autocannon, passing easily through the shields as they pulsed at their lowest strength. A split-second later Captain Kyznetsov was rewarded with a pair of brilliant explosions as the autocannon's ammunition magazine and power trunk of the ship both exploded. The sensors officer confirmed what the captain already knew: the ship's systems had gone into emergency lockdown as the main power distribution system for the ship was suddenly lost. A thin smile crossed the aged captain's lips, I've still got it, he congratulated himself, aiming and firing a smaller railcannon to destroy the now-unshielded industrial ship's secondary turret, Two shots, one kill, minimal cost.

It would be a matter of several minutes before a Type-89 in good repair, competently crewed, could reroute its power: Kyznetsov doubted seriously that this ship would be resuming its flight anytime soon. Nodding to his comms officer, Kyzentsov ordered several boarding ships to secure the immobile vessel as the main patrol was updated on the anomaly. The Sentinel, which had moved forward destroy any escape pods, pulsed a message to the Radiant Dawn along with several high-magnification images into the damaged ship's ruptured hull: the Type-89 was carrying weapons within its battered interior. Captain Kyznetsov allowed himself a full smile at this, "Open a comms line with all boarding shuttles," he spoke aloud, mostly just to savor speech, "and tell the boarding parties that they are to preseve as many officers as possible. All secondary crew and passengers remain non-vital," he paused, "A nice catch, gentlemen," he said by way of congratulations to his fellow bridge officers. Through his connection to the ship's system, he could feel the pulse of their thanks even as they spoke aloud.

pregame
report begins:
Subject: Human/prey thralls in subjugated sector, former designation Makay.
Cities have been pacified

“Obey, obey your overlord benefactors demand obedience-” intones a voice over the loudspeakers in a slowly rising and falling tone. The loadspeakers standing in clusters on every street corner, people moving around as if oblivious to the commands as they file into the factories standing new and hard edged in the middle of blasted bombcraters. Above all this and watching over the entire city stands an armoured tower topped in slender spires of antenna, silent to the ears yet singing a sinister lullaby to the mind.

Resistance persisting but diminishing in rural sectors, hypnoindoctrination and training of thrall forces meeting projected goals

“Got seven contacts on thermal around the rail support.”
“Dissident anticitizen status?”
“Switching to visual amp, confirmed they’re setting a device down, looks like a bomb. They’re scattering, looks like they saw us.”
“Roger moving in.”
The seven humans set off running in different directions, but unable to run fast enough to evade the VTOL that with a building roar of jets hovers down over them, guns already swivelling and chattering to cut them down in hails of fire.
“nothing on thermal, chalk up another seven kills.”
“Continueing patrol, good shooting I owe ya a beer when we get back.”
“Roger that chief”
The VTOL soars away as blood seeps slowly into the ground around the pillar, the supposed bomb lying forgotten at the base of it as up above a train rumbles past towards the distant city. Dust blowing on the wind as from the city a rumble of thunder comes and yet another starship slowly climbs skywards.

Harvesting operations still twenty percent below specified goals but projected to meet them in two months

“You have been chosen for relocation to better serve your overlords, proceed to the transport-” the loudspeakers announce over the chatter of the crowd pouring out of the train and onto the platform, but a short walk across open ground to the waiting freighter, waiting in its launch pit with its cargo doors open and lowered resembling a black metal maw to devour them. A fitting but unheeded resemblance as in time the freighter’s belly full its hatches seal and the craft soars up on a pillar of fire from its engines, climbing into the sky.

Fifth Battle Fleet
Various Locations

The skies should have turned blood red. The stars should have dimmed, casting world after world into darkness. A psychic scream of agony at the coming horror should have deafened every sentient within light years. Perhaps a sequel to Ishtar should have been anounced on the Galactic datanet.

Tragically, the universe was completely lacking in appreciation for the appropriate dramatic conventions. So the coming onslaught went completely unheralded by any sort of horrific portents. At various points, the Fifth Battle Fleet began deploying its remaining might, starting with the First Battle Squadron. As the six battleships Horseman, Death, War, Pestilence, Kaos and Famine moved out of system, other lesser ships fell in behind them, as similar groups departed from other worlds.

Force declaration:

Horseman x 30(45+5D)

Flagellant x 20(10+10D)

Marauder x 5(8+1C3+1I)

Thugee x 30(3(+1S+1H)

Total fleetwide relevant points 1670 +350D +5C3+5I

--pregame--

Top Secret//NOFORN

Office of Naval Intelligence
Report on Makay province

Top Secret//NOFORN


Top Secret//NOFORN

Abstract:

Ground personnel verify that the province has been taken over by an unknown group of Outies. Agents report some sort of mind alteration broadcast being used, most likely to pacify population. Dissident groups have attempted resistance, with little success. Significant resistance can be expected from occupation authority naval forces.

Estimated naval strength:
4 battleship
7 battlecruiser
11 heavy cruiser
14 light cruiser
8 destroyer
---
44 ships of all types

Recommend use of at least 4 Line squadrons in attack. Estimated Naval strength derived from reports from agents, and mass signature readings by naval assets.

Top Secret//NOFORN

Remainder of report unavailable

==========Planet Aesir, Asgard System=====
==========Metallkonige Space===========
==========Pregame==================

"My lord, the intelligence is in. We have had a good look at the forces defending the closest former Imperial territories," Jaakko reports to Magnus.

"And?" Magnus asks.

"Individually their forces are about a match for us, perhaps not as militarized, but we can still defeat them with some care. That is not the good news though. Of late their leadership has been... distant, unresponsive, and most of all, weak. They are ripe for the plucking, likely to fragment if struck now," Jaakko tells him.

"Really? Well, I am not one to see a sleeping bear and suppose that it is dead and thus it is safe to begin making a rug of it, but I will take as many free shots as I can get before that bear awakes. Very well, I will rouse the Tsars to war. It is about damned time," Magnus says.

"I begin sending over the relevant intelligence," Jaakko says with a nod.

---
Forces being deployed:

First Raiding Fleet
Tenacious*33
Cacofonix*2
Dragon*2

Second Raiding Fleet
Tenacious*33
Cacofonix*2
Dragon*2

First Assault Fleet
Cacofonix*4
Rammstein*14
Dragon*4
Manowar*3
Megadeth*2

Independent Transport SS Festung
Shenanon System
Grand Duchy of Malacaster

Seven men and women sat around the transport's crowded briefing table. MacNeill Peirce slid the datawafer across the table, smiling at his host.
"Here you have it, comrade. The last payment."

The operative examined the wafer for a moment, and then nodded. "Your people have done excellent work. We've made wonderful progress over the last two years. Of course, the ships will require more than a few of our own specialists to handle the... more complex points of their operation."

MacNeill shrugged expansively. "OF course. What can we do about maintenance and re-armament?"

"That will be the real sticking-point," said the operative. "Battle-damage will accrue, of course, and you'll need casual maintenance. We can provide two space-dock ships easily enough, which can manufacture basic parts from dross and flotsam. Never the less, you'll need to send these ships back to Nordkaldia at least occasionally."

The Malacastran snorted. "...leaving us infinitely indebted to Kaldigrad, hmmm?" The operative seemed sincerely hurt at the comment. "
"Comrade! The Internationale is not just Nordkaldia or Esperance or the Militia Fleet- it is ALL workers, everywhere, who hunger for freedom whether they know it or not. There's a reason the payments we've required have been so paltry- surely you realize this pittance is not really enough to secure the usage of a full fleet division of the Naval Militia Union?" The operative smiled thinly. "No, MacNeill, giving you these vessels is a reward unto itself. They'll be on-station at the rally points in a week."

Malacastran Republican Militia

2 "Shenanon go Brach"-class Fleet Tenders(15 pts each)
6 "Jonas Rijksworth"-class Protected Cruisers (12 pts each)
6 "Eternally Vigilant are the Defenders of the Revolution"-class Scout Cruisers (8 pts each)
2 "Inimical"-class Interdiction Pickets (4 pts each)
4 "Comrade-Lieutenant Rikenbacher"-class Destroyers (5 pts each)
11 "Light Against Ignorance"-class Fleet Pickets (2 pts each)
-200 points total

Planet Threshold, Soell System
Haruhiist Space
Pregame

It was never a good thing when Haruhi Suzumiya was bored, as Kyon, Mikuru Asahina, and/or Itsuki Koizumi would readily and lengthily attest to...if they weren't currently in cryostasis.

Yuki Nagato and Ryoko Asakura always feared the worst when they arrived at Haruhi's office to deliver the daily intelligence report; boredom could and often did cause Haruhi to do bizarre (oftentimes destructive) things. They were astonished to find Haruhi at her desk, peacefully going over some paperwork. "Uh, is there something wrong, Miss Suzumiya?" Ryoko asked somewhat timidly.

"No, Ryoko," Haruhi shot back nonchalantly, not looking up from her papers. "What intelligence have you gathered this time?"

"We are currently in the process of conducting intelligence-gathering operations on the nearest Imperial remnants in order to determine their military strength," Yuki stated in her familiar, matter-of-fact monotone. "Several groups have significantly increased their military strength since the destruction of Terra, and as such, they pose a threat to us as long as they are allowed to continue."

"Is that so, Yuki?" Haruhi said, still not looking up from her papers.

"From what we have been able to ascertain," Yuki continued, "the closest Imperial remnants have forces that are roughly equivalent to ours in terms of size and strength. With the proper strategy, we can defeat them without much effort and seize their territories."

Haruhi slammed a fist on her desk, rattling a stack of papers. "Then so be it!" she cried out as she rose from her seat.

"Great, another one of Haruhi's 'inspirational' speeches," Ryoko thought to herself.

"The battles we will face will decide the destiny of our Empire, and believe me, this is just the beginning! We'll vaporize anything that gets in our way! The Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya will make its name known throughout the ends of the universe! Obviously, we will prevail, but I will not tolerate any weakness!" Haruhi punctuated the end of that last sentence by slamming her fist on the desk again. "You have your orders! Carry them out!"

"Yes, ma'am," Yuki and Ryoko uttered simultaneously, saluting. Haruhi returned the salute.

"Dismissed," Haruhi said before sitting down and going back to her paperwork.

Yuki and Ryoko exited Haruhi's office quietly. "Looks like we're going off to war again," Ryoko said to her comrade.

-----

Force Declaration

• 50 x Wendee Lee class destroyer
• 20 x Aya Hirano class cruiser
• 10 x Kyoto Animation class battleship
• 5 x Hare Hare Yukai class dreadnought

==Edge of Union Space==
==H.N.S. Radiant Dawn==
==Pregame==

Captain Kyznetsov was busy when the boarding shuttles began returning, some making second trips for prisoners. A part of his mind noted the time taken to complete the mission and relay troops/prisoners back to the Radiant Dawn, and this part of his mind compared the performance against previous boarding actions on vessels of similar size, both by his own crew and others. It was a slightly faster performance than normal: probably attributable to the inferior training of civilian crews. With this brief excursion concluded, Kyznetsov focused fully on other issues, resigned to occupy himself for the duration of the interrogations.


It was, therefore, something of a surprise when the commanding officer of the boarding party contacted the captain with a datafile. Vaguely annoyed, Kyznetsov accessed the file: it was a standard notification of a successful interrogation of a high-ranking officer; a pre-report. Kyznetsov noted that the information acquired had apparently been of high priority, and the interrogated individual the first officer of the captured vessel.


Kyznetsov was slightly puzzled. What bridge officer worth his rank cracks so easily? Deciding his current duties could take a breather and scanning the (sparse) contents of the pre-report, he sent a message to the boarding party commander and the officer's interrogator to report to the bridge, returning to other tasks as he waited.


A chime sounded on the bridge as the blast doors unlocked and withdrew, admitting two men into the room: the interrogator, whose cybernetic eyes, rigid bearing, and unadorned dark gray uniform made him look more like an automaton than a man, and the boarding party leader, a towering marine still dressed in his standard-issue dark blue, bulky NBC combat suit. Kyznetsov returned each man's stiff salute with a prefunctory one of his own. "So," the captain said, looking from the goggle-eyed mask of the marine to the pale face of the interrogation officer, "what can you tell me of this first officer?"

========Outskirts of Makay System=====
======= Kushawni Diplomatic Envoy======
=============Pregame=============

The Great Tradeship Entaleto plied the spacelane approaching Makay like a regal Leviathan. Flanked by two diminutive Destroyers , the ship stoped just before the Sensor nets of the system and deployed it’s ‘package’ Two cloaked war machines slipped from their concealed compartment and sped out into space. Quick and cloaked, they slipped away while the Tradeships main drive kicked back on and preceded toward its intended goal.

Direct contact between the Kushawni Province and the Systems of Makay had not been had in decades. The trade between them was largely done with old automated freighters. Deals and negotiations we’re largely done over comm. Links from afar. Yet when these remote communications stopped, it was finally time for a direct approach. The Tradeship dispatched was tasked with reaching the home star of the Makay system and exchanging diplomatic envoys, nothing more, and nothing less. After all, what reason was there for anything more? Such concerns and speculations where not for the realm of the Diplomat, those tasks were for a more, covert approach.

deployed to Makay

Tradeship – 30 +3D +2I x 1
Support Destroyer - 10 +5D x 2
BusterMachine #12 09 +1O +2D +2H +2S
BusterMachine #17 06 +1O +1D +1H +1S
====================================

==========The Megadeth======================
==========Just outside Syndicalist space===========
==========Pregame=========================

Grand Fleet Tsar Taavi Mustanen sat on his command throne, linked by his Spinal Tap to his power armour, and from there linked into the Megadeth, lead ship of the current design for the Konige dreadnoughts. The Konige had never been particularly good at building sensors, it was said that their ships tended to be as deaf as the older Ruckers, but the Megadeths were built to be the command ships in the fleets, so they had passable sensors, only the Dragons, meant to be raid leaders, had better equipment.

His link with the ship feeding him data his ordinary senses could not, he ordered the fleet to cease acceleration. The data net of the fleet was currently picking up the light pinging of the Syndicalist sensor nets. They had probably already been detected by hidden passives, but Taavi didn't really care.

They had been making small hops for the past few days, skipping in an out of hyperspace, easing their way forward. In space borders tended to be a bit fuzzy, but they were generally agreed to be about where a group could reliably maintain the monitoring stations to keep out the riff raff. Thus the Konige fleet was currently sitting just on the border of Syndicalist space.

"I think they should about know we're here now. If not, well then its time to wake them up," Taavi said to his bridge crew, both verbally and through the neural links that many of them shared. They all shared a dark chuckle at that.

"Begin transmission."

In a single instant all the power they could get through the wires safely was sent to the broadcast amps, widely regarded as some of the most powerful jamming systems in the galaxy, began blasting across the FTL comms and even in broadband radio.

Auch auf den Wellen wird gefochten
Wo Fisch und Fleisch zur See geflochten
Der eine sticht die Lanz' im Heer
Der andere wirft sie in das Meer

Ahoi

Reise, Reise Seemann Reise
Jeder tut's auf seine Weise
Der eine stößt den Speer zum Mann
Der andere zum Fische dann

Reise, Reise Seemann Reise
Und die Wellen weinen leise
In ihrem Blute steckt ein Speer
Bluten leise in das Meer

Die Lanze muss im Fleisch ertrinken
Fisch und Mann zur Tiefe sinken
Wo die schwarze Seele wohnt
ist kein Licht am Horizont

Ahoi

Reise, Reise Seemann Reise
Jeder tut's auf seine Weise
Der eine stößt den Speer zum Mann
Der andere zum Fische dann

Reise, Reise Seemann Reise
Und die Wellen weinen leise
In ihrem Blute steckt ein Speer
Bluten leise in das Meer

Reise, Reise Seemann Reise
Und die Wellen weinen leise
In ihrem Herzen steckt ein Speer
Bluten sich am Ufer leer


As the strains of the ancient Konige song of morning died away, the various members of the fleet began to pick up their own songs, creating a veritable wall of noise for any sensors officer unlucky enough to be listening in a very broad band of frequencies.

((OOC: Currently 150 points of jamming are being blared right on the edge of Syndicalist space, more if the mods want to rule that diverting power from engines in this clearly noncombat situation gives them a boost. The highest sources are 10 pointers.))

"Villalobos"
4th Patrol Squadron
Esperansic Peripheral Syndicates
Syndicalist International


Esperance was very much the Internationale's junior partner. The draft riots which had lead to the Massacre of 9228 would hardly have spread out of the western cities if Caliphoni and Nordkaldic forces hadn't intervened. Even now, Syndicalist troops from the liberal coastal cities had to maintain garrisons and carefuly watch what was left of the old noble families. The Security Directorate was unusually busy. As a result, the People's Republican Navy was staffed largely by Caliphegians and Kalds; officers "On Loan" to a fleet which still consisted of surplus Nordkaldic Royal vessels. The Battle Squadron in particular was almost entirely staffed by foreigners, at least at the highest levels.

The Patrol was a different matter entirely. Esperance had always been a border system, a buffer which stood between the Empire and the wild Sudkaldic tribes. During the revolution, the Patrol had kept aloof from the fighting around the capital, ensuring most of their crews were still Esperansic. In the past, the vessels of the Patrol had acted as a tripwire. Often when the Imperial Navy succeeded in intercepting a Bohemite or Konig raid, it was due to timely warnings from the network of listening posts and patrolling light craft of Esperance's Patrol. Few had understood more than the Patrol what the Empire had meant- in all it's brutality and monolithic stupidity, it had been stable. The order of the Empire was worth protecting against the hideous barbarism that existed outside the borders.

Comrade Frigatecaptain Luis de la Hoya had been in the Patrol (Now the People's Republican Navy, Garrison Division, but the Patrol none the less) through three successive governments in his lifetime. From the boorish arrogance of the Empire to the childishly enthusiastic amatuerism of the Syndicalists, he'd always held the cushy politicos and armchair admirals back Earthwards in contempt. Never the less, he had defended each regime with his utmost. He was a man who knew what the alternative was. For all their foolishness, vanity, and wide-eyed ignorance, the pampered polticians were better- better than what lay out there in the black.

He'd looked over the reports and the readouts. In fifty years of service on the Patrol, Luis had never seen a Konig jamming field of that size or intensity. It was the largest raid he'd seen in his life- and this time, there would be no fearsome squadrons of Imperial battleplates coming from the old Yards at Kaldigrad- only third-rate warships, crewed by hopped-up ratings and liberal, peach-fuzz officers.

Those fools wouldn't know how to handle such an unprecedented incursion. The listening-posts had reported that clear readings were impossible; none were close enough to pierce the dense, screeching fog.

His orders to the squadron took only a few minutes. The 4th Patrol Squadron, People's Republican Navy, Garrison Division, spread out and began their run towards the hideous racket. The politicos and fleet commanders would need information if they were to have any chance of removing their thumbs from their asses long enough to counter the Konigen.

Luis de la Hoya's squadron spun to jump towards the Konig incursion.

4th Patrol Squadron



De la Hoya's "Inestimable" Frigate

3x"Inimical" Fleet Pickets
2x"Inestimable" Frigates
14 pts total

==========The Megadeth======================
==========Just outside Syndicalist space===========
==========Pregame=========================

The initial unholy racket had settled down some, the Ruckers resting in shifts so as not to overstrain their systems ((OOC: The jamming field is somewhere between 75 and 100 points currently, fluctuating as ships turn on and off their EW systems)). Despite the massive electronic noise, the relatively sharp-eyed Dragons in the fleet picked up the incoming patrols well away from the main fleet.

Taavi immediately dispatched the Dragonstrike, the Dragonquest, and the Nyl Maymin. Out ahead of the incoming patrol. It wouldn't do to let them just wander in on the fleet, see their numbers, and then try and talk their way back to their home base to tell. That would spoil the show!

A good half lightyear from the fleet's main position the unholy, even by Konige standards, racket put out by the Nyl Maymin warped space enough that it actually dumped the incoming patrol out of hyperspace and into realspace.

The targetting systems of the two Dragon-class cruisers danced over the hulls of the frigates, subtle distortions in space-time playing out as various chords and musical notes in the inner ears of those aboard. The ships conspicuously kept their weapon amps powered down though. Not that it mattered. Their sensors let them know that these ships had no way of seeing through the jamming put out by the Maymin, and with the interdiction field in place these frigates were going nowhere. They couldn't escape and they couldn't fight back.

Ship Tsar Tore Lukas of the Dragonstrike immediately ordered a channel cleared so that his grinning, tattooed, pierced, and cyberized face could be seen by the Syndicalist commander.

"Good evening gentlemen! We can't help but notice that you were headed for our little jam session over here. I'm afraid that unless you wish to purchase backstage passes for the tour, we can't let you come any closer. Would spoil the show for others if you told them about it before it even had its first stop."

"Villalobos"
4th Patrol Squadron
Esperansic Peripheral Syndicates
Syndicalist International

The "Villalobos," the frigate "Gallow's Fruit," and the picket "Invidious" seemed to hang in space, their furious charge at FTL speeds interrupted by the obscene racket put out by the Konig force. De la Hoya gritted his teeth as he looked over the barbarian dispatch. The Konig had a nonchalant attitude towards their own viciousness, which made it all the more despicable. He wrote two brief dispatches. The first he handed to the comms, hoping fervently that the Konig's appreciation of machismo would grant his squadron a few moments of safety. After all, he'd dealt with the sudkald Ruckers before- but never on such unequal terms.

"We've already got tickets; care to hold for transmission? I've got a backstage pass, and I can't wait to see you fellows live. I'm excited for the show myself, but I should warn you- this venue's famous for it's hostility to new groups, especially those which don't ruck hard enough. Will that be a problem? It seems you don't even have the whole band here..."

==========The Dragonstrike======================
==========Just outside Syndicalist space===========
==========Pregame=========================


Chuckling, Tore says, "Ah, you think because we are barbarians we are stupid? No, no my friend, there is a list you see, and I'm afraid you're not on it. We're very much sticklers for good accounting you see, and we know you haven't bought any tickets yet."

His face twisting up in a mangled rictus of a human smile, Tore says, "However, if you would like to purchase tickets to the tour, we can hook you up with some excellent backstage passes. In fact, you know what? I'm going to send a security detail over there to personally escort you all back to our little jamm session. We can work out price for such a rare opportunity along the way."

The weapons on the Dragons now powering up and several boarding shuttles launching from the cruisers. The spatial harmonics of the targetting sensors aligning with the hulls of the interdiction frigates slowly building into a low crescendo remind the crews of that each of the cruisers can hull any one of them with a single salvo, and they had an unknown, but presumably huge, number of reinforcements waiting nearby. The fact that the jamming was still powerful enough that comms were hopelessly interfered without outside of the short range bands the Konige allowed, indicated that the barbarians were not going to play softball here.

"Villalobos"
4th Patrol Squadron
Esperansic Peripheral Syndicates
Syndicalist International

"Sounds like a great plan, I can't wait to meet the band. But hey! Before that, care to join us in a little jam session? Our amps are old-fashioned and nothing spectacular, but we do well for a garage band. Come into ear-shot, and we'll play you a couple power chords."

The three ships caught in the sleeting Konig jamming field turned tail towards the incoming shuttles. Weapons turned to track the incoming shuttles, and weaker targetting sensors swept over the barbarian battle group. The Konig had been dealing with Esperansic ships for generations, however, and were familiar with the FTL-transit torpedoes which made up much of the firepower of such vessels- and there were none of the telltale distortions associated with the activation of subspace missile launchers.

In fact, each of the fleeing small ships were pumping most of their weapons output into tightbeam transmissions. The Konig had intercepted a unit of small, fast vessels with only a few lage, capital ships. Such performance would be impossible without the presence of a huge number of signal radiation sources. The ease with which the Konig had trapped the small vessels without the usage of fast vessels or escorts implied the presence of a vast fleet with fantastic signals capabilities- perhaps even most of the Konig fclans united, impossibly, into one vast force.

Strung behind the patrol squadron like pearls on a necklace were the other frigates of the 4th Patrol. The closest, at the edge of short-com range and just outside the interdiction sphere of the Konig ships, only picked up bits and snatches of the tightbeams which the forwards unit was dispatching. It only took a few bytes, repeated constantly over the minutes the Konig had wasted not opening fire, to get the idea across- de la Hoya's second dispatch in Patrol code-book, transmitted as only seconds after Squadron 4 had been so uncerimoniously yanked out of FTL.

"Yankee Juliet. Yankee Juliet. Yankee Juliet. Zulu. Yankee Juliet. Yankee Juliet. Yankee Juliet. Zulu. Yankee Juliet... "

"Sudkaldic Forces, 20+ Warships. Mobilize.

Onboard the Destroyer Razorgrass
Scout Fleet Two
Hearth System
Corona Stars Commonwealth
Pregame

The marine, the rookie officer, and the rest of the crew assembled in the dining area. It was the only room on the ship large enough to hold the entire crew complement, and even then there were some people standing just outside, in the corridor. The low rumble of conversation permeated the room, with people discussing topics from the mission they were about to embark on to the colors of the nearby nebulae. None knew what to make of this meeting, but many correctly guessed that the Captain had a few words to say to the crew, and preferred to do it in person

The Captain, an average figure in his early forties, stood up on the platform at the end of the room. The room quieted down, and all eyes settled on him. Without the aid of electronic amplification, he spoke to his crew, "It's good to see you all here. I know there's probably several dozen separate rumors regarding our current mission, so first of all, I'll clear things up. This ship is part of a task force sent to make contact with nearby factions coreward. I say factions, because that's all everyone is now, lacking Imperial authority. The higher-ups believe that we have waited long enough for people to come to us, so instead we're going to go to them. Our stated purpose is only to make contact, so everyone talking about an invasion has officially lost their bets."

This brought a chuckle to the room, and as predicted, some money changed hands. The captain waited for things to settle down before continuing, "Needless to say, not everyone we meet will be friendly. First, there's the invaders that we presume defeated the Empire. There's also barbarian groups that may have slipped by us, and other remnant groups that may be in much the same situation we are. You know what I expect of you, and I trust this crew to give its best. We will face whatever comes our way and deal with it in the appropriate manner. Whether that be diplomacy or violence is up in the air, so prepare for both and don't be caught off-guard by a third or fourth option. Do your jobs well and we'll be ready for anything we find out there."

The captain paused for a few seconds, then said "Alright then, go and make this ship proud. You're all dismissed."

Conversation sprang to life as everyone filed out of the room. Everyone's mind was on what unknowns they might find out there, and the mood was livened by the promise of exploration, rather than the dull monotony of more patrols. In the next hour, the ships of Scout Fleet Two finished final preparations, left the rendezvous point, and headed off into hyperspace.

Forces sent towards the Core:

2 fleets of:

2 x 10 pts - Destroyer
2 x 5 pts - Frigate
1 x 5+5C3 - Task Force Command
1 x 5+10H+10C3 - Scout

65 pts

Dragonstrike
Just outside Syndicalist space
Day 1, Week 1, Turn 1

The three ships turning to run did not make it very far. With positive targetting locks already in place and the amps already mostly primed on the two cruisers and the EW destroyer and the frigates offerring no response, they didn't stand a chance.

What was described of outside the Metallkonige as psychic distortions of space-time amplified through enormous, fusion fuelled weapons batteries struck the frigates. For those inside the ships close to where the impacts took place, the last thing they heard was a power chord being struck. Those close enough to hear something that clearly though were soon vapourized as space-time was torn asunder, ripping them apart at an atomic level, along with the atmosphere, machinery, and armoured bulkheads around them.

For those further away, the music was somewhat audible but muted and distorted by distance, bulkheads, and drowned out by secondary explosions. The power chords and drum solos had been mostly replaced by rapid fire guitar shredding and inhumanly faster singing. Konige precision weapons stripping away defensive batteries.

In an instant all three ships were no longer accelerating away as their engines had been forced into shut-down by the massive damage inflicted on their engineering sections. Other than the massive holes punched into them and the chunks gouged out along their main weapon batteries, the ships were still mostly intact.

From the few functioning hull cameras and out the windows, the shuttles could be seen still closing in.

The Konige wanted prisoners.

An Inestimable-class frigate carried eight Kinder thermonuclear torpedoes in ready position in the externally mounted displacement launchers. A further twenty-four rounds were kept in the internal ammunition silos, deep within the small frigate's hulls. The ready missiles had already been destroyed along with their complex launchers.

The remaining projectiles in each of the two frigates initiated some eight seconds before the first boarding parties could make intercept.

The picket "Invidious" had no such internal magazines, mounting only two such devices in external hardpoints. Rather, the crew set off the smaller 5-kiloton bursting charges for the vessel's point defense guns. While there was nothing left of the Villalobos or the Gallow's Fruit, the Invidious split into three burning sections, decompressing compartments spraying freezing air and freezing bodies into the void. If the Konig were lucky, there would be some survivors.

Dragonstrike
Just outside Syndicalist space
Day 1, Week 1, Turn 1


"Hmmm... a pity. Probably had their scuttling charges armed since they were hauled out of hyperspace," Tore notes. "Any survivors?"

"We're detecting a few lifesigns in the remains of the picket ship," the sensor officer notes.

"Begin recovery operations then. And the Valkyries?" Tore inquires.

"They did not launch before the nukes went up," another officer reports.

"Very well then. Begin sweeping up the remnants if you will. The agents will want a look at what scraps we can bring them," Tore says with a nod.

Haruhiist dreadnought Hare Hare Yukai
Edge of Humanist Union space
Day 1, Week 1, Turn 1

From atop her command chair, Fleet Admiral Shana Ito stared out into the vast expanse of deep space with an enthusiastic grin on her face. Ever since Empress Suzumiya had issued a declaration of war, Admiral Ito and the rest of the SOS Brigade happily complied; they were going to convert all of known space to Haruhiism, even if they had to burn it to ash in order to do so.

"What's our status?" Fleet Admiral Ito asked the bridge personnel.

"We've penetrated the Humanist Union sensor net and are currently picking up a series of contacts on long-range scanners," a sensor operator replied. "We've managed to confirm two of them as a 202 class 'Stiletto' cruiser and a Type 89 transport. What are our orders?"

"Dispatch four Lees, two Hiranos, and a KyoAni ahead of the rest of the fleet," Fleet Admiral Ito ordered. "If all goes well, they'll never know what hit them."

As soon as Fleet Admiral Ito issued the order, four Wendee Lee class destroyers, two Aya Hirano class cruisers, and a Kyoto Animation class battleship broke formation and slipped out to ambush the Radiant Dawn and the pirate barge. If the rest of the Humanist Union patrol came calling, the rest of the Haruhiist armada was not far behind.

Council of the High Syndicates
Kaldigrad
Union of Nordkaldian Syndicates
Syndicalist International

"...And from the volume of EW radiation alone, it is clear we are looking at an invasion of unprecedented scale."

The Foreman of the Periphery closed his brief and sat down. A murmur ran through the chamber, a sussurus of disbelief and fear.

"Thank you, Foreman Diego." The Chairman waited a moment for the
sound to die down. "Comrades, I don't think that we can discount this as another raid. Immediate action must be taken! I open the floor to Foreman Eberhardt." The old patrician nodded. "Thank you, Chairman. As you all know, the Militia Unions are currently in the process of mobilization for the Malacastran operation. This means that our forces are currently drawn up at the fleet bases, armed and supplied for offensive operations. The screen, please? Thank you. As you can see, gentle...Ahem, comrades, the Second and Third Esperansic Battle Divisions are the nearest major units. These forces, needless to say, are not even close to sufficient for dealing with an incursion of this size." His eyes scanned the room, observing the reactions of the Caliphegian and Kaldic foremen. "Traditionally, defense of the periphery has fallen on Esperance and the old Imperial Navy. Obviously, that is no longer the case. Frankly, I believe their is only one answer to this problem- we must mobilize the Caliphegian and Nordkaldic syndicates for immediate deployment to Esperance."

If the news of barbarian invasion had set a tone of quiet disbelief, the old admiral's suggestion lead to an upwelling of outrage.
"Preposterous! This is clearly an Esperansic concern!"
"What of the Malacastran operation?"
"The cost alone can not be..."
"Order!" The Chairman's gavel rang through the chamber like a thunderclap. "Order, comrades! The floor is Foreman Eberhardt's."
The foreman cleared his throat, looking quite uncomfortable- the old officer had much prefered the quiet, ordered affairs which had been the staff meetings of the Royal Navy.
"...As I was saying, most of the Militia Unions are assembled at Kaldigrad and Vervunstok in preparation for Malacaster. The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Expeditionaries encompass most of our striking force. If we cancel that operation, we'll have more than sufficient force to meet the enemy. Ahem, that is all, Comrade Chairman."

"The floor is open to debate. Foreman Invernass?"

"Thank you, Comrade Chairman." A hard-edged older woman stood. "Historically, the Sudkaldic people have been marginalized and oppressed by the Empire; just as our own people were looked down upon by the Earthers. Comrades, these 'barbarians' are victims! Victims of the old racist/classist order under which we were so long oppressed! Their anger, considering the circumstances, is entirely sensible. If we meet them with guns blazing as the good admiral suggests, we will only reinforce centuries of oppression! I know that my constituents would abhor such a premature reaction. We must instead dispatch a diplomatic team to negotiate with the Sudkalds, and greet them with open arms. After all, the Revolution is international! All who oppose the racist patriarchy are our comrades, and who opposed the Empire more stringently than the downtrodden Sudkaldic peoples? That is all, Comrade Chairman." The Foreman crossed her arms and flashed the old Nordkaldic admiral with an contemptuous glare as she took her seat

"Indeed. The floor, then, is Foreman Kassel's." The indicated man, with his stubbly chin and craggy features, looked like he had gotten off of the night-shift only minutes before. "Yeah, thanks Chairman. I'm gonna agree with Invernass. This movement we all represent ain't just for Kalds and Esperancers. the whole point of t'revolution was that if us all were squabbling, we'd never stand a half-chance against the Lords and Executives. You've gotta remember their favorite weapons before we kicked those high-an-mighty assholes out- no offense, Eberhardt- divide and conquer. When we was busy arguing over what language we spoke an' what church we prayed at the boss-man would always have scabs available, always have a way of keeping us all down. Now, sure, the King's dead and so's the Emperor, but there's still dukes and executives and bosses aplenty in the Successors. If we can make these barbs see reason, we can'stick it to the sons of bitches who we need to and they can get what they want too. Now, I don't rightly know what it is they want, but we can find out, eh? Then we can maintain the Malacaster operation, fuck over them that need fuckin' over for the sake of the working man everywhere, and not waste precious time and resources fightin' out in the black. That's all, Chairman."

"The floor goes to Foreman Diego."

Throughout the proceedings to that point, the Esperancer had been watching with growing indignation. A gentleman, he had kept fastidiously silent until his turn came to speak. When it did, he shot to his feet, face ruddy with anger.

"It's all well and good to talk of international brotherhood, but to listen to a Caliphegian schoolteacher or a Nordkaldic day-labourer when it comes to matters of foreign policy along the Periphery- rank foolishness! Esperance has been dealing with the reavers since longer than the public histories go. What you are speaking is folly. Folly! The Metallkonig don't give a damn about 'international brotherhood' or the 'patriarchy.' They aren't that sophisticated. All they know- ALL they know! Is rape, plunder, and murder. You send an delegation, and I promise you, it'll return- probably in seperate, conveniently marked boxes. It's all well and good back Earthwards, I'm sure- but Kaldigrad has never seen a Konig raid. You haven't seen the things that they do. You think they care that the Emperor's gone? That's probably why they're here- they probably see this as their best chance to get what they've been trying to grab for generations. I promise you, if we don't listen to Eberhardt and mobilize immediately, we'll loose more than just the periphery, and then you'll all see just how much the brotherhood of workers means to the Konig. If we don't act NOW, I garauntee you'll learn more than you want to about 'racist oppression.' This council needs to remove it's thumbs and mobilize, immediately, and you're all fools if you listen to this bohemian prattle!"

Slowly but surely, the Council of the High Syndicates of Esperance, Caliphon, and the Nordkalds disintegrated into furious, pathetic argument.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late. Foreman Eberhardt, one-time Lord Admiral Paulus Eberhardt of the Royal Nordkaldic Navy, sat despairing in his chambers. The old man's uniform was in disarray, and the glass of scotch on his desk had been filled and emptied more than once. He sighed, almost inhumanly tired and rocked back on the legs of his chair, eyes closed, face deeply lined. After some time, he opened the drawer of his antique, hardwood desk. Slowly, reverently, he took out a small glittering object. Held tightly in his hand, the small bit of cloth and medal was cold and alien to the touch.

Almost instantly, he came out of his revery. With a fervour that belied his age and exhaustion, the admiral grabbed his comm and began writing furiously. Line after line, instructions and orders were laid out. There were people he knew, influence he held on Caliphon and Kaldigrad. There was something he could do, after the pacifist debacle which had been the result of that night's meeting of the High Council. Along coded channels and old, rarely-used connections his messages leapt, to transfer-points and eventually to the massive interstellar fatlines.

It was sunrise when he finished. He felt a warm, liquid sensation on his wrist- a thin line of blood ran from his palm. He'd gripped the object so tightly that the edges had cut pinpricks in his skin. The facing of the object had left an impression, fading rapidly, in his parchment-like skin.

"Pax Terra Pax Kaldia- For Valour"